O sage, hear now of the true nature of existence. There is, in truth, never any real substance apart from consciousness itself. All that appears as many—this diversity of beings, actions, and thoughts—is but consciousness, manifesting in manifold forms due to the variety of individual actions and intentions. What is truly eternal, one, and supreme is knowledge—knowledge that is pure, spotless, and free from desire, anger, greed, and all attachments. This knowledge alone is everlasting, and it is none other than Vāsudeva, the highest Lord; apart from Him, there is nothing. Thus, I have revealed to you the essence of reality: knowledge is real, all else is unreal. The world of our dealings, which rests on the ever-changing play of action and reaction, I have also described to you. Sacrifices, the sacrificial animal, fire, oblations, priests, soma, the gods, heaven, and desire—these, and all the fruits that arise from ritual actions and enjoyments of this world and beyond, are effects born of action. Everything I have spoken of in this world operates under the sway of action. Knowing this, one should undertake that steadfast, unwavering act by which one attains to Vāsudeva, the Supreme. At this, Śrī Maitreya spoke, “O Lord, you have clearly explained to me, as I desired, the arrangement of the earth, its oceans and rivers, and the courses of the planets. You have also shown how this threefold world stands upon Viṣṇu as its foundation, and revealed the ultimate truth, especially regarding the highest principle. Now, whatever the Blessed Lord once spoke about King Bharata, I wish to hear that story in full. Please, recount it to me.” He continued, “That King Bharata once dwelled at Śālagrāma, always absorbed in yoga, his mind ever fixed on Vāsudeva. By the power of that holy place, he constantly meditated on Hari. Yet, O twice-born, tell me how it happened that he did not attain liberation and was born again. What did he do in his next birth as a brāhmaṇa, that great soul Bharata? O best of sages, please tell me all of this.” Then Paraśara replied: “At Śālagrāma, that blessed king, whose mind was devoted to the Lord, dwelled for a long time, O Maitreya. Excelling in virtues such as nonviolence and self-restraint, he attained the highest degree of self-control over his mind. He uttered only the names of the Lord—Yajñeśa, Acyuta, Govinda, Mādhava, Ananta, Keśava, Kṛṣṇa, Viṣṇu, and Hṛṣīkeśa—never anything else. He spoke nothing else, not even in dreams; apart from this, he thought of nothing else. He performed the offerings of fuel, flowers, and sacred grass for divine rites, but, detached and absorbed in yoga, he did no other actions. One day, for the purpose of consecration, he went to a great river. There he bathed and performed the rituals that follow bathing. At that moment, a thirsty, pregnant doe came alone from the forest to the holy riverbank to drink water. As she was about to drink, a mighty roar of a lion echoed through the forest, terrifying all living creatures. Frightened, she suddenly leapt toward the riverbank, and in her excessive leap, her unborn young fell into the river. The king, seeing the helpless fawn swept away by the swift current, seized it and brought it to safety. But the doe, stricken by the trauma of miscarriage and the strenuous leap, fell and died on the riverbank. Witnessing the doe’s death, the royal ascetic took the orphaned fawn back to his hermitage. Day by day, the king cared for and nourished the fawn, and it grew under his loving protection. The fawn wandered about the hermitage, grazing in the thickets, and though it would sometimes venture far, it always returned, fearful of wild beasts. Each morning it would go out, and each evening it would return, just as a horse returns to its stable, becoming deeply attached to Bharata’s hermitage. In time, the king’s mind became wholly absorbed in the fawn, whether it wandered near or far; his attention did not turn elsewhere, O twice-born. Having renounced his kingdom, sons, and all relatives, he developed an intense affection for that young deer. He would worry anxiously, ‘Has it been eaten by wolves? Has it been struck down by a tiger or lion? It has been gone a long time and has not returned.’ Seeing the marks of its hooves on the earth, he would find joy and wonder, ‘Where is my fawn?’ He would think, ‘Surely, he will come back safely from the forest, delighting me, scratching his neck with the tip of his horn. These blades of grass, their tops bitten off by his teeth, shine beautifully, like singers in a choir.’ Thus, whenever the fawn was gone for a long time, the sage’s mind was preoccupied with it, and when it was near, his face became joyful and pleased. Due to this attachment, his meditation was disturbed, even though he was a king who had abandoned royal pleasures and prosperity. The wealth of his steadfast mind became as unsteady as a deer, as distant as a creature that wanders far. As time passed, O king, the young deer watched the king as a son observes his father’s conduct. Then, O Maitreya, even as King Bharata was giving up his life, his mind was fixed only on the deer; absorbed in it, he thought of nothing else. Because his mind was thus absorbed at the time of death, he was born again as a deer, but with memory of his past birth, in the great forest along the Jambu path. Because he remembered his previous birth, O best of twice-born, he became distressed by worldly existence, and, leaving his mother, he made his way again to Śālagrāma. There, sustaining himself on dry grass and leaves, he atoned for the karma that had caused his birth as a deer.