O lord, seeing you in such a state, we are deeply troubled; even those whose minds are usually steadfast find themselves unsettled by this inexplicable confusion. Amidst pleasures that seem delightful at first but lose their savor in the end, and surrounded by conflicting enjoyments, where has your mind wandered and been tossed about? Your mind, which has always been refined and purified by engaging in noble stories, is by nature pure—so why does it now sink into such confusion? It is the way of the mind: when it relies on trivial and unstable supports in worldly affairs, it easily falls into delusion and fails to expand into greatness. Whatever tendency or habit the mind continuously adopts, the body—intoxicated with its own pride—follows that very tendency. Yet your mind appears remarkable: unblemished, pure, awakened, and captivating in its qualities, never resting upon anything trivial. A mind that lacks practiced discernment, and is subject to the changing influences of place and time, may come under the sway of mantras and medicines—but not one whose tendencies are noble. How could there be any blemish or defect in one who always possesses discernment? The expanded mind is not disturbed, just as a mighty mountain is unmoved by the wind. As these words were spoken, the king’s face began to shine with radiance, as if adorning the waning moon with fullness at the end of the month. He shone with wonder, his eyes wide open, resembling the god of spring when the frost has departed and a multitude of flowers bursts forth. Yet, with a face weary from amazement and smiling with agitation, he seemed like the moon in the sky when Rahu approaches, as if death itself were drawing near. Beholding the illusionist’s display before him, the king then spoke, his smile tinged with astonishment—much like a serpent, upon seeing the destructive brown snake, might address it: “O wretch, what is this net you have woven with your matted hair? Even the ocean, troubled by the thrashing of fish, regains its calm in a moment. How wondrous and varied are the powers of the Lord’s manifold creations! Even my mind, though strong, has been cast into delusion by them. Where are we, lamenting the endless cycles of worldly affairs, and where are these widespread, natural calamities that bring such confusion to the mind? 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 for but a moment by the magic of Shambara. In that brief instant, I witnessed many shifting states of affairs—just as Brahma creates and dissolves worlds in an instant, after Indra’s power has been overthrown. Having spoken thus, with the eyes of the assembly turned toward him, the king, as if smiling, began to recount the marvelous story: Here, upon this earth crowded with countless things—filled with lakes, rivers, mountains, and cities, where peaks and oceans lie close together—there is a region adorned with prosperity. There is, to begin with, this land, adorned with various forests and rivers, like a younger brother to the globe of the earth itself. And here I am king, conducting myself according to the wishes of my citizens, just as Indra presides in his heavenly assembly. Then, from afar, someone named Shambarika arrived—he seemed to have risen from the netherworld, like the magician Maya himself. By him, this peacock-feathered wand was spun before me, its line radiant, like Indra’s lightning streaked by the wind at the world’s end. Seeing this restless thing placed before my horse, I, my mind disturbed, mounted its back alone. Then, as a whirlwind shakes 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. Carried far away by that wind-tossed steed, I became ignorant and bewildered, dulled by habitual pleasures, just as one’s own mind can lead one astray. My mind was destitute and empty, as unfortunate as the heart of a woman deserted, and terrifying like the abode of a world consumed by dissolution. At last, I arrived—exhausted—at a vast, endless wilderness: without birds, shrouded in saline mist, without trees, and utterly devoid of water. It was like a second sky, or an eighth ocean, or a fifth sea—dry, with hollow emptiness. It spread out like the mind of a wise man, swift in anger like a fool, untouched by the presence of people, and without any grass or sprouts ever born. Having reached that great forest, my mind grew weary, like a woman encountering poverty, with no food, fruit, or kin. In that place, where the quarters were flooded with mirages and the illusion of water in the desert, I sank down and spent a sunless day. With great difficulty and fatigue, I passed through that forest—like a discerning person traversing the void-like expanse of worldly existence. After that day, weary, I reached a vast wilderness—like the sun, after wandering through empty space, arrives at the peak of the western mountain. In groves thick with jambu and kadamba trees, the birds’ chatter burst forth, like the lively talk of travelers among friends. Upon the ground, rows of grass blades appeared, unbroken, like the fleeting joys in the crooked heart of one favored by fickle fortune. Compared to the earlier forest, this place was somewhat more pleasant; for among creatures, disease is preferable to the utter misery of death. There, I reached the base of a jambīra grove, like Markandeya approaching Indra after wandering alone upon the one great ocean.