Just as the intense heat of a mirage shimmers within itself—never truly divided, yet appearing in countless forms—so does the Self, undivided and infinite, manifest itself in myriad ways within its own being. All that we perceive—cause and effect, action and agent, birth and death, existence itself—is nothing but Brahman. There is nothing apart from That; whatever seems separate exists only in the mind’s conceptualization. Within this pure Self, there is no greed, no delusion, no craving. All is untouched and stainless—how could greed or delusion arise within the Self, from the Self? This entire world is nothing but the Self; even the process of conceptualization is the Self alone. Just as a golden bracelet is nothing but gold in essence, so too does the Self take on the appearance of the mind. O Rama, what is called Brahman, when it is unaware of itself, is referred to as the mind or individual soul. When not recognized as Brahman, it is quickly ensnared by bondage; but when its true nature is realized, it is instantly freed. Through its own imagination, the Self—though pure consciousness—manifests individuality, just as space reveals emptiness. Thus, 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 might see two moons in the sky: both real and unreal at once. Because of delusion, the distinction between word and meaning in these two is impossible to grasp, and since the Self pervades all, where could it possibly be bound, and where could it be liberated? The very notion of bondage, when bondage is forever impossible, is but a false imagination of the mind. For one who imagines bondage, liberation too is imagined, not real. Whatever the mind determines, that alone comes to pass—there is no other way. Therefore, O Lord, since bondage is only imagined, how could it truly exist? The conception of bondage is a false imagination of the ignorant, and for them, the notion of liberation is equally false. Thus, in the reckoning of ignorance, the ideas of bondage and liberation are remembered; but in reality, O wise one, there is neither bondage nor liberation. The unreality of such imagination is clear to one whose mind is awakened—just as one recognizes a rope for what it is, and not a snake—but not to one whose mind remains unawakened. For the wise, there is no confusion about bondage or liberation; such confusion exists only for the ignorant, O Raghava. First arises the mind, then the vision of release from attachment, and afterwards the creation of the world and the naming of its realms. This is the beginning of the sequence, which, when traced to its foundation, becomes a tale fit for children. Hearing this, Rama asked, “O best of sages, why is the sequence of the children’s tale being told? Please narrate it to me in order, and explain why the mind is being described.” The sage replied: “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 a tale, using words that are clear and sweet. Once, there were three noble princes—great-souled and virtuous—dwelling 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 all three appeared pure in conduct and form, shining like moons. One day, seeking the highest attainment, they gathered together—friendless, with downcast faces, their minds weighed down by sorrow. Leaving that empty city, their faces distorted with grief, they departed—like Mercury, Venus, and Saturn conjoined in the heavens. 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 summer’s heat. Their lotus-like feet burned by the hot sand of the path, they cried out, ‘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 a long journey, 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 these 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, under the shade of a celestial tree. There, they ate fruits sweet as nectar, drank their juice, made garlands from the clusters, and after resting for a long while, set out again. After traveling further, when the sun reached its zenith, they came to three rivers, their waves resounding with lively noise. Of these, one river was completely dried up, and neither of the other two had even a trace of water—just as the sight of the blind is absent. In that thoroughly dried river, they bathed eagerly, as those tormented by heat would in the heavenly Ganges, like Vishnu, Brahma, and Shiva. After playing in the water for a long time and drinking water as sweet as nectar, the princes departed, joyful and content. As the day drew to a close and the sun hung low, they sat before a city about to be constructed, resembling a mountain. This city was adorned with banners and lotus ponds, its blue waters shining, and its fame resounding far, with circles of singing and celebration. There, they saw three splendid mansions, beautiful and prosperous, with walls of jewels and gold, like the peaks of a great mountain. Of these, two houses were unfinished, and one stood without walls; the three men entered the charming house without walls. Entering and quickly sitting down, the noble-faced men enjoyed themselves and found there three golden bowls, heated and shining. When the two had become fragments and one had turned to powder, those wise ones took up the vessel in its powdered form. With ninety-nine measures, and one more of food, there, a hundred measures were lacking, consumed by many eaters.” Thus, the sage wove his tale, revealing the subtle truth: that all appearances, all stories of bondage and liberation, are but play within the Self—pure, undivided, and ever free.