In plain words
“I have pursued great studies, I have become a great official,” they think. What are these studies, these jobs? None of these is permanent.
No mother, no father, no kinsman, no brother; no wealth, no house: therefore, beware, beware! The sorrow of birth, the sorrow of old age, the sorrow of a wife, again and again; at the last hour, great sorrow: therefore, beware, beware!
Love God with the Feeling for a Mother
Śaṅkarācārya too did just the same. A small village. His father had to go somewhere, and he told Śaṅkarācārya's mother Āryāmbā. “There is no one to do the pūjā tomorrow. Tell our boy, Śaṅkarācārya,” he said. She told Śaṅkara. “My boy, your father is not here today. Offer milk to Rājarājeśvarī,” she said. He took it. He gave the milk to the Goddess. “Mother, You must appear and drink. They say You drink when Father gives it. He used to give the prasāda to me and to mother. So You must drink this milk,” he said. However long he prayed, the Mother did not appear. He brought a stone: “If You do not drink, I will break my head,” he said. Śaṅkarācārya was seven years old. There was a sound. He opened his eyes. Rājarājeśvarī had come. She drank the milk and went. At that moment Śaṅkarācārya did not understand anything. He looked at the cup. There was not one drop in the cup. She had drunk it all. “If You alone drink it all and go, mother and I need prasāda. So give a little back,” he asked. He prayed. She did not appear again. “Mother will think I drank the milk myself. Mother must not think ill of me. To satisfy her, give a little milk,” he said. “My boy! Does the Gaṅgā that has joined the ocean come back again? Does a fruit chewed and swallowed come back again? I have drunk the milk; it will not come back,” said the Goddess. “Whatever happens, You must give me a little milk,” Śaṅkara insisted. Pleased with the boy's Bhakti, She pressed milk from Her own breast into the cup and gave it.