In the vast cycles of time, beginning with Swayambhuva and continuing through the line of Manus, there have been many ages, each presided over by a Manu. Of these, the seventh Manu, known as Vaivasvata, now reigns over the world. In every Manvantara, the great events of creation and dissolution unfold in their own time, and the wise reflect upon these patterns with understanding. When the previous kalpa, or world-age, drew to its close, the inexorable wind of time began its work. The roots of the trees in the forests were torn up, and the fragile worlds—no stronger than blades of grass—were consumed by the fire of dissolution. After the fires had raged, torrents of rain fell upon the earth, causing the oceans to swell and overflow their bounds. As the waters rose, surging and swirling with powerful waves, they submerged the directions and engulfed everything. In the midst of this fierce dance of the floodwaters, Brahma, assuming the form of Narayana, reclined upon the cosmic waters and entered a deep, peaceful sleep. At that time, a sacred mantra was recited in honor of Narayana. O best of sages, this verse reveals its meaning through its very syllables: the waters are called ‘Nara,’ and, being the offspring of Nara, they are his resting place. Thus, he is remembered as Narayana, the one who rests upon the waters. The accomplished ones, the siddhas and other beings dwelling in the worlds, joined their hands in reverence and beheld the Lord of the gods absorbed in the yogic sleep of Shiva. When dawn arrived, the gods awakened him with hymns of praise, just as the ancient Vedas had once roused the Lord at the beginning of creation. Awakened, Narayana rose from his couch upon the waters. His gaze swept in all directions, his eyes still heavy with the residue of yogic slumber. Looking around, he saw nothing distinct from himself. Filled with wonder, he entered into profound contemplation. He pondered, “Where is that blessed, beautiful, and vast earth, adorned with great mountains, rivers, cities, and forests?” But no trace of the earth could be seen; she was lost to his sight. Remembering his father, the blessed Three-eyed One, Brahma called to mind Bhava, the god of gods, resplendent beyond measure. In that remembrance, he realized that the earth lay submerged in the cosmic waters. Desiring to rescue her, the Lord of creatures recalled the divine form of the Boar, suited for play in the waters. He assumed a form as vast as a great mountain, with a roar like thunder and a body the color of a dark blue storm-cloud, blazing with a fearsome sound. His shoulders were thick and round, his waist broad and raised, his thighs and legs short and sturdy, and his snout sharp and circular. His eyes shone like rubies—round, bright, and terrifying—while his body was long and immense, his ears stiff and radiant. His breath surged and churned the ocean of dissolution, his cheeks and shoulders trembled, and his bristles stood on end. Adorned with jeweled ornaments and great gems, he gleamed like a thundercloud lit by lightning. Assuming this immense and boundless boar form, the Creator descended into the netherworld to raise the earth. In that form, resembling a mountain, he shone exceedingly, as if he were a linga at the feet of the Great Lord. The mighty Boar then lifted the earth, which lay sunk in the waters, embraced her gently with his tusks, and rose up from the netherworld. At this wondrous sight, the sages, siddhas, and all beings rejoiced. They danced in delight and showered flowers upon the head of the great Boar. His form, covered in blossoms, shone like a dark mountain illuminated by the flicker of fireflies. Having brought the earth to her proper place, the mighty Boar resumed his own form and established her firmly. He arranged the earth and set the mountains upon her. Then, as before, he created the four worlds, beginning with Bhū. Thus, with the great earth and her mountains set above the waters of the deluge, Viśvakarman, the divine architect, again brought forth the world of moving and unmoving beings. As the Lord contemplated creation, a deep and deliberate thought arose within him. In that moment, delusion appeared in the form of darkness, enveloping his meditation. From the great soul arose darkness, delusion, great delusion, Tāmisra, Andha, and, as the fifth, ignorance itself. This fivefold creation, formed while he meditated with a sense of self, was enveloped everywhere by darkness, like a seed hidden within a pot. There was no light within or without; all was motionless and insensible. The intellect, mouths, and senses of these beings were covered, and so they are known as the chief trees—beings with covered selves. Seeing that this first creation was unproductive, Brahma became displeased. He then contemplated a second creation. From his intention arose a stream of creation with a lateral flow. In these beings, inner illumination moves sideways, and they are outwardly covered. Thus were born the beings with animal nature, who are led astray from the right path. Finding this creation too unsatisfactory, Brahma considered yet another creation. Then came the upward-flowing creation, the divine creation, marked by purity. These beings are abundant in happiness and delight, uncovered both outwardly and inwardly, radiant within and without, and thus are naturally named. From his contemplation then arose a creation with a downward flow, known as the human creation, marked by intense suffering. These beings are radiant outwardly and inwardly, yet dominated by darkness and excessive passion. Lastly, the fifth creation appeared, that of grace. Thus, the fourfold creation was established: the beings of darkness, the animals, the divine, and the human, each with their own nature and destiny, arising from the great soul’s contemplation at the dawn of the world.