Blinded by delusion, a person mistakes the body for the true self, unable to grasp the supreme reality. Just as a king might imagine himself ageless and immortal, so too does this person fall prey to such illusions. But who can truly declare with certainty the path of worldly existence? Perception and scripture often contradict each other, and fate itself offers no definite answers. According to those who do not believe in the soul, the body has no other self beyond itself. Yet, evidence such as memories of past births, the mysterious pull of the magnet, the sunstone’s properties, the absorption of water, and the cessation of actions after death—all of these are considered signs pointing to something beyond mere physical existence. The unmanifest cannot be seen as having anything in common with the manifest. When the mind is lost and destroyed, it follows the nature of death. If, by form, birth, hearing, or meaning, another self is found, then what use is knowledge, learning, austerity, or strength? Even here, one may suffer from the actions of ordinary people. Just as the body, if struck with clubs, would return again, so too does the cycle repeat. Months and years pass, the star Tiṣya rises and sets, cold and heat alternate, pleasure and pain come and go. All these are destroyed by death and overwhelmed by old age. The senses, the mind, vital winds, blood, flesh, and bone—all the arrangers of worldly activity, all attainments of charity and righteousness—are subject to many causes, rightly considered in the mind. Those who reflect upon these matters and speak rightly about them see that all beings are afflicted by misfortune. They are dragged away by calamities, just as elephants are led by their drivers. Encountering greater suffering, abandoning pleasure, they fall under the power of death. Whoever departs leaves everything behind, and goes in a moment, never to return. Seeing all this, how can one find delight? Even in such 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, and what determination is truly proper? At this, the sage Pañcashikha soothed the king with gentle words, explaining: This, too, is merely a combination of body, senses, and mind. The elements are fivefold—water, space, wind, fire, and earth. Space, wind, heat, moisture, and earth are the basis. Knowledge, heat, and wind form the constituents of the body. Prāṇa and apāna, transformation, and the bodily elements arise here. These five, called the senses, are qualities led by the mind. They are known as pleasure, pain, and that which is neither pain nor pleasure. These five excellent qualities remain until death, serving the attainment of knowledge. That is called the supreme purity, the imperishable great intellect. Yet, through improper perception, endless suffering does not cease. Upon what foundation, then, does the stream of suffering persist?