In a place that had once been filled with enjoyment, yielding both sweet and bitter fruits, Bhrigu came upon a scene now altered beyond recognition. The ground was washed clean by streams, and where life once dwelled, there now remained only a dry heap of bones, as if the very skeleton itself laughed at the impermanence of pleasure. Amid these remains, a pure skull shone with a radiance like the moon, mocking even the glory of a Shiva-linga anointed with camphor. The neck was straight, dried and ashen, with barely a remnant of flesh, as though the form itself was stretching along the subtle line of the self. The neck, pale as clay, had been cleansed of flesh by flowing waters, and the face was marked only by the nasal bone, bearing the faint outline of its former features. The neck, now elongated, held the face turned upward, as if gazing after the departing breaths that vanished into the hollow expanse of the sky. The limbs—shins, knees, and arms—were doubled in length, as though measuring the endlessness of space, worn and weary from the fatigue and fears of a long journey. The belly was deeply sunken, the remaining skin shriveled and taut, as if to reveal to the ignorant the utter emptiness within the heart. Upon seeing this dried skeleton, which resembled the frame of a great elephant, the sage Bhrigu rose, his mind blank to any memory of past or future contact. In the very moment of seeing, a thought flashed through him: “Is this my son, whose life departed so long ago?” Grief for his son’s lost youth overwhelmed him, and a terrible, intense anger arose within him—anger directed at Time itself for snatching his son away before his time. In his anguish, Bhrigu began to utter a curse upon Time, furious that his son’s life had been cut short. At that very moment, Time, whose form is subtle and who devours all beings, manifested before the sage in a physical body. Time appeared splendid and fearsome, bearing sword and noose, adorned with earrings and armor, six-armed and six-faced, surrounded by a mighty host of attendants. From his body erupted a network of leaping flames, painting the sky with the brilliance of a blossoming kimshuka tree on a mountain. Circles of fire shone from the tips of his trident, radiating in all directions like golden earrings rising into the heavens. The very peaks of the earth, bound by the breath of his noose, swayed and spun as if mounted upon a swing. The sun’s orb, darkened by the radiance of his sword, seemed shrouded in smoke, as if the world itself were being consumed at the end of an age. This mighty-armed embodiment of Time approached the sage Bhrigu, who stood angry and deep as an ocean churned at the end of an age. With words of conciliation, Time addressed him first: “O sage, those who have truly understood the ways of the world, who have seen both the higher and lower realities, do not become deluded even by causes—how much less so, then, would the best among them, when there is no apparent cause at all! You are a brahmin of boundless austerity, while we are the guardians of destiny. For this reason, O worthy one, you are to be honored—not out of personal preference, but because it is right. Do not exhaust yourself with fierce austerities, like the great fires at the end of an age. If I have not been burned by those, how could you burn me with a curse? The coils of worldly existence have consumed countless Rudras, and multitudes of Vishnus have been devoured. Tell me, O sage, by whom have we ever been cursed? Indeed, O brahmin, we are the enjoyers, and beings like you are the food; this is the course of destiny itself—neither of us is truly the agent here. Fire rises upward by its own nature, water flows downward, food goes to the eater, and creation itself proceeds to its own end—all by their intrinsic nature. O sage, this is the nature of the Supreme Self here: the Self alone manifests within itself, by itself. When seen with pure vision, there is neither doer nor enjoyer; but with impure vision, many doers appear. The notions of doership and non-doership are only imagined; they arise from mistaken perception, not from true understanding. Flowers bloom on trees, and beings come into existence in the world by themselves; here, the idea of causation is only imagined as the work of fate. Just as the movement of the moon’s reflection involves doership and non-doership—which is neither true nor false—so it is with the creations of time. The mind, through false delusion, constructs in the world the notion of doership and non-doership, like mistaking a rope for a snake. Therefore, O sage, do not be angry; such is the order of events in adversity. Let things be as they are, for truth is seen even in the midst of confusion. We are not governed by authority or pride; we remain only within the domain of necessity, subject to its inherent power. One should pursue natural duties according to the force of necessity; the wise follow this way, not those who are dominated by pride. Actions are performed only by those skilled in work, relying on the state of deep sleep, and not by any cause leading to destruction. Where is that vision made of knowledge, where is greatness, where is steadfastness? Why do you wander confused, like a blind man on a path well known to all? Even while holding in your mind the pure perception of the three times—past, present, and future—why do you, without considering the course of the world, become bewildered like a fool? Without reflecting on your son’s condition, which arises from the ripening of his own actions’ fruits, why do you, all-knowing, foolishly seek to curse me in vain? O sage, do you not know that for all embodied beings here, the body is of two kinds: one is the physical body, the other is called the mental body? Of these, the physical body is inert and entirely devoted to destruction; but the mind, being restless, is not necessarily worn away by affliction. Just as a chariot is moved by the charioteer using four horses, so too is this body driven by the mind, performing its own actions.” Thus did Time speak, revealing to Bhrigu the deeper nature of existence, the course of destiny, and the workings of the Self, even in the face of sorrow and loss.