In the course of his teachings, the sage described the nine stages through which the body passes: conception, gestation, birth, childhood, boyhood, youth, maturity, old age, and ultimately, death. All these bodies—higher and lower—are shaped by the interplay of qualities, and are, in truth, woven from the fabric of imagination. Through association with these qualities, one acquires or relinquishes different forms, sometimes taking them up, sometimes leaving them behind. The coming and going of the self is often inferred from the relationship between father and son, but the one who truly understands the nature of things that arise and pass away is not defined by such dualities. Just as someone who knows the seed and fruit of a tree comprehends the tree’s birth and destruction, yet remains separate from the tree itself, so too is the true witness distinct from the body. When a person fails to distinguish the self from nature, confused by their contact, he becomes entangled in worldly existence. Through association with sattva, one attains the gods; through rajas, the demons and humans; through tamas, the state of spirits and animals. Guided by actions, one wanders among these various states. Observing others dance and sing, one imitates them; likewise, even those who are inactive are compelled to mimic the qualities of intellect they perceive. Just as trees seem to move when water flows past them, or the earth appears to spin when the eyes whirl, so too are perceptions distorted. The experience of sense objects through the mind’s imagination is false, just as visions in dreams are unreal—so too is worldly existence for the self, descendant of Dasarha. Even when the object does not exist, the cycle of worldly existence does not cease; for one who meditates on sense objects, misfortune arises in dreams just as in waking life. Therefore, Uddhava, do not indulge in sense objects with unreliable senses. See the confusion born from grasping the self, and recognize the illusory error. Whether cast out, insulted by the wicked, mocked, envied, beaten, restrained, or deprived of livelihood; whether spat upon, urinated upon by ignorant people, or shaken in many ways—one who desires what is good, even in hardship, should uplift oneself by one’s own self. Hearing these words, Śrī Uddhava asked, “How may I understand this, O best of speakers? Please tell us. This unbearable transgression against the self, I consider exceedingly difficult, O Soul of the Universe, even for the wise, for nature is powerful. Except for those devoted to your dharma, peaceful, and sheltered at your feet.” The sage explained that Bṛhaspati, in the doctrine of Brahman, and Hari himself, in the state of self-realization, through devotion to cows, teachers, and Brahmins, follow Viṣvaksena. By praise and song, men throughout the three worlds, here and there, enter through the ear-holes of women, just as Rāma does among the virtuous. Through food and offerings, there is favor among the wives of the sacrificers. At that time, the cowherds approached and said, “O Rāma, O mighty-armed, O Kṛṣṇa, destroyer of the wicked, hunger afflicts us; you ought to bring its relief.” Hearing their plea, the Lord, son of Devakī, kindly spoke for the devotee, the wife of the Brahmin: “Go to the sacrificial altar where the Brahmins, versed in Brahman, are performing the Angirasa sacrifice, desiring heaven. Go there, cowherds, and ask for cooked rice, sent by us, mentioning the names of the Lord, the noble one, and myself.” Thus instructed, the cowherds went as directed, with folded hands, bowing to the Brahmins, prostrating themselves on the ground. They spoke, “O lords of the earth, listen! We have come as those who carry out Kṛṣṇa’s command. Know that we are cowherds sent by Rāma; may good fortune be yours. O best knowers of dharma, Rama and Achyuta, tending the cows not far from here, are hungry and seeking food from you. If you have faith, give them the cooked rice they desire. O excellent ones, except during the consecration for the animal sacrifice or the Sautramani rite, even for one who is consecrated, food is not spoiled by eating it.” Though they heard this request on behalf of the Lord, the Brahmins did not listen—petty in their desires, preoccupied with many rituals, childish, and proud of their age. The place, time, separate materials, mantras, procedures, priests, fires, deities, sacrificer, the ritual, and dharma—all these are composed of Him. Yet, lacking discernment and seeing themselves as mortal, they did not recognize the Supreme Brahman, the Lord Adhokshaja Himself, viewing Him as a mere human. They neither said, “Give it to the Yadus,” nor did they say, “Do not give.” Disappointed, the cowherds returned and told Krishna and Rama what had happened. Hearing this, the Lord, Master of the universe, laughed and spoke again to the cowherds, showing a worldly course of action: “Go and inform the wives, along with Sankarshana and myself having come. They, affectionate and devoted to me in thought, will gladly give you food.” Following his instructions, the cowherds went to the house of the wives, saw them seated and adorned, bowed to the noble brahmins’ wives, and respectfully spoke: “Salutations to you, O brahmins’ wives. Please listen to our words. Not far from here, we, sent by Krishna, are tending the cows. He, tending the cows with the cowherds and with Rama, has come a long way. Please give food to him, who is hungry and accompanied by his companions.” Hearing that Achyuta had come, always eager to see him, their minds absorbed in his stories, all the women became filled with excitement. Gathering four kinds of excellent food in vessels, all of them hurried forth to their beloved, like rivers rushing to the ocean. Though forbidden by their husbands, brothers, relatives, and sons, their minds fixed on the Lord of excellent fame, and sustained by long-heard teachings, they went forth. In a grove on the Yamuna, adorned with fresh asoka shoots, the women saw him, surrounded by cowherds and his elder brother, wandering there. They beheld him, dark as a raincloud, clad in golden garments, adorned with forest garlands and peacock feathers, dressed as a dancer, with a lotus resting on his shoulder, one hand twirling a lotus, his ear adorned with a lily, locks framing his cheeks, and his face blossoming with a smile. Their minds, immersed in him whose stories they loved to hear, whose presence delighted their ears, entered him through their eyes, embraced him long within, and, as wise ones, let go of their sorrow as they wished.