In the midst of his journey, the wise sage, carrying the king’s palanquin, spoke with gentle insight: “This palanquin is made from matter, just as all beings are. Whether you claim it or I do, all of this is held together only by our sense of possession.” Having uttered these words, the sage continued to bear the palanquin, and the king, feeling a surge of reverence, quickly descended to the earth and grasped the sage’s feet. With humility, the king pleaded, “O, O! Release the palanquin and show me your favor, O twice-born! Tell me, who are you, standing here in this mysterious form?” Eager to know more, he asked, “Who are you, for what reason have you come, and why? Let all this be told, O wise one, for I am eager to hear from you.” The sage replied, “Hear this, O king: it is not possible to say who I am. In all cases, movement is undertaken for the sake of enjoyment. Pleasure and pain are experienced through the body and the senses; arising from righteousness and unrighteousness, the living being obtains body and so forth in order to enjoy these experiences. For every being, O protector of the earth, righteousness and unrighteousness are the root of all; so why do you ask about the cause? There is no doubt that righteousness and unrighteousness are at the heart of all actions, and for the sake of enjoyment, the body is obtained and then relinquished.” He continued, “That which you have asked—‘Who am I?’—cannot be expressed or heard in regard to the self, yet the desire to know this arises in me as well. O Brahman! If one exists, then ‘I am he’—how can this not be spoken? In regard to the self, the words ‘I am’ are not faulty, O twice-born one. But to say ‘I am the word’ is faulty, and likewise so; knowledge of the self in the non-self, or the word itself, is a mark of delusion.” The sage explained further, “The tongue says ‘I am,’ as do the teeth, lips, and palate, O King; but none of these are truly ‘I,’ for all are merely causes for the production of speech. By what cause does speech itself say ‘I am’? Even so, speech is not the self; thus, it is not proper to say so. Since the body is a collection of distinct parts—head, hands, and so on—how can I apply the designation ‘I’ to any of these?” He added, “If there is some other being apart from me, O best of kings, then it is proper to say ‘I am this one, and that is another.’ But when the one person is established in all bodies, then the statements ‘Who are you?’ and ‘Who am I?’ are meaningless. You are the king, this is the palanquin, these are the bearers, and this is the road ahead; this world is yours, O King, but none of this is truly real.” The sage then drew the king’s attention to the palanquin itself: “The palanquin is made from wood that comes from a tree, O King; should it then be called a tree or wood? No one says, ‘The great king is riding a tree,’ nor do they say, ‘You are in the wood,’ when you are seated in the palanquin. The palanquin is a combination of wood, constructed and assembled; examine this, O blessed one, and then the palanquin is with you. In the same way, consider separately the parts of the umbrella and its spokes; where has the umbrella gone? This reasoning applies to you and to me as well.” He continued, “Man, woman, cow-born, horse, elephant, bird, tree—these are names given to bodies in the world, based on knowledge and the causes of action. A person is not a god, nor a man, nor an animal, nor a plant; these distinctions of bodily form, O King, are merely the results of actions. That which is called ‘king’ in the world, or that which is of the nature of king and his retinue, or anything else, O King, is not real—it is a product of thought.” “But that which, even after a long time, does not acquire another name, and is not produced by transformation or the like—let that be, O King; what is that to you? You are the king of all people, the son of your father, the enemy of your foe, the husband of your wife, the father of your son—what, O King, should I call you? Are you this head? Or is your neck yours, as well as your abdomen? Are you your feet and the rest, or is this all yours, O king? You are established separately from all these limbs, O king! Become skilled in this inquiry: Who am I? When the truth is thus determined, how can I say ‘I am this,’ O king, without first producing the means of expression?” Śrī Parāśara then narrates: Hearing these words, imbued with ultimate truth, the king bowed respectfully and spoke to the sage. “Revered one, the words you have spoken, filled with the highest truth—upon hearing them, my mind’s tendencies seem to wander. This discernment and knowledge, which you have revealed concerning all beings, O sage, is the supreme principle of nature. I do not carry the palanquin; the palanquin does not rest upon me. The body is distinct from me, by which this palanquin is borne. The activity of beings arises from the impulse of action through the operation of qualities. These qualities indeed act—what have they to do with me, as you have said?” “When this knowledge of ultimate truth entered my hearing, my mind became unsettled, seeking the highest reality. Earlier, O fortunate one, I had set out to question the great sage Kapila. Tell me, O sage, what is the highest good here? Meanwhile, the words you have spoken have caused my mind to run toward the ultimate truth, just as before. The sage Kapila, O twice-born, is a portion of Lord Viṣṇu, the cause of the world’s delusion, who has descended to earth. That very Lord, surely, has appeared here for our welfare, as is spoken of in this manner. Therefore, to me who am bowed before you, grant the highest good, O sage. You are an ocean whose waves are all knowledge.” Thus, the king, humbled and enlightened by the sage’s profound teachings, sought the ultimate good, recognizing the sage’s wisdom as boundless as the ocean itself.