There is a poverty worse than having nothing, and it cannot be fixed by giving anyone money. Valluvar opens this chapter with a claim so stark it functions as a thesis for everything that follows: of all the forms of destitution, the lack of wisdom is the only one the world takes seriously. From that premise, the chapter unfolds as a clinical anatomy of the fool — not the harmless bumbler of comedy, but the dangerous agent who inflicts more damage on himself than any enemy could, who poisons his own credibility, who mistakes arrogance for intelligence, who covers his body while leaving his character naked, and who finally earns the world's verdict: not human, but demon. This is not a chapter about pity. It is an autopsy.