Adorned with rows of pearls that shimmered like delicate lines of snowflakes, every limb of that wondrous tree was filled with pure clusters of fragrant flowers. Its entire form was anointed with golden pollen and cool sandal paste, its beauty unbroken and resplendent, draped in wide, clear, red garments that seemed to glow with inner light. It stood as if prepared for a wedding, enchanting all who beheld it with the weight of blossoms that graced its boughs. A vine-maiden attended this majestic tree, herself a city-dweller busily making preparations for some joyous occasion. The tree’s locks were arranged like coiling vines, adorned with garlands and banners of blossoms, making it appear as if a city were celebrating a grand festival. Around its roots, the dust of scattered flowers bore the marks of deer scratching at the earth, and the nearby groves seemed to be pushed away by its presence; it stood forth like a mighty wrestler among all the trees. Peacocks wandered among its branches, scattering lines of pollen-laden flowers, while the tree itself resembled young sal trees on a mountain, set amidst clouds tinged by the colors of twilight. Its tender red shoots stretched out like hands, reclining in the cool shade, swaying gently with the intoxication of spring, its lustre bristling with the icy dew of early morning. Dense masses of flowers were stirred by the forest breeze, and the tree seemed to gaze with sleepy, half-closed eyes, bearing clusters of blossoms like the full breasts of a mother. Its garments were tinged red by the saffron dust from the flowers, and windows formed by leafy bowers of creepers offered glimpses into its inner sanctum. There, one might recline lazily in the gentle sway of new-blossomed vines, the entire abode from top to bottom adorned with living greenery. Within this haven, groups of forest goddesses gathered, accompanied by the sweet songs of cuckoos. With eyes as bright and lively as bees, they gazed at the dense clusters of uncertain buds, their faces radiant with smiles. The weariness of love was soothed by the gentle dew, and the air was thick with the mingled dust of flowers, all gathered closely together. In the innermost chambers woven from blossoms, some intimate play unfolded, surrounded on all sides by the clear humming of intoxicated pairs of bees. Every now and then, eager to hear the distant hum from the outskirts of the forest city, the goddesses would raise their ears, pausing even in their leisurely chewing of tender shoots. For a moment, with their charming heads resting on the edge of a leaf, they would gaze at the waves of moonlight shimmering like a girdle upon the sea. There, the daughters of the forest glades stood as embodiments of grace, while deer, nestled between shoots of grass, slept peacefully within the folds of leaves. In a circle of branches, birds—trusting and at ease—slept with their young, and ripe fruit, having fallen, lay nearby. Among the clusters of blossoms, dumb bees wandered uncertainly, while the edges of the tree were darkened by blue clusters of young leaves, strung together like threads with lotus-like eyes. The entire grove was fragrant, the clouds above transformed into masses of blossoms, the ground below 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 by some creature. On every leaf, deer lay sleeping, resting in the dense shade; in every hollow, birds nestled, all upon that lord of trees. As I gazed upon this tree, endowed with such remarkable qualities, my joy swelled within me like a great festival. Then, through other stories, delightful with the light of knowledge, I once again guided his son to supreme awakening. There, as we exchanged wondrous tales with one another, the night passed like a fleeting moment for those in love. As morning approached and the dew of night began to thin, the stars slowly faded while the first stirrings of birds filled the sky. With my children, I left the city of Dashura, following the path through the sky, and journeyed to the river at Mount Hara. There, after performing the desired bath, I entered the sky and joined the assembly of sages, remaining at ease among them. O delight of the Raghu lineage, this tale called ‘Dashura’ has now been told to you. Though it appears as the reflection of the world, know that it is unreal, despite its seeming reality. This very story 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, with the understanding imparted by the Dashura doctrine. By means of this chariot—the story of Kadamba and Dashura—you will soon attain that city by which you will become lord of the worlds to come. Having discerned that ‘this does not exist,’ abandon all attachment everywhere; for what does not exist, indeed, holds no place for those who inquire deeply. If that which is seen truly exists, what has departed from you? Let it remain in the self; why bind yourself here, as if this were your own self? But if you are certain that this does not exist, then how can attachment to contemplation persist, whether in what is stable or unstable? This world, O Rama, neither exists nor does it not exist, O wise one; it is merely an appearance arising from oneself, manifesting in this way. Nothing here is brought about by a doer, nor does it follow the sequence of actions by a non-doer; it shines forth by itself, having transcended the notions of doer and deed. Let this web of the world be either without a doer or with a doer; do not associate your pure mind with it in any way. The self, devoid of all senses, is like an inert thing in action here; I consider it as non-doer, and the world as arising by mere coincidence. Whatever arises by the coincidence of circumstances, in any way whatsoever, only a child binds himself to it through contemplation—not the wise. This world is never truly peaceful, O Rama, nor does it ever perish; it is endlessly perceived and imagined, again and again.