Encircled by the vast, luminous ocean of milk, there lies a sacred domain with its sovereign at the center, surrounded by the radiant island known as Śveta and attended by its elemental counterparts. Beyond this, the earth itself is girdled by a ring of clarified butter, within which are found the celestial dwellings, the immense expanse of Kuśa island forming its radius, and within it, vast mountain caverns. Further still, the land is bordered by an ocean of curds, containing moving cities, shaped like the eastern reaches of the great Śāka island, and holding within it many inner realms. Encircling this is the ocean of brine, whose shores are lined with inner cities and mountains, and at the heart of all stands the mighty Meru of Jambudvīpa, crowded with its family of mountains. It is said that, at the beginning, driven by powerful gusts of wind, this landmass falls and is tossed about by the air, moving gradually onward, carried by that very force. Thus, the wind, observing all of Jambudvīpa, beheld its wonders and journeyed to the summit of the Himalayas, where the ascetic Sūcī was immersed in intense austerity. On that lofty, formidable peak, the wind found her—the forest-dwelling Sūcī—spread out in the second sky, untouched by the actions of living beings. No grass yet grew there, for the summit was so close to the sun that only dust pervaded it, reminiscent of the very fabric of saṃsāra itself. The place appeared like a river of mirage, filled as if with the waters of an ocean, arching like Indra’s bow, shimmering as a stream of illusion. Its edges seemed boundless, and even the guardians of the world, when they beheld it, saw only a whirling dance of dust, stirred by the restless wind. The summit was smeared with the saffron rays of the sun, adorned with the sandalwood-like beams of the moon; it shone like a celestial maiden, her song carried on the cooling wind through the sky. The wind, weary from his long journey, wandered the earth, which bears the marks of the seven continents and oceans, and finally settled upon the highest mountain, his vast form stretching across the endless directions, like a swarm of bees settling in the sky. There, atop the great mountain’s forested peak, the wind beheld, at its center, a slender, needle-like figure rising up, as if crowned with a tuft. This was Sūcī, practicing austerity on one foot, enduring heat for ages, always fasting, her body dried and shriveled from her penance. With a single, wide-open mouth, she would draw in the wind, then release it, never letting it leave her heart, repeating this ceaselessly. Battered by fierce sun rays, worn by the forest winds, unmoving from her spot, she was bathed by the gentle beams of the moon. Once, when the mind is established by even a single atom of passion and perceives fulfillment, it allows no other desire to take root. She was like one who offers water to a thirsty soul in the wilderness, or one whose hair has grown wild with time, or one whose breath is gathered atop the head like tangled locks. Seeing this needle-like ascetic, the wind, filled with astonishment, bowed and watched her conduct, standing before her in awe and reverence, unable to speak, overwhelmed by her radiant energy. He thought, “O great ascetic needle, for what purpose do you perform such austerity?” But words failed him. Marveling at the profound austerity of the venerable needle, the wind departed into the sky, leaping over the paths of clouds, passing beyond the currents of wind, leaving the hosts of siddhas below, and approaching the path of the sun. Ascending ever higher, he reached the inner city of Indra; Purandara, king of the gods, embraced him, rejoicing in the merit of having witnessed the ascetic needle. When questioned by Indra and Sahadeva’s retinue, the wind began to recount all he had seen: “In Jambudvīpa stands the great mountain Himavat, lofty and vast, whose son-in-law is the blessed one crowned with the crescent moon. On its northern high peak dwells a most beautiful ascetic woman, Sūcī by name, engaged in severe austerities. Why say more? To overcome the hunger caused by wind and such, she has closed the cavity of her stomach, compressing it tightly. To calm contraction and for warmth, she opens her mouth and, by inhaling dust particles, blocks the cold wind and hunger. Through her intense austerity, she has abandoned the nature of cold and taken on the nature of fire, making her difficult even for the gods to approach. Therefore, let us all quickly go to the grandsire, Brahmā; for her severe austerity is for the sake of a boon, which may bring misfortune.” Thus urged by the wind, Indra, with the assembly of gods, journeyed to the world of Brahmā and sought the lord. Sūcī herself declared, “I am going to the summit of Himavat to receive a boon from Brahmā.” When Brahmā agreed, Indra returned to heaven. In due course, Sūcī, the needle, was purified, scorched by her own ascetic heat, and took her place among the immortals. Her eyes shone like sunbeams through the eye of a needle, and with her own clear shadow, she gazed in wonder at the ever-changing world, from beginning to end. With a silken needle, she surpassed even Mount Meru in steadiness, and, like an old woman, she was skilled in immersing herself at the beginning and end of each day. At midday, fearing the heat, she would enter her mother’s interior; at other times, out of respect, she would watch from a distance with a reverent gaze. When watched by that eye, she would plunge her body into the heat; in distress, people forget the proper respect due to dignity. With her shadow-needle, her ascetic-needle, and herself as the third, she formed a sacred triangle, sanctified by her austerity, making it equal to Varanasi itself. By that triangle, bordered by three-colored moats, even the winds and dust attained supreme liberation. Having realized the ultimate cause, one is born through self-awareness and reflection; according to one’s own contemplation and reasoning, here truly the supreme teacher is the Self—there is no other, O Raghava.