अथ ह प्राणम् ऊचुः त्वं नः उद्गाय इति तथा इति तेभ्यः प्राणः उदगायत् यः प्राणे भोगः तम् देवेभ्यः आगायत् यत् कल्याणम् जिघ्रति तद् आत्मने ते अविदुः अनेन वै नः उद्गात्रा अत्येष्यन्ति इति तम् अभिद्रुत्य पाप्मना अविध्यन् सः यः सः पाप्मा यद् एव इदम् अप्रतिरूपम् जिघ्रति सः एव सः पाप्मा
atha ha prāṇam ūcuḥ tvaṃ naḥ udgāya iti tathā iti tebhyaḥ prāṇaḥ udagāyat yaḥ prāṇe bhogaḥ tam devebhyaḥ āgāyat yat kalyāṇam jighrati tad ātmane te aviduḥ anena vai naḥ udgātrā atyeṣyanti iti tam abhidrutya pāpmanā avidhyan saḥ yaḥ saḥ pāpmā yad eva idam apratirūpam jighrati saḥ eva saḥ pāpmā
Then they said to the breath of smell: "Sing the udgītha for us!" — "So be it," and it sang: the enjoyment that is in smell it sang out for the gods, but the good that lies in smelling it sang for itself. The asuras understood: "With this singer they will surpass us!" — they fell upon it and pierced it with evil. That evil is the unseemly thing that people smell: that is the very evil.
8d60c18d8b80 · published Jul 27, 2026, 12:39:35 AM UTC
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The second singer is the sense of smell (prāṇa here is the nose, the breath of scent), and the same crack: the fragrant share for itself. And the same outcome: pierced; the trace is "unseemly smelling", the attraction to the foul odours of the world, to everything rank in which a soul knows how to take pleasure.
The list will run through all the gates of perception, and it is worth reading as a mirror: every sense was originally a singer of the sacrifice — and every one was wounded the moment it sang for itself. The ascesis of the senses of which the tradition speaks so much is not enmity toward them but the healing of old wounds: to give back to eye, ear and tongue their first office — to sing to God.