Through nurturing, gentle care arises, and by his protective nature, the father becomes pure. Among all companions, the mind of the wise—endowed with supreme trust—is the best friend. When this mind, guided by the vision of scripture and awakened by one’s own insight, lets go of its limited self, it grants the highest accomplishment. When polished, thoroughly cleansed, firmly established, and awakened by self-knowledge, adorned with noble qualities, the jewel of the mind shines with delight in the heart. This minister of the mind, through auspicious actions, furnishes the very axes to cut down the tree of birth and brings forth the fruits of such deeds. Therefore, O Rama, cleanse this jewel of the mind—soiled by much mud and blemish—with the water of discernment, and become radiant. Even when discernment stretches across the dreadful realms of existence, do not, like the ordinary, fall helplessly into those calamity-filled domains. Do not disregard the great mist of delusion that rises in the world, thick with hundreds of misfortunes born of illusion. Rely on supreme discernment, perceive the truth with your intellect, and, conquering the enemies of the senses, cross over the ocean of existence. Let not the analogy of the rope, snake, and stick arise within you, O Raghava, regarding this body—unreal as it is—nor in the pleasures and pains, which are likewise unreal. Abandon completely, O wise one, the false conviction, “I am this,” with true discernment; relying on that which is beyond, reach that state, and in it, drink, eat, and remain unbound—free from mental agitation. While living in this world, enjoy its pleasures with wisdom. Strive for what is best, aiming for the highest purpose, even as you remain established in what is beneficial. Let not the analogy of the rope, snake, and stick arise within you, O Raghava; let there be for you an extreme freedom from sorrow, steadfast as a tree scorched by fierce light. Upon hearing the analogy of the rope, snake, and stick, Rama inquires, “O Brahman, what is this, spoken by you, the remover of worldly suffering?” He requests, “By this noble and pure speech, awaken me—like rainclouds dispelling intense heat, awaken me as the peacock is awakened in the rainy season.” The sage responds, “O Raghava, having heard the analogy of the rope, snake, and stick, and the steadfastness like a tree scorched by fierce light, afterwards do whatever you desire.” Now, listen to a tale: There once lived in a wondrous and enchanting cave in the netherworld a mighty king of demons named Shambara—an ocean of magical gems. He had built temples for the gods in cities and gardens made of sky, and his own realm was adorned with artificial moons and suns of the highest kind. Delightful mountains filled with lotuses formed from precious stones graced his land, and his wealth was endless, overflowing with every kind of treasure. The music of the women in his jeweled palaces surpassed the melodies of celestial nymphs, and the trees in his pleasure gardens bore fruits as full as the moon. His lovely abodes were surrounded by clusters of blooming blue lotuses, and golden swans summoned flocks of golden lotuses and waterfowl. The tips of his golden trees bore buds of lotuses, and groves of karanja trees produced showers of mandara blossoms. His gardens, blooming in all seasons, surpassed even Nandana, the paradise of the gods, and sandalwood from Malaya was guarded from illusory serpents and wild beasts. The women of his golden inner chambers outshone the beauty of all three worlds, and even the gods—armed with discus and mace—could not rival him in play. His own city was adorned with countless streams of rising jewels like stars, and the women, decked in various flowers, had their knees touched by the abundance. At night, the sky of the netherworlds shone with hundreds of moons, resounding with the melodious songs and music of its celestial women. The mighty elephant of the gods, Airavata, was driven away by the illusion of this lord; his inner chambers overflowed with the splendor and wealth of the three worlds. Endowed with all prosperity and supreme lordship, his commands were honored by all the chiefs of the demons. The assembly of gods found rest in the shade of his mighty arms, and he was adorned with earrings of gems drawn from the essence of all oceanic caves. But for that god who had been driven out, there arose a vast and formidable army of demons, fierce in form and intent on the destruction of the gods. While Shambara, master of illusion, slept, having gone to another land, the gods found an opening and entered the midst of his army. Shambara had appointed powerful chiefs, like Dudrika and Hvadrumā, to guard his forces. Yet the leaders of the gods, seizing the opportunity, attacked them as hawks attack flocks of bewildered finches flying in the sky. Again, the foremost of asuras appointed other commanders, restless and loud-voiced like waves upon the sea. But the gods swiftly slew them as well, which filled Shambara with fury. Inflamed with wrath, he advanced toward the celestial realm, intent on its destruction. There, the gods, frightened by his magic, vanished from sight, like deer fleeing into the groves of Mount Meru at the approach of a tawny lion. He saw heaven empty, the faces of the gods wet with tears, and the hosts of lesser immortals wailing—like a world at the end of an age. After raging there, Shambara seized what he could, burned the cities of the guardians of the worlds, and returned to his own abode. Thus, as the enmity between gods and demons grew ever stronger, the gods abandoned heaven and disappeared in all directions. Each time Shambara, the demon, appointed new commanders with great effort, the gods, striving earnestly, slew them as well—until Shambara, seized by intense anger, flared up like fire fanned by the wind, breathing hard.