Beside the radiant pillar of light, a magical swan appeared, shimmering with otherworldly grace. Lifting from the earth, the swan first soared along the path of the clouds, ascending higher and higher. He passed through the luminous realms inhabited by the dwellers of the heights, moving with a subtlety that surpassed even the swiftest wind or the fleeting mind. So ethereal was his form that, as he rose, the leaf-covering he wore became tattered and fell far behind, left in the lower worlds. As he continued his ascent, the swan passed beyond the seven hosts of the winds. Awe filled him, for he realized the enormity of his journey. He wondered, “How can anyone ever reach the root of Hari, whose depths remain unseen? What is the value of my long years of life, if my vow remains unfulfilled? Who can be an ally to one who seeks to surpass Viṣṇu himself? Or, perhaps, could I somehow conceal my failure? For pride is the only wealth of the great.” In the vast sky, not far ahead, the swan glimpsed something pure and clear—was it a lotus stalk rising from the sea, or suspended in the air? How could such a thing exist in this place? Drawing closer, he recognized it as a ketakī leaf, and realized that, like himself, it was born from the lotus. Hiraṇyagarbha, the lotus-born, took up the spotless ketakī leaf, and for a hundred thousand years he continued to soar through the sky, ever searching. But at last, the lotus-born’s hopes were dashed. Wearied and defeated, he pondered deeply. His vow remained unfulfilled, and in humility, he sought refuge, feeling his strength failing, his limbs weary and weak, as if he too was about to fall. “What more can I say?” he sighed, “Let this knot of pride and arrogance be broken from my mind. My effort has surpassed the very measure of the world’s expanse. Of this mass of splendor, I am neither Nārāyaṇa nor anyone else. I do not possess the power to rise further or to turn back.” At that moment, he addressed the leaf, “Who are you, and from where have you come?” The ketakī leaf replied, “By Śiva’s command, I was given consciousness as a ketaka leaf. Desiring to dwell on earth, I have now arrived here.” Hearing these words, the lotus-born was reassured. He saw that countless universes were attached all around to this single pillar of light. “After passing through forty thousand yugas, I finally fell down,” he reflected. As he spoke, the lotus-born bowed to the ketakī leaf in humility. Then Brahmā spoke: “A rivalry was created by me, Brahmā, together with Viṣṇu. In our pride, we both forgot the glory of Śiva. Let us set aside that shameful conversation for now, for I desire your friendship. For even seven steps taken together are said to create a bond of friendship—may you consider me thus. Leaving aside those who do not praise, you ought to grant your favor to me. Assuming the forms of a swan and a boar, we tried to dispel our mutual equality. Yet I do not know such a state of longing to see the end of this mystery. I am utterly exhausted, as if separated from my very life. Therefore, make this request of your friend fruitful for me. This must be done by you; with hands joined, I make this humble plea.