On the fourteenth day of the bright fortnight, it is prescribed that one should observe a vigil through the night. With focused mind, if a person offers rice-balls there, the act is held in great esteem. Thus concludes the chapter extolling the glory of Partheshvara, as recounted in the third Arbuda section of the seventh Prabhasa book of the Skanda Mahapurana. Now, O king, where Vishnu himself is always present, the sage is urged to reveal in detail the time and place of these wondrous events. Listen, for when the light of the moon, sun, and wind had faded away and the universe was plunged into dissolution, after a thousand ages had passed, the lotus-seated one—Brahmā—awoke from his slumber. The Four-faced Brahmā wandered aimlessly until, from afar, he beheld another presence. Approaching, Brahmā addressed him: “Who are you, and by whom were you created?” The one he questioned—Govinda, Vishnu himself—smiled gently and replied, “I am the original, the sole man; you, too, were created by me.” But Brahmā, not accepting this, responded with harsh words, rebuking Vishnu: “You were indeed created by me, fool; I am the first, without doubt.” Thus, O king, these two radiant beings, each certain of his own supremacy, argued fiercely with one another. Their dispute escalated into a physical struggle. With fists, arms, nails, teeth, and even by pulling at one another, they fought relentlessly. For a thousand years, this battle raged between the two mighty deities. At last, in the midst of their contest, a bodiless voice resounded in the air: “Whoever among you reaches the end of this great liṅga of Maheśvara—let one go downward and one upward, by my command.” Immediately, Krishna (Vishnu) split the earth and swiftly descended below. There, in the depths, the great soul beheld Kālāgni Rudra, the fierce aspect of Shiva. Desiring to go even further downward, Vishnu pressed on with all his might, but soon was overcome by exhaustion and the burning heat of the wondrous fire he encountered. Realizing the futility, he paused and worshipped the liṅga there with devotion. Meanwhile, Brahmā soared upward through the sky, riding in his swan-chariot. After a thousand years of travel, he came upon a ketakī flower drifting down. Brahmā asked the flower, “Where are you going, O ketakī, on this endless, great path?” The flower replied that whoever among them attained the end of the liṅga would be declared the greater, as Pinākin—Shiva—had decreed. Brahmā declared, “Having found the end of the liṅga, I will return to earth.” But the ketakī flower warned, “Your effort is in vain, O Lord of the world; there is no end to the liṅga. As I fell from the summit of the liṅga, O one of great splendor, ages have passed. For as long as the swan travels a yojana in time, still the end cannot be reached. Therefore, it is proper to turn back, as I have told you, O Lord.” Nevertheless, Brahmā, seizing an opportunity, took the ketakī flower and, his mind brightening with joy, returned to Vishnu. He presented the flower, claiming, “This is from the top of the liṅga. The auspicious garland was brought by me, and thus the Four-armed One—Vishnu—has obtained its end.” Vishnu, however, admitted honestly, “I am not able, O Brahmā, to reach the farthest limit in any way. If you have somehow found the end of this, O Brahman, then so be it; otherwise, the end of this liṅga is not seen by anyone, anywhere.” At that moment, the great king—Shiva—became angry with Brahmā. Approaching the witness, Shiva declared, “Fie, fie upon the one who speaks uselessly!” He condemned Brahmā for falsely claiming to have seen the limit of the infinite liṅga. Thus, the tale reveals the glory and boundlessness of Maheśvara, and the futility of pride before the Supreme.