As King Janaka sat in contemplation, he reflected deeply on the nature of wealth and misfortune. He realized that when the mind clings to various forms of wealth, even the grandest undertakings become sources of great misfortune. Conversely, if one accepts misfortune with equanimity, then even the greatest hardships transform into prosperity. In this world, which is nothing but a play of the mind and as fragile as a dew drop, Janaka wondered, where could there be any true sense of “mine,” or anything that lasts forever? He saw that the world’s existence arises merely by coincidence, and that the clever mind is responsible for conjuring up the notions of acceptance and rejection—ideas that are ultimately baseless. Amidst the fleeting pleasures that people chase, Janaka questioned to which of these he was so attached—like a moth drawn to a flame. He felt that it would be better to be consumed in the fires of hell than to continue suffering in the endless, battered cycles of worldly existence. Janaka recognized that worldly life is truly the boundary of all suffering, and wondered how anyone caught in its midst could ever find real happiness. For those who endure the great, uncontrived suffering of the world, all other pains seem almost sweet by comparison. He felt himself, too, to be afflicted—becoming as unmoved as wood or earth, untouched by life’s true substance. He saw the tree of worldly existence, with its countless shoots, branches, fruits, and leaves, all springing from the root of the mind. He understood that this sprout is nothing but thought-formation, and resolved that by ceasing these thoughts, he would dry up the root so that the tree of worldly existence would wither away. Now, having recognized the restless, monkey-like movements of his mind—charming only on the surface—Janaka no longer found delight in such tasteless things. He had experienced the endless cycles of worldly existence, woven with cords of desire and filled with repeated falls and misfortunes; now, he resolved to desist. Again and again he had lamented, “Alas, I am ruined, I am lost, I am dead,” but now, having grieved enough, he was finished with sorrow and would mourn no longer. Janaka felt awakened and delighted, for he had finally seen the true thief—his own self, the mind. He resolved to slay this mind, for too long he had been slain by it. All this time, the fruit of freedom from the mind had remained untouched; now, having pierced it, he found it truly worthy of enjoyment. He felt his mind, like a particle of frost, would soon dissolve in the sunlight of discernment, bringing lasting peace. He acknowledged that he had been awakened by the wise, the virtuous, and the accomplished, and now he followed his own Self, the means to supreme bliss. Having found and beheld his own Self, the jewel, in solitude, he abided in happiness, like a spotless autumn cloud with all its lightning spent. Casting aside by force the false notions of “I am this” and “this is mine,” Janaka resolved to slay the exceedingly impure enemy—the mind—and attain peace. With reverence, he saluted discernment. As Janaka was reflecting in this way, the royal doorkeeper appeared before him at dawn, just as Aruṇa stands at the front of the Sun’s chariot. The doorkeeper addressed him respectfully: “O lord, pillar of the gods, who bears the weight of the whole earth at rest—rise and fulfill the royal duties appropriate for the day. Women stand ready at the bathing place, holding pitchers of water scented with flowers, camphor, and saffron, like rivers endowed with form. A pavilion of cloth has been prepared for the lady, adorned with bees wandering among lotuses and blue water-lilies, as if it were a grove of lotuses. The banks of the lotus-pond are filled with parasols, chariots, horses, and elephants bearing fans, all serving those who come for the bathing occasion. The places for your worship, O lord, have been prepared with canopies filled with fresh flowers and sprinkled with jewels and medicinal herbs. The twice-born, purified by bathing and having recited the Aghamarṣaṇa hymn, look to you alone as the one worthy of their southern offerings. You are attended by women waving fans, and the dining halls, cooled and made ready by your beloveds, await you. Rise quickly, blessings to you; perform your duty with discipline. The great do not delay in their own actions.” When the chief doorkeeper spoke thus, Janaka began to reflect once more on the strange nature of worldly existence. He thought, “This so-called kingdom and its happiness are of little substance; I have no purpose with this, which is fleeting even for a moment. Abandoning entirely all the false pomp and commotion, I shall remain alone, calm as the ocean at peace. Enough of these unreal enjoyments that have arisen for me; having renounced all actions, I shall remain in pure happiness.” He addressed his own mind: “O mind, give up this cleverness born of the agitation for repeated pleasures, for the sake of quelling the mass of delusion caused by birth, old age, and dullness. In whatever states you see agitation, by withdrawing completely from them, you will attain supreme happiness. Though you have engaged and withdrawn again and again for a long time in all fields of enjoyment, you do not find satisfaction. Therefore, enough of this trivial preoccupation with pleasures; true contentment arises naturally—pursue that which is all-pervading.” Thinking thus, Janaka remained silent, his mind calmed of restlessness, like a scribe intent on his work. The doorkeeper, too, said nothing out of respect and fear, for it is not customary to speak further when the minds of kings are unsettled. Then, after standing silent for a moment, Janaka again reflected inwardly on the life of people, his mind inclined toward peace.