In the gentle play of existence, the reflection that you call yourself—your habits, your actions, your lineage, and your very form—arises as a mere play of consciousness. Like images flickering in a mirror, these reflections appear in the boundless expanse of awareness, arising again and again, wherever they may be, whatever their nature. Within the subtle space of the individual soul, this reflection shines by its own light; yet, when seen as if from outside, it stands established as an image in the mirror of consciousness itself. All that you perceive—this self, the sky, the earth, and everything else—appears as the unborn alone. O dear one, know that the space of consciousness is like the inner womb of a bael fruit: pure, whole, and untouched. Rest in this understanding, be at peace, and abide as you are. Meanwhile, Viduratha, your husband, having fallen on the battlefield, will journey on to that very inner abode, becoming one with that subtle nature. Hearing these words from the goddess, Lila, standing in her palace, bowed with joined palms and spoke with reverence, “O Goddess, I have always worshipped the blessed awareness. Night after night, in my dreams, O Devi, she grants me her vision. O Queen of the gods, just as she appears, so do you, O Mother. Out of your compassion for those who suffer, O beautiful-faced one, grant me a boon.” The goddess, recalling Lila’s devotion, was pleased and replied, “O child, by your unwavering, lifelong devotion, I am satisfied. Receive the boon you desire.” Lila responded, “After my husband has left his body in battle, wherever he abides, may I, with this very body, be present there as his wife.” “So be it,” said the goddess, “For you have long worshipped me without hindrance, O daughter, with single-minded devotion, with flowers, incense, and loving service.” As Lila’s wish blossomed in that very place, prompted by the granting of the boon, the former Lila, her mind trembling with doubt, spoke to the goddess, “O blessed one, those whose desires are true, whose resolve is solely truth, and who are of the nature of Brahman—such as you—whatever they wish for, all is swiftly accomplished for them. Yet why, with this very body, have I not brought him to this other world, or to that mountain village?” The goddess replied, “I do nothing at all for anyone, O beautiful one; it is the living being himself who swiftly accomplishes all that he intends. I am pure awareness alone, the presiding deity of consciousness; in every being, I am the power of consciousness, the very essence of the living force. The power of ‘I’ arises in each living being in its own way, and as it appears, so it always bestows its corresponding result. When the living power thus awakened quickly worships me, then, when the body is gone, it remains liberated for long, thinking, ‘I am free.’ “In this and that manner, I have awakened you, O radiant one; by such pure reasoning, you have been led to a stainless state. When, for a long time, I am awakened by this very contemplation, then, by the power of one’s own awareness, one attains that very goal. For whomever, in whatever way, their own effort in awareness arises for a long time, in due course, it yields fruit accordingly. Whether it is austerity or a deity, it is only the imperishable consciousness that, becoming such, freely grants its fruit, just as the sky lets its fruit fall. Apart from the illumination of one’s own awareness, nothing else ever produces a result. Therefore, act as you wish, for the fruit comes swiftly in that way. “Is it not true that the state of consciousness alone—the inner self present everywhere—thinks, strives, and attains what it seeks, along with its prosperity? Considering whether something is delightful or not, therefore, recognize what is pure and abide within it.” While the goddess and Lila spoke thus in the palace, elsewhere, Viduratha, having left his house in anger, was surrounded by a grand retinue, like the moon encircled by stars. Fully armored on every limb, adorned with necklaces and ornaments, he strode forth to the clamor of victory, resembling Indra, king of the gods. He commanded the ranks of warriors, listened to the arrangement of the formations, and observed the valorous battles, ascending his chariot. The chariot itself was a marvel, like a mansion of spirits, decked with pearls and rubies, draped in clusters of banners, shining like a celestial vehicle. Golden shoots cascaded from streams along its moonlit walls, and beautiful coral branches jingled with pearls. Fine, white, slender horses of auspicious marks, swift as the wind, pulled the chariot, their hooves thundering as if in a rush. Their gaits surpassed even the wind, as if casting off their hind parts and drinking in the sky. It was as if eight full moons, radiant as yak-tail whisks, were harnessed together, the neighing of the eight horses filling all directions. Then arose the deep sound of drums, as intense as thunderclouds, echoing off the mountain walls. The tumult of intoxicated soldiers, the jingling of bells, and the clashing of weapons filled the air. The crackling of bows, the whistling of arrows, and the rattling of armor resounded. Blazing fire crackled, distressed cries rang out, warriors shouted to each other, and bards wailed in agitation. A dreadful, tangible sound filled the hollow of the universe as if carved from stone, swelling to encompass all ten directions. Then, a rising mass blocked the path of the sun, its dust-darkness lifting the earth’s surface toward the sky. Thus, in the play of consciousness, the drama of life and battle unfolded, all arising and dissolving in the mirror of awareness.