Most spiritual traditions begin with a simple message:
Do good. Avoid harm.
In the Indian tradition, this took the form ofpunya and papa—meritorious and unmeritorious actions.
What fascinated me, however, was not the distinction itself, but a deeper question:
If liberation is beyond karma, then why does karma matter at all?
And if karma matters so much, how can a liberated person be free from it?
The sages spoke of three ways in which we act:
Through the body.
Through speech.
Through the mind.
Each could become a vehicle for either bondage or freedom.
Bodily punya included acts such as serving others, honouring sacred places, worship, and pilgrimage. Bathing in holy rivers was not merely about cleansing the body but represented purification and humility.
Speech-based punya included chanting mantras, speaking truth, singing the names of God, and speaking words that uplift rather than divide.
Mental punya was subtler still: remembering God, wishing well for others, cultivating noble thoughts, and reflecting on what is beneficial not only to oneself but also to the world.
Their opposites were called papa.
The body could move toward actions that harm.
Speech could become gossip, criticism, falsehood, or cruelty.
The mind could dwell in envy, hatred, greed, or ill will.
The law seemed straightforward:
Actions have consequences.
Good actions create positive results.
Harmful actions create suffering.
The universe appears to respond to what we cultivate within ourselves.
Traditional texts take this principle even further.
They speak of different forms of rebirth corresponding to different kinds of actions.
Some passages suggest that actions of the body may result in births of extreme limitation, even immobile forms of life. Certain wrong uses of speech may lead to births where speech itself is restricted. Mental tendencies shape future experiences in ways that reflect the nature of the thoughts that were repeatedly entertained.
Whether one interprets these teachings literally or symbolically, the underlying insight remains powerful.
Consciousness expresses itself according to its conditioning.
The narrower the conditioning, the narrower the expression of life.
The freer the mind, the greater the possibility of freedom.
Even within a single lifetime this can be observed.
A person consumed by resentment lives in a different world from someone filled with gratitude.
The external circumstances may be identical.
The inner universe is not.
Yet the tradition does not stop with morality.
It introduces an even more radical possibility.
The possibility of Jeevan Mukti—liberation while living.
A Jeevan Mukta continues to walk, speak, work, and interact with the world.
Nothing dramatic may appear externally.
From the outside, the person seems ordinary.
But inwardly something fundamental has ended.
The false identification with the body, mind, and personality has dissolved.
The Yoga Vasistha describes such a being as appearing to engage with the world while remaining inwardly unattached.
The eyes see.
The ears hear.
The body acts.
The mind may continue to function.
Yet the sage knows these to be passing appearances.
He does not mistake them for what he truly is.
This teaching initially confused me.
If actions generate karma, and karma determines experience, then how can anyone become free?
The answer offered by the sages is remarkably subtle.
Karma applies to the one who considers himself the doer.
As long as I believe, “I am this body,” “I am this mind,” “I am the one acting,” then I remain within the field of cause and effect.
Every action leaves an impression.
Every impression shapes future experience.
The wheel continues to turn.
But liberation is not described as the acquisition of perfect karma.
It is not the creation of an ideal person.
It is the recognition that the true Self was never the doer to begin with.
This does not make virtue irrelevant.
Far from it.
A disturbed mind struggles to perceive truth.
An agitated mind struggles to become still.
A selfish mind struggles to recognise its deeper nature.
Punya prepares the ground.
It purifies the mind.
It creates the inner clarity required for deeper inquiry.
In that sense, virtue is indispensable.
Yet virtue itself is not the destination.
A clean window is valuable because it allows light to pass through.
The purpose is not the window.
The purpose is the light.
Perhaps this is why the sages preserved both teachings side by side.
One teaching says:
Do what is right.
The other says:
Discover who the doer is.
One refines the personality.
The other transcends it.
One creates a harmonious life.
The other reveals what lies beyond life and death.
One concerns becoming better.
The other concerns awakening to what has always been present.
As I reflect on these teachings today, I see less contradiction than I once did.
Good actions matter.
Kind words matter.
Noble thoughts matter.
They shape the quality of our lives and the quality of our consciousness.
Yet there is also a deeper invitation.
An invitation to ask:
Who is the one performing these actions?
Who is the one seeking merit?
Who is the one hoping to become free?
Perhaps spiritual life begins with cultivatingpunya.
But it matures when the attention turns back towards the one who seeks it.
And in that turning, one may discover a freedom that exists beyond both virtue and vice.
A freedom that is not achieved.
A freedom that was never absent.
A freedom that remains when even the doer disappears.
“Do what is right. Purify the mind. Serve with love. But do not stop there. Ask who the servant is. For beyond karma lies not perfection, but freedom.”