The king beheld a wondrous vision: before him appeared the radiant god, bearing the mighty bow Śārṅga and a quiver of arrows, his form encircled by a blazing aura, dazzling and fierce as the sun at the end of an age. His body shone with the deep blue of beryl, and he sat enthroned upon the wing of Garuḍa. Sixteen and a half beautiful arms adorned his divine form, and his presence filled the space with awe. With a serene and gentle voice, the god addressed the king, saying, “Well done, O wise and noble king.” He continued, “Through your devotion and faith, and by this divine sacrifice, you have pleased me, O king. Why do you grieve in vain? As for the eternal image revered by the world, I shall reveal to you the means by which it may be obtained, O ruler of the earth.” The god instructed, “When this night has passed and the spotless sun rises, go to the edge of the ocean, where the shore is adorned with many trees and marks the end of the sea’s waters. There, O king, you will see the waters of the salt ocean, greatly agitated by restless waves. At the edge of the bank stands a great tree, rooted between land and water, struck by the tides, yet unmoved and steadfast.” He continued, “Take an axe in your hand and enter the waves alone. There, wandering by yourself, you will see that tree. When you observe this sign, cut the tree without hesitation; in the morning, as you do so, you will witness a marvelous sight. Upon seeing it, reflect deeply; from this vision, fashion the divine image, and let your anxieties be dispelled.” Having spoken thus, the illustrious Hari vanished from sight. The king awoke from his vision, filled with wonder and awe. He spent the rest of the night absorbed in the memory of the dream, reciting Vaishnava mantras and hymns, his mind fixed upon the divine. At dawn, when the night had ended, the king rose with unwavering resolve. He performed the prescribed ritual bath in the ocean, gave gifts and villages to the Brahmins, and completed his morning rites. Then, alone and unaccompanied by horse, foot-soldier, elephant, or charioteer, the king set out for the great shore. There he beheld a magnificent tree—grand in height and girth, radiant and mighty, sacred and immense. It lay dormant near the water, its dense color rich as madder, without known name or species. Overjoyed at the sight, the king raised a sharp, sturdy axe and began to cut the tree, intending to split it in two. As he gazed upon the wood, a marvelous sight appeared. Two radiant Brahmins approached—the divine architect Viśvakarma and Vishnu himself, both assuming the guise of Brahmins, their brilliance adorned with divine garlands and ointments. They came near the king, who stood as a friend of Indra. The two addressed him, “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, by the dense forest and the great riverbank, why have you felled this tree?” Hearing their gentle words, the king felt great joy. He bowed low to these lords of the world, who shone like the sun and moon, and spoke to them with humility and sweetness. “To worship the god of gods, the beginningless and endless lord of the worlds, I wish to make an image. I was instructed by the supreme divine one in a dream, and now you both have appeared before me.” Hearing the king’s words about the image of Indra, the lord of the universe smiled with pleasure and addressed him. “Excellent, excellent is your resolve, O king, in this dreadful ocean of worldly existence, as fragile as a banana leaf. In this sorrow-filled world, overwhelmed by desire and anger, tangled in the whirlpool of the senses, beset by countless diseases like water bubbles, your mind has arisen for the worship of Vishnu. Blessed are you, foremost of kings, adorned with every virtue; blessed is the earth and all its peoples, mountains, forests, and groves. Blessed too are its cities, villages, and towns, adorned by the four castes, where you, O tiger among kings, protect the people.” The divine Brahmin urged, “Come, come, O greatly fortunate one, and sit here under the pleasantly cool shade of this tree. Remain with me, engaged in stories rooted in dharma. This companion of mine is the foremost among artisans, equal to Viśvakarma himself, skilled in all tasks. He will make the image as I instruct—so leave the shore.” Obediently, the king left the ocean’s edge and approached the divine pair. He stood beneath the cool shade of the great tree, and there the universal soul, in Brahmin form, gave instructions to the chief artisan. “Make the images—one in the form of Krishna, supremely peaceful, with wide lotus-like eyes. Let it bear the marks of Shrivatsa and Kaustubha, holding conch, discus, and mace, its fair body shining like milk, and the second image marked with a swastika. And also the god Ananta, wielder of plough and weapons, of great strength, unknown to gods, demons, gandharvas, yakshas, vidyadharas, or serpents.” Thus, the king received the divine command and the blessing to create the images, his heart filled with devotion and wonder.