Story · 15
Vitahavya’s Entrance
The old sage reasoned that if he had to die, he would die in such a way that he did not truly die at all, and settling beneath a peepal tree he gathered himself in, one part at a time. This is a story that reads like a guide to the art of dying.
Rama asked, “Gurudev, what will dying be like?”
“Rama, dying is different for every person. But there was once a sage, Vitahavya, who turned his own death into a slow farewell, thanking each part of his body in turn and then letting it go. Listen to his story.”
The sage
Vitahavya was a sage whose hut stood high on a very tall mountain, close to a cave. For many years he performed his yajnas, the fire offerings, worshipped, and recited his mantras.
Then one day a thought began to settle in him:
I have been doing all of this for many years, yet my thirst is exactly what it always was. These rituals are not carrying me to the place I truly want to reach.
So he stopped the yajnas, stopped the worship, stopped even the mantras, and sitting down inside the cave he closed his eyes.
He turned inward and began the inquiry into the self, asking who he really was.
Am I this body? No, because the body changes with every moment. Am I this mind? No, because the mind too is forever changing. Am I these thoughts? No, because thoughts keep coming and going.
Then what am I?
Within himself Vitahavya saw something steady, the witness of every thought, standing apart from each feeling and yet present within it.
That is what I am.
Vitahavya grew steady in that consciousness, and for many years he remained in samadhi, sunk in deep absorption.
The farewell
One day he felt that the time had come to leave this body. But how was he to leave it? This body could not simply be shoved aside and abandoned, for this was the very body that had served him faithfully for many years.
So Vitahavya decided that he would send it off properly, with full respect.
He began with his feet. “Feet, you carried me up the mountain and walked beside me for many years. Now I have no more need to walk. You may go.”
The sensation in his feet grew faint, and then it stopped.
“Thighs, for many years you held me steady in my seat. Now go.”
The sensation in his thighs grew faint.
“Stomach, for many years you digested my food and gave me energy. Now go.”
The stomach grew still.
“Hands, you laid the wood for the yajna, held the books of mantras, and offered many salutations. Now go.”
The sensation in his hands grew faint.
“Chest.”
“For many years you drew in millions of breaths. There is no more need for breath now. Go.”
The chest grew faint, and the breath became very light.
“Throat, you recited the mantras, sang the stotras, the hymns, and prayed often. Now go.”
The throat grew still.
“Lips, for many years you brought my words into the world and spoke a great deal. There is no more talking now. Go.”
The lips grew still.
“Eyes, for many years you showed me this whole creation, the mountains, the trees, the sun, the moon, the flowers, and the people. There is no more need to see. Go.”
The eyes closed.
“Ears, for many years you brought me the word of Brahman, the mantras, the wind, and the river. Now go.”
The ears grew still.
“Mind, for many years you gave me thoughts, many questions and many answers. There is no more need for a mind now. Go.”
The mind grew still.
Vitahavya was now consciousness and nothing more. The body sat where it had always sat, yet he was no longer in it; the mind too was there, yet he was not in that either. He was simply the witness-consciousness itself.
For several years people saw him sitting just like that. His body stayed where it was, and slowly the earth began to gather over it, leaves fell all around it, and before long a whole mound of earth had risen around his body.
But Vitahavya’s consciousness was somewhere else, everywhere at once, and at the same time nowhere at all.
Many years later an ascetic came to that mountain, and seeing the mound of earth he began to clear it away. Inside sat a body, its eyes closed and its face at peace.
The ascetic said, “Vitahavya.”
But the body gave no answer.
The ascetic said, “You will give no answer. You are no longer in the place where an answer is needed.”
The ascetic put the earth back, bowed to the mound, and went on his way.
Rama asked, “Gurudev, can dying really be like this?”
“Rama, it can. But for that you must join yourself, while still alive, to the consciousness that stands apart from the body. Then, at the hour of death, the body can be released gently, one part at a time, each given its farewell.”
Literary background
This story rests on the Yoga Vasistha, its Upashama Prakarana (the book on quiescence), cantos 5.82 to 87. Vitahavya taking leave of his body one part at a time is among the most meditative stories in the shastra. It is the fullest account anywhere of death treated as a spiritual practice.
A philosophical reading
Vitahavya gives up worship and yajna. He sits in a cave in inquiry into the self. His absorption grows so deep that his body is covered over with earth and mud. Then, slowly, he takes leave of every part of his body with gratitude, the hands, the feet, the eyes, the ears, the breath, all of them. The story tells us that parting from the body is a tender act of love, a dissolution offered with affection, and that when each part is released with gratitude the parting becomes a sacred rite.
Ramana Maharshi (1879-1950) showed in his Self-Enquiry (Vichara Sangraham, 1901) that to dissolve the sense of “I am the body,” one sets the body quietly in its proper place and watches it there, seeing that it is an instrument in one’s hands while the self is something else entirely. Vitahavya’s procedure is the ritual form of exactly this. Touching each part, thanking it, and setting it back in its place, he draws his sense of identity, little by little, away from the limbs and toward consciousness.