As I, Brahma, stood before the eternal one, curiosity and wonder filled my heart. I reached out my hand and raised him, asking, “Who are you?” With a strong and insistent gesture, I roused him from his deep repose. Awakened, he sat up on his bed, composed and serene, his gaze clear and undisturbed by sleep. Before me stood the blessed Hari—radiant, resplendent, his presence shining like the dawn itself. Rising gracefully, the Lord greeted me with a single, sweet smile and spoke, “Welcome, welcome, child, O illustrious Grandfather!” Hearing these words, I, the foremost of the gods, could not help but smile in return. Yet, bound by the passions of pride and rivalry, I addressed Janardana, saying, “Why do you call me ‘child, child,’ you who are the very cause of creation and dissolution?” With a slight smile, he addressed me, the faultless one, as a teacher would his disciple, though I am the direct creator of the worlds and the initiator of Nature. “You call me the eternal, unborn Vishnu, the creator, the source of the universe, the soul of all, the maker, the supporter, the lotus-eyed one. For what reason, out of delusion, do you speak thus? You should quickly declare the truth.” Then Hari replied, “I am the creator of the worlds—behold! You are the sustainer and destroyer, descended from my imperishable body. You have forgotten Narayana, the lord of the universe, free from affliction. The supreme person, the supreme soul, the much-invoked, the most praised among men, Vishnu, the unchanging lord, the origin and source of the universe. You have committed no fault here; this is all caused by my maya. Hear the truth, four-faced one: this is the lord of all the gods. I alone am the creator, leader, and destroyer; there is no equal to me, O mighty one. I alone am the supreme Brahman, the highest reality, O Grandfather. I alone am the supreme light, the supreme soul, the all-pervading one. Whatever is seen or heard in this world, moving or unmoving, is all within me. Know, O four-faced one, that all this is made of me. Formerly, I created the unmanifest, the group of twenty-four principles, by myself. The eternal atoms, bound together, were created—anger and others arising. By your grace, many eggs are produced here in sport. Intellect was created by me; from it, the threefold ego arose. From that, the five subtle elements; from them, the mind and the six senses. The elements beginning with space, and their gross forms, were created by me in sport.” As we spoke thus, words charged with passion and rivalry, a fierce and hair-raising battle erupted between us, in the midst of the vast ocean of dissolution. Both of us, Brahma and Vishnu, were bound by pride and enmity. At that very moment, a wondrous and shining linga appeared before us, its purpose to end our dispute and awaken true understanding. It was adorned with thousands of garlands of flames, resembling hundreds of fires of cosmic destruction, yet free from growth and decay, without beginning, middle, or end. That linga was incomparable, indescribable, unmanifest—the very source of the universe. Its thousandfold radiance bewildered even the blessed Hari. Confused, he turned to me and said, “Let us test this fire-born pillar; I will go downward to the matchless, fiery column. You, with effort, should quickly go upward.” Having spoken thus, the Soul of the Universe assumed his own form. I swiftly took the form of a great swan, while the gods watched Hari take the form of a mighty boar. From that time, I became known as Hamsa, the Great Swan. Whoever invokes me as ‘Hamsa, Hamsa’ shall become a swan—pure white, fire-eyed, and winged on all sides. Swift as the mind and wind, I soared upward, O gods; and Narayana, the Soul of the Universe, dark as a mass of black collyrium, assumed a boar’s form, ten yojanas wide and a hundred yojanas long, with the stature of Mount Meru, pale, with sharp, prominent fangs, radiant as the sun at the end of time, with a long snout, a mighty voice, short legs, wondrous limbs, victorious, firm, and incomparable. Vishnu, in his boar form, delved downward for a thousand years, yet did not see even a trace of the linga’s base. For the same length of time, I, the destroyer of foes, journeyed upward, seeking its summit. Despite all my speed and effort, I grew weary and, failing to find its end, descended out of pride. Likewise, the blessed Vishnu, exhausted, his eyes trembling with fatigue, rose quickly, his great form manifest to all the gods. He joined me, bowed with a great mind, and, deluded by Shambhu’s maya, stood there, his heart disturbed. Together, we bowed around the Supreme Lord—behind, beside, and before—marveling, “What is this?” Then, from the linga, there arose a sound, marked by the sacred syllable—“Om, Om”—clear and prolonged. Hearing that great sound, I stood, pondering its meaning, and then, on the right side of the linga, I saw the eternal one. I beheld the first letter, ‘A,’ shining like the solar orb, on the right; then ‘U’ on the left, blazing like fire; ‘M’ in the middle, glowing like the orb of the moon; and at the end, the sound ‘Om.’ Above these, I saw the Lord, pure as crystal—beyond the fourth state, immortal, without parts, undisturbed, free from duality, absolute, void, without inner or outer.