Rama, his heart filled with deep inquiry, spoke to the assembled sages and elders. He asked, “By what inner cleansing can the moon of the mind—soiled by the dust of desire—be washed pure, so that the immortal radiance within may shine forth? Along the tangled forest-paths of worldly life, how should one act, seeing the endless cycles of the world, and the inevitable destruction of both the seen and the unseen? How is it that the great afflictions of attachment and aversion, born from indulgence, do not torment the soul wandering in this forest of existence? And when one falls into the fierce fire of enmity, how is it that one remains unburned—like gold in fire, protected by its essence? “Indeed, in this world, without the activity of worldly dealings, there is no stability—just as water cannot remain when it falls into the ocean. Those who are free from attachment and aversion, untouched by pleasure and pain, are like a flame without fuel; for them, no proper action remains. Yet, for the proud and restless mind, suffering in the three worlds does not end without skillful means. Tell me, O noble ones, what is that means? “By what reasoning does suffering not come to one engaged in worldly activity? Or, if not, reveal to me the highest path for one who renounces all activity. How, by whom, or by what means, has the mind of the noble attained its supreme, pure rest in ages past? O revered one, you know—tell me for the removal of my delusion: by what means have you sages attained freedom from suffering? “O Brahman, if such a method does not exist, or if no one can clearly reveal it to me, though it be present, and if I myself do not attain that supreme rest, then, having abandoned all desires, I will become free from ego. I will not eat, nor drink water, nor wear clothes; I will not engage in any activity such as bathing, giving, or eating. I will not remain involved in actions, whether in prosperity or adversity; I desire nothing except the abandonment of this body, O sage. “Simply, without fear, without possessiveness, free from envy, I will remain silent here, as if assigned to writing tasks. Then, gradually abandoning all awareness of inhalation and exhalation, I will renounce this arrangement called the body, which is useless. I am not this body, nor is it mine; I become calm, like a lamp without oil. Having abandoned everything, I will renounce this body.” Thus spoke Rama, his hands radiant and cool, his mind expanded by great discernment. He became silent before the great ones, like a blue-throated bird resting quietly after its cry among the clouds. As Rama, the royal youth whose eyes were like lotus petals, uttered these words—words that dispelled the delusion of the mind—all those present were filled with wonder. Their garments held in place, their bodies seemed to rise as if lifted to better hear his voice. For a moment, freed from all worldly impressions and with the residue of desires stilled, they felt themselves tossed by the waves of a nectar-ocean. The words of Ramabhadra, painted as if with wondrous colors, entered their ears and filled their hearts with joy. Sages like Vasiṣṭha and Viśvāmitra, ministers led by Jayanta and Ghṛṣṭi, kings renowned like Daśaratha, citizens, bards, reciters, nobles, princes, and brāhmaṇas versed in the Veda—all listened in rapt attention. Servants and ministers, birds in their cages, playful deer now motionless, and horses who had ceased to graze were likewise stilled by his speech. Even the women, led by Kausalyā, stood at their windows, their ornaments silent, themselves motionless in groups. The creepers in the gardens, monkeys in their abodes, and flocks of birds—silent in song—were all drawn into the stillness. Siddhas who moved through the sky, Gandharvas and Kinnaras, and the foremost sages such as Narada, Vyasa, and Pulaha, as well as the lords of gods, Vidyadharas, and mighty serpents—all heard Rama’s wondrous, noble words. As Rama, lotus-eyed and radiant as the moon in the sky of the Raghu lineage, stood in silence, a celestial shower of flowers began to fall from the heavens, accompanied by the gathering of Siddhas and the noble words spoken. The air was filled with the humming of bees resting in the buds of Mandara flowers, delighting in the intoxicating fragrance and beauty, exultant and enraptured. It was as if a stream of stars, blown by the wind of the sky, had descended; as if the earth’s surface was covered with the radiance of heavenly women’s smiles. Like a line of raindrops from a single cloud, or as if a succession of lumps of clarified butter had been cast down, the cascade fell. Magnificent as a shower of snow, resembling a string of pearls, like the radiance of moonbeams, or the waves of a milk ocean, the celestial flowers descended. The air was fragrant with the scent of lotus filaments, swarming with bees in motion, swayed by a gentle breeze sweet with humming and singing. Clusters of ketaka flowers whirled about, heaps of blossoming water-lilies spread forth, garlands of jasmine fell, and the abodes of blue lotuses shimmered. The courtyards and rooftops of the houses of beautiful women were filled, watched by the city’s residents and women peering out with uplifted necks. In the clear sky, as blue as the blue lotus and free from clouds, this rain of flowers appeared—never seen before—making everyone smile in wonder. Never before witnessed, stirred by the breath of crowds of accomplished beings, that shower of flowers fell for a quarter of an hour, sanctifying the assembly and the words of Rama.