Viṣṇu, resolute and unwavering, took on the form of a mighty boar. With his purpose clear, he sought the root—eager to discover the foundation and to return with his quest fulfilled. Turning downward, Viṣṇu split the earth open with his powerful snout, the sound of his playful, thunderous grunts echoing through the vastness, filling all space with their harsh resonance. Wherever he pressed forward, the earth appeared unchanged, established in the same way at every point. As he delved deeper through the fissures he made, serpents became visible, writhing within the newly revealed depths. There, he beheld the earth herself, standing firm like the root-bulb of a golden mountain, steadfast in bearing her burden. From afar, he saw the very ankles of the earth, unwavering as they supported all upon her. Within those depths, Viṣṇu also saw the great frog and himself—the enemy of Madhu—mirrored in that strange realm. Even the Unmanifest, the subtle and formless, witnessed the earth’s sustaining power. Viṣṇu’s lotus eyes took in Atala, Vitala, Sutala, and Nitala—the various realms below, and he gazed upon all seven nether worlds. Passing beyond the city of Bhogavatī, known as Vairocani, his curiosity only grew. With each new sight, he exclaimed to himself, “This I have seen, this I have seen,” marveling at the wonders revealed. Still unsatisfied, he pressed on, piercing even the dense ocean beneath with his formidable snout. The earth he split, but the ocean he violently agitated, churning its depths. For thousands of years, Viṣṇu wandered there, his mind clouded with confusion and bewilderment. The effort wore him down—his hooves were ground away, his fangs broken, his body battered and shattered. Exhausted and panting, his pride at last subdued, he realized he had not fulfilled his vow, yet longed to return. His eyes, blinded by fatigue, remained deep within the netherworld, but by some means, he emerged—not at the well’s edge where he had begun, but far away from it. Drawn upward by a radiant pillar of light, like a rope guiding him home, he returned, though he could not perceive the root of that great and resplendent mass. Before this heap of brilliance, there was no origin to be found. For a long time, that god—greater than all the worlds—remained blinded by delusion before the pillar of light. At last, his pride released, the lotus-eyed Viṣṇu resolved to withdraw. With great speed, he leapt upward, turning his face to the sky and soaring into the unsupported expanse. As he ascended swiftly, his wings scattered the waters below. Rising with tremendous force, he soon passed beyond the reach of sight. There, beside the pillar of light, a magical swan appeared. Viṣṇu soared upward, first crossing the path of the clouds, then passing through the luminous realms of those who dwell on high. His form was more subtle and swift than even the wind or the mind. As he rose higher and higher, the leaf-covering he wore was left far behind, falling away. Beyond the seven hosts of the winds he passed, filled with wonder and astonishment at the vastness and mystery. In that moment, Viṣṇu reflected: “How can one stand before Hari, whose root is unseen? What use are my long years of striving, when my vow remains unfulfilled? Who will be an ally to one who seeks to surpass Viṣṇu himself? Or, perhaps, could I conceal my failure by some trick? For pride is the wealth of the great.” Thus, with these thoughts, the tale of his search and humility unfolded.