Here and there, beings wander—decaying, vanishing, and arising anew—like lightning-flowers that bloom and fade upon the endless creepers stretching across the directions, or like cloud-shoots stirred at the end of the wind. The vast paths of the ocean, the earth, and the sky are adorned with brilliant rows of celestial cities, blooming gardens, and flying palaces, shining with a radiance all their own. In other worlds, gods, demons, humans, and serpents gather together in throngs, humming and murmuring like swarms of gnats upon fig trees. Meanwhile, time moves on unnoticed, marked by ages, aeons, moments, instants, and even the smallest fractions—ever flowing, always awaiting the dissolution of all things. Beholding all this with the pure and supreme light of my own being, I was filled with wonder and astonishment. I thought, “What is this? How can this be?” For with these eyes of flesh I see nothing at all, and yet, within the sky of the mind, I perceive this incomparable web of illusion. So, for a long time I observed with my mind from that sky, gazing upon this net of worlds. At last, I summoned the radiant Sun from within that vast net and questioned him. “Come, Lord of gods, O radiant Sun of great brilliance! Welcome to you,” I said, honoring him. Then I asked, “Who are you? How did this one world, or these many worlds, come into being? If you know, O Blessed One, O faultless one, please tell me this.” Thus addressed, the Sun recognized me. Bowing before me, he replied with words beyond reproach: “Though you have always attained the cause behind this visible phantom, why do you not know? Why do you ask me, O Lord? Yet, if in the play of your words, O all-knowing one, you wish now to hear, then listen—I shall tell you. “The mind of the great soul, which here shines as the very Self of the Lord, is extended by the divisions of time into existence and non-existence. It is woven by intricate constructions, giving rise to confusion and the burden of illusion’s fragmentation. “O Mahadeva, once, in the day called ‘imagination,’ at the foot of Mount Kailāsa, in a single corner of Jambudvīpa, there was a realm called Suvarṇajāta—established by your sons and their offspring, splendid, exceedingly pleasant, and beautiful. “In that place lived a supremely virtuous Brahmin named Indu, foremost in knowledge of Brahman, of exceedingly peaceful nature, and born in the lineage of Kashyapa. Though he dwelled always among his own people, he was childless—like a blade of grass in a desert. His wife, upright, fair, and pure, did not shine, for she was fruitless, like an empty creeper. “Distressed for the sake of a child, the two ascended the slopes of Mount Kailāsa to practice austerity, like two trees growing upon a forest’s edge. In a secluded grove, untouched by other beings, they performed severe penance, standing by a tree and subsisting on water alone—drinking but a single cup each day, motionless, living as the trees do. “Thus they stood, living the life of forest trees, until both the Treta and Dvapara ages had passed. At last, the god with the crescent moon upon his brow—Shiva himself—became pleased with them, as the moon delights water lilies scorched by the sun. He came to the place where the Brahmin couple practiced, a land lush with creepers and trees, like the lord of the stars approaching a bed of lotuses. “The couple beheld Soma, adorned with the crescent moon, riding his bull, his face radiant like the full moon shining upon water lilies. They bowed to that god, pure as frost, lord of all, risen like the full moon over heaven and earth. Dispelling the gentle sound of the wind in the bamboo grove, Shiva, with a soft and radiant smile, spoke to them: “‘O Brahmin, quickly accept a boon of your choosing; I am pleased with you. Rejoice, like a grove of trees filled with the essence of spring!’ “The Brahmin replied, ‘O Lord, God of gods, may I have ten sons of great intelligence and good fortune, so that sorrow may not afflict me.’ “‘So be it,’ said the Lord, and vanished from sight, like a great wave sounding in the sky and sea. “Filled with joy, the couple returned home, shining like the divine pair Uma and Maheshvara in the heavens. There, the Brahmin woman conceived a noble child; her full, dark form glowed like a rain-laden cloud in the sky. In due time, she gave birth to ten sons, tender as the waxing moon—innocent boys, fresh as new shoots in spring. “The boys underwent the sacred rites and grew quickly in strength and brilliance, like new clouds swelling in the rainy season. By the age of seven, they had become learned, shining with radiance like spotless planets in the sky. After many years, their parents, accomplished in the path, left their bodies and attained their destined state. “Bereft of mother and father, the ten Brahmin brothers left their home and journeyed to the peak of Mount Kailāsa. There, troubled in mind, they began to reflect among themselves: ‘What might be the highest good here?’ They asked one another, ‘What is proper, brothers? What is free from sorrow? What is true greatness, great lordship, or great and auspicious prosperity? How limited is this lack of sovereignty! For vassals rule for a long time, but what indeed is the wealth of vassals? Kings are the great lords.’ “Thus, O Lord, the mind, extended by time and illusion, weaves the worlds and the destinies of beings, and so their story unfolds.