The Dharmavyādha, a jewel among men, stood as a living embodiment of simple principles and profound truths. His words, flowing with luminous wisdom, revealed the hidden essence of conduct and the delicate art of inner refinement. The sage Kauśika, seated before him in quiet reverence, listened with unwavering devotion, as the butcher-saint spoke not from scripture alone, but from the lived rhythm of righteousness. He counselled the sage to mould his mind and temper his responses by observing the sacred etiquette taught under the eye of a true preceptor. Yet Dharmavyādha went further, unveiling with gentle clarity that the conscious harmony of thought and deed alone breeds righteousness, and from that righteousness springs purity of mind — the true seat of virtue. Non-violence, he said, is not the mere abstention from harm, but the truthful conduct born of a purified heart; it is the finest flower of all meritorious acts, honoured by the ancients and destined to illumine the ages to come.
The spoke of three venerable paths of virtue: the first rooted in the eternal Vedas; the second arising from the scientific discernment of ancient seers; and the third, most tender and noble, resting on the unblemished customs of one’s forefathers. Each, if followed in sincerity, leads the traveller towards the good. The man grounded in Vedic wisdom, said Dharmavyādha, remains untouched by the mire of pitiful emotion, for his clarity wards off confusion.
When Kauśika questioned the butcher’s trade, marred seemingly by violence, Dharmavyādha replied with grave calm. The truth, he said, lies beyond the reach of easy judgment, for even the wise have long debated where violence ends and non-violence begins. The world itself is steeped in life and death — every step, every breath, every act unavoidably disturbs some form of life. The plough tears the earth and slays the unseen; the walker crushes life beneath his feet. Fruits, roots, and grains, too, contain life. Who then, he asked, may claim to live without harm? Non-violence, therefore, lies not in abstaining from all injury — which is impossible — but in acting with awareness, restraint, and compassion, inflicting no needless pain.
He then cited the ancient kings: Sibi, who gave his own flesh to the sacrificial fire, and Rantideva, who for centuries offered countless oblations. Both, though engaged in acts outwardly tinged with harm, ascended to celestial realms, their intention pure and devoted. The Vedas themselves, pronounced by Brahma, ordain that beings live upon other beings, for thus the wheel of life turns. The sacred offering, when made in faith, becomes not sin but sanctity.
Dharmavyādha warned against the arrogance of logic untempered by faith — the sterile reasoning of those like the Cārvākas, who, intoxicated by proof and denial, forsook the luminous path of the Vedas. For the intellect alone, he said, cannot anchor virtue; only the balance of reason and reverence can. Kauśika was urged to walk in the way of the elders, to let ancient law and sacred wisdom be his compass, for the mind that strays into endless logic loses its direction and darkens its light.
He also taught of the subtle truth of righteousness: that if a falsehood preserves life or fosters harmony, it surpasses a truth that wounds or destroys. In saving life or joining hearts, untruth wears the robe of virtue. Thus, righteousness is not fixed but delicate, discerned by purpose rather than form. He urged that every man should follow his rightful duty, the work handed down by his lineage, for the divine order manifests through the variety of human callings.
Dharmavyādha expounded further on karma. God, he said, is but the witness, not the doer. Each being reaps the fruits of its own actions — some yielding reward, some turning barren. Success and failure arise not solely from effort but from the invisible store of past deeds. Hence, some prosper without toil, while others, though righteous and wise, struggle unceasingly. The universal law dispenses results by its own mysterious order, not by man’s desire.
When Kauśika asked of the soul, Dharmavyādha spoke with tranquil insight. The soul, he said, is eternal and stainless; it merely inhabits the body, which perishes in due time, while the spirit continues its endless journey. The pious ascend to higher realms; those mixed in virtue and fault return as men; the utterly sinful fall into lower births. Thus, all creatures revolve in the wheel of life and death until freed by purity and wisdom.
He urged Kauśika to abandon pride, envy, and malice; to seek righteousness with humility and devotion; for the steadfast practice of virtue cleanses the mind and subdues the tyranny of the senses. A man who conquers his senses gains clarity, while one enslaved by them sinks into misery. The five senses, he explained, are governed by the mind; the mind, in turn, by intellect; intellect, by the subtle threads of the three guṇas — sattva, rajas, and tamas — goodness, passion, and inertia, which weave the tapestry of existence. The wise cultivate sattva, the luminous quality that leads toward liberation.
Dharmavyādha likened the human frame to a chariot: the body its structure, the senses its steeds, the mind the reins, and the soul the charioteer. He who governs his steeds with steady mind and disciplined will, reaches safely the divine destination; he who lets them run wild, perishes on the way.
Thus, the discourse of Dharmavyādha flowed like a sacred river — lucid, profound, and ever-deepening. Each answer evoked from Kauśika a new question, each question refined by the master’s calm reason. Together they mirrored the ancient splendour of teacher and disciple, a living testament to the spiritual lineage of this land — where wisdom is not proclaimed from pride but shared in humble clarity, until truth itself stands revealed in the silence of understanding.
