In the days of old, the wise spoke of those who, having set aside all desires and actions, mastered their senses and embraced the silence of sages. Such a person, it was said, attained perfection even while living in this world. Who, then, would not revere one whose appearance and conduct reflected purity—whose teeth were clean, nails trimmed, body bathed and adorned, though dark in complexion, yet shining with pure deeds? There were those who, through severe austerities, became thin and emaciated, their flesh, bones, and blood diminished. Yet, having conquered the world, they attained realms even higher. When a sage, rooted in silence, transcended all dualities, he too conquered this world and reached the supreme state. It was told that when such a sage sought his food directly with his mouth, like a cow grazing, the entire world became a fit ground for his immortality. The common duty for all, it was declared, was to abandon anger, greed, malice, and impatience, to forsake envy, deceit, pride, hypocrisy, and slander. He who was free from anger, greed, and possessiveness was truly a knower of dharma. Whether one always ate, was a celibate, a householder, a forest-dweller, or a sage, none should fall into unrighteousness through food. The wise asked: how is this so? The answer was given—eight mouthfuls were prescribed for the sage, sixteen for the forest-dweller, thirty-two for the householder, and the celibate was not limited. Thus, by these measures, one could discern the auspicious and inauspicious results of the Aṣṭakā rites. At another time, a question arose: “O King, which of these two—like the sun and the moon racing across the sky—reaches the gods first?” The answer came: “The wandering mendicant, who remains restrained even among householders devoted to desire, dwelling in the village, he reaches the gods first.” If a man, though not blessed with long life, engaged in improper conduct after birth, but later performed austerity and was tormented by it, he should undertake yet another kind of austerity. One who always feared sinful deeds, even while performing acts that brought pleasure, would attain supreme happiness. It was said that whatever was cruel was also false; a man who served righteousness only for gain was like a powerless horse—such was his straightforwardness, his focus, and his nobility. A dialogue unfolded. “By whom have you been called, O King? Who has sent you? Young, garlanded, handsome, radiant—where do you come from, from which direction, or do you hold royal station?” The reply came: “The guardians of the worlds and the Brahmins urge me onward.” The path chosen among the virtuous was described as a precipice, where all who gathered were adorned with virtues. “This boon I have obtained from Indra, O King, as I stand at the edge of falling to the earth.” A plea arose: “I ask you—do not let me fall into the abyss—if there are worlds for me here, O King. Whether they are in the sky or established in heaven, I look to you as the knower of that field of righteousness.” The answer was reassuring: “As many cows and horses as exist 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 in the sky or established in heaven, quickly ascend to them, freed from delusion.” Yet, humility and tradition held firm. “No one like me, who is not a Brahmin or knower of Brahman, accepts gifts, O foremost of kings. Gifts are always to be given to the twice-born, as I have given before, O King. A non-Brahmin, a miserable man, should never live, nor should his 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?” Again, a question: “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 look to you as the knower of righteousness.” The reply: “There are many worlds for you, O King, 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 in the sky or established in heaven, quickly ascend to them, freed from delusion.” Yet, the wise king spoke: “A king should not covet the prosperity of one whose power is not equal, even if he is righteous. When misfortune comes by fate, the wise king should never act cruelly. A king striving on the righteous path, seeking fame, should 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 is there in that? One should act with careful discernment between righteousness and unrighteousness, and be vigilant regarding what ought and ought not to be done.” It was declared: “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.” Another voice spoke: “I ask you, O wealthy one, possessor of healing herbs, is there a world in heaven for me, O king? If there is one established in the sky, O great-souled one, I look to you as the knower of that righteousness.” The answer came: “Whatever space, earth, and directions there are, and the sun who shines by your brilliance—so many worlds are established in heaven, and by that, finite beings are sustained. I give you those worlds; do not fall into ruin. Whatever worlds are mine, let them be yours. Buy them even with a blade of grass, O king, if your acceptance is not tainted, O wise one.” The king replied: “I do not recall ever making a false sale, nor have I ever taken anything in vain, fearing the reproach of children. Nor would I do what has not been done before by others, merely out of desire; what virtue is there in that? You, O king, accept those worlds which I have given; if you do not desire the price, let it be so. I will not take them back, O king; let all those worlds be yours.” Then another spoke: “I ask you, I am Śibi, son of Uśīnara; if there are worlds for me here, O dear one, whether they are in the sky or established in heaven, I look to you as the knower of that righteousness.” The reply was full of honor: “Because you, O king, did not disdain the good, either in word or in heart, when they sought you, therefore, those infinite worlds established in heaven, vast and resounding like thunderclouds, are yours. You, O king, accept those worlds which I have given; if you do not desire the price, let it be so. Nor will I accept them back after giving, where the steadfast go and do not grieve.” The king replied: “Just as you, O king, possess power like Indra, and those worlds are indeed infinite, so today I do not delight in a gift received from another; therefore, O Śibi, I do not welcome the share.” But the plea persisted: “If you, O king, do not accept our worlds one by one, then, having given all to you, we shall all go to hell.” Thus, in these dialogues, the wise and the noble revealed the subtle ways of righteousness, the nature of true gifts, and the path to worlds beyond, ever upholding the ancient standards of dharma.