In plain words
That embodiment of Satya is what is called God. Truth is GOD, they said. So when one does not walk rightly by such Satya, this kind of śāstra punishes man in many ways.
There are four pāpas the tongue commits. The first is speaking Asatya, the second is reviling others. The third is making fun of others. The fourth is too much speech, that is, talking too much. Through these four the tongue falls into many kinds of pāpa. We must bring Satya into everything as far as we can; the students of today must make the effort to keep Satya in their speech. But with the modern young people of today it is one word in the morning, one word at noon, and another word at night. Satataṃ yoginaḥ, the Bhagavad Gītā said. We must dedicate our lives all the time to the yoga of Satya. But we are not trying to live in that way. Yoga at dawn, bhoga at noon. Roga at night. How can one who is joined with yoga, bhoga and roga become an embodiment of equanimity? How can he be even-minded? So the day, with its differences of morning, noon and evening, comes about through the sun's growth, through the sun's change, through the turning of the earth; in the sun itself no difference comes about. You students know it: day begins when the sun comes above the line of the equator, and night has begun when the sun goes down below the line of the equator; here there is no sunrise or sunset at all. For the sun there is no difference at all called setting or rising. God, who wishes for purity of many kinds, for the welfare of the nation and the good of the world, has gone on creating all these within His śāsana. This Prakṛti, which belongs to such a creation of God, we are trying to change in many ways with some artificial quality, with the mind. This takes shape only as a danger to the nation itself. These science children know it well. The planet nearest to our earth is the moon. This moon is two lakh forty-five thousand miles away from the earth. At the full moon and at the new moon this moon comes a little nearer the earth, only a few degrees. At just such times the waters of the sea swell up. The moment he sees the full moon, the ocean leaps with countless waves, with endless joy. Truly, if a deluge were to come upon this world, it would be enough for the moon to come some two or three miles closer: the sea would swell and drown the whole world in water. Only while the moon stays as far off as it is now does this earth stay safe. Only when all the five elements keep to their own order, at the levels fixed for them, in their own places, is there safety for this earth. So only when we recognise the truth that all these śāsanas are the decrees of God, and try to keep to this śāsana, can we experience the truth of 'yoga kṣemaṃ vahāmyaham'.
Fourth, śāpa. Who gives a śāpa? You may think that maharṣis, great souls, yogis and such are the cause of a śāpa. At what times does a śāpa strike us? When the maharṣis are tormented, when they are caused suffering, when one takes a path that goes against their minds, when one stands in the way of the good of the world they work for: then the maharṣis use harsh words. But there is no lack of people in this world who criticise even the maharṣis, saying that they curse and that this is not work fit for them. Yet any punishment takes shape only as a protection for this body of the five elements. Only when a punishment fit for the fault is given can a man enter the right path. When faults are forgiven over and over, faults grow all the more. Not only this: people cannot tell what is wrong and what is right, and they lose their discriminating knowledge. Then bringing about such watchfulness, too, is a very part of śāsana.
One day King Parīkṣit went into the forest, hunted, grew tired and reached a hermitage. A king should have a large heart. He should look on all the people of his kingdom as his children. He should choose the maharṣis as his guides. Great souls are those who know all the śāstras and all the rules. So he should act only by their command. The king who should have acted in that way went into the hermitage, and in anger that no one had given him relief for his thirst, he brought a dead snake and wound it round the neck of the maharṣi who sat in dhyāna.