अन्यतराम् एव वर्तनीम् संस्करोति हीयते अन्यतरा सः यथा एकपात् व्रजन् रथः वा एकेन चक्रेण वर्तमानः रिष्यति एवम् अस्य यज्ञः रिष्यति यज्ञम् रिष्यन्तम् यजमानः अनु रिष्यति सः इष्ट्वा पापीयान् भवति
anyatarām eva vartanīm saṃskaroti hīyate anyatarā saḥ yathā ekapāt vrajan rathaḥ vā ekena cakreṇa vartamānaḥ riṣyati evam asya yajñaḥ riṣyati yajñam riṣyantam yajamānaḥ anu riṣyati saḥ iṣṭvā pāpīyān bhavati
then he sets right only the one track, and the other perishes. As a one-legged man walking, or a chariot running on one wheel, comes to grief, so his sacrifice comes to grief; and after the broken sacrifice the sacrificer is broken too. Having performed such a sacrifice, he becomes worse.
be3855a7a3b2 · published Jul 26, 2026, 11:22:39 PM UTC
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The image is mercilessly vivid: a one-legged traveller, a chariot on one wheel. A sacrifice in which only speech is at work while the mind wanders is not merely "less effective" — it is a cripple and it falls, dragging the sacrificer down with it: yajñaṁ riṣyantaṁ yajamāno 'nu riṣyati. The rite and the man share one fate; you cannot break the offering and remain whole.
Most fearful is the last line: "having performed such a sacrifice, he becomes worse" (pāpīyān). A careless sacred act is not neutral — it does harm. Words without mind, a rite without heart are not merely "not counted": they destroy: a mechanical prayer trains the soul to stand before the Supreme while absent. That is why the tradition insists so on attention to the holy name: a sound uttered while the mind stands in the other track is that very one-wheeled chariot.