As the discourse unfolded, the goddess of the gods was asked, “By which path do these two journey to the funeral pavilion? Let us quickly observe this very way and proceed to the highest.” The answer revealed that the soul travels along a path shaped by the residue of its own human tendencies, thinking, “I am going to another world, far away,” with a mind woven from pure consciousness. It was explained that, whatever path one takes after death, it is only the latent tendencies within that guide the journey; mutual desire and awareness are not true bonds of affection. As this teaching, which brings about the cessation of worldly stories, was revealed and the supreme vision spread forth in the light of awakening, the noble Viduratha, freed from delusion, became as if lifeless before the princess. Meanwhile, the king, his gaze turned upward, seemed as though his life had merged into one point; his lips became dry and pale. His complexion took on the hue of withered leaves, his face grew emaciated, and his breath, uneven and humming like bees, issued from his chest. His intent had fallen into the deep pit of the great swoon of death, with all his senses—eyes and others—completely withdrawn within. He appeared like a painted figure, visible only in form, devoid of consciousness, motionless in every limb, as if cast upon a stone. What more need be said? Through the region of his palate, the king’s life-breath departed, like a well-winged bird leaving a tree for the sky. With divine vision, the two maidens saw the vital being—composed of life-breath and awareness—rise into the sky, like a trace of fragrance carried by the wind. That living awareness, borne by the wind of space, began to travel far through the sky, following the momentum of its own tendencies. The two women followed that living awareness, just as a pair of bees pursue a wisp of fragrance on the breeze. After a brief moment, when the swoon of death had subsided, that awareness regained consciousness in the intermediate state, like a streak of scent stirred by the breeze. He saw the servants of Yama and his own body being carried away by them, while his relatives performed funeral rites for the body that had belonged to him. On the path where the fruits of actions shine from afar, he set forth, unstoppable, to reach the city of Vaivasvata. Upon reaching the city of Vaivasvata, it was declared: “This one never has any impure actions at all. He is always the doer of pure deeds; by the boon of the blessed Sarasvati, he has been elevated.” His previous body, now lifeless, lay clothed in flowers; he was instructed to enter it, go there, and abandon it. Then, leaving that body, he soared along the sky-path like a machine-propelled stone; and the three—life-force, play, and knowledge—entered the sky. The thread of life soared; the other two, being formless, were not seen, but they followed him, surpassing even the expanse of the sky. Passing beyond other worlds and departing from the house of the universe, they reached a second world and entered the earth-circle. There, with the wish-formed beloved united with the thread of life, they reached Padmaraja’s city and the inner pavilion of Lila. In an instant, they entered freely, as wind enters the sky, as sunlight enters a lotus, as fragrance enters the air. A question arose: “O Brahman, how did he arrive at the house near the corpse? How did he discern the path of the one whose body had died?” The answer was given: “Raghava, whatever is established within his own tendencies must certainly be there; therefore, all of that resides in the heart—how did he attain it in a month?” This immeasurable confusion exists within the atom of life in the world, just as a banyan tree exists within its seed—who does not see this? The atomic consciousness, which is its own nature, contains the three worlds; just as a person situated in one place perceives something located far away. He always perceives his own treasure through the mind, ceaselessly; just as a living body perceives the living soul in the heart as its reflection. In the same way, the soul perceives its desired object established within its own tendencies, whether it is endowed with hundreds of births or caught in delusion. A further inquiry was made: “O Lord, what form does the body take when it is devoid of the tendency for offerings such as piṇḍa? For whom is the piṇḍa not given?” The answer followed: If an offering is given to the mother, and one thinks, “This offering is for me,” then, with that impression firmly rooted in the heart, a person partakes of the result of that offering. Whatever the mind is absorbed in, the living being becomes that—such is the experience; this is true for those with bodies and those without, and never otherwise anywhere. By the awareness “I am related,” even one who is not related partakes of the offering; by the awareness “I am not related,” even one who is related does not partake of it. The reality of these objects is according to one’s conception of them; and conception arises from the objects and their causes. Just as, by one’s disposition, even poison may become nectar for a being, so too, by conception, an unreal object attains reality. Without a cause, no effect ever arises for anyone at any time; therefore, be firmly convinced that no effect exists without a cause. Without a cause, no effect has ever been seen or heard of, up to the great dissolution—nothing arises by itself, on its own, except in one’s own imagination. Indeed, it is only impression that assumes the form of reality, like an object in a dream; it becomes cause and effect, yet in truth, it remains just itself. If a departed one, filled with tendencies, thinks, “There is no merit that belongs to me,” and if a friend, endowed with abundant virtue, dedicates merit to him—then, does the merit become lost, or does it persist as an impression? And between what is truly meaningful and what is not, does the force of impression have greater power?