Even in the solitude of the forest, those who remain attached are not free from faults; but in the midst of home and family, if one restrains the five senses, that is true asceticism. For the person whose passions are subdued and who acts without blame, the home itself becomes a hermitage. Righteousness is safeguarded by truth, knowledge is preserved through yoga, a vessel is protected by cleanliness, and a lineage is sustained by good conduct. It is better to dwell alone in the wild Vindhya forest, to die unfed, to sleep among snakes, to fall into a well, or to plunge into turbulent waters, than to beg even a little wealth from one’s own kin. Wealth does not diminish through rightful enjoyment, but only when fortune itself is exhausted; while good deeds performed in the past never perish, enduring through all time. Knowledge is the true ornament of a Brahmin; the king, the ornament of the earth; the moon, the ornament of the sky; but above all, good character is the ornament of every being. Consider the sons of kings—Bhima, Arjuna, and others—heroes of truthful vows, radiant as the moon and embraced by Krishna, who shines like the sun. Even they, when evil stars rose against them, became destitute and wandered as beggars. When fate turns, who indeed is capable, and in what way? Brahma himself is restrained like a potter within the vessel of the universe by fate; Vishnu is cast into the perils of ten incarnations; Rudra is made to beg with a skull in hand; the sun is made to circle the sky ceaselessly—all by the hand of fate, the doer of all. Salutations to that fate. See how Bali, the generous giver, and Murari, the divine beggar, played out their parts: the earth was given away among Brahmins, but the fruit of that giving was bondage. Salutations to you, O fate, who acts as you will. Even if one’s mother is Lakshmi and one’s father is Janardana himself, if one acts with evil intent, punishment will surely come. Whatever actions were performed in the past, by whomever and in whatever manner, their results are self-imposed and must be experienced in due course. Both suffering and companionship are of one’s own making; as one takes up the bed of the womb, so does one experience the results of deeds done in previous bodies. There is no escape from the consequences of one’s actions—not in the sky, not in the depths of the ocean, not in the crevices of mountains, nor even in the embrace of a mother. Nowhere can a man flee from his karma. Even mighty Ravana, with his triple-peaked fort, a moat, the ocean, guards, warriors, great resources, and the science of Ushanas, was destroyed by the force of time, despite all his defenses. At whatever age, at whatever time—by day or by night, in whatever moment—what is destined will happen exactly so, and not otherwise. Whether one travels through the sky, enters the earth, or claims all directions, what is not meant for one cannot be obtained. Knowledge learned long ago, wealth given long ago, and deeds performed long ago—all these run ahead of a person as he moves forward in life. Here, actions are primary, regardless of auspicious times or favorable stars; even Janaki, though her marriage was set by the sage Vasishtha, became a recipient of suffering. When Rama’s thighs were strong, Lakshmana was guided by sound, and Sita’s hair was dense and beautiful, even these three were not spared from suffering. A son does not inherit the results of his father’s actions, nor a father those of his son; each is bound by his own deeds. Diseases, both physical and mental, fall upon bodies born of karma like arrows released by strong archers. Even a wise person, though filled with scriptural knowledge, strives for wealth, but he performs only the karma set for him, just as a servant does, and not otherwise. Whether a child, a youth, or an old man—whoever does good or evil enjoys the results in that very state, birth after birth. Even if a person cannot see, or is in a distant land, he is carried by the wind of his own karma to where its fruits await. A person attains only what is destined for him; even the gods cannot prevent it. Therefore, I neither grieve nor am I astonished; what is marked for me cannot belong to another. A snake in a well, an elephant on its shoulder, and a mouse running into a hole—who among men can flee faster than karma? True knowledge, even if given in small measure, grows and becomes abundant, just as water in a well increases. Wealth obtained through righteousness is true wealth; riches gained by unrighteous means are not. Knowing that both dharma and artha are great in this world, one should pursue wealth accordingly. The sufferings endured by a wretched person for the sake of food and wealth, if undertaken for dharma and artha, cease to be sources of pain. Of all forms of purity, purity of food is considered the highest; one who is pure in regard to food is truly pure, not merely by earth or water. Truthfulness is purity, as is purity of mind, control of the senses, compassion for all beings, and the purity of water. For one who possesses truth and purity, heaven is not difficult to attain; indeed, one whose speech is truthful surpasses even the performance of the great Ashvamedha sacrifice. Even if a wicked person applies clay a thousand times and water a hundred times, he does not become pure if his mind is corrupted by evil intent. He whose hands, feet, and mind are well restrained, who possesses knowledge, austerity, and fame, attains the true fruit of pilgrimage. He does not rejoice in honors nor become angry at insults; even when angered, he does not speak harshly—such is the mark of a virtuous person. When timely and beneficial words are spoken to a poor man, a wise man, or a sweet-natured man, there is no one who is pleased by them. By spells, strength, intelligence, or effort, mortals cannot obtain what is unattainable; what cause is there, then, for sorrow? What I have gained without asking, and what has departed after being sent away—wherever it came from, there it has gone; what cause is there for sorrow? At night, many birds gather on a single tree; at dawn, they go their separate ways—what cause is there for sorrow in this? Among all those traveling together in a caravan, if one departs quickly on his own, what cause is there for sorrow in that? All beings begin in the unmanifest, exist manifest in the middle, and end in the unmanifest again, O Shaunaka; what cause is there for sorrow in this?