Śuka, the wise and steadfast son of Vyāsa, prepared to depart from his father’s hermitage. He respectfully took leave, saying, “O highly fortunate one, your words must be obeyed. I wish to see the Videhas, governed by King Janaka.” Śuka’s curiosity was profound: “How does Janaka rule his kingdom without the use of punishment? If there were no punishment, surely people would not follow dharma. Punishment is the very cause of righteousness, always established by Manu and others. How does it operate there, father? This is my great doubt.” He added, “My mother is childless, and her behavior seems unusual. I ask you, O highly fortunate one, and now I must go, O subduer of foes.” Seeing his son’s eagerness to depart, Vyāsa, the son of Satyavatī, embraced Śuka, who was steadfast, desireless, and wise. Vyāsa spoke with affection, “May you fare well, Śuka; live long, O wise son. Having given me your word, go as you please, my child. But after you have gone, you must return to my excellent hermitage. Do not go anywhere else under any circumstances, my son. I live happily when I see your lotus face; not seeing you, I feel sorrow—for you are my very life, child. After seeing Janaka and dispelling your doubt, return here and stay happily, devoted to the study of the Vedas.” Thus addressed, Śuka saluted his venerable father, circumambulated him, and departed swiftly—like an arrow released from a bow. As he journeyed, he observed various lands and peoples devoted to wealth and righteousness, forests, trees, and cultivated fields bearing fruit. He saw ascetics practicing austerities, priests engaged in rituals, yogis devoted to yoga, forest-dwellers, and those in the vanaprastha stage. He witnessed followers of Śiva, Pāśupatas, Sauras, Śāktas, and Vaiṣṇavas—so many paths of dharma—and marveled greatly at their diversity. In two years, the great-minded Śuka crossed Mount Meru, and in another year, he reached Mithilā after crossing the Himalayas. Entering Mithilā, he beheld its supreme prosperity: all the people were happy, well-conducted, and firmly established in good behavior. As he approached the city, a guard stopped him, demanding, “Who are you who has come here? What is your business? Speak!” But Śuka did not reply. Leaving through the city gate, he stood motionless like a pillar, astonished and deep in thought, saying nothing. The gatekeeper pressed him, “Speak! Are you mute, O Brahmin? For what purpose have you come here? In my view, no task can be accomplished without movement. By the king’s order, O twice-born, entry into this city is always regulated. One whose family and conduct are unknown is never permitted entry here. You appear radiant—surely you are a Brahmin, learned in the Vedas. Tell me your lineage and purpose; then, O honorable one, go as you wish.” Śuka finally spoke: “The purpose for which I have come here has been fulfilled by your words: to see the city of Videha, where entry is difficult. This delusion of mine, born of poor judgment, has led me to cross two mountains. Wishing to see the king, I have wandered and arrived here. I have been deceived by my own father—who is to blame for this? O fortunate one, I have been made to wander the earth by fate or by my own actions. The desire for wealth is the cause of a man’s wandering in this world. I do not have that, yet still I have come here, apparently out of confusion. For one without hope, happiness is constant—if he does not sink into delusion. I am without hope, O fortunate one, yet I am submerged in this ocean of delusion. Where is Mount Meru, where is Mithilā, and how have I come here on foot? What is the fruit of my effort? Surely I have been deceived by fate. Surely, what has been set in motion must be experienced, whether good or bad. All effort is always subject to destiny. There is no sacred place, nor the Veda here—why have I labored thus? Entry to the city is denied; the king is called Videha.” Having spoken thus, Śuka quickly fell silent, standing as if mute. The gatekeeper, recognizing him as a wise and eminent Brahmin, addressed him gently: “Go, sir, wherever your business takes you, as you wish, O best of Brahmins. It is my fault, O Brahmin, that I stopped you. Forgive me, O fortunate one; forgiveness is the strength of those who are free.” Śuka replied, “What fault is yours here, O gatekeeper? You are always under another’s authority. A servant must properly carry out the master’s command. There is no fault of the king here, for I was protected by you; the wise must always be vigilant regarding thieves and enemies. The fault is entirely mine for having come here; it is my own doing that I entered another’s house, and this is the cause of my disgrace.” The doorkeeper then asked, “O twice-born, what is happiness, what is sorrow, what should one do who desires good? Who is an enemy, who is a benefactor? Tell me all of this today.” Śuka responded, “In all the worlds there is duality; everywhere people are of two kinds: those with attachment and those without; and their minds are likewise divided in two. The detached are of three kinds: those who know, those who do not know, and those who are intermediate; the attached are said to be of two kinds: the foolish and the clever. Cleverness is said to be of two kinds: that which comes from scripture and that which arises from intellect; and intellect, in all the world, is of two kinds: proper and improper.” The doorkeeper, still puzzled, said, “O learned one, as you have spoken, I do not understand the meaning. O best of the twice-born, explain all this to me in detail, as it truly is.” Śuka explained, “He who has attachment in this world is certainly called ‘attached’; for him there is manifold suffering and, again, various kinds of happiness.” Thus, Śuka’s journey to Mithilā was not only a physical crossing of mountains and lands, but also an exploration of the nature of attachment, happiness, and the workings of destiny, as he conversed with those he met along the way, shedding light on profound truths.