Parātrīṃśikā Vivaraṇa (Part 145): Inward Nāda and the Hidden Meaning of Sound

The image visually shows sound rising from the meditating figure, with Sanskrit-like streams above the head, while night and day appear on both sides. That catches the movement from outer sound into inner realization

The previous movement answered the usefulness-objection. Indistinct sound is not outside Mātṛkā simply because it is unclear or nonstandard; and it is not even useless in every sense, because drums, ocean-roars, and other sounds can produce delight, agitation, and direct experiential effect. So the field of sound has already been widened beyond polished human articulation.

Now Abhinava goes further. He shows that avyakta-dhvani, indistinct sound, is not merely included at the margins of Mātṛkā. In many mantra contexts, it is central. Subtle sound-phases such as ardhacandra, nirodhinī, and nāda are treated as the essence of mantra-pervasion; bell-sounds, bronze resonances, ear-striking tones, and even animal cries enter tantric discussions of mantra-power.

But he also corrects the possible crude reading. These outer sounds and animal imitations are not the final essence. They are upāya-mātra, auxiliary means. In truth, mantra is inward nāda, and this applies not only to indistinct sound but even to clearly articulated varṇa-mālā mantras. This chunk therefore deepens the doctrine: clear and unclear sound, refined mantra and rough resonance, outer utterance and inner nāda all belong to one letter-natured sound-body.

Indistinct sound is central to mantra in the Pārameśvara tradition

pārameśvare'pi avyaktadhvanermukhyatayaiva prāyaśo mantratvaṃ nirūpitam

“Even in the Pārameśvara tradition, the mantra-nature of indistinct sound is often taught as primary.”

Abhinava now moves from defense to elevation. Until now, avyakta-dhvani, indistinct sound, had to be defended against exclusion: it is not outside Mātṛkā, not outside vāk, not outside the sound-body merely because it is unclear or nonstandard. But now he says something stronger. In the Pārameśvara teaching itself, indistinct sound is often treated as central to mantra.

This is an important turn. Avyakta is no longer just the rough edge of sound — crow-cries, ocean-roars, drum-vibrations, blurred sound-forms. It is now brought into the heart of mantra doctrine. The indistinct is not merely tolerated; it may reveal something more primary than the fully articulated letter.

Why? Because mantra is not exhausted by clear syllables. Clear syllables are necessary, powerful, and ritually precise, but they are not the whole of mantra. Behind the articulated varṇa there is subtler resonance, nāda, the pre-articulate vibration from which the letters emerge and into which they dissolve. If one thinks mantra is only clean pronounceable sound, one remains at the outer gate.

So avyakta-dhvani points toward the inner potency of mantra before it becomes fully expressed in Vaikharī. It is not “unclear” because it is defective. In this context, it is unclear because it is subtler than ordinary articulation. It has not yet hardened into distinct letters; it remains close to the inner current of vāk.

This continues the previous movement perfectly. Abhinava first widened Mātṛkā enough to include even rough, nonstandard sound. Now he turns the screw: the indistinct is not only included at the margins. In mantra, it may be closer to the root. The Mother of sound is not only the alphabet we can pronounce clearly; She is also the hidden resonance before pronunciation, the unstruck pressure from which mantra receives its life.

Subtle sound-phases are taught as the essence of mantra-pervasion

ardhacandrādīnāmeva mantravyāptisāratvenābhidhānāt

“Because ardhacandra and the other such subtle phases are taught as the very essence of mantra-pervasion.”

Abhinava now gives the reason why avyakta-dhvani can be central to mantra. The essence of mantra-pervasion, mantravyāpti-sāra, is not located only in clearly pronounced syllables. It is taught through ardhacandra and the related subtle sound-phases.

Here ardhacandra should not be heard as decorative lunar symbolism. It is one of the subtle phases of mantra-sound — a crescent-like stage where sound has moved beyond gross audible articulation but has not vanished into mere absence. It belongs to the inner anatomy of mantra, along with phases such as nirodhinī, nāda, and others, where sound becomes subtler, more inward, less graspable by ordinary hearing.

Practically, this means that mantra is not exhausted by the syllable as pronounced by the mouth. The audible syllable is the doorway. After it is uttered, there is resonance, trace, inward vibration, a subtle continuation of sound into silence. The sādhaka who listens only to the gross syllable remains at Vaikharī. The one who follows the mantra inward begins to sense these subtler phases, where sound is no longer fully vyakta, yet still intensely alive.

So Abhinava’s point is precise: if the very essence of mantra-pervasion is taught through ardhacandra and similar subtle phases, then avyakta sound cannot be dismissed as useless or marginal. The indistinct may be closer to mantra’s root than the fully articulated syllable. Clear letters matter, but mantra’s life is not confined to clear letters. Its real potency is carried by the whole arc of vāk — from gross utterance into subtle resonance and back into the hidden body of sound.

Sound becomes a subtle śumaśumā resonance in Nirodhinī

tatra ca

nirodhinīmanuprāptaḥ śabdaḥ śumaśumāyate |

ityādyuktam

“And there it is said:

‘When sound has reached Nirodhinī, it becomes a subtle śumaśumā resonance.’

And so on.”

Abhinava now gives a concrete example of the subtle sound-phases just mentioned. In the region of nirodhinī, sound is no longer grossly articulated as ordinary letter. It has entered a more inward condition, where it becomes śumaśumāyate — a faint, subtle, murmuring resonance, almost like sound at the edge of disappearance.

The word nirodhinī itself suggests restraint, checking, holding back. Sound is not fully released outward into clear Vaikharī. It is gathered, restrained, refined. It has not vanished, but it no longer stands as a clean external syllable. This is exactly why Abhinava cites it here: mantra doctrine itself recognizes sound in a state that is real and potent, yet not fully vyakta.

So śumaśumāyate matters. It is not the sharp sound of articulated speech. It is the tremor of sound becoming subtle — a humming, murmuring, inward vibration. The mantra-current is still alive, but it has become too delicate for ordinary phonetic categories. It is closer to nāda than to spoken letter.

For the sādhaka, this is not abstract. In deep mantra practice, one may begin with audible recitation, then move to mental repetition, and then to a subtler resonance where the mantra is no longer deliberately pronounced. It seems to vibrate by itself, faintly, inwardly, almost before or beyond syllables. This is the zone Abhinava is pointing toward.

So this line strengthens the argument: avyakta-dhvani is not defective sound. In the mantra-body, the indistinct may be precisely the more subtle phase. Sound becomes powerful not only when it is clearly pronounced, but also when it is restrained, internalized, and heard as the delicate inner resonance of vāk.

Nāda is also taught through bell, bronze, and ear-striking resonances

ghaṇṭākāṃsyādidhvanīnāṃ śrotraghaṭṭanādīnāṃ ca nādopadeśe nirūpaṇāt

“Because, in the teaching on nāda, sounds such as bells and bronze vessels, and also sounds produced by striking the ear, are explained.”

Abhinava now widens the evidence again. Nāda is not taught only through clean syllables or formal mantra-recitation. The tradition also speaks of ghaṇṭā, bell-sound; kāṃsya, bronze resonance; and even śrotra-ghaṭṭana, sounds arising through impact upon the ear. These are not ordinary articulated letters. They are resonant, vibrating, often indistinct sound-fields.

This directly supports the previous point about avyakta-dhvani. If teachings on nāda use bell-sound, bronze resonance, and ear-striking vibrations, then indistinct sound cannot be dismissed as outside mantra. Such sounds may not present a clean alphabetic form, but they carry the living quality of resonance — sound that spreads, trembles, continues, and draws awareness inward.

A bell is a good example. It does not say “ka” or “ma” in a grammatical sense. Yet its sound opens into a long field of vibration. The first strike is only the beginning; the real force is the after-resonance, the subtle continuation that hangs in space and enters the listener. That is close to why such sounds become useful in nādopadeśa, teaching on inner resonance.

So Abhinava’s argument becomes stronger: mantra is not only the pronounced syllable. Its root lies in nāda, and nāda often reveals itself most clearly in sounds that exceed ordinary linguistic articulation — bell, bronze, hum, vibration, impact, resonance. These sounds show how vāk can be powerful before it becomes a clean word.

The point remains disciplined. Abhinava is not saying every random noise is automatically a mantra in the full ritual sense. He is saying that the mantra-current cannot be reduced to articulate letters alone. The indistinct resonance of sound may lead more directly into the subtle body of vāk than a merely external pronunciation.

Animal sounds are used in mantra-application, but only as auxiliary means

hayo heṣati yadvacca dānta udravatīva ca |
siṃho garjati yadvacca uṣṭraḥ sītkurute yathā ||

tathodīrya paśoḥ prāṇānākarṣanti balādhikāḥ |
mahāmantraprayogo'yamasādhyākṛṣṭikarmaṇi ||

ityuktaṃ guhyayoginītantre tatropāyamātrametat |

“As a horse neighs, as a tamed animal bellows, as a lion roars, as a camel makes its harsh cry — so, uttering in that way, those of greater power draw in the prāṇas of the animal. This is a great mantra-application in the rite of attracting what is difficult to attract.

So it is said in the Guhyayoginītantra. But there, this is only an auxiliary means.”

Abhinava now cites the Guhyayoginītantra to show that even animal-like sounds may enter the field of mantra-application. The verse speaks of the neighing of a horse, the bellowing of a tamed animal, the roaring of a lion, and the harsh cry of a camel. These are not polished Sanskrit syllables. They are rough, embodied, forceful sounds.

The point is clear: avyakta-dhvani cannot be dismissed as useless or outside mantra-power. The tantra itself speaks of such utterances in mahāmantraprayoga, a great mantra-application, specifically in asādhyākṛṣṭikarma, the act of attracting what is difficult to attract. Sound here is operative, not merely descriptive. It affects prāṇa.

But Abhinava immediately adds the needed correction: tatropāyamātrametat — there, this is only a means, an auxiliary device. This matters. The animal-sound procedure is not the essence of mantra. It is a supporting method, a practical technique within a forceful tantric operation.

So the citation serves a limited but important role. It proves that rough, nonstandard, animal-like sound can have mantraic function. But it also prevents a crude conclusion: the essence of mantra is not imitation of animals, nor external sound-theatrics. The next sentence will move deeper and say that, in truth, mantra is inward nāda.

This balance is essential. Abhinava includes the wild edge of sound, but he does not absolutize it. Animal cries, bell-resonances, ocean-roars, and drum-sounds all show the breadth of vāk. Yet the heart of mantra lies deeper than external sound-form: in the inner nāda that gives even articulated mantras their life.

In truth, mantra is inward nāda

vastutastu āntara evāsau nādātmā mantra iti tu kathyamānam

“But in truth, that mantra is inward alone, of the nature of nāda — this is what is being stated.”

Abhinava now pulls the whole discussion back to the nerve. After bells, bronze vessels, drums, ocean-sounds, animal cries, and forceful tantric applications, he refuses to let the reader get intoxicated by outer sound. All of that may function as upāya, as means. But vastutaḥ — in truth — mantra is āntara eva, inward alone.

This does not mean outer mantra is useless. Pronunciation matters. Rhythm matters. Breath matters. Syllable matters. Audible repetition matters. Understanding the meaning, deity, mantra-body, and ritual context also matters. These are not disposable. A careless, lazy, deformed practice will not suddenly become “inner nāda” because one uses mystical language.

But all of these are still the door. They prepare, align, sharpen, and open the practitioner. They give the mantra a body, a direction, a discipline. Yet if the practice never crosses from external utterance into inward resonance, one remains at the threshold. One may pronounce correctly and still not enter the mantra.

The essence is nādātmā mantraḥ — mantra as inner nāda. The real mantra is not merely the sound one produces. It is the sound-current that begins to reveal itself within saṃvid. At first one repeats the mantra. Later one hears the mantra inwardly. Deeper still, the mantra seems to vibrate by itself, not as a mental phrase but as a subtle current of awareness. It is no longer only “I am saying the mantra”; rather, mantra is sounding in the heart of consciousness.

This is why Abhinava says āntara eva. The true field is inward, not because the outer is false, but because the outer must be internalized. The mouth gives the syllable. Breath gives movement. Meaning gives orientation. Devotion gives heat. Attention gives continuity. But nāda gives life. Without that inward resonance, mantra remains sound-form; with it, mantra becomes living Śakti.

So this point gives the needed hierarchy. External sound, correct recitation, animal-sound procedures, bell-resonance, and ritual applications all have their place. But they are not the final essence. The real mantra is the inward vibration into which all these supports must lead. Outer practice is the raft; āntara nāda is the current it must enter.

Inner nāda also applies to clearly articulated mantras

bhavadbhirapi asmābhirapi vyaktavarṇamālādimantreṣvapi na na saṃcārayituṃ śakyate

“This cannot fail to be extended — by you as well as by us — even to mantras made of clearly articulated garlands of letters.”

Abhinava now prevents another misunderstanding. One might think: fine, inward nāda is the essence of indistinct sound, animal-like utterance, bell resonance, and other avyakta forms. But clearly articulated mantras — those made of vyakta-varṇamālā, manifest garlands of letters — surely depend mainly on their precise syllables.

Abhinava says this principle must be extended there too. Even in clearly articulated mantras, the real life is not exhausted by the visible or audible letter-sequence. The varṇamālā matters. The order of syllables matters. Pronunciation, metre, rhythm, deity, meaning, and tradition matter. But the mantra becomes living only because inward nāda moves through the articulated letters.

This is a crucial practical point. A mantra may be externally clear and still inwardly dead for the practitioner. The mouth may pronounce; the mind may count; the memory may repeat; even the meaning may be understood. But until the mantra begins to resonate inwardly, until it touches saṃvid as living vibration, its deepest body has not awakened.

So the distinction is not “clear letters versus inner nāda.” The clear letters are the body; nāda is the life-current. A body without life is a corpse; a life-current without body may remain ungraspable for the sādhaka. Mantra requires both: the articulated form that can be received, repeated, transmitted, and stabilized, and the inward resonance that makes that form Śakti.

This is why Abhinava says bhavadbhirapi asmābhirapi — “by you as well as by us.” Even opponents who emphasize articulated mantra cannot avoid this. If mantra is more than ordinary speech, then something inward must animate the letters. Otherwise a mantra would be no different from any sequence of sounds. The clear garland of letters is real, but its mantra-nature depends on the hidden nāda that flows through it.

Indistinct sound is still letter-natured, like a distant pot remains a pot

tasmāt avyakto varṇātmaiva śabdo yathā vidūragato'pi ghaṭo ghaṭa eva iti sthitam

“Therefore, indistinct sound is indeed letter-natured — just as a pot, even when far away, is still a pot. This is established.”

Abhinava now states the conclusion plainly. Because mantra is inwardly nādātmā, and because this inward nāda must be admitted even in clearly articulated varṇamālā mantras, it follows that avyakta śabda — indistinct sound — is still varṇātmā, letter-natured.

The analogy is simple and exact: vidūragato’pi ghaṭaḥ ghaṭa eva — a pot, even when far away, is still a pot. Distance may make its outline unclear. One may not see its exact color, texture, or details. But the pot has not ceased to be a pot merely because it is not fully manifest to perception.

So too with indistinct sound. When sound is not clearly articulated, when it does not appear as a clean ka, ma, or ra, it has not thereby fallen outside the field of letters. Its letter-nature is distant, blurred, subtle, or not fully manifest — but not absent.

This is important for the whole argument. Vyakta and avyakta are degrees of manifestation, not two separate ontological worlds. Clear sound is sound whose letter-form has become explicit. Indistinct sound is sound whose letter-form remains veiled or only partially available. But both belong to Mātṛkā.

So Abhinava closes this phase with firmness: iti sthitam — this is established. Indistinct sound is not non-letter sound. It is letter-natured sound in a less manifest condition. Just as the distant pot is still a pot, the subtle or unclear sound is still within the body of varṇa, still within the Mother of sound.

Letter-natured sound remains the same even when it follows different places

sa [sa ceti varṇātmā śabdaḥ |] ca prāṇabhīryādibhedena sthānāntaramapi anusaran sa evetyapi sthitam

“And that — the gloss clarifies, that letter-natured sound — even when, because of differences of prāṇa, force, and the like, it follows another place of articulation, is still that very same sound. This too is established.”

Abhinava now extends the conclusion. The previous point established that avyakta śabda is still varṇātmā, letter-natured, just as a distant pot remains a pot even when its form is unclear. Now he adds: even when that letter-natured sound arises through another place because of differences in prāṇa, force, bodily structure, or intensity, it remains sa eva — that very same sound.

The gloss makes clear what saḥ refers to: varṇātmā śabdaḥ, sound whose nature is letter. This is important because the issue is not merely acoustic similarity. Abhinava is not saying that any random noise can be forced into any letter. He is saying that when a sound-current is genuinely letter-natured, its different mode of emergence does not destroy its identity.

So prāṇa-bhīryādi-bheda matters. Different beings, instruments, bodies, and supports produce sound through different strengths of breath, force, resonance, and place. A human mouth, a crow’s body, a drum, a bell, a vīṇā, and inward nāda do not manifest sound in the same way. But difference of vehicle does not necessarily mean difference of essence.

This gathers the whole line of examples into one principle. The same tone may appear through different instruments; the same note through high, middle, and low registers; the same letter-like sound through different living bodies; the same mantra through clear syllable and inward resonance. The place changes, the force changes, the clarity changes — but the sound-current is not thereby exiled from Mātṛkā.

So Abhinava seals the point again: ity api sthitam — this too is established. The letter-body is not imprisoned in one gross human articulation. Vāk is deeper than a single mouth. Sound can follow another place and still remain itself, because its real ground is not the external organ alone, but the all-containing body of Mātṛkā.

This explains the teaching on knowing the cries of all beings

ata evedānīṃ sarvabhūtarutajñānaṃ yaccheṣamuninā bhagavatopadiṣṭaṃ taddhṛdayaṃgamībhūtam anyathā śabdārthapratyayānāṃ ya itaretarādhyāsaḥ

“Therefore, now the knowledge of the cries of all beings, which was taught by the venerable Śeṣa Muni, becomes intelligible and enters the heart — otherwise, there is that mutual superimposition of sound, meaning, and cognition.”

Abhinava now draws a striking consequence. If indistinct sound is still varṇātmā, letter-natured, and if the same sound can follow different places because of differences in prāṇa, force, body, and support, then the teaching of sarvabhūtarutajñāna — knowledge of the cries, calls, or utterances of all beings — becomes intelligible.

This points to the teaching known from Patañjali’s Yoga tradition: śabda, sound; artha, meaning; and pratyaya, cognition, are ordinarily fused through itaretarādhyāsa, mutual superimposition. When we hear a familiar word, we do not usually experience bare sound, then meaning, then cognition as separate layers. They arrive together. We hear “pot,” and immediately the sound, the object, and the mental recognition are mixed.

In animal cries or unfamiliar sounds, the same structure is present but hidden from us. We hear the cry, but the artha and pratyaya are not transparent. So it appears as noise, not because it is outside vāk, but because its inner articulation is not grasped.

Abhinava takes Patañjali’s siddhi and gives it a Śākta metaphysical ground. Such knowledge is possible because all sound belongs to Mātṛkā. Even non-human, rough, displaced, or indistinct sound is not outside the Mother-body of letters. The yogin who can separate the fused layers of sound, meaning, and cognition can hear the veiled vāk inside the cry.

So sarvabhūtarutajñāna is not sentimental “talking to animals,” and not projection. Projection imposes one’s own mental story onto the sound. Yogic discernment does the opposite: it sees through the superimposition and detects the sound’s own meaning-current. That is why Abhinava says the teaching has become hṛdayaṃgamībhūtam — it enters the heart, becomes inwardly understandable.