O Rama, listen closely to this profound teaching. The form of the mind, which arises as the faculty of thought, is itself a divine power. This power, O conqueror of foes, is truly Brahman. The notion, “This is I,” and all such divisions are but appearances; the very idea that mind and Brahman are different is the supreme cause of delusion. Whatever is the nature of thought—whether it seems to exist or not, and whatever is named—all powers are that single power; know that power to be Brahman. The existence of the mind, which abides within itself, is produced by appearance, and by that very appearance it ceases—never by any other means. All distinctions imagined by the word “mind”—opposition, limitation, number, and form—are nothing but Brahman itself, O knower of Brahman. As the appearance of the mind unfolds, so exactly does it become; just as the moon waxes and wanes, so too does the mind’s form shift. In the vast, undisturbed, pure water, a ripple arises by itself; likewise, the individual soul is the cause of worldly existence in the Supreme Self. For the one who knows, all consciousness is always Brahman alone, just as waves, surges, and ripples are nothing but water in the ocean. There is no second existence; only being itself, which appears as name, form, and activity—just as the diversity of waves in the ocean is imagined as different from water. Whatever is born, perishes, moves, or remains still—this is all Brahman within Brahman, a transformation of Brahman itself. Just as intense heat appears in a mirage within itself, so too the Self, though undivided, manifests itself in various ways within itself. Cause, action, agent, birth, death, and existence—all are only Brahman; nothing else exists apart from it, and whatever appears apart is only for the sake of conceptualization. There is no greed, delusion, or craving; all are pure. How can greed, craving, or delusion arise within the Self, or from where could they come? This entire world is only the Self; even the process of conceptualization is only the Self. Just as a golden bracelet is nothing but gold, so too the Self appears as mind. O Rama, that which is Brahman, when unaware, is called mind or individual soul; when not recognized as such, it quickly assumes bondage, and when recognized, it is freed from bondage. The Self, which is pure consciousness but ignorant of itself, manifests individuality through its own imagination, just as emptiness is revealed by space. Here, the Self shines forth in the world as the individual, appearing as if it were not the Self—just as a person with impaired vision sees two moons, both real and unreal. Because, due to delusion, the perception of word and meaning in these two is utterly impossible, and since the Self is all-pervading, where could it be bound, and where could it be liberated? The notion of bondage, when bondage is eternally impossible, is a false imagination; for one whose bondage is imagined, liberation too is illusory, not real. Whatever determination the mind arrives at, that alone comes to be, and not otherwise; therefore, O Lord, since bondage is only imagined, how could it truly exist? This conception of bondage is a false imagination of the ignorant; for them, the notion of liberation that arises is equally false. Thus, in the reckoning of ignorance, views of bondage and liberation are remembered; but in reality, O wise one, there is neither bondage nor liberation. The unreality of imagination is evident to one whose mind is awakened—just as with the rope and the snake, O wise one—but not to one whose mind is unawakened. For the wise, there is no confusion regarding bondage, liberation, and the like; such confusion exists only for the ignorant, O Raghava. First comes the mind, then the vision of release from attachment, and afterwards the creation of the world and naming of realms. This is the initial sequence, which, having reached its foundation, becomes a tale suited for children. At this point, Rama asks, “O best of sages, why is the sequence of the children’s tale being told? Please narrate it to me in order, along with the reason for describing the mind.” So, the sage begins: A child, with a mind both simple and naive, asks his nurse, “Tell me a story you have heard somewhere.” For the child’s amusement, the wise nurse tells him a story, using words that are clear and sweet. Once, there were three noble princes, great-souled and virtuous, in a vast and empty city, shining like stars in the sky. Of these, two were never born, and the third did not even remain in the womb; yet they appeared pure in conduct and form, shining like moons. Seeking the highest attainment, they gathered together—friendless, with downcast faces, their minds afflicted by sorrow. Leaving that empty city, their faces distorted, they departed—like Mercury, Venus, and Saturn conjoined in the sky. With limbs as delicate as the silk tree, scorched from behind by the sun, they became weary on the road, like tender leaves afflicted by the heat of summer. Their lotus-like feet burned by the heated sand of the path, and they lamented, “Alas, father! Alas, mother!” like deer separated from their herd. With feet wounded by blades of grass and joints slick with sweat, their bodies covered in dust after traversing a long distance, they pressed on. On the way, they reached a cluster of three trees, thick with blossoms, adorned with fruit and new leaves, sheltering flocks of deer and birds. Of those three trees, two had not grown at all, and the third, though climbed, had no seed. Exhausted, they rested beneath one of the trees, as if in Indra’s own abode in heaven, under the shade of a celestial tree. They ate fruits created like nectar, drank their juice, made garlands from the clusters, and after resting for a long time, they set out again. After traveling further, when midday arrived, they reached three rivers, their waves resounding with lively noise.