Markandeya, eager to learn, said, “O Lord, command me—tell me how the eternal Shambhu, the compassionate one, who acts always out of devotion to his devotees, conducted himself in those ancient times.” At that time, as the two mighty gods continued their argument, a wondrous event unfolded. Suddenly, a great and resplendent manifestation arose, splitting open the very cosmic egg itself. From this manifestation, a pillar of pure radiance—the Jyotirlinga—burst forth, so brilliant that all things everywhere seemed to lose their color and form. Its fierce flames blazed so intensely that the oceans appeared to dry up beneath its heat. Yet, high in the sky, the pillar shone as before, surrounded by countless stars. The red brilliance from this linga of light painted all creation as if with ochre. The oceans, reflecting its glow, seemed to be embraced by all manner of aquatic creatures, and the trees appeared as if adorned with fresh clusters of coral. The earth itself looked as though it had been smeared with fragrant saffron, and every direction was tinged with the hue of vermilion. The radiance of the Jyotirlinga filled the entire interior of the cosmic egg, making it seem as if the egg itself was but a shell for this light. As the pillar of brilliance continued to grow, both gods, beholding this astonishing sight, forgot their mutual anger. They gazed upon the wondrous linga of light and questioned among themselves in awe: “Has this, piercing the earth, arisen from the hoods of Śeṣa and the other great serpents? Or is it the sun itself, manifesting as it does at the end of a kalpa, when its form is clearly seen? Or perhaps it has spread from the friction of clouds through the middle of the sky?” They marveled, “Is this light, with its rays, constantly repelling even the power of our eyes? Though it blazes fiercely, it causes no burning. By the transmission of its radiance, not only this world, but all realms, are filled with its light. From where has this arisen? What is its root? What is its cause? How far does its extent reach, in all directions, across and above?” Their minds restless with these questions, they were overwhelmed by the weight of their wonder as they gazed at the endless pillar of light. Then Govinda spoke, his pride swelling within him, “Truly, a test has presented itself for us. Of this mass of radiance, whose extent cannot be determined, let us see: whoever among us can find either its root or its tip—of this self-existent light—let that one be esteemed above the other.” Thus, driven by rivalry, both were filled with immense energy, each determined to outdo the other. Brahmā, resolved to find the origin, set forth toward the uppermost reaches of the pillar. Viṣṇu, steadfast in his purpose, assumed the form of a great boar and turned downward, seeking the root. With his mighty snout, Viṣṇu split the earth and began his search below, filling the space with the harsh sound of his playful grunt as he delved deeper and deeper. Wherever he entered, the pillar of light remained ever-present, unchanged and unyielding. Through the fissures of the earth, serpents became visible to him, and he saw the pillar standing firm, like the root-bulb of the golden mountain itself. From afar, he glimpsed the very ankles of the earth, steadfast in bearing the world’s burden. There, too, he saw the great frog, and he himself—the enemy of Madhu—was present in that place. Even the Unmanifest beheld the sustaining power of the earth. Thus, the gods sought the beginning and the end of that self-existent, infinite pillar of light, their minds filled with awe at this supreme manifestation.