Parātrīṃśikā Vivaraṇa (Part 73): Against Divided Readings of Śiva and Śakti

This image suits Abhinava’s critique of readings that split Śiva and Śakti into separate topics instead of seeing their deeper non-severance.

Abhinava now opens a more polemical exegetical movement. He is now dealing with the whole opening sequence of the Parātrīśikā Tantra — the initial question about anuttara and sadyaḥ kaulikasiddhidam, the verse about the heart-abiding Kaulikī Śakti, and then the reply beginning śṛṇu devi mahābhāge uttarasyāpy anuttaram and kauliko’yaṃ vidhir devi. Up to this point, Abhinava has been unfolding these lines from within his own integrated vision. But now he pauses in order to present and dismantle other interpretations that divide this opening more externally.

This is the pressure point of the chunk. Rival interpreters take the opening verses as distributing separate question-topics: one about Śiva, supported by the line yena vijñātamātreṇa khecarīsamatāṃ vrajet, another about Śakti, supported by tāṃ me kathaya deveśa, and then they attempt to read the later reply in that divided light. Abhinava’s objection is that this fractures the compact unity of the opening revelation. It multiplies questions, mishandles the force of terms like uttara, anuttara, and atha, and imposes external separations where the text is moving through a more integrated sequence. So this chunk marks a shift from doctrinal unfolding to exegetical polemic over the correct reading of the opening four verses themselves.

Leaving aside that kind of explanation, Abhinava now presents and critiques the interpretation given by others

itīdṛk vyākhyānaṃ tyaktvā yat anyaiḥ vyākhyātaṃ tatpradarśanaṃ dūṣaṇam

“Leaving aside that sort of explanation, he now presents and refutes what has been explained by others.”

Abhinava now changes register very clearly. Up to this point he has been unfolding the verses from within his own line of vision, drawing out their doctrinal depth step by step. But now he says: let that kind of explanation be set aside for the moment. What comes next is not a continuation in the same smooth mode, but a deliberate presentation of how others have explained the passage — and why those explanations fail.

The word dūṣaṇam matters. He is not neutrally cataloguing alternative readings for historical curiosity. He is exposing defects. So this is a new phase of the commentary: not only revelation of meaning, but polemical clarification. Abhinava is going to show that certain ways of parsing the 3rd and 4th verses — especially by splitting their internal unity into separate topics — are not just inferior, but structurally mistaken.

This is important for the reader because it tells us how to hear what follows. The next lines are not Abhinava’s own settled view stated positively. They are the pūrvapakṣa, brought forward in order to be dismantled. So this short opening line functions like a warning sign: the text is entering exegetical combat.

Although discussion with those lacking refinement in word and sentence is embarrassing, he still writes it down once in order to help intelligent readers understand anuttara

yadyapi padavākyasaṃskāravihīnaiḥ saha brīḍāvahā goṣṭhī kṛtā bhavati tathāpi
sacetaso'nuttaramavabodhayituṃ tat ekavāraṃ tāvat likhyate

“Although engaging in discussion with those devoid of refinement in word and sentence becomes a cause of embarrassment, still, in order to make anuttara understood by intelligent readers, it is written down at least once.”

Abhinava does not present this as a pleasant scholarly exchange. To argue with those who lack padavākya-saṃskāra — refinement in handling words, compounds, syntactic force, and sentence-logic — is for him brīḍāvahā, humiliating, almost shameful. And one can see why. In a text of this density, bad grammar is not a small technical defect. A clumsy parsing does not merely produce awkward phrasing; it mutilates the doctrine. It splits what should remain unified, multiplies false questions, and drags revelation down into confusion.

So his tone hardens. He is essentially saying: this is beneath the dignity of the subject, and beneath the dignity of real exegesis — but it must still be done. Not because the debate is noble in itself, and not because he enjoys crushing lesser readers, but because if he does not expose the mistake, serious readers may be misled by it. That is the force of sacetasaḥ anuttaram avabodhayitum. He will undergo this once, write the thing out once, and only for the sake of those who still have enough inward intelligence to understand anuttara properly.

This makes the polemical section sharper. Abhinava is not entering polite symposium mode. He is cleaning up damage. The whole feeling is: “this should not be said, but because the text has been mishandled, I will say it once and finish it.” That heat belongs in the line, and it should be felt.

According to the pūrvapakṣa, the opening half-verse beginning with “anuttaram” is taken as concerning Śiva

anuttaram ityādinā sārdhena śokena śivaviṣayaḥ

“According to that prior interpretation, the opening half-verse beginning with ‘anuttaram…’ is taken as having Śiva for its subject-matter.”

Abhinava now begins stating the rival reading itself, and here the reference is not to the 3rd verse, but to the opening verse of the Parātrīśikā Tantra:

anuttaraṃ kathaṃ deva sadyaḥ kaulikasiddhidam |
yena vijñātamātreṇa khecarīsamatāṃ vrajet ||

According to the pūrvapakṣa, the opening half-verse beginning with anuttaram is taken as śiva-viṣaya, as concerning Śiva. In other words, the opponent reads the first question as one whose subject-matter is Śiva.

This is already an important clue to the structure of the rival interpretation. The text is being divided into separate topical units at the very beginning: one question read as concerning Śiva, and, as Abhinava will soon show, another as concerning Śakti. That may look orderly, but it also risks breaking the compact force of the opening sequence. Instead of hearing the four opening verses as one tightly interwoven revelatory movement, the pūrvapakṣa begins by distributing them into separate doctrinal compartments.

So this point should be heard as the first move in that externalizing strategy. Abhinava is not yet refuting it in detail, but he is making its structure visible: the first opening half-verse, beginning with anuttaram, is read as a Śiva-question. Everything that follows will show why he finds that parsing unstable.

This is supported by reading the phrase as “that whose object is Śiva,” with the supporting citation that mere knowledge of it leads to khecarī-samatā

[atrāyaṃ bhāvaḥ | śivaḥ viṣayo yasyeti vigrahaḥ yataḥ
yena vijñātamātreṇa khecarīsamatāṃ vrajet ||
ityuktam |]

“[The idea here is this: its analysis is ‘that whose object is Śiva.’ For it is said: ‘By merely knowing that, one attains equality with the Khecarīs.’]”

Abhinava now shows how the pūrvapakṣa tries to support its reading of the first verse. The opening question is taken as śiva-viṣaya, as concerning Śiva; and the justification lies precisely in the second half of the verse: yena vijñātamātreṇa khecarīsamatāṃ vrajet. The opponent’s thought is clear: if mere knowledge of “that” leads to so exalted a fruit as khecarī-samatā, then the subject must be Śiva.

So this is the opponent’s internal handling of the first verse itself. The verse is being read as a compact question: “What is that anuttara, that immediate giver of Kaulika siddhi, by knowing which one attains equality with the Khecarīs?” On this reading, the fruit named in the verse is made to support the claim that the topic is Śiva.

That helps us see the opponent’s method more clearly. He is not reading the opening as one tightly interwoven movement, but as a set of distinct doctrinal questions identified by their supposed subject-matter. The first question is assigned to Śiva because of the greatness of the fruit attached to its knowledge. Abhinava will soon show why that way of partitioning the opening verses is unstable.

Likewise, the verse about the heart-abiding Kaulikī Śakti is taken as concerning Śakti

tathā śaktirviṣayo yasyetyevaṃ vigraho bodhyaḥ yataḥ

tāṃ me kathaya deveśa ||

ityuktam iti pūrvapakṣavyākhyā

“Likewise, it should be understood by analysis as ‘that whose object is Śakti,’ because it is said: ‘Tell me of her, O Lord of gods.’ Such is the prior interpretation.”

Abhinava now presents the second half of the same pūrvapakṣa strategy. Just as the first verse was taken as a question concerning Śiva, the second verse is now taken as a question concerning Śakti:

hṛdayasthā tu yā śaktiḥ kaulikī kulanāyikā |
tāṃ me kathaya deveśa yena tṛptiṃ labhāmyaham ||

Here the rival reading seems even easier to justify, because the verse explicitly says tāṃ me kathaya deveśa — “Tell me of her, O Lord.” So the opponent takes this as a straightforward śakti-viṣaya question: the first verse asks about Śiva, the second about Śakti.

This makes the structure of the opposing interpretation fully visible. The opening of the Parātrīśikā is being divided into separate thematic compartments: first a Śiva-question, then a Śakti-question. That may look orderly on the surface, but it already begins to flatten the inner compactness of the text. Instead of hearing the opening verses as one interwoven revelatory movement, the pūrvapakṣa arranges them externally by assigning one topic to one verse and another to the next.

So this point completes the presentation of the opponent’s basic framework. The first verse is read as Śiva-viṣaya, the second as Śakti-viṣaya. What follows will show why Abhinava thinks this way of partitioning the opening is not just weaker, but structurally mistaken.

Abhinava now begins to dismiss that pūrvapakṣa, pointing out the first impossibility in it

tadeva tirasitumāha - atra yadītyādi tatra

anupapattimāha tannareti |

“He now speaks in order to reject that very interpretation; beginning with ‘if here…’ and so on, he points out the impossibility in it.”

Abhinava now passes from simply presenting the pūrvapakṣa to showing where it does not hold. The earlier reading has been laid out: the first verse taken as concerning Śiva, the second as concerning Śakti. Now he begins to indicate the anupapatti, the point at which that construction becomes untenable.

This is important, because he is not rejecting it out of temper or sectarian impatience. He is showing that, once followed through carefully, that reading produces consequences the text cannot bear. So the movement here is not from statement to aggression, but from statement to clarification. What looked plausible at first will now be tested against the actual sequence and pressure of the verses themselves.

So this line marks a quiet but decisive turn. Up to now Abhinava has allowed the alternative explanation to stand visibly before the reader. From here onward he begins to loosen it by showing where its internal coherence fails.

On that reading, the line beginning “hṛdayasthā…” would make the verse about Śakti, while “śṛṇu devi” in the reply-text would force “uttarasyāpy anuttaram” to mean “hear the uttara and hear the anuttara”

praśnaḥ | hṛdayasthā
ityādinā ślokena śaktiviṣayaḥ | tathā śṛṇu devi ityatra prativacanagranthe
uttarasyāpyanuttarama iti tatrārthaḥ uttaraṃ ca śṛṇu anuttaraṃ ca iti |

“The question, by the verse beginning ‘hṛdayasthā…’, is about Śakti. And then, in the reply-text beginning ‘śṛṇu devi,’ the phrase ‘uttarasyāpy anuttaram’ would there have to mean: ‘hear the uttara, and hear the anuttara.’”

Abhinava now begins spelling out the consequence of the pūrvapakṣa more concretely. If the second verse is taken straightforwardly as a Śakti-question, then the corresponding reply beginning

śṛṇu devi mahābhāge uttarasyāpy anuttaram ||

gets forced into a divided structure as well. On that reading, uttarasyāpy anuttaram must be made to mean something like: “hear the uttara, and hear the anuttara,” as though two distinct items were now being successively taken up in response.

This is exactly the sort of consequence Abhinava wants the reader to notice. Once the opening verses are partitioned externally — first Śiva, then Śakti — the reply can no longer be heard in its compact force. It is pushed into a dual-topic scheme: one thing called uttara, another called anuttara, both to be separately heard. In other words, the earlier interpretive split begins to reproduce itself inside the reply-text itself.

So this point is the first real loosening of the alternative reading. Abhinava is not yet giving the full refutation, but he is showing how the opponent’s way of distributing the earlier questions immediately pressures the reply into an awkward and divided form. That is already a bad sign, because the verse itself sounds much tighter than that.

If this is explained with Trika intention, then an unwanted consequence follows: a third question concerning nara

atra yadi eṣā trikārthābhiprāyeṇa vyākhyā tat naraviṣayatṛtīyapraśnaprasaṅgaḥ |

“If this is explained with the intention of Trika-meaning, then the consequence follows of a third question concerning nara.”

Abhinava now makes the difficulty sharper. Suppose one tries to save the divided reading by saying: “No, this is not just a split between Śiva and Śakti; it is meant with Trika intention.” Even then the problem does not disappear. If the opening is to be read through the full Trika triad, then once one has already taken one question as concerning Śiva and another as concerning Śakti, a third question concerning nara would also have to arise.

That is the force of naraviṣaya-tṛtīya-praśna-prasaṅgaḥ. The logic of the rival reading, once extended consistently, generates an extra question the text itself does not present. So the problem is not merely that the interpretation feels awkward. It actually multiplies the structure of the opening beyond what the verse gives. The text does not present three separately framed questions. That third question is being produced by the interpreter, not by the verse.

So this point is an important tightening of the refutation. The divided reading does not only flatten the compact force of the text; it also begins to manufacture unnecessary doctrinal machinery. Once that happens, the interpreter is no longer hearing the verse, but imposing a scheme upon it. That is precisely the kind of anupapatti Abhinava is trying to expose.

If instead it is taken with Yāmala intention, even there two separate entities do not arise, because Yāmala means the unity of Śiva and Śakti rather than two independently separate natures

atha tu yāmalābhiprāyeṇa tatrāpi na dve vastunī śivaśaktyātmake yāmalamucyate yena

[yeneti dvivastupṛthaksvabhāvatayā ityarthaḥ |] pṛthak praśnaviṣayatopapattiḥ

“But if, on the other hand, it is taken with the intention of Yāmala, then even there there are not two entities; for Yāmala is spoken of as consisting of Śiva and Śakti, not in the sense of two things with separately independent natures. Therefore the propriety of making them separate question-topics does not hold.”

Abhinava now considers a possible rescue attempt. Perhaps, one may say, the text should not be read through a fully Trika triad here, but through the Yāmala standpoint. Then the split into Śiva and Śakti might seem more defensible. Abhinava answers: even then, the difficulty remains.

Why? Because Yāmala does not mean two independently self-standing entities placed side by side. It is Śiva-Śakti as a paired unity, not a doctrine of two unrelated substances. That is the point of the gloss: not “two things each with its own separate essence,” but one inseparable dyad. So the very appeal to Yāmala undermines the attempt to turn Śiva and Śakti into separately framed question-topics.

This is a very clean move. Abhinava is showing that the pūrvapakṣa cannot save itself by merely changing labels. Whether one appeals to Trika or to Yāmala, the basic problem remains the same: the interpretation keeps trying to extract separate question-units from what the tradition itself understands as internally unified. So the issue is not just one bad reading of one word. It is a deeper habit of externalizing what the text is presenting in a tighter, more integral way.

The meaning of the particle “atha” also fails to fit that interpretation, because it functions only after the determination of something of the same class; without first fixing the nature of uttara, a single question about anuttara is impossible

athaśabdārthaśca
[athādyā ityatra vacayamāṇaḥ |] na saṃgacchate - sa hi sajātīyaniścayānantaryavṛttiḥ
uttarasvarūpāvadhāraṇamantareṇa ca anuttaraviṣayasyaikapraśnasya anupapattiḥ

“And the meaning of the particle atha also does not fit that interpretation; for it functions only after the determination of something of the same class. And without first settling the nature of uttara, the possibility of a single question concerning anuttara does not hold.”

Abhinava now tightens the refutation from another side — not only by doctrinal coherence, but by the force of a small particle. Even atha, he says, refuses to cooperate with the divided reading. Why? Because atha does not simply mean “and now” in a loose narrative sense. Here it carries the force of what comes after some prior determination within the same class — sajātīya-niścayānantarya-vṛttiḥ. It presupposes an already clarified ground of relation.

That is why the opponent’s reading collapses again. If one wants to speak of anuttara as a separate topic in a single question, then the nature of uttara must first be fixed. Without that prior determination — uttara-svarūpāvadhāraṇa — the very structure of a unified question about anuttara becomes impossible. The word cannot just be floated there as a loose second term. Its force depends on relation. So the alternative interpretation, by fragmenting the opening into separate topical units, ends up misusing even the connective grammar that should hold the sequence together.

This is a very Abhinavian move. He is showing that the weakness of the rival reading is not only “philosophical” in some broad sense. It fails at the level of textual pressure itself. The verse, the doctrinal structure, and even the particles are all resisting the same misreading.

To support this critique, Abhinava cites a variant reading found in some old manuscripts

keṣucit vṛddhapustakeṣu īdṛk ślokāntaraṃ dṛśyate

śrutaṃ deva mahājñānaṃ trikākhyaṃ parameśvara |
uttaraṃ ca tathā jñānaṃ svatprasādāvadhāritam ||

“In some old manuscripts, a variant verse of this kind is found:

‘I have heard the great knowledge called Trika, O Parameśvara;
and likewise the knowledge called Uttara, determined through your grace.’”

Abhinava now brings in a variant reading found in some older manuscripts. This is not yet his final position, but supporting material used within the critical discussion. The variant is important because it makes explicit something the rival interpretation needs in order to stand: a clearer distinction between Trika-jñāna and Uttara-jñāna. In other words, the manuscript variant seems to furnish a more openly dual structure than the received line does.

That matters for the argument in two ways. First, it shows that the tendency to separate the material into distinct doctrinal units was not invented out of thin air; there were textual forms that could encourage such a move. Second, and more importantly, it helps explain why Abhinava is so careful. If one reads the verse in a way that already presumes separately framed knowledges, then the compact force of uttarasyāpy anuttaram is weakened from the start. The opening becomes easier to partition, but less exact.

So this point does not simply add antiquarian detail. It shows the textual pressure behind the misreading. The rival interpretation is not only a conceptual mistake; it may also be fed by variant transmission. Abhinava cites it in order to make the issue visible, and thereby to show why the reading he is defending must be handled with much greater precision.