Radiant in their own brilliance, adorned with divine garlands and fragrant ointments, two extraordinary beings approached the king, who was a friend of Indra. As they drew near, their presence shone with the splendor of the sun and moon. The two, appearing as Brahmins, addressed the king with gentle voices, asking, “O great king, what brings you here? For what reason, mighty-armed one, have you cut down this tree? Alone, in this vast wilderness, beside the dense forest and the great riverbank, how is it that you have felled this tree?” Hearing their words, the king felt a surge of joy within him. He spoke to them gently and sweetly, his heart filled with reverence. Seeing the two Brahmins, who seemed to embody the celestial radiance of moon and sun, he bowed deeply to these lords of the world and stood before them with his head lowered in respect. He explained, “To worship the god of gods, the beginningless and endless lord of the worlds, I wish to make an image. I was instructed by that supreme, divine one at the end of a dream, and now, through your presence, you have made it known to me.” Upon hearing the king’s words about his desire to create an image of Indra, the lord of the universe smiled, pleased, and addressed him. “Excellent, excellent, O king! This supreme resolve of yours shines in the dreadful ocean of worldly existence, which is as fragile as a banana leaf. In this insubstantial, sorrow-filled world, overwhelmed by desire and anger, tangled in the whirlpool of the senses—so difficult to cross and terrifying to contemplate—amidst hundreds of diseases that resemble bubbles on water, your mind has arisen for the worship of Vishnu.” The divine beings continued, “Blessed are you, O foremost of kings, adorned with all virtues. Blessed is the earth with its people, mountains, forests, and groves. Blessed too are its cities, villages, and towns, adorned by the four castes, where you, O tiger among kings, are the lord who protects the people. Come, come, O greatly fortunate one, sit with us beneath this pleasantly cool tree. Stay here with me, engaged in stories rooted in dharma.” One of the radiant Brahmins then said, “My companion here is the foremost among artisans, equal to Vishvakarma himself, skilled in all tasks. He will make the image as I instruct—leave the shore and come closer.” Hearing these words, the king, as if born anew, left the ocean’s shore and approached the divine beings. He stood beneath the cool shade of the tree, and there, the universal soul, appearing in the form of a Brahmin, began to instruct him. He spoke to the chief artisan, the best of Brahmins: “Make the images—one in the form of Krishna, supremely peaceful, with eyes wide like lotus petals, bearing the marks of Shrivatsa and Kaustubha, holding conch, discus, and mace, with a fair body resembling milk. The second image is to be marked with a swastika: the god named Ananta, wielder of plough and weapons, of great strength, unknown even to gods, demons, gandharvas, yakshas, vidyadharas, or serpents. His end is not known, thus he is called Ananta. Also, create the image of the sister of Vasudeva, shining with a golden hue—Subhadra, adorned with all auspicious marks.” Hearing these instructions, Vishvakarma, the doer of good deeds, immediately began to fashion the auspicious images. First, he created one with a white complexion, radiant like the autumn moon, with red eyes, a large body, and a broad, crystal-like head. This figure wore blue garments, appeared fierce, with strength overflowing with pride, adorned with a single earring, divine, holding a mace and club. The second image had lotus-like eyes, resembling a dark rain cloud, like the flower of the flax plant, with eyes wide as lotus petals. Clad in yellow garments, exceedingly fierce and auspicious, bearing the mark of Śrīvatsa, holding a discus in his full hand, divine, remover of all sins—Hari. The third shone with a golden hue, with eyes long as lotus petals, covered in wondrous garments, adorned with necklaces and armlets, decorated with various ornaments and strings of jeweled necklaces, with full and prominent breasts, lovely—Viśvakarma fashioned her. The king, beholding these wondrous creations, made in but a moment, covered in pairs of divine garments and adorned with various jewels, saw images endowed with all auspicious marks, supremely enchanting and filled with utmost wonder. Amazed, he spoke, “Who are you two divine beings, both assuming the form of Brahmins, performing wondrous deeds, divine in conduct, beyond human? Are you gods or humans, or perhaps Yakṣas or Vidyādharas? Are you Brahmā and Hṛṣīkeśa, or the Vasus, or even the Aśvins? I do not know your true nature, whether real or illusory; you stand here in a magical form. I have come to you for refuge—reveal to me your true self.” One of the divine beings replied, “I am not a god, nor a Yakṣa, nor a demon, nor the king of the gods; I am not Brahmā, nor Rudra—know me as the Supreme Person. I am the remover of suffering for all worlds, of infinite strength and power, worthy of worship by all beings, whose end is unknown. He who is spoken of in all scriptures, declared in the Upaniṣads, whom the yogis say is attainable by knowledge—Vāsudeva. I myself am Brahmā, I am Viṣṇu, I am also Śiva; I am Indra, king of the gods, and Yama, the controller of the world. I am the elements beginning with earth, the three sacrificial fires, the enjoyer of offerings, O king; I am Varuṇa, lord of waters, the earth, and the mountain. Whatever exists in speech in the world, all that is moving and unmoving—this entire universe—there is nothing apart from me.” Thus, in that sacred moment, the king understood the divine mystery before him, as the Supreme Person revealed his true nature, encompassing all that exists.