Let me tell you the story woven through these verses, as the Mahābhārata reveals the path of the true sage and the dialogue of righteous kings. There once lived a sage in the forest, sustained by his own strength and steadfast in avoiding all wrongdoing. He gave generously to others, never causing harm, and lived simply—disciplined in both food and conduct. By such a life of self-restraint and virtue, he attained the highest perfection. This sage did not earn his living through crafts or trades. He was ever virtuous, his senses mastered, and his heart detached from worldly things. Without a fixed home, he slept wherever night found him, moved lightly upon the earth, and wandered through many lands, free from all ties—such was the true mendicant. There exists a night, so profound, by which the worlds are conquered and all desires and pleasures are overcome. Striving for this very state, the wise man, self-controlled and dwelling in the forest, seeks to become one with that conquering silence. He regarded ten generations of ancestors before him and ten generations of descendants after, seeing himself as the twenty-first in the line. Performing good deeds as a forest-dweller, he relinquished his bodily elements in the forest and, thus freed, attained liberation. Curious, the listeners asked, “How many sages are there, and how many forms of silence exist? Tell us, for we wish to hear.” The reply came: For the one who dwells in the forest, if a village lies behind him—or for one who lives in a village, if the forest lies behind—such a sage is lord among men. But how, they wondered, could it be that while dwelling in the forest, a village lies behind, or while living in a village, the forest lies behind? It was explained: The sage who lives in the forest must not use anything belonging to the village; thus, while he dwells in the forest, the village lies behind him. He is without fire, without a fixed abode, wandering without family ties. As long as he has only a loincloth for covering, he should not desire a robe. Similarly, as long as the intention to sustain life remains, he should desire only food. In this way, even while dwelling in the village, the forest lies behind him. He who abandons desires and actions, mastering his senses and adopting the sage’s silence, attains perfection in this world. Who would not revere one whose teeth are clean, nails trimmed, always bathed and adorned, who, though dark in hue, performs only pure deeds? Emaciated by austerity, thin, with flesh, bones, and blood diminished, such a sage, having conquered this world, attains the higher world. When the sage, established in silence, becomes free from all dualities, he conquers this world and reaches the supreme realm. When the sage seeks his food with his mouth, like a cow grazing, the whole world becomes fit for his immortality. The common duty for all is to abandon anger, greed, malice, and impatience; forsaking envy, deceit, pride, hypocrisy, and slander. He who has no anger, greed, or possessiveness is truly a knower of dharma. Whether one eats always, is a celibate, a householder, a forest-dweller, or a sage—one should not incur unrighteousness through food. The listeners asked, “Tell us how this is so.” The answer was given: Eight mouthfuls are prescribed for the sage, sixteen for the forest-dweller, thirty-two for the householder, and for the celibate, there is no limit. Thus, through these reasons, one should understand the auspicious and inauspicious results of the Aṣṭakā. Then, a question was posed: “Which of these two, O King, reaches the gods first, as they both hasten like the sun and the moon?” The answer: The wandering mendicant, restrained among householders devoted to desire, living in the village, reaches first among the two. If a man, not blessed with long life, engages in improper conduct after being born, and then performs austerity and is tormented by it, he should undertake another form of austerity. A man who always fears sinful deeds, even while performing pleasant acts, attains supreme happiness. Whatever is cruel is said to be false. He who serves righteousness with a mind set on gain is like a horse without power, O King—such is his straightforwardness, his concentration, his nobility. Then, a royal figure was questioned: “By whom have you been called, who has sent you, O King? Young, garlanded, handsome, radiant—where have you come from, from which direction, or do you have a royal station?” The reply: “The guardians of the worlds and the Brahmins urge me on.” The path chosen among the virtuous is steep and perilous; all who gather there are endowed with virtues. “This boon I have obtained from Indra, O King, as I am about to fall to the earth.” One pleaded, “I ask you—do not fall into the abyss—if there are worlds for me here, O King. Whether they are in the sky or established in heaven, I consider you the knower of the field of that righteousness.” The reply came: “As many cows and horses as are established on earth, along with wild animals and mountains, so many worlds are established for you in heaven—know this, O lion among kings.” “I give them to you—do not fall into the abyss—the worlds that are mine in heaven, O lord of kings. Whether they are in the sky or established in heaven, quickly ascend to them, freed from delusion.” “But no one like me, who is not a Brahmin or knower of Brahman, accepts gifts, O foremost of kings. As it is always to be given to the twice-born, so I have given before, O King.” “A non-Brahmin, a miserable man, should never live, nor should his non-Brahmin wife, even if she is a hero’s wife. I would never act in a way not done before, seeking to know what is right—how could that be good?” Then another asked, “I ask you, O one of desirable form—I am Pratardana—if there are worlds for me, whether in the sky or established in heaven, I consider you the knower of the field of that righteousness.” The answer: “There are many worlds for you, O King—even each one for seven days and nights—dripping with honey, mixed with ghee, free from sorrow; they are endless and await you.” “I give them to you—do not fall into the abyss—the worlds that are mine, let them be yours. Whether they are in the sky or established in heaven, quickly ascend to them, freed from delusion.” A king should not desire the prosperity of one whose power is not equal, even if he is righteous, O King. When misfortune comes by fate, the wise king should never act cruelly. A king striving on the righteous path, seeking fame, should always act with an eye to righteousness. One who knows righteousness as I do should not act in such a pitiable way toward me as you have suggested. One should not do what has never been done before by others, merely out of desire; what virtue lies in that? One should act with careful discernment between righteousness and unrighteousness, and be vigilant regarding what ought and ought not to be done. He who is wise, truthful, self-controlled, and a king—he becomes a protector of the world by his greatness. When there is doubt in matters of righteousness, or where desire and gain are equally present, in such cases, the work of righteousness should be undertaken first; that is righteousness which does not conflict with desire or gain. Thus, the path of the sage and the king is revealed—one of restraint, discernment, and unwavering commitment to righteousness above all.