When Devala had at last grown calm and clear, he came down from his cave and walked through the forest at dawn. And the forest noticed the change in him.

A frightened deer, who would have bolted from any other person, lifted its head and watched him pass with soft, trusting eyes. A cobra slid across the path and did not raise its hood. Even the squirrels came close, chattering, sensing that here was someone who wished no harm to anyone.

The sage Uddhava met him under a great fig tree and watched with quiet joy. "Tell me what you feel," he said.

Devala thought for a while. "I feel serene, master. There is a brightness inside me, like the sky right after the monsoon clouds break apart. I do not grieve for the things I have lost — my old home, my old name. And strangely, I do not long for anything either. I am not empty. I am full."

"And the creatures?" asked Uddhava, nodding at the trusting deer.

"I cannot explain it," said Devala. "When I look at the deer, the cobra, the squirrel, even the beggar and the king — I see the same light shining in each one. The same life. I cannot love one and scorn another, for they are all lit by the one flame."

Uddhava's eyes glistened. "That is the state of one who has become Brahman, my child. Serene, grieving for nothing, craving nothing, the same toward all. But listen — this is not the cold peace of an empty stone. Watch what grows next."

And as Devala stood in that calm, he felt something rise up in his quiet heart — not a craving, but a love. A vast, warm, overflowing love for the great Friend behind all things, for Krishna who lived in every spark he saw. Tears of pure gladness ran down his face.

"Yes," said Uddhava softly. "When the heart grows perfectly still and whole, it does not stay empty. It blooms. The deepest calm opens like a lotus into the deepest love. This is the supreme devotion, the flower at the very top of the mountain."