With deep devotion, he honored the gods, seers, sages, and especially the brāhmaṇas, offering flowers, water for washing, respectful greetings, gifts, and worship. When this reverence was complete, the entire assembly—king, sages, and seers—rose together, their faces radiant, encircled by the glow of earrings and fragrant garlands. As they moved, the armlets and bracelets on their arms chimed softly, and the golden borders of their garments, pressed by the weight of their necklaces, gleamed at the edges of their chests. The air was filled with the gentle humming of bees resting on their headdresses, mingling with the soft rustle of falling hair, so that a low, harmonious murmur rose from their heads. Their golden ornaments shone brilliantly, making the very directions appear gilded. With senses calmed, the sages’ minds and words were firmly established in wisdom. Those who traversed the sky departed into the heavens, while those who dwelled on earth returned to its expanse; each went back to their own abode, resuming their daily routines. Meanwhile, night arrived, dark and silent, like a young maiden in a house now emptied of crowds. The lord of the day, the sun, departed to illuminate another land, for it is the noble vow everywhere to bring light. All around, twilight blossomed, adorned with clusters of stars, dazzling like the spring’s first flush in a grove of blooming kimshuka trees. Birds sought shelter within the hollows of mango, kadamba, and nipa trees, and in the sanctuaries of village shrines, withdrawing as quietly as tendencies retreat into the mind. The western mountain, aglow with the sun’s departing rays and tinged with scattered clouds, appeared draped in yellow robes, merged with the sky, splendid with a necklace of stars, and vast as a sea of darkness. When the twilight worship was completed and twilight faded as it had come, darkness rose everywhere, swirling like circles of ghosts. A gentle, cool breeze, scented with the promise of what was to come, playfully stirred the tender leaves, hinting at the imminent blossoming of the water-lily. The directions, bright moments before with shining stars, now fell into deep darkness, like widowed women with long, unbound tresses. Then, a radiance arose, flooding the world with milky light; the sky became an ocean of the moon’s nectar, appearing as the very embodiment of ambrosia. The masses of darkness fled and vanished, just as the ignorance of kings dissolves upon hearing the words of true knowledge. Sages, kings, ascetics, and brāhmaṇas each rested in their own abodes, like diverse thoughts settling peacefully in the mind. Night advanced, thick and dark as the body of Yama, heavy with gloom, until, slowly, dawn emerged in the form of a gentle mist. Brilliant stars faded from the sky, as if swept away by the morning breeze, like showers of saffron dust. Dawn, her eyes opened by the sun’s first light, became visible—like discernment newly awakened in the minds of the wise. Once more, those who moved through the sky and those who walked upon the earth entered the assembly, following the same order as the day before, having completed their morning rituals. The vast assembly, arranged as before, appeared still and serene, like a lotus poised at the mouth of the wind. Then, approaching the subject that weighed on his heart, Rama spoke with gentle words to Vasistha, foremost among sages and master of eloquence: “Revered one, please tell me clearly—what is the nature of the mind, from which this entire cluster of faults arises?” Vasistha replied, “Rama, the form of the mind is never truly seen; apart from its name, it is empty and inert, like the shape of the sky. The mind has no real form—neither outside nor within the heart. Know, Rama, that it is present everywhere, as pervasive as the sky itself. “This form of the mind, arising from unreality, is like the water seen in a mirage. Listen, and I will briefly describe its nature, which is like the illusion of a second moon. O noble one, whatever appears as meaning—whether real or unreal—know that as the mind, and nothing else. “That which is the appearance of an object is what is called the mind; at no time is there anything else that is called mind. Know that imagination is the mind; it is not different from imagination, just as liquidity is not different from water, and motion is not different from wind. Wherever there is imagination, there the mind exists, dear one; imagination and mind are never apart. “Whether real or unreal, whatever appears as an object—know that alone as mind; this, O Brahma, is the truth. The subtle body is called mind, but the intellect, which is joined with the physical body, is enduring and stable. “Ignorance, transmigration, mind, bondage, impurity, darkness—these are all synonyms, say the wise, for what is perceived. Indeed, apart from the perceived, there is no form of the mind; and this perceived is itself produced—this I will explain again. “Just as within a lotus seed the lotus blossom is contained, so within the great atom of consciousness this perceived world is contained. As light is the radiance of illumination, as movement is to wind, as liquidity is to water, and visibility is to the seer—so is this quality in the seer. “Just as the form of a bracelet is in gold, as water is in a mirage river, as a wall is in a dream city—so is the perception of the seen in the seer. Thus, the appearance of the seen in the seer, as if it were something different, I quickly wipe away—like a stain—by showing you the mirror of your own mind. “When, due to the absence of the seen, the seer ceases to be a seer, know that as the state of pure being, beyond both existence and non-existence.