I will now retell the provided verses as one continuous, faithful narrative: I have revealed to you the supreme hymn dedicated to Puruṣottama, the Highest Person. This hymn, compassionate in nature, is a destroyer of all sins. It bestows happiness, grants liberation, and fulfills every desire of those who recite it with devotion. Those who are pure and who ceaselessly meditate upon that subtle, stainless, ancient Person—the enemy of Mura—are blessed indeed. Such souls attain liberation and merge into Viṣṇu, just as offerings, accompanied by sacred mantras, are absorbed into the sacrificial fire. He alone is the god who removes the suffering of worldly existence. He stands supreme among the supreme; there is none beyond him. He is the seer, the protector, and the destroyer. Viṣṇu is, in truth, the very essence pervading all that exists. For those who lack devotion to Kṛṣṇa—the teacher of the world, the giver of happiness and liberation—what value is there in knowledge, or in their own virtues, or in sacrifices, gifts, or even the most severe austerities? Truly, in this world, blessed, pure, and wise is he who possesses devotion to Puruṣottama. Such a person excels in sacrifices, austerities, and virtues. He is the true knower, the true giver, the speaker of truth. Having thus praised and bowed to the eternal one, the foremost of sages worshipped Vāsudeva, the Lord of the universe, the bestower of all desired fruits. Meanwhile, the king, his heart heavy with anxiety, spread kuśa grass upon the ground, fixed his mind on the divine, and lay down to sleep upon the earth. Restless, he pondered, “How will Janārdana, the God of gods, appear before me? How will that divine remover of my distress manifest himself now?” As the king slept, Vāsudeva, the teacher of the world, appeared to him in a dream, bearing the conch, discus, and mace. In that vision, the king beheld with devotion the God of gods, the world’s guru, holding the conch and discus, the fierce mace shining in his hands. He saw the Lord bearing the bow Śārṅga and arrows, surrounded by a blazing aura, radiant as the sun at the end of an age, his complexion gleaming like blue beryl. Seated upon Garuḍa’s wing, with sixteen and a half beautiful arms, the Lord addressed the king with gentle words: “Well done, O wise and noble king.” “By your divine sacrifice, your devotion, and your faith, you have pleased me, O king. Why do you grieve in vain? As for the eternal image worshipped by the world, I shall reveal to you how it may be obtained, O ruler of the earth.” “When this night has passed and the spotless sun has risen, go to the edge of the ocean, where the shore is adorned with many trees, at the very end of the sea’s waters. There, O king, you will see the water, greatly agitated by the waves of the salt ocean. At the bank stands a great tree, standing between land and water, battered by the tides, yet unmoved.” “Take an axe in your hand, enter the waves, and wander there alone until you find that tree. When you see this sign, cut the tree without hesitation. In the morning, as you cut it, you will witness a wondrous sight. When you have seen it, reflect upon it; then, from that vision, fashion the divine image, and let go of your troubling anxiety.” Having spoken thus, the illustrious Hari vanished from sight. The king, awestruck by the vision, spent the rest of the night absorbed in contemplation, reciting Vaiṣṇava mantras and hymns. When dawn broke, the king rose with a steady mind. He bathed in the ocean as prescribed by the sacred rites, offered gifts and villages to the Brahmins, performed his morning rituals, and then set forth, alone, for the shore. Neither horse, nor soldier, nor elephant, nor charioteer accompanied him; the king journeyed by himself to the great seashore. There he beheld a mighty and radiant tree, vast in height and girth, sacred and immense. It lay dormant near the water, its color deep as madder, without a name or known species. Filled with joy at the sight, the king began to cut the tree with a sharp and sturdy axe, intending to split it in two. As he gazed at the wood, a marvelous sight appeared before him: Viśvakarma and Viṣṇu themselves, both in the form of Brahmins, arrived together—illustrious, radiant, and of equal birth. Shining with their own brilliance, adorned with divine garlands and ointments, they approached the king. The two Brahmins spoke: “O great king, what are you doing here? For what reason, mighty-armed one, have you cut down this tree? Alone, in this vast wilderness, in the dense forest by the great riverbank, why have you felled this tree?” Hearing their words, the king was filled with joy. He addressed them gently and sweetly. Seeing the two Brahmins, resplendent like the sun and moon, he bowed low before these lords of the world and stood with his head humbly lowered. He said, “To worship the God of gods—the beginningless, endless Lord of the worlds—I wish to make an image. I have been instructed by that supreme divine one in a dream, and your presence now confirms it.” Hearing the king’s words about the image, the Lord of the universe smiled, pleased, and replied, “Excellent, excellent, O king, is this supreme resolve of yours. In the dreadful ocean of worldly existence, which is as insubstantial as a banana leaf, you have chosen well. For in this world, filled with sorrow, overwhelmed by desire and anger, caught in the whirlpool of the senses and difficult to cross, such wisdom is rare and praiseworthy.