Commentary on the Panchadasi

by Swami Krishnananda

Nava saṅkhyā hṛta jñāno daśamo vibhramāt tadā, na vetti daśamo’smīti vīkṣya māṇo’pi tān nava (23). In the case of the illustration of the ten persons crossing a river and wanting to know if all are alive, one of them counted the rest of them and found there were only nine. And every time the counting showed only nine in number; one was missing.

The concentration of the mind on the nine persons was so intense that the mind had lost its awareness of its abode being in the counter himself. We never feel that we are anything worth the while in this world in comparison with the vast figure of this mighty world in front of us. The number outweighs the quality of the counting individual.

Quantitatively the world is bigger than every individual; it is perfectly true. The astronomical universe is so large that it can pound to dust even the strongest of persons in the world. But this person who is capable of being pounded by the majesty and the power of the cosmos is aware that he is being pounded, whereas the universe does not know that it is pounding this person. If a stone falls on a person and crushes him, it does not follow that the stone is superior to that person. The stone does not know that it is crushing a person, whereas the person is aware that he is being crushed. Here is the difference between the two categories. Quantity is not always the criterion of the judgement of value. Quality is superior. The quality of consciousness in the human individual surpasses all other quantitative numbers in other species of beings.

Coming back to the story of the man who counted nine men, the concentration of the mind was on the number nine because he was seeing nine people – as his eyes were fixed on the nine people – and whatever was seen with the eyes was alone considered as rea,l and whatever was not visible did not exist. The person who was counting the nine people did not exist at all because existence is identified with perceptibility. That which is seen is there; if it is not seen, it is not there. Such is the illusion that is cast by the engagement of consciousness on external quantity, forgetting completely the qualitative importance of its otherwise so-called individuality.

Na bhāti nāsti daśama iti svaṁ daśamaṁ tadā, matvā vakti tadajñāna kṛtam āvaraṇaṁ viduḥ (24). The people who do not find the tenth man, what do they say? They say that such a person, the tenth one, does not exist. He is no more there, as he is not seen. He is not seen and, therefore, he is not there. This veil of ignorance that prevents the person who counts from knowing (counting) himself is called avarana, or a veil projected by the ignorance of the presence of that person.

First of all there is an abolition of the consciousness of one's own existence on account of the intense consciousness of only other people. The annihilation of self-consciousness in respect of oneself covers the consciousness of one's own self. That covering is called veil. The ignorance as such is called ajnana. Ajnana and avarana are two aspects of not knowing a thing which is really there.

Nadyāṁ mamāra daśama iti śocan praroditi, ajñān kṛta vikṣepaṁ rodanādiṁ vidur buḍhāh (25). The tenth man has been drowned in the water, and so all the people start crying because one person has been drowned in the river. The ignorance of the tenth person being there causes the vikshepa or the distraction, the outward consciousness of grief and crying, etc. There is, first of all, no knowledge at all of that which is there. Now, secondly, there is knowledge of the fact of grief caused by the absence of the person who is not visible.

Firstly, there is an ignorance, then there is a veil, and then there is an actual engagement in some action, which is called vikshepa or distraction. In the case of this illustration, the distraction or the vikshepa is the act of crying, hitting the head against the wall, causing a bleeding wound, etc. These are the outcome in the form of vikshepa, of the ignorance of the fact of there being the tenth person.

Na mṛto daśamo’stīti śrutvāpta vacanaṁ tadā, parokṣa tvena daśamaṁ vetti svargādi lokavat (26). Suppose some passerby says that all the ten are alive, and he shows by an actual demonstration of counting that the ten are there. He tells the man who counted to also stand in the line, and then he says, "See, you are ten." This is called indirect knowledge. The tenth man is existing. Here the knowledge is indirectly gained by hearing the words of a reliable person who came that way.

The tenth man is not dead; the tenth man is alive. This is the good word that they heard, as a word that comes from the Guru. This kind of knowledge is indirect knowledge. Direct experience is not there, but at least there is a conviction born of the words heard from a reliable person that the tenth man does exist. "The Atman does exist," says the Guru. Nobody has seen the Atman, but even this good word is sufficiently comforting and a solace.

Seeing the Atman separately, independently by experience, is a different matter. That is called direct knowledge. But indirect knowledge is also good enough because it gives some kind of satisfaction: After all, it is there; it is not that it is not there. This kind of knowledge, obtained secondarily from someone, is called indirect knowledge – paroksa jnana.

Tvameva daśamo’sīti gaṇayitvā pradarśitaḥ, aparokṣa tayā jñātvā hṛṣyatyeva na roditi (27). Then that gentleman who counted the ten says, "You are the tenth." First it was said that the tenth person does exist. Now he says, "You, yourself, who was counting, are the tenth." That person has now become conscious of his own self as the tenth person. The missing one is one's own self. Therefore, the knowledge arises here directly, apart from the indirect knowledge obtained earlier by merely listening to the truth that the tenth man existed.

We are searching for the Atman in this world. We go to Brindavan, Mathura, Kashi, etc., in order to search for the Atman. We may run about anywhere, but we will not find it. “Ayodhya dhoondha, Mathura dhoondha,” says Kabir in his poem, "and I found not anything there. I found it in the same place where I was sitting." So we are in search of our own selves in our large pilgrimages, large tours. We are searching for our own selves sitting where we are. We have lost our own selves. The tenth man cannot be found by any amount of travelling and moving about in pilgrimage, etc., because it is an awareness that is necessary for the purpose of dispelling that ignorance of the tenth man not being there.

Ajñānā vṛti vikṣepa dvividha jñāna tṛptayaḥ, śokāpagama ityete yojanīyā ścidātmani (28). This jiva consciousness passes through seven stages of experience. The whole of the seventh chapter of the Panchadasi is an exposition of these seven stages. The first stage is total ignorance of there being such a thing called the Atman. The second stage is a veiling of the consciousness and making one feel that it is not existing because it is not seen. The third stage is the distraction or the activity that is generated by the ignorance of one's own self. The fourth stage is the indirect knowledge that we receive from a Guru or a good, reliable person. The fifth stage is direct knowledge, actual experience. The sixth stage is the vanishing of all sorrow. The seventh is immense satisfaction.

Ajnana is first. Avriti is second. Vikshepa is third. Paroksa jnana is fourth. Aparoksa jnana is fifth. Tripti is sixth. Shokapagama, the abolition of all sorrow and the coming of happiness, is the seventh stage. These seven stages are the processes which the jiva consciousness passes through in its transmigratory life in search of truth.

Saṁsārā sakta cittaḥ sanś cidā bhāsaḥ kadācana, svayaṁ prakāśa kūṭasthaṁ svatattvaṁ naiva vettyayam (29). The jiva consciousness, notwithstanding the fact that it is existing only on account of a reflection that it receives from the Kutastha, knows not the Kutastha. As we cannot see our own back, the jiva consciousness cannot know the Kutastha. The Kutastha is at the back of the jiva consciousness. It is the real light that is shed on the jiva medium. And what does the jiva feel? It identifies itself with the reflection only and cannot know wherefrom this reflection has come. It concludes, "I do not know the Kutastha."

Na bhāti nāsti kūṭasthaḥ iti vakti prasaṅgataḥ, kartā bhoktā hamasmīti vikṣepaṁ prati padyate (30). Neither do I see the Kutastha Atman, nor do I feel that it exists at all. This is one side of the matter. The other side of the matter is the jiva begins to feel, "I am the doer of all deeds. I am the enjoyer of all experiences. I am the enjoyer and I am the doer.” This is the feeling, wrongly, which the jiva associates with itself. On the one hand, it denies the existence of the Atman or the Kutastha because it is not known. On the other hand, it assumes a false notion of itself being an individual doer and an enjoyer of things. It is like a mirror crying "I am very bright." The mirror is not bright because it cannot shine in darkness. It shines because of the light that is falling on it. So this boast of the jiva that it is the doer and the enjoyer of things is totally unfounded.

Asti kūṭastha ityādau parokṣaṁ vetti vārtayā, paścāt kūṭastha evāsmī tyevaṁ vetti vicārataḥ (31). By a gradual process of spiritual education, this jiva begins to realise through instructions received from the Guru or the master and the scripture that the Kutastha does exist. The Atman is. God is. For all practical purposes, we are deniers of God and the Atman. Nothing is seen about God; nothing is there about the Atman. How can we know that it exists? By certain methods of argument, proof and scriptural evidence, the Guru manages to convince the student that God does exist and the Atman is. This is indirect knowledge. Direct knowledge is the actual sinking of oneself into the Kutastha Atman and attaining God-consciousness by itself. That is direct knowledge, aparoksa jnana.