‘To Prince Arjuna – pity, despondency and anguish oozing from his moist eyes – now speaks his charioteer, in words that sound like some heavenly melody:
‘“This frailty that has seized you, O Prince, is unbecoming of you. Take off this veil of diffidence and let not this weakness impede your passage to virtuous life. Tear off this shroud of cowardice and know thy own self. Arise from the swamp of doubt and confusion, and seize this moment to act. You are the dread of your foes and the shield of comfort to your comrades.”
‘Arjuna replies, “But how can I let my bow shoot arrows at my own beloved teachers, relatives and friends? There I see in front of me my revered guru, Dronacharya, who taught me archery and who loves me as much as his own son, Asvatthama. And there stands my grandfather Bheeshma, like an ancient banyan tree in whose shade have grown several generations of the Kuru clan. He is the cornerstone on whom rests the entire kingdom of Hastinapur. Can I kill this colossus among men, whom the gods have exempted from death? My arrows could only wound his hallowed body, not kill it. And there are so many others – all honourable and worthy of my veneration. I would rather go about the streets with a begging bowl and live with my dear ones than kill them. I would rather live with those ranged against us than see their dead spirits rise in my dreams. Fear and grief haunt me. Standing between a raging fire and the deep sea, trapped between faith and mistrust, I turn to you, O Vasudeva, to show me light. I feel that a flame is scorching my body and soul.”
‘Thus saying that he would not fight, Arjuna lapses into silence. To him, Krishna says:
‘“You feel sad about what you understand not. You speak words devoid of wisdom, for the enlightened ones grieve not over the living or the dead. You speak only of the mud house – the body in which resides the soul, the body that is only a transient scaffolding that witnesses childhood, youth and old age. While the essence therein is eternal. It only changes abodes from time to time, like a tenant who chooses to move to a new lodging. Since the wise know this, they grieve not, nor do they shed tears while departing from an old abode.
‘“What pains human beings is the brief span of the body – its exposure to spring and autumn, heat and cold, health and disease, smile and scowl. But the spirit within us transcends all such contraries and paradoxes. It is like the remote eye in the cloud that watches the happenings on the earth below, without getting embroiled in them. So take all pain and joy in the same spirit. Like the lotus that holds its stem upright in water, without getting wet. The wise man alone can tell the trappings from the inner spirit, illusion from reality, the seed from the plant and the wheel’s axle from its circumference.
‘“Imperishable is this spirit in every human being. Someday, all the oceans will go dry; the sun, the moon and the stars will fade away, the lofty Himalayas will sink into the valleys, no winds will blow and there will be no stir in the air. But the divine soul will still glow in the void, like a candle in a crystal bowl. The soul cannot be circumscribed, muted or muzzled. It is that eternal part of our being that defies extinction since it is without any beginning.
‘“It was there
before Time left its first footprints on the sands
before the first break of dawn
before the first spark leapt out of a rock and
before the first fish appeared in the deep waters.
‘“So, if the mud house collapses, let it fall; if the heart stops beating, let it go mute, for the light within us will never go out.
‘“Awake and arise, therefore, O brave prince, and fight for righteousness. You have everything to gain and nothing to lose. He who exults over his victory, saying, ‘Behold, I have slain him,’ and he who wails, ‘O, I am slain,’ – fools are they both, chasing shadows, for the soul cannot slay, nor can it be slain. Since it has no birth, there is no death for it. It is a book without any beginning or end, because start and finish are both illusions. Death, the masked man, cannot kill the soul, though its abode, the body, may turn to cinders and ash. I shall now tell you what the body’s death means.
‘“Just as someone takes off the clothes he wore at night and puts on new ones the next morning, so does the soul change its apparel after the night of death to seek awakening into a new dawn, with a new set of garments.
‘“So I repeat that weapons cannot demolish this spirit. No flame can burn it, nor can water wash it off, nor can any hot wind scorch it. Invisible to the eye, intractable to reason, ineffable, inaudible, immortal, impregnable, incomprehensible by the human mind – such is the soul known by the wise.
‘“Understanding all this, would you still shed tears? If you knew that the man who just died is also a newborn babe, would you grieve over his departure? Because he is still alive, embodying the same spirit, though under a new name. Would this be an occasion for mourning? It is like a seed falling on the ground, only to sprout again as a sapling.
‘“So if the night of death ends in the russet dawn of rebirth, and sunrise declines into sundown, where is the break in this cycle? If the wheel of life runs on ceaselessly, why let your eyes linger only on a tiny segment of it? And remember, O noble prince, birth comes to us unexpected, and death too strikes us unperceived. It is between these two ends of the spectrum that a man’s perception ripens into knowledge. Such awareness is the hallmark of an enlightened mind that contemplates all numbers of the dice with equanimity.
‘“The soul is miraculous and abstruse, quaint and too profound to describe and it is intractable to reasoning. A multilayered thing it is, lying beyond the compass of the ear and the eye.
‘“O Arjuna, look beyond the chain of becoming. Act thy role in this play of life. Why let depression sap your spirit when you are engaged in a battle for righteousness? Fortunate is the warrior who is destined to fight such a battle, unsought by him.
‘“So if you turn your face away from your duty, letting your feeble sentiments occlude your perception, your forehead will be smeared with dishonour and cowardice, and the generations to come will remember you as someone unworthy of your illustrious lineage. Far better is death than ignominy. If you turn your face away from the battle, all warriors will look upon you as someone who could not take on the Kauravas. They will pour scorn on you. What could be more soul-debasing than to hear around you voices, grinning, mocking, and screeching like bats?
‘“Either way, you would be a winner, O Arjuna. If killed in this sacred war, you will end up in heaven. And if you come out victor, you will help Yudhishthira regain his throne. So, as the pride of all Pandavas, pick up your Gandiva and arrows to fight, regardless of joy or distress, victory or defeat, gain or loss.
‘“Remember, O son of Kunti, that the road to eternal peace is always straight, not a labyrinth of bylanes. There are some devious Vedic pandits who uphold the supremacy of the letter over its intent, lending each scripture a meaning to suit their personal goal. They claim their exegesis to be definitive, promise their followers fruits for their virtuous deeds and hold out the prospect of position, fame and prosperity through rituals. In fact, it is such people who fail to hold their souls in serene grace. If divine contemplation can bring one a sumptuous reward, does it not sound like a deal between the seeker and his god?
‘“So hold not in esteem such pandits who link all worship to gain; to them praying is taking, not giving. Such priests are like potters who can mould their clay to any shape desired by their customers.
‘“But you, O illustrious prince, should avoid such distractions. Let right action be your sole concern, not its recompense. Disinterested karma – that is the way to peace. Live by the sweat of thy brow, for selfless action alone is true piety – action that is oblivious of all thoughts of virtue or sin, light or shade, drought or rain.
‘“So seek shelter in your own soul, O warrior – that is where peace lies. And shun those who would do something good only for the sake of reward, like a deed with its price tag attached to it. On the other hand, a pure mind only acts, transcending all considerations, worthy or unworthy. To that state of neutral perception, lend yourself, O Arjuna, walking steadfastly along a pathway, heedless of the flowerbeds on one side and briars and nettles on the other. Out of such a mind is born the right deed, and such a person alone climbs to the pinnacle of divine peace and bliss. Freed from the din of beguiling voices, you would learn to absorb all emotions, happy or sad, high or low.”
‘Listening in rapt attention to Krishna’s words, Arjuna asks:
‘“How shall one identify such an enlightened mind? Any visible marks? How can one recognize his speech? Does he walk or sit like a common man?”
‘Krishna replies, “When a man vanquishes his desires, which grip his mind like an octopus’s tentacles, he achieves unbounded peace. Such a man cannot be pushed by miseries into the swamp of depression, nor can joys catapult him to the clouds. Because he has chosen his abode outside the realm of senses; his soul’s boat now sails smoothly on the river of placid contemplation. He who has disentangled himself from all coils of carnal desire is a rishi, a blessed soul. On his forehead glows the light of supreme knowledge. He is like that prudent tortoise that folds under its steel-like shell its limbs. Its senses then lie beyond the world’s assaults. He is like someone who retreats into the cool, deep cave of his inner self, deaf to the noises of the wild beasts around. He is like a diver who plunges deep to the lake’s bottom and stays there, his eyes and ears oblivious to the waves on the surface. Such a man has reached the peak of wisdom where resides perennial equanimity. Master of himself, vanquisher of all appetites, his passions excite him no more.
‘“I will now tell you how a man falls from the plateau of his self-realization. First, he lets his mind linger on some object of sense – a seductive face, a pot of gold or a piece of land. Then arises deep within him attraction, which grows into desire that kindles the flames of passion. This impairs his judgement and leaves him exposed and defenceless. All his lofty ideals now lie writhing in sand, like a fish hooked out of water.
‘“But if one faces all emotions, love or hate, and bends them to the spirit’s will, one would attain supreme bliss. This inner composure will then act as a panacea for all his sufferings, since mastery of the self alone ushers in true peace. On the other hand, a man lacking self-control is alien to such tranquillity. So how can he be at peace with himself? Like a rudderless ship tossed on the tidal waves of a turbulent sea, such a man sinks to his doom.
‘“Only he whose hands are steady on the steering wheel of his mind and body, in full control of his desires, can carry wisdom’s mark on his forehead. To such an enlightened mind, the darkness of the night glows like a sunlit day. Nothing can escape his all-perceiving gaze. A true saint is such a man, blessed by the gods.
‘“He is like the deep sea that absorbs an insurgent river but does not let its shoreline be disturbed. It welcomes streams from all directions but is not inundated by them, because its centre can always hold.
‘“So, O blessed prince, throw away the oppressive yoke of your misgivings, and regain your mastery over them. Disengage yourself from man’s prime infirmities, his ego and passion.
‘“Buckle up your spirits, therefore, to carry out cheerfully the task assigned to you, unshackled by any personal sentiments. It is only through discharging his duty selflessly that a man climbs up the ladder to heaven.”’
There was a long spell of silence as Sanjaya ceased reporting to the king, who had also come under the spell of Krishna’s discourse. Then the king said, ‘You know, Sanjaya, I too feel transformed. Hasn’t Krishna spoken like a god?’
‘But that is what he is, a divine spirit in the garb of a human being,’ responded Sanjaya. ‘And imagine Duryodhana’s audacity in challenging him in the open assembly!’
‘I don’t blame Duryodhana, really.’ Dhritarashtra was again overcome by his blind indulgence for his son. ‘In any case, it is now too late to reverse the tide of hatred that has surged between my sons and the Pandavas.’ Then, after a pause, he asked, ‘What do you see there now, O Sanjaya?’
‘I see Arjuna picking up his Gandiva. He is now ready for the battle.’
‘Let us then leave everything to the gods’, Dhritarashtra said, sighing. In his mind’s ear, though, he recalled Vyasa’s words spelling doom for his sons.