Within that sacred circle, the sage Āsuri attained the imperishable state, the highest realization. In that very place lived a Brahmin woman named Kapilī, devoted to her household duties. In time, she too attained the state of Kapilī—steadfast in wisdom and insight. Her Kapilī-hood was none other than supreme knowledge, an understanding of all things. Kapilī, endowed with such knowledge, approached a hundred different teachers, engaging them in debate and bewildering them with her keen reasoning. Yet, leaving these teachers behind, she chose to follow after Āsuri, seeking deeper understanding from him. Āsuri spoke to her of the supreme liberation, the path prescribed as Sāṃkhya. He described the weariness that comes from endless action, and then spoke further of complete disillusionment with the world. He explained that delusion brings no true comfort—it is destructive, unstable, and fleeting. Even when some declared that the highest truth is established solely by scripture, their assertions were refuted. Out of delusion, a person may believe himself to be the true Self, but this is not the supreme view. Just as a king might imagine himself to be ageless and immortal, so too does such a person mistake his own nature. Upon what foundation, then, can one claim certainty about the course of worldly existence? Perception and scripture often stand at odds, and fate itself is uncertain and undefined. According to those who do not believe, there is no soul apart from the body. Yet, the memory of past births, the power of the magnet, the sunstone, and the way water is absorbed—these, along with the cessation of actions after death, are offered as evidence for something beyond. The unmanifest cannot be perceived as sharing any qualities with the manifest. When the mind is lost and consumed, it follows the path of death. If, by form, by birth, by hearing, or by meaning, another is found—if this is so, what then is the use of knowledge, learning, austerity, or strength? Even here, one may suffer at the hands of ordinary people. Just as a body struck with clubs might return again, so too does the cycle continue. The passage of months and years, the movement of the star Tiṣya, the alternation of cold and heat, pleasure and pain—all these are destroyed by death and overwhelmed by old age. The senses, the mind, the vital wind, the blood, flesh, and bone—the arranger of worldly activity, the attainment of the fruits of charity and righteousness—all these are considered as causes in the mind. Those who reflect upon these matters and speak of them rightly know that all beings are afflicted by such misfortunes. They are dragged away by calamities, just as elephants are driven by their keepers. When greater suffering is encountered, abandoning pleasure, beings fall under the power of death. Whoever departs from this world leaves everything behind, going in a moment, never to return. Seeing all this, how can there be delight? For even amidst perishing, there is no peace. The king, witnessing these truths, was astonished and began to question further: "If this is so, what can ignorance or knowledge accomplish? Whether one is heedless or vigilant, what difference does it make? For whom should action be performed? What determination is truly proper here?" Then the sage Pañcashikha, soothing the king with gentle words, replied: "This too is but a combination of body, senses, and mind.