At the command of Vaivasvata, those souls were cast upon blazing, fiery grounds, their brows furrowed in grim determination as they faced the consequences of their actions. There, together with their beloved friends, wives, and relatives, they cried out in anguish, consumed and tormented as if they were trees with lush branches devoured by a raging forest fire. The torment they endured was not imposed from without, but arose from their own cruel tendencies, which led them to be reborn in similar forms—as executioners, hunters, and servants in royal courts. When they left behind those painful births, their journey did not end. They were born as crows among the Suhmas, then as vultures, and after that, as herons. Their crooked minds led them further down the path of suffering: they became corpses among the Trigartas, sheep among the Barbaras, and insects among the Magadhas. Thus, existence became a bewildering succession of births; O Rama, even today, some of these beings exist as fish in the marshes and forests of Kashmir. Scorched by forest fires and stuck in shallow, muddy filth, these beings neither truly die nor live, worn out and decaying like rotting moss. Again and again, they undergo various kinds of births, rising and vanishing like the endless waves of the ocean. Driven for ages by the winds of their own tendencies, they are tossed about in the ocean of existence, their bodies as insubstantial as waves of grass. Even now, O Rama, they have not found peace—such is the dreadful power of persistent tendencies. All this, the wise say, is due to the pursuit of non-discrimination. The mind, by its own play, embraces calamity, leading to endless suffering. Consider, O Rama: where is that lordship which once destroyed the hosts of gods and demons, and where now is this state of being a fish, battered and decayed by burning heat and filth? Where is that courage that once drove away the armies of gods, and where now is this condition of being a petty servant, a tribal chief, or a minor king? Where is the noble steadfastness of consciousness free from ego, and where is the false imagination of ego, arising from the influence of delusive tendencies? This dense creeper of worldly existence, with its spreading branches, arises solely from the sprout of ego and extends everywhere. Therefore, O Rama, diligently remove the ego within; erase the notion "I am someone," and become truly happy. The cool, nectar-filled orb of the moon of ultimate reality is concealed by the cloud of ego and becomes invisible to the deluded. The three demons—greed, anger, and delusion—are devoured by the goblin of ego; though not real, they appear to exist due to the power of illusion. Even now, on the marshy banks of the great lotus lake in Kashmir, O Rama, fish remain, delighting in the tender shoots of water plants. But remember, there is no existence for the unreal, nor is there non-existence for the real. Tell me, how can those who are unreal become real and established? It is indeed so, mighty-armed one: the unreal never comes into being anywhere. Sometimes it seems to appear as something large or subtle, but it never truly exists. Tell me, what is unreal that appears as real, and what is real that appears as unreal? With this very example, I will lead you to understanding. Only the truly existent remain as existent, O Brahman; we are indeed such. But things like ropes and the rest, though nonexistent, are said to remain as existent. Just as ropes and the like, O Rama, appear established here as creations of illusion—unreal, yet seeming real, like water in a mirage—so too do we, along with gods, demons, and others, appear to exist; we move and act, but it is all mere appearance. Your sense of self is only imagined, and my sense of self is also imagined; though experienced, it is unreal in nature, like dying in a dream. Just as a friend who dies in a dream, though experienced, is made of unreality, and the notion "he is dead" arises—so too is this world. Such talk belongs only to the deluded; it does not shine forth. Through practice, it is dispelled, for direct experience cannot be denied. A conviction that has taken root within, without effort or repeated practice, never perishes in this world for anyone, at any time. Whoever says, "This world is unreal; Brahman alone is real," is mocked by the deluded, just as madmen laugh at another madman. Where could there possibly be unity between the knower and the ignorant, just as there can be none between the blind and the seeing, or between shadow and sunlight? Even with effort, neither the knower nor the ignorant can deny what has been directly experienced, just as a corpse cannot be made to walk. It is fitting for the knower to declare, "All this world is Brahman," for, having transcended ignorance, he has directly experienced that truth. O Rama, this statement shines forth only in the realm of the awakened; for one who is awakened, there is truly nothing that can be called "I am this." The wise one, having directly experienced that "This is indeed the supreme, peaceful Brahman,"—how could he possibly deny his own experience? Apart from the Supreme, there is nothing in myself; just as there is no quality of goldsmith or ornament in gold itself, so there is no "Vasishtha-ness" in me. Apart from the elements, the deluded has nothing in himself; just as in gold, the ideas of wave and the like are not ultimately real, so for the ignorant, there is no true reality. The deluded one is formed of false egoity, while the wise is composed of the one true Self; in neither is there ever any denial of their own nature. How could denial arise in someone whose being is of a particular nature? For a person to say, "I am a pot," is nothing but madness. Therefore, neither are we real, nor are these ropes and the like anywhere; these and we are unreal—there is truly no origin for us. Only pure awareness of truth, the space of consciousness—stainless, all-pervading, peaceful, and ever-rising—alone exists.