The King's Renewed Hope
The shores of Puri, where the sea whispered secrets to the sand, became a canvas of divine ambition. King Indradyumna, his heart once shattered by the loss of Nilamadhava, now stood renewed, his spirit kindled by the sage Narada's words. The disappearance of the sacred idol had plunged him into despair, but Narada's counsel—to perform a thousand Ashwamedha Yajnas and build a temple by the sea—had rekindled his faith. The king gazed at the horizon, where the Bay of Bengal shimmered like Vishnu's cosmic ocean, and felt the Lord's presence guiding him. "The divine works in mystery," he murmured, his voice steady with resolve.
The construction of the temple had begun with fervor. The Puri shore, kissed by waves and fringed with coconut palms, buzzed with activity. Artisans chiseled white sandstone, their hammers ringing like temple bells, while laborers hauled timber from distant forests. Priests, their foreheads marked with sandalwood paste, chanted Vedic hymns, sanctifying the site. The Savara tribe, once guardians of Nilamadhava, joined the effort, their ochre-painted hands mixing clay with Vedic precision. Indradyumna moved among them, his white robes dusted with sand, his eyes alight with purpose. He was no distant monarch but a devotee, laboring beside his people to honor Vishnu's call.
Queen Gundicha, her presence a quiet strength, oversaw the women weaving garlands and preparing offerings. "The Lord tests us, my king," she said one evening, her voice soft as the sea breeze. "But his grace is near." Indradyumna nodded, his heart lighter. The kingdom of Malava had sent resources—gold, grain, and skilled craftsmen—while Vidyapati, the scholar-priest, coordinated rituals, his palm-leaf manuscripts open to sacred texts. The temple's foundation rose, its stones aligned with the stars, a testament to the unity of king, tribe, and cosmos. Yet, Indradyumna knew the temple needed its heart—a divine form to enshrine. He prayed nightly, his heart yearning for Vishnu's next sign.
The Night of the Second Vision
As the temple's spires took shape, the nights in Puri grew heavy with anticipation. One evening, after a day of overseeing the construction, Indradyumna retired to a simple tent by the shore, its canvas fluttering in the sea wind. The air was thick with the scent of salt and jasmine, and the waves' rhythm lulled him into a meditative calm. He knelt before a small clay idol of Vishnu, its surface adorned with a single lotus petal, and chanted the Vishnu Sahasranama, his voice blending with the ocean's song. "O Madhava, show me your path," he whispered, his eyes closing as exhaustion gave way to surrender.
Sleep came like a tide, carrying him into a dream unlike any other. In the vision, he stood on a boundless shore, the sea before him a mirror of stars. The waters parted, revealing a radiant log of neem wood, its surface glowing with an otherworldly light. It floated, untouched by the waves, as if cradled by invisible hands. From the horizon, a figure emerged—Lord Vishnu, his form vast yet intimate, his skin dark as the midnight sky, his eyes twin suns of compassion. A conch gleamed in one hand, a chakra in another, and his voice resonated like thunder over the deep. "Indradyumna, my devotee," he said, "this is Daru Brahma, the sacred wood, my form for this age. Seek it in the sea near Puri, and let it become the heart of your temple."
The log pulsed with divine energy, its grain etched with patterns like the cosmos itself. Vishnu's words carried a promise: "Through this wood, I shall dwell among all, king and tribesman, saint and sinner." Indradyumna fell to his knees in the dream, tears streaming down his face, his heart overwhelmed by the Lord's grace. The vision faded, but the log's glow lingered in his mind, a beacon of hope. He awoke with a start, the tent lit by the first rays of dawn, the sea's roar echoing Vishnu's voice. "The Lord has spoken," he whispered, his hands trembling with awe.
He summoned Vidyapati and Gundicha at once, his words tumbling forth. "The Lord has shown me a sacred log, Daru Brahma, floating in the sea. It is his will that we find it." Vidyapati's eyes widened, his scholar's mind racing to interpret the vision. "This is no ordinary wood," he said, "but the Lord's chosen form." Gundicha clasped her husband's hand, her face radiant. "Let us trust his guidance." The camp stirred, priests and laborers gathering as the king shared his dream, their cheers rising like a hymn. The quest for the sacred log began, a new chapter in Indradyumna's divine mission.
The Search for the Log
The Puri coast became a stage of sacred purpose. Indradyumna dispatched scouts—fleet-footed guards and Savara tribesmen skilled in reading the sea's moods—to scour the shoreline. The beach stretched wide, its golden sands strewn with shells and seaweed, the waves crashing with a rhythm that seemed to chant Vishnu's name. Fishermen from nearby villages joined the search, their boats bobbing on the horizon, their nets cast not for fish but for a divine treasure. Above, gulls circled in patterns that the priests deemed auspicious, their cries like mantras in the wind.
Indradyumna stood on a dune, his robes billowing, his eyes scanning the sea. The air was alive with omens: a dolphin leapt from the waves, its arc a mirror of the chakra in his vision. A coconut fell from a palm, rolling to his feet, its husk unmarked. "The Lord is near," he murmured, his heart pounding. Vidyapati, ever watchful, recorded the signs in his manuscript, noting the alignment of the tide with the lunar cycle. The Savara, led by Viswavasu, chanted their own songs, their voices blending with the Vedic hymns of the priests, a harmony of traditions.
Days passed, the search relentless. One morning, as the sun painted the sea in hues of gold, a cry rang out from a fisherman's boat. "There! The log!" Indradyumna ran to the shore, his heart racing. Far out, where the waves met the horizon, a dark shape floated, its surface catching the light like a polished jewel. The Savara recognized it at once, their elders whispering of ancient tales where the sea offered gifts to the worthy. Indradyumna fell to his knees, his hands raised in gratitude. "Daru Brahma," he whispered, tears mingling with the salt air.
The Retrieval of Daru Brahma
Retrieving the log was no simple task—it was a sacred act, fraught with divine mystery. The fishermen's boats circled the log, but their nets slipped from its surface, as if it resisted mortal touch. Indradyumna, guided by instinct, called for a ritual. Priests waded into the shallows, their white dhotis soaked, chanting the Purusha Sukta as they sprinkled holy water. Viswavasu and his tribesmen joined, offering wildflowers and red ochre, their prayers invoking the forest spirits. The sea calmed, its waves gentling, as if acknowledging the sanctity of the moment.
A young Savara fisherman, his eyes bright with courage, swam to the log, tying it with ropes woven from coconut fiber. The log, heavy yet buoyant, seemed to guide itself shoreward, the tide aiding the effort. Indradyumna waded into the water, his hands touching the wood, its surface warm and alive, pulsing with the same energy as his vision. "O Lord, you have come," he whispered, his voice choked with awe. The crowd on the shore—nobles, priests, tribesmen, and villagers—erupted in cheers, their voices a chorus of devotion.
The log was drawn onto the beach, its size immense, its grain shimmering with faint golden veins. The priests surrounded it, sprinkling turmeric and sandalwood paste, while Viswavasu's daughter, Lalita, placed a lotus at its base. Indradyumna stood before it, his heart full, sensing the Lord's presence within the wood. "This is no mere tree," he declared, "but Vishnu himself, come to dwell among us." The Savara nodded, their ancient tales speaking of trees as vessels of the divine, a bridge between earth and heaven.