Craving, the sages declared, is like a terminal disease—only he who abandons it finds true happiness. At this, the Caṇḍāla spoke, confessing before the assembled gods, “Because I fear those stronger than myself, O great gods, I am afraid of the powerful and also of the weak.” Then the Friend of Animals replied, “The wise, desiring their own welfare, should act only in accordance with what is right.” Having spoken thus, they all relinquished the golden embryos, giving up those tempting fruits. The sages, steadfast in their vows, departed from that place. Wandering together, they journeyed until they reached the middle Puṣkara. There, to their surprise, they encountered the wandering ascetic Śunaḥsakha, who had just arrived. Joining him, they ventured a little further into the forest. Soon, they came upon a great lake, its surface covered with blooming lotuses—a pure reservoir of water. Settling on the shore, the sages contemplated what auspicious action they should undertake. At that moment, Śunaḥsakha addressed the hungry sages: “Let us each describe what the sensation of hunger is like.” The sages responded in unison, their voices weary but earnest. “The pain caused by spears, swords, maces, discs, axes, and arrows—even that is less than the agony of hunger. Diseases such as asthma, leprosy, consumption, paralysis, fever, epilepsy, and colic—all their suffering cannot surpass hunger. Golden armlets, bracelets, crowns, and shining earrings lose their luster on those afflicted by hunger. Just as the sun’s rays draw up water from the earth, so too does the fire of the stomach dry up the bodily channels. One cannot hear, nor smell, nor see; he is burned, wasted, bewildered, and dried up—overcome by hunger. He loses all sense of direction—east, south, west, or north, and even above or below are beyond his perception. Dumbness, deafness, dullness, even lameness—fierceness and lack of restraint arise from hunger. In its grip, a person may abandon father, mother, sons, wife, daughter, brother, or even his own kin. He ceases to honor ancestors, gods, or teacher, nor does he recognize the sages who come to him. Such are the miseries that befall embodied beings deprived of food.” Therefore, they concluded, one should give food with faith. In so doing, one becomes united with Brahman and rejoices with Brahman. Whoever daily offers well-prepared food to a Brāhmaṇa, or recites the merits of giving food—especially at a śrāddha—performs a great act. With concentrated mind, on the new moon during the waning fortnight, when the śrāddha is performed in the presence of spirits, the gift of food brings blessings to all who hear of it. Such a giver pleases his ancestors for his entire life, without doubt. One who offers in the presence of gods and twice-born is released from bondage. Even those who listen—whether attentive, careless, or by chance, even without devotion—are freed from sin. Brāhmaṇas who are generous are happy and share in righteousness. True seers declare that restraint, self-control, and discipline are the highest virtues. Especially for Brāhmaṇas, restraint is the eternal law; it increases brilliance, and pure restraint is supreme. Through restraint, a person becomes free from evil and radiant. All disciplines and auspicious duties in the world are surpassed by restraint, for austerity, sacrifice, and charity all arise from it. What use is the forest for one without restraint, or even an ashram for one who is restrained? Wherever a restrained person dwells, that place becomes a great hermitage, a forest. For one with good conduct, self-controlled senses, and a straightforward life, what need is there for ashrams? Even in the forest, faults arise for the passionate; but in the house, restraining the five senses is true austerity. For one free from passion, acting without malice, the home itself is a forest of austerity. Those who earn their livelihood by righteous means, are ever content, devoted to home, self-controlled, welcoming to guests, and established in discipline—righteousness exists even in their household. There is no liberation for one absorbed in mere words, or attached to caste distinctions; nor for one intent on food and clothing, or given to worldly customs. Liberation is certain for one who is solitary, firm in vow, withdrawn from sense pleasures, disciplined in mind, and ever non-violent. The restrained one sleeps happily and awakens happily; whose mind is equal toward all beings, that one truly awakens. One does not travel happily by chariot, horse, or elephant, as one travels happily on the great road with a self subdued. One should not act as does a provoked snake, an enraged enemy, or a wild beast—so too, a self lacking restraint. People speak of Yama as ‘restraint,’ but it is the self that is truly called restraint. By whom the self is restrained, that restraint is supreme. People speak of Yama as ‘restraint,’ but their fear is in vain; for what can Yama do to one who restrains himself? From flesh-eating beings and those without restraint, there is always fear; thus, punishment was created by the Self-born to restrain them. Punishment protects beings and preserves the people; it restrains the wicked and is indeed hard to overcome. Dark, youthful, red-eyed, and a source of fear for all creatures—punishment is the ruler of men, in whom righteousness is established.