The below write-up is a tweaked version of the immediate previous one (https://so-what-dilip.blogspot.com/2026/09/6-walking-watching-deviating-returning.html)
Paryushan Day 5: From Daman to Shaman, From Identification to Saakshibhaav
It is so critical to be calm amid the chaos.
But perhaps the deeper question is not merely:
"How do I remain calm?"
Perhaps the deeper question is:
"What is it that makes me disturbed in the first place?"
The more I contemplate this, the more I see two very different approaches.
One is Daman.
An effort to control the reaction.
Someone says something unpleasant, I try not to react.
A situation goes against me, I try to remain calm.
Something unexpected happens, I tell myself to stay composed.
There is value in this. Restraint is certainly better than an uncontrolled reaction.
But there is a vulnerability here.
If calmness depends primarily on my ability to control the reaction, then the calmness remains somewhat conditional. When the stimulus becomes stronger than my capacity to control it, the reaction can break through.
The other approach, as I experience it, is Shaman.
Not forced calmness, but the subsiding of the very basis of the disturbance.
And that requires understanding.
The disturbance is not merely caused by what happened outside.
It is caused by my identification with what happened.
What is happening to whom?
This is where Saakshibhaav becomes important for me.
The body is experiencing something.
The mind is producing thoughts.
Emotions are arising.
The ego is interpreting an event as "my insult", "my loss", "my success", "my failure", "my problem".
Circumstances are continuously changing.
But the Jiva is not identical to any of these temporary manifestations.
The body is Ajiva.
The mind, in its material aspect, belongs to the realm of Ajiva.
Circumstances are Ajiva.
Thoughts and emotions arise as states associated with the interaction of the Jiva with karmic and material conditions.
The more clearly I understand this distinction, the more naturally a certain witnessing awareness begins to arise.
A simple example makes the point.
Suppose someone insults a stranger in front of me.
I may feel empathy.
I may understand that the person has been hurt.
I may even feel disturbed by the injustice.
But I generally do not experience the insult as an attack on "me".
Why?
Because I am not identified with it.
Now suppose exactly the same words are directed towards me.
Suddenly the mind says:
"He insulted me."
And the reaction changes.
The words may be identical.
The external event may be almost identical.
But identification has changed.
That is worth observing.
Perhaps the real problem is not merely the event.
Perhaps the deeper problem is the Mamata and identification with the body, mind, ego, role, possession, reputation and circumstance that makes the event "mine".
And that is where Saakshibhaav becomes much more than simply "staying calm".
It becomes an exercise in right seeing.
From reaction to awareness
This also changes my understanding of Shaman.
Shaman is not:
"I should suppress my anger."
It is not:
"I should pretend I am unaffected."
And it certainly is not:
"Nothing matters."
That would simply be another form of Daman, or perhaps indifference.
Instead, the movement is towards seeing the arising of anger, hurt, fear, attachment or ego with increasing clarity.
The emotion may arise.
But I begin to see:
This is a state arising in the mind. It is not the entirety of what I am.
The anger can be observed.
The hurt can be observed.
The desire can be observed.
The fear can be observed.
Even the ego's insistence that "I am right" can be observed.
And once something is being observed with sufficient awareness, identification with it begins to loosen.
This is where I see a beautiful connection between Saakshibhaav and Upayoga.
The question is not merely whether my mind is quiet.
The question is:
Where is my awareness directed?
What am I identifying with?
What am I repeatedly dwelling upon?
What is occupying my consciousness?
The journey therefore is not simply from an agitated mind to a calm mind.
It is from unawareness to awareness.
From identification to discernment.
From Kashaya-driven reaction towards increasing equanimity.
And ultimately, from bondage towards the conditions that support Samvara and Nirjara.
The strange paradox of spiritual understanding
The more I explore Jain philosophy and the scriptures, the more fascinating this becomes.
There appear to be layers and layers of depth.
Yet the deeper I go, the simpler the essential understanding seems to become.
That feels almost paradoxical.
More understanding.
Less complication.
More awareness.
Less reaction.
More discernment.
Less insistence.
More clarity.
Less identification.
And somewhere underneath all this lies a thought that genuinely makes me stop:
What have I been doing since the beginningless state of time?
If the Jiva is intrinsically different from the body and Ajiva, and if bondage is sustained through the mechanisms of Kashaya and karmic bondage, then perhaps my greatest challenge is not discovering something completely new.
Perhaps it is recognising what I have repeatedly failed to recognise.
And perhaps that is why the path can simultaneously feel extraordinarily deep and extraordinarily simple.
Walking matters
But understanding alone is not enough.
Walking matters.
Purusharth matters.
Knowing the direction matters.
I need to walk on the path that leads towards the purpose I am serving.
And I also need the humility to accept that I may deviate.
I may take a detour.
I may forget.
I may become identified.
I may react.
I may fall back into old patterns.
But a deviation does not have to become a destination.
The moment discernment recognises the deviation, the next Purusharth is simply to manoeuvre back.
This is where Vivek and discernment become crucial.
Perhaps spiritual progress is not merely accumulating more beliefs.
It may actually require me to question some of the beliefs I already have.
To attack my own insistences.
To examine the things I defend most strongly.
To ask:
"Is this really understanding?"
"Or is this simply my attachment to my understanding?"
"Am I seeking truth?"
"Or am I seeking confirmation of what I already believe?"
That distinction can be uncomfortable.
But perhaps genuine openness requires exactly this.
If the exploration is honest, the results can be phenomenal.
The milestones become marvelous not because I have acquired something to display, but because something within me has genuinely shifted.
Paryushan, restraints and the instrument
Paryushan naturally places considerable emphasis on restraints.
And I understand why.
Restraints are tangible.
They are visible.
They make these eight days externally different from ordinary routine life.
They give expression to an internal intention.
But precisely because they are visible, I need to be careful.
The restraint is an instrument.
The transformation is the purpose.
If the instrument itself becomes the destination, something fundamental may be missed.
I am certainly not saying that restraints are wrong.
That would be a misplaced conclusion.
Restraint is deeply relevant to the Jain path.
Austerity, vows, control of the senses, fasting, limiting possessions and various other forms of disciplined conduct can have profound spiritual value.
But their value cannot be measured merely by their external appearance.
What is happening to my Raag and Dwesh?
What is happening to my Kashaya?
What is happening to my attachment?
What is happening to my ego?
What is happening to my awareness?
What is happening to my relationship with the things I call "mine"?
That is where I need to look.
Otherwise, I may possess the right instrument and still use it for the wrong purpose.
I may have a hammer in my hand and use it as a paperweight.
The problem is not with the hammer.
The problem is that I am not using the hammer as a hammer.
Similarly, the question is not whether I am undertaking enough restraint.
The deeper question is:
Is the restraint helping me move in the direction for which the restraint exists?
And here again, perhaps quality begins to matter more than quantity.
Not because quantity is irrelevant.
But because the inner comprehension behind the restraint determines whether it is merely an external discipline or whether it is actually contributing to the larger spiritual journey.
If the understanding is becoming deeper, the restraint becomes meaningful.
If Raag and Dwesh are reducing, the restraint becomes meaningful.
If identification is reducing, the restraint becomes meaningful.
If awareness is increasing, the restraint becomes meaningful.
If Samvara is being supported and the causes of further bondage are being weakened, the restraint is serving its purpose.
Then the path becomes clearer.
The footwear is set.
The navigation is known.
The direction is established.
The pace may vary.
Pit stops may happen.
Detours may happen.
But I know where I am going.
Purusharth without unnecessary burden
Life, meanwhile, will continue to happen.
There may be unexpected issues at the workplace.
There may be challenges within the family.
There may be situations in the outer world that genuinely require action.
Saakshibhaav cannot become an excuse for passivity.
If something needs to be solved, I need to solve it.
If something needs to be corrected, I need to correct it.
If Purusharth is required, I need to give it fully.
Perhaps even more than 100 percent.
But there is an important distinction between complete Purusharth and complete ownership of the outcome.
I can give my best without carrying the entire universe on my head.
I can act intensely without creating unnecessary pressure.
I can take responsibility without creating unnecessary anxiety.
I can make every possible effort while remembering that the final unfolding is not entirely in my control.
And this is where a line that I repeatedly come back to becomes meaningful:
"Gnaani na gnaan ma je aavyu chhe te j thashe."
For me, this does not mean:
"Do nothing because everything is predetermined."
That would be a dangerous misunderstanding.
It means:
Do your Purusharth completely, but do not confuse Purusharth with control over the entire outcome.
My responsibility is the effort.
The karmic arrangement and its unfolding are not mine to command.
That understanding does not reduce Purusharth.
It purifies the relationship with the result.
And perhaps that itself is a form of freedom.
The beautiful arrangement
When I step back and look at the larger picture, one thought fills me with a very different kind of gratitude:
Sat, Dev, Guru, Dharma ni aseem krupa chhe.
Eternally. Forever. Always.
And alongside this:
Karmo ni fantastic arrangements chhe. So far.
The two together make the journey strangely beautiful.
The grace of Sat, Dev, Guru and Dharma provides the direction, the discernment and the opportunity.
The karmic arrangement provides the field in which that Purusharth unfolds.
I do not have to like every circumstance.
I do not have to call every difficulty pleasant.
I do not have to deny pain.
But I can perhaps learn to see the larger arrangement without constantly fighting the fact that it is unfolding.
That brings a different kind of peace.
Not the peace of:
"Everything will happen the way I want."
But the peace of:
"Everything does not have to happen the way I want for me to continue walking correctly."
That is a very different peace.
And perhaps this is where Daman gradually gives way to Shaman.
I am not repeatedly telling myself:
"Do not react. Do not react. Do not react."
I am beginning to understand:
"Why should I identify with this reaction in the first place?"
That question changes everything.
Perhaps the shore is closer than I think
I strongly feel:
"Ek ansh shaata hi karine purnamkaamta sudhi ni sarva Samadhi nu kaaran Sat, Dev, Guru ane Dharma chhe."
This is not merely an emotional statement for me.
There is a logic behind it.
The discernment that I have today did not appear from nowhere.
Whatever understanding has brought me to this point has itself emerged through the journey so far.
Which makes me wonder:
Perhaps I am closer to the shore than I realise.
I am not claiming that I have reached the other side.
Far from it.
There is still plenty to see.
Plenty to understand.
Plenty to unlearn.
Plenty of Raag and Dwesh to observe.
Plenty of identification to catch.
Plenty of Purusharth to make.
Plenty of times when I will forget the witness and become the experience.
But perhaps the direction is becoming clearer.
And perhaps that clarity itself is a blessing.
So I want to keep walking.
Not obsessing over the pace.
Not becoming arrogant about the distance already covered.
Not becoming despondent about the distance that remains.
Just walking.
And when I realise that I have deviated, returning.
When I realise that I am identified, observing.
When I realise that I am reacting, understanding.
When I realise that an insistence has taken over, questioning.
When Purusharth is required, acting.
When the outcome is beyond my control, letting go of the unnecessary burden of ownership.
And throughout it all, attempting to remain in Saakshibhaav.
Perhaps this is what I am increasingly beginning to understand:
The goal is not to escape life.
The goal is to see life correctly.
To know the difference between the Jiva and what is not the Jiva.
To recognise the arising of Raag and Dwesh without becoming their servant.
To use restraints as instruments rather than trophies.
To undertake Purusharth without arrogance about the result.
To cultivate discernment without becoming attached even to one's own understanding.
And to keep walking towards that state where the disturbances do not merely get controlled, but gradually lose their foundation.
The deeper I go, the simpler it seems.
And the simpler it seems, the more astonishing the question becomes:
If this understanding is so simple, what have I been doing since beginningless time?
Perhaps Paryushan is not asking me to become someone else in these eight days.
Perhaps it is asking me to see, even for a few moments, what I have always been failing to see.
And perhaps that one moment of seeing is worth far more than everything I may externally manage to demonstrate.
Keep walking.
Keep observing.
Keep discerning.
Keep doing the Purusharth.
And whenever I wander away from the path,
return.
Then walk again.
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