Within the city, deep in a revered cave, the goddess Kandarā—also known as Maṅgaletarā—was established with great honor. From that moment onward, every king who came to rule this land would himself install the goddess Kandarā, following the tradition. If any lesser king neglected this sacred installation, his subjects would rise against him, bringing upon him a multitude of calamities. Those who worshipped her received the results they desired, while those who, out of their own disposition, neglected her worship, met with misfortune. Even when worshipped with rites meant for those considered condemned, the goddess remained present in her image, still bestowing the fruits that dwell within the mind. Long honored and revered, she was the abode of forest-dwellers, endowed with supreme knowledge, bringing auspiciousness to all worlds. She devoured the great multitudes destined for destruction, standing victorious in that place. All this blameless tale was recounted, just as it happened, concerning the demoness Karkati, in proper sequence. A question arose: how did that black demoness, spoken of in the caves of the Himalayas, come to be named Karkati? Among the many demon lineages, there were black, white, green, and radiant ones. There was a demon named Karkata, resembling a crab; from him, Karkati was born—black in color, taking the form of a crab. This account was shared in remembrance of Karkati’s question, within the context of spiritual instruction and the exposition of consciousness. From a single cause, both the completed and the uncompleted are manifest; this world, without beginning or end, arises from the supreme cause, step by step. Just as waves appear and disappear in water, yet are nothing but water, so too do all these diverse creations, though seemingly present, truly abide in the Supreme. Fire, though not visibly blazing in wood, still serves its purpose—removing cold for monkeys and others. In the same way, Brahman, ever tranquil and unchanging, brings forth this manifold world, as if engaging in various actions, yet never abandoning its essential serenity. Even before it has arisen, creation has already come forth in this manner—like the awareness of a wooden statue of a woman, awakened within the wood itself. From a seed, though not different from it, a fruit appears as if distinct; so too, from consciousness, though not other than it, the object of consciousness seems to arise as something else. Because reality is indivisible, there is truly no separation between seed and fruit, or between consciousness and its object, just as there is none between water and its waves. Except through lack of inquiry, no division between these can be established; whatever distinction appears vanishes upon investigation. This delusion has arisen as it has, O descendant of Raghu; let it depart in the same way. When you awaken, you will know this—simply abandon it. When the knot of delusion is severed by hearing these words, you will yourself know the reality of the distinctions between knowledge, word, and meaning. Both prosperity and misfortune arise from the mind; by simply hearing these words, peace will certainly be attained. Everything arises from Brahman, and everything is indeed Brahman; awakened by these teachings, you will know this fully, O blameless one. The phrase ‘this is’ expresses distinction, but why is it said that all is undivided? For the sake of scriptural instruction, a word arises from sound or meaning, marked by exclusion of opposites and enumeration of characteristics. This difference exists only in practical dealings, not in reality—like a goblin imagined for a child’s purpose. Even duality and unity do not exist in the state where things abide as they truly are; in such a state, how could there be disturbance of thought? The relationship of cause and effect is defined by its own characteristics, just as the cause and the one possessing the cause, and likewise the sequence of parts. Confusion of transformation, distinction and non-distinction, as well as the modifications of states, knowledge and ignorance, pleasure and pain, all arise in this way. Beginning with these, false imagination arises, produced by fanciful thought; for the sake of understanding by the ignorant, but in reality, there is no division in the substance. This division exists due to lack of understanding; when knowledge arises, duality does not exist. When knowledge dawns, all mental constructions subside and only silence remains. At the culmination of inquiry, when understanding is attained, one knows the supreme, the one, without beginning or end, indivisible and unbroken. Those who are unawakened engage in mental distinctions, expanding their own imaginations; but this teaching is given for instruction—when knowledge arises, duality does not exist. Without the relationship of word and meaning, duality cannot be established; and duality itself is not possible—whether in silence or in speech, that is sufficient. O descendent of Raghu, establish your intellect in the meaning of the great sayings, disregarding differences in words; listen now to these teachings. The mind, arising from somewhere, like a city of the Gandharvas, produces only delusion; this manifestation called the world is merely its own projection. Just as the mind projects this illusion of the world, O sinless one, an example is given to explain the perception of creation. Hearing this, you yourself, O Rama, will become convinced that all this is merely delusion, and you will cast away attachment from afar. The three worlds are nothing but a creation of thought and imagination; abandoning everything, with a peaceful mind, you will abide in your own Self alone. Attentive to the meaning of these words, you will strive in the treatment of the disease of the mind, applying the ointment of discernment with effort.