O Rama, listen with attention as I recount a tale that reveals the subtle truth of bondage and liberation. The belief in bondage is but a false imagination born of ignorance, and likewise, for such minds, even the notion of liberation is equally illusory. In the realm of ignorance, people remember and debate the ideas of bondage and release, but in reality, O wise one, there is neither bondage nor liberation at all. For one whose mind is awakened, the unreality of such imaginations becomes as clear as the difference between a rope and a snake—there is no confusion. But for those whose minds are yet unawakened, this truth remains hidden. The wise are never perplexed by such notions as bondage and liberation; confusion about these arises only in the ignorant, O Raghava. First, the mind arises; then, comes the idea of release from attachment; and afterwards, the creation of the world and the naming of various realms. This is how the sequence unfolds—yet, when its foundation is examined, it proves to be nothing more than a tale fit for children. Curious, you may ask, “O best of sages, why is this children’s tale recounted, and what is the reason for describing the mind in this way? Tell me the story in its proper order.” So, listen: A child, with a simple and innocent mind, asks his nurse, “Tell me a story you have heard somewhere.” To amuse the child, the wise nurse tells a story, using sweet and clear words. She says: “Once upon a time, there were three noble princes, virtuous and great-souled, living in a vast and empty city that shone like stars in the night sky. Of these three, 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, these princes gathered together—friendless, their faces downcast, their minds afflicted by sorrow. Leaving that empty city, their faces distorted with grief, they departed—like Mercury, Venus, and Saturn conjoined in the heavens. Their limbs were as delicate as the silk tree’s branches, but scorched from behind by the sun, they grew weary on the road, like tender leaves afflicted by the summer heat. The sand of the path burned their lotus-like feet, and, suffering, they cried out, ‘Alas, father! Alas, mother!’ like deer separated from their herd. Their feet were wounded by sharp blades of grass, their joints slick with sweat, their bodies covered in dust after a long journey, and yet they pressed on. On their 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, the princes rested beneath one of the trees, as if in Indra’s own heavenly abode, enjoying the shade of a celestial tree. They ate fruits as sweet as nectar, drank their juice, made garlands from the clusters, and, after resting for a long time, set out once more. When midday arrived, they reached three rivers, their waves resounding with lively noise. Yet, of these, one was completely dried up, and neither of the other two had even a trace of water—just as the blind have no sight. Nevertheless, 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 joyfully and content. As the day drew to a close and the sun hung low, they came before a city about to be newly constructed, resembling a great mountain. The city was adorned with banners and lotus ponds, its blue waters shining, 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 princes entered the charming house without walls. There, they sat down and delighted in three golden bowls, heated and shining. When two bowls had become fragments and one had turned to powder, the wise princes took up the vessel in its powdered form. With ninety-nine measures and one more of food, a hundred measures were still lacking, consumed by many eaters. Then, hundreds of people ate, as did hundreds of Brahmins, and the three princes themselves, attaining supreme satisfaction. In that city-to-be, the three princes remain happily to this day, my child, engaged in hunting and their various affairs. This delightful tale has been told to you, O sinless one; keep it in your heart, wise one, and you will become discerning. Thus, O Rama, the nurse told this auspicious children’s story, and the child was pleased. This, O lotus-eyed Rama, is the children’s story I have narrated to you, in relation to the tale of the mind. Just as in this children’s story, so too has the creation of the world come to its present state—through intense and futile imaginations. O sinless one, all this is but a web of imagination, consisting of appearances, unfolding in the forms of bondage, liberation, and more. Here, apart from mere thought-constructs, nothing else exists; by the power of thought, something appears, or nothing at all, or only a certain thing. Heaven, earth, wind, space, mountains, rivers, and directions—all these are shaped by thought, like a dream within oneself. Just as the three princes, the rivers, and the city-to-be were creations of imagination, so too is the existence of the three worlds.