In the same way as a lamp is extinguished when all oil is spent, the self is truly attained only when all lingering impressions and desires have been exhausted. When one has fulfilled all duties and accomplished the work of liberation, such a person withdraws from worldly concerns, finding rest in the completion of their journey. For such a knower, unity and difference may both appear, but he sees that any sense of difference arises only from ignorance. Who, then, would deny the well-established truth that the self and Brahman are not different? At this stage, what remains for you to do, whether in brief or in detail? By your instruction, all the impurity clouding my mind has been dispelled. Even those learned in the Vedas cannot fully describe the king among men who has realized this truth. The highest reality is not something to be reached by words; it is to be directly realized. O Keśidvaja, imperishable one, the yoga that leads to liberation has been taught. Having received this teaching, King Keśidhvaja journeyed to the city of Brahman. With his mind wholly absorbed, he reached the vast and luminous city of Kṛṣṇa. There, in the pure Brahman that is called Viṣṇu, the king attained dissolution, merging with the supreme. Yet, while he lived, he enjoyed the objects of the senses and performed actions, but always without attachment. Thus, O sage, he attained the highest perfection, a state that removes all dissatisfaction and suffering. What more could I say to address the threefold suffering of existence? Yet, my mind remains confused and does not easily find stability. Tell me, O bestower of honor, how a man might endure this restlessness of mind. The sage spoke, filled with joy as he recalled the deeds of the blessed king, whose story, when heard, brings the bewildered mind to rest. Know that the land called Bhārata is named after the noble Ṛṣabha. He ruled with righteousness, delighting his subjects as a father delights his children. Absorbed in meditation on the essence of all the gods, he performed his many duties with wisdom. In time, this wise king relinquished his kingdom and went to the hermitage of Pulastya. There, he became an ascetic and devoted himself to the worship of Viṣṇu, O sage. Each morning, after bathing in pure water, O Nārada, he performed his rituals. Then he would go to the hermitage and worship Vāsudeva, the Lord of the universe, offering fruits, flowers, tulasi leaves, and clear water with devotion. One morning, after his bath, his mind intent and pure, he went to the riverbank, thirsty and seeking to drink. As she—meaning a deer—was about to finish drinking, a sudden lion’s roar startled her. She leapt to the riverbank in fright, but was then swept away by the current, engulfed by the waves, and carried off. In her distress, suffering the pain of miscarriage, her body was raised above the water. The royal ascetic, seeing the deer now lost and distressed, was deeply moved. Day by day, the king cared for the young fawn left behind. He wandered the outskirts of the hermitage, gathering grass in the thickets for the little one. In the mornings, he would go far from the hermitage, and in the evenings, he would return. Thus, as the deer wandered sometimes near, sometimes far, the king, who had abandoned his kingdom, sons, and all his relatives, became absorbed in caring for it. But his mind grew anxious: did a wolf devour the deer? Was it struck down by tigers? Or did a lion kill it? These thoughts troubled him, as his heart became bound to the little fawn he had taken in.