In the midst of the world’s busyness, Rama, the royal youth whose eyes resembled lotus petals, sought answers to the profound dilemmas of existence. He wondered aloud how one might live in the world, engaged in its affairs, yet remain unbound—just as water does not cling to a lotus leaf. He asked: if one perceives the entire world as either the self or as insignificant as grass, how can one attain excellence without disturbing the mind’s tranquility? He wished to know whose conduct, among those great souls who had crossed the ocean of existence, should be followed to avoid wrongdoing in this world. Rama pressed further, seeking clarity on what is truly proper and beneficial, what is the right fruit of action, and how one should live without impropriety. He implored the Lord of the world to reveal something by which he could understand the unstable nature of actions and the shifting states of creation, past and future. Rama prayed for the stains on the moon of his heart’s sky and mind to be cleansed, asking Brahman to ensure this purification happened without hindrance. He questioned what was worth accepting and what ought to be discarded, and how the restless mind might find repose, unmoved like a mountain. He asked by what purifying mantra the fever of worldly existence, which brings countless troubles effortlessly, could be pacified. He yearned to attain the coolness of bliss, like the full moon shining in the undiminished night, and requested that the wise, who know the truth, instruct him so he might reach inner fullness and never grieve again. Rama observed that apart from the supreme blissful state and its repose, even the minds of great souls are tormented by restless thoughts, much like wild dogs harassing a fragile creature in the forest. He reflected on the fragility of life, likening the body to a droplet hanging from a moving leaf of a tall tree, governed by the lord of life and softened by the moon’s cool rays. Among friends and relatives, he felt as vulnerable as the edge of a frog’s throat skin in a dried-up field, caught in a net. He described how the wind of past impressions could drive sudden calamity like a thunderbolt, and in the dense cloud of delusion, darkness roars and flashes. In the poisonous forest of misfortune, the wild, restless, greedy one dances a fierce, resounding dance. Death, cruel as a silent cat, seizes all living beings as mice, descending with unheard steps. Rama asked: what remedy, what path, what thought, or what refuge exists? How might one avoid the misfortune that arises in this forest of life? He noted that nothing on earth or among the gods is insignificant to the wise; all becomes delightful in their presence. Yet, he wondered how this world, riddled with suffering and burned by sorrow, could ever become sweet without folly, given its tasteless nature. He pondered what nectar-bath could make the vine of hope, poisoned at its root, delightful like a fresh creeper with honey and pure blossoms. He asked by what washing the moon of the mind, stained by desire, could be cleansed so that the radiance of immortality might arise. He sought guidance on how to act in the forest-paths of worldly life, seeing the course of the world and the destruction of all that is seen and unseen. Rama wished to know how the great diseases of attachment and aversion, born from indulgence, might not afflict the creature wandering in the forest of worldly existence. He wondered how, even when one falls into the fierce fire of enmity, one is not burned—like gold protected by its essence in the fire. He observed that without engaging in worldly dealings, no stability is possible, just as water cannot remain when it falls into the ocean. He recognized that those free from attachment and aversion, untouched by pleasure and pain, are like a flame without fuel—here, no proper action remains. He understood that for the proud mind that constantly reflects, suffering in all three worlds does not end without skillful means, and he begged to be told what those means are. Rama asked by what reasoning suffering does not come to one engaged in worldly activity, or else, what is the highest path for one who abandons activity. He inquired how, by whom, or by what means, the mind of the noble has attained supreme, pure rest in the past. He implored the revered sage to tell him, for the removal of delusion, by what means the sages have attained freedom from suffering. If such a method did not exist, or if no one would tell him clearly even though it was present, and if he himself could not attain that supreme rest, Rama resolved to abandon all desires and become free from ego. He declared that he would not eat, nor drink water, nor wear clothes; he would not engage in any activity such as bathing, giving, or eating. He would not remain involved in actions, whether in prosperity or adversity; he desired nothing except the abandonment of the body. He vowed to remain silent, without fear, possessiveness, or envy, as if assigned merely to writing tasks. Gradually, he would abandon awareness of inhalation and exhalation, renouncing the arrangement called the body, which he deemed useless. He affirmed that he was not of the body, nor was it his; he would become calm like a lamp without oil, abandoning everything and renouncing the body. Thus, Rama spoke, radiant with pure, cool hands, his mind expanded by great discernment. He became silent before the assembled great ones, like a blue-throated bird resting after its cry among the clouds. As Rama’s words, which dispelled the delusion of the mind, echoed in the hall, all those present became wide-eyed with wonder, their garments held in place, their bodies as if raised in eagerness to hear the words.