Ashvapati and the Six Brahmanas

Today we read Chandogya V  11 - 24, a long section about five householders who want to know "Which is our self? Who is Brahman?".  They decide to ask a teacher called Uddalaka, but he doubts his ability to answer the question, and takes them instead to see a kshatriya king called Ashvapati.

The passage divided people.  Is Ashvapati's answer really relevant to the question?  Is it satisfactory?  Is the story too artificial?  Others felt that there were attractive passages, for example this reflection on the fire sacrifice:

When Prana becomes satisfied the eye becomes contented; 

when the eye becomes satisfied the sun becomes contented; 

when the sun is satisfied the heaven becomes contented;

when heaven becomes satisfied, then whatever is rules over by heaven and the sun becomes contented.

After that is satisfied, the eater himself becomes contented with progeny, animals, edible food, bodily lustre and the light of knowledge.

Echoes here for me of Tintern Abbey, "with an eye made quiet / By the power of harmony and the deep power of joy / We see into the life of things"

It's interesting to compare this section to that immediately preceding it, V 3-10 - another story in which a kshatriya teaches a brahmana.  In this earlier story the point is very strongly made that what is taught (reincarnation) "was never known among the brahmanas before; therefore in all the worlds the kshatriyas have been the teachers".  Reincarnation was evidently a novel concept at this stage. There is no doubt that some of the Upanishadic ideas must have been developed among kshatriya circles, because of course the brahmanas who preserved the Upanishads are supposed to be the ones with all the knowledge.

Our feeling is that these sections are somewhat less sophisticated.  Hard to say whether they are more primitive, or decadent, or a parallel development.  My inclination is to believe that a story like the one we looked at today is at an early stage.  Ritual is still key, but the internal state is coming to be seen as more important than the actual performance:

Anyone who performs the fire-sacrifice without knowing this [ie about the self], his sacrifice will be like someone who discards the embers and offers in the ashes.

This represents a step on the journey towards the Atman.

The Forgotten Student (2)

We revisited this section again and looked at the final verses in some detail.  A lot was discovered.   This continues from the preceding post.  We are now at 15.1:

He said: “This person that is seen in the eye, this is the Self.  This is deathless, fearless.  This is Brahman.  If anybody pours ghee or water into the eye, it always flows to the eyelashes.”

Like the lotus, the eye is not corrupted by what may go into it.  But what about this person (purusha) seen in the eye?  Three meanings were discussed:
- an image of oneself reflected in the eye
 - the Atman is perceptible in the eye – the eye is the window of the soul
- that which is seen when the eye is turned away from sense-objects (awritta-chakshus, “the eye rolling back upon itself” in the Katha Upanishad)

My sense here is that the first is too simple-minded, and the last too sophisticated for this text.  The second meaning suggests the compelling characteristic of the Atman – that one can really see it in the eye of another. Compare for example Yajnyawalkya and Maitreyi in the Brihad – the idea that we love another for the sake of the Atman; and that we are rejected by another if we see them as other than the Atman. 

Somehow, impossible as it may seem, the straightforward recognition of the Atman in the eye of another is what is meant.

They call him the goal of all attractive things, because all things that are sought after proceed towards him.  All things that are sought after proceed towards this one who knows thus.

All attractive or desirable things proceed towards the Atman, in the sense that what we love in the attractive object is the Atman, is already within us. 

Furthermore, the desirable things proceed towards whoever has this awareness.  Why?  Because (as Yajnyawalkya implies) all things love to be recognised as the Atman.  We do not want to be identified with our job only, or with our personality only.  We want to be regarded as limitless and valuable in ourselves.

This one, again, is indeed the bearer of attractive things, because this one brings all that is sought after.  He who knows thus, bears all attractive things.

The same word is used here (vaama) “attractive things” as in the previous verse.

This one, again, is called the bearer of light, because this one shines in all the worlds.  He who knows thus, shines in all the worlds.

There is a parallel between the vaamaniih (bearer of attractive things) and bhaamaniih (bearer of light).  The rhyme (like Ka and Kha) is suggestive to the Indian mind of a connection.

Now, if again, in the case of this one they perform the last rites or they do not, they verily reach light.  
From light he goes to day,
From day to the bright fortnight,
From the bright fortnight he goes to the six months in which the sun moves northward,
From these months to the year, 
From the year to the sun, 
From the sun to the moon,
From the moon to lightning.

There, an inhuman spirit leads those who are there to Brahma.  This is the divine path, the path of Brahma.  Having reached there, they do not return to this whirl of Manu.

The final verse repeats part of the teaching about reincarnation that is set out in Chandogya V, which I believe is a quotation from the Brihad.  Here, we are not concerned with those that take the other two paths - the dark path for those of good conduct leading to heaven and rebirth, and the darker path of the sinful leading to rebirth as lower creatures and insects - but only with the path of light leading to Brahmaloka.  The spirit goes from light to light, finally becoming lightning.

I'm not sure whether 'Brahman' is masculine or neuter - the latter would indicate the Absolute, the former a more theistic idea. 

NB that last rites are unnecessary for the knower of the Atman.  There can be no clearer indication of the distinction between the ritualistic idea of the Vedas and the more philosophical Upanishads.

The "inhuman spirit" suggests a guardian entity that belongs to a higher realm than than of Manu (the first man?).  The phrase "the whirl of Manu" is very striking!

The forgotten student - Chandogya IV 10 - 15

I won't give a full text for this story, which is another lengthy one, but just want to pick out one or two sections.  I haven't altered much of the translation as it seems good.  This is the sequel to the previous section.  Satyakaama is now a teacher in his own right.

Once upon a time, the son of Kamala, well-known as Upakosala, stayed as a celibate student with Satyakaama Jaabaala.  He served his master's sacrificial fires for twelve years.  But Jaabaala, though he allowed all of the other student to graduate, did not graduate Upakosala.

Jaabaala's wife said to him, "The student, full of austerity, has served the sacrificial fires well.  Let the fires not admonish you. Impart your teaching to him."  But without instructing him, Jaabaala left home.

Sorrowfully, Upakosala resolved to fast.  The teacher's wife begged him, "Student, take food.  Why don't you eat?"  He said, "In this individual there are many desires for all kinds of things.  I am filled with them. I shall not eat."

As with Yajyawalkya and Maitreyi, and the daughter of the king in the story of Raikwa, the role of the feminine is to bring out what has not been spoken or noticed by others.  The teacher's wife notices the neglected student and demands that he have his reward.  But perhaps the teacher knows more than she recognises ...

Then the fires said together, "The student full of austerity has served us well.  If it pleases you, we shall instruct him."  They said to him, 

Praana Brahma (Breath is Brahman)

Ka Brahma  (Joy is Brahman)

Kha Brahma (Space is Brahman)

He said, "I know that Praana is Brahman.  But I do not know Ka and Kha." They replied, "That which we spoke of as Ka is truly Kha; and that which we spoke of as Kha is truly Ka."

This very enigmatic statement suggests that new understanding is being imparted in this Upanishad.  The words Ka and Kha sound similar, which is enough to suggest a connection.  The idea that omnipresent space is Brahman has been said in the Brihad, but the idea of joy or bliss as Brahman seems to be new.  That they are interchangeable suggests that joy is omnipresent, and even empty space is full of bliss.  It seems that the fires offer consolation to the boy.

There is a long conversation in which the three household fires teach the boy, ending with:

They said, "O good looking one, Upakosala, to you has been given the knowledge about us and the knowledge of the Aatman.  But the teacher will tell you of the path."

His teacher returned and said to him, "Upakosala".  "Venerable Sir."

"O good looking one, your face shines like that of a knower of Brahman.  Who indeed has instructed you?"

"Sir, who can instruct me?"  In this way, he prevaricated.  

"These fires, who we see here now, certainly had a different appearance before."  In this way, he spoke of the fires.

"O good looking one, what did they tell you?"

He gestured, saying "This."

"O good looking one, they surely spoke of the worlds only.  But I shall speak to you of That, to the knower of which a sinful act does not stick, as water does not stick to a lotus leaf."

"Venerable sir, please tell me."

Just as happened in the previous story, the teacher finds the student's face bright with knowledge (bhaati, "shining").  (There could perhaps be a connection here to Raikwa, "Through this face you have made me speak"?)  He recognises that he has been taught in his absence by mysterious means.  

The idea seems to be that the teacher will only teach someone who is ready to learn, which in some sense means someone who already has the knowledge.  Upakosala may have been too hard on himself, or perhaps like Satyakaama in the previous story he needed to prove himself in the fire of suffering and self-doubt.  

Once again, the student learns a great deal from the world around him, but this needs to be completed by the teacher.  What he learns from the teacher is about the Aatman, "deathless, fearless", and about the fate of the soul after death when the Aatman has been known.  This passage on reincarnation is a partial repetition of the teaching on this subject by Pravahana Jaivala in the Brihad., a story which is repeated in full shortly after this in the Chandogya itself.

One gets the sense that the author of these two sections of the Upanishad must have had some experiences of being 'taught' in the wilderness by inanimate objects.  The similarity of the two stories, the details such as the embarrassment of the student in each case at being suddenly possessed of secret knowledge, the hint that "these things had a different appearance", all point to an experience that is fresh and not known in the previous literature.

The role of the teacher in completing the knowledge could be seen as psychologically accurate, or perhaps as an attempt to control the dangerous idea of learning that happens without the teacher.

Wonderful stuff ...

The Lover of Truth - Chandogya IV 4-9

Once upon a time, Satyakaama Jaabaala said to his mother, "Honourable mother, I wish to become a celibate student.  What is my lineage?"

She said to him: "O my son, I do not know what your lineage is.  I had you in my youth when I was busy working as a serving-maid.  But my name is Jabaalaa and your name is Satyakaama.  So call yourself Satyakaama Jaabaala.

He approached Haridrumata Gautama, and said, "I wish to live as a celibate student with you, worshipful one.  That is why I have come."

He replied, "To what lineage do you belong, good-looking one?"  He said, "Sir, I do not know this as to which lineage I belong.  I asked my mother and she replied, 'I had you in my youth when I was busy working as a serving-maid.  But my name is Jabaalaa and your name is Satyakaama.' Sir, I am Satyakaama Jaabaala."

To him Gautama said, "A non-Brahmin could not speak like this.  Fetch sticks for the sacrifice, O good-looking one.  I shall initiate you, since you did not diverge from truth."  After initiating him, he selected four hundred head of good cattle from among the thin and the weak, and said, "Drive these cattle, good looking one."  As Satyakama drove them, he said to himself, "I shall not return until they become a thousand". 

As in the previous story of Raikwa of the Cart, Satyakaama would be regarded as an unsuitable person. He is the son of a serving-woman (a shudra, the lowest caste), possibly even of a prostitute.  All he has is his desire for truth (satya-kaama).  His acceptance by the teacher makes the point that the love of truth is more important than any lineage.

The story has an affinity with the Princess and the Pea, or with various fairy tales about youngest sons with no inheritance who win the love of a princess, and are later revealed to have royal blood.  The difference of course is that worth is signalled by wisdom and not royalty.

Although Satyakaama is worthy of being a student, he has to undergo a test and gain understanding before he will receive the teaching.

Many years he lived in exile.  Finally, the herd became a thousand, and a bull spoke: "O Satyakaama."  He responded, "Yes, reverend sir." "We have reached one thousand in number, good-looking one.  Lead us to the house of the teacher."

"I wish to tell you," said the bull, "of one of Brahman's four feet." "Please tell me, reverend sir." He said, "The eastern side is one part, the western side is one part, the southern side is one part, the northern side is one part.  O good looking one, surely this is one foot of Brahman, consisting of four parts, and called the Visible."

(Anyone who knows this one foot of Brahman, consisting of four parts, meditates on it as the Visible, becomes famous in this world. He who meditates upon this one foot as the Visible, wins all the visible worlds.)

The bull said, "Fire will tell you of the next foot." 

When the next day dawned, he drove on the herds of cattle.  When they stopped at nightfall, he brought sticks and lit a fire, and sat behind it, facing East.

Fire spoke: "O Satyakaama."  "Yes, reverend sir"  "I wish to tell you," said the fire, "of one of Brahman's four feet." "Please tell me, reverend sir." He said, "Earth is one part, the atmosphere is one part, heaven is one part, ocean is one part.  O good looking one, surely this is one foot of Brahman, consisting of four parts, and called the Limitless."

(Anyone who knows this one foot of Brahman, consisting of four parts, meditates on it as the Limitless, becomes limitless in this world. He who meditates upon this one foot as the Limitless, wins infinite worlds.)

The fire said, "The swan will tell you of the next foot." 

When the next day dawned, he drove on the herds of cattle.  When they stopped at nightfall, he brought sticks and lit a fire, and sat behind it, facing East.

The swan flew to him and spoke: "O Satyakaama."  "Yes, reverend sir"  "I wish to tell you," said the swan, "of one of Brahman's four feet." "Please tell me, reverend sir." He said, "Fire is one part, the sun is one part, the moon is one part, lightning is one part.  O good looking one, surely this is one foot of Brahman, consisting of four parts, and called the Shining."

(Anyone who knows this one foot of Brahman, consisting of four parts, meditates on it as the Shining, shines in this world. He who meditates upon this one foot as the Shining, wins worlds of light.)

The swan said, "The diver-bird will tell you of the next foot." 

When the next day dawned, he drove on the herds of cattle.  When they stopped at nightfall, he brought sticks and lit a fire, and sat behind it, facing East.

The diver-bird flew near and spoke: "O Satyakaama."  "Yes, reverend sir"  "I wish to tell you," said the bird, "of one of Brahman's four feet." "Please tell me, reverend sir." He said, "Life-force is one part, the eye is one part, the ear is one part, the mind is one part.  O good looking one, surely this is one foot of Brahman, consisting of four parts, and called the Indwelling."

(Anyone who knows this one foot of Brahman, consisting of four parts, meditates on it as the Indwelling, he has a home in this world. He who meditates upon this one foot as the Indwelling, wins worlds within.)

Again, this story challenges many of the accepted ideas about knowledge.  Living in exile without a teacher, Satyakaama is taught by the things around him: his cattle, the fire, the birds. 

He reached the teacher's house.  The teacher spoke, "O Satyakaama." "Yes, reverend sir."  "O good-looking one, you shine in truth like a knower of Brahman.  Who taught you?" "Those things that are not men.  But it is you, revered sir, who should teach me to fulfill my desire".

"For I have heard from the great seers such as you that knowledge acquired from a teacher surely becomes the best."

He spoke this teaching to him. And when he had finished, nothing was left to be said; nothing was left to be said.

Next: Satyakaama himself becomes a teacher.

What This Blog is For

I thought an explanatory note would be helpful.

Every Thursday I'm meeting in Eastbourne with Christine, David, Gaynor and Janine to read the Upanishads. We meet at six AM, meditate for half an hour, and then plunge in. 

Over the first six months we read the Brihadaranyaka, the oldest one.  We didn't read every page, because the philosophical content is mixed in with some earlier ritualistic stuff, and also some later additions that are not so sophisticated.  We finished it in October and we're now on to the Chandogya Upanishad, thought to be the next oldest because it quotes the Brihad, although a lot of it is of similar vintage.

The blog postings so far have offered rough, mainly literal translations of the text. I've got a basic knowledge of Sanskrit which, combined with a lot of enthusiasm and the Advaita Ashrama edition which translates each word individually, more or less gets me through. Often I get glimpses of a beauty that is almost, though not completely, obscured by the Indian translations.  This is why I've wanted to translate the text as we go.

Apart from that I've added some comments to help clarify certain points.

I would like to do more - for example talk about what was said in our conversations - but it would take too long.  I'm hoping that some of the gang might fill in gaps there, but if not it doesn't matter much.   What we have so far is like a set of lecture notes, and if it develops in some unforeseeen way, that's all to the good.

Anyone is welcome to participate on this blog, and if you have any questions, please comment.

Raikwa of the Cart - Chandogya IV 1 & 2

I've done a fairly free translation here, as the key thing is the story. It's a kind of fairy tale, but with a lot to consider. The story is the first in section IV of the Upanishad; there are more like this to follow, but none perhaps so unusual.

Once upon a time there was a descendant of Jaanashruta, the grandson of his son, who offered gifts respectfully, gave alms in plenty, and fed many. He had rest-houses built everywhere, with the thought, "I will feed the people everywhere". He was called Jaanashruti Pautraayana.

Then once, two swans came flying in the night to where Jaanashruti slept. He woke up when he heard their wings, and was astonished to hear them speak. This is what they said.

The first swan spoke mockingly to the other, "You are far-sighted indeed! Do you not see how the lustrous fame of Jaanashruti spreads everywhere like the light of heaven. Don't touch it - it will burn you!"
The second replied, as quick as anything, "What, who is this individual you are speaking about, as though he were the equal of Raikwa of the Cart?" The first said, "Who is this Raikwa of the Cart?"
"Just as in a game of dice, the highest throw wins over all the others, so all virtuous deeds people may do are outdone by Raikwa. Only someone who knows what Raikwa knows, is like Raikwa. That is who I am talking about."

Jaanashruti overheard this conversation, and as soon as he got up the next morning, he spoke to his charioteer bitterly. "You have praised me in the past, as though I were the equal of Raikwa of the Cart". The charioteer asked in surprise, "What kind of a man is this Raikwa of the Cart?" And Jaanashruti repeated what the swan had said: "Just as in a game of dice, the highest throw wins over all the others, so all virtuous deeds people may do are outdone by Raikwa. Only someone who knows what Raikwa knows, is like Raikwa. That is who I am talking about."

The charioteer was ordered by the king to search everywhere for the great Raikwa, and he searched through all the towns and villages for a king or nobleman of this name. He returned without success. When he reported this to the king, he was told: "Then look for him in the places that a holy man would live!" The charioteer wandered through the forests and lonely places, but nowhere could he find Raikwa.

At last he sat down, discouraged and worn-out, leaning against an old cartwheel, and next to him he saw a man, lying underneath the cart, busy scratching himself. The charioteer was amazed, and said, "Are you, Sir, Raikwa of the Cart?" The man replied, "I am indeed", and having heard that the charioteer returned to tell the king what he had found.

Jaanashruti Pautraayana gathered six hundred head of cattle, a gold necklace, a chariot drawn by she-mules, and travelled to the place.
"O Raikwa!" he said, "Here are six hundred heads of cattle, a fine gold necklace, and a chariot drawn by she-mules. Sir, please teach me about that deity on whom you meditate."
But Raikwa was unimpressed at this offer, and replied scornfully: "Peasant! Keep your chariot, necklace and cows!"

Jaanashruti returned once more, this time with a thousand head of cattle, a gold necklace, a chariot drawn by she-mules, and his daughter. He offered all this to Raikwa, together with the village where he lived, asking once more, "please teach me, Sir".
Gazing on Jaanashruti's daughter's face, Raikwa said, "Well, peasant, you have brought these; and through this very face you will make me speak". And to him he imparted his knowledge.

Chandogya IV, I-II

The king has to give what is most precious to him to get the knowledge.  Raikwa is neither a brahmana nor a kshatriya, nor does he do good deeds like the king, but his knowledge ("the deity on whom you meditate") is more valuable than anything.  Also interesting is the role of the daughter: the feminine is what brings the secret knowledge into the open.

They see the light of the day

These are described in the Chandogya as a pair of Rik-mantras. I don't know what that means, but they appear to be fragments handed down by tradition. One or two syllables are, according to the commentator, meaningless. So we are dealing with some very ancient words that have been passed down for centuries. I have given a literal translation here.

This is one of many meditations on the sun in the Upanishads. Whoever composed these mantras was moved to worship the sun, the source of life and light, and found in it a reflection of "the light that is ours", the light in the heart of our being.

आदित्पत्नास्य रेतसः ज्योतिः पश्यन्ति वासरम। पारो यदिध्यते दिवि ॥ ७ ॥

They see the light of the day, the everlasting source, that which shines supreme in the luminous heaven.

उद्वयन तमासपरी ज्योतिः पश्यनता उत्तरंग स्वः पश्यनता उत्तरं देवन देवत्रा सुर्यमागंमा ज्योतिरुत्तममिति ज्योतितुत्तामामिति ॥ ८ ॥

"We have seen beyond darkness the supreme light that is ours, have seen the supreme, he who is brightest among lights.
We have attained that sun that is the best of all lights, the best of all lights."
Chandogya III 17 7-8

I am struck once more by the simplicity of the Sanskrit, tricky as it is to tease out the meaning. It's hard to understand how the translation in the Advaita Ashrama edition has been arrived at:

In the supreme Brahman which is the oldest and is the source of the world, they (the knowers of Brahman) visualize everywhere that supreme Light which shines like the all-pervading daylight.
Having realised the Light (in the sun), which is the dispeller of ignorance, (and) which is non-different from the Light within our hearts-having visualized the Light which is higher than other lights-, we have attained the Sun, the Light that is the best of all lights, bright among the lights.

I am continually struck by how over-complicated the standard translations are. Shankara's 8th Century AD commentary is lucid, but he deliberately adds things to the text that are not there, in order to prove that the Upanishads are an expression of his Advaita Vedanta philosophy.
He's not wrong to find that philosophy in the Upanishads, but I think he does them a disservice when he tries to find only that philosophy.

We also read III, 19 today, a delightful creation myth involving an egg that becomes the universe, with the sun born out of it.

I take refuge in the indestructible treasury

This is a mysterious and delightful short section from the Chandogya. It imagines the world as a treasury or treasure-chest. Dive in to the chest and see what you find ...


The treasury which has the atmosphere as its inside, and the earth as its bottom, is never spent. The directions themselves are its corners, heaven is its upper opening. This treasury which is such, is the vault for wealth. In it is held all this.

The name of the eastern side is Juhuu, the southern is Sahamaanaa, the western is Raajnii, the northern is Subhutaa. Air is their son. He who knows this air as the son of the directions, he needs not cry for the loss of a son.

‘I have known this air as the son of the directions. May I not have to cry for the loss of a son.’

‘I take shelter in the indestructible treasury through this one, this one, this one.
‘I take shelter in the vital force through this one, this one, this one.
‘I take shelter in the earth through this one, this one, this one.
‘I take shelter in the atmosphere through this one, this one, this one.
‘I take shelter in heaven through this one, this one, this one.’

‘When I said, “I take shelter in the vital force”, I meant: “The vital force is indeed all this that exists. Thereby, I take refuge in that itself.”'

‘Then, when I said, “I take refuge in the earth”, I meant: “I take refuge in the earth, I take refuge in the atmosphere, I take refuge in heaven.”'

‘Then, when I said, “I take refuge in the atmosphere”, I meant: “I take refuge in fire, I take refuge in air, I take refuge in the sun.”'

‘Then, when I said, “I take refuge in heaven”, I meant, I surely meant: “I take refuge in Rig Veda, I take refuge in Yajur-Veda, I take refuge in Saama-Veda.”'


Chandogya Upanishad III, 15

The treasury (kosha कोष ) consists of the three worlds spoken of in the Vedas: bhu (earth), bhuvah (atmosphere) and svah (heaven). It is therefore “all this”, that is, the entire universe. "kosha" is a covering or receptacle and comes from a root word meaning "to embrace".

Interestingly, the word kosha later comes to be an important part of yoga philosophy, where it means a "sheath". There are said to be "five sheaths" (koshas) - food, breath, mind, intellect and bliss - that enfold the consciousness. It is a matter of interpretation whether the koshas are covering up the consciousness or embracing and supporting it; in this passage from the Chandogya, it is definitely the latter.

I don’t know the significance of the four names for the directions, but the crucial point, it seems, is that the air (vaayuh) is their son. Vaayuh is the god of the wind, the air. In these early Upanishads vaayuh is important because it is the cosmic equivalent to the life-force, the life-breath within the body, praana. The relation of vaayu to the universe is the same as the prana to the body: the most subtle essence, within or behind which is to be found the self (aatman आत्मन ).

This is why the knowledge of the air is the ultimate consolation. If one knows the air, one knows the praana; and if one knows the praana, then one knows the one that is beyond death. Even the death of a son (which in Vedic culture means that there is no-one to perform the death duties that carry the spirit of the father to heaven, and is therefore the ultimate misfortune) is no cause for mourning. The son does not really die, and nor does the father.

He takes shelter in the indestructible treasury that is this universe “through this one, this one, this one”. (Gambhiranananda translates as "for the sake of this one", but amunaa means "by means of/through this one").

It seems mysterious that shelter is taken “through this one”: it might be expected that he takes shelter in this one, and not in the universe. Perhaps the knowledge of this one (amunaa) is what allows someone to shelter in the universe. Unless the one is known, the all is a threat and a burden; but when it is known, then one can take a place within “all this” without fear.

The repetition "I meant, I surely meant" is a typical stylistic point of the final verses in the chapters of this Upanishad.

I don't know about anyone else, but for me this chapter has the characteristic savour of the oldest Upanishads. It has a unique poetic vision, apparently that of some sage whose name has been lost but whose words (in quotation marks here) have been preserved. The earlier and later verses may be written at a later date; it's hard to say. Is the son, who may or may not be lost, the "one"? Or is it the self, the spirit? Grief and the transcendence of grief each make their presence felt, and in the background is the holiest of the Vedic chants, the Gayatri mantra: "bhur bhuvah svah ..." ("earth, atmosphere, heaven ...").