As the king wandered, his mind weighed down by sorrow and attachment, he reflected deeply: “The city once protected by my ancestors and myself is now lost. My servants, whose conduct has become corrupted, may or may not rule it justly. I do not know whether my chief minister—always proud and skilled in battle—now under the power of my enemy, can find any happiness at all. Those who once followed me with gifts, wealth, and food must now be serving other kings. The treasury, amassed with such great effort, will soon be exhausted by their reckless spending and improper ways.” Turning these painful thoughts over and over, the king found himself near the hermitage of the brahmins. There, he saw a merchant, whose face was marked by sorrow and trouble. The king approached him gently and asked, “Who are you, good sir, and what brings you here? Why do you appear so afflicted and disturbed in mind?” Hearing these kind words, the merchant bowed respectfully and replied, “I am Samadhi, a merchant born into a wealthy family. But my sons and wife, driven by greed for wealth, have cast me out unrighteously. Deprived of my wealth, my wife, and my sons, and having had my property taken from me, I have come to this forest, abandoned by my relatives and friends, and full of sorrow. I do not know whether my sons are faring well or ill, nor do I know the condition of my family and wife. Is there well-being or misfortune in their home now? Are my sons of good conduct or bad?” The king asked, “Those greedy ones—your sons, wife, and others—who cast you out for the sake of wealth, does your mind still feel affection for them?” The merchant replied, “It is just as you have said; your words reflect my own thoughts. But what can I do? My mind does not become hard-hearted. Though they abandoned me out of greed, my heart remains attached to my wife, family, and kin. O wise one, I do not understand this, even though I am aware of it: why does my mind remain inclined with affection toward relatives, even when they are unworthy? Because of them, I sigh and feel distress. What can I do, since my mind is not harsh toward those who show me no affection?” Then, O brahmin, the two—Samadhi the merchant and the king—approached a sage together. After greeting the sage as was proper, they sat before him and began to converse on various matters. The king said, “Revered sir, I wish to ask you something. Please tell me: why does my mind remain attached to sorrow, even though it is not under my control? Even though I have lost my kingdom and all its parts, why does the sense of ‘mine’ persist in me, as if I were ignorant, though I know the truth, O best of sages? And this merchant, deceived by his sons, abandoned by his wife and servants, forsaken by his own people—yet, even so, his heart remains attached to them. In this way, both he and I are deeply afflicted; though we see the faults in these objects, our minds are still drawn by attachment. O greatly fortunate one, what is this delusion that arises even for the wise? Why does this bewilderment, this folly, occur to me and to him?” The sage replied, “All beings possess knowledge regarding objects, O greatly fortunate one, and yet, the objects themselves appear to each being in different ways. Some living beings are blind by day, others are blind by night; and some, both by day and by night, perceive equally. It is true that humans are knowledgeable, but they are not unique in this; for all creatures—cattle, birds, wild animals, and others—possess knowledge. The knowledge that humans possess, and that which belongs to animals and birds—whatever is similar or distinct between humans and them, is likewise found in both. Even though knowledge exists, look at these moths, drawn to the flames, who, out of delusion, pursue the fire for its taste, and, though tormented by hunger, are destroyed. Humans, like tigers among men, are attached to their children with desire; out of greed, they seek reciprocation—do you not see this in them as well?” “Yet, caught in the whirlpool of attachment and cast into the pit of delusion by the power of the great Māyā, which sustains the world, they remain thus. Therefore, there is no cause for astonishment here; by the Yoga-nidrā of the Lord of the universe, by the great Māyā of Hari, the world is thus deluded. Even the minds of the wise, O Devi, are forcibly drawn by that Blessed Goddess; the great Māyā bestows delusion upon them. By her, this entire universe, both animate and inanimate, is brought forth; when she is gracious, she grants boons and becomes the means of liberation for people. She is the supreme knowledge, eternal, the cause of liberation; and she herself is also the cause of bondage in worldly existence, the sovereign of all sovereigns.” Hearing this, the king asked, “O revered one! Who is that goddess whom you call Mahāmāyā? How did she arise, and what are her deeds, O twice-born? What is the nature of that goddess, what is her essence, and from where did she originate? I wish to hear all this from you, foremost among knowers of Brahman.” The sage replied, “She is eternally the embodiment of the universe, and by her, all this is pervaded; yet, her origin is recounted in many ways—listen to it from me. Whenever it is necessary for the accomplishment of the gods’ purposes, she manifests; though eternal, she is said to be born in the world at such times. When, at the end of the cosmic cycle, the Lord Viṣṇu, having spread out the serpent Śeṣa, reclined in yogic slumber upon the single ocean that was the world, then, two terrible demons, renowned as Madhu and Kaiṭabha, born from the earwax of Viṣṇu, rose up, intent on killing Brahmā.” Thus, the sage began to reveal the wondrous and mysterious deeds of the great Goddess, the cause of both bondage and liberation, the supreme power that deludes even the wise and grants freedom to those she favors.