There is a phrase I have always known, one that is held up as a cornerstone of a righteous life: “Shariram adyam khalu dharma sadhanam.” The body is indeed the primary instrument for fulfilling one’s purpose.
On the surface, it is impeccable logic. Wise. Practical. For years, I took it at face value. And for years, it led me down a path of profound inner conflict. This is the story of my journey through the layers of this simple phrase—from a guiding principle to a noble trap, through dangerous misunderstandings, and finally, to a truth that dismantles even our most spiritual pretensions.
The First Layer: The Body for ‘My’ Sake
For the longest time, my interpretation was simple: I must care for my body.
I do everything to attain longevity. Hardly anything to attain that which lies beyond it.
I do everything to attain wealth. Hardly anything to attain that which lies beyond it.
I do everything to gain recognition. Hardly anything to recognize what lies within.
This maxim became my justification. I would prioritize the health of my body, and for that, I was always ready to lose my inner peace. How? I’d go to the gym. I would, of course, disconnect from my family time, which is already so rare. I would tell myself, “My health means my family’s health. Unless I become healthy, how can I sustain them?” I was assuming a role that perhaps belongs only to God.
It’s always mind over body, but I was making it body over the mind. It’s always collective over individual, but I did the exact opposite. I pursued outer stability, and for that, I was willing to break my inner stillness by becoming restless, anxious, worried. My body was getting stronger, but my soul felt frayed. The instrument was being polished while the purpose for which it existed—Dharma—was being ignored.
The gym became my temple, but I had forgotten the deity.
The Second Layer: The Body for ‘His’ Sake – A Noble Trap
The first realization was a painful one: the path I was on was a dead end. So, a shift occurred. A refinement. “Okay,” I thought, “I will invert this. I will not care for my body for my sake, but for a higher purpose.”
My new interpretation became: “My body is indeed the first and foremost instrument for fulfilling His duty or dharma.”
This felt like a breakthrough. The selfishness was gone. The ego seemed to have been put in its place.
- “Going to the gym is no longer about personal longevity; it’s about maintaining His instrument.”
- “Eating well is not about satisfying personal health goals; it’s about providing clean fuel for His vehicle.”
- “Resting is not laziness; it’s allowing His instrument to be repaired and ready.”
This was a much better place to be. I saw myself as a flute, whose dharma was to be clean and ready for the flutist to pick up and play. My duty was to offer my body and mind to Him. The metaphor was beautiful. Krishna’s flute doesn’t play itself—it makes itself available for the divine breath.
But even in this noble sacrifice, a subtle disquiet remained.
Who was this “I” who was doing all these things for Him? The doer was still there, now cloaked in the noble robes of service. The ego hadn’t disappeared; it had simply put on spiritual clothing. I was still the caretaker, He was still the owner. Better than before, yes, but still a duality. Still a separation.
The Third Layer: The Dissolution of the Doer
A trap.
This is again a trap.
If I am consciously “maintaining His instrument,” the focus is still on the instrument. The separation is still there. There is me, the caretaker, and there is Him, the owner. It is a relationship, yes, but it is still a duality.
The real truth, the one that finally brought a sense of stillness, was this:
If I think about Him all the time, I (automatically) go to the gym.
If I think about Him all the time, I (automatically) eat well.
If I think about Him all the time, I (automatically) rest.
The focus and priority must be laser clear. And it is only one. One focus. One priority. Him. Call him Rama, Jesus, Krishna, or Buddha.
It is not my job to decide what the instrument needs. It is my job to stay so completely absorbed in the consciousness of the Divine that the right actions flow through me spontaneously. Action becomes a consequence, not a choice. It is an effortless, automatic alignment, like iron filings arranging themselves in the presence of a magnet. They do not decide to align for the magnet; their alignment is a natural result of the magnet’s very existence.
The Fourth Layer: The Sovereignty Trap – When Body Becomes King
But wait. There’s another trap hidden in this phrase, perhaps the most dangerous one. It’s the trap of making the body sovereign—believing it must be preserved at all costs because it’s the “primary instrument.”
A child drowns in the river. What does “Shariram adyam” say? The ego immediately hijacks the phrase: “Preserve the instrument! Without the body, how can you serve dharma?” And so we stand frozen on the bank, watching life slip away while clutching our precious instrument.
I once watched a teacher plunge into raging floodwaters to save a drowning student. No calculation. No thought of “preserving the instrument.” Just pure, spontaneous action flowing from a heart absorbed in something greater than self-preservation. In that moment, I saw the deepest trap of this phrase—using it to justify our fundamental fear of death, our clinging to existence.
The real drowning is not in the river. It’s the daily drowning of the soul in the ocean of self-preservation. We preserve the body so carefully that we forget to live. We maintain the instrument so meticulously that we never play the music.
This is not about being reckless. It’s about understanding that true faith means: Whatever He wills for this body is perfect. If He wills its preservation, nothing can destroy it. If He wills its sacrifice, nothing can save it. And both are equally His grace.
This is resurrection, not suicide. Suicide is an act of ego born from despair. This is an act of faith born from surrender. If the body is lost in such an act, it is an offering. The spirit is resurrected from the prison of the self. This is not spiritual bypassing—it is not using faith to ignore the problem. It is the radical readiness for action that faith provides.
The Fifth Layer: Beyond Even the Noble Sacrifice
But here’s where even this understanding can become a trap. We might think, “Ah, I must be ready to sacrifice! I must cultivate the courage to jump into the river!”
No. This too is ego—the heroic ego, the spiritual warrior ego.
Remember the Govardhan story. When Krishna lifted the mountain, the villagers held their sticks underneath, thinking they were helping. But their sticks were absolutely unnecessary. Not even needed for their psychology. In fact, even thinking “I should put my stick below the mountain” is a weakness, a subtle ego still believing it has something to contribute.
If He wills that my stick gets raised, it will happen. But that’s His will expressing through this form, not my decision to participate. The moment I think “I should help” or “I need to do my part” or even “I must be ready to sacrifice,” I’ve already fallen back into the illusion of doership.
The teacher who jumped into the flood? He didn’t decide to be heroic. When you asked him later, he’d probably say, “I don’t know what happened. My body just moved.” That’s the key—not cultivated courage, but spontaneous action arising from complete absorption in the Divine.
This readiness does not manifest as a frantic, emotional reaction. An action born of Pure Faith has a distinct character, a profound quality. It is:
- “Necessary,” not Guaranteed. Faith is not concerned with a guaranteed outcome. It is concerned only with the necessity of the present moment. The impulse to act is what is necessary. Whether the child is saved or not is in His hands. This frees the soul from the paralysis of needing to control the future.
- “Measured,” not Calculated. A calculated action is born of the ego’s frantic cost-benefit analysis. A measured action is born of a deep inner stillness. It is wisdom in motion—perfectly proportioned to the need of the moment, free from the chaotic energy of fear.
“Loving,” not Passionate. A passionate response is often a storm of our own emotions. A loving action, in the purest sense, is a calm, clear, unconditional force. It acts for the sake of the other, unclouded by our own emotional turmoil.
The Death of All Managers—Even the Spiritual Hero
I realized I had become many types of manager:
- First, the body manager—optimizing health for personal benefit
- Then, the spiritual manager—maintaining the instrument for Divine service
- Then, the subtle manager—trying to dissolve the doer through practice
- Finally, the heroic manager—ready to sacrifice when needed
But He doesn’t need any manager. Not the selfish one, not the devoted one, not the dissolved one, not even the sacrificial one. What He expresses through us is not our managed service but His spontaneous play.
Even thinking that we need to “participate” or that it’s “good for our psychology” to feel we’re contributing is ego. I become weaker the moment I think “I should put my stick under the mountain” or “I should be ready to jump in the river.” The strongest position is complete absence of the one who would even think to help or sacrifice.
The Revolutionary Understanding
This isn’t about maintaining focus. There’s only one focus, not two. Non-dual. The very idea that I need to “maintain” focus on Him implies there’s a maintainer and something to be maintained. Another trap!
The focus on Him IS. It simply is. And from that singular existence, everything else emerges:
- He keeps me grounded. Being grounded is not my focus. It’s a result of the sole focus.
- Spiritual practices follow the focus. They should never become focus themselves. They are the result of the unwavering focus on Him.
- Even spontaneous sacrifice, should it occur, is His emergence through this form, not my noble decision.
- The body is preserved or sacrificed according to His will, not my understanding of dharma.
Living the Truth
So what does this look like in practice?
I still go to the gym. But I don’t go because I’ve decided the body needs exercise. I go because that’s where my feet take me when my heart is full of Him.
I still eat healthy food. But I don’t eat it because I’ve calculated the nutritional benefits. I eat it because that’s what these hands reach for when they move in His remembrance.
If a child drowns before me, this body may plunge into the water. But it won’t be because I’ve decided to be brave or sacrificial. It will be because that’s what bodies do when there’s no “I” to interfere with His spontaneous compassion.
The actions look the same from outside. The source is entirely different.
The Ultimate Secret
‘Shariram adyam khalu dharma sadhanam’ is not a command to go and take care of your body. It is not a justification to preserve it at all costs. It is not even an invitation to heroic sacrifice.
It is a statement of universal truth: When you are truly, wholly, and singly focused on Dharma—on Him—your body will naturally become the perfect instrument for its fulfillment. Whether that fulfillment means careful preservation or spontaneous sacrifice is not your concern. You don’t manage it. He does.
The phrase isn’t telling you what to do. It’s telling you what happens.
When dharma is your only focus, the body automatically aligns as its instrument—living when it should live, acting when it should act, sacrificing when it should sacrifice. All without a trace of the one who thinks they’re choosing.
The End of All Seeking
I started by trying to interpret an instruction. I ended by recognizing a description.
I started as a manager. I progressed to a servant. I aspired to be a hero. I ended as a happening.
I started with many fears—fear of illness, fear of not serving properly, fear of not being brave enough. I ended with no one left to be afraid.
The inquiry doesn’t end here. But the focus is now clear. Terribly, beautifully clear. There’s nothing to maintain, nothing to balance, nothing to integrate, nothing to sacrifice, nothing to preserve. There’s just This. Just Him. Everything else—including these words, including this understanding, including tomorrow’s visit to the gym, including a spontaneous plunge into raging waters—is just what happens when That alone is.
This constant readiness is the true health. This availability is the true strength. This is the ultimate meaning of “Shariramadyamkhaludharmasadhanam”. The instrument is not important because of what it is, but because of what it is ready for.
The body is cared for. Dharma is served. Sacrifices happen. Preservations occur. But I?
I am nowhere to be found.
Not even as the one who thinks to help. Not even as the one who wants to participate. Not even as the one who finds comfort in holding a stick under the mountain. Not even as the one ready to jump into the river.
And in that complete absence—where even the desire to contribute or sacrifice has vanished—everything is accomplished.
By Him. As Him. Through what appears as this form but is really just Him, playing at being many.
Hari Om Tat Sat
Reinvent The Self! 