Therefore, O you who are filled with the waves of all knowledge, I beseech you—please speak. O King, it is thus that all the highest goods and ultimate truths are attained by a person. For one who desires sons and a kingdom, that very attainment becomes the highest good for him, O King. Sacrifice, ritual, and similar acts that grant the fruit of heaven are likewise considered the highest good. Yet, O King, the self is always to be meditated upon—not only by those steadfast in yoga, but by others as well. In this way, there are hundreds and thousands of various highest goods pursued by different people. But when wealth is regarded as the supreme aim, O King, dharma itself is abandoned. And if what is deemed the highest purpose is said to exist only in the next world, O lord of men, then it belongs to another, not to oneself. Thus, among all beings—whether moving or unmoving—there is truly no supreme purpose found in this world. If the attainment of a kingdom and similar things is proclaimed here as the highest end, then the sacrificial act performed through the Ṛg, Yajur, and Sāman Vedas is what you consider. But these acts, accomplished with clay as the material cause, or by means of perishable substances such as fuel, ghee, kuśa grass, and the like, are ultimately transient. The wise, however, accept the imperishable as the highest purpose. That alone is the action which yields no fruit; I consider it the supreme goal. Meditation upon the self, O King, is what is truly called the highest purpose. The union of the highest reality and the self is regarded as the supreme aim. Therefore, O King, these are the best of all, without exception—there can be no doubt. He is one, all-pervading, equal, pure, without qualities, and beyond nature. He is known through true knowledge by the virtuous, transcending all distinctions of name, class, and the rest. Though present in his own and others’ bodies, he is truly one essence. The differences called by names such as flute or foot arise only from distinctions. Oneness and difference of form come from external actions. Now, O King, hear what was sung in ancient times by the sage Ṛbhu. Ṛbhu was a son born to Brahmā, the supreme creator. Long ago, Nidāgha, the son of Pulastya, became his disciple. Having attained knowledge of the truth, Nidāgha had no inclination toward the notion of non-duality. O hero, on the bank of the Devikā river, there was a city named Nāgara. That city, O best of the Bharatas, was surrounded by delightful gardens. When a thousand divine years had passed, that city—his own—remained. One day, Nidāgha was seen at the gate, appearing as Vaiśvadeva. With hands and feet washed, and having taken his seat, he was approached. “O best of Brāhmaṇas,” he was asked, “whatever food is to be eaten in your house—” Nidāgha replied, “In my house are saktu, yāvaka, rice, and cakes.” Thereupon, he was requested, “Give me, O twice-born, cooked food, whether simple or delicious.” Nidāgha responded, “Whatever good food there is in my house, with rice or barley—” Thus addressed, Nidāgha’s wife brought that delicious food and gave it to the Brāhmaṇa. Yet, the great sage, though offered this delicious food, did not wish to eat. Nidāgha inquired, “Has supreme satisfaction or nourishment arisen for you? Where do you dwell, O Brāhmaṇa, and where are you intending to go?