With great humility, the doorkeeper addressed Śuka, his voice tinged with regret. “O revered Brahmin,” he said, “it is my fault that I stopped you. Forgive me, O fortunate one; forgiveness, after all, is the true strength of those who are free.” Śuka, gentle and wise, replied, “O gatekeeper, what fault of yours is there in this? You act always under another’s authority. A servant must faithfully carry out his master’s command.” He continued, “Nor is there any fault in the king, for you protected me as was your duty. The wise must ever be vigilant, guarding against thieves and enemies.” Śuka then turned the responsibility upon himself. “The fault, truly, is mine alone, for I came here of my own accord. By entering another’s house, I have brought this upon myself and must accept the consequences.” The doorkeeper, sensing the sage’s depth, asked sincerely, “O twice-born one, tell me: What is happiness, what is sorrow, and what should one do who desires true good? Who is an enemy, and who is a benefactor? Please, reveal all this to me today.” Śuka responded, his words imbued with clarity, “In all the worlds, duality prevails. Everywhere, people are of two kinds: those who are attached and those who are detached. Their minds, too, are thus divided.” “The detached themselves are of three types: those who know, those who do not know, and those who are in between. The attached, it is said, are of two kinds: the foolish and the clever.” He explained further, “Cleverness is also twofold: that which arises from scripture, and that which comes from intellect. And intellect, throughout the world, is of two types: proper and improper.” The doorkeeper, eager to understand, said, “O learned one, as you have spoken, I do not fully grasp your meaning. Please, O best of the twice-born, explain this to me in detail, as it truly is.” Śuka patiently elaborated, “He who is attached in this world is certainly called ‘attached.’ For such a person, there is much suffering and also various kinds of happiness. When he gains wealth, sons, wives, honor, or victory, he feels joy; when he fails to gain them, sorrow arises at every moment.” “The duty of the attached is to seek out the means of happiness and to act accordingly. His enemy is the one who obstructs his happiness, while his friend is always the one who brings him joy. The clever are never deluded, but the foolish are deluded everywhere.” “But for one who is detached and devoted to the Self, happiness is found in solitary practice, in contemplation of the Self, and in reflection upon Vedānta. All worldly talk and the like are sources of suffering for him, and many are the enemies of the wise who desire good.” “Desire, anger, and heedlessness are his various enemies. His only friend, in all the three worlds, is contentment—there is no other.” Hearing these profound words and recognizing Śuka as a true knower, the doorkeeper respectfully allowed him to enter a most delightful inner chamber. Śuka observed the city before him—a place bustling with people of three kinds, filled with market goods, vibrant with buying and selling. It was a city brimming with both attachment and aversion, overwhelmed by desire, greed, and delusion, noisy with disputes yet filled with good people, and abundant in wealth—a truly great city. Beholding the threefold kinds of people, Śuka made his way toward the royal palace. His brilliance was so great that he seemed like a second sun. At the palace gate, he was stopped by another doorkeeper. Śuka stood motionless, like a log, at the threshold, his mind absorbed in contemplation of liberation. Whether in shade or sunlight, the great ascetic saw both as equal, standing alone in meditation, unmoving as a pillar. After a short while, the king’s chief minister approached, palms joined in reverence, and led Śuka into the second chamber of the royal palace. There, he was shown a divine and delightful garden, adorned with blossoming celestial trees, and was welcomed with proper hospitality. In that chamber, the chief women of the palace were present—devoted to royal service, skilled in singing and playing instruments, and experts in the arts of love. At the minister’s instruction, these women attended to Śuka, and the minister departed, leaving Vyāsa’s son standing there. The women worshipped Śuka with utmost devotion, offering him various foods suited to the place and time. Enchanted by his presence, they showed him the beautiful inner garden of the palace. Śuka, young, handsome, charming, gentle in speech and delightful to behold, captivated all who saw him, causing them to swoon as if he were another god of love. Yet, recognizing him as a sage who had conquered his senses, all served him with reverence; but the pure-hearted forest-dweller regarded them with the feeling one has for a mother. Absorbed in the Self, having conquered anger, he neither rejoiced nor suffered; seeing the transformations of those around him, he remained composed and steady. The women prepared for him a splendid bed, adorned with costly coverings and furnished with various items. Śuka, ever disciplined, took up kuśa grass, performed foot purification, worshipped the evening twilight, and entered into meditation. He remained thus for one watch of the night, then slept for two watches, and upon awakening, again entered meditation during the last watch. After bathing and performing his morning rites, he sat once more, fully concentrated. News of his arrival reached King Janaka. The pure-hearted king, together with his ministers and placing the priest in front, approached the son of Vyāsa. The king honored Śuka with all due respect, offered him an excellent seat, and presented a cow rich in milk. Śuka accepted the king’s worship as prescribed, and in turn inquired after the king’s welfare, declaring himself to be free from illness. After these polite exchanges, the king, seeing Śuka seated comfortably and tranquil, asked, “O highly fortunate one, for what reason, though you are free from desires, have you come to me? Tell me, O best of sages, what is your purpose?