Freed from all notions of acceptance and rejection, with his mind fully awakened and unwavering, the sage Bhrigu gazed upon his son. In that moment, Time itself, perceiving the son of Bhrigu, spoke to Bhrigu with a voice that echoed like the roar of the ocean, declaring, “That is your son.” At the utterance, “Awaken,” Bhārgava slowly emerged from the depths of samādhi, rising like the mighty lord of birds stirred by the sound of thunder. As he opened his eyes, he beheld before him two majestic Kālabhṛgus, radiant as if the moon and the sun had appeared together in the sky. Rising from his seat within the bower of kadamba creepers, he bowed deeply to these two noble and handsome brāhmaṇas, who shone with the splendor of Hari and Hara meeting face to face. After exchanging respectful greetings, they all sat together upon a rock, revered as if Brahmā, Viṣṇu, and Hara themselves were seated upon the summit of Mount Meru. There, on the riverbank, the brāhmaṇa named Śāntatapas addressed them with words as gentle and sweet as a stream of nectar. He said, “Today, by beholding you both, I have found true contentment—just as the world rejoices when the cool moon and the warm sun shine together. The confusion of my mind, which was not dispelled by scriptures, austerity, knowledge, or learning, has now faded simply by seeing you. Even the inner showers of pure nectar do not bring such joy as does the sight of the great ones. With your feet, radiant with immense splendor, you have sanctified this land, just as the moon and sun purify the sky.” When he had spoken thus, Bhrigu turned to the son of his former birth and said, “Remember yourself—you are awakened, not ignorant, O best of the Raghu lineage.” Thus prompted, the son, awakened by Bhrigu’s words, recalled for a moment the states of his previous births, his eyes opening in deep meditation. His face lit with wonder and his heart filled with joy, that eloquent one spoke slowly, pondering deeply: “Victory to the ever-active power of destiny belonging to the Supreme Self, by whose command this world, full of enjoyment, revolves. My past births are countless and unknown; those states, each with their own experiences, have now been remembered in their time. I have enjoyed many pursuits and extraordinary fortunes, and have experienced the results of countless states, stretching through the ends of aeons. I have witnessed the harsh struggles and delusions of amassing wealth, and have long wandered, free of sorrow, even on the slopes of Meru. “On the banks of the Mandakini, the gods drank fragrant milk tinged red by the blossoms of the heavenly coral tree, along with every kind of delicacy. They wandered among groves of wish-fulfilling trees, amidst blooming golden creepers and tall palms, on Mount Meru’s slopes adorned with celestial flowers and shade. There is nothing that has not been enjoyed, nothing left undone, nothing unseen, whether pleasing or unpleasing to the eye. Now, all that is to be known has been known, all that is to be seen has been seen without harm; long wearied, I have found rest, and all my delusion has departed. “Rise, dear one, let us go and see that body which remains on Mandara, now dried up like a withered forest vine. Here, I desire nothing, nor do I wish to avoid anything; I simply wander, observing the play of destiny. Why should I persistently follow what is esteemed by the noble, with a mind fixed on unity? Let whatever opinions are cherished by me be; I simply engage in this natural conduct.” So saying, they gradually ascended into the sky, passing through openings among the clouds, and reached Mandara—the golden-caverned mountain—by the perfected path. At the foot of that mountain, in a field, Bhargava saw a dried-up body, covered with moist leaves, which had arisen from a previous birth. He spoke: “O dear one, this slender body is indeed the same, which you once cherished with pleasures and delights. This is that intoxicated body for whom cool beds were made with heaps of mandara flowers in Meru’s gardens. This is that intoxicated body, once fondled by groups of divine women, now lying on the ground, crushed by the mouths of crawling creatures. With this body of mine, I long sported in the groves of Nandana; now she has become a dry skeleton. From union with celestial women, with my mind absorbed in the highest pleasures, now, deprived of those thoughts, my body here withers away. “In all those various enjoyments and states, having bound yourself with such thoughts, how are you now at peace, O body? Alas, body, where have you fallen, now come to the dryness of asceticism? You have become a skeleton and, unfortunate one, you cause me to reflect. With this very body, I once delighted in pleasures; now, having become a skeleton, I am afraid of it. Once, a necklace resembling a cluster of stars adorned my chest; now, see how ants are burrowing there. With my body, whose golden radiance once attracted beautiful women, now see how it is reduced to a skeleton and mocked. See how, with my mouth agape and skin dried by ascetic heat, animals in the forest are frightened by the ghastly face of my skeleton. See how, due to extreme dryness, the hollow of my corpse’s belly shines as if illuminated by rays of sunlight, like discernment itself. My body, dried up and lying supine in the forest, seems to inspire detachment in those who see its emptiness, as if it were suspended in the sky.” Thus, with clarity and detachment, they beheld the fate of the body and the journey of the soul, their minds resting in the wisdom of experience.