Having pondered deeply on the mysterious power of fate, I set forth once more on my journey. In a secluded spot, I came upon another man, much like the one before. He, too, was striking himself all over with his own strong arms, desperately fleeing from himself as though tormented by his own being. In his frantic escape, he tumbled into a well, but after some struggle, managed to climb out and run again. Yet misfortune followed him—he fell into a dense thicket, and again, distressed, he fled onward. For a brief moment, he entered a clear, cool forest, finding a little respite, but soon his emotions flared up once more—now angry, now pleased—striking himself again in his confusion. I watched his strange and restless behavior for a long time, and then, with a gentle smile, I approached and questioned him about his actions. Gradually, his mood shifted: he wept and laughed by turns, and as he battered his own limbs, his form seemed to shatter. At last, he departed and vanished from my sight. Reflecting again on the power of fate, I continued on my way. In another quiet place, I encountered yet another man, behaving in exactly the same manner. He, too, struck himself and fled from himself, and while running, fell into a great, dark pit. I waited there for a long time, hoping to see what would become of him. At last, that deceitful man struggled out of the pit after a great while. As I was about to leave, I saw him once again—just the same as before, repeating the same troubled actions. Once more, I approached him quickly and spoke as I had before. But, O lotus-eyed one, he did not understand me at all. That foolish man only replied, “I know nothing at all—ah, wicked, evil Brahmin!” and then wandered off, absorbed in his own affairs. As I wandered further through that vast forest, I saw many such men, all lost in wrongdoing. Some, when I questioned them, approached me as if in a dreamlike confusion and then grew calm; others ignored my words altogether, just as dogs pay no heed to barking. Some, having fallen into dark pits, never rose again; others, caught in thickets of plantain trees, remained trapped for ages. Some disappeared into dense groves of karanja trees, never settling anywhere, while others wandered about, devoted only to aimless roaming. O best of the Raghu lineage, such is the vast forest that still exists even today, where people remain trapped in these ways. O Rama, you too have seen this forest as one engaged in worldly life, but in the immaturity of childhood, you do not remember it, O descendant of Raghu. That dreadful forest, filled with countless dangers and perils, thick with darkness, is not frequented by the wise. Only those with clouded minds, like bees drawn to thorny shrubs, wander there. Hearing this, Rama asked: “O Brahman, what is that great forest? When did I see it, and how? Who are those people there, and what are they striving to do?” To this, the sage replied: “O mighty-armed Raghunatha, listen well, and I will tell you everything. That great forest is not far away, nor are those people distant from you. Know, O Rama, that this very path of worldly existence—deep, hollow, empty, and ever-changing—is the great forest I speak of. That forest is filled by only one thing: the light of inquiry. Nothing else joins it; it exists as that alone. The mighty beings you saw wandering there are none other than minds, fallen into suffering. O wise one, I am the witness who perceives them all with discernment; by discrimination alone, O Raghava, have I seen these and other things. It is through my discernment that these minds are revealed to me, just as lotuses are revealed by the sun’s own light. Through my awakening and by my grace, some of those minds have attained supreme tranquility and have ceased their restless wandering. Yet some do not welcome me—discernment—because of their delusion. Rejected by me, they fall into pits indeed. Those deep, blind pits, O descendant of Raghu, are called hells; into them, those minds fall and rise again, trapped within. The dense thicket of karanja trees, know this as the taste of sensual pleasure—human life, beset with the thorns of suffering and driven by threefold craving. The minds that enter this thicket are born as humans, absorbed in that single flavor of desire. The plantain grove, cool with the rays of the moon, O descendant of Raghu, is heaven itself, delighting the mind. Just as anything entering the plantain grove becomes immersed within it, so too, O Rama, do minds absorbed solely in heavenly pleasures lose themselves there. Those minds that have entered a deep, dark pit and have not emerged are bound by great sins. Those that remain lost in the karanja grove are the minds of human beings. Some awaken there and are freed from bondage; others, taking on many forms, pass from one womb to another. Some, purified by meritorious austerity, though harsh in nature, sustain bodies that are stable and fitting. Those ignorant ones who rejected me as wicked, whose minds lack self-knowledge, have cast aside their own discernment. Whatever is said in haste by the mind—‘I have been destroyed by you, you are my enemy’—such lamentation is uttered by the mind as it slips away. The weeping, the loud cries, and the many tears shed by a man, O Raghava, are the lamentations of the mind as it abandons the web of enjoyments. Thus, O Rama, the forest you once saw is none other than the world of the mind, where discernment is the guiding light, and only through its grace can one find peace and liberation.