Aranya Kanda
Analysis
We’re just beginning the account of Panchavati, and it’s a short one.
Rama has reached Panchavati with Lakshmana and Sita. There they’ve built a parnashala (leaf-hut). So what does “going to Panchavati” actually mean?
First, we need to understand the word Panchavati. It’s made of two parts: pancha and vati. Pancha means “five.” What do these five point to? They point to our five sense organs (jnanendriyas) and five action organs (karmendriyas). Look at your own body: it has five sense organs—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and skin. With the eyes we see, with the ears we hear, with the nose we smell, with the tongue we taste, and with the skin we feel touch.
Then come the five organs of action: speech (our power to speak), hands (to work), feet (to move), the generative organ (for procreation), and the excretory organ (for elimination). So the “five” in Panchavati points to these ten—five senses and five action organs.
Now the second part, vati. It comes from the Sanskrit root vaṭ, which carries the sense of an enclosure—a bounded place, a yard, a garden ringed by walls. So Panchavati indicates the enclosed field ringed by our five senses and five action organs. In other words, this body—surrounded by these ten instruments—is our Panchavati.
Put simply, Panchavati is our field of action, our field of dealings. The mind only thinks; but within this enclosure of ten instruments, all our interaction happens. We meet someone and listen (ears), we speak (speech), we see (eyes). All conduct runs through the senses. Hence it’s called Panchavati. Rama moves out of the mind’s sphere—out of mere thought—and steps into the field of behavior. In simple words: “I have recognized my true nature as the Self; the body is my instrument; my mind is now refined. Now I must enter the field of action.” That is Panchavati—our karma-kṣetra.
The story says that inside Panchavati, Lakshmana built a parnashala. We imagine a hut made purely of leaves, but the meaning runs deeper. The repha (the hidden “r” sound) in parṇa “hides” the real word. The intended idea is karaṇashala or paṇ-shala—a house of instruments or a place of transaction (paṇ = trade, exchange; shala = place). This is the space from which we transact through our ten instruments.
And who builds this transactional space? Lakshmana. We’ve said before: Lakshmana symbolizes our thought-power / mind-power. It is our thinking force that builds the paṇ-shala. If there is no thought, no intent, we cannot relate or transact. So the story says, “Lakshmana built the parnashala.”
Thus Rama has descended from the plane of thought into the plane of conduct—Panchavati—where transactions happen. The “r” in parṇa is used to hide the underlying word; the Purāṇic style often swaps r and l, drops a repha, or inserts one to veil the inner meaning until one’s discernment ripens.
So: Panchavati is the realm of the senses, and the parnashala is the place of exchange—the hub from which all our living is conducted. To confirm we’ve grasped this correctly, the story adds another clue: the Godavari flows right by Panchavati. This is not a physical river, just as Panchavati isn’t a physical grove nor the parnashala a literal hut.
Consider the word Godavari. Break it as go + dā + vari. Go here means consciousness (it can mean cow or sense as well, but here it’s consciousness). Dā means to give. Vari means excellent / supreme. Put together: the excellent giving of consciousness—the prime expenditure of consciousness.
Where is our consciousness spent? Through the senses and actions. We watch all day—awareness flows out through the eyes. We listen, speak, taste—awareness is continually given out. Meditation asks us to close the eyes for a while because energy is streaming outward. So Godavari hints at this ongoing outflow of consciousness via the ten instruments. And calling it vari (“excellent”) makes a second point: without this outflow, we could never enter the field of action. Our living and doing are impossible without the senses.
So this body—equipped with five senses and five actions—is our Panchavati. Through this we come into relation with others. Rama has entered Panchavati, built the transactional hub, and the Godavari flows—meaning: the true test of Self-abidance is the field of behavior. Only in action will it show whether we operate from ego-body identity or from Self-knowledge.
Common sense agrees: a person’s inner qualities become known only when they’re used in real life. Likewise, if we’ve recognized our true nature, the proof lies in conduct. When we step into action, old samskaras arise from the subconscious—the story ahead (like the episode of Shurpanakha) will show how body-attraction surfaces in the field of dealings. We must test ourselves: “Do I get enchanted by form? Are my senses pulled?” If I’m still charmed and pulled, then my claim of being established in the Self is self-deception. When body-attraction presents itself and cannot sway me, only then can I say I’m steady in the Self.
So the coming episodes serve as touchstones. Rama means one established in the Self; before him, deha-śakti (the pull of the body, symbolized by Shurpanakha) will rise, yet it will have no hold on him. Through many such stories, we’ll see what our actual state is—whether we truly live from the Self.
Today’s short section covered Panchavati, parnashala, and the Godavari: together, they mark our field of action. Now we must examine ourselves in that field: How do we conduct ourselves? Do we get caught in attraction or stay free?
Next, the story says Jatayu met Rama and told him, “Consider me a friend of your father.” To get this, we must understand Jatayu as Dasharatha’s friend.
The word Jatayu is explained through etymology—Purāṇic literature is symbolic, and word-origins are a key. Here, the teaching says Jatayu really comes from jarā + āyu (“very old”), though jaṭā can elsewhere mean “locks of hair” and symbolize beliefs. But in Sanskrit, the bird is called gṛdhr̥a (vulture), from the root gṛdh meaning to desire, to long for. Desire for what?
Sita stands for our purity—pure thinking. One established in the Self will naturally have pure thought, hence Sita is always with Rama. Gṛdhr̥a (Jatayu) is the force within us that longs to protect that purity—a guardian impulse that rises the moment a wrong thought flashes. For example, if a quick, tempting idea appears (“Could I use influence or a bribe to get my child admitted to school?”), immediately an inner force speaks: No—stay pure. That protective force is gṛdhr̥a/Jatayu.
Why does Jatayu call himself a friend of your father? Because Dasharatha symbolizes the pure, steady mind. Only through such a purified mind does the recognition of the Self dawn. Gṛdhr̥a—the power that protects purity—naturally befriends Dasharatha—the mind’s purity itself. Hence, “I am your father’s friend.” A single sentence, but with deep meaning.
Later, when the narrative returns to Jatayu, we’ll revisit that this is not merely a bird at the spiritual level, but the inner guardian that keeps us from straying, preserving purity moment to moment.