Then, all those wives, stained and sorrowful, abandoned what they held dear. Their weeping rose like a tide, filling the whole world with the sound of their grief. Moved by their lament, Brahmā, the grandsire and lord of the gods, approached them and spoke gently, “Children, do not weep; you are mighty indeed.” Having thus comforted them, Brahmā, the creator of all worlds, bestowed his grace. By his will, those bereft ones became the Maruts, born in the interval of Manu Svāyambhuva. In that age, the illustrious Kratudhvaja was born as the son of Svārociṣa. For the sake of deep austerity, these kings journeyed to the sacred and towering mountain Meru. At this, Indra, the thousand-eyed god known as Vipascit, became filled with fear. He called upon Pūtanā, saying, “Go, O Pūtanā, to the great and splendid mountain Meru. Let there be an obstacle to the austerities of these kings, O beautiful one.” Thus addressed by Śakra, Pūtanā, endowed with enchanting beauty, set forth. Near the hermitage, a river of gentle current flowed. Pūtanā, lovely in form, descended into those waters to bathe. There, an aquatic being drank the semen that had been discharged by the kings during their austerities. Thus, their penance was broken, and the kings departed for the kingdom of the Six. After a long time, that aquatic being—Grāhī—assumed the form of a great conch shell and came ashore. A fisherman, seeing the splendid conch on the land, approached it. Soon, great-souled yogis, masters of yoga, arrived at that place. In time, the conch-woman gave birth to seven children. These children, without mother or father, moved about freely in the water. They were told, “Do not weep.” These sons became known as the Maruts. The one who spoke thus gathered them all and brought them to the deities. Thus, during the Svārociṣa Manvantara of Manu, the Maruts came to be. In the line of Uttama, there was a king, the lord of Niṣadha. His son was Jyotishman, a man of great virtue and righteous conduct. His wife, noble and fair-hipped, was the auspicious daughter of the preceptor of the gods. She herself gathered fruits, flowers, water, sacred sticks, and kusa grass for their rituals. In her devotion and service to her husband, she became thin, her veins standing out upon her body. Seeing her thus—beautiful in every limb, yet emaciated by austerity—she spoke to her husband, “For the sake of a child, we both must undertake austerities.” In response, the sages declared, “Go forth; seven sons will be born to you, though not one among them will be truly auspicious.” Having spoken thus, all the great sages departed. After a long time, the beloved queen of the king conceived. Yet, while she was still pregnant, her husband, the lord of men, passed away. Even though his ministers tried to restrain him, he did not desist from his chosen path. Then, O sage, from the midst of the sacrificial fire, a piece of flesh fell into the water. Thus, O Maruta, these sons were born in the interval between Uttama and Manu. They delighted in song, dance, and play, as I shall recount. Desiring a son, the king had offered his own flesh and blood into the sacred fire. For the sake of a son, he also offered his semen and many-hued cows, as has been heard in tradition.