In the beginning, the union of blood, semen, and pollen—sparked by the force of passion—brings forth the embryo. As soon as the man’s contribution enters, these elements combine, and thus, life takes root. By this mysterious process, the embryo comes to dwell within its destined place. This wondrous entry is not limited to humans alone. The seeds of life, carried by subtle forces, enter trees and herbs, waters and air, earth and space, and all manner of beings—whether four-footed or two-footed. In every one of these, the same principle holds: life becomes an embryo, ready to unfold. Yet, questions arise: Does the embryo here acquire a new body by its own will, or is it drawn in by some other force? When it is about to enter a human womb, what truly happens? How does the body, with all its organs, come into being? How does it attain the powers of sight, hearing, and consciousness? These are the questions asked by the earnest seeker, for all consider the wise teacher to be the true knower of the field. The answer is profound. At the proper time, the wind carries the embryo into the womb, accompanied by semen and pollen. There, the subtle elements establish their presence, nourishing the embryo as it gradually develops. When birth comes and the newborn is grasped by life, consciousness awakens. The person perceives sound with the ears and form with the eyes; with the nose, he smells; with the tongue, he tastes; with the skin, he feels touch; and with the mind, he attains a higher, even divine awareness. All these eight faculties—sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, mind, and the vital forces—are gathered together in the body of the great-souled, life-bearing being. But what becomes of this person when his time on earth is done? Whether he is burned, buried, or cast away, having become non-existent in this world, what remains by which he perceives himself thereafter? When the vital breaths depart, as in sleep, the soul, having weighed its good and evil deeds, leaves the body behind. According to the merit or demerit earned, it enters another womb, O lion among kings. Those who perform good deeds are born into good wombs; those who do evil find themselves in evil ones. From evil are born worms and insects—a fate best left unspoken. Four-footed creatures, two-footed beings, birds—all these come into being in the womb, and thus the cycle continues, as has been declared. What more, O king, do you wish to know? Yet, the seeker presses on: By what action does a mortal attain the highest awareness? Is it through austerity, or by knowledge? Reveal everything, so that one may reach the auspicious worlds in due order. The wise declare seven great doors to the heavenly world: austerity, charity, tranquility, self-control, modesty, straightforwardness, and compassion for all beings. All these virtues are rooted in austerity; but if they are tainted by arrogance, they perish, overcome by darkness—so the wise always say. One who, thinking himself learned, destroys another’s reputation through knowledge will find his worlds limited, and he will not attain the fruit of union with Brahman. There are four actions that bring fear if performed with pride: sacrifice, silence, study, and charity. If these are tainted by arrogance, they lose their merit. A person who is honored should not become elated, nor should he be distressed by dishonor. The virtuous honor the virtuous; the wicked cannot touch the minds of the good. Acts such as giving, sacrificing, studying, and listening are said to be free from fear, and should always be practiced without exception. That ancient refuge, which the wise perceive within the mind and is accompanied by honor—by uniting with this supreme good, they attain the highest peace, both here and hereafter. Now another question arises: How does a householder attain the gods? How does a mendicant, or one engaged in the teacher’s duties, or a forest-dweller established on the right path? Many seek answers to these questions. For the student, success comes from diligence: studying when called, serving the teacher, rising early and resting late, being gentle and self-controlled, steadfast and vigilant, and devoted to self-study. Such a celibate student succeeds. For the householder, the ancient teaching is to acquire wealth righteously, perform sacrifices, give generously, and feed guests—never accepting what is given by others. Living by one’s own strength, abstaining from wrongdoing, giving to others, and not harming anyone—such a sage, dwelling in the forest with regulated food and actions, attains the highest perfection. The true mendicant is one who does not live by crafts, remains free from quarrel, has mastered his senses, is detached from everything, sleeps without a fixed abode, seeks little, and wanders through many lands. The wise say: the night in which people, overcome by desire, find pleasure, is the very night in which the self-controlled sage, established in the forest, should strive for self-mastery. The forest-dweller, having offered ten ancestors before and ten after, as well as himself as the twenty-first, gains merit by relinquishing his bodily elements in the forest. Curiosity arises: How many vows of silence exist among gods and sages? For one dwelling in the forest who has left the village behind, or for one living in the village who has left the forest behind—such a sage is lord among men. But how does the village come to be behind for one in the forest, or the forest for one in the village? The answer: one should not engage in what is worldly; the sage devoted to the forest leaves the village behind. The sage without fire, without a fixed abode, who wanders without family ties, should desire only a garment sufficient to cover his loins, and food only as much as needed to sustain life. For such a one, even while dwelling in the village, the forest is left behind. But the sage who, having renounced desires and actions and mastered his senses, practices silence—he attains perfection in this world. Who would not honor one whose teeth are clean, nails trimmed, always bathed and adorned, who is dark but engaged in pure deeds? When the sage, emaciated by austerity, thin, with flesh, bones, and blood diminished, becomes free from dualities and established in silence, then, having conquered this world and the next, when he seeks food with his mouth like a cow, all the worlds become fit for his immortality. A final question is posed: Of those who strive, like the sun and the moon racing together, who among them first attains union with the gods? The answer: He who, though living among householders and those devoted to desires, remains restrained and wanders as a mendicant in the village—he attains first. If one who has not attained long life or who has become deformed practices austerity, let him, after that, undertake severe penance. Whatever is cruel is unfit; but he who serves righteousness with a mind not set on gain—he is not a lord, O King, but that is true integrity, that is concentration, that is nobility.