बाल्येन तिष्ठासेद्बालस्वभावोऽसङ्गो निरवद्यो मौनेन पाण्डित्येन निरवधिकारतयोपलभ्येत कैवल्यमुक्तं निगमनं प्रजापतिरुवाच महत्पदं ज्ञात्वा वृक्षमूले वसेत कुचेलोऽसहाय एकाकी समाधिस्थ आत्मकाम आप्तकामो निष्कामो जीर्णकामो हस्तिनि सिंहे दंशे मशके नकुले सर्पराक्षसगन्धर्वे मृत्यो रूपाणि विदित्वा न बिभेति कुतश्चनेति वृक्षमिव तिष्ठासेच्छिद्यमानोऽपि न कुप्येत न कम्पेतोत्पलमिव तिष्ठासेच्छिद्यमानोऽपि न कुप्येत न कम्पेताकाशमिव तिष्ठासेच्छिद्यमानोऽपि न कुप्येत न कम्पेत सत्येन तिष्ठासेत्सत्योऽयमात्मा
bālyena tiṣṭhāsedbālasvabhāvo'saṅgo niravadyo maunena pāṇḍityena niravadhikāratayopalabhyeta kaivalyamuktaṃ nigamanaṃ prajāpatiruvāca mahatpadaṃ jñātvā vṛkṣamūle vaseta kucelo'sahāya ekākī samādhistha ātmakāma āptakāmo niṣkāmo jīrṇakāmo hastini siṃhe daṃśe maśake nakule sarparākṣasagandharve mṛtyo rūpāṇi viditvā na bibheti kutaścaneti vṛkṣamiva tiṣṭhāsecchidyamāno'pi na kupyeta na kampetotpalamiva tiṣṭhāsecchidyamāno'pi na kupyeta na kampetākāśamiva tiṣṭhāsecchidyamāno'pi na kupyeta na kampeta satyena tiṣṭhāsetsatyo'yamātmā
Let him stand in childlikeness: of a child's nature, unattached, blameless; by silence, learning and claimlessness let him obtain. Freedom is declared — this is the conclusion. Prajāpati said: having known the great place, let him live at the root of a tree, ill-clad, companionless, alone, established in concentration, desiring the Self, with desires attained, desireless, with desires worn out. And, having known the forms of death — in the elephant, the lion, the gadfly, the mosquito, the mongoose, the snake, the rākṣasa and the gandharva — he fears from nowhere. Let him stand like a tree: even when cut, let him not grow angry nor waver. Let him stand like a lotus: even when cut, let him not grow angry nor waver. Let him stand like space: even when cut, let him not grow angry nor waver. Let him stand by truth: true is this Self.
c0822af4ef5c · 发布于 2026年7月29日 04:12:03 UTC
可用语言RUEN用方向键翻颂
Instruction to the renouncer, and it begins with an unexpected word: bālya, “childlikeness”.
One must live “with a child's nature”: unattached and blameless. A child hoards nothing, claims nothing and sets himself above no one; nor is he virtuous — he simply has not yet learned to be otherwise. The renouncer is told to return to this.
To childlikeness are added silence and learning, and to them a third — niravadhikāratā, “claimlessness”, the absence of rights. The word is rare and strong: not the renunciation of property, but the renunciation of claim to anything whatever, including the standing of a knower.
Then Prajāpati speaks, and his instruction is entirely material: live under a tree, in poor clothing, without companion, alone. No cloister, no community.
And then — four words about desires in a row, and their order is remarkable: ātmakāma, “desiring the Self”; āptakāma, “with the desired attained”; niṣkāma, “desireless”; jīrṇakāma, “with desires worn out”. The last is the most exact: the desires are not torn out by the root; they have worn out, like old clothes. This is more honest than declaring them conquered.
Then a list of creatures — elephant, lion, gadfly, mosquito, mongoose, snake — and it is said that all these are “the forms of death”. Death is not in one dreadful beast; it is in the mosquito too. And he who has recognised her in all her forms “fears from nowhere”.
And three comparisons close it, repeated with one and the same refrain: like a tree, like a lotus, like space — “even when cut, let him not grow angry nor waver”. A tree is felled, and it stands; a lotus is cut; space cannot be cut at all — the sword passes through, leaving no trace.
The three images go in ascent: the first endures, the second does not resist, the third is invulnerable. And the same two verbs that stood in the ninth khaṇḍa: does not grow angry and does not waver. The measure of holiness here too is given in its most testable form.