Listen, O seeker, to the teaching that unfolds about the nature of bondage and freedom, and then the events that followed among the gods and demons. There was once a wise reflection upon the inner workings of the self. Even the greatest and most learned beings, if their hearts remain entangled in the subtle cords of their own latent tendencies, can be overcome—even by a child. When a person is caught in the habitual thoughts of “I am this,” “this is mine,” or “that is that,” he becomes a vessel for misfortune, just as the vast ocean receives the waters of innumerable rivers. If one limits himself to thinking he is only this body or mind, and considers himself insignificant, then no matter how much he knows, he is doomed to fall into the deepest misery. Whenever anyone imagines boundaries for the infinite, immeasurable Self, it is he himself who subdues the true Self by the power of his own mistaken nature. All that exists in the three worlds, if regarded as something to be acquired apart from the Self, becomes a cause for bondage—simply by that conception. The wise know that mere attachment is the root of endless sorrow, and that simple detachment, wherever it is found, brings happiness. As long as one disregards the state of inner being, the bonds of desire cannot be broken, just as the wind cannot conquer the persistence of mosquitoes. A creature subdued by inner tendencies and led by weakness is easily conquered; otherwise, even a mosquito would be as unmovable as the mighty mountain of the gods. Wherever there is a tendency, weakness arises; qualities and faults are seen only in what exists, never in what is not. Within, one clings to his own tendencies, thinking “I am this, this is mine.” Just as bonds shape the mind, so should one act, O Indra, with understanding. Whatever calamities or states of being or non-being befall a person, they are but the bitter and sweet blossoms of the vine of craving. This world, bound by the threads of tendencies, revolves endlessly; when these tendencies are strong, they bring intense suffering, but when destroyed, they bring happiness. Even the wise, the learned, the noble-born, or the mighty are bound by craving, just as a lion is restrained by a chain. For the one dwelling in the tree of the body and resting in the heart, the net of craving is woven for the mind, which is as restless as the wind. The world, afflicted by its own tendencies, is swept away by fate, just as a bird, helpless and bound by a rope held by a child, breathes on in captivity. Enough, then, of the burden of weapons and the confusion of battle; it is with discernment alone that one should face the true enemy—one’s own tendencies and their distortions. When inner steadiness is disturbed, not even the leaders of the enemy’s immortals—nor weapons, nor scriptures, nor missiles—can conquer you. These tools are like ropes and whips for snakes, and by the force of repeated battle, they seize within you the tendency made of ego. If the mechanical beings created by Shambara do not grasp the tendency, then they become invincible. Therefore, awaken those immortals within through the battle of discernment, until by constant practice they too are imbued with the right tendencies. Then, those whose thoughts are bound will become fit for destruction; in this world, none are weak who are woven with the expectation of thirst. This world—equal and unequal—has gained stability entirely from its own tendencies, and moves like a mass of waves in the ocean. Here, therefore, those very tendencies must be addressed and brought to an end. After these teachings were heard, the gods departed, each to his own direction, bearing with them the fragrance of lotuses, like breezes carrying garlands from the forest. For several days, they rested in their splendid and radiant abodes, like bees nestled in steadfast lotuses. In time, when auspiciousness arose and the Self began to awaken, the gods sounded their drums, with a roar like thunderclouds at the world’s dissolution. Then, together with the demons who had arisen from the netherworld, a fearsome and protracted battle once again unfolded in the sky. There raged torrents of swords, arrows, spears, maces, clubs, axes, sharp discs, thunderbolts, mountains, rocks, blazing trees, and weapons shaped like serpents and Garuḍa. A mighty river, conjured by illusion, surged in all directions, filled with the tumult of countless stones, mountains, and trees torn from the earth’s edge, and waves that thundered like storm clouds. Blazing torches, spears, rocks, lances, swords, arrows, javelins, and maces were swept along the river’s central current. Celestial mansions, surrounded by waters like the Ganges, floated amidst showers of missiles falling from every direction. This river, whose form was made from earth and the other elements, fierce in giving blows and seizing treasures, and whose shape in the sky was woven from rays of light, would subside only when the armies of gods, demons, and siddhas were pacified. Yet, created by illusion, it would rise again in its own essence. Mountains struck by mighty weapons, vast oceans filled to the brim with crimson waters, and forests of tall palm trees growing on the peaks of gods and demons became the faces of the heavens. Spears, arrows, javelins, maces, swords, and discs were hurled forth, while mountains were cast aside by gods and demons in their fury; the clattering of sharp teeth and nails filled the air, and a rain of living, fierce lions descended upon the earth. With blazing eyes, venomous flames, and scorching heat, the armies of the sun at the end of the age revealed the burning of the quarters. Serpents, like intoxicated oceans, soared and spread across the earth and its mountains. Thunderous roars, the crashing of makaras, and the swirling waves of the sky-ocean, encircled by mighty mountains, made the world constricted and perilous, as torrents from diverse rivers of weapons surged and whirled. The sky was adorned with mountains, weapons, and Garuḍa-peaks, and filled with the bodies of great serpents and demon hosts; for a moment it was flooded with clouds, then with fire, then with sunlight, and again with darkness. The world became intolerable, its realms ablaze with the fires of the age. Garuḍa’s thunderous cries filled the sky, and torrents of weapon-fire and mountain-masses poured forth, burning the abodes of the gods and the spaces between them. The demons soared up from the earth like birds ascending from mountain slopes, while the gods, overwhelmed, fell to the ground like rocks shaken loose from mountains at dissolution. Gods and demons, their bodies scorched by the great fires clinging to the forests of weapon-trees, reached the heights of the sky, which shone with mountains swayed by the winds of the age. The sky, filled all around with streams of blood flowing from the bodies of gods, demons, and mountain-lords, shone crimson like the rising Ganges of dawn, encircling the heavens and the ocean. There was a rain of mountains, a rain of water, a rain of fierce and varied weapons, a rain of uneven stones, and at last, a rain of fire upon each other. Thus, the battle raged, reflecting the inner struggle, until the world itself seemed to tremble under the weight of its own tendencies, craving, and illusion.