 |
| Parā Devī unfolding the world from consciousness |
The previous chunk showed that phonetic variation does not exile a sound from Mātṛkā. Bird-cries, omen-sounds, chest-born and throat-born ha, visarga, jihvāmūlīya, upadhmānīya, nasal variants, and lighter-effort articulations all demonstrated the same point: sound may vary in place, effort, clarity, and bodily support while still remaining inside the living body of vāk.
Now Abhinava widens the argument from technical phonetics into the larger structure of Mātṛkā itself. Some traditions count sixty-four letters by treating such variants as distinct; others describe sixty-three; the Trika tradition speaks of the eightfold-by-eightfold Mātṛkā as the Kula-cakra pervading the universe. But Abhinava does not want to get lost in procedural systems here. His concern is the underlying fullness: all these counts and distinctions are valid only because they arise within one complete body of consciousness-speech.
The real turn of the chunk is this: every object, whether imagined or directly enacted, first enters the great radiance of Parā Vāk, the non-conventional mantra-body beyond ordinary signs. From there, even differentiated letters, seeds, piṇḍas, mantras, and elements become possible. If this were not so, all experience would collapse into a flat sameness. Difference appears, but it does not break the supreme speech-body. Even vikalpa, though born from error, still follows the same path back into Parā.
By treating phonetic variants as distinct, sixty-four letters are taught
bhedenābhimanya catuḥṣaṣṭirvarṇā uktāḥ
“By regarding them as distinct, sixty-four letters are taught.”
Abhinava now gives the result of the previous technical distinctions. When jihvāmūlīya, upadhmānīya, the nasalized forms, and lighter-effort variants are taken as distinct, the alphabet expands into catuḥṣaṣṭi varṇāḥ — sixty-four letters.
The key word is bhedenābhimanya: “by regarding through difference.” Difference is not denied. The phonetic tradition can legitimately count these variants separately when articulation, effort, place, or resonance changes enough to require technical distinction.
But this does not break the deeper unity of Mātṛkā. Abhinava has just spent the previous movement showing that variation of sound does not mean exile from the sound-body. A sound may shift in place, effort, clarity, or bodily support and still remain within vāk.
So this point closes the technical sequence cleanly. Grammar may count sixty-four letters when it emphasizes difference. Tantra accepts the precision, but refuses fragmentation. The many letters are many in articulation, not many as separate realities outside the Mother of sound.
The Sāmbapañcāśikā describes speech descending into sixty-three letters
anyatvaṃ [yaduktaṃ sāmbapañcāśikāyāṃ
yā sā mitrāvaruṇasadanāduccarantī triṣaṣṭiṃ
varṇānatra pakaṭakaraṇaiḥ prāṇasaṅgaprasūtān |
tāṃ paśyantīṃ prathamamuditāṃ madhyamāṃ buddhisaṃsthāṃ
vācaṃ vaktre karaṇaviśadāṃ vaikharīṃ ca prapadye ||
iti |]
“And this difference is stated in the Sāmbapañcāśikā:
‘I take refuge in that speech which, rising from the seat of Mitra and Varuṇa, brings forth here sixty-three letters, produced through the manifesting instruments and the conjunction of prāṇa;
which first arises as Paśyantī, then as Madhyamā established in the buddhi, and finally as Vaikharī, made distinct by the instruments in the mouth.’”
Abhinava now supports the expanded count through the Sāmbapañcāśikā. The text speaks not of fifty or sixty-four, but of triṣaṣṭi varṇāḥ — sixty-three letters. This shows again that the letter-body may be counted differently depending on which distinctions are emphasized. The point is not numerical obsession. The point is that Mātṛkā can unfold through different systems of articulation.
The verse describes speech as rising from mitrāvaruṇa-sadana, the seat of Mitra and Varuṇa. This likely points to a lower bodily source connected with generative and vital power, from which speech rises upward through prāṇa-saṅga, conjunction with breath-life. Speech is not merely a mouth-event. It begins deeper in the body and becomes articulate only gradually.
Then the familiar levels appear: Paśyantī, first arising; Madhyamā, established in the buddhi; and Vaikharī, made clear in the mouth through the instruments of articulation. This continues the whole doctrine: sound does not begin as external utterance. It descends — or unfolds — through subtle vision, inner cognition, and finally bodily articulation.
The phrase karaṇa-viśadāṃ vaikharīm is important. Vaikharī is speech made distinct through instruments. The mouth, tongue, palate, teeth, lips, breath, and resonance do not create speech from nothing. They clarify what has already moved inwardly through Paśyantī and Madhyamā.
So this quotation confirms Abhinava’s larger point. The many letters — whether counted as fifty, sixty-three, or sixty-four — are not dead phonetic units. They are the stages of vāk becoming explicit. The difference of count belongs to the level of manifestation; the current of speech remains one.
Ṛ and ra are distinguished like vowels and consonants
cātra svaravyañjanayoriva ṛvarṇa-raśabdayoḥ śrītrikaratnakule'pi uktam
“And here, just as there is a distinction between vowel and consonant, so too the distinction between the letter ṛ and the sound ra is stated in the Śrītrikaratnakula.”
Abhinava now adds another example of subtle distinction inside the letter-body. The relation between ṛvarṇa and raśabda is being treated like the relation between svara and vyañjana, vowel and consonant. They are closely related, almost internally connected, but not simply identical in phonetic function.
This matters because ṛ and ra can easily look like two expressions of one sonic current: one vowel-like, one consonantal. The tradition distinguishes them, just as it distinguishes vowels from consonants generally. Again, difference is being preserved. Abhinava is not flattening the alphabet into mystical sameness.
But the placement of this point is important. It comes after sixty-four and sixty-three letter-counts. So the issue is not merely “how many letters are there?” It is: by what criteria does a tradition mark difference? Sometimes a variant is counted separately; sometimes a related sound is distinguished because its function in the sound-body differs.
So the Śrītrikaratnakula is cited to show that Trika also recognizes such internal differentiation. The one Mātṛkā can contain distinctions between vowel and consonant, between ṛ and ra, between subtle and gross forms, without breaking its unity. The sound-body is one, but not shapeless. It has inner articulation.
Mātṛkā is the eightfold-by-eightfold Kula-cakra that pervades the universe
aṣṭāṣṭakavibhedena mātṛkā yā nirūpitā |
tadeva kulacakraṃ tu tena vyāptamidaṃ jagat ||
“The Mātṛkā that is taught through the division of eight by eight — that itself is the Kula-cakra; by it this universe is pervaded.”
Abhinava now lets the technical discussion open into its real force. The previous points were about counts, variants, phonetic distinctions, sixty-three, sixty-four, ṛ and ra, vowels and consonants. But now the alphabet is revealed as something far greater than a system of sounds. Mātṛkā, divided as aṣṭāṣṭaka, eight by eight, is Kula-cakra itself.
This is the nerve. The letters are not little marks used by humans to label an already-existing world. They are not merely sounds produced by throat, tongue, palate, teeth, and lips. They are the wheel of Śakti’s manifestation. Tad eva kulacakram — that very Mātṛkā is the Kula-cakra. The Mother of letters is the living circular body through which consciousness becomes world.
Then the verse strikes: tena vyāptam idaṃ jagat — by it, this universe is pervaded. Not decorated. Not named afterward. Pervaded. The world is soaked through with the letter-body. Every object, every thought, every cry, every mantra, every sound, every act of recognition, every element, every body, every god, every stone, every bird-call is already inside this wheel of vāk.
So the alphabet here is not grammar. It is cosmology. It is body. It is mantra. It is the secret skeleton of manifestation. When the universe becomes knowable, speakable, thinkable, touchable, nameable, and ritually enterable, it does so through Mātṛkā. The letters are the channels by which the unbounded Self becomes articulate without ceasing to be unbounded.
This is why the earlier examples mattered — even the strange ones. Crow-cries, drums, omens, chest-born ha, visarga, nasal variants, lighter articulations: all of them were preparing this. Nothing that is sound stands outside the Mother. Nothing that appears stands outside the wheel. Difference does not break Mātṛkā; difference is her turning.
So this verse should be felt as a revelation: the universe is not mute matter waiting for language. The universe is already sound-bodied. Mātṛkā is the Kula-cakra, and the world is pervaded by her. Speech is not something humans add to reality. Speech is one of the ways reality shows that it has always been Śakti’s articulation.
The detailed Mātṛkā system is treated elsewhere through the integration of icchā, kāma, viṣa, jñāna, kriyā, devī, and nirañjana
iti mātṛkājñānabhede vistarato nirūpitametat [taduktam
icchā kāmo viṣaṃ jñānaṃ kriyā devī nirañjanam |
etatrayasamāveśaḥ śivo bhairava ucyate ||
kāmasya pūrṇatā tattvaṃ saṃghaṭe pravibhāṣyate |
viṣasya cāmṛtaṃ tattvaṃ chādyatve'ṇonnyute sati ||
iti amṛtamiti vikāsadaśāmayamityarthaḥ |]
“This has been explained in detail in the section on the distinction of Mātṛkā-knowledge. As it is said:
‘Icchā is kāma; viṣa is jñāna; kriyā is Devī; nirañjana is the stainless.
The integration of these three is Śiva, who is called Bhairava.
The fullness of kāma is taught as tattva in union;
and the truth of viṣa is amṛta when, through concealment, the atomic limitation is diminished.’
The gloss explains: ‘amṛta’ means the state of expansion.”
Abhinava now signals that the full technical unfolding of this aṣṭāṣṭaka Mātṛkā belongs elsewhere — specifically to the mātṛkājñānabheda, the section on distinctions within Mātṛkā-knowledge. He does not want to unpack that whole system here. He points to it, acknowledges its depth, and then keeps the present argument moving.
The quoted verse is dense, but its main force is clear. Icchā, jñāna, and kriyā are being mapped into a more esoteric Mātṛkā arrangement: kāma, viṣa, devī, nirañjana, and their integration. The point is not to create another abstract table. It is to show that the letter-body is internally structured by Śakti’s powers. Mātṛkā is not a flat alphabet. She is a living system of will, knowledge, action, poison, nectar, concealment, expansion, and Bhairava-integration.
The phrase etatraya-samāveśaḥ śivo bhairava ucyate gives the center: when these powers are integrated, that is Śiva, called Bhairava. Difference does not remain scattered. The triad of powers enters one another and becomes the Bhairava-state. Again the same doctrine returns: differentiation is real, but its truth is integration, not fragmentation.
The second verse is more cryptic, especially around kāma, viṣa, amṛta, and concealment. But the gloss gives the practical key: amṛta here means vikāsadaśā, the state of expansion. What appears as poison, contraction, concealment, or atomic limitation is not simply rejected. When rightly understood within the Mātṛkā-current, even that becomes nectar-like expansion. The limited sound-body opens back into fullness.
So this point should be handled as a referenced technical depth, not as the main road of the present chunk. Abhinava is telling us: yes, the sixty-fourfold Mātṛkā and its inner correspondences have been treated in detail elsewhere. But here the essential point remains the same — the letter-body is Śakti’s differentiated wheel, and its truth is not division but fullness integrated as Bhairava.
Abhinava does not enter that procedural system here because the present concern is fullness
iha tu tatprakriyānabhiniveśaḥ - pūrṇataikasāratvāt
“But here there is no insistence on that procedural system, because the single essence here is fullness.”
Abhinava now deliberately steps back from the technical system he has just invoked. The aṣṭāṣṭaka Mātṛkā, the sixty-fourfold arrangement, the inner mapping of icchā, jñāna, kriyā, kāma, viṣa, devī, nirañjana — all of this exists, and he does not dismiss it. But he says: iha tu tat-prakriyā-anabhiniveśaḥ — here, we are not becoming absorbed in that procedure.
This is important. Abhinava knows when a technical system serves the argument and when it would pull the reader away from the main current. The present point is not to unfold every inner correspondence of the Mātṛkā-cakra. That would be another inquiry. Here, the concern is pūrṇatā-eka-sāratva — the fact that the single essence is fullness.
So the movement is disciplined. The counts may vary: fifty, sixty-three, sixty-four. The arrangements may differ. The traditions may distinguish subtle variants, phonetic places, esoteric groupings, and internal cakras. But the essential point is not the arithmetic. The essential point is that all these distinctions arise inside one complete body of vāk.
This is also a warning for the sādhaka and the reader. Technical systems can become intoxicating. One can become absorbed in counts, diagrams, correspondences, and secret classifications, while missing the living ground they are meant to reveal. Abhinava does not reject the system; he refuses to become trapped in it.
The present doctrine is simpler and more radical: the letter-body is full because Parā Vāk is full. Every distinction is a mode of that fullness. The procedure is valid, but the essence is pūrṇatā. The map matters, but only because it points back to the complete, all-containing radiance of speech-consciousness.
Every object, imagined or enacted, enters consciousness through this same process
tadevaṃ sarvatrāyamīdṛśaḥ saṃvidanupraveśakramaḥ padārthaḥ saṃkalpyamānaḥ sākṣāt kriyamāṇo vā
“Thus, everywhere, every object — whether being conceived inwardly or directly enacted — follows this kind of process of entry into consciousness.”
Abhinava now takes the whole discussion beyond phonetics, beyond letter-counts, beyond the technical systems of Mātṛkā. The point is no longer only how many letters there are, or how ha, visarga, jihvāmūlīya, upadhmānīya, and subtle variants are to be classified. All of that was preparation. Now he says: sarvatra — everywhere, this same process holds.
Every padārtha, every meaningful entity, must pass through saṃvid-anupraveśa-krama, a process of entry into consciousness. A thing does not become meaningful for experience merely by existing somewhere as mute fact. It enters the field of awareness. It becomes formed, recognized, delimited, speakable, thinkable, usable, loved, feared, desired, rejected, worshipped, remembered. Only then does it stand as a padārtha — not just a “thing,” but a thing-bearing-meaning.
This applies whether it is saṃkalpyamāna, inwardly conceived, or sākṣāt kriyamāṇa, directly enacted. An imagined form, a planned action, a mantra-image, a remembered face, a ritual gesture, a spoken sentence, a physical deed — all pass through the same gate. First they are taken into consciousness. Then they become articulated. Then they can become thought, speech, action, or world.
This is the living extension of the whole doctrine of vāk. Sound enters consciousness; letters enter consciousness; bird-cries, omens, mantras, phonetic variants enter consciousness. Now Abhinava says: not only sounds. Every object follows this law. The world becomes world through entry into saṃvid. Not because consciousness invents a private fantasy, but because manifestation becomes manifest only where awareness receives, shapes, and reveals it.
So this is not psychological subjectivism. It is more radical. There is no meaningful object outside the radiance of consciousness-speech. The mountain, the pot, the mantra, the body, the vow, the fear, the act, the deity, the memory — all must become present in saṃvid. Otherwise they are not yet a world for anyone.
This is why Abhinava refused to get lost in procedure. The real essence is pūrṇatā. Fullness means that everything, from the subtlest mantra-current to the most concrete act, can enter consciousness without falling outside it. The many are not added from elsewhere. They are admitted, shaped, and illumined inside the living fullness of Parā Vāk.
Everything first rests in the great radiance of Parā Vāk
māyīyāsāṃketikasvarūpabhūtaśuddhavimarśātmaparavāṅmantramahāmahasi tāvat pratiṣṭhāṃ bhajate yatra sarvavādibhiravikalpā daśā gīyate
“First, it obtains its foundation in the great radiance of the mantra that is Parā Vāk — whose nature is pure reflective awareness, free from the Māyic and conventional form — where all schools speak of a non-conceptual state.”
Abhinava now names where every padārtha first becomes grounded. Whether inwardly conceived or outwardly enacted, it first takes its stand in paravāk-mantra-mahāmahas — the great radiance of the mantra that is Parā Vāk. This is not ordinary language, not conventional naming, not the social agreement by which a word comes to mean a thing.
He calls it māyīya-asāṃketika-svarūpa-bhūta. It is free from the Māyic form of convention. Ordinary language is sāṃketika: a sign-system, agreed upon, learned, inherited, used. But Parā Vāk is asāṃketika. She does not signify because people agreed that one sound should point to one object. She is the pre-conventional power by which meaning can appear at all.
Her nature is śuddha-vimarśātmā — pure reflective awareness. This is the key. Parā Vāk is not mute being. She is consciousness aware of itself, articulating itself before conceptual division. The object first rests there, in that pure self-reflective radiance, before it becomes conventional word, thought, or external act.
That is why Abhinava says that all traditions speak here of an avikalpā daśā, a non-conceptual state. But he does not mean blankness. This is not the absence of all power. It is the stage before conceptual construction, before the object is cut into ordinary linguistic and mental forms. It is full, luminous, mantraic, alive with the possibility of all articulation.
So the movement is exact: every object enters consciousness; but the first foundation of that entry is not the crude mind and not social language. It is Parā Vāk, the great mantra-radiance where sound, meaning, and awareness are not yet split. From there, the object can descend into word, concept, action, and world.
Even the lower mantra-fields and elements are letter-natured
tataśca paramantramahāpṛthivyādau śuddhavyāmiśrādipāramārthikabījapiṇḍarūpakādivarṇātmakameva
“And from there, in the lower mantra-fields, in great earth and the rest, everything is indeed letter-natured — made of forms such as ultimate seeds and piṇḍas, whether pure, mixed, or otherwise.”
Abhinava now shows what follows from the grounding in Parā Vāk. Every object first rests in the paravāṅmantramahāmahas, the great mantra-radiance of supreme speech. But it does not remain only there in undifferentiated inwardness. From there, the current descends into the differentiated fields: paramantra, lower mantra-levels, mahāpṛthivī, great earth, and the rest of manifested reality.
The key phrase is varṇātmakam eva — everything is indeed letter-natured. The gross element earth is not outside the sound-body. Mantra-fields are not outside the sound-body. Pure forms, mixed forms, seed-forms, piṇḍa-forms — all are configurations of the same Mātṛkā current. The letters are not only syllables in the mouth; they are the subtle architecture by which manifestation becomes structured.
The terms bīja and piṇḍa matter here. Bīja is seed-form: condensed potency, sound as concentrated causal force. Piṇḍa is mass-form or body-form: that same potency gathered into a more compact manifest structure. Abhinava is showing the continuum: from Parā’s non-conventional mantra-radiance to seeds, bodies, mantras, elements, and world.
So the previous point said: every padārtha first finds foundation in Parā Vāk, beyond conventional signs. This point says: once manifestation unfolds, even its differentiated forms are still varṇātmaka. The descent into grossness is not a fall outside speech-consciousness. The world becomes dense, mixed, elemental, and embodied — but still as the letter-body of Śakti.
This is the force of the doctrine: Parā Vāk does not merely hover above the world as a subtle principle. She becomes mantra, seed, body, earth. The same current that is non-conceptual radiance at the root becomes the articulated structure of manifestation. Even great earth is not mute matter; it is sound condensed into form.
Without this, all distinct experiences would collapse into one sameness
anyathā merubadarajalajvalanabhāvābhāvaghaṭasukhanirvikalpajñānāni - ityekameva sarvaṃ syāt
“Otherwise, Meru and a jujube fruit, water and fire, existence and non-existence, pot, pleasure, and non-conceptual cognition — all would become one and the same.”
Abhinava now shows why the previous point is necessary. If differentiated manifestation were not varṇātmaka, letter-natured, if objects did not enter consciousness through structured articulation, then all differences would collapse into a flat sameness.
His examples are deliberately extreme: Meru and badara, the cosmic mountain and a tiny jujube fruit; jala and jvalana, water and fire; bhāva and abhāva, existence and non-existence; ghaṭa, pot; sukha, pleasure; nirvikalpajñāna, non-conceptual cognition. These are not slight variations. They are radically different orders of experience.
The point is clear: if all manifestation were only undifferentiated consciousness without inner articulation, then there would be no meaningful distinction between mountain and fruit, water and fire, being and non-being, object, feeling, and non-conceptual awareness. Everything would become ekam eva sarvam in the bad sense — not living nonduality, but blank collapse.
This is Abhinava’s refusal of weak monism. Nonduality does not mean all distinctions are meaningless. It means distinctions arise within one consciousness without becoming separate from it. The world is not saved by erasing difference; it is understood by seeing difference as the structured articulation of Parā Vāk.
So this point protects the whole doctrine from becoming vague. If everything is Mātṛkā, that does not mean everything is the same sound in a crude sense. It means each object has its distinct articulation within the letter-body of consciousness. Meru is not badara. Fire is not water. Pleasure is not a pot. Non-conceptual knowledge is not ordinary object-cognition. Difference is real as expression; unreality begins only when difference is imagined to stand outside saṃvid.
Even conceptual cognition follows the same path and does not split Parā Vāk
vikalpo'pi tatpramādotthaḥ tāmeva saraṇimanusaret na tu pratyuta tatsvarūpaṃ bhindyāt
“Even conceptual cognition, though arising from that error, follows that very path; it does not, on the contrary, split apart her true nature.”
Abhinava now turns to vikalpa, conceptual construction. After saying that without the letter-natured articulation of manifestation all differences would collapse into one flat sameness, he adds a crucial correction: even conceptual cognition, though born from pramāda, error or inattentive misrecognition, still follows the same path.
This is subtle. Vikalpa is not ultimate. It divides, names, selects, excludes, and constructs. It says “this is a pot,” “this is pleasure,” “this is mine,” “this is not that.” It arises from pramāda because consciousness forgets its own fullness and begins to treat its own articulations as separate, self-standing things.
But even then, vikalpa does not escape Parā Vāk. It tām eva saraṇim anusaret — follows that very path. Even conceptual thought depends on the same deeper movement of speech-consciousness: from Parā, into articulation, into distinction, into name, meaning, cognition, and experience. The error lies not in articulation itself, but in mistaking articulation for separation.
So Abhinava refuses two crude positions at once. He does not say conceptual cognition is ultimate. But he also does not say that it cuts reality into pieces. Na tu pratyuta tat-svarūpaṃ bhindyāt — it does not split her true nature. The conceptual mind may misread the play of difference, but it cannot actually fracture the body of vāk.
This is important for the whole project. Difference is not the enemy. Naming is not the enemy. Thought is not the enemy. The problem is pramāda — the dull misrecognition by which thought forgets its source and treats the differentiated form as independent. When seen rightly, even vikalpa is a distorted but still dependent movement of Parā’s own articulation.
So the doctrine remains strong: Parā Vāk is not destroyed by conceptuality. She is the ground even of the concepts that fail to recognize her. The wave may forget the ocean, but it does not leave the ocean. Likewise, vikalpa may arise from misrecognition, but it still moves along the path of Mātṛkā and cannot divide the true nature of the Mother of speech.
The non-conventional mantra-body is approached through conventional signs
tathā ca yadeva tadasāṃketikaṃ mantravapuḥ tadeva anyonyavicitrarūpaṃ paśyadbhiḥ sarvajñaiḥ saṃketopāyamupāsyatayā upa-
“And thus, that very mantra-body which is non-conventional is approached as an object of worship through the means of conventional signs by the omniscient ones, who see it as mutually varied in form…”
Abhinava now gives the next consequence. The real mantravapus, the body of mantra, is asāṃketika — not based on convention. At its root, mantra is not a human agreement, not a sign-system created by usage, not “this sound means this because people decided so.” It belongs to Parā Vāk, to the pure reflective radiance before ordinary signs.
But that does not make conventional signs useless. The sarvajñāḥ, the omniscient ones, see this non-conventional mantra-body as anyonyavicitrarūpam — mutually varied in form. They perceive how the one body of mantra differentiates itself into many letters, sounds, forms, deities, meanings, and practices. Because they see the inner structure, they can use saṃketa — conventional signs — as an upāya, a means.
This is important. Convention is not the root, but it can become a doorway. A syllable, a written letter, a mantra-sequence, a ritual instruction, a phonetic distinction — all these are conventional at one level. Yet when used by those who see, they point back into the non-conventional mantra-body. The sign is not ultimate, but it is not worthless.
So the relation is precise: asāṃketika is the real nature; saṃketa is the means of approach. The mistake is either to absolutize convention — as if mantra were only linguistic coding — or to despise convention — as if one could skip all forms and jump into the formless. Abhinava avoids both. The conventional form becomes sacred when it is used as a gateway into the non-conventional body of vāk.
This also connects back to vikalpa. Conceptual and conventional structures arise through limitation and can mislead when taken as final. But they do not split the true nature of Parā. Properly used, they follow the same path back. The letter, the sign, the mantra-form — all can become means of worship because the omniscient see the one living mantra-body shining through their varied forms.
Scriptural support: Mātṛkā is the varṇa-body that leads beyond sound
yathā - īśvara uvāca
kathayāmi varārohe yanmayā japyate sadā |
akārādikṣakārāntā mātṛkā varṇarūpiṇī ||
caturdaśasvaropetā bindutrayavibhūṣitā |
kalāmaṇḍalamāsthāya śaktirūpaṃ maheśvari |
kakārādikṣakārāntā varṇāstu śaktirūpiṇaḥ |
vyañjanatvātsadānandoccāraṇaṃ sahate yataḥ ||
uccāre svarasaṃbhinnāstato devi na saṃśayaḥ |
pañcāśadvarṇabhedena śabdākhyaṃ vastu suvrate ||
akāraḥ prathamaṃ devi kṣakāro'ntyastataḥ param |
akṣamāleti vikhyātā mātṛkāvarṇarūpiṇī ||
śabdabrahmasvarūpeyaṃ śabdātītaṃ tu japyate |
śabdātītaṃ paraṃ dhāma gaṇanārahitaṃ sadā ||
ātmasvarūpaṃ jānīhi īśastu parameśvaraḥ |
iti |
“As it is said — Īśvara spoke:
‘I shall tell you, O beautiful one, what is always recited by me:
Mātṛkā, whose form is the letters, extending from a to kṣa.
Adorned with the fourteen vowels and the three bindus,
established in the circle of kalās, O Maheśvarī, she is Śakti-form.
The letters from ka to kṣa are Śakti-forms;
because they are consonants, they require the utterance of eternal bliss.
In utterance they are joined with vowels — of this, O Devī, there is no doubt.
Through the division of fifty letters, O virtuous one, there is the reality called sound.
A is the first, O Devī; kṣa is the last thereafter.
Known as Akṣamālā, she is Mātṛkā, whose form is the letters.
She is the form of Śabda-Brahman; but what is recited is beyond sound.
That supreme abode beyond sound is always beyond counting.
Know it as the Self-form. Īśa is Parameśvara.’
Thus.”
The long scriptural citation now supports the whole movement without needing to be anatomized line by line. It confirms that Mātṛkā is the varṇa-rūpiṇī, the one whose body is the letters, stretching from akāra to kṣakāra. The alphabet is not merely a human arrangement of sounds. It is the body of Śakti.
The citation gathers several layers into one vision. Mātṛkā is adorned with vowels, bindus, kalās; the consonants from ka to kṣa are śakti-rūpiṇaḥ, forms of Śakti; and in utterance they depend on the vowels. This continues the earlier doctrine exactly: consonants are not self-sufficient dead units. They become speakable through the vowel-current, through the living breath of vāk.
Then the text says that through the fiftyfold division of letters there is śabdākhyaṃ vastu, the reality called sound. This is the manifest sound-body, the field where Mātṛkā becomes countable, recitable, teachable, and worshippable as Akṣamālā, the garland of letters from a to kṣa.
But the citation does not stop at sound. It says: śabdabrahmasvarūpeyaṃ śabdātītaṃ tu japyate — she is the form of Śabda-Brahman, yet what is truly recited is beyond sound. This is the same paradox Abhinava has been unfolding: the mantra-body appears as letters, sounds, vowels, consonants, bindus, and kalās; but its essence is not exhausted by audible or countable sound.
So the final movement is decisive: śabdātītaṃ paraṃ dhāma gaṇanārahitaṃ sadā — the supreme abode beyond sound is always beyond counting. The counted letters are real as manifestation and upāya; but the essence they lead to is ātmasvarūpa, the Self-form. The alphabet is Śakti’s body, but the heart of that body is the sound-transcendent Self.
This is why the gloss belongs as one support-point. It confirms Abhinava’s balance: conventional letters are not dismissed, because they are Mātṛkā’s manifest body; but they are not absolutized either, because the true mantra-body is asāṃketika, beyond convention, and finally śabdātīta, beyond sound.
Conventional signs fall into the non-conventional radiance of speech
diśyate tatraiva cāsāṃketike vāṅmahasi tathā khalu māyīyāḥ saṃketāḥ patanti yathā ta evāmāyīyāsaṃketitamantratādātmyaṃ pratipadyante tathā svarūpapratipattireva hi teṣāṃ vācakatābhāvo nānyaḥ kaścit
[anyathā hi vācyebhyaḥ ko vācakasya viśeṣa iti tātparyam |]
“It is taught precisely there, in that non-conventional radiance of speech. For Māyic conventions fall into it in such a way that they themselves attain identity with the non-Māyic, non-conventionally signified mantra. Thus their capacity to signify is nothing other than the recognition of their own true nature, and nothing else.
The gloss gives the point: otherwise, what distinction would there be between the signifier and the signified?”
Abhinava now closes the movement by showing what happens to conventional language. The real mantra-body is asāṃketika, non-conventional. It does not depend on social agreement. It rests in vāṅmahas, the great radiance of speech. But ordinary māyīya saṃketa, Māyic convention, is not simply rejected.
Rather, conventional signs patanti — they fall into that non-conventional speech-radiance. A word, a letter, a mantra-form, a sign may begin on the surface as convention. But when traced into its real ground, it becomes transparent to the amāyīya-asāṃketita-mantra, the non-Māyic mantra-body that was never merely conventional.
This is why Abhinava says their vācakatā, their capacity to signify, is svarūpa-pratipatti — recognition of their own true nature. A word truly signifies not because sound and meaning are externally glued together, but because both return to one ground in saṃvid. Signification is the word finding its own source.
The gloss is sharp: if this were not so, what would really distinguish vācaka, signifier, from vācya, signified? If they were utterly separate, convention would remain arbitrary and shallow. But in Parā Vāk, sound and meaning are not alien. The conventional sign becomes real when it falls back into the non-conventional radiance from which both word and meaning arise.
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