Natya Deepa: The Light That Only Watches

When reading about Vedanta, we come across words like jnana, consciousness, Brahman, Paramatma, our true nature. They sound simple at first, but when you try to really understand them, they start slipping away. The texts keep saying it’s indescribable, beyond words, yet the goal is to realise it. Then come the familiar teachings: you are not the body, not the mind.

If we go into detail, they say we are not the following:

Annamaya Kosha – the sheath made of food, the physical body we can see and touch.
Pranamaya Kosha – the sheath of vital energy, the life force that sustains activity.
Manomaya Kosha – the mental sheath, filled with thoughts, emotions, and impulses.
Vijnanamaya Kosha – the sheath of intellect and ego, the “I” that decides and acts.
Anandamaya Kosha – the sheath of bliss, experienced in moments of quiet contentment or deep sleep.

The body changes, the breath rises and falls, the mind wanders, the intellect shifts, even bliss passes. What doesn’t change through all of these is the one that knows them all, the witness.

If I’m not any of these, then who am I? What is this “I” that still seems to be here after everything has been denied? Panchadashi by Swami Vidyaranya gives a way to see it. In the Natya Deepa Prakarana, the “Lamp of the Play”, there is a simple analogy that opens up the idea of witness consciousness.

It says our true nature, the witnessing awareness, is like the lamp that lights up a stage during a play. Imagine that for a moment, the stage is alive with movement. Actors step into roles, dialogue flows, scenes shift from joy to sorrow, from love to loss. The audience laughs, cries, applauds. The music rises, softens, fills the room with emotion. Every element of the play is in motion; costumes change, props move, characters appear and disappear, yet one thing stays constant: the lamp. It burns steadily, indifferent to whether the scene is a tragedy or a comedy. It does not favour one actor over another; it does not dim when the story turns dark or glow brighter during a celebration. It simply shines, allowing the entire play to be seen.

That’s what Panchadashi calls the witness consciousness, the awareness that lights up every thought, emotion, and experience, but itself remains untouched. Whether the mind is restless or still, whether life feels heavy or light, the witness does not participate in the drama. It does not act, react, or get pulled into the story; it only illumines it. Like the lamp, it makes the play possible yet remains free of whatever unfolds within its light.

If you look at life through that image, the lamp is consciousness. The mind and intellect are the actors performing their roles. The senses are the music that carries the mood of each scene. The world, with all its changing forms and experiences, is like the audience reacting. The body, thoughts, and emotions keep shifting, just like the scenes in a play, but the lamp, the witnessing light, never changes. It is steady, untouched, and constant.

The essence that remains after we let go of all that comes and goes is that steady light, the witness. It does not act or feel or react, but without it, none of this would even appear. And maybe that is the quiet answer to the question Vedanta starts with: if you are not the body, not the mind, not the senses, you are the light by which all of that is known. Like the lamp in the play, always present, no matter how many scenes unfold.

Hari om!

-acintya

This blog is a space for my personal reflections and ideas. While I strive for accuracy, please be aware that my opinions may sometimes be incorrect or subject to error. I apologize in advance for any misinformation.