In the depths of the forest, a son spoke to his mother with heartfelt resolve, saying, “It would be praiseworthy for me to die with you, without doubt. Even alone, suffering, I would have to die without you. If, mother, the tiger kills me along with you in the forest, surely I will attain the destiny reserved for those devoted to their mothers. Therefore, I will certainly go with you, without doubt. Or else, mother, you stay; let those oaths be mine instead. What is the use of life for one separated from his mother? In the forest, who will be my protector, always orphaned? There is no relative like a mother for young ones who live on milk. There is no protector like a mother, no refuge like a mother. There is no affection like a mother's, no face like a mother's. There is no god like a mother in this world or the next. Thus, this is the supreme duty established by the Lord of Creatures: those sons who remain always with their mothers attain the highest state.” But then Nanda, his mother, replied with gentle firmness, “My death alone is ordained; you, my son, will not go. Nor does the death of one living being occur by the death meant for another. This is your last and highest message from your mother, my son. Remain here, following my words; later, serve me again. Whether in water or on land, do not be careless, my child. All beings perish from carelessness, without doubt. And never, out of greed, should you reach for grass in a dangerous place. From greed comes destruction for all, in this world and the next. Deluded by greed, people enter the ocean or the forest. Even a wise person may commit terrible acts out of greed. From greed, carelessness, and overconfidence, destruction comes to people. Therefore, one should not be greedy, careless, or overly trusting. One must always protect oneself, my son, with effort—from all wild beasts, and from the dangers of foreigners, thieves, and the like. Even when animals, those of sinful birth, dwell together, their minds are known to be contrary, my child. You should not place trust in those with claws, in rivers, in those with horns, in those who bear weapons, in women, or in servants. Do not trust one who is untrustworthy, nor trust excessively one who is trustworthy; fear arises from trust, and it can cut even the roots. One should not trust even one's own body, though strong, when the mind is fearful; people reveal secrets when asleep, intoxicated, or careless. Scent should always be carefully examined everywhere; cows perceive by scent, and kings by the eyes of their spies. No one should remain alone in a dreadful forest; one should contemplate only righteousness, and you should not be disturbed, for death is certain for all. Just as a traveler, taking shelter in the shade, rests and then departs again, so too is the meeting of beings. My son, since the whole world is always like this, why do you grieve alone? Therefore, abandoning sorrow, follow my words.” Overwhelmed by grief, she drew her son close, smelling his head and licking his crown, her eyes brimming with tears. Sighing again and again, like a serpent, with long, hot breaths, she saw the world as empty, bereft of her son. Standing as if sunk in deep mud, Nandini, lamenting, spoke these words again to her son: “There is no affection like that for a son, no happiness like that of a son; there is no joy like that of a son, nor any destiny like that of a son. For one without a son, the world is empty; for one without a son, there is no happiness at home; by a son one attains the world, but the sonless goes to hell. People say that sandalwood is cool, but the embrace of a son's body is cooler than sandalwood.” Having spoken of her son’s virtues, she gazed again and again at her mother, her friends, and the cowherd women, and then asked hurriedly, “The lord of the beasts approached me as I walked at the front of the herd; I was released by him through oaths, and I will return there again. I have come, by the truth of my words, to see my son, my mother, my friends, and the cowherd village; I will return there again. Mother, forgive all the faults and misdeeds I have committed; this boy is your grandson—what more can I say?” Turning to the noble mothers—Vipula, Campaka, Mātarbhadrā, Surabhi, Mānini, Vasudhārā, Priyānandā, Mahānandā, Ghaṭasravā—she pleaded, “Whether through ignorance or knowingly, if I have spoken anything unpleasant, O greatly fortunate ones, please forgive me, and also whatever else I have done. All of you, endowed with every virtue, mothers of the world, always bestowers of all, protect my child. Protect my son, who is helpless, afflicted, and miserable, scorched by the sorrow of his mother, O sisters, you must care for him. Because you will care for this helpless and powerless one as your own son, O greatly fortunate ones, forgive me, for I am about to depart, relying on truth. No great anxiety should be felt by my friends in any way; for death stands before this firstborn.” Hearing Nanda’s words, the mother and her friends became deeply distressed; they fell into sorrow and, astonished, spoke, “Ah, this is a great wonder—that you, Nanda, truthful in speech, are prepared to carry out the dreadful words of the tiger.