O king, consider how every object crafted from clay is known as an earthen object, for its nature follows from its material cause. In the same way, any ritual performed with perishable materials—such as sacrificial sticks, ghee, or kusa grass—will itself be perishable, for it cannot transcend its origins. The wise recognize that only the imperishable is the highest reality; anything perishable, produced from perishable substances, cannot be counted as such. You regard action that bears fruit as the highest reality, since it is a means to liberation. But the highest reality itself is not a means; it is the goal, not a tool. Meditation upon the self is held to be the pursuit of the highest reality, O king. Yet, for those who create distinctions, the highest reality is not divided—it remains one and undivided. The union of the supreme self and the individual self is the highest reality; anything else, being of a different nature, is false and cannot attain that supreme essence. Therefore, O king, all these practices are indeed excellent, but now, listen briefly as I tell you about the highest reality. The one self is all-pervading, equal, pure, without qualities, beyond nature, free from birth and growth, undecaying and everywhere. He is composed of supreme knowledge, known by the wise through various names and categories. He possesses neither yoga nor is joined to anything, nor will he ever be, O king. Though present in all bodies, both one’s own and others’, that consciousness which is one in essence is the highest reality; but for those who perceive duality, it is not so. Just as the differences in the notes of a flute arise from the holes, yet the air flows through them without distinction, so it is with the supreme self. The apparent differences in the one true nature arise from coverings of action and birth; when distinctions such as gods and others are removed, only he remains, without any covering. When these words had been spoken, Parāśara, reflecting again, addressed the king, who was deep in thought, and began to recount the story he had previously mentioned. “Listen, O best of kings, to what was done long ago by the illustrious Ṛbhu of the Yadu lineage, who awakened the great-souled Nidāgha. There was a son of Brahmā, the supreme lord, named Ṛbhu, who was naturally endowed with knowledge of the true reality. In former times, Nidāgha, the son of Pulastya, became his disciple, and Ṛbhu, with supreme joy, imparted to him all knowledge without leaving anything out. Yet, even after attaining this knowledge, Nidāgha did not realize its essence, so Ṛbhu began to reflect upon his disciple. On the banks of the Devikā river stood a city named Vīranagara, prosperous and exceedingly delightful, established by Pulastya. In that city, at the edge of a beautiful grove, Nidāgha, the knower of yoga and disciple of Ṛbhu, once resided. When a thousand divine years had passed in that city, Ṛbhu came to visit Nidāgha. At the end of the Vaiśvadeva rite, seeing Nidāgha nearby, Ṛbhu stood before him. Nidāgha welcomed him, offered water for his feet, and led him into his home. After washing Ṛbhu’s feet and hands and seating him comfortably, Nidāgha, the best of twice-born, respectfully said, “Please eat.” Ṛbhu replied, “O excellent Brāhmaṇa, please tell me what food is to be eaten in your house, for I do not always enjoy every kind of food.” Nidāgha answered, “Of cooked rice, barley, cakes, and other foods in my house, O best of Brāhmaṇas, eat whatever pleases you, as you wish.” But Ṛbhu said, “These are all foods made from rice; give me some fine food—such as semolina, milk-rice, and others, as well as curdled milk with sugar.” Nidāgha then instructed his wife, “O wife, whatever excellent ingredients for food are in my house, prepare the meal with those for this guest.” Thus instructed, the lady prepared fine food for the Brāhmaṇa, honoring her husband’s words. When the great sage had eaten the fine food as he wished, Nidāgha, standing with humility, addressed him: “Has the highest satisfaction arisen for you? Are you truly content? Has your mind been pleased by the meal, O Brāhmaṇa? Where is your residence? Where are you intending to go? Please tell me from where you have come.” Ṛbhu replied, “O Brāhmaṇa, satisfaction arises from eating food for one who is hungry; but as I did not feel hunger, I did not experience satisfaction—so why do you question me? Hunger arises when the element of earth is consumed by fire; and when the waters in the body are depleted, thirst arises in people. Hunger and thirst are known as bodily conditions, but these do not pertain to me; therefore, as there is no arising of hunger for me, I am always satisfied. The contentment of the mind and the satisfaction of desires are qualities of the mind; ask about these, for a person is not bound by anything else. When you ask, ‘Where is your dwelling? Where will you go? From where have you come?’—listen to my answer regarding these three. Since the person is all-pervading and spreads everywhere like space, how can questions like ‘from where, to where, where will you go?’ have any real meaning? I am neither a goer nor one who comes, nor am I confined to any one place; you are not another, nor are you yourself, nor am I another, nor am I myself. You have asked about ‘mine’ and ‘not mine’; now hear what I will say in response. When one eats food, is it tasteless or delicious? What is delicious becomes tasteless when it is no longer desired. What is tasteless becomes delicious, and from the delicious, people turn away; at the beginning, middle, and end, what is it that makes food appealing?” Thus, Ṛbhu gently guided Nidāgha, revealing the subtle truth that satisfaction, identity, and perception are rooted not in external objects or distinctions, but in the realization of the one, imperishable self.