Lila, feeling the weight of her sorrow, spoke with resolve: “If I can stand beside my husband’s throne and see the assembly of courtiers, then I shall endure; otherwise, I will not survive.” At her words, the royal attendants, each according to their station, became sleepless, highly alert, and diligently set about their duties. The lines of gatekeepers moved swiftly, summoning the citizens and courtiers to arrange the proceedings, spreading out like rays of the sun casting their light over the earth. The devoted servants began to sweep and cleanse the audience hall, clearing it as autumn days clear the sky after the dark clouds of the rainy season. All around the hall, rows of lamps shone brilliantly, their waters pure and their light dispelling darkness, as if lines of stars had descended to earth for a wondrous display. Soon, crowds of people filled the courtyards, their throngs surging like waters filling the ocean beds that had lain dry during the cosmic dissolution, now revived at the dawn of creation. The ministers and nobles, beyond reproach, returned to their appointed places, like the guardians of the worlds resuming their stations once the three worlds are restored. Cool breezes from the Malaya mountains, thick with the scent of scattered camphor, swept through the hall, carrying the fragrance of blossoming flowers and filling the air with sweetness. At the entrances, doorkeepers stood in white garments, resembling rows of clouds resting on mountain peaks, bringing relief from the sun’s heat and the roar of rain. Clusters of flowers, their darkness dispelled by the radiance within, fell to the ground like stars scattered by wind and clouds. The followers of the kings filled the audience hall, like swans gathering in a lake covered with blooming lotuses. Lila herself sat near the splendid golden staff by the throne, as if playfulness itself had taken a seat in the mind of love. She beheld all the kings and attendants just as they were, along with elders, noble ones, friends, servants, well-wishers, relatives, and kin. Seeing everything exactly as it had been before, she was filled with supreme joy; and as it was said that the king and the people of the kingdom were indeed alive, she shone with beauty, radiant as the moon. With these thoughts, Lila resolved, “Let me cheer this sorrowful mind.” Having instructed the kings with gestures, she rose from the assembly. Entering the inner palace, she went to her husband’s side in the inner pavilion, and there, in the chamber of Puṣpagupta, she began to reflect deeply. “How wondrous is this illusion!” she mused. “The people of our city appear both outside and within the mirror of consciousness, existing there and here alike. These mountains—palmyra, tamāla, and hintāla—are adorned here just as they are there; truly, this illusion is spread out in both places. Just as a mountain is experienced both outside and within a mirror, so too is creation experienced both outside and within the mirror of consciousness. Here, which creation is illusory and which is real? Thus I ask the goddess of speech, having worshipped her, about this supreme doubt.” Having resolved thus, Lila worshipped the goddess at that very moment, and beheld her appear before her in the form of a maiden. Seated in the auspicious posture before the goddess, Lila, firmly established on earth, questioned the supreme power of ultimate reality: “O goddess, the noble do not become agitated for the sake of one who is to be shown compassion; it is said that in the beginning of creation, you alone established this ancient order. Therefore, O supreme goddess, I humbly ask you about this matter from before; please tell me—surely, by your grace, my request will bear fruit. “There exists a mirror of the world’s name, even purer than the sky, whose parts are countless crores of yojanas in extent. It is seamless, solid, soft, smooth, and cool; known as ‘insentient-conscious’, it is unbroken and without grasping. In it are reflected all those who have transcended the limits of direction, time, calculation, space, illumination, and destiny. “O mother, the glory of the reflection of the three worlds exists both outside and within there; what could be artificial in that, and what could be natural? O beautiful one, tell me truly: what is the nature of the uncontrived creation, and what is the nature of the contrived? Explain this to me as it truly is. “Just as I stand here, and you, O goddess Ambika, are present, so too is that uncontrived creation, O queen of the gods—this I know. Where now my husband abides—that creation is contrived, I think, for it is empty, lacking space, time, and other such factors. A contrived creation never arises from the uncontrived; for an effect never emerges from a cause that is dissimilar. “Indeed, O Ambika, we see that an effect is distinctly different from its cause: water cannot be drawn from clay, yet a pot, which arises from clay, serves as its vessel. Whatever effect comes into being does so with the help of cooperating causes; yet, in that, some peculiarity of the primary cause is always observed. “But in the creation of your husband, O lovely-faced one, there is no cause such as earth and the like; the earth there did not arise from the terrestrial globe. Consciousness has departed from here, soaring away—so how could this earth exist here? What cooperating causes, what cause at all, is present in this creation? Even when causes are absent, that which arises from auxiliaries is nothing other than the effect of prior causes, as is experienced by all. “That memory, O Devi, belonging to my husband, has thus become manifest; and I know the cause of memory—this creation is its certainty. Memory is of the nature of space; just as that arises, so too for you. The creation of the husband has indeed been experienced, and it is like space in its power. The creation, made of memory and space, as spoken of by my husband, I likewise consider this creation here as an illustration.” Thus did Lila, with devotion and insight, question the goddess, seeking to understand the true nature of reality and illusion.