Spread vast across a hundred thousand yojanas lay the earth, crowded with countless particles of dust and made steady by the careful arrangement of many regions, its surface gently moistened by the dew. Encircling this continent, at twice its size, was a ring formed by the salt ocean, stretching outward like a curved forearm and binding the land within its embrace. Beyond this, again twice as large, another ring appeared, shaped like a bracelet and filled with the waters of Śākadvīpa, spreading out like the very tendrils of the world. Further still, yet another ring, twice as great, surrounded the previous realms, this one filled with the cool, fresh milk-ocean. Beyond it, again twice the size, was a ring adorned with many peoples, known as the Kuśadvīpa. Encircling all, and twice as vast again, flowed the curd-ocean, ever nourishing the hosts of gods who dwelled nearby. Then came a ring of Krauñcadvīpa, equal in measure, enclosed by the Khātakhada, resembling a newly built royal city. Beyond this, a ring of the ghee-ocean of the same measure, and further still, the Śalmalidvīpa, inhabited by immortals. Next appeared the great ocean of the gods, white as blossoming flowers, and with the body of Śeṣa himself, it seemed as if the very form of Hari had manifested there. Beyond this, a ring of Gomedaka island, equal in measure, and then a ring of pure sugarcane, as pristine as the snowy slopes of the Himalayas. Next lay the Puṣkara island, twice as large as before, followed by a vast sweet-water ocean of matching size. Among these seven oceanic rings, in the southwestern direction, the world was marked by droplets of blazing fire from submarine volcanoes, burning like fuel amid the waters. Beyond all these, an expanse ten times a crore in extent shone with the radiance of heated gold—curved, splendid, and fit for the enjoyment of celestial beings. Thus, according to the measure of the seven islands, oceans, and golden earths, the world extended ten times further below, reaching all the way to the realm of Pātāla. There, a deeply embedded ring rose high, resembling a mass of caverns, winding along the path to the netherworld, its nature truly terrifying. Above all this, ten times higher, stretched the sky with all four directions, formidable with its own cavernous masses. Adorned like a garland of blue lotuses—half-withered and shadowed in darkness—the sky sparkled with jeweled peaks, lilies, lotuses, and water-lilies. Encircling all was the vast mountain range of Lokāloka, its lofty summits resembling the twisted locks of fortune for the three worlds. Beyond even this, and tenfold greater in essence, lay a mysterious forest called “the wanderer of unknown beings,” which guarded all creation. Further still, spreading in all directions, was an expanse like pure water filling the sky. Surrounding all, a mass of blazing flames burned, fierce enough to melt even the mighty Meru and other mountains. Beyond, a force moved even Meru and the immovable as easily as blades of grass or specks of dust. All around, the world was surrounded by wind—so powerful it could split mountains and carry fire, yet silent in its emptiness. Beyond this, tenfold greater, the all-encompassing sky extended, empty and of a single nature. Finally, with a hundred yojanas in extent, there was a dense, solid covering—a fragment of the cosmic egg adorned with a golden solar crest. Thus, the world—created by the oceans, great mountains, guardians of the directions, cities of the gods, sky, and earth—was observed by her. On earth, she saw the chamber of her own home. At that time, the two siddha women saw their house, a pavilion invisible to the world and a sacred seat of Brahman. It was filled with anxious servants and tear-streaked faces of women, its structure mostly ruined, resembling a lotus whose petals had withered. It looked like a city whose festivals had vanished, like the ocean after Agastya’s influence, a garden scorched by summer, or a tree struck by lightning. It was as if a cloud had been torn by the wind, a lotus burned by frost, or a lamp running out of oil—causing sorrow to all who looked upon it. The house, bereft of its lord, had become like a forest of ancient trees whose leaves had withered, the faces of its people faded near death, a region made harsh by the retreat of rain and covered in dust. Yet, through long practice of pure knowledge, that beautiful woman became filled with true resolve and desire, radiant like a goddess. She thought, “Let these relatives of mine see me now, appearing as an ordinary woman.” At that moment, all the household members saw the pair of women, shining together like Lakshmi and Gauri in a radiant abode. From head to toe, they were adorned with garlands—fresh and beautiful—resembling the joyous woodland of springtime goddesses. Their presence filled the entire village of medicinal plants with elixirs, bringing coolness, delight, and comfort—like the rising of two moons. With glances from their long, waving, vine-like hair and restless eyes, they scattered clusters of jasmine flowers mixed with blue lotuses. The radiance of their bodies flowed like rivers of molten gold, making the forest shine as if it were made of gold itself. With natural grace and playful beauty, Lakshmi’s own form seemed to move across the waves of her ocean of loveliness. Their arms moved like vines and their hands glowed red, as if scattering a new golden forest of wish-fulfilling trees.