My father, Brahma, called out to me with affection, saying, “Come, my son.” He took my hand and gently placed it upon the northern petal of his own lotus, the gesture as graceful as a white cloud joining the moon. Clad in his deer skin garment, serene and radiant, Brahma—my father, the lotus-born—spoke to me, his presence reminiscent of a swan settling upon a lotus. He said, “For a moment, my son, let your mind—so restless and quick, like a monkey—be veiled in ignorance, just as the moon is sometimes covered by the mark of a hare.” Thus, by his words, I was swiftly enveloped in a curse; and in that instant, I, though twice-born, lost all memory of my pure, true nature. Overcome with sorrow and pain, I became dejected, my mind awakened yet tormented, as if I were a lowly person among my peers. I pondered in silence, “How did this fault, this condition called worldly existence, arise within me?” Deep in contemplation, I sought its root. Seeing my distress, my father spoke with compassion: “My son, why do you grieve? Ask me for the remedy to your sorrow, and you shall always be happy.” Encouraged, I questioned the blessed one, the great creator seated upon a golden lotus petal, and he revealed to me the medicine for the affliction of worldly existence. He asked me, “How has this great suffering called worldly existence arisen, and how can it be brought to an end for a living being?” Then, with great care, he explained the supreme, purifying knowledge in detail. By understanding this wisdom, I found myself elevated—indeed, it seemed I had become even greater than my father. Having grasped the truth and become established in my own nature, the creator, the cause and speaker of all, addressed me again. “By a curse, you were brought into ignorance; I made you the questioner so that the essence of knowledge might be imparted to your sons, for the benefit of all beings. Now, the curse has been lifted, and you have attained supreme awakening. I am established in my own being, as gold is one with itself. “Go now to the seat of the earth, to the region within Jambudvīpa. O noble one, journey to Bhāratavarṣa for the sake of the world’s welfare. There, my wise son, instruct those devoted to ritual actions, who follow the order of sacred practices. Likewise, teach those who are detached, who possess great wisdom and are free from passion, imparting to them the knowledge that bestows true bliss.” Thus commanded by my father, the lotus-born, I remain here, O Raghava, until the succession of beings is complete. I have but this duty—to stay as long as necessary, nothing more. With this conviction, I remain in the world, my mind ever tranquil and as if always asleep; I perform my tasks, yet truly do nothing at all. All this, O Rama, is the story of how knowledge descended upon the earth, as I have recounted it to you, following my own intent and as envisioned by Brahma. Now, sinless one, you are ready to hear this supreme knowledge, for your mind, purified by great virtue, is eager for it. You ask, “O Brahman, how did the mind of the blessed one begin to function in the world, in the descent of knowledge, immediately after creation?” In the supreme Brahman, Brahma arose by his own nature as a constant vibration, like a wave emerging from the ocean. Having created this vast world and its many courses, the supreme Lord perceived the past, present, and future. When the age of the first creation and the period of proper rites had come to an end, the Lord, seeing the delusion that had overtaken the worlds, was moved to compassion. Then, he created me, engaging me again and again through knowledge, and sent me forth upon the earth to bring peace to the ignorance of the world. Just as I was dispatched, so too were many other great sages—Sanatkumara at their head, as well as Narada and many others. Through the path of righteous action and the way of knowledge, we were instructed to uplift the world, which was bound by the vast illusion of the mind. When the great sages had fulfilled their work, and the Krita Yuga waned—when purity in action diminished and the earth became depleted—kings were appointed in different regions, each to govern their own land, to maintain order and boundaries. Many treatises on tradition and ritual, and texts on sacrifice, were composed and proclaimed for the attainment of righteousness, desire, and wealth. Yet, as the wheel of time turns and order fades, people become increasingly absorbed in food and the cultivation of rice. Conflicts arise among rulers for the sake of sense pleasures, and many beings become subject to suffering and punishment. Unable to govern without warfare, the kings and their subjects gradually fell into distress. To dispel this misery and properly re-establish the order of creation, we and others like us proclaimed profound visions of knowledge. Thus, this spiritual science was first taught among the kings; it then spread through the world and became known as royal knowledge. Royal knowledge, the royal secret, and the supreme spiritual treatise—by understanding these, O Raghava, kings attained supreme freedom from sorrow. Now, after many renowned kings have passed, you, Rama, have been born to Dasaratha in this land. In your mind—exceedingly pure and joyful—there has arisen this beautiful, causeless dispassion, O destroyer of foes. For most noble and discerning people, dispassion usually arises from some cause and is of the royal kind. But in you, Rama, this unprecedented dispassion has appeared, astonishing even the virtuous; your dispassion is causeless, pure, and born of your own discernment.