Devala had cleaned the window of his mind and set down the two heavy stones. Now the sage Uddhava sent him for a season to a little cave behind a waterfall, high in the hills.

"Live here a while," the old man said, "and let me tell you how to spend your days, for the way you live shapes the way you grow."

Devala settled into the cool stone cave. The waterfall hung like a silver curtain across its mouth, and the roar softened into the sweetest hush.

"First," Uddhava had told him, "love a quiet place. Not because people are bad, but because a still pond shows the stars, while a churned-up pond shows only mud." So Devala welcomed the solitude, and listened to the water and the wind.

"Second, eat lightly." Each evening Devala gathered a small handful of wild rice and fruit, just enough to keep him strong, never so much that he grew sleepy and dull. He found, to his surprise, that a light body made for a clear mind.

"Third, hold your speech, your body, and your mind." He spoke little, and only kindly. He sat without fidgeting. And when his thoughts ran off chasing old memories, he gently brought them home, the way a shepherd brings a wandering lamb back to the flock.

"Fourth, always turn toward meditation." Morning and evening Devala sat very still, watching his breath, letting his thoughts settle like dust settling in a sunbeam after the broom has passed.

And under all of it lay the last thing Uddhava had named: vairagya, the great calm. Devala noticed he no longer ached for the village fair, the praise of friends, the taste of sweets. He still loved the world, but he no longer needed it to feed an empty hole inside him, for the hole had quietly filled with peace.

When Uddhava came at season's end, he found Devala sitting behind the silver water, calm as the stone itself. "You have learned," the old man said softly, "that the heart that needs nothing has, in a way, already found everything."