The Heart of the Para-trīśikā-vivaraṇa: Where Kula and Cosmos Meet

Pañcamukha Śiva Liṅga at Chandrashila Summit, Uttarakhand — a vision of the “five-faced Father” invoked by Abhinavagupta, standing amidst the Himalayas where the human and the cosmic Heart meet.

Vira Chandra: Abhinavagupta left us many writings, but two stand apart in their mood. The Tantrāloka is the grand weaving — encyclopedic, majestic, bringing together ritual, aesthetics, metaphysics, and practice under one vast roof. It is inclusive and systematic, often diplomatic, because it wants to show that every strand of tradition can find its place in the Kaula vision.

The Para-trīśikā-vivaraṇa is something else. It is a commentary on a hymn already terse and raw, the Para-trīśikā. Abhinava doesn’t have to reconcile traditions or build architecture here. He speaks with a scalpel, not a loom. Where the Tantrāloka often educates, the Vivaraṇa mirrors — it shows the structure of bondage and release in naked strokes:

• Doubt (śaṅkā) is the first sprout of saṃsāra.

• Dharma is a fiction devised for the unripe.

• Bondage is only conviction; flip it and you are free.

This is Abhinava in his ripe voice, writing late in his life, no longer needing to persuade or harmonize. Here he dares to say the quiet parts aloud: purity and impurity are inventions, injunctions can be discarded, liberation can strike jhaṭiti — in a flash.

That is why we want to cover this text here. It is short, dense, and existential — every line a grenade. It is more than a book of philosophy; it is a mirror that forces us to look directly at contraction and freedom.

oṃ tatsatsvaprakāśānandavapuṣe śivāya namaḥ |

atha śrīparātriṃśikāgranthaḥ |

śrīmadabhinavaguptācāryakṛtatattvavivekākhyavyākhyopetaḥ |

Om. Reverence to Śiva, whose very body is self-luminous bliss.

Now begins the text of the venerable Parātriṃśikā, accompanied by the commentary called Tattvaviveka, composed by the illustrious teacher Abhinavagupta.

The opening is deceptively simple. “oṃ tatsat” — a formula that in most mouths is a ritual marker — in Abhinava’s hands becomes a blade: it points to That which is, the raw reality before thought. Immediately he names Śiva not as a distant god, but as svaprakāśānanda-vapuṣ, “the one whose body is nothing but self-luminous bliss.” Not bliss as a feeling, but bliss as the very fact of awareness, shining of itself. The body of Śiva is not form, not limbs — it is the radiance of Being that cannot be hidden.

Then: atha. “Now.” Not yesterday, not in some imagined future. The scripture opens only in this cut of immediacy.

Abhinava does not write “commentary” in the dry scholastic sense. He writes tattvaviveka, a “discrimination of the real.” To enter into his words is to let the scalpel fall upon all false supports until what remains is the naked pulse of Bhairava.

The tone is already Kaula: tender, fierce, uncompromising. There is reverence — namaḥ — but not the reverence of distance. It is the bow that collapses the bowing self into what it bows to. Abhinava begins by placing us where he already stands: in the blaze of Śiva’s own body of bliss.

vimalakalāśrayābhinavasṛṣṭimahā jananī
bharitatanuśca pañcamukhaguptarucirjanakaḥ |
tadubhayayāmalasphuritabhāvavisargamayaṃ
hṛdayamanuttarāmṛtakulaṃ mama saṃsphuratāt ||

vimalakalāśrayābhinavasṛṣṭimahā jananī

The great Mother, the fresh creation, abiding in the immaculate current (vimalakalā).

This is Śakti as the ever-new source, flowing from the pure stream that knows no stain. But Abhinava also whispers the name of his own mother — Vimalā. The biological womb is not separate from the cosmic womb. His mother’s embrace and the immaculate current are one throb. To be born of Vimalā is to be born of the Great Mother. Kaula vision: no gap between the woman who nursed him and the cosmic womb of bliss.

bharitatanuśca pañcamukhaguptarucirjanakaḥ

And the Father, whose body is fullness itself, radiant with the five hidden faces.

Here is Śiva, the overflowing one, all five faces hidden in his blazing secrecy. Yet here also is Narasiṃha Gupta — Abhinava’s father. His father’s given name (“man-lion”) already echoes Śiva’s fierce form. Abhinava fuses them without hesitation: the father who raised him is the Father who overflows with fullness. The Kaula does not divide “worldly father” from “cosmic Father.” The splendor is one, whether glimpsed in the domestic presence of a parent or in the fierce silence of Bhairava.

tadubhayayāmalasphuritabhāvavisargamayaṃ

The vibrant emission (visarga) born of the union (yāmala) of the two, the throb of awakened Being.

Mother and Father — cosmic and personal — throb together. Yāmala means both “pair” and “union.” In their embrace, there is the sphuritabhāva, the pulsing vitality that cannot be contained. Visarga is emission: not an impersonal creation, but the overflowing love of Śiva and Śakti, mirrored in the act that gave Abhinava his own birth. He dares to see his own conception — the joining of his parents — as the very visarga of Bhairava. Tender and fierce: no corner of life, not even the intimacy of one’s parents, lies outside the dance of Śiva–Śakti.

hṛdayamanuttarāmṛtakulaṃ mama saṃsphuratāt

May that Heart, the supreme nectar-clan (anuttarāmṛtakula), blaze forth in me.

The culmination: the Heart is not elsewhere, not in some far-off heaven. It is in the clan (kula), which means family, lineage — both the cosmic family of Śiva–Śakti and the human family into which Abhinava was born. The nectar (amṛta) is the stream of awareness that does not die; anuttara is the absolute without beyond. His prayer is that this Heart, arising from both the cosmic embrace and his parents’ union, should flash forth within him.

This is not metaphor. It is the collapse of division: cosmic Mother/Father and biological mother/father are one kula. To reject the human parents would be to miss the Goddess; to cling to them as “only parents” would be to miss Śiva. By naming both together, Abhinava dismantles that false split. The Heart shines where the two meet — in the very core of our own being.

abhinavasṛṣṭau — śuddhādhvarūpāyāṃ mahaḥ — pāripūrṇyalakṣaṇaṃ tejo yasyāṃ sā vimalakalāśrayā — paravimarśasārā jananī śaktiḥ

In this “fresh creation” (abhinava-sṛṣṭi), which is the pure sacrifice (śuddhādhvarūpa), the radiance whose mark is completeness (pāripūrṇya-lakṣaṇaṃ tejas) abides in the immaculate current (vimalakalā). That current is the Mother, Śakti, whose essence is supreme reflective awareness (paravimarśa-sārā).

 

Abhinava does not speak of creation as a “beginning.” He names it a śuddhādhvara — a pure offering, a sacrifice without remainder. The cosmos is not engineered; it is spilled. It is a gift flung from the Heart, not to please a god, but because the Heart could not bear to withhold itself.

This offering is not an act of loss — it is the blaze of fullness (pāripūrṇya), awareness so saturated with itself that it must overflow.

And what overflows? Śakti — but not as “power” in some abstract way. She is paravimarśa: awareness becoming aware of itself. The turning of light back upon itself. This is why she is Jananī, the Mother — not because she gives birth to things, but because she births the very possibility of knowing.

A mother’s gaze upon her child is the primal mirror: not object, not ego — but recognition. That is Śakti. That is sacrifice.

tathā pañcamukheti — pañcaśaktipūritābhilāṣaḥ ākāṅkṣaṇīyavirahāt bharitatanuḥ — pūrṇasvabhāvo janakaḥ śivaḥ

So too, “five-faced” (pañcamukha) means: the Father, Śiva, whose body is fullness (bharita-tanuḥ), whose very nature is complete (pūrṇa-svabhāvaḥ), whose desire is suffused with the five powers (pañca-śakti-pūrita-abhilāṣaḥ), and who cannot be without them (ākāṅkṣaṇīya-virahāt).

So too, “five-faced” — pañcamukha — does not point to some mythic deity with decorative heads. It points to fullness that cannot help but overflow in five directions: the power to create, to hold, to end, to veil, and to bless. These are not roles Śiva plays. They are the ache in His Heart — a longing so vast it spills as cosmos. 

The Father’s body is bharita-tanuḥ — not flesh, but saturation. A body swollen with fullness. Not passive completeness, but the unbearable density of Love that cannot stay still.

Abhinava does not flinch: this is also his human father, Narasiṃha Gupta. The man who raised him, held him, perhaps wept silently at night after Vimalā’s death — that man was also five-faced. The Śakti flowed through him too. Even the mundane rhythms of fatherhood — holding a newborn, guiding a child — are echoes of those five powers.

Kaula vision: the sacred is not hiding in the Himalayas. It sits beside you, eats with you, teaches you to walk. The blaze of Śiva is not in the icon; it’s in the man who held you upright when your legs were still soft.

To bow to Bhairava while dismissing your own father — that is the real heresy.

tadubhayeti — tatsāmarasyātmanaḥ saṃghaṭṭāt sphuritabhāvaḥ ullasita-sattāko yo bahirullilasipā-svabhāvo visargaḥ sa prakṛtiḥ

“Of the two together” (tad-ubhayeti): from the collision (saṃghaṭṭa) of their unity (sāmarasya), there arises the throbbing of Being (sphuritabhāvaḥ), the shining surge of existence (ullasita-sattākaḥ). Its outward-gleaming character (bahir-ullilasi-pā-svabhāvaḥ) is emission (visargaḥ). That is nature (prakṛtiḥ).

 

This is not union as stillness. It is collision. Śiva and Śakti do not merely merge — they strike, they flare, they burst. And what bursts forth is not a thought, not a plan — but visarga, the sacred emission that becomes world.

Prakṛti is not dull matter. It is the blush on the cheek after divine embrace. It is the gasp after the kiss. It is the shimmer left behind when fullness erupts.

And Abhinava, with terrifying tenderness, sees his own birth as part of that eruption. His parents’ union — their shared breath, their sweat, their sigh — was not “just biology.” It was the echo of Śiva and Śakti colliding. His being, his voice, his pen — all of it, visarga.

This is Kaula honesty: if you shame the act that birthed you, you shame Śakti. If you praise Śiva while recoiling from your mother’s thighs, you have understood nothing.

yatra tādṛśam anuttarāmṛtakulaṃ svātantryarūpaṃ mama hṛdayaṃ saṃsphuratāt iti

Where such a supreme nectar-clan (anuttarāmṛtakula), of the nature of freedom (svātantrya-rūpa), abides — may that Heart flash forth within me.

Here Abhinava seals it: the Heart is the gathering (kula) of nectar (amṛta), supreme because it is freedom itself. Not determinism, not fate — but the uncaused freedom of awareness, always able to shine as anything. His prayer is that this Heart not remain an idea, but blaze in his own chest.

Again, simultaneity: the freedom of Bhairava and the intimacy of his parents’ love are not two. The kula that gave him birth is the same kula that births universes. The nectar that drips in mystical absorption is the same nectar that flowed in the womb. Tender: all of life is already suffused with this nectar. Fierce: there is nothing outside this kula, no escape, no place to hide from the blaze of freedom.

sarvatrātra hyahaṃ–śabdo bodhamātraikagocaraḥ | iti mīmāṃsāvākyena mameti bodhasya hṛdayaṃ sattādāyi svātantryalakṣaṇaṃ jagadānandādiśabdavācyaṃ pāramārthikaṃ vastu saṃsphuratāt –

 “For everywhere here, the word ahaṃ (‘I’) refers only to pure awareness (bodhamātra),” as the statement of the Mīmāṃsā declares. Therefore, may the Heart of that awareness — the Heart that is Being itself (sattā), marked by freedom (svātantrya), the true reality (pāramārthika vastu), which is indicated by words like ‘world’, ‘bliss’, and so forth (jagad-ānanda-ādi-śabda-vācyaṃ) — may that Heart flash forth!"

Abhinava is telling us something both simple and devastating: every time we say I, we are already naming Śiva. Ahaṃ does not belong to the ego. It has never belonged to the ego. It is the cry of awareness itself, pure and unbroken. Even when we utter it casually, even when we utter it in pain or pride, it secretly points to the same boundless Heart.

And when we say mine — mama — that too is nothing other than the Heart extending itself, giving Being to what appears. The very sense of possession, so often seen as bondage, is only the Heart spreading its nectar, whispering: “All this is Me.”

This Heart is not passive light. It is freedom itself — svātantrya — the capacity to be anything, to shimmer as world, as bliss, as sorrow, as love. Abhinava is saying: do not imagine that the world is outside, or that language hides the Real. Every word — “world,” “joy,” “pain,” “I,” “mine” — is already trembling with the pulse of the ultimate.

You have never left the Heart. There is nowhere to run from it. Even your smallest thought of “I am tired,” even your desperate whisper of “this is mine,” is the Goddess revealing Herself as your own voice.

So his prayer — may that Heart flash forth in me — is not to call something far away, but to see what has always been burning under every word, every breath, every I.

svātantryarahito hi bodho ’bodha eva |
tena yat bodhasya abodhalakṣaṇaṃ svātantryarāhityaṃ tad apāsya bodhatayā sphuratāt ity arthaḥ |

“For consciousness (bodha) without freedom (svātantrya) is no consciousness at all, but non-consciousness (abodha).

Therefore, whatever in consciousness is marked by lack of freedom (svātantrya-rāhitya), that must be cast aside. Let it shine as true awareness alone — that is the meaning.”

Here Abhinava lays down the blade. Consciousness that just sits there, inert, enslaved, without its own freedom — that is not consciousness. It is abodha — dead matter.

This is a fierce correction. Many paths speak of awareness as if it were passive light, a neutral witness that “just observes.” Abhinava calls that a lie. Real awareness is not a faint lamp. It is svātantrya — freedom, autonomy, the power to burst forth as anything.

So he says: throw away whatever feels like awareness bound, awareness reduced, awareness lacking freedom. That is not the Heart. True consciousness does not sit shackled; it blazes as sovereignty.

He is consoling us — when you feel like a powerless observer, suffocated by fate, that is not your true self. Yet he is uncompromising — don’t cling to that false “awareness.” Cut it away. The real you is the blaze of freedom, not a ghost in the corner.

This is Kaula śmaśān-teaching: better to lose every concept of awareness than to mistake bondage for truth. Awareness that is not free is already dead. What lives is only the Heart that is free to shine as world, bliss, even as your own cry of “I.”

atha ca abhinavaguptasya vimalābhidhānā jananī narasiṃhagupto janaka iti prasiddhiḥ |
asya padmasya vyākhyāvistaras tu tantrālokaviveke ’sti tata eva draṣṭavyaṃ ||

“Furthermore, it is well-known that Abhinavagupta’s mother was named Vimalā, and his father was Narasiṃha Gupta.

The fuller explanation of this lotus (i.e. this verse) is given in the Tantrāloka-viveka; from there it should be seen.”

Here Abhinava drops the veil: the “Great Mother” is his actual mother, Vimalā. The “Radiant Father” is his actual father, Narasimha Gupta. He does not flinch or apologize — his family and the cosmic are one.

This is not sentimentality. It is Kaula vision. To him, Vimalā is not “merely” his biological mother; she is the living Śakti, the immaculate current. Narasiṃha is not “merely” his father; he is Śiva radiant with hidden faces. Abhinava refuses the split between personal genealogy and divine source.

He honors his parents with the highest reverence, weaving them into the very opening of his commentary. The love that gave him birth is not excluded from the sacred — it is the sacred. He also abolishes any hope of escape into abstract metaphysics. If you cannot see your own parents as Śiva and Śakti, then you have not seen Bhairava at all.

By pointing to the Tantrāloka for elaboration, he reminds us: this is not a casual flourish. The whole system of Kaula recognition flows from this: the kula of one’s birth and the kula of cosmic union are the same Heart.

Closing

And so the Para-trīśikā-vivaraṇa begins — not with abstract metaphysics, but with a bow that collapses the divide between cosmic and personal, divine and familial. Abhinava dares to name his own parents as Śakti and Śiva, refusing to allow “religion” to float away from flesh and blood.

By pointing us to the Tantrāloka for a fuller exposition, he reminds us that this is no casual flourish. The whole Kaula vision rests here: the kula of one’s birth and the kula of cosmic union are not two. They are the same Heart, flashing as freedom.

This is the threshold. Having honored the Mother and Father, both human and divine, and having declared that the true I is nothing but awareness in its sovereign freedom, Abhinava is ready to take us into the hymn itself. From here, the commentary will turn sharper still — into doubt, conviction, and the suddenness of release.

But already the lesson is fierce and tender: there is no distance to close. The Heart is here, in parents, in words, in the breath that says I. 

To enter the Vivaraṇa is not to gain knowledge. It is to lose everything that pretended to stand outside the Heart. It is to watch every false distinction — sacred/profane, cosmic/personal, Śiva/me — melt in the fire of recognition.

You do not read this text. It reads you. And if you let it, it will leave nothing untouched.