Let us listen, with reverence, to the ancient teaching as it unfolds. The earth, it is said, is like a great vessel—its very ground forms the base, solid and undecaying. The directions—east, south, west, north—are garlands adorning this vessel, while the sky is its open mouth above. In this vessel, which is the earth itself, all things are contained. Within this vessel, the directions have their own sacred names: the east is known as the Ladle, the south as Sahamānā, the west as Rājñī, the north as Subhūtā, and the upward direction as Udīcī. Among these, air is the calf—sustaining, moving, and vital. Whoever knows air as the calf of the directions is not overcome by grief for sons, for air connects and enlivens all. Thus, those who understand this pray: “May I, knowing air as the calf of the directions, not weep for sons.” Seeking refuge, one turns to this flawless vessel, saying, “With this, I take refuge in the breath; with this, I take refuge in Bhūḥ (earth); with this, I take refuge in Bhuvaḥ (atmosphere); with this, I take refuge in Svaḥ (heaven).” This is repeated, affirming the seeking of shelter in these sacred realms. When one says, “I take refuge in the breath,” it is understood that all that exists is breath. Whatever there is, by this knowledge, one attains it. When one says, “I take refuge in Bhūḥ,” one takes refuge in the earth, the atmosphere, and the heavens. When one says, “I take refuge in Bhuvaḥ,” one takes refuge in fire, wind, and the sun. And when one says, “I take refuge in Svaḥ,” one takes refuge in the Ṛgveda, Yajurveda, and Sāmaveda—the sacred knowledge itself. Now, consider the person as a sacrifice. His first twenty-four years are likened to the morning pressing of the soma ritual; the Gāyatrī meter, with its twenty-four syllables, echoes this, and the Vasus—deities of light—are connected to it. In truth, the breaths are the Vasus, for they cause all things to dwell and abide. If, during this period of life, any illness should arise, he prays: “Breaths, Vasus, may this morning pressing, this midday pressing, continue for me; may I not, among the breaths, the Vasus, destroy the sacrifice.” With this prayer, he rises and is freed from illness. His next forty-four years are the midday pressing, corresponding to the Triṣṭubh meter with its forty-four syllables. Here, the Rudras are connected, and again, the breaths are the Rudras, for they cause all things to cry out. Should affliction arise, he prays: “Breaths, Rudras, may this midday pressing, this third pressing, continue for me; may I not, among the breaths, the Rudras, destroy the sacrifice.” He rises, freed from illness. The third pressing, spanning forty-eight years, is linked to the Jagatī meter and the Ādityas, the solar deities. The breaths are the Ādityas, for they take up all things. In case of affliction, one prays: “Breaths, Ādityas, may this third pressing, this life, continue for me; may I not, among the breaths, the Ādityas, destroy the sacrifice.” And thus, one rises, freed from illness. This secret was once spoken by Mahidāsa Aitareya, a knower of truth: “What affliction can touch me, who will not be commanded by this?” He lived one hundred and sixteen years, and so may one who knows thus live such a span. Turning to the path of discipline, when one refrains from eating, drinking, or pleasure, these are his initiations. When he eats, drinks, and delights, he approaches the offerings. When he laughs, plays, or unites with another, he approaches the hymns and chants. Austerity, giving, uprightness, non-injury, and truthfulness—these are his gifts. Whether he eats or not, that is his regeneration; his death is his final bath. This teaching was given by Ghora Āṅgirasa to Kṛṣṇa, son of Devakī, saying: “Thirst alone remained for him.” At the final moment, one should hold these three thoughts: “You are undecaying, you are unfallen, you are established in breath.” There, two verses are recited: “From the ancient seed, as it rises beyond the darkness, they behold the highest light, the highest heaven, the highest deity. There, among the gods, we have reached the sun, the supreme light. Thus: the supreme light.” Let one meditate upon the mind as Brahman—this is the teaching regarding the self. Regarding the gods, let one meditate upon space as Brahman. Both are prescribed—concerning the self and the gods. This four-footed Brahman has, for the self: speech, breath, eye, and ear as its four supports. For the gods: fire, wind, sun, and directions. Thus, both are prescribed. Speech is the fourth foot of Brahman, shining and burning with the light of fire, with fame, glory, and the radiance of Brahman—so knows the knower. Breath is the fourth foot, shining with the light of wind. The eye is the fourth foot, shining with the light of the sun. The ear is the fourth foot, shining with the light of the directions. Each shines and burns with the radiance of Brahman for the one who knows. Now, the teaching is: the sun is Brahman. In the beginning, there was nothing. From this non-existence, existence arose, and an egg was produced. It rested for a year and then split open. From the two halves of the shell, silver and gold arose—the silver became earth, and the gold became the sky. Old age became the mountains; wool became the clouds and mist; the rivers flowed, and the ocean was the moisture. That which was born is the sun. As it was born, sounds and cries arose; all beings and desires followed it. Thus, at sunrise and sunset, sounds and cries arise, and all beings and desires follow. Whoever knows and worships the sun as Brahman, if noble sounds approach him, they come near and salute him. Now, there was a generous and renowned man named Jānaśruti Pautrāyaṇa, famed for his hospitality. He ensured that food was provided everywhere, thinking, “Let there be food everywhere for me.” One night, swans flew by. One called to another, “Ho, Bhallākṣa! The radiance of Jānaśruti Pautrāyaṇa shines equally by day. Do not surpass it, do not diminish it.” The other replied, “Who is this, whose radiance you compare to Raikva, the cart-dweller?” Who, then, is Raikva? Just as the lower parts follow a chariot when it is won, so all things follow Raikva. Whatever good people do, whoever knows this, whatever he knows, that is what has been spoken. Jānaśruti overheard this and was troubled. He asked his steward, “Who is this Raikva, the cart-dweller, whose radiance you compare?” Again, who is Raikva? The steward searched but could not find him. He returned and said, “Wherever there is a search for a Brahmin, honor him there.” The steward found a man sitting beside a leprous sore under a cart and addressed him, “You, revered one, are Raikva with the cart yoked.” The man replied, “I am indeed without the yoke.” The servant recognized him and returned. Then Jānaśruti, the grandson of Pautra, took six hundred cows, a necklace, and a chariot drawn by mules, and set out with them. He approached Raikva and addressed him thus. Thus, the teaching flows from the vessel of earth, through the directions and the breaths, through the sacrifice of life, through discipline and knowledge, to the recognition of the sun as Brahman, and finally to the humble seeking of wisdom from the knower, Raikva the cart-dweller.