Listen, O seeker, to the wisdom passed down through the ages, for the laws that shape our lives are subtle and profound. The time of a being’s departure from this world is fixed—no one dies before their hour, even if struck by hundreds of arrows; yet when the destined moment arrives, even a mere touch of grass can end a life. Each person receives only what is allotted to them, goes only where fate has determined, and experiences joy or sorrow according to destiny. What is destined will surely come to pass, so why grieve? Just as flowers bloom and fruits ripen only in their season, the results of past actions manifest at their appointed time. Neither virtue, learning, noble family, nor purity of lineage alone can alter this truth—only the fruits of austerities performed in previous lives ripen when their time comes, just as trees bear fruit in due season. Where death is fated, the slayer will appear; where prosperity is destined, wealth will find its way. Each is drawn by the force of their own karma. Past actions cling to the doer, following as faithfully as a calf finds its mother among a thousand cows. Thus, the deeds of previous lives pursue a person relentlessly—O deluded one, enjoy the good you have earned, and do not give in to grief. As a person acts, whether for good or ill, so does he follow after those actions in a future birth. Yet, the base-minded see even the tiniest faults in others, as small as a mustard seed, but are blind to their own, even if they are as large as a bilva fruit. Those attached to passion and hatred find happiness nowhere, but true happiness, I see, lies in contentment. Attachment breeds fear and suffering, for it is the vessel of sorrow. All misery springs from attachment; when it is abandoned, great happiness arises. The body is both the seat of suffering and happiness; body and life are born together. All that depends on others is suffering, while what is under one’s own control is happiness—this, in brief, is the mark of joy and sorrow. Happiness and suffering turn among people like a wheel—after happiness comes sorrow, and after sorrow, happiness. What is past is gone; if it remains, it is far away. One should live in the present and not be tormented by regret. Sūta then spoke: Truly, no one is inherently a friend or enemy; friendships and enmities arise only from circumstances. Who gave birth to the two-syllable word ‘friend’? It is a refuge from grief and fear, a vessel of love and trust, and a source of pride more precious than jewels. Yet, even uttering once the two-syllable name ‘Hari’ bestows a protection that leads one toward liberation. There is not as much trust in mother, wife, brother, or son as in a friend who shares one’s own nature. If one desires lasting affection, three faults must be avoided: gambling, lending money, and secret liaisons with another’s wife. One should not sit alone with one’s mother, sister, or daughter, for the senses are powerful and can lead even the wise astray. There is no contrary passion for one’s own women; as is the means, so is the consequence. The course of the wind, the path of a horse, or the depths of the ocean may be fathomed, but not the mind of a woman without affection. Chastity in women arises because there is no opportunity, no solitude, and no one to make requests. A woman devoted to her husband delights in serving him alone, even if others are pleasing; but for men, not seeking other women is not considered a fault. The secret acts of a mother, overcome by passion, should not be dwelt upon by her sons, especially if they are of good character. In this world, the courtesan is valued for her sleep and actions being dependent on others, her laughter and sorrow being feigned, her body pledged for a price, her throat marked by libertines, and her neck adorned with many ornaments. Fire, water, women, fools, serpents, and royal households—these six must be served by others, yet each can instantly take away life. Is it remarkable if a learned Brahmin is skilled in the Vedas? Or if a king is righteous? Or if a beautiful, youthful woman is virtuous yet passionate? But truly remarkable is the poor man who never commits sin. One should not reveal one’s own faults to others, nor point out another’s lack of learning; instead, like a tortoise withdrawing its limbs, one should conceal one’s own weaknesses and observe those of others. If women, though hidden in the netherworld or behind high walls, are not obtained because of a lack of hair, then by whom are they not attainable? A person who is sharp, knowledgeable of secrets, and a thorn to his own people causes more distress than an open enemy. The truly learned please a child with sweets, a student with discipline, a woman with wealth, the gods with austerity, and all people with proper conduct. Those who seek friends through deceit, virtue through impurity, prosperity by harming others, knowledge through ease, or women by force—such men are not wise. If a fool cuts down a fruit-bearing tree for its fruit, he gains only fruitlessness and incurs great fault. A wealthy ascetic, a laborer far from home, a drunkard, and a chaste woman—O Brahmin, I do not believe in such things. Trust should not be placed in the untrustworthy, nor even in a friend, for a friend, when angered, may reveal all secrets. The hallmark of a virtuous person is to trust in all beings, to be good to all, yet to conceal one’s own nature. In whatever work is undertaken, one should follow the doer, but in all circumstances, act with courage and intelligence. Finally, the wise avoid old women, new wine, dried meat, three kinds of roots, curd at night, and sleep during the day. Thus, the teachings flow, guiding one toward righteous living and inner peace.