O sage, know this: all that is seen by the eyes—be it Brahma himself or any other being—must, without doubt, pass away. Such is the nature of the world, and so, you should not surrender yourself to fruitless sorrow at the death of your father. For what is born is destined to set, just as surely as the sun must descend beyond the horizon. When Śikhaṇḍin, his eyes reddened by grief, heard the words, “He is bodiless,” he gathered himself, his heart gradually finding calm, like one soothed by the sudden clap of thunder. Rising up, he performed the sacred rites for his departed father with deep reverence. With his duties fulfilled, he resolved firmly to undertake austerities, seeking the highest spiritual attainment. Dedicating himself to Brahmanical practices, Śikhaṇḍin ventured into the forest and embraced a life of austerity. Through his steadfastness, he became a learned sage, his resolve endless and unwavering. Yet, despite his noble learning and profound knowledge—of the known and the unknown—his mind found no rest upon this pure earth. Indeed, the earth is inherently pure, yet, perceiving it as tainted, Śikhaṇḍin took no delight anywhere. Driven by his own resolve, he decided, “Let my dwelling be only upon the purified treetop.” He determined, “Now, I shall undertake such austerity that, through penance, I may attain the state of a bird, abiding only among branches and leaves.” With this thought, Śikhaṇḍin lit a blazing sacrificial fire. In his devotion, he cut flesh from his own shoulder and offered it into the flames. At that very moment, the throats of the entire host of celestials spoke from my mouth, declaring, “Let not the flesh of the brahmin be reduced to ashes.” Moved by this, the divine Fire himself, with seven tongues of flame, took form and appeared before Śikhaṇḍin, radiant as the lord of speech. The Fire spoke: “O noble one, accept the boon you desire. It is established and ready for you, as a jewel lies waiting in a casket.” Thus addressed, the young brahmin, having honored the Fire with offerings of flowers and water and with words of praise, replied humbly: “O Lord, this ground of earth, filled with living beings, is sacred indeed, yet I cannot find rest upon it. Therefore, may my dwelling be among the trees.” Hearing this, Śikhī, the Fire-lord whose face is all the gods, replied, “So be it,” and vanished from sight. With the god’s departure, the youth, his wish fulfilled, shone with contentment, radiant as the full moon when the evening clouds have drifted away. Having attained his cherished desire, his face glowed joyfully; he laughed with satisfaction, shining like the moon surrounded by its full digits, like a blooming white lotus, his smile bright with gleaming teeth. Now, in the midst of the forest, where the circle of clouds was gently touched, and the weary horses of the midday sun found cool shade beneath the pavilion of tree trunks, the scene was wondrous. The trees, with their long, branch-like arms, seemed to measure the womb of the directions, gazing upon the quarters with eyes of blossoming flowers. Their crowns tousled by the wind and alive with restless bees, the trees appeared to wipe the face of the sky with their leafy hands. Their thick clusters of yellowish flower sprays, like mouths adorned with fresh betel, seemed to laugh, swarming with bees. Circles formed by the dust of playful blossoms shone like the full moon in its radiance. The forest, dense with rows of branches, resounded with the cooing of partridges and the singing of kinnara, rising like the celestial path of the perfected beings. Clusters of peacocks hung below, seated upon leafy perches, beautifying the sky as if with Indra’s bows and clouds. At every slope, the white chowries were raised and lowered in the breeze, while the full moons, followed by partridges, made the year itself seem filled with moons. The chatter of francolins, the sweet calls of cuckoos, and the resonant cries of jīvajīva birds made the forest sing with a full voice. Flocks of kadamba birds played in their nests, and the hollows of the trees were resting places for siddhas, as if the world itself was encircled by perfected beings. The forest was embraced by clusters of blossoms with coral-red stems and bee-like eyes, like heaven attended by apsarases. Restless pollen, carried by the wind, adorned the dark mass of blossoms with Indra’s bow, making it resemble a raincloud streaked with lightning. With a thousand-armed branches filling the sky, the forest seemed as if the cosmic form itself were dancing, adorned with the moon and sun as earrings. At its base sat a great king of mountains, while above, the sky was crowded with stars; in the midst, it resembled another earth, woven of flowering vines. Like the grandsire of all trees and forests, it was a single repository on earth for fruits, tender shoots, and blossoms. Clusters of buds, concealed by the dust of flowers, were like the sky on the riverbanks veiled by the sun’s rays and a network of stars. The branches, swaying with restless birds and crowded with nests, made the earth appear as if it were filled with lively villages. Adorned with banners of blossoming sprays and festooned with bowers of vines, the forest shone white with masses of flowers, overflowing with blossoms. The calls of partridges, antelopes, parrots, cuckoos, and starlings filled the air, while the hollowed branches were like windows hidden beneath dense flowers. The hollows, languid with the intoxication of birds moving within, were like the finest inner chambers of all the woodland goddesses. Swarms of bees, waves of fragrance, and heaps of flower-pollen made the forest shine as if mountain streams were cascading down. Encircled by drifting showers of petals, playing gently in the breeze, the great forest grew, like a mountain surrounded by shining white clouds. Thus, amidst such divine beauty, Śikhaṇḍin found his place among the trees, his heart at last at peace.