Brahmā, his mind clouded by the māyā of Śambhu, came upon the lotus-eyed Viṣṇu, who lay peacefully asleep, undisturbed by the world around him. Overcome by illusion and anger, Brahmā struck Mādhava to rouse him, demanding harshly, “Who are you? Speak!” Awakened abruptly by the blow, Viṣṇu rose from his resting place and beheld Parameṣṭhin standing before him. Though inwardly stirred to anger, Hari addressed Brahmā with a gentle voice, masking his agitation: “From where have you come, child? Why are you so disturbed? Speak.” Hearing these words, which subtly alluded to Viṣṇu’s own supremacy, Brahmā, bound by pride and rivalry, retorted, “Why do you call me ‘child,’ as a teacher would address his pupil? Do you not recognize me as the Lord, the very creator of this universe? Dividing myself threefold, I have fashioned and now uphold all that exists. It is I alone who dissolve creation; there is no other creator but me.” To this, the imperishable Viṣṇu replied, “I alone am the original creator, destroyer, and protector of this universe. You, too, have emerged from my own body, from the imperishable essence, in ancient times. By my command, you divide yourself into three and create the worlds, sustain them, and dissolve them at the end. Yet you have forgotten Nārāyaṇa, the flawless Lord of the universe, and even me, your direct progenitor—thus you disregard me. You have committed no offense here; you are simply deluded by my māyā. By my grace, this confusion will soon be dispelled. Listen, O Four-Faced One: I am the Lord of all gods, the creator, sustainer, and destroyer. None is equal to me in power.” A fierce dispute erupted between Brahmā and Viṣṇu, and soon a terrifying battle ensued, its ferocity enough to make one’s hair stand on end. Consumed by passion and enmity, they struck each other with mighty fists, the conflict serving only to humble their pride and awaken the two gods. In the midst of their struggle, an extraordinary and wondrous liṅga appeared, adorned with thousands of blazing flames, immeasurable and incomparable in its majesty. This liṅga, untouched by growth or decay, without beginning, middle, or end, radiated such brilliance that both Brahmā and Viṣṇu were left bewildered. Abandoning their battle, they gazed upon it in astonishment, wondering, “What is this?” Yet neither could fathom the true nature of the being before them. Determined to discover its limits, they resolved to seek out its beginning and end. Brahmā assumed the form of a swan, spreading his wings wide, and soared upward, propelled by his mind and the wind, striving with great effort to reach the summit. Meanwhile, Nārāyaṇa, the soul of the universe, became an endless boar, dark as a mass of collyrium, and delved downward. For a thousand years, Viṣṇu journeyed downward in his boar form, yet could not find even the slightest root of the liṅga. For the same span, Brahmā soared upward, seeking its end, but exhausted and bewildered, he too failed to find its limit and fell into error. At last, the blessed Viṣṇu, weary and with troubled eyes, rose from below, afflicted by great hardship. As the two gods met again, their faces reflected wonder and a hesitant smile, for both remained ensnared by Śambhu’s māyā, unable to discern what ought or ought not to be done. Standing around the liṅga—behind, beside, and before it—they bowed down in reverence, pondering deeply, “What is this self?” At that moment, accompanied by a resonant sound, the single-syllabled Brahman appeared—the sacred word ‘Om,’ signifying Brahman itself. Yet, at that time, neither Brahmā nor Viṣṇu recognized it, for their minds were veiled by the qualities of rajas and tamas. Then, that single syllable transformed, dividing into four parts: ‘a,’ ‘u,’ ‘m,’ and, beyond these three measures, a subtle half-measure. The sound ‘a’ settled on the right side of the blazing liṅga, ‘u’ on the left, and ‘m’ in the center. The nāda, composed of the half-measure, was heard at the summit of the liṅga. Even when thus divided, the supreme syllable, praṇava, remained present. For the sake of manifestation, the two gods still did not comprehend its meaning. At that time, the unmanifest praṇava—whose very essence is the Veda—underwent transformation. There, ‘a’ became the Ṛg, the imperishable ‘u’ became the Yajur, ‘m’ became the Sāman, and the nāda became the Atharvaṇic revelation. The Ṛg, from its essence, established ten meanings: Brahmā as the foremost among forms, the quality of rajas, creation in the worlds, earth among the elements, the imperishable self, withdrawal on the path of kalā, the five Brahmas, the lower part of the liṅga, the triad of causes called the seed, and the sixty-fourfold mastery over powers beginning with aṇimā. Thus, the universe was pervaded by the Ṛg. Then, the Yajur established its own tenfold meanings: sattva among the qualities, Viṣṇu as the first among forms and actions, preservation in the worlds, the mid-region, knowledge among the three principles, establishment in the paths of kalā, the left among the five Brahmas, the middle among the parts of the liṅga, the yoni among the three causes, and natural sovereignty. Thus, the universe was composed of Yajur. Next, the Sāman established its tenfold meanings: among the qualities, tamas; Rudra as the first among forms and actions; dissolution in the three worlds; and the supreme Śiva among the principles. In this way, the mystery of the liṅga and the unity of the Vedas were revealed, though Brahmā and Viṣṇu, their vision still clouded by illusion, could not yet grasp the fullness of the truth before them.