The sages gathered and began to reflect together: “What is the true wealth of kings?” they asked. “Here, the emperor stands as the great lord. But what is the true wealth of emperorship? Indra himself is the great lord here.” Their inquiry deepened: “But what of Indra’s state, which endures only for a fleeting moment in the day of Brahmā? Is there anything that does not perish, even in the span of an eon? Might that alone be the true good?” As they pondered these questions, the eldest among the brothers, a man of profound wisdom and measured speech, addressed them with the calm authority of a stag guiding his herd. He said, “Brothers, among all forms of lordship that must perish at the end of an age, only the state of Brahmā calls to me. I desire no other.” Hearing this, all the noble sons of the twice-born, the best among their peers, praised the lunar sages present, exclaiming, “Well said! Well said!” They then turned to their father and asked, “Father, how does this lotus posture, so revered throughout the world, remove all suffering and lead one to the state of Brahmā?” Their eldest brother, radiant with inner brilliance, spoke again: “Sirs, let all of you faithfully observe everything I have taught. Seated in the lotus posture, contemplate deeply: ‘I am Brahmā, radiant.’ Let your meditation endure: ‘I create, I dissolve.’” Having heard these instructions, the excellent brothers accepted them with firm resolve. Their minds absorbed in meditation, they remained together with their elder brother, turning their awareness inward. These ten, engaged in the work of scribes, sat in deep contemplation, their thoughts fixed within. Within themselves, they reflected: “Seated upon a seat raised by the whorl of a fully blossomed lotus, I am Brahmā—the creator, the maker, the enjoyer, the great Lord of the world. Endowed with the order of sacrificial rites, with all their limbs and sub-rites, these foremost Vedas, united with Sarasvatī and Gāyatrī, possess great powers. This sphere, traversed by the guardians of the worlds and perfected beings, is adorned with exuberant fortune and embellished by the gods of heaven. This earth, blue and encircled like an earring for the three worlds, is beautifully decorated with mountains, islands, and oceans. This cavern of Pātāla is the dwelling of demons, danavas, and serpents; it is a deep and hidden abode, crowded with those who drink nectar. This Indra, mighty-armed and adorned with the thunderbolt, alone protects the city of the three worlds, enjoying the offerings of purifying sacrifices. These radiant suns, with their blazing rays, seem to embrace the quarters; one after another, they shine forth with abundant brilliance. These guardians of the worlds protect the realm with unshaken resolve, maintaining boundaries like cowherds guarding their herd. All these beings rise, sink, shimmer, and fall in every direction, like waves upon water. I create this world, I dissolve it as is fitting; I abide in myself and become tranquil, the lord of the earth. This year has passed, this age has come to completion; this creation, this time, and this is the period of dissolution. Today this kalpa has ended, and this is the night of Brahmā; I remain established in the Self, the complete Self, the Supreme Lord.” Thus, with minds absorbed in such contemplation, the ten sons of Indu withdrew from all external activity, standing motionless as if carved from stone. By attaining the lotus seat, their web of trivial activities dissolved; ever seated, shaped by the posture as an elephant is guided by a goad, they shone for a long time in the imagination of the lotus. Within that noble lineage, they remained steadfast in concentration, their minds seized by devotion to these actions. As long as their bodies endured, they withered under heat and wind, like lotus petals severed in summer. In the forest, carnivorous creatures consumed those bodies, scattered here and there like monkeys with ripe fruit. Yet, with all external objects pacified, their minds established in Brahman, they remained thus until the end of the four yugas, until the kalpa reached its close. When the cycle waned, the sun blazed fiercely, the clouds thundered harshly and poured torrents of rain; even as the hosts of beings diminished, those ten remained just as they were. Today, when one awakens and seeks to perceive the cycle of existence, by his own sequence, those ten remain unchanged. “O venerable Brahman,” it was said, “these are the ten Brāhmaṇas of Brahmā; these ten worlds of transmigration are established in the sky of the mind. Of these, I am one—the sky-temple. O Lord, the sun on earth is engaged in the acts of time and its divisions. Thus, O lotus-born, I have described to you the creation of the ten Brāhmaṇas, their origin in the sky—do as you wish. All this highest world, with its various imaginations and veiled sky, arisen and enchanted by a net of rays, is entirely a play of your own mind.” Having thus declared, “O Brāhmaṇa, the sun is of Brahman,” and, “O Brahman, he is mine,” the best of knowers of Brahman became silent. Then, after pondering deeply for a long time, I said to him: “O Sun, O radiant one, speak quickly—what else should I create? Surely, there are said to be ten worlds existing—what further purpose is there for me in creation? Tell me, O Sun. For you, O Lord, who are without desire and without intention, what use is there in creation? This creation is merely a diversion for you, O Lord of the universe. Indeed, O Lord, your creation arises only from absence of desire—just as water reflects the sun, or as the mind reflects an image.