जनक उवाच॥ आकाशवदनन्तोऽहं घटवत् प्राकृतं जगत्। इति ज्ञानं तथैतस्य न त्यागो न ग्रहो लयः॥६-१॥
janaka uvāca|| ākāśavadananto'haṁ ghaṭavat prākṛtaṁ jagat| iti jñānaṁ tathaitasya na tyāgo na graho layaḥ||6-1||
Janaka said: I am infinite like space; this natural, constituted world is like a pot [within it]. This is the understanding — and because of it, there is nothing here to renounce, nothing to grasp, and nothing that needs to be made to dissolve.
Modern Reflection
In Khurja, Uttar Pradesh's old pottery town, a kumhar throws a wet lump of clay into a ghaṭa on his wheel, and for a moment there are two spaces in the world: the space enclosed by the rising clay wall and the space of the workshop around it. A child watching for the first time asks whether the air trapped inside the new pot is different air from the air outside. It is not — it is the same ākāśa the whole time, merely appearing bounded because a wall of mud now runs between the two names for it. This is the exact pairing Ashtavakra opens chapter six with: ākāśavat anantaḥ, I am like space itself, infinite; ghaṭavat prākṛtaṁ jagat, the constituted world is like the pot. Advaita commentators built an entire technical vocabulary on this image — ghaṭākāśa, pot-space, versus mahākāśa, the great space — precisely because a village potter's shed makes the abstraction physical. When the same pot is later immersed at a Ganesh visarjan and its clay walls dissolve in the river, nothing happens to the space that was inside it. It was never separate to begin with; only the wall was ever temporary.