When attachment to the bodily form is abandoned, and passion and opinion are relinquished, O Blessed One, the mind becomes free from desire—it neither craves nor rejects. In such a state, O Lord of beings, you create this world only for your own diversion, manifesting and dissolving it again and again, just as the sun brings forth the day and then withdraws it. For you, O Supreme One, this creation is always an unattached play, done not from intense longing but simply because it is to be done. You do not create the world as a personal daily activity; having abandoned obligatory action, what new result could you possibly attain? One should always perform what is to be done, as it arises, without attachment—like a spotless mirror that reflects images without clinging to them. Just as a wise person has no desire when acting, so too, the wise have no desire when not acting. Therefore, with a disposition like dreamless sleep, free from desire, act as situations arise, whether in waking or sleeping states. O Lord, the world finds satisfaction through the creations of the mind-born sons of the moon; these creations bring fulfillment to them, but not to you, O Lord of gods. You perceive these creations with the eye of the mind, not the physical eye; for who, not seeing with the eye, can know that creation has arisen? By the very mind with which creation was fashioned, O Supreme Lord, that alone perceives it through the physical eye, not otherwise. No one is able to destroy these ten cycles of worldly existence, born of the dust of the senses, for they persist long due to the firmness of the mind. Actions performed by the organs can indeed be restrained, but what is determined by the mind cannot be restrained by anyone. O Brahman, the resolve firmly established in a person's mind cannot be undone except by that very resolve itself, not by any other means. Whatever has been practiced in the mind with strong determination over a long time does not perish, not even by a curse, nor even when the body is destroyed. Whatever form is firmly seated in the mind, the person here indeed becomes that and nothing else; apart from awakening to this, all other methods are fruitless, as futile as trying to move a mountain. It is heard that long ago, O Deva, there was a king among the Magadhas named Indradyumna, renowned like another Indradyumna. His wife, Ahalya, lotus-eyed and radiant as the moon, was as Rohini is to the moon. In that same city, there lived a powerful and wealthy young Brahmin named Indra, also called by that name. One day, in the course of conversation, Queen Ahalya learned that in former times she had been desired by Indra. Hearing this, Ahalya became enamored with Indra and, filled with longing, wondered why that Indra did not approach her. She suffered greatly, lying on beds of lotus stalks, lotus fiber, and banana leaves, like a young girl scorched in the forest after her creepers have been cut. She grew weary amidst all those royal luxuries, like a fish tossed about on dry land, tormented by the summer heat. Her mind disturbed, she kept repeating, "This is Indra, this is Indra," and in her agitation, she even abandoned her sense of shame. Seeing her so afflicted and deeply attached, her friend said, "Dear one, without delay, I will bring Indra to you." Hearing this promise, Ahalya's eyes blossomed, and she fell at her friend's feet like a lotus at the feet of a lotus. When the day had passed and night had come, that friend went to the prince named Indra. After properly awakening him, she quickly brought the prince Indra to Ahalya's side during the night. Then, adorned with many garlands and perfumes, she enjoyed union with that passionate Mahendra in a hidden chamber. At that time, the young woman was captivated by him, who was adorned with a charming necklace and armlets, just as a vine is drawn to the taste of honey. Being attached to him, she saw the world as filled with him alone; she did not regard her husband, though he was endowed with countless virtues. But after some time, her infatuation with Indra was discovered by her husband, the lion among kings, through the moon-like radiance of her face. As long as she meditated on Indra, her face shone with the fullness of the moon, like a lotus blooming at night. Observing their mutual attachment, the king imposed many punishments as discipline upon the two. Yet both of them, though abandoned, remained together in the water-reservoir, content and smiling there, without any distress. Then the king asked them, "Are you not troubled, though you are cast off?" The two replied to the king, having been taken out of the reservoir, "Having come together here, beholding each other's flawless facial beauty, we are entranced, O king, not even disturbed by our own bodies being cut to pieces." Even when surrounded by fire, those two remained unshaken; with joyful hearts, delighted by the memory, they spoke to each other. Bound at the feet of elephants, pierced by nails, they stood firm; in the same way, O king, they spoke to each other, delighted by remembrance. Struck by whips, yet unbroken, thus indeed they spoke; sunk in mud, yet unshaken, thus indeed they spoke. Again and again, when released from various imagined nets of punishment, they were questioned and replied repeatedly with the same meaning.