For a long time, through deep and unwavering contemplation, the seeker’s awareness awakens, and by the very power of that awareness, one attains the supreme goal. Each person’s effort in cultivating this awareness, in whatever manner it arises and for however long it is sustained, ultimately bears fruit according to the nature of that effort. Whether it takes the form of austerity or devotion to a deity, it is only the imperishable consciousness itself—assuming these various forms—that freely bestows the results, just as the sky lets its gifts fall to earth. Truly, apart from the illumination of one’s own awareness, nothing else ever produces results. Therefore, act as you wish, for it is through this path that the fruits swiftly manifest. Is it not the state of consciousness alone—the inner self present everywhere—that thinks, strives, and attains what it seeks, along with its prosperity? By considering what is delightful and what is not, one should recognize what is pure and abide within that purity. While these profound teachings were being discussed in the house, a question arose: what did King Viduratha do, having left the house in anger? Viduratha, having departed, was surrounded by a great retinue, shining like the moon encircled by a host of stars. He was fully armored, adorned with splendid necklaces and ornaments, and went forth amidst loud cries of victory, resembling Indra, the king of the gods. He commanded his ranks of warriors, listened to the arrangement of the battle formations, and watched the heroic feats unfolding as he ascended his magnificent chariot. The king’s chariot was like a celestial mansion, decorated with pearls and rubies, draped in clusters of banners, and gleaming like a vehicle of the gods. Its moonlit walls were adorned with golden shoots and beautiful coral branches, the sound of pearls jingling softly. The chariot was drawn by fine, white, slender horses of auspicious marks—swift and unmatched, their hooves seeming to pour forth in a rush, their speed outpacing even the wind, as if they were drinking in the sky itself. It was as if eight full moons, shining with the brilliance of yak-tail whisks, were yoked together, their neighing filling all directions. Then, a great drum sounded, as intense as the roar of thunderclouds, echoing harshly against the mountain walls. The air was filled with the tumultuous cries of intoxicated soldiers, the jingling of bells, and the clashing of weapons. The crackling of bows, the whistling of arrows, and the rattling of armor resounded all around. The sounds of blazing fire, the cries of the distressed, the shouts of warriors, and the wailing of bards swelled together, creating a dreadful and palpable sound that filled the hollow of the universe, swelling to encompass all ten directions. A mass of darkness arose, blocking the path of the sun, its dust lifting the earth’s surface toward the sky. The great city became as if enclosed in a womb, darkness growing dense like ignorance swelling in youth. Clusters of lamps vanished, like stars disappearing by day, and restless hosts of night-beings gathered their strength. Two maidens, blessed with vast vision by the goddess, witnessed this great battle, their hearts trembling at the sight. In the houses, the clamor of weapons arose, resounding like fires in an ocean overflowing with water. Drawing the enemy army with his arrows, King Viduratha, propelled by his might, entered the opposing force like Mount Meru plunging into a single ocean. The sharp, distinct sound of qualities crackled as rows of arrows—like self-fashioned clouds—formed a ship in the sky. Weapons of every kind, like flocks of birds, soared in all directions, their brilliance illuminating the mist. Clashing weapons blazed like torches of fire, whirling about as clouds of warriors thundered, pouring down streams of arrows. Cruel missiles, like vultures, darted at the bodies of heroes; some fell with crackling sounds, crushed by weapons in the sky. The darkness was quickly dispelled by the shining flames of weapons, and the entire army appeared as if covered with the fine hair of maidens. Headless bodies rose up in the dance of death, while demon maidens sang loudly of the treachery of battle. The army of elephants, maddened and colliding, trumpeted fiercely, and intoxicated rivers carried hurled stones across the sky. Chariots crashed down like dried leaves from a forest, and red rivers of blood flowed from the mountain of battle, raining the dead. Dust clouds, darkened by blood, were subdued by the fires of weapons, and the sounds of battle—focused solely on destruction—struck terror with the certainty of death. The tumultuous, discordant din of battle resounded with confusion, churned up by the waves of swords, yet the clouds above remained undisturbed. The clash of armies was like the rattling of funeral biers; arrows fell like a torrent, and the meeting of mighty weapons rang out sharply, yet in the night, all seemed veiled, as if in sleep. Amidst this dreadful and tumultuous battle, the goddess of Knowledge playfully addressed her own manifestation standing before her: “Goddess, why is it that our lord neither wins nor loses in this battle? Tell me, even though you are pleased, in this war where elephants flee.” She replied, “For a long time, I have been worshipped by this king Viduratha, but not by the ruler Viduratha for the sake of victory. Therefore, only he is victorious; Viduratha does not prevail. This awareness, this inner consciousness, is what determines everything, as and when it occurs.