Listen as I recount the story of Sāvarṇi, the illustrious son of the Sun, who, by the wondrous power of the Great Māyā, came to be known as the eighth Manu and the lord of his Manvantara. To understand his origin, let us look back to a previous age, the Svārociṣa Manvantara. In that era, there lived a king named Suratha, born into the noble lineage of Chaitra. He ruled the entire earth with justice and care, protecting his subjects as lovingly as if they were his own children. Yet, even such a virtuous king was not spared from adversity, for hostile rulers—bent on destroying his realm—rose up against him. A fierce battle ensued between Suratha and these enemies. Though the king possessed great power and his foes were fewer in number, he was defeated in that fight. Returning to his own city, Suratha tried to maintain his rule, but even there the powerful enemies continued to beset him. Wicked ministers and influential men of evil intent seized his treasury and army, leaving the now weakened king bereft of support, even in the heart of his own city. Seeing his fortunes lost, Suratha, under the pretense of going hunting, left his city alone, mounted a horse, and entered a dense and wild forest. Wandering there, he came upon the peaceful hermitage of the sage Medhas, a place adorned by devoted disciples, where even wild beasts roamed without fear. The sage received the king with honor, and Suratha stayed for some time, wandering about the tranquil hermitage. Yet, his heart remained troubled. Thoughts of his lost kingdom haunted him: “The city once protected by my ancestors, and by me, is now gone. My servants, corrupted in their conduct, may or may not rule it justly. I do not know if my chief minister, once proud and skilled in battle but now under the power of my enemies, finds any happiness. Those who were loyal to me, who brought gifts and shared their wealth and food, surely now serve other kings. With their reckless spending and improper habits, the treasury I gathered with such difficulty will soon be depleted.” While Suratha pondered these worries near the hermitage, he encountered a merchant. Approaching him, the king asked gently, “Who are you, sir, and what brings you here? Why do you appear so sorrowful and troubled in mind?” The merchant bowed respectfully and replied, “I am Samadhi, born into a wealthy family. Yet I have been cast out by my sons and wife, who, driven by greed for wealth, acted without righteousness. Deprived of my wealth, wife, and children—my property seized—I have come to this forest, sorrowful and abandoned by relatives and friends. Here, I know nothing of my sons’ welfare, nor the state of my family and wife. Are they well or suffering? Are my sons of good conduct or not?” Suratha, hearing this, asked, “Those greedy ones—your sons, wife, and others—who cast you aside for the sake of wealth, does your mind still feel affection for them?” Samadhi replied, “It is as you say; your words reflect my own thoughts. Yet what can I do? My heart does not become hard toward them. Though I was rejected by those who abandoned their love for me, my heart remains attached to my wife, family, and kin. O wise one, I do not understand this. Why does my mind remain affectionate toward relatives, even when they are unworthy? Because of them, I sigh and feel distress. What can I do, when my heart is not harsh toward those who show me no affection?” Together, the king and the merchant approached the sage Medhas. After greeting him with due respect, they sat and began to discuss their troubles. Addressing the sage, Suratha said, “Revered sir, I wish to ask you something—please tell me: why does my mind remain attached to sorrow, even though it is not under my control? Even though I have lost my kingdom and all its parts, why does the sense of ‘mine’ persist in me, as if I were ignorant, though I know the truth, O best of sages? And this merchant, deceived by his sons, abandoned by his wife and servants, and forsaken by his own people—still, his heart remains attached to them. Both of us are deeply afflicted; though we see the faults in these objects, our minds are still drawn by attachment.” “O greatly fortunate one,” Suratha continued, “what is this delusion that arises even for the wise? Why does this bewilderment of discernment, this folly, occur to me and to him? All beings possess knowledge regarding objects, yet those very objects appear differently to each being. Some living creatures are blind by day, others by night, and some perceive equally in both day and night. Humans possess knowledge, but they are not unique in this; cattle, birds, wild animals—all have knowledge, too. Whatever is similar or distinct between humans and these creatures, knowledge is found in both.” “Even with knowledge, look at the moths—how they are drawn to the flames. Out of delusion, they pursue the fire for its taste, and though tormented by hunger, they are destroyed. Humans, too, are attached to their children by desire, and out of greed, they seek reciprocation—do you not see this? Yet, caught in the whirlpool of attachment and cast into the pit of delusion by the power of the Great Māyā, which sustains the world, they remain thus.” Thus, Suratha and Samadhi, afflicted by sorrow and confusion, sought wisdom from the sage, yearning to understand the mysterious power of Māyā that binds all beings in attachment and delusion, even when they know better.