Listen, O noble one, to the teaching regarding egoity and its abandonment. For those shaped by the fault of worldly ego, the belief “I am this body” should be cast aside, for the great ones hold the understanding, “I am not the body.” Of the three forms of ego, the first two—though acknowledged—do not bind one to the world, but the third, which is worldly and the source of suffering, must be relinquished. It is this difficult and persistent egoity that forges the chains of bondage; those who fall into its grip suffer, even as tales are told about their plight. If one abandons this worldly sense of ego from the mind, O Brahman, what benefit does that person attain? Indeed, this egoity must be wholly forsaken. By giving up this bringer of sorrow, the more one stands apart from it, the closer one comes to the supreme. If a person contemplates the previously mentioned states of egoity and remains steadfast, that sinless one attains the highest state. Yet, if even these subtle forms of ego are abandoned, and one remains entirely free from all sense of “I,” one still ascends to the ultimate state. Therefore, at all times and with every effort, the wise must renounce this difficult, worldly egoity for the sake of supreme bliss and knowledge. There is nothing higher than abandoning the evil egoity rooted in the body, disease, and demerit; this alone is the supreme state. Having cast aside this gross, worldly egoity, whether at rest or in action, one does not fall downward. O wise one, for the being whose sense of ego has been completely pacified, the allure of worldly pleasures is lost, just as flavors laced with poison do not tempt one who is truly satisfied. When a person no longer delights in enjoyments, true welfare lies ahead; when darkness is dispelled, what else could the mind pursue? O Raghava, by simply abandoning the pursuit of ego, and through the singular effort of one’s own resolve, one crosses the vast ocean of worldly existence. By firmly establishing in the mind the awareness, “I am not; nothing is mine; nothing at all exists apart from me; all is truly myself,” the great soul attains the supreme state. Now, listen as I recount what transpired in the city of Shambara, which stood like a mountain, after Dama and the others had departed. Just as the sky is emptied when autumn clears away all clouds, so too, when Shambara’s forces were destroyed and all order lost, devastation prevailed. Having had his army defeated by the gods, the demon Shambara spent a few years in retreat. Then, intent once again on slaying the gods, he began to reflect. “Those demons like Dama and the rest, whom I created by my own illusion, I foolishly considered to be real. In battle, this inner sense of ego was but a false imagination. Now, I shall create other demons, brought forth by illusion, and then endow them with knowledge of the Self and discernment. When they realize the truth and rise above false imagination, they will not embrace egoism and will overcome the gods.” Thinking thus, the lord of the demons produced such chiefs by his illusion, as the ocean brings forth bubbles. These new asuras were omniscient, knowers of what is to be known, free from passion and sin, acting as single agents according to their realization, noble in mind. They were known as Bhīma, Bhāsa, and Druṭa, each marked by his name. They regarded the entire world as mere grass, intent on purification. When these demons reached the earth, they covered the sky, roaring and thundering like rain clouds in the monsoon. They fought the gods for many years, but due to their discernment, they never fell into egoism. Whenever the inner thought “this is mine” arose among them, they dispelled it as false by inquiring, “Who am I?” When only the unreal body and pure consciousness remained, established as “Who is this I?”, then through such inquiry, fear and the like did not arise in them. They realized that this unreal body does not truly exist; only pure consciousness abides in the Self. There is no such thing as “I,” nor any other—having ascertained this, they became asuras in truth. Thus, those who were without ego, fearless of old age and death, imitating the realized and following those established in the present, with minds unattached—even when slain by others who themselves had no sense of doership—were freed from the net of tendencies, their tasks accomplished, and without the sense of agency. They engaged in action as the work of the Lord, intent on battle, free from passion and devoid of hatred, always possessing equal vision. That divine army of the gods was destroyed, consumed, wounded, and burned by the fierce and blazing asuras, just as one’s own inner wealth is consumed by enjoyers. Crushed by the might of these asuras, the army of the gods fled swiftly, like the Ganges rushing down from the Himalayas. That celestial host sought refuge in the god who lies upon the milk ocean, just as a garland of clouds seeks the mountain at the wind’s end. Viṣṇu comforted her, the frightened river of the gods, who was pursued by serpents, as a hero consoles his beloved. Then, in the cavern of the Milky Ocean, that river of the gods remained until the Blessed One rose to destroy the enemy. A fierce battle erupted between Śauri and Śambara, resembling the untimely end of the world, with mountains and families upheaved. In that battle, the demon with his forces and vehicles was subdued; struck down by Nārāyaṇa, Śambara went to the city of Viṣṇu. Those who had fled in terror from that perilous conflict were pacified by Viṣṇu himself, like lamps extinguished by the wind. Indeed, when they, deprived of their impressions, attained peace, their destination became like that of lamps as they go out—absorbed in the supreme, freed from all agitation.