The Original Cloud Storage: How Pitṛ Loka Archives Our Lineage

This blog shares my reflections from Vedantic sessions. Please excuse any errors or misunderstandings in my interpretation.

I’ve been attending Vedantic sessions for some time now, and there’s a pattern I can’t help but notice. No matter what the main topic is, almost every session ends up with at least one question about karma, rebirth, or our ancestors—the pitṛs. And I think that’s because these aren’t just abstract concepts; they tug at something deeply human. People want to know: How does karma actually work? Is there any way to tell if what I’m going through is from past-life karma or this life? When someone dies, does the soul immediately find another body, or is there some kind of waiting period? And then, what exactly is Pitṛ-loka—the realm of the ancestors—that we hear about so often?

To be honest, these questions puzzled me too when I first started. But as I listened more and more to what our ṛṣis have left for us in the Upaniṣads and Smṛtis, I was amazed. Far from being vague or mystical, their explanations sketch a surprisingly detailed map of what happens after death. Let me share some of what I’ve learned—maybe it will resonate with the questions you’ve been carrying as well.

So where does the soul actually go when the body is dropped? The Chāndogya Upaniṣad gives us a striking description:

“Those who know only ritual, sacrifice, and charity, they go to smoke, then to night, then to the dark fortnight, then to the six months of the southern path of the sun… then they go to the world of the fathers (Pitṛ-loka), and from there to the moon. Having enjoyed there, they return again.” 

The soul doesn’t leap instantly into another life—it follows a subtle pathway, step by step, through realms that mirror both its karmic balance and its level of awareness.

There are fourteen planes of existence in our cosmology—seven higher worlds (Satya, Tapa, Jana, Mahar, Svar, Bhuvar, Bhū) and seven lower (Atala, Vitala, Sutala, Talātala, Mahātala, Rasātala, Pātāla). They’re like layers of reality, each with its own qualities and inhabitants. Interestingly, Pitṛ-loka is not listed among these permanent fourteen. Instead, the Smṛtis and Upaniṣads describe it as part of Chandra-loka, within the larger Svar-loka region. You can think of it as a specialized chamber within the lunar realm, designed specifically for ancestral souls.

And here’s a detail I find interesting: Pitṛ-loka holds only three generations at any time—father, grandfather, and great-grandfather from each line. When a new ancestor enters, the eldest departs to continue the journey. It’s like a relay where only three hands hold the baton at once, a quiet reminder that life and lineage are always flowing forward.

But then comes the natural question: how do these souls live there? Do they simply rest in silence? Our texts tell us something very tender—that they are nourished by the offerings we make here. During Śrāddha ceremonies and during Pitṛ Pakṣa, the subtle essence of those offerings reaches them. It’s not the rice or the water that crosses over, but the sūkṣma-rasa—the subtle essence infused with our sincerity. What truly feeds them is not the material, but our remembrance carried on mantra and intention.

Time is relative. One day in Pitṛ-loka equals one full year on earth. That’s why rituals are often annual—the ābdika Śrāddha satisfies them for what, in their realm, feels like an entire day.

And for the question: what if my ancestor is no longer in Pitṛ-loka? The tradition answers with subtlety:

– If they’ve reached heaven (Svarga), the offering nourishes them there.
– If they’ve taken another birth, the essence reaches that being in its new form.
– If they’ve attained liberation, then the merit returns to you, the performer.

So, in every case, the act is never wasted. Even if we take this purely psychologically, there’s a deep meaning. To perform Śrāddha or Piṇḍa-pradāna is to pause, to remember, to acknowledge. It teaches us to live in the present without being weighed down by ancestral burdens. It cultivates gratitude without bondage, awareness of inherited tendencies without full identification. And in doing so, it fulfills a strand of dharma.

This brings us to the idea of ṛṇa—the debts we’re born with. The Taittirīya Saṁhitā tells us every human arrives with three: ṛṣi-ṛṇa (to sages, repaid through learning), deva-ṛṇa (to the gods, repaid through worship), and pitṛ-ṛṇa (to ancestors, repaid through progeny and offerings). We aren’t isolated fragments, but extensions of those who came before. Performing Śrāddha is simply acknowledging that interdependence.

But eventually, what happens when a soul’s time in Pitṛ-loka is done? Here again, the Upaniṣads speak in images that feel like poetry and yet carry a precise logic. The journey back to rebirth is described like this:

तस्मिन्यवात्सम्पातमुषित्वाथैतमेवाध्वानं पुनर्निवर्तन्ते यथेतमाकाशमाकाशाद्वायुं वायुर्भूत्वा धूमो भवति धूमो भूत्वाभ्रं भवति ॥ ५.१०.५ ॥

अभ्रं भूत्वा मेघो भवति मेघो भूत्वा प्रवर्षति त इह व्रीहियवा ओषधिवनस्पतयस्तिलमाषा इति जायन्तेऽतो वै खलु दुर्निष्प्रपतरं यो यो ह्यन्नमत्ति यो रेतः सिञ्चति तद्भूय एव भवति ॥ ५.१०.६ ॥

Chāndogya Upaniṣad 5.10.5-6

"Living in the world of the moon until the fruits of his work are exhausted, he then goes back to this world along the path he came. First going to the sky, he then goes to air. Having become air, he next becomes smoke. Having become smoke, he then becomes mist. Having become mist, it changes into clouds. Then from clouds, it becomes rain and falls to the earth. Finally, it grows as paddy, barley, plants, trees, sesame, beans, and so forth. The change from this state is very difficult. Those who eat these things produce children just like themselves"

The soul condenses from subtle to gross forms, riding the very cycle of nature until it re-enters human life. Death, Pitṛ-loka, return, rebirth, karma—it all flows in a cycle until mokṣa breaks the loop. 

And perhaps that is the deeper takeaway. The teachings of the Pitṛs are not fragments or empty customs, but parts of a whole vision. When understood through śāstra taught by a Guru, each act is seen in its true place, each symbol in its true essence. What once seemed like ritual detail becomes a window into the larger rhythm of life itself.

Hari om!

-acintya