The fourth chapter, “Everywhere,” turns on the all-pervasiveness of the self. This theme connects directly to the Gita’s mantra ‘सर्व-भूत-स्थित’ (6.29) and to the Katha Upanishad’s ‘अणोरणीयान् महतो महीयान्’ (1.2.20). Both hold one and the same vision: the atman is everywhere, yet located nowhere. Modern mathematics runs into the same paradox in Georg Cantor’s (1845-1918) set theory of the infinite: the infinite is something “present everywhere” that keeps no local boundary.Textual context
Everywhere
Everywhere · 6 shlokas
Janaka speaks now. Six short shlokas, each one a pearl. The wise one sees the atman everywhere, and no circumstance can shake him. This small chapter steadies the tone of the whole text.
In the fourth chapter Janaka’s state grows denser still. “सर्वत्र” means “everywhere”: the atman is all-pervading. This conviction sits very close to the shloka “सर्वतः पाणि-पादम्” from the thirteenth chapter of the Bhagavad Gita. Janaka’s philosophical dialogue with Ashtavakra belongs to the age of the Ramayana, roughly the ninth or eighth century BCE.
So far
The atman is one (advaya). Now Ashtavakra shows that it is “everywhere.” Every place, every time.
Now Janaka speaks in his own voice, and his tone runs deeper than before. Yes, he says, think it through. A steady, self-knowing man plays through the sport of pleasure the way a child loses himself in a game. He bears no resemblance to those dull souls who haul the weight of the world on their shoulders. From the outside both are doing the same work, and for one it is play while for the other it is a loaded burden. For the wise one, a game; for everyone else, a weight. Then he shows another scene. The station that every god from Indra downward grows abject with longing to reach, ah, the yogi settled firmly in that very station does not even feel a flush of joy. The god stays abject because he is still wanting, and the yogi stays calm because he knows this is simply the natural condition of all, with nothing in it that counts as an attainment.
Shlokas 1 · 2
हन्तात्मज्ञानस्य धीरस्य खेलतो भोगलीलया।
न हि संसारवाहीकैर्मूढैः सह समानता॥
यत्पदं प्रेप्सवो दीनाः शक्राद्याः सर्वदेवताः।
अहो तत्र स्थितो योगी न हर्षमुपगच्छति॥
Then Janaka lifts an image that lingers in the mind, the image of sky and smoke. Within that knower of the self, virtue and sin do not even leave a touch. Smoke spreads through the sky, and to the eye it looks as though the two have merged, yet in truth the sky keeps no company with the smoke. The smoke scatters, and the sky stays exactly as it was, untouched. In just this way virtue and sin come and go in the mind of the wise one, while the real “I” takes no color from them. From here he opens the next point. The great soul who has known that this whole world is the atman alone flows on effortlessly, without a plan. Who could hold such a one back, when he is not moving toward any direction at all and is simply happening.
Shlokas 3 · 4
तज्ज्ञस्य पुण्यपापाभ्यां स्पर्शो ह्यन्तर्न जायते।
न ह्याकाशस्य धूमेन दृश्यमानापि सङ्गतिः॥
आत्मैवेदं जगत्सर्वं ज्ञातं येन महात्मना।
यदृच्छया वर्तमानं तं निषेद्धुं क्षमेत कः॥
At the end Janaka casts his gaze across the whole spread of living beings. From Brahma down to the blade of grass, among all four kinds of creatures, only the wise one holds the power to let go of both desire and aversion. These two look like opposites, yet they are two faces of a single coin, wanting and not-wanting, and the wise one stands outside both games. Then he says the rarest thing in the chapter. Only a rare soul recognizes the atman as advaya, one without a second, and as the Lord of the world. And the one who recognizes it does exactly what he knows, and no fear remains for him anywhere. Once the recognition holds firm, knowledge and action are no longer separate, and action begins to flow on its own out of that very knowing.
Shlokas 5 · 6
आब्रह्मस्तम्बपर्यन्ते भूतग्रामे चतुर्विधे।
विज्ञस्यैव हि सामर्थ्यमिच्छानिच्छाविवर्जने॥
आत्मानमद्वयं कश्चिज्जानाति जगदीश्वरम्।
यद्वेत्ति तत्स कुरुते न भयं तस्य कुत्रचित्॥