Parātrīṃśikā Vivaraṇa (Part 64): From Contracted “I” to the Triadic Unfolding of One, Two, and Many

One face appears as several overlapping profiles, evoking the unfolding of one into two and many without losing underlying unity. It reflects Abhinava’s triadic vision of Śiva, Śakti, and nara.

The previous chunk explained how number and personhood become possible through bodily superimposition, and how the human, the Śākta, and the Śaiva can take on one another’s expressive forms in speech, relation, and apprehension. But that leaves a deeper question unresolved: if one, two, and many are only secondarily attributed at the level of embodiment, what is their deeper metaphysical root? How do these modes arise from consciousness itself without reducing it to mere numerical objecthood?

This is the question Abhinava now takes up. He begins from ordinary expressions of “I” — some contracted, some more charged, some already touched by higher spanda — and uses them to map the progressive unfolding of the divine powers. From there he shows that one, two, and many are not merely grammatical or numerical accidents. They correspond to the triadic structure of Śiva, Śakti, and nara. Each stage retains its own nature, and from that retention the whole play of unity, polarity, and multiplicity becomes intelligible. So this chunk moves from ordinary first-person utterance into a compressed metaphysics of manifestation itself.

In contracted uses of “I,” uninterrupted freedom is thinned out and “thisness” stands in front

ko'ham eṣo'ham aho ahaṃ
dhik mām aho mahyam ityādau hi ahamīti suṇīkṛtyāvicchinnaṃ svātantryaṃ
mukhyatayā tu vicchinnaiva idantā pratīyate yatra bhagavatyā aparāyā udayaḥ

“In expressions such as ‘Who am I?’, ‘This am I,’ ‘Ah, I!’, ‘Fie on me!’, and ‘Alas for me!’, although uninterrupted freedom is faintly present in the word ‘I,’ what is chiefly experienced there is only broken ‘thisness.’ There Goddess Aparā arises.”

Abhinava now begins from very ordinary and even emotionally charged forms of first-person speech: ko’ham — “who am I?”, eṣo’ham — “this am I,” aho ahaṃ — “ah, I!”, dhik mām — “fie on me!”, aho mahyam — “alas for me!” The important thing is that these are all forms where aham, “I,” is present, but not in its full luminous dignity. The word “I” is there, yet what predominates is not uninterrupted freedom (avicchinna svātantrya) but a contracted, object-like self-apprehension. One does not stand in the pure force of self-luminous aham; one stands over against oneself, almost as against a thing.

That is why Abhinava says that idantā, “thisness,” is what is chiefly experienced here — and not whole, but vicchinnā, broken or fragmented thisness. In “Who am I?” the self is not yet resting in itself; it is sought as though it were something to be found. In “This am I,” the “I” is tied to some presented identity, some objectifiable self-image. In “Fie on me!” and “Alas for me!” the self has become a target of reaction, blame, pity, or lament. In all these cases, the first person is still functioning, but in a diminished mode. The “I” is no longer shining primarily as free self-manifestation; it is mixed with a kind of self-objectification. This, Abhinava says, is where the rise of Aparā, the lower Goddess, is to be understood.

And here it is important to distinguish Abhinava’s use of ko’ham from Ramana Maharshi’s ātma-vicāra. In Ramana, “Who am I?” is a deliberate method: the ordinary egoic “I” is taken as the thread and traced back to its source until it subsides. The phrase is therefore used as a weapon against contraction. But Abhinava is not speaking here about a method of enquiry. He is analyzing a type of manifested self-awareness. His point is that in such utterances the “I” is still present, yet present in a thinned, broken, object-leaning mode, where “thisness” stands in front. So the same verbal form, ko’ham, has a very different function in the two contexts. For Ramana it is an inward drill returning the ego to its source; for Abhinava here it is an example of contracted first-person manifestation, still below the fuller Śākta and Śāmbhava emergence.

This first point is therefore very precise. Abhinava is not denying the presence of aham in these expressions. He is saying that aham is there only in a weakened way, while fragmented objectivity dominates. That dominance of broken “thisness” is exactly what marks the level of Aparā.

In “he aham” and similar forms there is the touch of parāpara-śākta spanda, and likewise of Śiva; but ascent must proceed from the lower to the higher

he aham ityādau parāparaśāktaspandasparśa evaṃ śivasya kiṃ tu pūrvaṃ
pūrvamavyabhicaritamuttaratra tena nararūpaṃ sphuṭayaiva pratipattyā
śākta-śāṃbhavadhuramāroḍhuṃ śaknuyādeva na punarvaiparītyena

“In expressions such as ‘he aham’ and the like, there is the touch of the parāpara-śākta spanda, and likewise of Śiva. But what comes earlier does not deviate from what comes later. Therefore, only by first clearly apprehending the human form can one mount the burden of the Śākta and the Śāmbhava — not in the reverse way.”

Abhinava now moves above the contracted forms of “I” discussed in the previous point. There, in expressions like ko’ham, eṣo’ham, dhik mām, and aho mahyam, the “I” was present, but chiefly under broken “thisness,” and so he spoke of the rise of Aparā, the lower Goddess. Here the tone changes. In he aham and similar forms there is already a sparśa, a touch, of parāpara-śāktaspanda — the vibration of the intermediate Śākta level, between the lower and the highest. And beyond that, there is also a touch of Śiva. So this is no longer mere contracted self-reference. Something of the deeper current has begun to flash through it.

But Abhinava is careful not to let this become confusion. Even though higher levels are touched here, the movement of realization still has an order. That is the force of pūrvaṃ pūrvam avyabhicaritam uttaratra: what comes earlier is not bypassed or falsified by what comes later. One must first clearly apprehend nara-rūpa, the human form, the embodied and manifest standpoint, and only on that basis can one ascend into the Śākta and Śāmbhava burden. Not in reverse.

This point cuts directly against a very common modern fantasy: that the “lower” must simply be abolished, despised, or bypassed in order to be spiritual. One hears it constantly in different forms — “I’m beyond the human level,” “the body is just an illusion,” “ordinary life is lower consciousness,” “there is no person here” — while the speaker still shows confusion, reactivity, vanity, dependence, and lack of clarity in the most ordinary dealings. Abhinava allows none of this theatrical shortcutting. The human must first be clearly known as human. Only then can the Śākta and Śāmbhava levels be stably borne.

True mysticism therefore does not make one less able to function in the ordinary world, but more exact within it. If awareness is becoming more real, perception becomes sharper, speech cleaner, relation less confused, and action more grounded. The higher does not float above the lower in vagueness; it penetrates and clarifies it. Abhinava himself is a direct example of this: his mystical vision does not weaken precision, but intensifies it to an extraordinary degree. That is why ascent for him is not evasion, but increasing lucidity.

Because each level retains its own clear manifestation without abandoning its own nature, the triadic structure yields one, two, and many

ārohaṇaṃ sphuṭapratītimayam atyaktanijanijarūpatayā

tryātmakatvāt ekadvibahurūpabhāgitvameti pratyekametat trikam |

“This ascent is made of clear apprehension, since each level does not abandon its own proper nature. Because of its triadic character, it comes to partake of the forms of one, two, and many. Each of these, taken individually, is a trika.”

Abhinava now gathers the previous point into a principle. The ascent from the human to the Śākta and Śāmbhava levels is sphuṭa-pratīti-maya — made of clear apprehension. And it remains clear because each level does not abandon its own nature: atyakta-nija-nija-rūpatayā. The human does not have to stop being human in order to be taken up into the higher. The earlier stage remains recognizable even as the higher begins to shine through it.

That is why the ascent is real and ordered, not confused. One does not leap into some vague transcendence where all distinctions dissolve into blur. Each level keeps its own form, and precisely through that, it can be carried further. The lower is not erased, but clarified and taken upward.

Then Abhinava makes the next move: because this structure is tryātmaka, triadic in nature, it takes on the forms of one, two, and many — eka, dvi, bahu. This is not a stray numerical remark. He is saying that unity, duality, and multiplicity arise from this inner triadicity itself. And then he adds the subtle point: pratyekam etat trikam — each of these is itself a trika. So even the one is not sheer blank unity, the two are not mere opposition, and the many are not random plurality. Each bears within itself the same deeper triadic structure.

Scriptural support: one reality becomes two, and what becomes two becomes many

uktaṃ hi

ekaṃ vastu dvidhā bhūtaṃ dvidhā bhūtamanekadhā |

“For it has been said:

‘One reality becomes two; and what has become two becomes many.’”

Abhinava now supports the previous point with a compact scriptural statement. The line is simple, but it carries a great deal: one reality — ekaṃ vastu — first becomes two, and what has become two unfolds further into many. This exactly matches what he has just been explaining. The triadic structure is not imposed from outside. It is already implicit in manifestation itself: unity, polarity, multiplicity.

The important thing is that the many do not arise from nowhere. They unfold from the two, and the two from the one. So the many are not alien to the one, and the two are not a fall outside reality. They are stages or modes in the self-unfolding of one and the same vastu. Abhinava is keeping continuity intact. This is why he can later speak of Śiva, Śakti, and nara without making them three unrelated substances. The one becomes two; the two become many; yet the underlying reality remains one.

So this verse seals the movement cleanly. It gives scriptural support to the claim that one, two, and many are not accidental numerical facts, but moments of a deeper unfolding. Unity is real, duality is real, multiplicity is real — but each is real only as a mode of one continuous manifestation.

In pure unity, where there is no counter-pole, there is Śivatā; where the counter-pole of Śiva appears, there is Śāktatā; in multiplicity, difference itself is the human condition

iti ekātmakatve hi apratiyogitvāt śivatāpratiyogisaṃbhave śāktatvam anekatāyāṃ
bheda eva naratmabhāva

“Thus, in pure oneness, because there is no counter-pole, there is Śiva-nature. Where the counter-pole of Śiva appears, there is Śākta-nature. In multiplicity, difference itself is the human condition.”

Abhinava now states the structure very cleanly. In ekātmakatva, pure oneness, there is apratiyogitva — no counterpart, no opposing or correlating second pole. That is why he calls it Śivatā, Śiva-nature. Śiva here is not one member of a pair. Śiva is the condition in which no second stands over against the first.

Then comes Śāktatva. This appears where there is śivatā-pratiyogi-saṃbhava — the arising of a counter-pole to Śiva. This should not be heard too crudely, as though Śakti were a hostile opposite. The point is subtler. Śiva as pure undivided unity now stands in relation, in polarity, in the beginning of dynamic manifestation. That relational emergence is Śākta. So Śākta is not sheer multiplicity yet, but the arising of the two — the field in which polarity, vibration, and manifestation become possible.

Then finally, in anekatā, multiplicity, bheda eva narātmabhāvaḥ — difference itself is the condition of nara, the human or limited subject. Here plurality is no longer just the emergence of a pole in relation to unity, but the spread of distinctions as such. The one has become two, and the two have become many. That many-formed differentiated condition is what Abhinava here names as the nara-level.

So the whole triad is now sharply visible. Pure one without counterpart: Śiva. Relation or polarity emerging around that one: Śakti. Spread-out difference and multiplicity: nara. This is why the previous points mattered. Abhinava was not speaking loosely about one, two, and many as mere numbers. He was mapping them onto the inner structure of manifestation itself.

One and the same thing appears as one, two, and many; likewise one action-power flashes as singular, dual, and plural action

ekasyaiva ghaṭaḥ ghaṭau ghaṭāḥ ghaṭapaṭapāṣāṇā ityapi hi
tiṣṭhati tiṣṭhataḥ tiṣṭhanti iti ca ekenaiva kriyāśaktisphuritameva etat

“For one and the same thing there are indeed [expressions such as] ‘pot,’ ‘two pots,’ ‘many pots,’ and even ‘pot, cloth, stones’; and likewise ‘it stands,’ ‘they two stand,’ ‘they stand.’ All this is simply the flashing forth of one and the same power of action.”

Abhinava now makes the previous point concrete. One and the same reality can appear under the forms of one, two, and many: ghaṭaḥ, one pot; ghaṭau, two pots; ghaṭāḥ, many pots; and further, mixed plurality such as “pot, cloth, stones.” The important point is that multiplicity does not require a second independent principle outside the one. The one itself becomes available under these different numerical forms.

Then he gives the verbal side as well: tiṣṭhati, “it stands”; tiṣṭhataḥ, “they two stand”; tiṣṭhanti, “they stand.” Here too the grammatical change from singular to dual to plural does not mean that action itself has become many in its source. The forms vary, but the underlying kriyā-śakti, the power of action, remains one. That is the force of ekenaiva kriyāśaktisphuritameva etat — all this is only the flashing forth of one and the same action-power.

This is exactly how Abhinava wants one, two, and many to be understood. They are real as modes of manifestation and expression, but they do not break the underlying continuity. The same power appears now as singular, now as dual, now as plural. So plurality is not denied, but it is rooted. What looks like many separate expressions is the differentiated flashing of one underlying śakti.

Scriptural support: who would not be freed from bondage by making the many into one?

yathoktaṃ

anekayekadhā kṛtvā ko na mucyeta bandhanāt |

“As it has been said:

‘By making the many into one, who would not be freed from bondage?’”

Abhinava closes this movement with a very compact and powerful line. The whole preceding discussion has shown that one, two, and many are not separate realities cut off from one another. The one unfolds as two, the two as many; and yet the many never lose their root in the one. Now the practical force of that vision is stated directly: bondage persists so long as multiplicity is taken in a severed way, as though the many stood on their own. Freedom begins when the many are gathered back into the one.

The phrase anekam ekadhā kṛtvā should not be heard as a violent destruction of plurality. Abhinava’s whole argument forbids that reading. The many are not denied; they are recollected into their ground. What looked scattered is seen as the differentiated flashing of one reality. That is why this is liberating. Bondage is not simply “having many things around”; bondage is taking multiplicity as ultimate fragmentation. Once the many are known in their rootedness, the knot loosens.

So this verse gives the experiential seal to the whole movement. What began with the contracted uses of “I,” then moved through Śiva, Śakti, and nara as one, two, and many, now ends in release. To see the many in the one is not merely a metaphysical refinement. It is the undoing of bondage itself.