Ten learned men were holding hands crossing a turbulent river. Once on the other shore, they decided to count themselves to make sure all had safely crossed.
They took turns counting. But every time they counted they came up with a total of nine. There was one missing.
Their desperation grew until a cheeky local kid watching this drama came over and pointed out that the counter kept forgetting to count himself.
So the ten learned men took turns recounting. And Lo! This time they counted ten!
The ten learned men cheered for joy, congratulated each other for being so astute, and went on their way.
Remember to count the Counter. Or be sucked into into the Self-Loop.
A skeptical prince who was a pupil of Śaṅkarācārya [around 700 CE] decided to test his teacher.
Once when the illustrious scholar was walking up the royal pathway to the palace, the prince unleashed an elephant from the army stables directly onto Śaṅkarā’s path.
The Brahmin, not known for valor of this sort, proceeded to climb up the nearest tree.
The prince approached the teacher, bowed, and inquired as to why the Guru had climbed the tree since according to his own teaching all, including the approaching elephant, was illusion.
‘Indeed’ said Śaṅkarā, ‘the elephant was unreal, but so was your presumption that there was a me climbing a tree.’
Not-Two 
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