A great disturbance swept through the cosmos: the orderly flow of time itself—measured by fortnights, months, seasons, and years—came to a halt. As this profound agitation arose, Indra and the other guardians of the worlds, together with the great sages such as Marīci, were cast into confusion. The cries of all beings echoed throughout creation, prompting the Soul of the Universe to reflect deeply, intent on protecting the world from this turmoil. In his contemplation, the Supreme considered me—Brahmā, the master and bestower of all prosperity—caught in the grip of pride. “Ah, the power of delusion!” he mused, addressing both me and Achyuta (Viṣṇu). The darkness of ignorance had clouded our minds and vision, even though we had committed no fault. We two, though innocent, were submerged in the vast ocean of delusion brought on by Māyā. Thus, the Lord pondered the bewilderment that Māyā had cast over us. How great was the compassion of the young, moon-crested One—Shambhu—whose mercy pervades all three worlds! At this point, I, Mārkaṇḍeya, humbly asked, “O Lord, command me: tell me how the eternal Shambhu acted in this situation.” For whatever the god did, he did out of boundless compassion, ever devoted to his devotees. Meanwhile, as Brahmā and Viṣṇu continued their heated argument, a wondrous manifestation suddenly appeared, splitting open the cosmic egg itself. From this rift emerged a great, blazing pillar of light—the Jyotirlinga—whose radiance drained all color from the universe. Its intense flames seemed to dry up the oceans; it shone in the sky as before, accompanied by countless stars, and its red brilliance painted everything as if with ochre. The oceans, now filled with its reflection, glittered and were embraced by aquatic creatures. Trees looked as though they were adorned with fresh clusters of coral, and the earth appeared smeared with saffron, the directions tinged with vermilion. The radiance of this pillar filled the entire interior of the cosmic egg, as if it were its very shell. As this pillar of brilliance grew ever greater, Brahmā and Viṣṇu, beholding its astonishing form, let go of their mutual anger. They wondered aloud: “Has this, piercing the earth, arisen from the hoods of Śeṣa and the other serpents? Or is it the sun itself, shining forth as it does at the end of a kalpa? Perhaps it has spread through the sky from the friction of clouds? Is it, with its rays, overpowering even the power of our eyes? Yet, though it blazes, it causes no burning.” They marveled at how its radiance illuminated not only the world, but everything. “From where has this arisen? What is its root, what is its cause? How far does its extent reach, across and above, in all directions?” Their minds grew restless with the desire to know the truth of this mysterious light. Overwhelmed by these thoughts and by the sight of the endless pillar of light, Govinda (Viṣṇu) spoke, his pride undiminished: “Indeed, a test has now presented itself for us. Of this mass of radiance, whose limits cannot be discerned, let us see—who among us can find its root or its tip? Whoever succeeds will have beheld the origin or end of this self-existent light.” Thus challenged, both Brahmā and Viṣṇu, fueled by rivalry, summoned tremendous energy and determination, each striving to surpass the other. With this resolve, Brahmā approached the foremost part of the pillar, intent on discovering its secret.