Parātrīṃśikā Vivaraṇa (Part 99): Conflicting Tantric Maps and Divine Will

Stone image of the Goddess Parā — the supreme power whose free will grounds the many tantric mappings and gives sacred convention its reality.

After all the previous sections, the reader’s head almost has to crack.

Abhinava has just presented one arrangement after another: the a-based order of the present Tantra, the kṣa-based order used in other śāstras for adhva-śuddhi, the Mālinī garland with her bhinnayoni sequence, the Mātṛkā placement, the Vidyātraya arrangement, the pervasions of Aparā and Parā, the use of phaṭ, huṃ, hrīṃ, visarga, triśūla, and so on. Each system has its own logic, its own placement, its own ritual force.

At this point the natural question is not academic. It is existentially irritating: are these mappings real, or is this just endless tantric convention? One tantra says one thing. Another tantra arranges the same field differently. A third gives another mantraic placement. A fourth folds one tattva into another. If all these systems are valid, what prevents the whole thing from becoming arbitrary? Why should any sequence purify anything? Why should one letter belong to one tattva here and another tattva there?

This is not only a medieval problem. It is exactly the pressure of the modern seeker. One opens one scripture and finds one map. Another lineage gives another map. One teacher says this mantra belongs here; another says the structure is different. One tradition speaks through tattvas, another through cakras, another through śūnyas, another through Devīs, another through philosophical categories. If one has a serious mind, one cannot simply smile and say, “all paths are true.” That is too cheap. But one also cannot pretend the contradictions are not there.

So Abhinava now faces the crisis directly. He does not hide behind piety. He says, in effect: yes, this produces a great disturbance for the knower of āgama — almost like panic in one’s own military camp, capable of destroying everything. The image is brutal: the problem is not outside the tradition; it arises inside the āgamic field itself. Too many maps, too many arrangements, too many authoritative systems — and suddenly the seeker does not know whether he is dealing with revelation or symbolic convention.

Then he cuts into the real question: is this merely sāṃketika — conventional? Are these mappings just humanly invented signs, like regional words that mean different things in different places? If so, their purificatory power collapses. A merely arbitrary convention cannot ground the relation of purifier and purified. It cannot explain why a mantra actually works, why a nyāsa purifies, why a tattva-placement transforms consciousness.

But Abhinava will not accept either lazy alternative. He will not reduce the āgamic mappings to human convention. Yet he also will not deny that different mappings exist. His answer is subtler and more dangerous: even convention itself has paramārtha-sattā, ultimate reality, because there is no convention apart from Parameśvara’s will. What appears as convention is not merely social agreement if it is rooted in divine will.

So this chunk is extremely practical. It speaks to anyone who has ever felt crushed by conflicting scriptures, lineages, symbols, and systems. Abhinava is asking: what makes a sacred map real? Not sameness across all texts. Not human agreement. Not personal preference. Its reality lies in the will of consciousness that gives it power, placement, and function.

Another kind of prakriyā-arrangement has just been explained

iti anyathaiva prakriyāyojanaṃ nirūpitam

“Thus, a prakriyā-arrangement has been explained in precisely another way.”

Abhinava now names what has just happened. Another prakriyā-yojanā — another arrangement of the process, another procedural mapping — has been explained. The same field of letters, tattvas, mantras, Vidyās, and purificatory operations has been arranged differently from what came before.

This sentence is small, but it opens a major crisis. We have already seen several mappings: the present Tantra’s a-based arrangement, the kṣa-based reabsorptive order, the Mālinī garland, the Mātṛkā placement, the Vidyātraya applications, the pervasions of Aparā and Parā. Each is scripturally grounded. Each has logic. But they are not identical.

So the reader is forced into the question: if these arrangements differ, what makes any of them real? Are they all different ways of touching the same truth, or are they merely conventions? Is one ultimate and the others provisional? Are they ritual technologies, symbolic languages, or actual structures of consciousness?

Abhinava does not let this anxiety remain hidden. He points to it directly. Another arrangement has been explained — anyathaiva, in another way. That “another way” is the doorway into the whole next discussion. The problem is no longer just the content of one mapping. The problem is the plurality of sacred maps themselves.

Other tantras present many different arrangements

punarapi mātṛkāsadbhāvaratiśekharakuleśvarādimantrabhaṭṭārakādyabhiprāyeṇa anyathā anyathā ca aparatantreṣvapi evameva viparyastaprāyaṃ bahu bahuśo nirūpitam

“Again, in other tantras too, according to the intention of mantra-lords such as Mātṛkāsadbhāva, Ratiśekhara, Kuleśvara, and others, many arrangements have repeatedly been taught in different ways, often almost reversed.”

Abhinava now widens the disturbance. It is not only that one alternate prakriyā-yojanā has been explained. Many other tantras also give different arrangements, each according to the intention — abhiprāya — of a particular mantra-lord or scriptural current: Mātṛkāsadbhāva, Ratiśekhara, Kuleśvara, and others.

The phrase anyathā anyathā is the pressure point: differently, differently. Not one neat variation. Many variations. And then viparyasta-prāyam — often almost reversed. So the problem becomes serious. These are not minor spelling differences or decorative ritual options. Entire mappings can be arranged in ways that seem to overturn one another.

This is exactly where a sincere reader starts to feel destabilized. If one tantra maps a sequence one way, another reverses it, another uses Mālinī, another Mātṛkā, another Vidyātraya, another some mantra-lord’s own arrangement — then what is the ground? Is this revelation, or system-building? Is it divine order, or symbolic improvisation?

Abhinava does not hide the difficulty. He piles it up deliberately. The plurality of tantric mappings is real. The reader is meant to feel the pressure. Only then can the deeper answer matter. If the arrangements were all identical, no question would arise. The real issue is how many different sacred maps can all function without collapsing into arbitrary convention.

In this Tantra, everything appears arranged differently

tat punar iha sarvam evānyathā iti paridṛśyate

“But here, all of that is seen to be entirely otherwise.”

Abhinava now turns the pressure directly back to the present Tantra. Other tantras arrange the letters, tattvas, mantras, and purificatory structures in many different ways — sometimes almost reversed. But now, iha, here in this text, the arrangement appears different again. Sarvam eva anyathā — everything is otherwise.

This is the moment where the reader’s confidence can break. It is one thing to know that different traditions have different systems. It is another thing to be inside a śāstric world where every system claims authority, every arrangement has ritual force, and yet the arrangements do not line up neatly.

Abhinava does not soften this. He says openly: here it appears otherwise. That honesty matters. He is not pretending there is no problem. The problem is real: if one sacred map says one thing, another sacred map says another, and the present Tantra gives yet another structure, the mind naturally asks whether any of this is grounded in truth or only in convention.

So this point deepens the crisis. The contradiction is no longer hypothetical. It is visible in the texts themselves. The next point will state the force of that disturbance very vividly: for the knower of āgama, this can become like a panic inside one’s own camp, capable of destroying everything.

A great disturbance arises for the knower of āgama

iti mahān ayam āgamavidaḥ svakaṭakakṣobha iva sarvavināśakaḥ samudbhūtaḥ

“Thus, for the knower of āgama, this great disturbance has arisen — like a panic in one’s own military camp, capable of destroying everything.”

Abhinava now names the crisis with brutal honesty. The many differing tantric arrangements do not create a small interpretive inconvenience. They produce mahān kṣobhaḥ — a great disturbance — for the āgamavit, the one who knows the āgamas. And he compares it to svakaṭaka-kṣobha, panic or disorder inside one’s own military camp.

This image is excellent and severe. The danger is not from an outside enemy. The disturbance arises inside one’s own camp — inside the āgamic tradition itself. Too many authoritative maps, too many sequences, too many valid-looking arrangements, and suddenly the entire confidence of the practitioner can begin to shake. What was supposed to guide can start to feel like confusion.

The phrase sarvavināśakaḥ makes it even sharper: capable of destroying everything. If the practitioner concludes that all these mappings are arbitrary, then ritual confidence collapses. Mantra loses force. Tattva-placement becomes symbolic theater. Purification becomes psychological suggestion. The śāstra becomes a museum of incompatible systems.

This is why this chunk is so modern. A serious seeker today faces the same thing multiplied a hundred times. One opens one tradition and finds one map; another gives a different map; another teacher gives a contradictory order; another tantra rearranges everything. The mind can begin to suspect that all sacred systems are just humanly invented patterns. That suspicion is not stupid. It is the natural result of encountering too much unintegrated plurality.

Abhinava does not shame that disturbance. He names it. A real āgamavit can feel this crisis because he actually sees the problem. A shallow believer does not feel it, because he simply repeats his local map and ignores the rest. But someone who has seen many āgamas cannot avoid the question: what makes these different arrangements real?

So this point is the emotional and intellectual center of the chunk. Before Abhinava answers whether the mappings are merely conventional, he lets the crisis become fully visible. The tradition’s own multiplicity has produced a camp-disturbance. Now the question is whether the camp collapses — or whether a deeper principle holds it together.

These mappings cannot be dismissed as merely conventional signs

na ca sāṃketikamidaṃ

“And this is not merely conventional.”

Abhinava now cuts off the easiest escape route. Faced with many different tantric mappings, one might say: “Fine, these are just conventions. One system uses one arrangement, another uses another. They are symbolic codes, nothing more.” Abhinava says no: na ca sāṃketikam idam — this is not merely conventional.

This is the crucial turn. If the mappings were only human agreements, then their ritual and purificatory force would collapse. A convention can help people communicate, but it does not by itself purify the adhvas, transform mantra, or establish the relation of purifier and purified. If a letter belongs to a tattva only because some human group decided so, then the whole sacred architecture becomes fragile.

Abhinava is not denying that language has conventional aspects. He knows that words differ by region and usage. But tantric mapping cannot be reduced to that level. These arrangements are not like arbitrary local names for rice or thieves. They are rooted in a deeper power of manifestation.

This is where the passage becomes very practical. The modern mind often wants to reduce sacred systems to “symbolic frameworks.” That sounds sophisticated, but it often drains the system of force. Abhinava is saying: if these are only symbols invented by preference, they cannot do the work the āgamas say they do. Something deeper must ground them.

So the question is now sharpened: if the mappings differ, and yet are not merely arbitrary convention, what gives them reality? Abhinava’s answer will be that even convention itself, when properly understood, rests in Parameśvara’s will. But first he blocks the lazy solution: do not dissolve the āgamas into human code-making.

If mappings were merely human convention, any arrangement could be made to fit

yena puruṣecchāvaśopakalpitena rūpeṇa ca anyathā anyathā nirūpyamāṇam iha saṃgataṃ bhavet

“For if it were a form imagined according to human will, then, being explained differently in different ways, it could be made to fit here.”

Abhinava now explains why the “mere convention” answer fails. If these mappings were only puruṣecchā-vaśa-upakalpita — invented under the control of human will — then any arrangement could be made to fit anywhere. One teacher could decide this letter belongs here, another could decide otherwise, another could reverse the order, and all of it would be equally valid because the whole thing would rest only on human choice.

That would make the āgamic mappings no deeper than arbitrary symbolic systems. Useful perhaps for a group that agrees to use them, but not inherently purifying, not ontologically grounded, not capable of carrying the weight the tantras place on them.

This is the danger Abhinava is blocking. The problem is not merely that the systems differ. Difference by itself is not fatal. The fatal conclusion would be: “Since they differ, they are only humanly invented.” If that were true, then the sacred map would become a private code. One could always invent another. The relation between letter and tattva, mantra and purification, Śakti and ritual operation would lose necessity.

So the argument is becoming clear. Abhinava accepts that different mappings exist. He does not deny the plurality. But he refuses to reduce that plurality to human arbitrariness. The arrangements differ because the divine will can manifest different functional orders — not because human beings can freely fabricate whatever they like and call it āgama.

Regional word-usages show how unstable mere convention would be

yathā - dākṣiṇātyāḥ cauraśabdena odanaṃ vyapadiśanti saindhavāstu tenaiva dasyum odanaṃ tu krūraśrutyā tayā tu kāśmīrikā vituṣitayavagodhūmataṇḍulān iti

“For example: Southerners use the word caura to refer to cooked rice; the people of Sindh use that same word for a thief, while they refer to cooked rice by the word krūra; and Kashmiris use that word for husked grains of barley, wheat, and rice.”

Abhinava now gives a deliberately ordinary example. If tantric mappings were merely conventional, they would be like regional word-usages. The same sound can mean different things in different places. One group uses caura for cooked rice; another uses it for a thief; another uses krūra for rice; Kashmiris use that term for husked grains.

This is how ordinary convention works. A community agrees, explicitly or implicitly, that a certain sound points to a certain thing. Another community uses the same sound differently. There is no deep ontological necessity in the sound itself. It is socially stabilized usage.

Abhinava brings this example to show what would happen if āgamic mappings were reduced to that level. Then one tantra could say this letter purifies this tattva, another could assign it elsewhere, another could reverse the order, and all of it would have no deeper grounding than regional vocabulary. The relation between mantra and tattva would become a local code.

That would be devastating. A local word-convention can communicate, but it does not by itself purify consciousness. It does not establish why a mantra should remove a specific impurity, why a tattva-placement should transform the practitioner, or why a nyāsa should have real effect.

So this example is simple, but it sharpens the problem. Abhinava is not denying conventional language. He is saying that āgamic mappings cannot be merely like that. If they were, they would be unstable, relative, and unable to bear the spiritual work assigned to them.

If the mappings were merely conventional, they would be unstable and unusable for purification

sāṃketikatve hi anavasthitatvāt apāramārthikatvāt ca śodhyaśodhakabhāvādyanupayogāt anirūpaṇīyatvameva syāt

“For if they were merely conventional, then because of their instability and lack of ultimate reality, they would be unusable for relations such as purifier and purified, and would be impossible to determine.”

Abhinava now states the consequence clearly. If these tantric mappings were only sāṃketika, merely conventional, then they would be anavasthita, unstable. A convention can shift from region to region, lineage to lineage, speaker to speaker. If āgamic mappings had only that kind of status, no definite ritual or contemplative force could be established.

They would also be apāramārthika, lacking ultimate reality. They might function as social signs, but not as real structures of purification. This is the key point. A merely arbitrary convention can help communication, but it cannot ground śodhya-śodhaka-bhāva — the relation between what is to be purified and what purifies. If a mantra-letter is linked to a tattva only by human agreement, why should it purify that tattva? Why should its nyāsa transform the practitioner? Why should one order have real effect rather than another?

Therefore such mappings would become anirūpaṇīya, impossible to determine. One could never finally say: this is the proper arrangement, this is its function, this is what it purifies. Everything would dissolve into interpretive preference.

This is why Abhinava refuses to reduce the tantras to symbolic convention. The maps may differ, but they cannot be merely arbitrary. Their power depends on a deeper grounding. Otherwise the entire tantric structure becomes unstable: mantra becomes code, nyāsa becomes theater, purification becomes suggestion, and śāstra becomes a pile of local symbolic systems.

So the pressure is now at its highest. Abhinava has accepted that many arrangements exist. He has denied that they are merely human convention. Now he shows why: without deeper reality, they cannot do the work they are meant to do.

Even convention itself has ultimate reality

saṃketasyāpi paramārthasattaiva nahi saṃketo nāma anyaḥ kaścit - ṛte parameśvarecchātaḥ

“Even convention itself has ultimate reality. For there is no such thing as convention apart from the will of Parameśvara.”

Abhinava now gives the decisive turn. He has rejected the idea that the tantric mappings are merely conventional in the ordinary human sense. But he does not simply deny saṃketa, convention. Instead, he deepens it: even saṃketa has paramārtha-sattā, ultimate reality.

This is the subtle point. Convention is not unreal merely because it varies. A convention becomes spiritually powerful when it is not treated as an arbitrary human invention, but as grounded in Parameśvara-icchā, the will of Parameśvara. There is no convention outside that will. Even the possibility that a sign can mean, refer, connect, function, and produce results rests in the Lord’s freedom.

This is a very strong answer to the crisis. Abhinava does not say: “All mappings are the same.” He does not say: “Choose whatever symbolism you like.” He says: if a tantric mapping is āgamic, effective, and rooted in divine will, then its conventional form is not merely human convention. It is a manifestation of will-power within consciousness.

So the difference between ordinary convention and āgamic convention is enormous. Ordinary convention may be unstable and local: this word means rice here, thief there. But sacred convention, when grounded in Parameśvara’s will, becomes a real operative connection. It can support śodhya-śodhaka-bhāva, the relation of purified and purifier, because its basis is not private preference but divine intentionality.

This is the point that saves the plurality of tantric maps from collapse. Different arrangements can exist because Parameśvara’s will can establish different functional orders. Their difference does not make them arbitrary. Their reality comes from the will that grounds them.

Convention itself has ultimate reality

saṃketasyāpi paramārthasattaiva nahi saṃketo nāma anyaḥ kaścit - ṛte parameśvarecchātaḥ

“Even convention itself has ultimate reality. For there is no such thing as convention apart from the will of Parameśvara.”

Abhinava now gives the decisive answer. He does not deny that saṃketa, convention, exists. He denies that convention is merely human agreement. Even convention has paramārtha-sattā, ultimate reality, because it does not exist apart from Parameśvara-icchā, the will of Parameśvara.

This is subtle and powerful. A weak answer would be: “These mappings are not conventional at all.” But Abhinava’s answer is more exact: even what appears as convention is grounded in the Lord’s will. The relation between sign and meaning, mantra and tattva, purifier and purified, is not a human invention floating in emptiness. It is a mode of divine will manifesting as order.

So the plurality of tantric mappings is not saved by pretending they are all identical. It is saved by grounding their function deeper than human choice. A sacred convention works because it is not merely social. It is rooted in consciousness-power. That is why one arrangement can purify in one context, another arrangement in another context, without both collapsing into arbitrary symbolism.

This is the real answer to the modern anxiety too. Sacred maps differ. But difference does not automatically mean fiction. The question is whether the map is rooted in living power, lineage, revelation, and practice — or whether it is merely a human construction. For Abhinava, real āgamic saṃketa is not outside Parameśvara’s will, and therefore it can bear transformative force.

It is well established that convention is fashioned by Bhagavān’s will

prasiddho hi na saṃketo bhagavadicchāprakalpitaḥ

“For convention is indeed well known as something fashioned by Bhagavān’s will.”

Abhinava now states the principle more plainly. Saṃketa, convention, is not simply a human invention. It is bhagavad-icchā-prakalpita — fashioned, arranged, or brought forth by the will of Bhagavān.

This is the key difference between ordinary unstable convention and āgamic convention. In ordinary language, a word may mean rice in one region and thief in another. That kind of convention is local, shifting, and socially maintained. But the conventions of mantra, tattva-placement, nyāsa, and purification cannot be reduced to that level. Their force comes from being rooted in divine will.

This does not mean every human symbolic system is automatically sacred. Abhinava is not giving permission for random invention. He is saying that real āgamic convention is not arbitrary because it is grounded in icchā, the will of consciousness itself. That will establishes relations that can actually function: mantra can purify, letters can correspond to tattvas, and different arrangements can operate in different ritual contexts.

So the plurality of tantric mappings is saved not by making them all identical, but by grounding them in Bhagavān’s freedom. The Lord’s will can establish one order for one function, another order for another. Difference of mapping does not mean unreality. It means that divine will can articulate reality through multiple operative structures.

Objection: ritual results arise from rites involving names, syllables, and scripts

tannāmākṣaralipyādigatāpyāyanādikarmavidhijanitatacchāntikādiphalasaṃpatteḥ iti cet

“If it is objected: ‘But the attainment of results such as appeasement comes from ritual procedures such as nourishment and the like, involving those names, syllables, scripts, and so on…’”

Abhinava now introduces the objection. Someone may say: even if these mappings are conventional, they still work. Ritual results do occur. Through rites involving nāma, names, akṣara, syllables, lipi, written characters or scripts, and related procedures such as āpyāyana, nourishment or strengthening, results such as śānti, appeasement, are produced.

This objection is not stupid. It says, in effect: why demand ultimate grounding? If ritual procedures using names, letters, scripts, and symbolic correspondences produce results, then perhaps convention is enough. A mantra, a written syllable, a ritual operation — if these generate appeasement, protection, nourishment, or other effects, does it matter whether their relation to the tattvas is ultimately grounded?

This is close to a modern pragmatic objection too: “Maybe the map is symbolic, but it works psychologically or ritually, so why care?” Abhinava does care, because for him the issue is not only whether something produces an effect. The issue is what kind of reality grounds that effect. If the result is real, then the sign-system cannot be merely arbitrary human convention in the weak sense. Its efficacy must rest on a deeper structure.

So this objection sharpens the debate. It tries to save convention by pointing to successful ritual results. Abhinava’s reply will be severe: if convention alone were enough, one convention should accomplish everything. And if not, then one would have to explain endlessly many conventions — scriptural, worldly, local, teacher-specific, individual — which becomes absurd.

If one convention alone worked, why rely on another?

tarhi ekenaiva saṃketena sarvavastusaṃpattau kiṃ saṃketāntarāśrayeṇa

“Then, if all things could be accomplished by one convention alone, what need would there be to rely on another convention?”

Abhinava now answers the objection sharply. If ritual success comes merely from convention — from names, syllables, scripts, and procedures functioning as agreed signs — then one convention should be enough. If convention as such has the power to accomplish results, why multiply conventions? Why use one arrangement here, another there, another in a different tantra, another in a different ritual?

This is a very strong reduction. The opponent wants to say: “Yes, these mappings may be conventional, but they still produce ritual results.” Abhinava replies: if mere convention has that power, then any established convention should do the whole job. One code should accomplish everything. But tantric practice does not work that way. Different mantras, letters, nyāsas, Vidyās, and arrangements are used for different operations because their powers are not interchangeable human labels.

So the issue is again necessity. A real āgamic mapping has a specific function. It is not just a sign-system that could be swapped freely with another. If one convention could produce every result, the entire careful architecture of mantra and tattva-placement would be meaningless.

In modern terms, this is like saying: if “symbolism” alone transforms, then any symbol should transform anything. But that is not how sacred practice works in Abhinava’s vision. A mantra is not just a psychological cue. A tattva-placement is not just a mnemonic. The relation must be grounded in a real power, otherwise the specificity of the śāstra becomes pointless.

If one relies on further conventions, endless conventions would have to be determined

tadāśrayaṇe vā svaśāstritaśāstrāntarīyalaukikapārṣadadaiśikaghanakṛtapratipuruṣaniyatādyanantasaṃketaniveśanapūrvakaṃ tadapi nirūpyam eva

“Or, if one does rely on another convention, then that too would have to be determined through the prior establishment of endless conventions — those belonging to one’s own śāstra, to other śāstras, to worldly usage, to assemblies, to teachers, to dense traditions, to conventions fixed for each individual person, and so on.”

Abhinava now presses the absurdity further. Suppose one says: “Fine, one convention is not enough; we can rely on different conventions for different results.” Then the problem explodes. Which convention? From whose śāstra? From which lineage? From which teacher? From which assembly? From which region? From which inherited usage? From which individual’s fixed understanding?

This is the force of the long compound. Abhinava deliberately piles up the sources of convention: svaśāstra, one’s own scripture; śāstrāntara, other scriptures; laukika, worldly usage; pārṣada, assemblies or circles; daiśika, teachers; ghana-kṛta, dense established traditions; pratipuruṣa-niyata, conventions fixed person by person. If convention is the ground, then one must determine all of these before any ritual act can have certainty.

And that is impossible. The field becomes endless — ananta-saṃketa. Instead of solving the plurality of tantric mappings, the “mere convention” theory multiplies confusion infinitely. It does not give a foundation; it creates an unending catalog of local codes.

This is very practical. The modern seeker knows this exact problem: one teacher says this, another lineage says that, one community uses one symbol, another reverses it, one scholar explains it historically, another ritually, another psychologically. If everything rests only on convention, there is no bottom. The mind drowns in mappings.

So Abhinava is showing that convention cannot be the ultimate explanation unless convention itself is grounded deeper than human agreement. Otherwise one would need to master endless human sign-systems before practice could begin. That is not liberation. That is scholastic suffocation.

Such talk belongs only to people whose bellies are caves of illiteracy

na tāvadbhirupayogaḥ etāvataiva kāryasiddhiḥ - ityapi nirakṣarakukṣikuharaiḥ ucyamānaṃ śrūyamāṇaṃ ca śobhata eva |

“But there is no use in so many conventions; the task is accomplished by this much alone — such a statement is fitting only when spoken and heard by those whose bellies are caves of illiteracy.”

Abhinava now closes the objection with open contempt. If someone says, “There is no need for all these conventions; this much alone is enough to accomplish the task,” he says such talk is suitable only for nirakṣara-kukṣi-kuhara — people whose bellies are caves of illiteracy. It is a brutal phrase. Not merely “ignorant people,” but people hollowed out by lack of real learning, as if illiteracy lives inside them like a dark cavern.

The point is not elitist display. Abhinava is attacking shallow simplification. The person who says “one convention is enough” has not understood the complexity of mantra, tattva, śāstra, lineage, ritual function, and divine will. They want to flatten the whole āgamic field into a convenient shortcut. But this is not simplicity born from realization. It is laziness pretending to be clarity.

This is very relevant today. The modern mind often wants to say: “All symbols are just symbols,” “all maps are interchangeable,” “intention is enough,” “use whatever works for you.” That may sound open-minded, but from Abhinava’s standpoint it can be spiritually illiterate. Sacred systems have internal necessity. A mantraic map is not just a mood-board. A convention rooted in Parameśvara’s will is not equivalent to a private preference.

So this final point gives the whole chunk its edge. The problem of many tantric mappings is real. The anxiety is real. But the solution is not to dismiss the mappings as arbitrary, nor to say one generic convention can do everything. Real understanding requires discrimination: which śāstra, which convention, which divine will, which ritual function, which purifier, which purified. To avoid that work by flattening everything is not wisdom. It is cave-like ignorance wearing the mask of simplicity.

The chunk therefore closes sharply: plurality of sacred maps does not mean arbitrariness. Convention itself must be grounded in divine will. And anyone who treats the āgamic field as a disposable symbolic code has not understood the first thing about why these mappings matter.