Thinking thus, the lord of the demons, employing his powers of illusion, brought forth mighty chiefs of the asuras, much as the ocean produces countless bubbles upon its surface. These leaders were remarkable: omniscient, knowing all that is to be known, free from passion and sin, acting as singular agents according to their attainment, and noble of mind. Among them were Bhīma, Bhāsa, and Druṭa, each bearing his distinctive name. They looked upon the entire world as mere grass, remaining intent on purification. When these demons arrived upon the earth, they covered the sky itself, roaring and thundering like monsoon clouds. For many years, they fought the gods with equal strength. Yet, due to their discernment, they never fell into egoism. Whenever the inner tendency of “this is mine” arose among them, they dispelled it through inquiry—asking “who am I?”—and thus saw its falsity. When the unreal body and pure consciousness remained established as “Who is this I?”, then, through inquiry, fear and similar emotions did not arise in them. They understood deeply: 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. Thus, those who were without ego, fearless of old age and death, imitating the realized, and following those established in the present, acted with unattached minds. Even when slain by others who had no sense of doership, they 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. The divine army of the gods was destroyed, consumed, wounded, and burned by these fierce, blazing asuras—just as one’s own inner wealth is consumed by enjoyers. Crushed by the asuras, the gods’ army fled swiftly, like the Ganges rushing down from the Himalayas. Seeking refuge, the celestial host turned to the god who lies upon the milk ocean, just as a garland of clouds seeks the mountain at the end of the wind. Viṣṇu comforted her—the frightened river of the gods, pursued by serpents—like a hero consoling his beloved. In the cavern of the Milky Ocean, that river of the gods remained until the Blessed One rose up to destroy the enemy. Then, a fierce battle erupted between Śauri and Śambara, like an untimely end of the world, with mountains and families upheaved. In that battle, the demon and his army, with all their vehicles, were 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. When the gods, deprived of their impressions, attained peace, their destination became like that of lamps as they go out. Therefore, the mind bound by impressions is fettered, and freed when without impressions. O Rāma, swiftly bring about the state without impressions through discernment. By right perception of truth, impressions dissolve; when impressions are dissolved, the mind attains peace, like a lamp. Truly, there is nothing here at all; whatever appears, appears merely by imagination. Since even imagination does not truly exist, this is the right understanding. The words “tendency” and “mind” are both terms associated with meaning; where, through the vision of truth, both dissolve, that is the supreme state. The entire world is only the Self; who is to imagine what, and where? There is truly no such thing as imagination—this is the correct insight. The mind, colored by tendencies, attains a certain state here; when it is freed from those tendencies, that is called liberation. The mind, having assumed various forms like pots and cloths, comes to rest; that very mind should quickly be brought to tranquility, for its forms are false, like a phantom that has arisen. Just as the mind is transformed into the form of a garland or a serpent, so too is it transformed into the form of a terrifying, shining tree. Let the principle of the terrifying, shining tree be firm in you, O Raghava; let not the principle of the garland or serpent be yours, O Raghava. O Rama, this was formerly spoken to me by my father, the lotus-born; today I have spoken it to you, my supremely intelligent disciple. Therefore, O Raghava, let not the logic of the rope and the snake bind you; let the reasoning of the dry stick that only appears terrible always be yours, O sinless one. This path of worldly existence, filled with uninterrupted pleasure and pain, arises from the imagination of the world; even for one engaged in activity among beings, it perishes constantly through non-attachment. Victorious are always those heroes and the virtuous, by whom their own mind—intoxicated and agitated by ignorance and pride, inclined toward objects—has been conquered. For this worldly existence, which brings all kinds of suffering and affliction, there is only one means: the restraint of one’s own mind. Hear now the essence of all dharma, and having heard, grasp it well: bondage is merely the desire for enjoyment; the abandonment of that is called liberation. What need is there for other scriptural discussions? Hear this alone: whatever appears delightful to you, regard it all as you would poison or fire. Sense objects are enjoyments like poison; they must be examined again and again. They are undesirable and should be abandoned, for when indulged in, they bring suffering. A mind colored by latent impressions produces abundant faults, just as soil sown with thorn seeds brings forth a growth of thorns. The mind, devoid of the seed of attachment and free from the flow of thoughts, without visible passion or aversion, gradually attains supreme tranquility. The intellect, filled with the seed of virtuous tendencies, always produces excellent qualities that bear fruit in time, just as fertile soil yields the best crops.