# The Vedas and Brahman: Six The question returns with persistent force: what is the nature of this absolute principle we call Brahman? In our inquiry so far, we have approached it through negation—neti, neti, not this, not this—stripping away the veils of name and form. But negation alone cannot satisfy the human longing to understand. There must be something positive we can grasp, some thread of knowledge that leads toward the infinite. The Vedic seers seemed to understand this paradox. They spoke in images and metaphors, knowing that language itself bends when stretched toward the transcendent. The Upanishads offer us pearls of assertion: Brahman is *sat*, *chit*, *ananda*—being, consciousness, bliss. Not three separate qualities, but a single reality viewed through the lens of our limited perception. When the finite mind touches the infinite, this is what it apprehends. Yet we must be careful. These words are not definitions in the manner of logical philosophy. They are more like pointers, fingers directing us toward a moon we cannot capture. Sat speaks to the unchanging reality that underlies all becoming. Chit indicates the luminous awareness that pervades existence—not the individual consciousness bound by ego, but the universal intelligence in which all knowing occurs. And ananda: not happiness as we know it, conditioned and fleeting, but the inherent fullness of being when all separation dissolves. The Vedas do not merely declare these truths. They enact them through ritual, through sound, through the precise arrangement of syllables that the ancient grammarians believed held cosmic significance. In the *yajna*, the sacred fire fed with *ghee* and sacred words, something more than metaphor occurs. There is a correspondence between the microcosm of the ritual and the macrocosm of creation itself. As above, so below—the principle that runs through all mystical traditions found its earliest and perhaps most rigorous expression in Vedic thought. This is why the Upanishadic sages did not merely philosophize in the abstract. They grounded their inquiry in living practice, in meditation, in the cultivation of vision. The student sat before the guru not to collect information but to undergo transformation. Knowledge of Brahman was not intellectual assent but a radical reorientation of consciousness. It was the difference between knowing the word "fire" and being burned by fire. What then is the relationship between the Vedas themselves and this Brahman they point toward? The orthodox Hindu schools developed a sophisticated answer: the Vedas are *apaurusheya*, eternal and authorless. They are not human compositions, not even divine revelations in the sense of being communicated by a personal God. Rather, they are the eternal utterances of reality itself, the cosmic word (*Shabda Brahman*) through which the universe manifests. When the cosmos is created anew at the beginning of each cycle, the Vedas emerge spontaneously—not created but revealed, as one might say that the sun does not create light but reveals what is eternally luminous. This conception elevates the Vedas beyond scripture as we typically understand it. They are not a human record of divine truth, but the very voice of truth uttering itself through the medium of sound and language. To recite the Vedas correctly, therefore, is not merely to read ancient words; it is to participate in the creative utterance that sustains the cosmos. The *rishi*, the seer, is one who perceives this eternal word and articulates it. The later sage remembers and transmits, but the word itself is beyond human authorship. Yet here arises a subtle difficulty. If Brahman is beyond all qualities and characteristics, how can it be identified with the Vedas, which are composed of sounds and words? Advaita Vedanta, the non-dualist school, addresses this through the doctrine of *maya*—not illusion in the sense of unreality, but the mysterious power by which the infinite conceals itself within the finite without losing its nature. Brahman, remaining ever unchanged, manifests itself as the cosmos and as the Vedas through this power. The words of the Veda are like waves on the surface of the ocean—apparently separate and limited, yet never separate from the infinite waters from which they arise. In meditation on this mystery, one realizes that the distance between the seeker and the sought is itself an illusion born of ignorance. The Brahman one seeks is already the very consciousness by which one seeks. This is the deepest secret the Upanishads whisper to the worthy ear: *Tat Tvam Asi*—that thou art. Not as a future attainment, not as something to be achieved through effort alone, but as the truth that has always been, veiled by the false identification with the limited ego. This teaching cannot be proven or disproven through logical argument. It can only be tested in the laboratory of one's own being. The Vedic path offers both the map and the invitation: read, reflect, meditate, and discover directly. In that discovery, the difference between the Vedas and Brahman, between knowledge and its object, between the seeker and the sought, dissolves in the silence that speaks louder than all words.

Regarding this matter: when we speak of the Self—that which is the object of knowledge—we cannot apply the distinction between direct perception and other means of knowledge. The Self cannot be regarded as a near object, nor as a distant one. Now, should someone argue that verbal testimony provides only general properties, while direct perception reveals specific properties, a problem arises. This would mean that what direct perception knows cannot be known through verbal testimony at all. That is, if we say that regarding the Self, verbal testimony teaches only general properties while specific properties require direct knowledge, then the teaching of scripture would become futile. For scripture (Sruti) alone is the means by which the Self is known. Therefore, this distinction cannot be drawn when it comes to understanding the Self. In short, verbal testimony is sufficient for knowledge of the Self; direct perception has no separate role to play here.

Yet what was stated earlier—that Brahman is not the content of knowledge arising from verbal testimony? That is, Brahman cannot be grasped within the limits of the knowledge that scripture or verbal testimony provides. Brahman is such a reality that He does not reveal Himself through any ordinary means of knowledge like other objects. If the specific nature of Brahman cannot be known through verbal testimony, how can one meditate upon it? To meditate, one must first know the object of meditation. If the specific nature of Brahman does not manifest in scripture itself, on what shall a person meditate?

When meditation is directed toward one object, no other object is directly known. Meditation is always upon a specific object. Therefore, if the nature of Brahman is not clearly known, there is no foundation for meditation either. Moreover, what is that nature of Brahman—the direct realization of which is the purpose of rites and sacrifices? The prescription of sacrifices and other rites gains meaning only when we assume them to be the means of realizing the Self. The Self is itself Brahman, of the nature of bliss and free from defects—as described in verbal testimony.

If the supreme goal of humanity—the nature of that Self who is Brahman's own nature, blissful and free from defects—cannot be known through verbal testimony, or is known in some other way, then that scriptural injunction becomes meaningless. If the nature of the Self (which is Brahman) cannot be known from scripture, or is known incorrectly, then the very purpose of all scriptural prescriptions regarding sacrifices becomes futile. Therefore, when that Self—who is the very nature of Brahman and free from all defects—is clearly known through verbal testimony, and where no doubt remains, no other means is necessary. Scripture itself reveals the nature of the Self-Brahman clearly. If there were any doubt in this, meditation and sacrifice would themselves be meaningless. Therefore, there is no need to seek another means. Verbal testimony accomplishes the task of making Brahman known as the object of meditation. Once it is known with certainty, no sacrifice or additional means is required.

Consider: a room is dark. You can see nothing. Suddenly, a light is switched on → you now see the objects in the room clearly. Now the question: after that light, do you need another light? The answer: no. Once the light comes on, the objects are seen. Similarly: verbal testimony (scripture) is that light. Once scripture has made the Self-Brahman clear, no other means (sacrifice, another means of knowledge) is needed. Or consider: you wish to see your face in a mirror. Once your face is seen clearly in the mirror, the task is done. There is no need to seek out another mirror. So it is: once the nature of the Self-Brahman has become clear through scripture, seeking any new means is merely unnecessary effort.

Imagine you are sitting in Dhaka and wish to go to Cox's Bazar, so you consult a map. The map shows you the correct path. Once you know the path, there is no need to look for another map.

# Now the task is to walk that path

Once a path is properly recognized, does anyone keep Google Maps open during their journey—no matter how updated the app might be? Scripture (testimony of the sacred word) reveals to you the very nature of soul and Brahman. Once that is understood, there is no need to search for new proofs or rituals. When the light of scripture blazes forth, the nature of soul and Brahman becomes clear. After that, one need not seek out new light, new mirrors, or new maps.

Even after hearing and understanding “Thou Art That” (Chandogya Upanishad, 6.8.7) and knowing the non-duality of Brahman and self, the qualities of bondage (suffering, fear, attachment and aversion, the sense of doer and enjoyer, possessiveness, and so on) are still felt, as they were in times past. This gives rise to the objection: something more must be needed to remove this “bondage-like experience”—perhaps other practices, rituals, additional aids. To put this doubt plainly: “Scripture says ‘You are Brahman,’ yet my life still churns with the same tensions as before—so is there not something more to be done?”

In the case of one who has truly realized Brahman as his own self—that is, one who knows the true nature of the self—there should be no error-born qualities of bondage. Bondage is nothing but false knowledge (superimposition/delusion): the belief that “I am body-mind.” When the knowledge of non-duality becomes firm—”I am Brahman, one and without a second”—this false-founded identity has no place to stand; consequently, the qualities of bondage fall away.

Let us see what the sacred utterance proves. “One who knows Brahman becomes Brahman” (Mundaka Upanishad, 3.2.9)—meaning: here “becomes” expresses a unity of identity—he was always already Brahman; knowledge merely removes the false identity (ignorance or avidya). The result: when identity shifts—from “I am body-mind” to “I am Brahman”—the qualities of bondage associated with body-mind (attachment, fear, ego) are no longer superimposed upon the self.

“If a man knows the self in this way—’I am this’—then for whom and for what should he suffer in union with the body?” (Brihad-aranyaka Upanishad, 4.4.12) The meaning is: “I am this”—that is, “I am the self/Brahman; I am not any other thing (body, mind, senses, life-force).” When such a vision of non-duality becomes established, the craving for experience and non-experience (which always springs from regarding oneself as incomplete, desiring something other than oneself) is satisfied and ceases. Thus the need cycle of “for whom” (for loved ones, possessions, reputation) and “for what” (for fruits in this life and the next) can no longer bind the self.

“One who is free from the body is not touched by joy or sorrow” (Chandogya Upanishad, 8.12.1)—what does “free from the body” mean? It does not mean losing the physical form; rather, it means the dissolution of the false equation that “body is I.” In other words, a state like that of the liberated-while-living—the body exists, cause and effect (prarabdha) unfold, yet the sense of “I” is not trapped in the body. The result: joy and sorrow may arise at the level of body and mind, but at the level of the self they leave no trace—this is what scripture teaches.

According to scripture, each action a human performs creates a fruit. This fruit of action does not manifest immediately; rather, it accumulates and remains latent (as impression or imprint). That fruit later manifests at some point in life, or in a future birth. In Vedanta, the fruit of action is generally understood in three categories: *Sanchita Karma* (Accumulated Karma)—all the fruit of actions stored up over many births, which has not yet ripened into manifestation. *Prarabdha Karma* (Fructifying Karma)—that portion which has already “ripened” to bear fruit. This is called the destiny of this birth. Body, family, birthplace, lifespan, health, joy and sorrow—all are the fruit of this prarabdha karma. *Agami* or *Kriyamana Karma* (Future or Present Action)—the new actions we perform in this life will generate new fruits in the future. These will be added to accumulated karma.

Accumulated karma is burned away upon gaining knowledge—as cotton cast into fire becomes ash; but fructifying karma does not end even after knowledge is gained, because it has already “begun to unfold”—like an arrow shot into the air; it cannot be stopped midway.

Even the wise one (the liberated-in-life) retains, by virtue of prārabdha karma, a body, a lifespan, certain experiences; yet he does not claim them as his own—thus he remains truly unbound.

Consider a farmer who has sown many seeds in his field. Those still buried in the soil (accumulated karma)—if they were to be burned in fire, they would sprout no more. But the saplings already sprouted (prārabdha karma) will continue their life-cycle until harvest. And the seeds sown anew today (future karma) will bear fruit in lives to come. Prārabdha karma is that fruit of action which has already begun to manifest through the chain of cause and effect, expressing itself in this life as experience. Even after the dawn of knowledge, such fruits persist until the body falls.

Ignorance or avidyā means: the state of not knowing the true reality (the non-duality of Ātman and Brahman). Man, not knowing his true nature (consciousness, Brahman), mistakes the body, mind, and senses for the ‘I’. Ignorance is not a material thing; it is a veil that obscures truth. Example: on a dark night, a rope appears as a serpent. The rope exists, but darkness (ignorance) conceals it.

Adhyāsa, or superimposition, means: wrongly imposing what is unreal upon what is real. Ignorance does not merely conceal; it makes one see falsely. By superimposing the qualities of body and mind upon the Ātman, man thinks—”I am happy,” “I am sorrowful,” “I am the doer,” “I am the enjoyer,” and so forth. Example: when a rope is mistaken for a serpent—rope = true reality (Ātman), serpent = falsely superimposed form (adhyāsa).

Ignorance plus superimposition = the root of bondage. Ignorance veils the true nature of Ātman. Superimposition imposes a false identity. The result—man forgets his true nature and takes the body-mind as the “I”. From this springs the sense of doership and enjoyership, pleasure and pain, attachment and aversion—in short, all bondage.

Śaṅkarācārya’s Adhyāsa-bhāṣya (in the introduction to the Brahma Sūtra) explains: the qualities of Ātman are superimposed upon the body, as consciousness is attributed to the physical form. And again, the qualities of the body are superimposed upon the Ātman, as when one thinks “I am fat / I am sick / I am happy / I am sad.” This is mutual superimposition, and ignorance works at its root. Ignorance = not-knowing → concealing the truth of Ātman-Brahman. Superimposition = mis-knowing → taking body-mind as the ‘I’. These two together create man’s bondage in the cycle of existence.

Why do the qualities of bondage not remain—let us see this through the logic of dissolution. From what do the qualities of bondage arise? → From ignorance plus superimposition (taking ‘body’ as ‘I’). What does knowledge of non-duality do? → It removes ignorance and superimposition, establishing one in one’s true nature. The result: the sense of doership and enjoyership → diminishes and ceases. Passion, aversion, fear, greed → dissolve and become irrelevant. The blows of pleasure and pain → remain confined to the body-mind level; inapplicable to the Ātman-level. Therefore, if the qualities of bondage still persist despite the realization of non-duality, this itself proves that true realization has not occurred, or that doubt and obscuration remain.

Why is the idea that additional means are needed even after knowing “Tat tvam asi” mistaken? The teaching is this: “Tat tvam asi” directly awakens self-recognition—you are That (Brahman). If this is known clearly, free from doubt and contradiction, no additional means (ritual, sacrifice, or auxiliaries) are required. Why? Because what created bondage all this while (the false identity) is cut at the root. Therefore, the claim that “additional means are needed because the qualities of bondage remain” is false, for if true knowledge exists, those qualities do not.

In whom do the qualities of bondage still appear? In scriptural language, in those whose knowledge is only indirect (mere hearing or intellectual learning)—those who have not attained direct realization (unshakable experiential certainty in their own understanding), or in whom doubt and obstruction (deep-rooted habit, conditioning, vasanā) cloud their knowledge. He in whom the qualities of bondage still persist as before has not realized non-duality—his claim to “know” is therefore not genuine.