After the events unfolded, hundreds of people gathered and partook in the feast, including many Brahmins, and the three princes themselves, who, having attained supreme satisfaction, joined in the celebration. In the city that was yet to come, these three princes remain happily, even to this day, my son, engaged in their pursuits—hunting and tending to their affairs. This delightful tale, O sinless one, has now been shared with you. Hold it close within your heart, wise one, for by reflecting upon it, you will grow in discernment. Thus, O Rama, the nurse recounted this auspicious story meant for children, and the young child was pleased by the tale’s goodness. O lotus-eyed Rama, this is the children’s story I have narrated to you, connected to the teaching about the mind. Just as in that story, so too has this creation of the world come to its present state—arising from intense and futile imaginations. O sinless one, all of this is but a web of imagination, made of appearances, which unfolds itself as bondage, liberation, and the like. Here, apart from thought-constructs, nothing else truly exists. By the power of thought, something appears, or nothing at all, or perhaps only a particular thing. Heaven, earth, wind, space, mountains, rivers, and directions—all these are shaped by thought, like a dream arising 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. Thought alone, ever restless, shines forth in all directions; just as the ocean is nothing but water, so too is everything, in essence, the Self within the Self. Thought arises first in the Supreme Self, and from this, activity expands—just as the day unfolds from dawn. The entire world is but a web of thought-constructs; know truly, O playful one, that all is only thought. Abandon mere thought, take refuge in the state beyond thought, and with certainty, attain peace, O Rama. The one who is deluded, caught in the net of his own thoughts, falls into confusion—not so the wise; just as a non-spirit is bewildered by the thoughts of a spirit, like a child lost in fancy. Who is this imagined being, this yakṣa, considered foremost among knowers of Brahman? By whom is this great delusion, which is truly unreal, always taken up? Through association with the elements, the yakṣa, taking the form of ego, is falsely conceived here—much like a goblin imagined by a child. When the supreme reality alone abides in all, how, from where, and in what manner does this so-called ‘I’ arise? In truth, there is no ego, for there is no difference in the supreme Self—just as a traveler, due to imperfect vision, sees water shimmering in the heat where none exists. The jewel of the mind, with its restless activity, is what is called saṃsāra; yet relying on the Self, the Self shines forth, just as water glistens through water. Therefore, O Rama, abandon unsupported false perception; take refuge in true perception, which is grounded and blissful. With an intellect inclined toward inquiry, free from the agitation of delusion, discern the truth and completely abandon the untrue. Speaking of ‘bound’ or ‘unbound’ is truly pointless—why do you grieve in vain? For the infinite reality of the Self, what, how, and by whom can bondage occur? In the undivided Supreme Self, where the notion of multiplicity arises only through conceptualization, what can be bound and what can be liberated in this all-pervading reality of Brahman? Though you are inherently free from suffering, you feel pain because of its apparent presence; why grieve over a wounded limb? No affliction of division, unity, or change truly exists in the Self. When the body is destroyed, injured, or diminished, what harm comes to the Self? Just as gold within a crucible remains unharmed even when the crucible is burnt, so too does the Self remain untouched. Let the body fall or be destroyed—what loss comes to us? When a flower is crushed, is its fragrance, which abides in space, truly lost? Let the lotus-like body be struck by the frost of pleasure and pain—what harm comes to us, who are established in the expanse of the Self, like bees that have flown away? Let the body fall, be destroyed, or depart to the farthest sky—what injury can there be to your true nature, which is distinct from it? Just as the connection between cloud and wind, or bee and lotus, so too, Rāghava, is the relationship between your body and your Self. The mind is called the body of the entire world; its essence is the power of the Self, which is consciousness, and this never perishes at any time. You believe that this Self, the supremely wise, perishes; but it never perishes—why do you grieve in vain? Just as the wind passes through a broken cloud, or a bee leaves a dried lotus and goes into the endless sky, so does the Self depart when the body is destroyed. Even as one wanders in this world, the mind does not perish; without the fire of knowledge, the destruction of the Self is not even a topic for discussion. The analogy of the jar and the berry, and the sequence of the space within the jar, applies likewise to the existence of body and Self—whether perishable or imperishable. Just as a berry enters the hand and bursts in the jar, so the Self enters the sky and moves within the body. When the jar is gone, its space remains as the space of the sky; likewise, when the body is exhausted, the embodied one remains, free from affliction. The mind and body of creatures are concealed from place and time; repeatedly covered by the veil of death, they lie dormant—why lament? Even the ignorant man, when place and time are concealed at death, why should he fear, O mighty-armed one? No one perishes here. Therefore, O Rama, abandon the notion “I am this”—a mere fancy—just as the lord of birds, eager to fly the sky, leaves behind the eggshell. For this is a mental power, binding one to what is desired and undesired; by it, through delusion, this world is imagined in vain, like a dream.