Though you have always attained the very source behind this visible world, why do you not know it? Why do you ask me, O Lord? Yet, if in the context of my words, your divine play, O all-knowing one, has arisen in this way, then listen—I shall tell you. The mind of the great soul, radiant here as the very Self of the Lord, is stretched and shaped by the divisions of time—manifesting as existence and non-existence. Through intricate constructions, this mind becomes burdened and fragmented by illusion, causing confusion. O Mahadeva, listen: In the day called 'imagination', at the foot of Mount Kailāsa, in one corner of Jambudvīpa, there existed a realm named Suvarṇajata. This land, established by your sons and their descendants, was splendid, exceedingly pleasant, and beautiful. In that place lived a supremely righteous Brahmin, foremost in the knowledge of Brahman, named Indu. He was of exceedingly peaceful nature and born in the lineage of Kashyapa. Though he dwelled happily among his own people, he had no child—like a blade of grass growing in a desert. His wife, upright, fair, and pure, did not shine, for she was fruitless in bloom, like an empty creeper. Distressed by their lack of children, the couple ascended the slopes of Mount Kailāsa to perform austerities, like two trees clinging to the side of a forested mountain. In a secluded grove on Kailāsa, empty and uninhabited by other beings, they began severe penances, subsisting only on water and standing by a tree. Each day, they drank but a single cup of water, remaining motionless—sustaining themselves as trees do. Thus, living the life of forest trees, they stood there through the passage of both the Treta and Dvapara ages. In time, the god adorned with the crescent moon—Shiva—became pleased with their devotion, just as the moon delights water lilies scorched by the sun’s heat. Shiva came to the place where the Brahmin couple stood, a land filled with creepers and trees, appearing like the lord of stars approaching a bed of lotuses. The couple beheld Soma, adorned with the crescent moon, riding his bull, his face radiant as the full moon shining upon water lilies. They bowed to that god, pure as frost, lord of all, who had risen like a full moon over both heaven and earth. Dispelling even the gentle sounds of the wind in the fresh 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, as 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 never afflict me.” Shiva replied, “So be it,” and vanished from sight, like a great wave disappearing into the sky and sea. Thereafter, the joyful couple, blessed by Shiva’s boon, returned home, shining like the divine pair Uma and Maheshvara in the heavens. In due time, the Brahmin woman became pregnant with a noble child; her full, dark form shone like a rain-laden cloud streaking across the sky. In time, she gave birth to ten sons as tender as the waxing moon—innocent boys, fresh as new shoots upon the earth in spring. The boys underwent the sacred rites and grew in strength and brilliance, quickly, like new clouds swelling in the rainy season. By the age of seven, they became learned in knowledge and shone with radiance, like spotless planets in the sky. After a long time, their parents, skilled in the spiritual path, left their bodies and attained their destined state. The ten Brahmin brothers, bereft of mother and father, left their home behind and journeyed to the peak of Mount Kailāsa. There, troubled in mind, they began to reflect together: “What might be the highest good here?” Thus they spoke among themselves. “What is truly 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 may rule for a long time, but what is the wealth of vassals? Kings are the great lords. Yet what is the wealth of kings? The emperor is the great lord here. But what is the wealth of emperorship? Indra is the great lord. What, then, is the state of Indra, which endures only for a moment of Brahmā’s day? What does not perish even in an eon—might that be the true good here?” As they spoke thus, the eldest brother, wise and deep of speech, addressed them as a stag addresses a herd of deer. “Brothers, among all forms of lordship that perish at the end of an age, only the state of Brahmā appeals to me—not any other.” Hearing this, all the sons of the twice-born, the best among them, praised these lunar sages, saying, “Well done, well done!” And they asked, “Brother, how does this lotus posture, revered by the world, remove all suffering and lead to the state of Brahmā?” Their eldest, full of brilliance, replied, “Let all of you, sirs, faithfully observe everything I have said. Seated in the lotus posture, with the mind contemplating ‘I am Brahmā, radiant,’ let your meditation for a long time be: ‘I create, I dissolve.’” When this was declared, those excellent ones accepted it firmly. Their minds absorbed in meditation, they remained together with their elder brother. Thus, those ten, engaged in the work of scribes, absorbed in meditation, with their minds turned inward, respectfully contemplated within themselves.