Commentary on the Panchadasi

by Swami Krishnananda

Discourse 36

Chapter 6: Chitradipa – Light on the Analogy of a Painted Picture
Verses 263-290

Granthi bhede'pi saṁbhāvyā icchāḥ prārabdha doṣataḥ, buddhvāpi pāpa bāhulyāt asantoṣo yathā tava (263). Even if one overcomes the impulses of these granthis, or the knots of the heart—that is, avidya, kama, karma—their effect does not completely leave a person on account of the impulse of prarabdha itself. We have already noticed the extent to which prarabdha can act upon even a jivanmukta purusha. The sanchita karmas, the accumulated store of actions, are burnt up by knowledge. Therefore, there is no future birth for a jivanmukta. The cause for another birth, which is the remnant of the storehouse of desire, is no more there, so the jivanmukta will not be reborn into this world.

There is another kind of karma, called agami karma: fresh actions performed every day and added to the existing storehouse of sanchita. The jivanmukta does not perform fresh actions. He is a detached person and, therefore, in his case there is no action with a desire behind it. The only thing that persists with him is prarabdha, which has given birth to this body; and so, on account of the persistence of this prarabdha, some kind of desires, peculiar impulses, longings, etc., may be seen even in a jivanmukta.

Varieties of jivanmuktas are there. They are all curious persons. One does not behave in the same way as the other behaves. Jadabharata was a jivanmukta, but he was like an idiot. He would not talk to anybody; he sat there like a stone. Vasishtha was a great jivanmukta, but was a great ritualist. Every day he would perform yajnas, havanas, agnihotras in the most traditional Mimamsa fashion. Shuka was a brahmanistha. He did not even know that he had a body. Clothes used to slip away from his body, and he would not know that the clothes had gone. He would walk like a raving madman, and children would pelt stones at him, thinking that he was crazy. Such was the condition of Shuka, a jivanmukta. Vyasa was a jivanmukta. He was a poetic writer, a writer of great literature, who wrote all the scriptures; he was another kind altogether. Lord Krishna was a jivanmukta, and we know what kind of person Krishna was—impossible to describe.

That is, there are various causes behind the different behaviours of these great men. The kind of personality that they assumed—either the personality was assumed deliberately as an incarnation, as in the case of Lord Krishna, or the personality had been thrust upon them somehow or other by the prarabdha karma—in either case, the propulsion from the nature of the personality varied. That is why different great men behave differently. They are not uniform in their thinking, and sometimes they appear contradictory.

We may say that Jadabharata and Lord Krishna were opposites, and yet they were equal in knowledge and power. The power of these people is unthinkable. Jadabharata was a hefty, stout boy. He was sitting quietly, without talking to any person, and one night some dacoits caught hold of him. They wanted to offer him to Kali by beheading him. He would not say anything. They dragged him, and tied him with a rope; he would not utter one word. Even when Jadabharata was tied to a pillar where he was to be offered, and the priest sprinkled holy water on his body, he would not utter one word; he was just blinking. Then the sword was lifted by the priest to behead him. Immediately that image of Kali burst forth, and the real Kali came out. She pulled the sword from the hand of the priest and beheaded all those dacoits, and nobody was left alive except for Jadabharata. She untied him, and left.

What is this mystery? Can we imagine that such a thing is possible? This story is in the Bhagavata Mahapurana. What power these people have! What power! Yet, their prarabdha is there, which goes on harassing them with this little body. Yesterday I told you the story of Vasishtha, and today I told you the story of Jadabharata. They are peculiar people, but wonderful people—Godmen, all equal.

Ahaṁkāra gate cchādyaiḥ deha vyādhyādibhi stathā, vṛkṣādi janma naśairvā cidrūpāt mani kiṁ bhavet (264). Nothing worries them. If somebody is cutting a tree in the forest, we are not bothered. Let them cut it. Nothing is happening, though the tree in the forest is being cut by somebody. So many are climbing trees and chopping off branches for fuel. Are we worried about all these things? We look at these events taking place as if they are not taking place at all. Many events in the world which are causes of great anxiety to people like us are no events at all for these Godmen, as if they do not take place. If the prarabdha which is working through this body manifests itself in the form of some experience—as Jadabharata had an experience, for instance—it matters not to them. Whether they are alive or dead, it makes no difference, because essentially they cannot die. And even if they are alive, it is not a great virtue for them because, after all, what is this life except through this body born of prarabdha? Birth and death mean the same thing.

Granthi bhedāt purā pyevam iti cettanna vismara, ayameva granthi bhedaḥ tava tena kṛtī bhavān (265). The breaking of the knots of the heart, the destruction of avidya, kama and karma, is an eternal event. Actually, avidya, kama and karma do not exist at all, just as a limitation to vast ether does not exist, even if it appears that the ether is thrust into the pot, as it were. This knowledge that avidya, kama, karma did not even exist right from the beginning itself, is itself the destruction of avidya, kama, karma. When we know that the world was never created, the world does not exist for us. Only when we believe that it is there in front of us like a hard wall or a rock, it harasses us. The destruction of the granthis—avidya, kama, karma—is virtually the same as the realisation of the fact that they never existed at all at any time.

Naivaṁ jānanti mūḍhāś cet so'yaṁ granthir na cāparaḥ, granthi tad bheda mātreṇa vaiṣamyaṁ mūḍha buddhaoḥ (266). But ordinary people are not aware of the fact that avidya, kama, karma have no substantiality. The not knowing this fact itself is a granthi. This is the bondage of these people who have no proper illumination. For the illumined person, the granthis did not exist at any time at all and, therefore, they do not exist even now. But the ignorant person who cannot believe that they did not exist at any time considers them as solid realities. The difference between an ignorant person and an illumined person is that a non-existent thing is considered to be existing in the case of the ignorant person, and in the case of the enlightened person, even that which appears to be existing is known to be non-existing, finally. This is the difference between an illumined person and an ignorant one.

Pravṛttau vā nivṛttau vā dehendriya manodhiyām, na kiñchidapi vaiṣamyam astya jñāni vibuddhayoḥ (267). But outwardly they are all the same. When we see a person, we cannot know whether he is a fool or a Godman. They look the same. Godmen eat the same food, they speak the same language, and they behave practically in the same way—like children, like fools, like wise men. With old men, they are like old men; with children, they are like children; with youths, they are like youths; with ignorant people, they behave like ignorant people; with wise men, they behave like wise men; and with a person whose back is bent, they have a bent back. There is no personality for them.

Swami Sivanandaji Maharaj was like that. He had no personality of his own. He was just the same as the person whom he saw in front of him. Whatever we were, that he was at that time, as he had no personality himself. If we cried, he would sympathise. If we laughed, he would say, “Wonderful!” Both were equally good.

The pravritti and nivritti, the action-oriented behaviour or the absence of action in the case of these people, makes no difference to them. The coming and going of things, and the evolution and involution of the universe are matters of great consequence for us. These Godmen see a thing there, of course, but they do not make any difference between the jnani and the ajnani. The outward behaviour cannot be regarded as the criterion for the inner character of a person. We cannot know a person by merely looking at that person from outside. Outwardly, they look the same.

There was a Dr. S. K. Krishnan. He was the director of the National Physical Laboratory, a very famous facility. One day he came here, wearing a turban. Swamiji said a special seat must be arranged for him, and every arrangement was made to give him a comfortable seat just near Gurudev. When Dr. Krishnan was about to sit on that seat, the boy who was preparing the seat said, “Don't sit here. This is meant for Dr. Krishnan.” “Oh, I see. Okay,” Dr. Krishnan said. He went and sat on the other side, in the corner. This is the greatness of the man. He did not say, “I am Dr. Krishnan.” “Oh, I see,” he said. And when Gurudev arrived for satsanga, he called Dr. Krishnan and made him sit. All were stunned because this was the same man. Great people are like simple children.

Vrātya śrotiyayor veda pāṭhā pāṭha kṛtā bhidā, nāhārā dāvasti bhedaḥ so'yaṁ nyān'tra yogyatām (268). In the case of one who is learned in the Vedas and one who is not at all proficient in the Vedas, the difference is in the knowledge—the proficiency in the Vedic wisdom and the ignorance of it—but in the matter of eating food they are same. The person who is enlightened in Vedic knowledge and the one who knows nothing about the Vedas eat the same food and speak the same language. Outwardly, they behave in the same manner.

Great jivanmuktas, therefore, cannot be recognised. Those whom we cannot understand, on them we should not pass any comment. The Brihadaranyaka Upanishad says, “Lest he be a great person and his curse may fall on you, make no comments about people whom you cannot understand.”

Na dveṣṭi saṁpra vṛttāni na nivṛttāni kāṅkṣati, udāsīna vadāsīna iti granthi bhido cyate (269). This is a verse from the Bhagavadgita. If something comes, he does not dislike it. He does not ask why it has come. And if something goes, he does not ask why it has gone. Neither does he exult if something comes to him, nor does he grieve if something goes. Let it come, let it go, because the coming is not a gain and the going is not a loss.

Udāsīna vadāsīna: Like an idle person concerned with nothing, he sits quiet. Iti granthi bhido cyate: This is the characteristic of people whose granthis have been broken. Avidya, kama, karma have been destroyed.

Audāsīnyaṁ vidheyaṁ cet vacchabdā vyarthatā tadā, na śaktā asya dehādyā iti cedroga eva saḥ (270). When it is said that they look like idle people, it does not mean that they are really idle. They 'look like': vacchabdā vyarthatā tadā. They look like, they appear to be like idle people, but they are very active people. Somebody asked Ramana Maharshi, “Why don't you do some work for the world?” He replied, “How do you know that I am not working for the world?”

Great people work through their thoughts. The greater a person is, the less he speaks and the more he thinks, and the works that people do with their hands and feet are nothing before this thought that emanates from these great men. One thought is sufficient; it will vibrate until eternity. And that service that the person does to humanity is greater than all the politicians that the world has seen up to this time. He is not sitting quiet like a sick man. He is very active; very powerful he is, but he looks like a nobody in this world. He goes unwept, unhonoured and unsung, as it were, but the gods sing his glories.

Tattva bodhaṁ kṣayaṁ vyādhiṁ manyante ye mahādhiyaḥ, teṣāṁ prajñā tiviśadā kiṁ teṣāṁ duḥśakaṁ vada (271). We should not be under the impression that being a jivanmukta necessarily means keeping quiet. It does not follow that the moment a person becomes a jivanmukta he is obliged to keep quiet without doing anything. That is only one aspect of the behaviour of certain categories. There were immensely active persons such as Lord Krishna, for instance, or Janaka. Janaka was a king, and we know the activity of a king. They cannot keep quiet like idle men. Janaka was a jivanmukta purusha, but even then another, greater jivanmukta, a lady called Sulabha, found fault with him.

The story is in the Shanti Parva of the Mahabharata. Sulabha was a dandi sanyasini. For the first time we hear of a dandi sanyasini in the scriptures. Sulabha was an old lady who heard that Janaka was a jivanmukta. She wanted to have a darshan of this great man, so she came and did namaskar. He was sitting on the throne, and could not recognise who this lady actually was. He thought she was some beggar. So what she did was, she immediately entered him through her subtle body. But he was also a great man; he could understand that something was entering him.

Janaka said, “You are a woman. You have committed a sin by entering me, who is a man.”

Sulabha replied, “Oh, I see. I came here to know only this much—whether Janaka is a jivanmukta purusha or whether he is a man. You are a man. I am going from this place. I do not want to see you again. You have called me a woman and you call yourself a man; but people said you are a jivanmukta. Thank you very much. I will go from this place.”

Immediately King Janaka came down from his throne knowing that this was not an ordinary person and, prostrating himself before the lady, said, “Please excuse me, I did not understand who you are.”

Then there was a great conversation between Sulabha and Janaka. The wisdom that she poured upon him was such that it is worth studying in the Shanti Parva of the Mahabharata. These are all the interesting varieties of jivanmuktas that we have got, looking like anything in this world.

Bharatādera pravṛttiḥ purāṇokteti cettadā, jakṣan krīḍan ratiṁ vindan nitya śrauṣīrna kiṁ śrutim (272). Jadabharata and others sat like idle people. Why do not all jivanmuktas behave like that? The Upanishad says there are jivanmuktas who dance and sing, eat and make merry; that is also one kind of jivanmukta. As a matter of fact, a jivanmukta is not bound to any particular kind of behaviour. We cannot constrain that person and say, “This must be your conduct.” A jivanmukta is a free person. The whole cosmos is his body, and so any event that is taking place in the world anywhere can be regarded as his own action. He may be dancing and singing and making merry, or he may be keeping quiet like an idle man. We cannot constrain him. A constrained person cannot be regarded as a jivanmukta purusha.

Na hyāhārādi santyajya bharatādyaḥ sthitāḥ kvacit, kāṣṭha pāṣāṇavat kintu saṅgabhītā udāsate (273). Jadabharata did not keep quiet without eating anything. He was not starving. He had some morsel of food, though he did not pay much attention to it. It is only because of the earlier experience that he had as a deer that he withdrew himself from contact with everything. They say this deer, which was Jadabharata, would not touch even a leaf in the forest because it had the memory of past lives. Due to attachment to a little deer, Bharata became a deer; and this deer, who was Bharata, being conscious of what happened to it, would not touch even a leaf on a bush when it moved in the forest. Then it left its body, and in the third birth he became this great Jadabharata whom dacoits caught, etc. He was not concerned with things because of the feeling that attachment is bad, and not because he felt that it was necessary to sit like an idle person.

Saṅgī hi bādhyate loke niḥ-saṅgaḥ sukha maśnute, tena saṅgaḥ parityājyaḥ sarvadā sukha micchatā (274). This is a verse from the Yoga Vasishtha. All people who are attached to things are bound forever, and those who are free from attachments will have no bondage whatsoever. Therefore, attachment should be given up if we want happiness in this world.

Ajñātvā śāstra hṛdayaṁ mūḍho vaktya nyathā nyathā, mūrkhāṇāṁ nirṇaya stvāstām asmat siddhānta ucyate (275). Let people say whatever they want to say, and do not bother about it. The author of the Panchadasi, concluding this Sixth Chapter, says, “Forget all this wrangling. Now listen to what I am telling you in conclusion, which is very important.”

Vairāgya bodho paramāḥ sahāyāste parasparam, prāyeṇa saha vartante viyujyante kvacit kvacit (276). The greatness of a jivanmukta is seen by the abiding in him of three great qualities: vairagya or detachment, bodha or wisdom, and uparama or cessation from activity. Three qualities will be found in these great people. They will not engage themselves in any work, they will not be attached to anything in this world, but inwardly they will be highly illumined.

Vairagya, bodha, uparama—these three qualities are found in great jivanmuktas. All the three qualities are not found in every jivanmukta. In some, one or two may be there, and only in the greatest will we find all the three combined.

Hetu svarūpa kāryāṇi bhinnā nyeṣāma saṅkaraḥ, yathā vada vagantavyaḥ śāstrārthaṁ pravivicyatā (277). Vairagya, bodha and uparama—these words must be remembered always. Vairagya is non-attachment; bodha is knowledge; uparama is cessation from activity. All these three have a cause, a nature, and an effect. Vairagya has a cause, it has a nature, and it has an effect; knowledge has a cause, it has a nature, and it has an effect; and cessation from action also has a cause, it has a nature, and it has an effect.

Doṣa dṛṣṭir jihāsā ca punar bhogeṣva dīnatā, asādhāraṇa hetvādyā vairāgyasya trayo'pyamī (278). What is the character of non-attachment? What are its causes? What is its nature? What is its result? The cause of detachment is the perception of defects in things. Everything in the world is full of defects. There is not one perfect thing anywhere in the world. Therefore, it is futile to get attached to anything in this world. The source, or the cause of detachment from things, is the perception of defect in the objects of sense. And the nature of detachment is the absence of further desire in respect of objects outside. The result is total distaste for things. These are the three characteristics of vairagya.

Śravaṇādi trayaṁ tadvat tattva mithyā vivecanam, punar granther anudayo bodhasyate trayo matāḥ (279). Knowledge has a cause, it has a nature, and also has an effect. Śravaṇādi trayaṁ: Sravana, manana, nididhyasana—listening from a preceptor, deeply contemplating on what is heard, and intense meditation on the great subject—this is the cause of knowledge. Tattva mithyā vivecanam: The nature of knowledge is the non-perception of the reality of an external world and the perception of its total unreality. And the result is that avidya, kama, karma never again rise. This is the threefold character of knowledge.

Yamādir dhī nirodhaśca vyavahārasya saṅkṣayaḥ, syur hetvādyā uparateḥ itya saṅkara īritaḥ (280). Cessation from activity has a cause. The practice of the limbs of yoga—yama, niyama, asana, pranayama, pratyahara, dharana, dhyana, samadhi—is the cause of absence of indulgence in any kind of activity, the restraint of the mind is the nature of the cessation from all activity, and having no concern with anything in this world, taking no initiative at all in respect of anything, is the result of absence of activity. These are the threefold characteristics of vairagya or detachment, bodha or knowledge, and uparati or cessation from action.

Tattva bodhaḥ pradhānaṁ syāt sākṣāt mokṣa pradatvataḥ, bodhopa kāriṇā vetau vairāgyo paramā vubhau (281). Of the three qualities, knowledge is primary. Vairagya, knowledge and cessation from action are all good. If we have vairagya, we are detached and we are also free from action, but if knowledge is absent, that is no good. Pradhana—the most important of the three is knowledge because the direct cause of moksha is knowledge. The other things are only accessories. Vairagya and cessation from entanglement in action, etc., are accessories to intensify the nature of knowledge, but they themselves cannot bring moksha. Knowledge is the real cause.

Trayo'pyatyanta pakvā ścet mahatas tapasaḥ phalam, dūritena kvacit kiñcit kadācit prati badhyate (282). If all the three are there, he is a Godman. It is very difficult to find such people. Sometimes in the case of prarabdhas which are touched with a little of rajas, etc., one quality may be lessened. Knowledge may be there. He may be living like a royal emperor or he may be having cessation from all action, but the other two qualities may be absent. Something may be there, something may not be there. We will not find in everyone all the three qualities; usually one is missing. But the great point is that even if one or two are missing, knowledge should not be missing, because knowledge is the direct cause of moksha.

Vairāgyo paratī pūrṇe bodhastu prati badhyate, yasya tasya na mokṣo'sti puṇya loka stapo balāt (283). Suppose vairagya is there, great detachment is there—he is not concerned with anything, and he is not involved in action—but knowledge is obstructed. For such a person, there is no moksha. Therefore, mere austerity is no good. Keeping quiet without doing anything is also of no utility. It is wisdom, illumination, that is necessary. If we have the other two qualities but no knowledge, we will not get moksha. We may go to heaven or some higher region because of the great austerity that we have performed, so it is not useless, but moksha is far off.

Pūrṇe bodhe tadanyau dvau pratibaddhau yadā tadā, mokṣo viniścitaḥ kintu dṛṣṭa duḥkhaṁ na naśyati (284). Suppose a person is completely illumined, but he is not putting forth any special effort to detach himself from things or from action which is the usual concomitant of the physical existence. Very busy he is, doing work, and he is not bothered about austerity, etc., but inwardly he is illumined. Such a person will certainly have no rebirth. He will attain moksha, no doubt. But because of his entanglement in things, he will have some suffering in the world also. So we can choose whichever one we like.

Brahmaloka tṛṇīkāro vairāgyasyā vadhir mataḥ, dehātmavat parātmatva dārḍhye bodhaḥ samāpyate (285). What exactly do we mean by vairagya? It is known as a kind of not getting attached to things. But here the author gives a definition of non-attachment in a superior way: the joys not only of this world but also of the other world should not attract us.

According to Patanjali's Sutras, dṛṣṭa ānuśravika viṣaya vitṛṣṇasya vaśīkārasaṁjñā vairāgyam (Y.S. 1.15): Vairagya, or non-attachment, is to be in respect of all those things which are seen with our eyes and also which are heard of through the scriptures—like the joys of heaven. One should not engage oneself in sacrifices, yajnas, etc., for the sake of going to heaven, because anything which is reachable is also perishable. That which is visible is destructible. Anything that we can conceive in our mind also is a kind of object. The joys of Brahmaloka are also not to be aspired for.

The joy of Brahmaloka is indescribable. No words can tell us what the bliss of Brahmaloka is. It is what they call the Kingdom of Heaven, usually speaking. We may call it the Kingdom of God. The words 'bliss', 'joy', 'satisfaction', etc., are poor apologies for the tremendous experience that Brahmaloka is. Not to have attachment even to that, and to concern oneself only with the pure universal Existence, is supposed to be the height of vairagya, or detachment.

What is knowledge of Brahman? Do we know how intensely we feel that we are the body? Let each one close one's eyes for a few minutes and think how intense is the feeling that the body is myself. It is not merely that the body is myself; the body is I. The body has become me. Such is the intensity of the identification of consciousness with the body, and vice versa.

If such an attachment as is seen between consciousness and this body can be there between consciousness and the Absolute, then moksha is there in our hand, even if we do not want it. This is the height of wisdom. The height of vairagya is the rejection of even the joys of Brahmaloka. The height of knowledge or bliss, perfection, the height of wisdom, is the identity of one's consciousness with the Universal as intensely as one feels identity with one's body.

Supti vad vismṛtiḥ sīmā bhavedupa ramasya hi, diśānayā viniśceyaṁ tāratamya mavāntaram (286). The parakashtha, or the end result of cessation from all activity, is complete oblivion as to what is happening in the world. Let the world be there or let the world not be there, it makes no difference. Events are taking place in this world; events are not taking place. Certain events are taking place; certain others are not taking place. All these do not affect the person—just as a person who is asleep is not concerned with what is happening outside in the world. To be totally unconcerned with the events in the world as if one is fast asleep is the parakashtha, or the highest reach of the consciousness of cessation from activity.

This is an indication, briefly given, in order that we may be enabled to know where we stand in our spiritual life. Each one has to check oneself. What is the stage of evolution which one has reached? The attachments are the main touchstone. Bodily attachment is so intense that the less said about it the better. And the author says we should have such attachment in our consciousness to the Absolute Brahman.

Such attachment to Brahman also may be practicable provided we spend all our day in meditation on the Absolute only and think not an external thing. The whole day, throughout the conscious hours of the lifetime of a person, whenever there is a respite from work, one should try to keep at the back of one's thought the Brahman Consciousness upon which one rests. These indications are enough for a good seeker.

Ārabdha karma nānātvāt buddhānā manyathā'nyathā, vartanaṁ tena śāstrārthe bhramitavyaṁ na paṇḍitaiḥ (287). I mentioned that there are varieties of jivanmuktas. All are not of the same type. They do not behave in a uniform manner. We should not have a set rule that the jivanmukta should behave in this way only and if we find somebody behaving in that way, we can say he is a jivanmukta. That is not the case.

Each individual is unique in character, and that uniqueness is because of the fact of ārabdha karma nānātvāt—due to the variety in the functioning of the prarabdha karmas of the persons, whose bodies continue as long as the prarabdha continues, even if they are jivanmuktas. The difference in the nature and the function of the prarabdha karmas of people make them appear different from one another, though internally they are one and the same. Therefore, ignorant people should not start judging great people because no one who has not delved into the mysteries of this reality, the structure of the world and God and Ishvara and jiva, can have the competency to make a judgment of this kind.

Savasva karmā nusāreṇa vartantāṁ te yathā tathā, aviśiṣṭaḥ sarvabodhaḥ samā mukti riti sthitiḥ (288). Let them behave in any way they like. Let one behave like Lord Krishna or Sri Rama or Jadabharata or Janaka Raja or Vasishtha or Shuka or Vyasa. Let anyone behave in any manner whatsoever; that is immaterial to the consciousness which they are maintaining in themselves.

Knowledge and power are equal in the case of all these jivanmuktas. What one can do, others also can do. What one feels inside, others also feel; and what one is experiencing inside, others also experience. But outwardly they are different because the bodily behaviour is conditioned by differences in prarabdha karma.

Jagac-citraṁ sva-caitanye paṭe citra mivār pitam, māyayā tadu pekṣaiva caitanyaṁ pari śeṣyatām (289). In this chapter, which is called Citradipa—that is, illustration by the analogy of a painted picture—the unreality of the world finally in relation to the Supreme Brahman has been explained in all detail. Having known this, let one's consciousness fix itself in Brahman only, the background of all experience, and let not one's consciousness run after the varieties of movements of shadows. Let not anyone be carried away by the picturesque presentation of ink on the canvas, but habituate oneself to the background of the presentation—the pure cloth in the case of the painted picture, and Brahman Universal here in the case of the illustration.

Citra dīpa mimaṁ nityaṁ ye'nu sandadhate budhāḥ, paśyanto'pi jagac-citraṁ te muhyanti na pūrva-vat (290). Here the author gives us a great promise. Whoever daily studies this Sixth Chapter and contemplates its meaning, such people, even if they behold the world with their own eyes, will not again be attached to the world as they were earlier. The delusion that was earlier will not pursue them again, provided deep contemplation is bestowed on the meaning of this chapter, Citradipa, which has been explained in great variety of detail.

Citradipa, the Sixth Chapter of Panchadasi, here concludes.