Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling Arc 3 - Sanat-Sujata Parva Chapter 3 - Divine Knowledge and

Vaiśampāyana said:

Then Sanat Sujāta spoke of the Primary Seed—the Mahāyaśas, pure Knowledge, accidentless, blazing with self-born light. From that Seed the senses take their lead; by that Seed the Sun shines. That Eternal, endowed with divinity, is seen by Yogins with the eye of the mind.

Seed of splendour, still and bright,

Source of warmth and source of light;

Mind’s true monarch, sense’s guide—

In that One, a thousand suns abide.

He said: From that Seed—joy itself—Brahman turns to creation and expands; entering luminous forms it grants them glow and heat. Borrowing from none, it is self-luminous, a terror to all borrowed lights. That Eternal is beheld by Yogins by their inner sight.

He taught: This body woven of five gross elents—sprung from the five subtle and these from Brahman’s undifferentiated being—is upheld in consciousness by the creature-Soul (jīva) and by Īśvara. In sleep and dissolution, these two fall silent; Brahman, never bereft of awareness, the Sun’s Sun, upholds both, and Earth and Heaven as well.

Root of roots and ground of grounds,

Silent pulse in all that sounds;

Sun behind the sunlit do—

Self that sets the worlds at ho.

He said: The Seed upholds gods, Earth and Heaven, the directions and the oceans; rivers and quarters spring thence. That Eternal is seen by Yogins with the mind’s eye.

The body, said he, is a perishing car; its acts endure. Bound to the turning wheels of prior deeds, the senses—as steeds—draw the wise, through the field of consciousness, toward the Uncreate and Unchanging. That One is seen by Yogins inwardly.

No likeness fras the formless King,

No eye can hold His entering;

But hearts made rapt and minds made whole

Behold the Birthless in the soul.

He spoke of a terrible stream—māyā, guarded by the gods, bearing twelve fruits. n, tasting its sweetness, swim to and fro upon its waves; yet the river rises from the Seed. The jīva, destined to wander, enjoys in other worlds but half the fruit of acts reflected back; yet that sa jīva is Īśvara pervading all, Ordainer of sacrifice.

Souls, accidentless in themselves, resort to Avidyā, a tree with golden foliage, and take on upādhis (accidents), being born according to their bent. From Fullness (pūrṇam) the universe arises with its forms; when accidents are dispelled from the Full, the Full alone remains.

Full from Full the many pour,

Full returns—still ever more;

Strip the veils and cease the play—

Fullness, single, shines for aye.

From that Seed arise five elents and the power that rules them; from it spring Agni and Soma, the consur and the consud; in it the sense-born lives abide. All should be known to issue thence. The Veda nas this Seed Tad (Tath)—that which words cannot bind.

The Ascent Within

He said: Apāna is swallowed by Prāṇa; Prāṇa by Will (icchā); Will by Intellect (buddhi); Intellect by the Supre Self. The Supre, standing on four feet—waking, dream, deep sleep, and turiya—moves like a swan over the unfathomable ocean of affairs, yet does not put forth the fourth openly. He who beholds turiya guiding the rest finds death and emancipation alike.

Fourfold stands the tiless shore—

Three are seen, the fourth is more;

See that hidden foot once shown—

Life and death are both your own.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringent.

Of the asure of a thumb, ever Full, other than this perishing organism, the Inner Ruler—touching vital airs, will, intellect, and the ten senses—moves to and fro as Knowledge in creature-souls. Fools do not perceive; Yogins behold.

Among n, so master their minds and so do not; yet the Supre dwells equally in all. Only, the emancipate drink honey in a thick, unbroken stream.

When one’s sojourn is made with discernnt of Self and Not-Self, Agnihotra or its absence no longer binds. Let no “I am thy servant” abase the knower’s tongue. The Supre Soul bears another na—Pure Knowledge. Only the mind-restrained attain Him.

Stiller than the stillest breath,

Older than the na of death;

Know this Knowing—be at rest,

Freed from fever of the quest.

All beings rge in That Illustrious Fullness; who knows that embodint of Fullness attains his aim even here. Whatever flees with a thousand wings, swift as thought, must return to the indwelling Spirit. His form is not for sight; only the pure in heart behold. He who seeks the good of all, controls the mind, and keeps the heart unshaken by grief—he has purified the heart. Those who can abandon the world’s clutch beco immortal.

Beware, he added, of those who hide vice with fair deanor, deceiving the simple and leading them to ruin; seek the contrary company and you shall touch the Eternal.

The emancipate thinks: “This passing organism cannot impose its joys and griefs on ; for there is neither death nor birth. Brahman, facing no second, remains the resting-place of the real and the unreal. How then shall emancipation be other than my very nature? I am the origin and end of causes and effects.” Thus the I-Self is beheld by Yogins.

Deeds praise not him nor bla can stain,

Nor virtue lift nor vice can chain;

He tastes Kaivalya’s deathless art—

The nectar seated in the heart.

Slander does not trouble the Brahman-knower; nor the thought, “I have not studied; I have not poured the rite.” Knowledge gives that wisdom which only the mind-restrained can receive. He who sees his Self in all has nothing left to grieve; grief belongs to those scattered among a thousand errands.

As water slakes in well or lake, so the aims of the Veda are found by him who knows the Self. Dwelling in the heart, thumb-sized, unborn, ever awake by day and night, the Illustrious Fullness is not grasped by sight. He who knows Him becos learned and full of joy.

I am mother, I am sire,

I am son and ancient fire;

Warp and woof of what shall be—

All abide, yet none own .

Subtler than the subtlest thread,

Eyes that see the path ahead;

Know That One in every breast—

And enter everlasting rest.

Vaiśampāyana said:

Thus did Sanat Sujāta unveil the Seed of Splendour—Brahman, the Full, the Formless—tracing the soul’s ascent from breath to will to buddhi to the Self, naming the fourth turiya as guide and goal, exalting knowledge over rite, purity over show, and universality over pride. Hearing him, Dhṛtarāṣṭra sat as if a storm had passed and the moon erged—his inward night thinned by that immortal light.

Thus passed that night, O king, in the palace of the Kurus—illumined not by lamps but by the words of Sanat Sujāta and the wisdom of Vidura. Their speech flowed like two sacred rivers—one of knowledge, the other of dharma—eting in the ocean of the blind monarch’s heart. And when the deep silence of the discourse had faded into dawn, the eastern sky blushed like a lotus opening to the sun.

When holy speech had stilled the night,

And wisdom’s stars withdrew their light,

The morning ca, serene and wide—

As truth succeeds when doubt hath died.

Then all the princes and chiefs of the Kuru race, their hearts buoyant and expectant, gathered in the royal sabhā, eager to hear the tidings from the sons of Pāṇḍu.

The hall itself, spotless and vast, shone like a celestial shrine—its golden floor radiant as molten dawn, its air perfud with sandal-water. Its pillars glead with ivory and gem, its seats were wrought of wood and gold, draped in silken covers of crimson and white.

There entered Bhīṣma, ocean of vow and age; Droṇa, mountain of discipline; Kṛpa, the eternal teacher; Śalya, proud among charioteers; Kṛtavarman of the Bhojas; Jayadratha, lord of Sindhu; Aśvatthāman, fierce as fire; Vikarna, who alone among the hundred had a just heart; Somadatta, Vahlika, Vidura the wise, and Yuyutsu, the half-brother true to dharma.

Like lions gathered in a den,

Sat those far-seeing, war-born n;

Their arms were maces wrought of fla,

Their eyes were swords that shone the sa.

After them entered the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, led by Duryodhana, wrathful as Mars; with Duḥśāsana, Citraseṇa, and the cunning Śakuni son of Suvala; with Durmukha, Duḥsaha, Karna the proud, Ulūka the envoy, and Vivingsati—a host of iron-hearted princes.

That hall, filled with heroes blazing with strength and ornanted like a mountain cavern crowded with lions, glowed with a terrible beauty. Each seated himself upon his jeweled place, and the hum of voices stilled as expectation hung like a bowstring in the air.

Then the royal usher approached and announced in a clear voice:

“Behold, the chariot from the Pāṇḍavas has returned! Our envoy Sañjaya, swift as thought and guarded by Sindhu steeds, stands at the gate.”

All turned their gaze toward the doorway as Sañjaya, the wise Sūta, entered—his brow bright with the dust of journey, his ears shining with golden rings. Bowing to Dhṛtarāṣṭra and the gathered elders, he spoke with asured calm:

“Ye Kurus, know that I have co

From Pāṇḍu’s sons, from virtue’s ho.

Their greetings flow to each in turn—

To elder, equal, youth they burn.

To grandsire first their reverence goes,

To teacher, sire, and friend of those;

To brothers next, and younger kin,

They bow with love that knows no sin.”

Then, lifting his voice to reach the farthest corner of that vast hall, Sañjaya said:

“Listen, O kings, to the words that I—charged by Dhṛtarāṣṭra—spoke to the sons of Pṛthā, and to the answer they gave, filled with righteousness and wise restraint.”

Thus ended the night of inward fla,

Thus dawned the hour of outward claim;

When soul had seen the path within,

The world awoke to deed and din.