An Iyer reading of Borges's Tlon, Uqbar & its own Third World

I owe the discovery of the प्रतिबिम्बवाद school of Advaita to the following sentence from a story by Borges- 'I owe the discovery of Uqbar to the conjunction of a mirror and an encyclopaedia'. 

This is not to say that I really am so posh and deracinated as to be ignorant of my own humble family's ancestral sect or that I am too precious a little snowflake to recognize that, just as the Sun is reflected in many bodies of water,  all individual consciousnesses are a reflection of the ultimate reality, which some call God or Love or Memory or whatever burns those last two up.

 Rather, my discovery was something heart-breaking about Hinduism's 'heart-lotus'. 

 Padmapada, who walked across water when his Guru summoned him, had actually inscribed- burnt or dispersed though his text may be- the perfect circuit of paideia- the Vedic encyclopaedia- but only in that melted mirror which, obedient to the other's call, he crossed dry shod for treading upon blossoming lotuses rising up to touch his feet. 

In Borges's story, the circle of knowledge, mirrored or mimicked, only escapes impredicativity and gains a place in our geography, by reason of a monadology of miscreant hearts. This melancholy note is first struck by his mention of Herbert Ashe- whose very English friendship with his late father began 'by excluding confidences' but which soon 'eliminated conversation' unlike the author's own intricate and extended dialogues with his literary collaborator. 

In the imaginary realm of Tlon- as in ours- space has no duration save, perhaps, in 'dahar-akasha', the empty space, or cave, of the shrunken heart which all things conspire to make tinier yet. 

 After giving an able summary of contemporary philosophical schools- or what would become so- and attributing them, without hint of satire, to Tlon, Borges makes a devastating revelation.

 His father's English friend had been a servant of a sect most munificently endowed by a shitty American slave-owner. Power of a heartless kind has, as its mirror, an encyclopaedia which is the reverse of the cursus honorum of Civic paideia. The author, having lost his collaborator, resigns himself to translating the complex euphony of  'Urn Burial' into the harsher but more vivid periods of Quevedo. I suppose, that was what Borges had done in this story but to whom? I would say Wittgenstein- not the low IQ cretin we know by that name, but what some Bourbakian interlocutor for Anal-tickle Philosophy might have been. अध्यास (Superimposition) is Space, is Sadness, is the true Pratibimbavada ontology by which everything, to reflect the only thing that is, resigns itself to faithfully mirroring its own abandoned inability to just be. 

I wonder whether a Hindu belonging to some other sect, reading Tlon, would be put in mind of Rg Veda 1.164.39?

(ऋचो अक्षरे परमे व्योमन्यस्मिन्देवा अधि विश्वे निषेदुः । यस्तन्न वेद किमृचा करिष्यति य इत्तद्विदुस्त इमे समासते ॥
(ṛco akṣare parame vyoman yasmin devā adhi viśve niṣeduḥ | yas tan na veda kim ṛcā kariṣyati ya it tad vidus ta ime sam āsate ||

(“All the gods have taken their seats upon this supreme heaven, the imperishable (text) of the Veda; what will he, who knows not this, do with the Veda? but they who do know it, they are perfect.”)

If you believe that no soul gains liberation till all do, then Tlon satirises your position. If you admit that it is amongst those who dwell in sorrow that the fragmented cave in the broken heart's trampled lotus can most encompass alterity, then there is Holiness in the Ghost of Herbert Ashe who pours out the lost Father to the lonely Son.