In the ages to come, the names of Nara and Nārāyaṇa would shine forth, their fame spreading across the three worlds. Nara, destined to be the steadfast companion of Nārāyaṇa, would walk beside him in all endeavors. Their very presence would become a test for discernment among beings, as a radiant brilliance—born from the blood of Nārāyaṇa’s own arm—manifested in the world. This power, blazing with the energy of Brahma, would strike terror into the hearts of enemies, and even Indra himself, along with the adversaries of the gods, would tremble before it. At that sacred place, Hari—the illustrious Viṣṇu—offered heartfelt praise to both Hara (Śiva) and Keshava. With deep reverence, he saluted the lord who wields the spear and the sword, honoring the master of speech and the bearer of fortune, again and again. Joining his hands in devotion, Hari swiftly embraced both deities, acknowledging the fierce man born from Brahma’s sweat—the one whose might was to be reckoned with. Hara, wishing for understanding, urged that this formidable being be known quickly, and then vanished from sight. In anger, the sweat-born man struck the ground with his left foot and rose, his presence resounding like thunder. The sound of his drawn bow echoed through all beings, filling the world with tumult. Thus, a divine battle of equals unfolded upon the earth—a contest between the sweat-born and the blood-born, as time itself seemed to pause and observe. With arrows of immense force, Brahma pierced the supreme man, but the dust raised by Hara cast Brahma down. It was declared that if, in another birth, Hara’s man were defeated by Hari, then after a mighty contest between the two, peace would be restored. Hara himself would intervene in that great battle, promising to engage at the appointed time. Both these men, Rudras by nature and portions of the divine, were to be protected. At the end of the Dvāpara Yuga, it was decreed that they must be established upon the earth. The lord of the gods, Indra, then spoke with sorrow to Viṣṇu, recalling the slaying of Vāli, the mighty-armed, during the Tretā Yuga for the sake of Sugrīva. Grieving over that event, Indra expressed his reluctance to accept Viṣṇu’s man. Viṣṇu, compassionate and wise, addressed Indra, assuring him that all was for the alleviation of the earth’s burden. Soothed by Viṣṇu’s words, Indra’s heart was gladdened. Thereafter, he dispatched the two luminaries, the Sun and the Moon, once more into the heavens. Yet, a grievous act had been committed in the desire to slay the lord. For purification from this sin, the highest expiation was prescribed. One fire was to be established as the Gārhapatya, the other as the Āhavanīya. In a sacred circle, one was to perform the rites, refraining from the form of the bow. Offerings were to be made into the fire, and with austerity, Hara was to be worshipped at that very moment. Only with a mind purified by such expiation could one approach the great lord. Having spoken thus, Hari—of fierce energy and great soul—departed to his own abode. In the aftermath, questions arose: Why had these extraordinary events transpired at the birth of Viśvakarman? By what intention and through whose agency had Rudra, the great lord, begotten him? Among Śaṅkara, Acyuta, and Brahmā, who had produced him, and for what purpose? How did his wondrous fifth face come to be? And who had sent that deluded man to attempt the slaying of Hara? Thus, the tale unfolded, leaving the sages to ponder the mysteries of divine will and cosmic design.