Śrī Varāha, the divine boar, addressed the Earth with kindness: “O Upholder of Beings, listen as I recount the origin of Suprabha, the jewel-born king of noble mind. In the beginning, during the golden Krita Yuga, there lived a mighty-armed king named Śrutakīrti. His strength and fame spread throughout the three worlds, and he was celebrated by all. This powerful Śrutakīrti, also known as Prajāpāla, was blessed with a son named Suprabha, who was born from a jewel and destined for greatness. One day, King Prajāpāla ventured into the forest to hunt wild beasts. As he roamed, he came upon the sacred hermitage of a sage. This was the dwelling of Mahātapas, a sage of great austerity and devotion, who practiced severe penances, fasting, and constant recitation of the eternal Brahman. With reverence and intent, the illustrious king Prajāpāla resolved to enter the hermitage of this great ascetic. The hermitage itself was a vision of serenity and beauty: trees of many kinds flourished, their roots deep in the earth, and well-trodden paths wound between them. Creeper-houses glimmered in the moonlight, and bees, the lords of their hives, moved about with effortless grace. Within this tranquil setting, divine maidens, their fingers and nails tender and reddish like lotuses, walked in rows beneath the trees. Their beauty surpassed even that of Indra’s slayer of Vṛtra. All around, delighted birds and intoxicated six-legged creatures dwelled, and the branches, richly flowered and varied, intertwined harmoniously. Grove-houses formed from kadamba, nīpa, arjuna, and śāla trees rang with the sweet voices of birds. The atmosphere was peaceful, welcoming to the virtuous, and undisturbed—a place of steadfast duties and goodness. From all sides, the smoke of sacrificial fires rose, tended by householders and twice-born sages. These sages, like lions among elephants, shone with splendor and sharp intellect, upholding righteousness. As King Prajāpāla observed these wonders, he entered the hermitage. There, he beheld the great ascetic Mahātapas, radiant with intense energy, seated on a silken seat, resplendent like the sun and foremost among those who know Brahman. Seeing this sage, the king, who had come as a hunter, felt his mind transformed by the sage’s presence. The urge to hunt faded, and his thoughts turned towards righteousness. The sage, recognizing the sinless protector of his people, welcomed the king with all due rites—offering a seat and hospitality. Once seated, the king bowed to the eminent sage and posed a profound question: “O venerable one, you whose vows are renowned, please tell me, who have come to you in reverence, what should be done by those who, afflicted by the suffering of worldly existence, wish to cross over it?” The great ascetic replied: “For those sinking in the ocean of worldly existence, a steadfast and reliable boat must be fashioned through worship, charity, offerings, various sacrifices, and meditation. Fasten it with the pegs of liberation, and tie it with the great cords of breath and life-force. O king, make the Lord of the three worlds your boat. O lord of kings, whoever worships with devotion and bows to Nārāyaṇa, the destroyer of hell and lord of the gods, becomes free from sorrow and attains that supreme, sorrowless, imperishable abode of Viṣṇu.” The king then asked, “O venerable one, knower of all dharma, how is the eternal Viṣṇu to be worshipped by those who desire liberation? Please tell me truly.” The great ascetic answered, “Listen, O wise king, to how Viṣṇu—Hari, the lord of all yogis—is pleased, for both men and women. All the gods, along with the ancestors, Brahmā, and those within the cosmic egg, are born from Viṣṇu—so declares the Veda. Agni, the Aśvins, Gaurī, the elephant-faced one, serpents, Kārttikeya, the sun, the Mothers, and Durgā as well; the directions, the lord of wealth, Viṣṇu, Yama, Rudra, the moon, and the ancestors—all these have arisen chiefly from the Lord of the universe. All have originated from the body of Hiraṇyagarbha. Yet, each, filled with pride, went their separate ways in all directions. Among them, a great tumult arose in the assembly of the gods, like the roaring of the ocean: ‘I alone am worthy, I alone am to be worshipped.’ As they argued, Agni arose and declared, ‘Sacrifice to me, meditate on me.’ He proclaimed, ‘Surely this body of the progenitor would perish without me, for I am the great I.’ Having spoken thus, Agni left the body and departed, yet the body did not decay. Then the two Aśvins, embodiments of the vital breaths, said, ‘We are the foremost, the best to be worshipped.’ They, too, left the body, but it remained, sustained by the indwelling self. Gaurī then spoke, ‘Primacy resides in me,’ and departed. Yet, even without her, the field remained, governed by the deities of speech. At that time, Ganapati, called Akasha, proclaimed, ‘Nothing of the body remains distant, deprived of me.’ He too departed after some time, but still the body did not disintegrate. Seeing the field without its cavities, yet still existing, all the bodily elements declared, ‘There is no sustaining of a body apart from us.’ Saying this, they too departed. Yet, even then, the field was guarded by the Purusha. Skanda, known as Ahamkara, seeing this, said, ‘Without me, even the emergence of the body cannot occur.’ He too departed and stood apart. With him gone, the field remained as if liberated. Witnessing this, Bhanu, known as Aditya, became angry and said, ‘How can this field exist even for a moment without me?’ He departed as well, yet the body did not decay. Thus, the king heard from the sage the profound truth that all the gods and elements, though mighty, are but manifestations of the one supreme Lord, Viṣṇu, who alone sustains all and is the true refuge for those who seek liberation.