When the king encountered a sorrowful stranger, he approached him with kindness and asked, “Who are you, sir, and what brings you here? Why do you appear so troubled in mind and heart?” The man, comforted by the king’s gentle words, bowed respectfully before replying. “I am a merchant named Samadhi,” he said, “born into a wealthy family. But I have been cast out by my own wife and sons, who, greedy for riches, have acted unrighteously. Deprived of my wealth, my family, and my home, I have come to this forest, abandoned by all my relatives and friends. Here, I know nothing of what has become of my sons—whether they fare well or not—nor do I know the state of my wife or my household. Is their home secure, or has it fallen into misfortune? How are they? Are my sons of good conduct, or have they strayed?” Hearing this, the king asked, “If those greedy for wealth—your sons, wife, and others—have cast you aside, why does your mind still cling to them with affection?” Samadhi replied, “O king, your words are true, but what can I do? My heart does not become hard toward them. Though they abandoned me for riches, forsaking all bonds of kinship, my heart remains attached to them alone—my wife, my kin, my people. I do not understand this, O wise one—even knowing their faults, I cannot grasp why the heart is drawn with love to relatives, even when they lack virtue. Because of them, I sigh and grieve; what can I do, that my mind does not become harsh toward those who show me no affection?” At this, Markandeya said, “Then, O brahmin, the merchant Samadhi and the noble king together approached a great sage. Having greeted him with due respect, they sat down and began to converse. The king spoke: ‘O revered one, I wish to ask you a question—please tell me: what is it that causes my mind to suffer, being subject to its own impulses? Even after losing my kingdom, I still feel possessiveness toward it; though I know better, I am like one ignorant—O best of sages, what is this? And this man, too—deceived by his sons, abandoned by his wife and servants, forsaken by his people—yet his heart remains bound to them. Thus, both he and I are deeply afflicted; though we see the faults, our minds are drawn by attachment. So what is this, O greatly fortunate one, this delusion that arises even in the wise? Why does this blindness of discernment, this folly, occur in me and in him?’” The sage replied, “Knowledge exists in all living beings within the range of their senses, O greatly fortunate one, but the objects of sense appear differently to each. Some creatures are blind by day, others by night; some see equally well at all times. Humans are not the only possessors of knowledge; all beings—animals, birds, and beasts—have knowledge. What humans know, animals and birds know as well—there is a similarity in both. Yet, even with knowledge, look at the moths: though tormented by hunger, out of delusion they rush into flames, unable to escape destruction. Humans, too, O tiger among men, are attached to their children out of desire; out of greed, they seek reciprocation—do you not see this? Yet, even so, people are cast into the whirlpool of attachment and the pit of delusion, by the power of the great Māyā, which sustains worldly existence. “Therefore, do not be surprised, for this is the Yogic Sleep of the Lord of the world; this is the great Māyā of Hari, by which the world is bewildered. Even the minds of the wise are drawn by that Goddess, the Blessed One, the great Māyā who bestows delusion. By her, this entire universe, both moving and unmoving, is projected; when she is pleased, she grants boons and becomes the cause of liberation for people. She is the supreme knowledge, the eternal cause of liberation; she is also the cause of bondage in worldly existence, and the sovereign of all sovereigns.” The king then asked, “O revered one, who is that Goddess called Mahāmāyā, whom you speak of? How was she born, and what are her deeds, O twice-born? What is her nature, what is her form, and whence did she arise? I wish to hear all this from you, O best of those who know Brahman.” The sage replied, “She is eternal, the very embodiment of the universe, and all this is pervaded by her. Yet, her origin is manifold—listen as I tell you. Whenever she appears for the accomplishment of the gods’ purposes, she is said to be born; yet she is always called eternal in the world. “At the end of the cycle, when Viṣṇu spread out his Yogic Sleep upon the world, which had become one vast ocean, the Blessed Lord rested upon Śeṣa. Then, from the dirt of Viṣṇu’s ears, two fierce demons arose—Madhu and Kaiṭabha—intent on killing Brahmā. Brahmā, lord of creatures, seated in the lotus growing from Viṣṇu’s navel, saw those two fierce demons and Janārdana himself lying asleep. With focused heart, he praised that Yogic Sleep, who dwelled in the eyes of Hari, seeking to awaken the Lord. “Brahmā prayed: ‘O Lady of the universe, O sustainer of the world, cause of preservation and destruction, O blessed Sleep of Viṣṇu, O incomparable radiance of the Lord! You are Svāhā, you are Svadhā, you are indeed the Vaṣaṭ call, the essence of the sounds; you are nectar, O eternal imperishable one, established as the threefold measure. You are eternally established as the half-measure, which is especially unutterable; you alone are the twilight, the Sāvitrī, O Goddess, the supreme mother.