In this world, childhood appears restless and wild, its behavior scorned by all, as if the children belonged more to the animal realm than to humankind. The suffering born from such a state is said to be even greater than death itself. Whose heart, torn and wounded, could find happiness in such a period? For childhood is but a dense fog of ignorance, unsteady and crowded with countless, fleeting thoughts. At every step, fear arises—born from dullness and darkness—and who would willingly choose to endure such distress? A child, lost in play, indulges in improper amusements, vain pursuits, and false hopes, falling deeper into illusion and powerful misfortune. The mind in childhood is a confusion of thoughts, filled with inappropriate amusements and desires that can never be fulfilled; truly, this time is fit only for discipline, not for peace. All faults, bad conduct, difficult actions, and wicked intentions reside in childhood, lurking like crocodiles in a deep pool. Yet, there are those who, lacking discernment, claim that childhood is delightful—such deluded people, O Brahman, are to be pitied. Where the mind, restless by nature, flits from one distraction to another, even the sovereignty of the three worlds could not bring satisfaction. For all beings, in every state, the mind is unsteady; but in childhood, O sage, its fickleness increases tenfold. The mind is naturally unsteady, and childhood is the very peak of unsteadiness; when these two come together, who can fathom the chaos that arises within? Just as glances from women flash like lightning, adorned with garlands of flames and waves, so too is fickleness learned—from both the mind and childhood. In every activity, childhood and the mind are like brothers, always unstable in their existence. All wicked beings, all faults, and evil intentions thrive on childhood, just as people depend on the wealthy. If a child does not receive something new and pleasing each day, he falls into a swoon of poisonous agitation. Little by little, he is brought under control, and little by little, he becomes disturbed again; he delights only in what is impure, just as a boy from the Kauleya tribe. Constantly tearful, with a muddy heart, the child is like scorched earth soaked by rain—dull and inert within. Frightened, focused on food, miserable, and desiring whatever he sees, the child’s fickle mind and body exist only for suffering. When he fails to obtain the objects he longs for in his own imagination, the weak child, tormented in mind, suffers as if his very heart were cut out. O sage, the sufferings of a child—whose aims are hard to achieve and who is pulled in many directions—are like no other’s. The child, strong only in fantasy, is constantly tormented in his mind, just as a forest is scorched by the summer sun. When the child enters the house of learning, he faces extreme hardship, like a great serpent bound and threatened by uneven poisons. Childhood, with its feeble heart, is filled with endless false imaginings and fanciful desires, bringing only long-lasting suffering. Who, in their right mind, would wish to eat cooked snow or seize the moon from the sky, expecting happiness? In the same way, it is foolish to seek joy in childhood. For one whose inner mind is powerless to ward off heat and cold, what difference is there, O great intellect, between a child, a plant, or a tree? Children, like birds, always long to fly with wings, driven by hunger, and are constantly preoccupied with fear and food. In childhood, there is fear of teachers, of mother, of father, of people, and of older children; truly, childhood is a house of fear. For one whose hopes are thwarted by every kind of fault, and who delights in folly, O great sage, childhood here is never truly satisfying for anyone. Then, abandoning the misfortune of childhood, a person with frustrated hopes ascends into the tumultuous cloud of youth—only to fall once again. There, following the restless tendencies of his ever-capricious mind, the dull-witted one moves from suffering to greater suffering. Overpowered by the demon of desire, which dwells in the cave of his own mind and creates endless confusion, he is rendered helpless. The mind, unable to resist, offers itself to restless thoughts, just as a child is given to the flames. Various faults, difficult to overcome, destroy such a youthful disposition; the visible ones do not, O sage. People who are not ruined by youth, which is the seed of great hell and causes ceaseless wandering, are not ruined by anything else. He is called wise who has crossed the dreadful realm of youth, filled with diverse stories and adorned with a multitude of events. Yet I do not delight in youth, which flashes like lightning, roars with restless clouds, and shines only for a moment. I do not delight in youth, which is full of various whirlpools, stuck in mud, dull in nature, and terrifying with its fragile waves. I do not delight in youth, which is foremost for everyone, charming only for a moment, and resembles a city of the Gandharvas. I do not delight in youth, which gives pleasure only for the time it takes an arrow to fall, is radiant with suffering, and always brings burning faults. Sweet and pleasant, yet bitter, adorned with faults and defects, like the frothing of wine—youth does not please me. False, though it appears true, it soon brings disappointment; like embracing a woman in a dream—youth does not please me.