अथातो दैवः परिमर एतद्वै ब्रह्म दीप्यते यदग्निर्ज्वलत्यथैतन्म्रियते यन्न ज्वलति तस्यादित्यमेव तेजो गच्छति वायुं प्राण एतद्वै ब्रह्म दीप्यते यथादित्यो दृश्यतेऽथैतन्म्रियते यन्न दृश्यते तस्य चन्द्रमसमेव तेजो गचछति वायुं प्राण एतद्वै ब्रह्म दीप्यते यच्चन्द्रमा दृश्यते । अथैतन्म्रियते यन्न दृश्यते तस्य विद्युतमेव तेजो गच्छति वायुं प्राण एतद्वै ब्रह्म दीप्यते यद्विद्युद्विद्योततेऽथैतन्म्रियते यन्न विद्योतते तस्य वायुमेव तेजो गच्छति वायुं प्राणः । ता वा एताः सर्वा देवता वायुमेव प्रविश्य वायौ मृता न मृच्छन्ते तस्मादेव उ पुनरुदीरत इत्यधिदैवतमथाध्यात्मम्
athāto daivaḥ parimara etadvai brahma dīpyate yadagnirjvalatyathaitanmriyate yanna jvalati tasyādityameva tejo gacchati vāyuṃ prāṇa etadvai brahma dīpyate yathādityo dṛśyate'thaitanmriyate yanna dṛśyate tasya candramasameva tejo gacachati vāyuṃ prāṇa etadvai brahma dīpyate yaccandramā dṛśyate | athaitanmriyate yanna dṛśyate tasya vidyutameva tejo gacchati vāyuṃ prāṇa etadvai brahma dīpyate yadvidyudvidyotate'thaitanmriyate yanna vidyotate tasya vāyumeva tejo gacchati vāyuṃ prāṇaḥ | tā vā etāḥ sarvā devatā vāyumeva praviśya vāyau mṛtā na mṛcchante tasmādeva u punarudīrata ityadhidaivatamathādhyātmam
Now — the divine dying-around. This Brahman shines when the fire burns, and dies when it does not burn; its radiance then goes to the sun, and its breath to the wind. This Brahman shines when the sun is seen, and dies when it is not seen; its radiance goes to the moon, and its breath to the wind. This Brahman shines when the moon is seen, and dies when it is not seen; its radiance goes to the lightning, and its breath to the wind. This Brahman shines when the lightning flashes, and dies when it does not flash; its radiance goes to the wind, and its breath to the wind. All these deities, having entered the wind, though dead in the wind do not perish — therefore they rise up again. So much concerning the deities; now — concerning oneself.
1ff990ffdb86 · प्रकाशित 29 जुल॰ 2026, 3:43:45 am UTC
उपलब्ध भाषाएँRUENश्लोक बदलें इन कुंजियों से
The strange-sounding title — “dying-around”, parimara — means a chain of extinguishings: one after another the lights go out, and each hands its radiance on to the next.
The order is this: the fire goes out — its heat passes to the sun; the sun sets — to the moon; the moon wanes — to the lightning; the lightning fades — to the wind. The observation here is plain and exact: light in the world is not lost, it passes over. And every passage has one common destination for the breath: all prāṇa goes to the wind.
The wind proves last for this reason: it alone does not go out. The lightning flashes and vanishes, the sun sets, the fire burns down — but the wind has neither rising nor setting. Hence it is said: the deities, “though dead in the wind, do not perish”.
The phrase is deliberately sharp: mṛtā na mṛcchante — “the dead do not die”. The death of the lights is called death without any softening; and at once it is said that it is no annihilation. Therefore they “rise up again”: tomorrow the sun will rise once more and the fire will burn once more.
And that is the mantra's teaching. What we call perishing proves each time a passage into what does not go out; and return is possible precisely because there was somewhere to go.
The closing words are the usual Upaniṣadic pair: “concerning the deities” and “concerning oneself”. All that was said of the lights will now be repeated of the man; and there, in place of the wind, will stand prāṇa. So the book prepares its chief argument: what the wind is to the gods, the breath is to us.