Sustained by a single cup of water each day, the devoted brahmin couple stood motionless, living in perfect stillness and simplicity, following the way of the trees. Their lives mirrored the silent endurance of the forest, and thus they remained—rooted and steadfast—through the passing of both the Treta and Dvapara ages. In time, their unwavering asceticism pleased the divine god whose brow bears the crescent moon. Just as the cool moon brings delight to water lilies scorched by the sun, so too did Shiva’s grace descend upon them. Moved by their devotion, Shiva himself came to that forest grove, a place lush with creepers and trees, appearing like the lord of the stars gliding to a bed of lotuses. There, the couple beheld Soma—Shiva—adorned with the crescent moon, riding his bull, his face radiant as the full moon shining upon night-blooming lilies. Overwhelmed by his presence, pure as frost and resplendent as the risen moon over heaven and earth, they bowed reverently to the great lord of all. As the gentle whisper of wind through the bamboo grove faded, Shiva, his face adorned with a soft and radiant smile, spoke kindly to them: “O brahmin, choose a boon and accept it quickly, for I am pleased with you. Rejoice, as trees rejoice when filled with the essence of spring.” With folded hands, the brahmin replied, “O Lord, God of gods, may I be blessed with ten sons of great intelligence and good fortune, so that sorrow may never afflict me.” Shiva, ever compassionate, replied, “So be it,” and vanished from sight, like a mighty wave dissolving into the vastness of sky and sea. Filled with joy at Shiva’s blessing, the couple returned home, shining with the radiance of Uma and Maheshvara themselves. In due time, the brahmin woman became pregnant; her form, full and dark, gleamed like a rain-laden cloud streaking across the sky. In the fullness of time, she gave birth to ten sons—each as tender and luminous as the waxing moon, fresh as new shoots rising from the earth in spring. The boys underwent sacred rites and grew swiftly in strength and brilliance, swelling like new clouds in the rainy season. By the time they reached their seventh year, they had mastered knowledge and shone with a pure radiance, like spotless planets in the night sky. Years passed, and eventually their parents, accomplished in the path, peacefully left their bodies and attained their destined state. Bereft of mother and father, the ten brothers left their home behind and journeyed together to the lofty peak of Mount Kailāsa. There, troubled in mind, the brothers gathered to reflect: “What might be the highest good in this world?” they pondered together. “Brothers, what is proper here? What is free from sorrow? What is true greatness, true lordship, or the highest prosperity?” They questioned the value of limited sovereignty, remarking, “Even vassals 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 surpasses them. And above emperors, Indra is the great lord here. But even Indra’s state lasts only for a moment in Brahmā’s day. What, then, endures beyond an eon—might that be the true good?” As they spoke thus, the eldest brother, wise and deep in thought, addressed them, guiding his siblings as a stag might guide his herd. “Brothers,” he said, “among all forms of lordship that perish at the end of an age, only the state of Brahmā appeals to me. None other is worth seeking.” Hearing this, the other brothers—the best among the twice-born—praised their elder, exclaiming, “Well done, well done!” They inquired, “Tell us, how does this lotus posture, revered by the world, remove all suffering and lead to the state of Brahmā?” The eldest, endowed with great brilliance, replied, “Let all of you, sirs, faithfully observe what I have said. Seated in the lotus posture, meditate upon the thought, ‘I am Brahmā, radiant.’ Let your contemplation be: ‘I create, I dissolve.’ Hold this meditation for a long time.” Accepting his words with firm resolve, the ten brothers sat together, their minds absorbed in meditation. They became as one with their elder brother, their attention turned inward, respectfully contemplating within themselves. In their meditation, they envisioned: “Seated upon a throne raised by the whorl of a fully-blossomed lotus, I am Brahmā—the creator, the maker, the enjoyer, the great Lord of the world.” Their contemplation embraced the sequence of sacrificial rites, complete with all limbs and sub-rites, and the foremost Vedas, united with Sarasvatī and Gāyatrī, all endowed with great powers. They saw the sphere of the world, traversed by the guardians of the directions and perfected beings, adorned with exuberant fortune and embellished by the gods. The earth itself appeared to them, blue and encircled like an earring for the three worlds, beautifully decorated with mountains, islands, and oceans. They beheld the cavern of Pātāla, home to demons, danavas, and serpents—a deep, hidden abode crowded with nectar-drinkers. They saw mighty Indra, adorned with the thunderbolt, alone protecting the city of the three worlds and enjoying the offerings of purifying sacrifices. The radiant suns, with their blazing rays, seemed to embrace the quarters, shining forth one after another with abundant brilliance. The guardians of the worlds maintained order with steadfast conduct, preserving boundaries like cowherds guarding their herd. All beings, they perceived, rise and fall, shimmer and sink in every direction, like waves upon water. In this deep meditation, they realized: “I create this world, I dissolve it as is fitting; I abide in myself and become tranquil, the lord of the earth.” Thus, through their great devotion, wisdom, and meditation, the ten brothers attained the highest realization, their minds united with the state of Brahmā, untouched by sorrow, sovereign over all creation.