Listen, O noble one, to the true measure of greatness in this world: those alone are the righteous, the great souls, the true men on earth, who have easily crossed the perilous ocean of youth. For the mighty ocean, teeming with splendid shoals of great fish, can be crossed with effort; but the ocean of youth, once ruined and agitated by the waves of faults, is not so easily traversed. Rare indeed is that youth who, adorned with humility, a refuge for the noble, radiant with compassion, and endowed with virtues, shines forth—such a one is as uncommon in this world as a forest in the sky. Consider, O sage, the nature of worldly beauty. What attraction is there in a woman’s body, which is but a puppet of flesh, its limbs moving by mere mechanism, its frame woven of knots of sinew and bone? If you were to separate the skin, flesh, blood, vapor, and tears from the eye and truly observe it, what charm would remain? Why be deluded in vain? Here is hair, there is blood—such is the body of a woman. What does a person of broad mind seek in this contemptible thing? The limbs, so often adorned with fine clothes and sweet perfumes, are in the end devoured by flesh-eating creatures, as is the fate of all bodies. Behold the breast upon which pearls are displayed, shining in the light of a necklace, resembling the waves of the Ganges glimmering upon the peaks and slopes of Mount Meru. Yet, in the cremation ground and at the edges of the quarters, that same cherished breast is devoured by dogs in time, like a small lump snatched by the blind. Just as the limbs of a calf in the forest are smeared with blood and flesh, so too are the limbs of a woman. What is there to be gained from them? The apparent charm of a woman is merely imagined; even this, I say, does not truly exist, for it is delusion alone that is the cause. What difference is there between a woman, who gives abundant delight preceded by intoxication, and liquor, which is also unstable? Those whose minds are absorbed in the charms of women, O sage, do not attain awakening, even after long efforts at restraint. Women, adorned with hair and kohl, are by nature sharp; like flames of the fire of misdeeds, they burn men as grass. Revered are those, great souls, true men, who have easily crossed the peril of youth, O noble one. Even from afar, even if delightful, women are both the wood for the fires of hell—beautiful, yet harsh and dreadful. Her eyes shine like stars through the scattered darkness of her hair; her face is a full moon, and her smile is like a cluster of blooming lotuses. Playful yet harsh, she brings about the destruction of endeavors; she is a woman of long nights, supremely enchanting to the mind. Sweet as flowers, delightful, her tender hands like new leaves, her eyebrows curve like bees, and she bears breasts like clusters of blossoms. Her limbs are pale as flower filaments, intent on the destruction of men; this beloved, a deadly vine, brings supreme helplessness. With a mere sigh or breath, eager to subdue like a serpent charmer, the beloved draws a creature out, as a snake is pulled from its hole by the hands of an elephant. By the hunter named Desire, nets are spread for the simple-minded; women are the snares binding the limbs of men, who are like birds. The elephant of the mind, intoxicated with longing for the broad-hipped woman, stands bound by the chain of passion, as if mute. For men who are like fish in the pond of birth, moving in the hollow of actions, woman is the baited hook, and bad habits are the line. Women are a fetter for men, just as a tether for horses, a chain for elephants, or mud for lotuses. O sage, this realm of enjoyment is diverse and wondrous; it attains its highest state here by depending on women. Yet, let me be forever free from women, who are the well-wrought casket of all the gems of faults, and the constant chain of suffering. What use is there in a breast, or an eye, or a hip, or an eyebrow, when it is nothing but flesh, with no real substance? Here is flesh, here is blood, here are bones; O Brahman, in just a few days, a woman comes to dissolution. Those women who were once cherished by their husbands with the softest cotton, O sage, now lie dismembered in the land of the ancestors. That face, once adorned by a lover with thick, fresh ointments and the beauty of budding lips, decays in the wilderness. The hair becomes like yak-tails on the trees of the cremation ground; the bones, shining like stars, are scattered on the earth in a matter of days. Dust drinks blood, flesh-eaters consume it in many ways; the flame devours the skin, and the vital airs depart into the sky. Thus, I have described to you the imminent fate of bodies—why do you chase after delusion? This so-called body, formed from the mingling of the five elements, simply carries taste—how can it be considered as endowed with intelligence? Thought, following desire, grows tall and dense like a tree with spreading branches, bearing bitter and sour fruits. Sometimes, the mind becomes agitated by attachment to wealth, blinded by greed, and falls into deep delusion, like a deer separated from its herd. A young man indulging in pleasure with a woman reaches utmost pitiability, bound by the elephant’s lust for the female, as an elephant trapped in a pit in the Vindhya mountains. Whoever has a woman desires enjoyment; one without a woman has no ground for enjoyment. By abandoning woman, the world is abandoned; by abandoning the world, one becomes happy. I do not delight in fleeting pleasures, in difficult enjoyments, nor in the delicate wings of bees. O Brahman, I rejoice out of fear of death, disease, and old age, and with effort I attain the supreme peace in the forest.