I 

Persistent sadness surrounded the world. Everything was night, darkness, silence. The land remained desolate and without any form of life. Man and animals did not exist. Wiracocha, the God of gods, was sorry for the darkness that enveloped the world and created two suns to illuminate it from above. The two suns were called Inti and Pajsi. They say they were both beautiful, strong, and skilled; only Pajsi was more brilliant than his brother. Wiracocha ordered them to go to heaven to shine a light on the earth from above. Like obedient sons, they prepared to climb the alajpacha. But Inti was envious of Pajsi's brilliance. He was not satisfied that it illuminated more and better, that the heat it radiated was not as exhausting as his own. When Pajsi was not aware, Inti raised a handful of ashes and threw it to his face, darkening it forever. Since then, Pajsi lights dimly and only likes to go out at night. On the other hand, Inti radiates an insolent light, and its heat, when angry, burns, destroys and kills.  

II 

Wiracocha ignored the incident. He was tied up in creating the world. He created man from the stone of Komanche. Every night, taking care not to be discovered by animals, he sculpted hundreds of men in all attitudes: seated, standing, recumbent; in different occupations: cooking, weaving, washing, singing, dancing, and when he believed there was already the necessary number of people to populate the earth, he distributed them on the heights and lowlands, and then gave them life with a divine breath. And so, this is how there were people on earth to build houses and create villages.  

III 

These men, in principle, complied with the teachings that Wiraocha had dictated to them. They were good. They worked diligently: the men tilled the land, and the women cooked and wove beautiful cloaks. During their rest, they dyed panpipes and danced to the tune of their folkloric music until one day when the towns that were created with so much love by Wiracocha due to the influence of Supay, the Mekhala, and Anchanchu, sinister deities that captivated the heart of man, turning them evil, envious, and lazy. The most robust towns began to dominate the weakest. They enslaved them, stole their food, and forced them to do arduous work so that they could continue to live dancing and drinking. The weakest towns moaned in their despair because the arm of the powerful did not rest, marking their backs with the whip. The clamor of all became one ululating, touching gaps and cracks. It rose to the mountains and reached the ears of Wiracocha.  

IV 

Wiracocha, a just and magnanimous God, looked sadly at his people, and his despair was profound. The troubles of the oppressed lacerated his heart. Suddenly, he was filled with divine wrath and called Wayra-Tata, the god of the wind, and ordered him; "Run, run, run, with all your strength across the earth, touch every object in your path, enrage the rivers, crumble the hills, shake the lakes, and return to my side only when the ancient silence flutters over the earth like a tired bird looking for its nest." Wayra-Tata fulfilled the order of the God Wiracocha. It ran, dragging everything it found in its path with its extended tail. The most robust trees bent like quinoa stalks; if not, they were cut off at the root. Houses built of stone were destroyed as if they were made of clay. The rivers overflowed, and giant boulders rolled from the hills.  

Wayra-Tata's forces are unstoppable! And the angrier he became, the more he destroyed. He roared, bellowed, shuddered, and enjoyed his devastating desire. The men, terrified, ran in search of salvation into the caves, but they were all already full of pumas, wild animals, and vermin that, too, sought refuge there. Tired of running, Waya-Tata returned to Wiracocha's side. As he rests beside him, he begs, "I have carried out your order to the best of my ability, but I am already tired of this coming and going without an end. Let me rest for a moment or relieve me of this weight." Wiracocha looked contemptuously at his son, "rest!" he shouted angrily and called Kjunu, the venerable god of snow, so he could continue punishing the men who had not known how to evaluate his teachings.  

Wiracocha spoke, "Let the urpu of your espallas fall on those evil peoples who enslave their brothers. Freeze their blood and cover them in snow." Then he disappeared into infinity. Kjunu carried out the order as his father asked of him. He stealthily emptied the bags of snow with his swords, covering the earth and the men still alive with a white mantle that brought death; this is how Wiracocha's creation ended.  

V 

All those abandoned hamlets we sometimes find in the heights of the Andes are the ruins of those evil towns punished by Wiracocha.