In ages past, a fierce quarrel arose between two beings of immense radiance. One rebuked the other harshly, repeating his scorn: “You were created by me, fool! I am the first, beyond doubt.” Thus, O King, these two luminous ones disputed, their pride swelling ever greater. Their argument escalated into a mighty battle. With fists, arms, nails, teeth, and by pulling at each other, they fought fiercely, neither willing to yield. For a thousand years, their struggle raged on, each determined to prove supremacy. At the end of that long millennium, a bodiless voice resounded in the air, interrupting their combat. It proclaimed: “Whichever of you can reach the end of this great liṅga of Maheśvara—let one go downward and one upward, by my command.” The challenge was clear. Without hesitation, Kṛṣṇa split the earth and swiftly descended below. There, he encountered the great soul Kālāgni Rudra, guardian of the lower realms. Desiring to reach further downward, Kṛṣṇa pressed on with all his speed. But soon he was tormented by faintness, scorched by the wondrous fire he encountered. Yet, upon reaching the liṅga, he paused to worship it with devotion. Meanwhile, Brahmā took to the skies in his swan-chariot, ascending along the celestial path. After a thousand years, he came upon the ketakī flower and asked, “Where are you going, O Brahmā, on this endless great path?” Brahmā explained the challenge: “Whoever among us attains the end of this liṅga, as Pinākin has declared, he is the greater; the other is lesser. Having found the end, I will return to earth.” The ketakī flower replied, “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, time passed for as long as the swan travels a yojana. Therefore, it is proper to turn back, as I have said to you, O Lord.” Joyful in mind, Brahmā took the flower and returned, showing it to Viṣṇu: “This is from the top of the liṅga.” The auspicious garland was brought by Brahmā, and Viṣṇu, the Four-armed One, acknowledged he had not reached the farthest limit in any way. He said, “If you have somehow found the end of this, O Brahman, otherwise, the end of this is not seen by anyone anywhere.” At that moment, the great king became angry with Brahmā. Approaching the witness, he declared, “Fie, fie upon the one who speaks uselessly!” He pronounced a curse: “Because you have falsely claimed to have seen my limit, those men who worship you, filled with delusion, and likewise, because Ketakī has spoken falsely, therefore, by that most wicked one—both are cursed.” Having thus pronounced a curse upon Brahmā and Ketakī, the god addressed Keśava. “Because of truthful speech alone, choose a boon, O steadfast one.” Keśava replied, “O god, you do not attain satisfaction from those who are impure. Bring this liṅga, called Ananta, to a lighter form without delay.” Maheśvara spoke again to Keśava: “Hear this word, O Hari. In this most pure place, establish the liṅga for me, O Hari.” Burned by the god’s radiance, Keśava became dark in color. Therefore, O man, upon rising in the morning, utter “Kṛṣṇa, Kṛṣṇa” as his name. Thus ended the tale, revealing the greatness of Maheśvara’s liṅga, the futility of pride, and the virtue of truth.