अथात्रैतद्दहरं पुण्डरीकं कुमुदमिवानेकधा विकसितं यथा केशः सहस्रधा भिन्नस्तथा हिता नाम नाड्यो भवन्ति हृद्याकाशे परे कोशे दिव्योऽयमात्मा स्वपिति यत्र सुप्तो न कञ्चन कामं कामयते न कञ्चन स्वप्नं पश्यति न तत्र देवा न देवलोका यज्ञा न यज्ञा वा न माता न पिता न बन्धुर्न बान्धवो न स्तेनो न ब्रह्महा तेजस्कायममृतं सलिल एवेदं सलिलं वनं भूयस्तेनैव मार्गेण जाग्राय धावति सम्राडिति होवाच
athātraitaddaharaṃ puṇḍarīkaṃ kumudamivānekadhā vikasitaṃ yathā keśaḥ sahasradhā bhinnastathā hitā nāma nāḍyo bhavanti hṛdyākāśe pare kośe divyo'yamātmā svapiti yatra supto na kañcana kāmaṃ kāmayate na kañcana svapnaṃ paśyati na tatra devā na devalokā yajñā na yajñā vā na mātā na pitā na bandhurna bāndhavo na steno na brahmahā tejaskāyamamṛtaṃ salila evedaṃ salilaṃ vanaṃ bhūyastenaiva mārgeṇa jāgrāya dhāvati samrāḍiti hovāca
And here is that small lotus, opened into many petals like a water-lily; and as a hair split a thousandfold, such are the channels called hitā. In the space of the heart, in the highest receptacle, this divine self sleeps — where, asleep, it desires no desire and sees no dream. There are neither gods there, nor worlds of gods, nor sacrifices, nor mother, nor father, nor kinsman, nor relation, nor thief, nor slayer of a brāhmaṇa. He is of radiant body, immortal; all is as one water. And by the same path he runs back to waking. “O sovereign!” — so he said.
32a3fdeecb74 · publicado 29 jul 2026, 4:12:03 UTC
Disponible enRUENPasa de verso en verso con
Deep dreamless sleep is described — and described in almost the same words in which the Bṛhadāraṇyaka describes it in Yājñavalkya's conversation with king Janaka. Hence the address at the end: “O sovereign”.
First the lotus of the heart and the hitā channels are named again, “fine as a hair split a thousandfold”. The same image was in the fourth adhyāya of the Kauṣītaki. But there the place was spoken of; here — what happens there.
And what happens is this: “it desires no desire and sees no dream”. Two negations cover the whole of deep sleep. There is no object — nothing to desire; there is no image — nothing to see.
Then comes the list of what is absent, and it is chosen so as to touch everything a man holds by. No gods and no heavenly worlds — all religion recedes. No sacrifices — the rite recedes. No mother and father, kinsman and relation — the family recedes. And no thief, no slayer of a brāhmaṇa — the very distinction of good and evil recedes: there, no one is left to be guilty.
This is not a description of non-being. It ends with two definitions: “of radiant body” and “immortal”. What remains when everything has vanished is not empty but bright.
The image “all is as one water” is obscure and damaged in the manuscripts; but its sense is the same as Yājñavalkya's, where the sleeper is called “one like water, a seer without a second”: where there is no division into beholder and object, all is level, like a still surface.
And the last thing: “by the same path he runs back to waking”. The departure is not final. By the road he went, a man returns — and therefore in the morning he is still the same.