Victory be to the Divine Mother, whose radiant beauty is like the cool, gentle moon, soothing and dispelling the burning afflictions of birth, aging, and death. Victory also to her whose brilliance shines like the sun, dissolving the deep darkness that clings to the heart. In her sorrow, the queen fell at the feet of this Mother of the three worlds and cried out, “O Mother, protect this wretched one! Grant me these two boons I now humbly ask of you. First, let the soul of my departed husband not leave his own inner palace from here. Second, O great goddess, whenever I yearn to see you and seek your blessing, grant me your vision at that very moment.” Hearing these pleas, the compassionate Mother of the world replied, “So be it.” And, like a wave rising and subsiding in the ocean, she vanished from sight. The queen, her cherished deity satisfied, was flooded with joy—like a gentle deer delighted by a sweet melody. Yet, even as she rejoiced, the relentless wheel of time kept turning, with its sharp blades of days, years, and fleeting moments, carrying all in its eternal motion. Then, as if sap had returned to a withered leaf, the consciousness of her husband entered her, becoming perceptible at once. His body, shattered in battle and lying lifeless in the inner chamber, was like a lotus that had withered utterly for want of water. The queen herself, whose lips were once as soft as petals, became parched and stiff from the heat and poison of her grieving breath. She entered the state of death, like the slopes of Malaya scorched by a burning wind. With death’s arrival, darkness and blindness seized her, just as the splendor of a lamp-lit home fades when the flame is spent. In a moment, she grew thin and pale, her youthful glow lost, like a river running dry—its waters vanished, leaving only dust and emptiness. She became one who cried aloud in her anguish, then withdrew into silent isolation, proud yet broken, like a female chakravaka bird separated from her mate at the hour of death. Overwhelmed by such intense distress, the goddess Sarasvati, born of the sky, was moved with compassion for her—just as the first rain pities a fish tormented by the drying lake. Sarasvati spoke: “O child, cover your husband, now a lifeless body, with flowered blankets and lay him here; you will have him again. The flowers will wither, but he will not perish; soon, your husband will be yours once more. And his soul, clear as space, will not quickly depart from this inner hall.” Hearing the sound of her footsteps, her relatives gathered, comforting her as a lotus is revived by water. Leaving her husband, now covered with a heap of flowers, she stood for a moment, somewhat consoled—like a poor woman who has laid down her last treasure. That very day, in the pure inner hall, as midnight fell and all the attendants were overtaken by sleep, the queen, still grieving, called out to the goddess Jñapti, the divine power of pure knowledge. When the goddess appeared before her, she spoke: “Have you remembered me, child? Why do you grieve? In this world, delusions appear like the mirage of water—vain and fleeting.” The queen replied, “Mother, where is my husband? What is he doing, and what is he like? Take me to him; I cannot live alone.” Jñapti answered gently, “Know that there are three spaces: the space of the mind, the space of consciousness, and physical space. Of these, the space of consciousness is the most subtle, O beautiful one. This entire world is truly empty, and within it, distinctions such as ‘I’ and ‘you’ are merely appearances of the perceiving self—forms of diversity without real substance. This world is imagined, composed only of appearances, a manifestation of awareness, devoid of spatial measure or actual content. That whose essence is the space of consciousness is swiftly perceived and experienced, even though it does not truly exist, because of the contemplation of the oneness of consciousness. “In the instant it takes to move from one place to another, if awareness remains in the middle, know that this is the space of consciousness. If you attain that state where all notions and intentions are completely dissolved, you will undoubtedly realize that supreme state which is the essence of all. This is attained only through the awareness of absolute non-existence; there is no other way. Through my grace, you will quickly reach it, O beautiful one.” Having spoken thus, the goddess vanished to her own divine abode, while the queen, Lila, remained, absorbed in effortless, thought-free samadhi. In a moment, she abandoned her body and the cage of her inner faculties, like a bird soaring into the sky and leaving its nest behind. In that subtle realm, she saw her own lord, the protector of the earth, standing in the royal hall among many kings. He was seated upon the throne, greeted with shouts of “Victory! Long live!” and was engaged in addressing the affairs of many assemblies. The royal palace was adorned with clusters of banners; at the eastern gate stood countless sages, brahmins, and seers. At the southern gate, there gathered an innumerable assembly of women, while at the western gate, a multitude of kings and great rulers assembled. At the northern gate was a throng of chariots, elephants, and horses, and the southern route was managed by a single trusted minister. The eastern region’s affairs were overseen by the lord of Karnata, and the entire northern frontier of foreigners was administered by the ruler of Saurashtra. All the western provinces were governed by the lord of Malava, and the southern seacoast was enlivened by envoys from Lanka. The eastern seacoast, said the sage Mahendra, reached the sky, while the northern seacoast was described in detail by messengers as being mysterious and wondrous. Thus, in the subtle realm of consciousness, Lila beheld the fullness of her husband’s kingdom and the marvels of the world, her vision made possible by the grace of the Divine Mother and the wisdom of the goddess Jñapti.