He journeyed downward, beholding the realms of Atala, Vitala, Sutala, and Nitala, each world unfolding before his gaze. The lotus-eyed one, with unflagging curiosity, beheld all seven of the nether worlds, marveling at their mysteries. Pressing on, he passed beyond the city of Bhogavatī, the splendid city known as Vairocani. As he descended further, wonder grew within him, and again and again he exclaimed, “This I have seen, this I have seen,” eager to witness all that lay hidden below. Yet even beneath those worlds, with the might of his powerful snout, he pierced the dense ocean depths. The earth itself was split by his effort, and the waters of the ocean were violently churned. For thousands of years he wandered thus, his mind lost in confusion and bewilderment, searching for the root of the pillar of light. The long quest took its toll: his hooves grew worn, his fangs broke, his body became battered and shattered. Exhausted and panting, his pride, once unrestrained, was now broken. Though he had not fulfilled his vow, he longed to turn back from his fruitless search. His eyes, heavy and blinded by weariness, lingered in the deep darkness of the netherworld. By some effort, he managed to emerge from the depths, but not at the well’s edge where he had begun; instead, he surfaced far from his starting point. It was by the radiance clinging to the pillar of light—like a rope—that he found his way back. Yet even then, he could not perceive the root of that immense, resplendent column. Before this heap of brilliance, no origin could be found, and he realized that the source was beyond all worlds and beyond his understanding. For a long time, that mighty god, surpassing all realms, remained blinded by delusion. At last, his pride released and his resolve changed, the lotus-eyed one withdrew from his quest. With great speed he leapt upward, turning his face to the sky, soaring into the unsupported expanse. As he ascended, his wings scattered the waters below, and he rose so swiftly that he soon passed beyond the reach of sight. There, beside the pillar of light, a magical swan appeared. He soared upward, first crossing the path of the clouds, then passing through the radiant realms of those who dwell above. Though the wind and the mind are subtle, his own form was even subtler as he flew higher and higher. The leaf-garment he wore, worn thin by the journey, fell away in the distance. Passing beyond the seven hosts of the winds, he was filled with astonishment at the vastness and mystery before him. He wondered, “How can anyone stand before Hari, whose root cannot be seen? What use are my long years of life, when my vow remains unfulfilled? Who could be an ally to one who seeks to surpass Viṣṇu?” He pondered whether, by some trick, he could conceal his failure, for pride often clings to the great. Then, in the sky not far away, he saw something pure and clear. He wondered, “Is this a lotus stalk rising from the sea, or from the sky? How could it be here?” Drawing closer, he realized it was a ketakī leaf, sprung from the lotus. Hiraṇyagarbha took up the spotless ketakī leaf, and for a hundred thousand years he continued to soar through the sky in his quest. Yet, as the lotus-born one’s hopes faded, he pondered deeply. His vow unfulfilled, he even took refuge in humility, recognizing the limits of his own strength. “Where is my power in this trial?” he wondered. “My limbs seem to fail me, as if I too am falling.” With a sigh, he thought, “What more can be said with so many words and these weary breaths? Let this knot of pride and arrogance be broken from my mind.