Mantra 1

In plain words

'I will make Brahman known' — that promise is what we're following through on now. And what was taught was this: whatever the world is born from, whatever it's made of, whatever it dissolves back into — that, and nothing else, is Brahman. So what is this world actually made of? The five elements. And the elements themselves are nothing but name and form — that's what 'real' has meant so far. But the Real of that reality, the Real behind the five elements, is Brahman. Then how are the elements even real in the first place? That question belongs to the section on the formed and the formless. Because everything, right down to the breath in you, is built out of cause and effect, the breath too counts as real in this sense. To settle exactly how these cause-and-effect things are real, two sections begin here — and this is the same exposition the Upanishad is giving us. Because it's precisely by working out how cause and effect are real that Brahman, the Real underneath the real, comes into view. And here's the line that starts it: 'The breaths, indeed, are the real; of them, this is the Real.' Naturally you'd ask: which breaths, how many, and what exactly are these teachings about them? In the course of teaching about Brahman, the true nature of the organs — the breaths — gets settled too, the way you might notice a well or a garden along a road you're really traveling for some other reason.

Close to the Sanskrit

'I shall make known Brahman' — this was the topic already taken up. There, it was taught: that from which the world is born, of which it is made, and into which it dissolves — that one is Brahman. But of what nature, again, is that world which is born and dissolves? It is of the nature of the five elements; and the elements are of the nature of name-and-form; for it has been said, name-and-form is the real. Of that real, consisting of the five elements, Brahman is the real. But how, again, are the elements real? — this is the Formed-and-Formless Brāhmaṇa. Since they are of the nature of formed and formless elements, the elements, being of the nature of effect and cause, and the vital breaths too, are real. With a view to ascertaining the truth-nature of those elements, which are of the nature of effect and cause, a pair of Brāhmaṇas is begun; that very exposition is the explanation of the Upanishad. For it is by way of ascertaining the truth-nature of effect and cause that Brahman, the real of the real, is ascertained. Here it is said: 'The vital breaths, indeed, are the real; of them, this one is the real' — there, the questions arise: which are the breaths, or how many, or what are the teachings concerning the breaths? In the course of the teaching on Brahman, the true nature of the organs, the breaths, is ascertained — as one notes a well or a garden found along the road.

In plain words

Whoever knows the child this way — its base, its second seat, its post, its cord — earns a fruit from it. What fruit? He keeps seven real rivals at bay, seven forces working against him. Rivals, it turns out, come in two kinds: the hostile ones and the harmless ones, and it's the hostile ones he holds off. The seven are the breaths seated in the head, the very doorways the senses use to reach outward, and the cravings for objects that pour out through them — they count as rivals because they have been with you since the beginning. They take a seeing that naturally rests in your own Self and pull it out toward things instead. That is exactly what makes them hostile: they stand in the way of seeing what is within. The Kāṭhaka says the same thing: 'The Self-existent bored the openings outward, and that is why we look outward and never see the Self within' — and so on. So whoever knows the child and its parts, whoever sees them for what they truly are, holds these rivals down, strips them bare, and destroys them. And now, to someone whose curiosity has been stirred by hearing this fruit, he speaks—

So who is this child? It is the breath moving through the middle of the body — the breath that forms the subtle body, spreading through the body in five currents, addressed in scripture as 'Great one, clothed in white, King Soma.' Speech, mind, and all the other organs are tied to it, the way a bird is tied by a cord to a stake. It earns the name child because, like a child, it can do nothing with the objects of the world on its own — exactly as helpless as the other organs. That is why the mantra calls it 'the child, together with its support.' But what actually supports this child, standing there like a tethered calf, itself just an instrument? Its support is nothing but the body — something made, something produced. A support, because things are placed in it: that is literally what the word means. This body is the ground the breath, the child, stands on. It is only once the organs take their place in the body that they become working doors of perception, fully themselves; tied to the breath alone, without a body, they are nothing. Ajātaśatru showed this precisely: pull the organs inward, and the conscious experiencer cannot be found; spread them out through the waking body, and that same experiencer, now perceiving, becomes something you can point to — exactly what happens when you wake a sleeper by rubbing their palm. The head is the child's second support, its pratyādhāna, placed against particular spots — hence the name. The breath itself is the post: the strength that food and drink give rise to, since here 'breath' and 'strength' mean much the same thing. The breath is what props up your strength in this body, and scripture confirms it: 'when this self sinks into weakness, it is almost a swoon.' A calf leans on its post the same way. Some say it is the wind coursing through the body, the breath, that is this post. And food is the rope. Once eaten, food breaks down three ways. Its grossest part becomes what eventually leaves the body — urine and feces. Its middle portion, the essence, moves through blood and further stages, building the body's own seven tissues, since the body itself is made of food and grows only when it keeps receiving the food proper to it; starved of that, it wastes and falls. But the finest essence of all, called the nectar, the one that works upward, rises from the navel to the heart, then spreads into the seventy-two thousand channels branching out from there. That essence becomes, for this bundle of organs we call the child, exactly what keeps it standing steady in the body — generating the very strength that earns the breath its name, the post. And through this, food becomes the rope tying breath and body together from both ends, like a tether, like a cord.

Close to the Sanskrit

He who thus knows the child together with its support, counter-support, post, and rope — this is his fruit. What is that? Seven — that is, numbering seven — he wards off hating, hostility-making rivals. Rivals, indeed, are of two kinds: hating and non-hating ones. Among these, whichever rivals are hating — those hating rivals he wards off. The seven which are the head-seated breaths, the gateways for the perception of objects, and the desires for objects arising from them, are rivals, because they are innate. For they turn his vision, which rests in his own Self, into a vision directed at objects. Therefore they are hating rivals, because they act as an obstruction to the seeing of the inward Self. And in the Kāṭhaka it is said: 'The Self-existent bored the apertures outward; therefore one sees outward, not the inner self' — and so on. There, he who knows the child and the rest, and ascertains their true nature, he wards off, removes, and destroys these rivals. To him who has become interested by hearing of the fruit, he now speaks—

Who is that? It is this middle breath — the breath which, in the middle of the body, has the nature of the subtle body, which pervades the body in five ways, addressed as 'O great one, white-robed King Soma'; in which speech, mind, and the rest, the organs, are attached — from the analogy of a bird tied by a cord to a stake. This is like a child, because of its incapacity regarding objects, like the other organs. 'The child, together with its support' — thus it was said. But what, then, is the support of that child, occupying the position of a calf, having the nature of an organ? Of it, this very body is the support, which is of the nature of an effect — 'it is placed in this', thus 'ādhāna'. For, of that child, the breath, this body is the substratum; for it is in this that the organs, being established, having attained their own nature, become gateways of perception — but they are not attached to the breath alone. For thus it was shown by Ajātaśatru: when the organs are withdrawn, the conscious experiencer is not perceived; but when the organs are arrayed in the regions of the body, the conscious experiencer, perceiving, is perceived — and that too was shown by the waking through the rubbing of the hand. This — the head — is the counter-support: 'in particular places, it is placed against' — thus 'pratyādhāna'. The breath is the post: the power born of food and drink; 'breath' is a synonym for 'strength'; for the breath is the prop of strength in this body — from the observation, 'when this self, having gone into weakness, is as if in a swoon' — just as a calf is propped by a post, so this. Some say the wind favoring the body, the breath, is the post. Food is the rope: for food, when eaten, transforms in three ways. The transformation which is gross, having become these two, goes also to this state — urine and feces. The essence which is middling — that essence, by the sequence beginning with blood, builds up its own product, the body, composed of seven tissues; for the body is nourished when food proper to it arrives, because it is made of food; in the reverse case, it wastes away and falls. But the essence which is subtlest — called the nectar, of upward effect — that, having come up from the navel to the region of the heart, and having entered into the seventy-two thousand channels spread out from the heart, becomes, for that subtle body which has the form of an aggregate of organs and is called 'the child', the cause of its stability in the body, generating the strength called 'the post'. By that, food becomes, on both sides, like a tether, like a rope, the binding tie of the breath and the body.