The Vedas unfold a universe that’s alive with rhythm and mystery, painting creation as an ever-turning wheel rather than a one-off event. Central to this vision is ṛta, the cosmic order that keeps sun, moon and seasons dancing in harmony—much like the data streams guiding today’s space probes. Everything from roaring rivers to whispering winds obeys this divine blueprint.

Sprouting from the Nasadīya Sūkta’s enigmatic verses, the hymn of origins, comes the idea that before time or space, existence was veiled in “neither non-being nor being.” In that silence, a spark—the Hiranyagarbha, or “golden womb”—blossoms. It’s reminiscent of modern cosmologists’ “quantum foam,” where an infinitesimal fluctuation births galaxies.

The Purusha Sukta casts the cosmos as a cosmic sacrifice: the primal Being (Purusha) is dismembered, each body part transforming into Earth, sky, sun, moon—and even social orders. This vivid metaphor still echoes in ecological discussions that stress humans as part of, not masters over, nature.

Layer upon layer, the Vedic seers sketched loka: realms of gods, humans, ancestors and demons. Earth (Pṛthvī), atmosphere (Antarikṣa) and sky (Dyáu) form a three-storey cosmos, with Mount Meru at its heart—like an axis mundi anchoring star charts and pilgrimage routes alike.

Time flows in grand cycles: day dissolves into night, seasons weave their tapestry, and yugas (ages) rise and fade. This wasn’t mere myth-making but a reflection on history’s ebb and flow—apt for a world now pondering climate rhythms and planetary boundaries.

Today’s revival of Vedic chanting, at universities and yoga studios alike, brings these ancient cosmological ideas into fresh focus. They remind that whether gazing at the Milky Way through a telescope or listening to an old Sanskrit hymn, the urge to understand our place in the vastness remains as human as ever.