Let there be no confusion in your heart, thinking, “These glories shine only because of my teacher’s greatness.” When you exist, your own radiance spreads throughout; all that you perceive shines forth as the very essence of your own being. Thus, after listening to their conversation that night, I, the moon of the Raghu lineage, O descendant of Raghu, found myself in a remarkable situation. I had fallen into a pit at the tip of a kadamba tree, surrounded by a mass of leaves, flowers, and creepers. The place was silent and untouched by rain, like a solitary cloud resting atop a mountain peak. There, I beheld Dashura—a hero of profound self-restraint, radiant with supreme austerity, like a blazing fire. Rays seemed to emanate from his very body, turning the tender shoots golden and warming the entire region, just as the sun heats the world. When Dashura saw me arrive, he honored me with the traditional offering of water. He spread a seat of leaves for me and worshipped me with the utmost reverence. After these courtesies, we engaged in conversation. Dashura, radiant as the sun, spoke with me of stories connected to his lineage—tales capable of carrying one across the vast ocean of worldly existence. As we spoke, I gazed upon that wondrous tree. Its buds clustered thickly in the hollows, its branches trembled in the wind, and its open splits gave it the appearance of smiling. By Dashura’s wish, all the animals and birds that had fallen there attended the tree, making it appear like a forest adorned with a pavilion of creepers. The tree was surrounded by chowries of moon-like beauty, their gentle forms wandering at the edges of the creepers. Above, clusters of shining white clouds gathered, making the scene resemble the clear autumn sky. The tree was adorned with rows of pearls like lines of snowflakes, its every limb filled with pure clusters of flowers. Its form was thoroughly anointed with pollen and sandal paste, its beauty unbroken, and it was decorated with wide, clear, red garments. It looked as if dressed for a wedding, enchanting with the heavy weight of flowers, attended by a vine-maiden who seemed a city-dweller making festive preparations. The tree’s locks were arranged like coils of vines, adorned with clusters and banners of blossoms, as if the city itself were celebrating a festival. The dust of its flowers was scattered by the scratching of deer, and the nearby groves seemed driven away, so that the tree stood forth like a wrestler among trees. Peacocks scattered lines of pollen-laden flowers, and the tree stood like young sal trees on a mountain, set amidst the clouds of twilight. Its tender red shoots stretched like hands, lying in cool shade, swaying with intoxication, its lustre bristling with icy dew. Dense masses of flowers were stirred by the forest breeze, and the tree seemed to have sleepy, half-closed eyes, bearing clusters like breasts. Its garments were reddened by the saffron dust from the clusters of flowers, and windows nestled among the leafy bowers of creepers. Reclining lazily in the gentle sway of new-blossomed creepers, the entire abode—from head to foot—was adorned with vines. Groups of forest goddesses gathered there, accompanied by the songs of cuckoos. With smiling, bee-like eyes, they gazed at the dense clusters of uncertain buds. The weariness of love was soothed by gentle dew, and the air was thick with the dust of flowers, mingling closely together. Within the inner chambers of flowers, some intimate play unfolded, surrounded on all sides by the clear humming of intoxicated pairs of bees. Eager to hear the distant hum of the forest city’s outskirts, for a moment they raised their ears, their chewing of tender shoots momentarily stilled. For a moment, with their charming heads resting on the edge of a leaf, they gazed at the waves of moonlight shimmering like a girdle upon the sea. The daughters of the forest glades stood as if embodying grace, while deer slept between the shoots of grass, resting within the folds of leaves. A circle of branches formed a haven where birds, trusting and at ease, slept with their young, and ripe fruit, having fallen, lay nearby. Among the clusters, dumb bees wandered uncertainly, and the edges were darkened by blue clusters of young leaves, strung together like lotus-eyed threads. The entire grove was fragrant; above, the clouds seemed to have turned into masses of blossoms, while the ground below was speckled with dust and bent by those seeking fruit. What more need be said? There was not a single leaf on that tree which was not either eaten or enjoyed. On every leaf, deer lay sleeping, resting in the dense shade; in every hollow, birds nestled—such was the lord of trees. As I gazed upon that tree, endowed with such wondrous qualities, my joy became as great as a festival. Then, through other stories—delightful and illumined with the light of knowledge—I once again led Dashura’s son to supreme awakening. There, as we exchanged wondrous tales with each other, the night passed by like a single moment for lovers. As morning approached, when the dew of night began to thin and the stars slowly faded with the first stirrings of the birds in the sky, I left the city of Dashura with my children, following the path through the sky, and went to the river at Mount Hara. There, after performing the desired bath, I entered the sky and, joining the assembly of sages, remained at ease. O delight of the Raghu lineage, this tale called “Dashura” has been told to you. Though it appears as the reflection of the world, it is unreal despite its seeming reality. This very story, “Dashura,” has been narrated to you, Raghava, to illustrate the terrifying and illusory form of the world. Therefore, abandoning both the unreal and even the attractive aspects of the real, always remain broad-minded and self-possessed, established in the understanding of the Dashura doctrine.