Like a restless monkey before a great, sheltering tree laden with shade, high branches, fruit, and flowers, the man took his place before the king. Eager and greedy for reward, his mind darting about, he addressed the king—whose proud neck was lifted high—like a bee murmuring to a lotus swaying in a gentle and joyful breeze. Then he spoke, “O Lord, behold here a single die, wondrous even as it rests upon the board, shining like the moon that has come down from the sky to the earth.” Having said this, he spun the dice-spindle, setting the dice whirling as if the Supreme Self itself were spinning the seed of countless creations, just as Māyā weaves her illusions. The king beheld the spinning die, radiant with a streak of light, as if Indra himself stood before him in his celestial chariot, bow in hand. At that very moment, the king, accompanied by his vassals from Sindhu, entered the assembly hall, like a cloud gliding into the sky’s pathway crowded with stars and planets. Following him was a swift and excellent horse, eager as if intent on reaching the world of the gods, just as Uccaiḥśravas follows Indra, lord of the ocean. Taking hold of that noble horse, the man addressed the king, as the ocean, possessing Uccaiḥśravas, might speak to Indra, lord of the winds. “O king,” he declared, “this jewel among horses, like Uccaiḥśravas itself, is swift and victorious, as if the very wind had taken form. This horse, O Lord, has been sent to you by my master; truly, the splendor of a gift shines brightest when it comes from the great.” When he had spoken thus, the magician replied, turning to the king like a chataka bird lifts its gaze to the mountain after the thunder of clouds has faded. “Mount this excellent horse and roam the world, O Lord, as the radiant sun graces the earth with its light.” The king gazed intently at the horse, pondering the magician’s words, like an eager peacock watching a cloud signaled by its distant rumble. With unblinking eyes, he stood there—his form wondrous, as if he were a figure in a painted scene—fixed upon the horse. After a moment, he gazed at the horse with its plume-like tail and stood motionless, his eyes downcast, like a timid mountain before the stormy sea. For two moments he remained thus, absorbed as if meditating upon his very self, like a sage free from passion, or the awakened one abiding in supreme bliss. No one dared disturb him, subdued as they were by his own majesty; yet perhaps, out of fear, the king was lost in anxious thought. In that stillness, only the yak-tail whisks remained utterly motionless, as if the night itself had frozen, like the hands of the moon stilled in the sky. Those assembled in the hall shone with astonishment, motionless as lotuses whose petals are held still by the mud. Gradually, the commotion of the assembly faded, like the thunder of clouds in the sky quiets after the rains have passed. The wise ministers, plunged into an ocean of doubt, fell into anxious thought, like the gods themselves when the demon king with the mace is despondent. The people, bent by wonder and twisted by the delusion of worldly existence, looked on as the king sat unmoving, his gaze fixed, and even the radiance of the lotus grove seemed subdued. After two moments, the king regained his senses, like a splendid lotus rising free from the waters of the rainy season. As he awakened, adorned with armlets and his crest-jewel, he trembled upon rising from his seat, like a mountain peak with forested slopes quivering in an earthquake. Half-awake, he sat trembling, like Mount Mandara shaken when the underworld stirs. His attendants supported him with their arms, as the ridges of neighboring mountains uphold Mount Meru shaken by the tumult of dissolution. Supported thus, the king, his mind greatly disturbed, bore on his face a luster like the moon agitated by waves. He wondered slowly, “What is this place? Whose assembly is this?”—his mind lingering in uncertainty, like a bee within the calyx of a lotus, unsure where to settle. The assembly respectfully questioned him, “O lord, what is this?”—like a humming bee questioning the sun, or a lotus gazing at the sun as light returns after an eclipse. Then his chief ministers, too, questioned him, just as the gods questioned Markandeya, who was terrified by the tumult of cosmic dissolution. “O lord,” they said, “seeing you thus, we are utterly distressed; even the most steadfast minds are unsettled by confusion that has no cause. Amid pleasures that delight at first but fade at the end, and in the midst of conflicting enjoyments, where has your mind been tossed? Your mind, refined by always engaging in noble stories, is pure—why does it now sink into confusion? “The mind, relying on trivial and broken supports in worldly affairs, falls into delusion; it does not expand in greatness. For whatever tendency arises in the mind, the body, intoxicated by pride, follows that very tendency. Yet your mind appears remarkable—unblemished, pure, awakened, and captivating in its qualities, resting on nothing trivial. “A mind lacking practiced discernment, subject to the influence of place and time, may come under the sway of mantras and medicines—but not one possessed of noble tendencies. How can there be any blemish or defect in one who always possesses discernment? The expanded mind is not disturbed, just as a mountain is not shaken by the wind.” As these wise words were spoken, the king’s face shone with fresh radiance, like the moon at the end of the month adorned with fullness. He glowed with wonder, his eyes wide open, like the god of spring when the frost has departed and the multitude of flowers bursts forth.