With great determination, the barber tried to break open the door of the brāhmaṇa’s house, but it was secured with an iron mechanism, and all his efforts were in vain. Undeterred, he climbed up and entered through another way. Once inside, this cruel man laid his hand upon the poor brāhmaṇa. Intent on theft, the wicked barber ascended to the upper story of the house, where he found the brāhmaṇa and his wife deeply distressed and asleep. Drawn by the desire for gold, he approached them and began to take the many ornaments lying on one side of the bed. As the barber reached out to seize the ornaments, the brāhmaṇa, startled by the touch of the thief, awoke. Yet, he remained silent, feigning sleep, and kept his eyes closed as the thief took the ornaments from his very body. But as the thief tried to slip away, the brāhmaṇa, unable to bear the loss of his wealth, seized him with both arms. In that desperate moment, O King, the thief drew a dagger and killed the brāhmaṇa. His belly torn open, the brāhmaṇa cried out for his father and mother in agony. Neighbors and relatives hurried to his side, alarmed by his cries, and upon arrival, they saw him lying there, his entrails protruding and his body smeared with blood. They asked Mukunda, the brāhmaṇa, “Who has done this to you?” With great difficulty, he told his relatives what had happened. Mukunda spoke: “This is only the ripening of my own past actions; no one else is the giver of happiness or sorrow to any embodied being. Both righteousness and unrighteousness have their roots in previous actions.” Having said this, and greatly afflicted by pain, Mukunda, surrounded by his friends, gave up his life. At that moment, his mother, the noble brāhmaṇa lady, began to lament. She took his head, still adorned with earrings, and placed it in her lap. With a breaking heart, she cried, “Alas, my child, you destroy me as you depart at this final moment. Just as the beauty of the day is lost when the sun sets behind the western mountain, so your body, once fit to be anointed with sandal, now lies covered with dust, plunging me into an ocean of grief. “It is your habit of chewing betel that has caused this mixture of blood and phlegm to be expelled. Your eyes, which once surpassed the beauty of lotuses, are now clouded by darkness. Arise, arise, dear one, and instruct your students yourself. Your friends, like guests at the conclusion of the Vaiśvadeva rite, stand at the door calling for you—go to them. Give what should be given, accept what should be accepted; alas, answer me, for I fall at your feet. Otherwise, I will give up my life here at your side.” Having spoken thus, Mukunda’s wife fainted from grief. When she regained her senses, she placed her husband’s head in her lap and lamented: “Listen to my words, O ocean, by the path of your name. If you are angry, tell me openly; never before, O noble one, have you kept such silence. Has some younger brother offended you in some way? “Your parrot, kept in a cage, will not eat without you. Feed him well-cooked rice, and the sweet-voiced mynah bird as well. Recite to them the holy names—‘Rāma, Rāma, Hare Kṛṣṇa, Viṣṇu’—arise and teach them, for they are clever. What offense have I committed that you do not speak to me? The wealth you gave me, I have guarded faithfully. “What you entrusted to me—your own brilliance within my womb—when the time of birth comes, I will not neglect it; I will follow you.” Nārada said: Thus lamenting, Mukunda’s beloved wife did not weep, for her mind was set on following her husband. At that time, Mukunda’s guru, the renunciant Vedāyana, who wandered the earth, came to the house. He inquired, “Where is Mukunda? Where are his wise mother and wife? I do not see them.” The maidservant replied, “My master was killed last night by a thief; the daughter-in-law’s ornaments and all the fine garments were taken. He lies dead on the upper floor of the mansion; his mother, wife, and brothers are there beside him, plunged in a great ocean of grief.” Hearing these words, Vedāyana ascended the mansion and saw the lifeless householder. He beheld the relatives weeping greatly nearby. Desiring to lift them from their sorrow, the wise Vedāyana spoke: “This grief you feel is for the self, thinking of the body. But, mother, listen to me truly—it does not apply to either the living or the dead. This body is a collection of elements, brought about by past actions. When those elements are exhausted, separation arises; their coming together by actions is called birth. When they dissolve, their separation is called death. The wise explain that the union and separation of elements is the way of the world. “Therefore, do not grieve for the body, which is inert and subject to others. Because of beginningless ignorance, the living being perceives birth and death. By thinking ‘I am this body,’ one mistakes the body for the self, but that is not your true nature. When that delusion ceases, one attains Brahman, which is pure and formless.