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| a tiny flame opening into a vast inner direction. That matches this chunk’s arc: Kriyā-Śakti enters śūnya, passes through radiance, becomes still support, and reaches the burnt-seed threshold. |
The previous part began the examination of Kriyā-Śakti. Abhinava showed that action is not a separate mechanism added to icchā and jñāna from outside. Kriyā arises from their intermixture: will and knowledge entering one another, generating sequence, prior and later, effort, process, and accomplishment. Action is sequential on the surface, but it remains Śakti’s own movement. Even there, Abhinava insisted, the Anuttara-Ānanda form does not disappear.
Now he follows Kriyā deeper into the next group of vowels.
Kriyā culminates as sarvādhāra, the support of all. Because she can tolerate sequence and boundary, she can enter the domain where action becomes support, where movement can hold the whole field of manifestation. This is already a different tone from icchā and jñāna. Icchā inclines, jñāna illumines, but kriyā must carry, support, sequence, and enact.
Then the movement enters śūnya, the void-like motionless form. But this śūnya is not dull absence. Abhinava makes the entry pass first through a radiant, fiery form — bhāsvara, almost tejas-like. This is the basis for ṛ and ṝ. The śūnya is not reached by collapsing into blankness, but by ascending through radiant consciousness.
From there, the current enters stillness more deeply through the la sound, giving ḷ and ḹ. Here the emphasis shifts toward motionless support, earth-like stability, and the boundary-condition of articulation. The movement of Īśana leaps beyond the whole mass of beings and reaches a still, śūnya-like existence.
Finally, Abhinava explains why this fourfold group — ṛ, ṝ, ḷ, ḹ — is called ṣaṇṭha, impotent or neutral, like a burnt seed. These vowels have entered śūnya-form. They still have seed-nature in a minimal sense, because otherwise they would become a third category beyond seed and womb. But they no longer possess the full power to agitate others. There is inner stirring, but not outward generativity.
So this part is about Kriyā-Śakti reaching the boundary where action becomes support, radiance becomes entry into śūnya, and seed-power becomes almost silent. It is not yet deadness, and not ordinary productivity. It is the strange threshold where movement enters stillness without fully losing its seed-nature.
Kriyā culminates as the support of all
sarvādhāravṛttitvena paryavasyati -
“It culminates in the function of being the support of all.”
Abhinava now begins the next movement of Kriyā-Śakti. In the previous part, kriyā was shown as action: sequence, process, prior and later, the ordered unfolding of what is to be accomplished. But here he gives its deeper completion: kriyā culminates as sarvādhāra-vṛtti — the function of supporting everything.
This is important. Action is not merely movement. If kriyā were only motion, it would scatter. But true Kriyā-Śakti does not only move; she supports the field in which movement can happen. She becomes the ground of process, the base on which sequence, relation, before and after, action and result can stand.
So kriyā is not just “doing.” It is the power by which manifestation becomes stable enough to be enacted. A world can appear because action has a support. A ritual can unfold because the phases of action have a ground. Speech can move from sound to sound because there is a sustaining field. The body can act because there is a base of continuity beneath the action.
This links directly to the next movement into śūnya, stillness, and support. Kriyā, at its limit, does not become frantic motion. It becomes the support of all motion. The power of doing reaches its boundary and becomes the ground on which all doing rests.
Kriyā tolerates sequence because it forms the boundary-support
paryantabhittirūpatvāt api tu kramasahiṣṇutvāt saṃrambhecchaiveśanāntā svātmani anuttarānandapade ca prasaraṇakṣamā
“Because it has the form of a boundary-wall, and because it can tolerate sequence, the intense will ending in Īśana is capable of expanding within itself and within the Anuttara-Ānanda state.”
Abhinava now explains why Kriyā-Śakti can become the support of all. Action requires boundary. It needs a field where something can begin, continue, and reach completion. Without boundary, there is no process. Without process, there is no kriyā. So she has the form of paryanta-bhitti, a boundary-wall, not as imprisonment, but as the structural condition by which action can unfold.
This is the side of Śakti that can tolerate sequence — krama-sahiṣṇutva. Icchā can remain as inward will; jñāna can illumine; but kriyā must bear the weight of before and after. She allows the supreme’s freedom to enter order without collapsing into disorder. She lets manifestation become actionable.
And yet this does not exile her from the highest. The saṃrambha-icchā, the intense will that reaches up to Īśana, is still capable of expanding svātmani, in its own Self, and in the Anuttara-Ānanda-pada, the state of unsurpassed bliss. This is the key: sequence is tolerated inside bliss, not outside it.
So kriyā becomes the paradoxical power by which Anuttara can enter process without ceasing to be Anuttara. Boundary appears, sequence appears, action appears — but the root remains the same bliss-dense Self. The wall does not imprison Bhairava; it allows His freedom to become a world.
Kriyā enters her own śūnya-body through a radiant fiery form
tataḥ saiva śūnyātmakaṃ svaṃ vapuravagāhamānā bhāsvaraṃ rūpaṃ tejomayamiva prathamaṃ gāhate
“Then that very power, entering her own body whose nature is śūnya, first reaches a radiant form, as though made of fire-light.”
Abhinava now follows Kriyā-Śakti into a strange threshold. Having become capable of sequence, boundary, and support, she enters her own śūnyātmaka vapuḥ — her body whose nature is śūnya, the void-like field. But this śūnya is not dull emptiness. She does not collapse into blank absence. Her first entry is through bhāsvara rūpa, a radiant form, tejo-mayam iva, as though made of fire.
This is important. The movement toward śūnya is not a movement toward dead nothingness. It is entered through radiance. Kriyā does not become void by losing power; she becomes subtle enough to pass through a luminous, fiery threshold. The void here is not negation. It is a support-field, a boundary, a stillness into which action can enter without being destroyed.
So Abhinava is again protecting the doctrine from blank spirituality. Śūnya is not the end of light. It is approached through light. The stillness is reached through fiery luminosity. The power of action does not vanish; it becomes refined, radiant, almost immaterial.
This prepares the emergence of ṛ and ṝ. These vowels are not arbitrary sounds. They belong to this radiant entry into śūnya, this strange place where action has become subtle, fiery, and inwardly support-like. Kriyā is no longer gross movement, but the luminous power by which movement enters the void without ceasing to be Śakti.
Ṛ and ṝ arise from radiant entry into śūnya
ṛ-ṝ ityatrahi i-ī ityanugamo bhāsvararūpa-rephaśrutyanugamaśca kathamapahnūyatām
“For here, in ṛ and ṝ, how can one deny the continuity from i and ī, and also the continuity of the repha-sound, whose form is radiant?”
Abhinava now explains why this movement into radiant śūnya gives rise to ṛ and ṝ. These vowels are not arbitrary phonetic additions. They continue the movement from i and ī — the current of complete icchā and icchā leaning toward Jñāna-Śakti — but now that current has entered a more radiant, fiery, inwardly subtle form.
The key is the repha, the r sound. Abhinava says its radiant character cannot be denied. The sound ṛ carries something of i/ī, but it also carries the vibration of r, a trembling, bright, almost fiery movement. This fits the passage exactly: Kriyā-Śakti, entering her own śūnya-body, first touches a luminous form, bhāsvara, almost tejas-like. The r resonance marks that radiant stirring inside the void-like field.
So ṛ and ṝ stand at a strange threshold. They are not simply the smooth expansion of bliss or will. They are more contracted, more inwardly turned, more vibrating. They belong to the passage where action-power becomes subtle enough to enter śūnya, but still carries a bright pulse. Not gross movement, not full stillness — a fiery tremor at the edge of motionlessness.
This is why Abhinava asks, almost rhetorically: how could this continuity be denied? The phonetic form itself preserves the doctrine. The vowel-body is not dead sound. Its shifts carry the movement of Śakti. i/ī do not vanish; they are transformed through the radiant repha into ṛ/ṝ. The first powers of will and knowledge now enter the fiery threshold of Kriyā moving toward śūnya.
Puṣpadanta supports this through the commonality of the r-sound
yathāha bhagavānpuṣpadantaḥ
raśrutisāmānyādvā siddham
iti |
“As Bhagavān Puṣpadanta says:
‘Or it is established through the commonality of the sound ra.’”
Abhinava now brings in Puṣpadanta to support the phonetic continuity behind ṛ and ṝ. The question is why this vowel-pair belongs to the movement just described: Kriyā-Śakti entering her śūnya-natured body through a radiant, fiery form. The answer is partly heard in the sound itself.
The key is ra-śruti-sāmānya — the commonality of the heard ra sound. In ṛ / ṝ, the sound of r is not absent. It trembles inside the vowel. That repha-current carries the sense of vibration, brilliance, and fiery movement. So Puṣpadanta’s rule gives grammatical/phonetic support to the metaphysical reading: these vowels are connected with a radiant, tejas-like entry into śūnya.
This is important because Abhinava is not freely inventing symbolism. He listens to the sound-body itself. The phonetic texture matters. i / ī continue into ṛ / ṝ, but now through the ra vibration. The vowel has become more inwardly tense, more resonant, more flickering. It is no longer only the smooth current of icchā leaning toward knowledge; it has taken on the tremor of kriyā entering a luminous threshold.
So this point grounds the previous movement. Kriyā does not enter śūnya as dead silence. It first touches radiance, and the ra heard inside ṛ / ṝ marks that fire-like vibration. The śāstric sound-form itself carries the doctrine: the vowel-body reveals Śakti’s movement.
Entering śūnya requires ascending the stairway of radiant consciousness
śūnye [etadeva yoginidarśanena sphuṭayati śūnye hītyādi |] hi niścale rūpe anupravivikṣāyāṃ bhāsvararūpasaṃvittisopānākramaṇṃ sthitameva
“For when one wishes to enter the motionless form of śūnya, the ascent by the stairway of radiant-form consciousness is necessarily established. The gloss says that this is being clarified through the yogin’s vision.”
Abhinava now clarifies how this entry into śūnya happens. It is not a collapse into blankness. One does not enter the motionless void-form by becoming dull, unconscious, or inert. Entry into niścala-rūpa, the motionless form, requires ascending through bhāsvara-rūpa-saṃvitti — radiant-form consciousness.
This is important because śūnya is easily misunderstood. The mind hears “void” and imagines absence. But Abhinava’s śūnya is approached through radiance. There is a sopāna, a stairway. The practitioner does not fall into emptiness; consciousness ascends through luminous subtlety into stillness.
That is why the connection with ṛ / ṝ and the repha-sound matters. The movement carries a fiery vibration, a radiant tremor, before entering the motionless support. The void is not reached by extinguishing awareness; it is reached through awareness becoming bright enough, subtle enough, inward enough to enter stillness without losing itself.
So this point continues Abhinava’s constant refusal of dead emptiness. Śūnya without radiance is sleep-like absence. True entry into śūnya is yogic: consciousness remains luminous while becoming motionless. The stairway is made of light.
After entering the motionless form, ḷ and ḹ arise through the la-sound
tato niścalarūpānupraveśāt pārthivarūpasatattvaniścalatātmaka-lakāra-śrutyanugame ḷ-ḹ iti
“Then, because of entry into the motionless form, and because of continuity with the sound la, whose true nature is the earth-form and whose essence is stillness, there arise ḷ and ḹ.”
Abhinava now moves from ṛ / ṝ to ḷ / ḹ. The earlier pair arose through the radiant, fiery entry into śūnya, with the repha-sound carrying that trembling brilliance. Now the movement becomes more still. The current has entered niścala-rūpa, the motionless form, and therefore it follows the sound la, connected with earth-like stability.
This is a very different texture. Ṛ / ṝ still carry the inner vibration of r, the luminous tremor of entry. Ḷ / ḹ move toward support, stillness, groundedness, the earth-principle. The sound-body itself is being read as Śakti’s movement: from radiance into stillness, from fiery subtle motion into earth-like support.
The phrase pārthiva-rūpa-satattva-niścalātmaka matters. Earth here is not crude matter. It is the principle of firmness, support, non-movement. Kriyā-Śakti, having expanded into action and sequence, now reaches a point where action turns into the support that allows all action to rest. The movement does not disappear into nothing; it becomes stable.
So ḷ / ḹ belong to the threshold where the fire-like entry into śūnya becomes grounded in stillness. Śakti is no longer only vibrating; she is becoming support. The void is not blank; it has a motionless base. The action-power has reached the place where doing becomes the ground of all possible doing.
At the limit, the Īśana-form leaps into motionless śūnya-being
tathā ca paryante īśanarūpataiva samagrabhāvātmasvarūpollaṅghanena dīrghataraṃ plutvā niścalāṃ śūnyāṃ sattāmetīti
“And so, at the limit, the very Īśana-form, by leaping beyond the own-form that consists of the whole mass of beings, extends still further and reaches the motionless, śūnya-like being.”
Abhinava now shows the culmination of this vowel movement. The current that began as Kriyā-Śakti entering radiant śūnya, then passing through the repha-vibration of ṛ / ṝ, then into the stillness of ḷ / ḹ, now reaches its limit. At that boundary, the Īśana-form itself leaps beyond the whole mass of beings.
The phrase samagra-bhāva-ātma-svarūpa-ullaṅghana is important. This is not a small transition. The current crosses beyond the form that contains the entire field of beings. All the possible objects, forms, tattvas, and manifestable realities are surpassed as a totality. Not denied, not destroyed, but exceeded.
Then comes dīrghataraṃ plutvā — having leapt, stretched, or extended still further. This is the movement toward pluta, the over-long extension of sound. The sound-body itself is being used to mark a metaphysical leap: beyond ordinary short and long, beyond the familiar vowel-forms, toward a boundary-state where sound stretches into a motionless void-like support.
The destination is niścalā śūnyā sattā — motionless śūnya-being. Again, this is not unconscious blankness. It is the still condition reached after radiance, after vibration, after support, after the whole mass of beings has been crossed. Kriyā has not simply vanished; she has reached the edge where action becomes still support, where movement becomes void-like being.
So this point is the high threshold of the fourfold vowel-group. The Īśana-power leaps beyond the manifestable totality and enters the still śūnya-field. The sound stretches; action becomes stillness; the seed approaches its burnt condition.
The ḷ-vowel receives pluta extension because it has no ordinary long form
plutatvameti ḷvarṇasya dīrghā na santi iti nyāyāt
“The vowel ḷ receives pluta-extension, according to the rule that there are no long forms of the ḷ-vowel.”
Abhinava now turns from the metaphysical movement into the technical phonetic consequence. The current has moved through ṛ / ṝ — ऋ / ॠ — then into ḷ / ḹ — ऌ / ॡ. At the limit, the Īśana-form stretches beyond the whole mass of beings into motionless śūnya-being. Now he explains why ḷ receives pluta, the over-long extension.
The rule is that ऌ does not have an ordinary long form in common usage in the way the other vowels do. We easily see the normal pairs:
अ → आ
इ → ई
उ → ऊ
ऋ → ॠ
But with ऌ, the tradition treats the situation differently. Its extension is not handled as an ordinary usable long vowel in the same way; therefore, when further extension is required, it moves into pluta, an overlong or stretched form.
This may sound like a dry grammatical point, but it matches the metaphysical movement. The sound has reached a boundary. Ordinary lengthening is no longer sufficient. The current has already entered motionless śūnya-like support; the vowel must stretch beyond ordinary measure. The phonetic irregularity becomes a sign of the doctrinal threshold.
So grammar here is not inert. The technical fact about ऌ reflects the state being described: this is not a normal generative expansion anymore. Kriyā-Śakti has reached the edge where movement becomes still support, where sound approaches silence, and where extension becomes pluta, a leap beyond ordinary vowel-measure.
For a and the other vowels, pluta is only a further extension of the long vowel
avarṇādīnāṃ tu dīrghasyaiva dīrghataratā plutatvaṃ
“But for the vowel a and the others, pluta is simply the becoming still longer of the long vowel.”
Abhinava now contrasts ḷ with the other vowels. In the case of a and the rest, the movement is more straightforward: short becomes long, and the long becomes further extended as pluta. For example:
अ → आ → आ३
इ → ई → ई३
उ → ऊ → ऊ३
The pluta is not a separate new category. It is the further stretching of what has already become long. The vowel expands beyond ordinary measure, but it does so by intensifying the same current.
This matters because the previous point about ऌ was exceptional. There, the absence of an ordinary long form required special treatment. Here, for the other vowels, extension follows a more natural gradation: short, long, overlong. The sound-body expands by deepening its own duration.
Doctrinally, this fits the larger movement. Śakti does not always unfold through rupture or irregularity. Sometimes the movement is simple intensification: the same power lengthens, deepens, becomes more resonant. Pluta is the vowel exceeding ordinary measure while remaining continuous with its own prior form.
According to the earlier rule, pluta is simply longness intensified
tacca prāṅnītyā [ānando brahmaṇo rūpamityādinītyetyarthaḥ |] dīrghatvameva pṛthagaparyeṣaṇīyam
“And according to the earlier rule, this is simply longness itself; it should not be sought as something separate. The gloss explains: this refers to the earlier principle such as ‘Ānanda is the form of Brahman.’”
Abhinava now prevents the grammatical detail from becoming overcomplicated. Pluta, the overlong extension, should not be treated as a completely separate category needing its own independent metaphysical search. According to the earlier principle, it is dīrghatva eva — simply longness itself, intensified. It is the same current extended further.
This matters because the vowel doctrine can easily become a maze: short, long, overlong; ordinary lengthening, exceptional lengthening; ऋ / ॠ, ऌ / ॡ, pluta, śūnya, seed, burnt seed. Abhinava’s point is not to multiply technical categories endlessly. The extension of sound corresponds to the extension of Śakti. Pluta is not a new substance; it is a deepening of the same movement.
The gloss connects this to the earlier rule about Ānanda: “Ānanda is the form of Brahman.” That means the longness or extension of the vowel is not merely acoustic duration. It expresses expansion, fullness, bliss, the spreading of Śakti’s own nature. When the vowel lengthens, the doctrine reads that as the current of consciousness extending itself. Pluta is that extension carried beyond the ordinary measure.
So the point is simple but necessary: do not seek pluta as some separate principle. It is longness pushed further, the same Śakti-current stretched beyond ordinary limit. Even in grammar, Abhinava keeps the movement alive: sound-length is not dead phonetics; it is the trace of expansion in consciousness.
This fourfold group is called impotent, like burnt seed, because it has entered śūnya-form
ityāstāṃ tāvat etaccatuṣkaṃ śūnyarūpatānupraveśāt dagdhabījamiva ṣaṇṭharūpaṃ bhaṇyate
“Let this fourfold group stand for now. Because it has entered the form of śūnya, it is said to have the form of the impotent or neutral, like a burnt seed.”
Abhinava now names the strange status of the four vowels ṛ, ṝ, ḷ, ḹ. They are not ordinary generative vowels in the same way as the earlier ones. They have entered śūnya-rūpatā, the void-like form. Because of that, they are compared to dagdha-bīja, a burnt seed.
The image is precise. A burnt seed is still a seed in appearance. It has the shape, the trace, the memory of seedhood. But it cannot sprout. Its outward generative force has been consumed. It no longer produces growth in the ordinary way.
So these four vowels are called ṣaṇṭha-rūpa — impotent, neutral, non-generative. This should not be heard as crude contempt. It means they occupy a threshold-state. They still belong to the seed-side of the sound-body, but their power has entered śūnya. Their generativity is no longer outwardly fertile. They are inward, still, almost emptied.
This fits the whole movement of the chunk. Kriyā-Śakti has moved from action and sequence into support, then into radiant entry into śūnya, then into motionless stillness. At this limit, the seed does not burst into manifestation. It is held in a burnt, silent, void-touched condition. It is not dead exactly — but it no longer functions as an ordinary seed.
So this fourfold group marks a boundary in the vowel-body: sound still exists, seed-nature is not fully gone, but the power to generate outward manifestation has been burned inward by entry into śūnya.
But this does not mean seed-nature is completely absent
na tu sarvathā bījarūpatvābhāvāt
“But this is not because seed-nature is completely absent.”
Abhinava now adds the necessary correction. These four vowels are compared to burnt seeds because, having entered the śūnya-form, they no longer possess ordinary outward generative force. But he immediately prevents a crude reading: this does not mean that seed-nature is totally absent. They are not fully fertile seeds, but they are not non-seeds either.
This is a subtle threshold-state. A burnt seed has lost its ordinary capacity to sprout, yet it still bears the trace, form, and memory of seedhood. It is not a stone. It is not something wholly outside the seed-category. It is a seed whose generative fire has been consumed inwardly.
Mystically, this image has a wider resonance. Something similar can happen in spiritual traditions after a genuine mystic leaves the field. The outer form may remain: words, robes, rituals, lineage names, initiations, titles, doctrines, songs, temples, institutions. The shape of the seed remains. The memory of the seed remains. People may even guard that form with great devotion. But the living sprouting power may no longer operate in the same way. The seed-form is there, but its power to generate fresh realization has been burned, exhausted, or withdrawn.
This does not mean the tradition is worthless. That would be too crude. The seed-nature is not completely absent. There may still be traces, sparks, protection, memory, forms capable of being reignited under grace. But one must not confuse the shape of seedhood with living fertility. A lineage can preserve the body of a current while no longer easily producing its original fruit.
That is exactly the danger Abhinava’s phrase helps us see. These vowels are not ordinary fertile seeds; yet they are not outside seedhood altogether. They stand in a liminal condition: inwardly marked by seed-nature, outwardly deprived of full generative power.
So the point is precise: śūnya-entry has consumed their ordinary sprouting force, but not erased their relation to seedhood. They are seed-like, but burnt; present, but not normally generative; carrying the trace of power, but not functioning as fully active bīja.
This fourfold group is not outside the seed-womb structure
bījayonyātmakaśivaśaktyubhayātirekiṇaḥ
“Otherwise, they would stand beyond both — beyond Śiva as seed and Śakti as womb.”
Abhinava now explains why he had to add the correction: these four vowels are like burnt seeds, but not utterly without seed-nature. If they had no seed-character at all, they would become a strange third category outside the basic polarity of bīja and yoni, seed and womb, Śiva and Śakti.
That cannot be allowed. The whole doctrine of the sound-body has been built on the relation of Śiva as seed and Śakti as womb. Vowels and consonants, signifier and signified, seed and womb, Śiva and Śakti — these are not arbitrary categories. They are the basic living polarity through which speech and manifestation become intelligible.
So even the so-called ṣaṇṭha vowels — ṛ, ṝ, ḷ, ḹ — must still belong somewhere within that Śiva-Śakti structure. They may be burnt-seed-like. They may lack ordinary outward generativity. They may have entered śūnya and become neutralized. But they cannot be outside the whole polarity altogether. Otherwise they would become a third principle beyond Śiva and Śakti, which would fracture the system.
This is a very subtle safeguard. Abhinava allows liminal states, weakened generativity, burnt-seed conditions, thresholds of śūnya — but he does not allow a reality outside the fundamental living relation of consciousness and power. Even what no longer sprouts still bears the trace of seedhood. Even what is neutralized still belongs to the field of Śiva-Śakti.
The fourfold group still has seed-nature, but lacks the power to agitate others
[yadi hi bijatvaṃ na syāt eṣāṃ tadā tṛtīyasya kasyacidvyapadeśaḥ syāt | kṣubhyati kṣobhayatyapīti bījatvaṃ tatraiṣvapi kṣobho'styeva kṣobhaṇā tu nāstīti sarvathā bījatvābhāva ityarthaḥ |]
“If these had no seed-nature at all, then some third category would have to be designated. Seed-nature means both being stirred and causing stirring. In these too, there is indeed stirring; but there is no causing of stirring. Thus the meaning is that seed-nature is not absent in every respect.”
The gloss now makes the distinction exact. These four vowels — ṛ, ṝ, ḷ, ḹ — are like burnt seeds. They do not possess ordinary outward generative power. But if they had no seed-nature at all, they would become a third category outside the basic polarity of bīja and yoni, Śiva-seed and Śakti-womb. That would fracture the whole sound-body.
So the gloss defines seed-nature as twofold: kṣubhyati and kṣobhayati — being stirred and causing stirring. A living seed is not only inwardly agitated; it can agitate another, awaken growth, generate further unfolding. In these four, kṣobha remains: there is still inner stirring, a trace of vibration, a seed-like pulse. But kṣobhaṇa, the power to stir another into manifestation, is absent.
This is a very fine distinction. They are not dead. They are not fully fertile. They are inwardly stirred but not outwardly generative. The fire has not erased their relation to seedhood, but it has consumed their ordinary capacity to make another sprout.
This also gives better language for the mystical analogy. A tradition may preserve inner stirring — memory, reverence, a real trace of power, a subtle vibration of the original current — but no longer easily kṣobhayati, no longer strongly awakens others into living realization. That does not mean it is nothing. It means its mode has changed. It carries seed-memory more than seed-fertility.
So Abhinava’s precision matters: not all weakened forms are dead; not all seed-like forms are fruitful. Some contain kṣobha without kṣobhaṇa. They tremble inwardly, but do not ignite outwardly.
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