Measuring the Infinite: Time and Timelessness in Ancient India
-Vani Mishra
There is something quietly amazing about standing under the sky and allowing yourself to ponder just how far it all stretches. Not only the stars, or the galaxies, but time itself the past that preceded us and the future that will continue long after our own passing. This sort of awe is not new. Thousands of years ago, before the existence of satellites or space probes, the intellectual leaders of ancient India were doing the very same thing. They saw time not only as numbers passing, but as something enormous, inexplicable, and profoundly significant. They did not have telescopes or clocks. What they did have instead was something more difficult to quantify an inner vision, a thoughtful kind of intelligence that stemmed from calm, observation, and maybe even contemplation. When they contemplated time, they did not only think of minutes and hours. They thought in invisible moments and beyond-invention ages. And somehow, in some way that seems impossible, they attempted to make sense out of it.
The Smallest Unit: A Moment That Can’t Be Seen
It may sound odd to begin grand philosophical discussions with something minute, but precisely that is done by ancient Indian scriptures. They begin not with centuries or calendars, but with something known as a Truti, the smallest unit of time. There are some passages which have written that it is the duration it takes for a beam of light to travel through the eye of a needle. Others have calculated it mathematically, where 3 Trutis equal one Vedha, and 3 Vedhas equal one Lava, and then all of these combined equate to a second. Just consider that for a moment. Thousands of years ago, humans were attempting to comprehend the passage of time not in days or hours, but in pieces so minute that they are almost invisible. They did not possess stopwatches or computers. But they did have an extraordinary awareness of the rhythms of life the glow of fire, the beating of a bird’s wings, the coming and going of breath.
Time, for them, did not only proceed in one direction. It proceeded in two. A breath, a blink, could hold worlds. It is difficult not to be in awe of this sort of attention this capacity to be so present, to sense time not as some theoretical construct, but as a living thing.
Yugas: The Story of Us, Told Through Time
If the Truti seizes the transient moment, the Yuga seizes an age. These aren’t merely measures of time they are sketches of how human existence and morality change through enormous cycles. The cycle starts with Satya Yuga, the age of truth, balance, and peace. During this age, human beings are honest, benevolent, and very much attuned to nature and the universe. Dharma, the law of cosmic order is robust and unshakeable. Then there is Treta Yuga, where things start to get a bit off-balance. Goodness is still present, but the balance begins to sway. Dharma is now on three legs, not four. Then comes Dvapara Yuga, when war, perplexity, and uncertainty start taking hold. Dharma teeters, balancing on two legs only. And then, lastly, we come to Kali Yuga, the era we currently live in. This is an era of disarray, fragmentation, and decay, where Dharma is clinging by its fingertips. Traditionally, this era continues for 432,000 years.
Initially, these figures running into the millions may seem daunting. It’s easy to dismiss them as myth. But perhaps the message isn’t the mathematics. Perhaps the message is the sense of time how history is not merely something that occurred in texts, but something that resides within us. These Yugas are less about metronomes and more about the shifting oceans of human heart. They invite us to consider: where are we today? What sort of age are we building? And what is to follow?
Kalpas: A Day in the Life of a God
If Yugas left you with a sense of smallness, Kalpas will leave you with a sense of timelessness. A Kalpa is defined as one day in the life of Brahma, the creator god. And how long is that day? Approximately 4.32 billion years. Then a night of the same duration, when the world sleeps in silence. Then a new day starts and with it, a new creation. That alone is sufficient to strain the imagination. But it gets even better. Brahma lives for 100 of these divine years. That calculates out to the whole life span of the universe, at least in this vision, as more than 311 trillion years. Is it literal? Perhaps not. But that is not the issue. What is important is what it does to your mind. Kalpas make you think slowly. Look outward. Realise that your life as significant and lovely as it is but a heartbeat amidst a cosmos of time. And remarkably, that realization isn’t sad. It is liberating. It tells you that you don’t necessarily have to have all your answers today. That it is fine to not hurry. That the universe has room for you, even with all its enormity.
Why Were They So Obsessed with Time?
You may be asking yourself why did they go so far? Why attempt to comprehend something as elusive as time in so many dimensions? Some of it, certainly, was religious. Time, for the ancient Indian philosophers, wasn’t something to be used. It was a veil. Something to pierce. They thought that time as the world we experience is partly illusion (maya). If you could grasp time, truly grasp it, then perhaps you could transcend it. Perhaps you could achieve some sort of freedom not constrained by days or years.
But it was not mere abstract philosophy. They knew time, and everything was influenced by its rituals, agriculture, astronomy, and everyday life. Time was not merely in the heavens or in the texts. Time was in the seasons, the festivals, the manner of living together. It was a friend, not a disciplinarian. Most of all, time reminded them and reminds us that nothing is permanent. Not pain. Not happiness. Not even the universe. Everything happens in waves. Everything boomerangs. And in that understanding, there is a sort of grace.
A Different Kind of Time
If there is one thing that is remarkable about timekeeping in ancient India, it’s the humility of it all. Modern science tends to treat time as something to be defeated like a deadline to be beaten, or a resource to be handled. But for the ancient Indian sages, time was different. It was not an adversary. It was something to sit with. To observe. To respect.
Perhaps that is what we require more of these days. In a world that keeps trying to get us to do more, be more, go faster and makes us think what would it mean to just stop? To catch our breath? To recall that even the smallest Truti has the whole universe within it? That even a Kalpa starts with the single moment?
So, the next time you are about to go it alone, or lose track of time, slow down. Consider a Yuga slipping by unnoticed. Envision a Kalpa unspooling like a silent breath. Amidst the passing seconds and the whirling galaxies, there is an interval that is yours alone and, in that interval, time does not hurry. It just is.
