As dawn broke, while Janaka was deep in contemplation, the royal doorkeeper arrived before him—appearing at the threshold just as Aruṇa stands at the fore of the Sun’s chariot, heralding the new day. With reverence, the doorkeeper addressed Janaka, calling him the pillar of the gods, the one who upholds the entire earth in stillness. “O lord,” he said, “rise and fulfill the royal duties that this day calls for.” He described the preparations awaiting the king: women stood ready at the bathing place, bearing pitchers of water scented with flowers, camphor, and saffron, their presence as graceful and abundant as rivers given form. A pavilion of cloth had been set up for the queen, adorned with bees wandering among lotuses and blue water-lilies, resembling a grove of lotuses in bloom. The banks of the lotus-pond were alive with parasols, chariots, horses, and elephants bearing fans, all assembled to serve those attending the royal bathing. The places prepared for Janaka’s worship were resplendent—canopies filled with fresh flowers, sprinkled with jewels and medicinal herbs. The twice-born, purified by bathing and the recitation of the Aghamarṣaṇa hymn, awaited him, regarding Janaka alone as worthy of their southern offerings. The doorkeeper spoke of the women who would attend Janaka with moving fans, and of dining halls cooled and arranged by his beloveds, ready for his presence. He urged Janaka to rise quickly and perform his duties with discipline, reminding him that the great never delay in their actions. Hearing these words, Janaka’s mind turned again to reflection, pondering the strange nature of worldly existence. “This so-called kingdom and its happiness are insubstantial,” he thought. “What purpose have I for this, which is fleeting even for a moment?” He resolved to abandon the pomp and commotion of royal life, choosing instead to remain solitary and peaceful, like a calm ocean. “Enough of these unreal enjoyments that have come my way,” he told himself. “Having renounced all action, I shall rest in pure happiness.” He addressed his own mind: “O mind, give up this cleverness born of restless desire for pleasure; let this be for the sake of dissolving the mass of delusion that comes with birth, old age, and dullness. In whatever state you find agitation, withdraw from it completely, and you will attain supreme happiness. Though you have pursued and abandoned enjoyment time and again, O mind, you have never found satisfaction. Therefore, enough of this petty pursuit of pleasure; true contentment arises of itself—seek that which pervades all.” With these thoughts, Janaka fell silent, his mind calmed like a scribe absorbed in his work. The doorkeeper, sensing the king’s state, also remained quiet, knowing it was not customary to speak further when the mind of a king was unsettled. After a moment of silence, Janaka again turned his thoughts inward, reflecting on human life with a mind seeking peace. “What is there here worth acquiring, that I should strive for it? To what object should I attach my resolve, when all things are doomed to perish? What is gained by action or inaction? Nothing escapes decay. Whether active or inactive, this body has arisen from the unreal; for me, who abides in the real, the stable, pure consciousness—what loss can there be?” He continued, “I do not desire what I have not gained, nor do I abandon what has come to me. I remain content in myself—let whatever is mine, be mine. For me, there is no gain in action done or not done; whatever is to be attained, real or unreal, comes through action or inaction alike. Whether I act or do not act, whether actions are proper or improper, nothing here, once attained, is truly desirable to me. Let this body perform the natural actions that arise; if its limbs are motionless, what will it accomplish? When the mind is steady, free from desire, equal, and without attraction, then action or inaction of the body are the same in their result. When the mind ceases to be the agent and enjoyer of the fruits of action, then, for people, even what is done is as if not done. The conviction that arises in a person regarding actions—he becomes identified with that. I have reached the state free from affliction and abandon both firmness and lack of firmness within.” Having reflected thus, Janaka rose to perform the action that presented itself, unattached, just as the sun rises each day, fulfilling its dharma without desire. He had set aside, by his own mind, all longing for what is pleasant or unpleasant, and acted as circumstances required, remaining awake and aware as if in deep sleep. Having completed the day’s duties, beginning with respectful worship, he spent the night alone, absorbed in the play of meditation. With the night’s passing, Janaka made his mind tranquil and unified, calming its wanderings toward objects. As dawn approached, he awakened his awareness, reflecting thus: “O mind, your restless expansion brings no happiness to the self; come to peace, for from peace, dear one, true happiness arises. Just as you lightly entertain waves of thought, so does your worldly existence expand. As a tree becomes hundred-branched by a single stream, so, O cunning one, you become endlessly complex through desire for enjoyment. These creations of worldly existence arise from the play of thought-webs; therefore, abandon varied thinking and enter tranquility. Beautiful one, weigh this fleeting creation; if you find its essence, rely on that alone. Abandon attachment and craving for objects; hold fast to that which is truly yours—do not let go, and dwell with the desire for purity.” Thus, Janaka moved through his days and nights, ever rooted in inner peace, performing his duties without attachment, and abiding in the clarity of self-awareness.