Embrace, within your own Self, a vast and generous spirit—let your heart be as full and deep as the ocean at its highest tide. Delight in your own being, content and luminous like the full moon shining in the sky. For this world, this creation, is not truly as it appears; its form is unreal, and the unreal does not pursue the unreal. The one who knows this truth is called a knower—calm in mind, free from affliction, ever awake. You, too, are such a knower: be radiant, peaceful, and untouched by sorrow. Having received true instruction from your teacher, safeguard your kingdom with wisdom and unity, maintaining it under a single umbrella for many years by abiding in the present moment. Let your realm flourish, adorned with virtues and noble people, for here, neither renunciation nor attachment to action is fitting. The one who acts in the world, firmly established in the understanding, “I perform this action thus,” is truly liberated—this is my view. Yet, people move in many ways: some, through their actions and efforts, travel between heaven and hell, and back again. Others, driven by harmful deeds, are compelled by their own discernment to descend from one suffering to another, from one fear to the next. Some, bound by their own tendencies and the residue of past actions, wander through animal bodies and even into immobile forms, only to return again to animal existence. But there are those who, blessed with the knowledge of the Self, whose minds have been purified and whose chains of craving are broken, attain a state free from all limitation. Such a one, O Raghava, after only a few births, finds liberation in this very life, being of a rajasic or sattvic nature. They are born and grow in virtue, like the waxing moon, and good fortune follows them as surely as the kutaja tree blossoms in the rainy season. Into such a person, pure knowledge swiftly enters, like a precious gem placed within a flawless bamboo. Nobility, charm, friendship, gentleness, freedom, and wisdom always dwell within them, as beloved companions in the inner chambers of a house. Whether they gain or lose, in all matters they remain equanimous, never rejoicing nor grieving. Just as darkness disappears in daylight, so, too, do all opposites dissolve in them; and like autumn clouds that leave the sky pure, their qualities become clear and radiant. All people are drawn to one whose conduct is gentle and sweet, just as deer in the forest are enchanted by the melodious flute. In the same way, virtues and prosperity naturally follow such a person, just as cranes gather around a welcoming cloud. Endowed with virtue, they seek out a teacher, and that teacher, through discernment, guides them toward purity. With a mind rich in inquiry and detachment, and adorned with virtue, such a person perceives the divine Self within—one, untroubled, and serene. Therefore, O Rama, it is through gentle inquiry and a peaceful mind that the restless mind must first be awakened. Those born in the West, possessing great virtues, first awaken the deer-like mind with songs of virtue. By serving noble and renowned teachers, and by examining the jewel of the mind with a pure intellect, one attains a spotless state and, through long observation of the inner light, becomes radiant. Thus, the general order of all beings has been described. Now, lotus-eyed Rama, hear another distinction. In this tumultuous world, for those who have taken on bodies, there are two excellent paths to liberation. One is gradual, attained through steady practice as taught by the teacher, unfolding over one or many lifetimes, and is known to bring perfection. The other is swift—when a person, by their own mind, gains sudden insight; knowledge dawns as quickly as a fruit falling from the sky. To understand this sudden attainment of knowledge, listen to this ancient tale. Hear now, O fortunate one, how those of great merit, whose past deeds—good and bad—have been washed away, attain supreme discernment, pure and final, like a fruit fallen from the sky. There once was a king among the Videhas named Janaka. His intellect was noble, his calamities had vanished, his prosperity ever-rising, and his strength was great. He was like a wish-fulfilling tree to those who sought favors, a sun among his friends, the springtime for the flowers of kinship, and the very banner of love for women. To the twice-born, he was the cool moon; to his enemies, the sun that dispelled their darkness; he was a sea of noble jewels, standing on earth as if he were Vishnu himself. One spring, amidst blossoming creepers and clusters of flower buds, where joyful cuckoos sang, King Janaka wandered. He entered a grove adorned with blooming vines, delightful and charming, as if Indra himself were enjoying the beauty of Nandana’s garden. In that splendid forest, with breezes fragrant with the scent of kesara flowers, he roamed through lovely bowers, his attendants remaining at a distance. Then, in a thicket of tamāla trees, he heard the words of invisible siddhas, spoken among themselves. These were songs, filled with the essence of realization, sung by those with detached minds who dwell in mountain caves. “We worship that pure essence of the Self,” they sang, “which arises from the union of seer and seen, and is the certainty of bliss born of direct knowledge. Abandoning the seer, the seeing, and the seen, along with all impressions, we worship the Self, the first light of awareness. We always worship the Self, which is without appearance or mental construction, incomparable to any manifestation, and whose experience is the contemplation of non-being. We worship that Self, the illuminator of illuminations, which always abides between existence and non-existence. We worship our own Self, which is without head or form, yet present in all forms, and whose resonance is unceasing.” Thus, in the heart of the forest, King Janaka heard the secret songs of the siddhas, revealing the timeless truth of the Self—pure, radiant, and ever free.