Angered by the untimely loss of his beloved son, the Lord, his heart overwhelmed with grief, began to utter a curse upon Time itself, blaming it for snatching his child away before his destined hour. In response to this surge of wrath, Time—whose nature is subtle, all-consuming, and who brings all creatures to their end—assumed a visible, awe-inspiring form and approached the great sage. Time appeared resplendent, bearing both sword and noose, his body adorned with shining earrings and armor. He stood before the sage with six arms and six faces, surrounded by a vast retinue of attendants. From his body leaped a network of brilliant flames, illuminating the sky with a fiery splendor, like the vivid red blossoms of the kimshuka tree on a mountain’s slope. The trident he held radiated circles of fire in every direction, gleaming like golden earrings rising into the heavens. The very peaks of the earth seemed to sway and spin, bound by the breath of his noose, as though they were children on a swing. The sun itself, dimmed by the dazzling radiance of Time’s sword, appeared as if shrouded in the smoke of a world being consumed at the end of an age. With his mighty arms, Time drew near to the sage, who, in his anger and sorrow, was as deep and turbulent as the ocean at the dissolution of creation. Yet, Time spoke first, his words gentle and conciliatory: “O sage, those who have truly understood the ways of the world, who have seen both the higher and lower realities, are never deluded by mere causes—how much less so would the best among them be, even without any cause! You are a brahmin of boundless austerity, and we are the guardians of destiny. For this reason, you are to be honored, not out of personal preference, but because it is right. Do not exhaust yourself with fierce austerities, as if you were the fires that rage at the end of an age. If I, Time, am unscathed by those cosmic flames, how then could your curse affect me? The cycles of worldly existence have consumed countless Rudras and devoured multitudes of Vishnus—yet who among them has ever cursed me? Indeed, brahmin, we are the enjoyers, and beings such as yourself are the food; this is the very course of destiny. Neither of us is the true agent here. Just as fire rises upward by its own nature, water flows downward, food goes to the eater, and creation moves toward its own end—all these follow their intrinsic nature. In the same way, the Supreme Self manifests within itself, by itself, and as itself. When seen with pure vision, there is neither doer nor enjoyer; but when seen with an impure vision, there appear to be many agents of action. O brahmin, both doership and non-doership are but notions, arising from mistaken perception and not from true understanding. Flowers bloom on trees, beings come into existence in the world—all by themselves. The idea of causation is only imagined as the work of fate. Just as the movement of the moon reflected in water suggests action and inaction—though it is neither truly moving nor still—so it is with the creations of Time. The mind, through delusion, constructs in the world the idea of doing and not doing, much as a rope is mistaken for a snake. Therefore, O sage, do not be angry; such is the order of events in adversity. Let things unfold as they must, for true understanding can be found even amidst confusion. We are not governed by authority or pride; we exist only within the bounds of necessity, subject to its inherent power. One should pursue their natural duties according to the force of necessity—this is the path of the wise, not of those ruled by pride. Actions are performed only by those skilled in their work, relying on the state of deep sleep, and not by any cause that leads to destruction. Where, then, is the vision of knowledge, where is greatness, where is steadfastness? Why do you wander in confusion, like a blind man on a path well known to all? Even while you hold in your mind the pure perception of past, present, and future, why do you, without considering the course of the world, become bewildered as if you were ignorant? Without reflecting on the condition of your son, which arises from the ripening of his own actions, why do you, who are all-knowing, foolishly seek to curse me in vain? Do you not know, O sage, that for all embodied beings, the body is of two kinds—one is physical, the other is mental? Of these, the physical body is inert and destined for destruction, while the mind, ever restless, does not necessarily succumb to affliction. Just as a charioteer drives a chariot with four horses, so too is this body directed by the mind, performing its own actions. The unreal is imagined and made real; the true body perishes. In a moment, the mind creates a man of clay, just as a child does in play. Here, the mind alone is the person; whatever is done by the mind is truly done. It is bound by its own imagination, and when imagination ceases, it is freed. This is the body, this is the eye, this is the limb, this is the head—all these transformations are but the mind’s swelling activity. The mind is indeed the living being, the jīva; discernment is intellect, and ego arises from self-identification, which gives rise to diversity. When the mind is inclined toward the body, it perceives both its own and other bodies as if they were real physical forms. If the mind observes truly, abandoning the false notion of the body, it attains supreme peace. The mind of your son, established in samadhi within you, has traveled far—farther still—following its own path of desire. Having left the body of Ushanas in the cave of Mandara, it has soared to the celestial realms, just as a bird flies from its nest. There, in the groves of mandara trees, among the houses of parijata, in the clusters of Nandana gardens, and in the cities of the guardians of the worlds, your mighty son has served the divine beauty Vishvachi for eight cycles of four ages, like a bee devotedly attending a lotus blossom.