A year had come to its end, and with it, an age was brought to completion. All of creation, the cycles of time, and the very fabric of existence reached the threshold of dissolution. On this day, the great kalpa itself concluded, ushering in the night of Brahma. In that profound stillness, I remained steadfast, established in the Self—the complete, all-encompassing Self, the Supreme Lord. During this time, the ten sons of Indu, their minds absorbed in deep contemplation, withdrew entirely from outward activity. They stood motionless, as if sculpted from stone, anchored in their profound inner absorption. Having attained the sequence of the lotus posture, all their trivial pursuits faded away. Seated steadfastly, their bodies worn by the discipline, they endured, shining brightly in the imagination of the lotus for a long time. In that lineage of the progenitor, these ten, unwavering in their concentration, stood with minds gripped by their chosen actions, wholly devoted. As the years passed and their bodies endured the hardships of heat and wind, they withered like lotus petals severed and left to dry in the summer sun. Wild forest creatures came and consumed their bodies, scattering the remains here and there, much like monkeys with ripe fruit. Yet, with all external distractions stilled and their minds anchored in Brahman, these ten remained in that state through the passing of the four great ages, until the kalpa itself drew to a close. As the cycle waned, the sun blazed fiercely, clouds thundered and poured torrential rain, cosmic winds swept the land, and the great ocean endured—even as the multitude of beings diminished, these ten remained unchanged, steadfast in their state. Even now, when one awakens and seeks to perceive the great cycle of existence, through the natural sequence of things, these ten remain just as they were. O venerable Brahman, these are the ten Brāhmaṇas of Brahmā. The ten worlds of transmigration are established within the vast sky of the mind. Among these ten, I am one—the sky-temple. O Lord, the sun on earth continues to perform the acts of time and its divisions. Thus, O lotus-born, I have described to you the creation of the ten Brāhmaṇas and their origin in the sky. Now, do as you wish. All of this highest world, with its many imaginings and the veiled expanse of the sky, woven and enchanted by a net of radiant rays, is entirely a play of your own mind. Having spoken these words—"O Brāhmaṇa, the sun is of Brahman," and, "O Brahman, he is mine"—that best of knowers of Brahman then fell silent. After pondering deeply within myself, I addressed him: "O Sun, O radiant one, speak quickly—what else should I create? Surely, it is said that ten worlds exist. What further purpose remains for me in creation? Tell me, O Sun. For you, O Lord, who are without desire or intention, what use is there in creation? This creation is but a diversion for you, O Lord of the universe. Indeed, O Lord, your creation arises only from the absence of desire—just as water reflects the sun, or the mind reflects an image. When attachment to bodily form is abandoned, and passion and opinion are set aside, O Blessed One, the desireless mind neither craves nor rejects. Thus, O Lord of beings, you create this world only for your own divine play, manifesting and dissolving it again and again, just as the sun brings forth and withdraws the day. For you, it is always solely for unattached play that this is to be done—this world is not born of intense desire, but simply because it is to be done. You do not create the world as a personal daily task; having abandoned obligatory action, what new result could you possibly seek? One should always perform what is to be done as it arises, without attachment, like a flawless mirror reflecting images. Just as a wise person has no desire while acting, so too the wise remain free of desire even in inaction. Therefore, with a mind like dreamless sleep—free from longing—act as situations present themselves, whether in waking or in sleep. O Lord, the world finds its satisfaction through the creations of the mind-born sons of the moon; their creations bring them fulfillment, but not to you, O Lord of gods. You perceive these creations with the eye of the mind, not with the physical eye; and who, not seeing with the eye, can know that creation has arisen? By the very mind with which creation was fashioned, O Supreme Lord, that alone perceives it through the physical eye, not otherwise. No one is able to destroy these ten cycles of worldly existence, born of the dust of the senses, for they endure long, sustained by the strength of the mind. What is done by the organs of action can indeed be restrained, but no one can restrain what is determined by the mind. O Brahman, the resolve that has become firmly fixed in a person's mind cannot be undone except by that very resolve itself, not by any other means. Whatever has been cultivated in the mind with strong determination over a long time does not perish—not even by a curse, nor even when the body is destroyed. Whatever form is firmly seated in the mind, that alone does a person become here, and nothing else. Apart from awakening to this truth, I consider all other methods as fruitless as trying to move a mountain. It is said that long ago, O Deva, there was a king among the Magadhas named Indradyumna, famed as another Indradyumna. His queen, Ahalya, was lotus-eyed and radiant, her beauty rivaling that of Rohini to the moon. In the same city, there lived a powerful and wealthy young Brahmin named Indra, who also bore that illustrious name. One day, during a conversation, Queen Ahalya heard that in a former time, Indra himself had desired her. Upon hearing this, Ahalya became enamored with Indra, her heart filled with longing, and she wondered why that Indra did not come to her.