The wise ministers sat together, their minds plunged into a sea of doubt and confusion, much like the gods themselves when the mighty demon king, armed with his mace, fell into despondency. All around, the people were bent in wonder, their thoughts twisted by the delusion of worldly existence. The king, meanwhile, sat motionless, his gaze fixed and unmoving, while the luminous beauty of the lotus groves seemed subdued, as if their very radiance had faded in the shadow of this moment. After two brief moments, the king slowly regained his senses. He was like a splendid lotus emerging from the heavy waters of the rainy season, shining once more in the sunlight. As he awakened, adorned with armlets and his crest-jewel, he trembled while rising from his seat, resembling a mountain peak with forested slopes quivering in the throes of an earthquake. Still only half-awake, he sat back down, his body trembling, like Mount Mandara itself shaken when the underworld is disturbed. His attendants rushed to his side, supporting him with their arms as he threatened to fall, just as the ridges of neighboring mountains support Mount Meru when it is shaken by the tumult of cosmic dissolution. Supported thus, the king—his mind greatly disturbed—bore upon his face a luster not unlike the moon agitated by restless waves. In his confusion, the king wondered to himself, “What is this place? Whose assembly is this?” His mind wandered, uncertain, like a bee lingering in the calyx of a lotus, unsure where to settle. Sensing his bewilderment, the assembly respectfully addressed him, asking, “O lord, what is this?”—their voices like the hum of bees questioning the sun, or like lotuses gazing longingly at the sun after an eclipse has passed. The chief ministers, too, pressed him for answers, just as the gods once questioned the sage Markandeya when he was terrified by the chaos at the end of the world. “O lord,” they said, “seeing you in such a state, we are utterly distressed. Even the most steadfast minds are unsettled by confusion that arises without cause. Amidst pleasures that delight at first but become tasteless in the end, and among conflicting enjoyments, where has your mind been tossed?” They continued, “Your mind, always refined by noble stories, is pure—so why does it now sink into confusion? The mind, relying on trivial and broken supports in worldly affairs, falls into delusion and does not grow in greatness. For whatever tendency arises in the mind continuously, the body, intoxicated with 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 becomes subject to the influences of place and time, 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 words were spoken, the king’s face began to shine with renewed radiance, adorning the end-of-month moon with fullness. He sat in wonder, his eyes wide open, like the god of spring when the frost has departed and the multitude of flowers bursts forth. His face, weary from amazement yet smiling with agitation, resembled the moon in the sky as it beholds Rahu, death approaching nearby. Beholding the illusionist’s display before him, the king then spoke, his lips curling as if in a smile—like a serpent addressing the destructive brown snake it sees nearby. He said, “O wretch, what is this net you have woven with your matted hair? The ocean, troubled by the thrashing of fish, becomes calm again in a moment. How wondrous and varied are the powers of the Lord’s manifold objects! Even my mind, though strong, has been cast into delusion by them. Where are we, lamenting the endless turns of worldly affairs, and where are these widespread calamities that bring confusion to the mind?” He continued, “Even a mind well-trained in supreme knowledge, while dwelling in the body, sometimes succumbs to delusion for a moment, even among the wise. Now, O assembly, listen to this astonishing tale—what was shown to me here for a moment by the magic of Shambara. In that brief instant, I saw many shifting states of affairs—like the creator Brahma, who brings forth and dissolves worlds in an instant, after Indra’s power is overthrown.” Having thus spoken, with the eyes of the assembly turned toward him, the king, as if smiling, began to recount the marvelous story. “Here, on this earth crowded with various objects—filled with lakes, rivers, mountains, and cities, with peaks and oceans close together—there is a region adorned with prosperity. There is, to begin with, this land, adorned with many forests and rivers, like a younger brother to this globe of earth. And here I am king, conducting myself according to the wishes of the citizens, just as Indra presides in his heavenly assembly. Then, from afar, someone named Shambarika arrived—he seemed to have risen from the netherworld itself, like the magician Maya in all his wonder. By his hand, this peacock-feathered wand was spun before me, its line shining brightly, like Indra’s lightning streaked by the wind at the end of an age. Seeing this restless thing placed before my horse, my mind became disturbed, and I mounted its back alone. Then, as a whirlwind stirs a mountain at the world’s end, so did I mount my agitated horse as it moved unsteadily. I set out swiftly, alone, to hunt—like a wave of the doomsday ocean rushing to break upon the land. By that wind-tossed steed, I was carried far away—ignorant and bewildered, dulled by habitual pleasures, just as one’s own mind leads one astray. My mind was destitute and empty, as unfortunate as the heart of a woman, and terrifying like the abode of a world consumed by dissolution. At last, I arrived, exhausted, at a vast, endless wilderness—without birds, with saline mist, without trees, and devoid of water.