In the midst of shimmering waters, where garlands of water-lilies drift and clusters of lotuses bloom, where the delicate creepers of śevāla grass sway and the waves curl and wind about, there lies a scene of tranquil beauty. Here, on beds that swing gently with white water-lilies, among the winding vines of blue lotuses, beneath the veils of dew-laden clouds, and within the cool swirling eddies, beings of the world—the ornaments of creation—delight in the pleasures of these lakes and waters. They sport and rejoice there for a long time, and through this enjoyment, they gradually attain a state of purity. Yet, after union and shared joy, separation comes for the sake of liberation, just as the three qualities—rajas, sattva, and tamas—become distinct by the play of chance. Within the region of Kashmir, there shall arise a splendid city, adorned by mountains, known as Adhiṣṭhāna. At the heart of this city stands Pradyumnaśikhara, a radiant mountain peak, likened to the luminous center of a lotus’s pericarp. Upon this lofty summit, a king will build his palace—a grand mansion soaring like a cloud-crowned pine, a peak upon a peak. In the northeastern corner of this house, at the base of the mountain wall, within a hollow where the wind constantly stirs the marked blades of grass, curious events unfold. There, within the mansion, the demon Vyāla will be transformed into a sparrow, flitting about like a student with little learning, uttering aimless cries. At this very time and place, a king named Śrī Yaśaskaradeva will reign, as resplendent as Indra in heaven. In his palace, the demon Dāma will take the form of a mosquito, making a soft, persistent sound from the crevice of a great pillar. In this formidable city of Adhiṣṭhāna, there will also stand a renowned monastery called Ratnāvalīvihāra. Within this setting, the king’s minister, Narasiṃha, will possess a vision of bondage and liberation as clear and tangible as an amalaki fruit resting in his palm. In his home, a magical demon named Kaṭa will dwell in the form of a bird, kept in a cage of tamarind twigs as a plaything. It is this minister, Narasiṃha, who will recount the tale—composed in verses—of Dāma, Vyāla, Kaṭa, and others. Upon hearing this story, the bird Kaṭa will remember its true nature, and, with its false sense of self pacified, will attain supreme liberation. Likewise, the kalaviṅka bird dwelling near the summit of Mount Pradyumna, upon hearing its own story, will also find ultimate freedom. Even the mosquito, hidden in a wound within the palace firewood, will, by chance, hear the tale and be released into peace. Thus, O Raghava, the sparrow from Pradyumna’s peak, the mosquito from the royal palace, and the cricket from the garden—all will attain liberation. The entire sequence of the rope, the serpent, and the stick has been explained: this world is but illusion—utterly void, yet exceedingly radiant. When not understood, it whirls one about like a mirage-ocean; when understood, it comes to rest, just as a mirage-ocean does. O Rama, even from great heights, the deluded and bewildered fall under the sway of ignorance, just as with the rope, the serpent, and the stick. Consider: what is the connection between the crushing of mighty mountains like Meru, Mandara, and Sahya by a mere frown, and the condition of being a mosquito hiding in palace firewood? What is the link between the moon’s disk felled by a slap, and the state of being a bird in a wound on the wall of a house atop Mount Pradyumna? Where is the playful lifting of Mount Meru as if it were a flower, and where is the state of a trembling pigeon in the house of a lion atop a barren mountain’s peak? The space of consciousness, colored by passion, is truly an illusion; it never abandons its own nature, yet appears as if it were something else. Through the delusion of latent impressions, even what is unreal seems real—just as a creature, mistaking a mirage for water, turns inward in longing. Those who, through the teaching, remain free of impressions and know this visible world to be unreal, cross the ocean of existence by the current of their own insight. But those whose minds are disturbed by the tumult of arguments and dry reasoning quickly fall into confusion’s abyss, yet do not destroy what is inauspicious. Without the path of direct personal experience—beyond mere scripture—there is no liberation for those who are going or falling, just as there is none for those who perish. The thought, “May this be mine, may this be mine,” leaves not even ashes for the intelligent, for their own misfortune and poverty prevent it. But he who always knows, with a noble mind, even the three worlds as mere straw—all misfortunes abandon him, just as a cow leaves behind old straw. He within whom the constant wonder of pure being shines, whom the lords of the world protect as whole, like the undivided Brahma-egg, is truly blessed. Even in dire calamity, one should never indulge in unrighteousness; for Rahu, though he drank nectar unlawfully, perished as a result. Those who seek the company of true scriptures and noble people, radiant as the sun, do not again fall into the darkness of delusion. All misfortunes inevitably come and go; inevitably, excellence arises for one whose virtues bring renown. Those who are not content with their virtues, who are not attached to learning, who are steadfast in truth—these are true men; the others are but beasts. Those whose hearts are illumined by the moonlight of fame—surely, in their very form, Hari abides, as in the ocean of milk. All that is to be enjoyed has been enjoyed; all sights to be seen have been seen. What else is needed to break worldly bondage, except freedom from the desire to repeat pleasures? Let one remain according to order, scripture, conduct, and situation; let the inner attachment to enjoyment, which is unreal, be abandoned, and let one be liberated.