O Rama, listen as the sage reveals the wondrous nature of the body, likening it to a great city—a garden of delight for those who know. This city exists only for happiness, never for sorrow, and serves both enjoyment and liberation. You ask, “How can the body be called a city, and how does the yogi enjoy the sovereignty of happiness within it?” The answer unfolds: this delightful city of the body, endowed with every virtue, is for the knower a place of infinite play, illuminated by the light of self-awareness. Its windows are the shining eyes, its inner realms radiant; the streets are formed by the hands stretching forth, and the feet reaching the city’s outskirts. Rows of hair adorn it like vines and clusters, the skin forms its walls, and it rests upon the pillars of ankles, calves, thighs, and knees. The soles are beautifully marked with lines and stones, and the boundaries are drawn by the skin, vital points, veins, and joints. At the gateway of the thighs, the genitals emerge, covered by folds of skin and hair, veiled by the petals of flesh. The face is adorned with the radiance of brows, forehead, and mouth; broad cheeks resemble spacious grounds, and the lotuses of her glances are scattered there. The chest is a lake where the buds of the breasts are like lotus-buds, shoulders rise like playful rocks, concealed by dense lines of hair. The stomach is a chasm where desired food is thrown and crushed, resounding with the tumult of winds expelled through the deep channel of the throat. She is adorned with whatever she acquires in the marketplace of the heart, and the city of life-breaths constantly flows through nine gates. The mouth, wide open, reveals fragments of teeth and bone; the tongue wanders within, tasting and chewing the food she consumes. The wells of the ears are covered by the thicket of hair, and the expanse of the back is a wilderness, marked by the chains of the hips curving at the edges. The anus is obstructed by filth, and within it is endless mire; yet in the garden of the mind, the courtesan of self-reflection wanders. This city is delightful, with restless senses like monkeys firmly bound by the fisherman of intelligence, and the charming blossoming of smiles in the garden of the mouth. For the wise, their own bodily city is supremely beautiful and fortunate, existing only for happiness, never for sorrow, and is of the highest benefit. For the ignorant, however, it becomes the keeper of countless sorrows; but for the wise, it is the keeper of countless joys. O subduer of foes, when this city is lost, nothing is lost for the wise; when it remains, everything remains—thus, it brings happiness to the wise. When the wise one mounts this city and moves freely in the world, experiencing and transcending all enjoyments, it becomes the chariot of the wise. Because sound, form, taste, touch, fragrance, kin, and wealth are all obtained through this alone, it is the giver of gain to the wise. When this city bears the web of actions of pleasure and pain, it is capable of bearing all things everywhere. In this city of the body, the wise one, free from delusion, rules his kingdom without agitation, like Indra in his own city. He does not cast the intoxicated horse of the mind into the pit of darkness, nor give his daughter, discernment, to the forms of greed and duality. He sees no weakness in the territory of ignorance; within, he cuts off the very roots of the fearsome enemy of worldly existence. He does not sink into the whirlpool of craving, the fortress of agitation by desire, or the forest of alternating pleasure and pain. He bathes constantly, both outwardly and inwardly, at the sacred confluences of rivers, following the course of his mind’s intentions step by step. Unseen by the senses, turning away from the spectacle of the city, he dwells happily within the inner chamber named meditation. This city brings happiness to one whose heart is ever joyful; it is divine, bestowing both enjoyment and liberation, like Indra’s Amaravati. In this city, everything established remains established, and nothing perishes unless it is unsteady—how could that not bring happiness to the king? When the city of the body is destroyed for the wise, nothing at all is lost—just as, when the pot-space is broken, the sky is not diminished. Just as the wind touches an existing pot but not one that does not exist, so too does the embodied self relate to this city of the body. Here, the blessed Self, though all-pervading, remains unattached; having experienced individuality created by its own imagination, it attains the vision of its own nature. Though acting, yet not acting, ever inclined toward all actions, at times it upholds all natural activities for their results. Sometimes, playfully, it ascends the restless aerial chariot—its pure mind—whose movement is unstruck and delightful, to roam about. There, established, he delights constantly with the beautiful Lady of the World, whose limbs are ever cool, with Rama, with friendship ever abiding in the heart. For him, two beloveds stand at his sides in unity of truth, like the two Viśākhā stars beside the moon, both gladdening his mind. The knower, seated, beholds all these worlds—torn by the saw of suffering—like one on a seat observing anthills, or like the sun looking from above. Long fulfilled in every desire, adorned with all prosperity, he shines like the full moon, whose orb is never again diminished. Even when indulged in, the multitude of pleasures does not cause him fatigue; rather, like the deadly poison Kālakūṭa worn on the neck, it shines forth. Pleasure, when experienced with understanding, brings satisfaction; just as a thief, when recognized and reassured, becomes friendly and not an enemy. Thus, O Rama, the wise one finds supreme joy and benefit in the city of the body, dwelling in sovereignty, ever free and fulfilled.