NINE
Let Go of the Fruits
–1–
Traditionally in India, the fourteenth day of the lunar calendar is considered an opportune time to enter battle, to dismantle something, or to get to the heart of an issue, due its strong, disruptive energy; but it’s not considered a good time to set off on a journey.
Nonetheless, I had picked this day to fly out to Costa Rica. It was more important to me that I save £65 on my flight ticket. I wasn’t going to pay too much attention to what seemed like superstition.
Things started to go wrong immediately. The coach to Heathrow Airport was delayed by an hour and a half, and then got caught in heavy traffic outside the airport, coming to a complete standstill. We were taking twenty minutes to cover a few hundred yards. As each minute passed, I checked my watch in desperation, making new calculations in my mind. This was going to be really, really tight.
By this stage, I was cursing under my breath. The coach had left the M25 and was inching its way around a roundabout. “I could run faster than this, even carrying my luggage,” I thought. My shirt felt damp from a cold sweat. My heart was racing. My mouth felt dry.
Maybe there were others in my desperate situation. I looked around and noticed a little girl in a red jacket laughing and pointing. She had spotted rabbits on the grassy knoll in the centre of the roundabout. There were dozens of them, adults and babies, emerging from their burrows, oblivious to the stream of anxious drivers that encircled them. Their peaceful play contrasted sharply against my own desperation.
I was clinging to my expectation that the journey would take two hours. But this little girl, enraptured by the adventure of her journey, was carefree. There was a lesson for me here. The Universal Teacher was speaking to me through her.
The little girl made me think about my approach to life. I was fixated on an outcome; but that outcome was outside of my control. No amount of desperate willing, panicked wishing or anxious cursing was going to make our coach move any faster. So, all I was doing was deliberately making the journey as miserable as possible.
One of the big secrets of Karma-yoga is that we have a right to put all our heart into what we do, but that we have no entitlement to the fruits of what we do. This is because the outcome of our efforts is always outside our control: ultimately, we never know how things will turn out. Krishna therefore teaches Arjuna to let go of the fruits.20
Letting go of the fruits means shedding our attachment to a particular outcome, and opening ourselves up to whatever life returns to us. This teaching has been one of the most revelatory and transformative in my life.
I decided there and then to apply Krishna’s teachings. What was there for me to lose? I was trapped on this coach, and there was nothing further I could do.
When anxious or stressed, I tend to take shallow breaths from my chest; so, consciously relaxing my abdomen, I began breathing using my stomach instead. I focused my full attention on my own breathing, allowing it to deepen and slow down. With every outward breath, I let go of my expectations, my clinging, my controlling.
As the coach finally arrived at Heathrow Airport and passengers were getting off, there was an elderly gentleman struggling with his luggage. People were brushing past him, impatient to get to their check-in queues. I stopped to help him, smiled and wished him well on his journey.
Had I been lost in panic and anxiety, I probably wouldn’t have noticed him. I would have jostled past, muttering under my breath. But my way of seeing the world had shifted, and the way I was approaching life now seemed far truer to who I wish to be.
–2–
Emperor Dhritarashtra sighed heavily. He now spent his days alone on his throne, lost in thought. The omens were bad. If only news would come to him from the battlefield. Had his one hundred sons routed the enemy? Or had they finally met their demise?
At long last, the emperor’s minister, Sanjaya, arrives from Kurukshetra with news. Dhritarashtra is eager to know everything that has occurred: “What did my sons and the sons of Pandu do?” His anxiety is palpable. This is how the Bhagavad Gita begins.
Dhritarashtra symbolizes our own deep-rooted attachment to the fruits of action, our clinginess to outcomes. How significant that the Gita itself begins with a blind emperor and his paradigm of attachment, his mental captivity.
Attachment gives rise to a zealous attitude of “I” and “mine”. But as soon as we introduce this egoic idea, it leads to competition and conflict. This sums up the tragic circumstances that led to the battle at Kurukshetra.
The sons of Pandu and Dhritarashtra grew up together under the care of Dhritarashtra. They are all equally Kauravas, or descendants of King Kuru. Nonetheless, Dhritarashtra is intent on separating the sons of Pandu from the family heritage: “my sons and the sons of Pandu”, he differentiates. Where perceived interests conflict, the egoic “I” and “mine” lead to rivalry, jealousy, greed, deceit, exploitation, fear, hatred and ultimately war.
The conflict at Kurukshetra is not just an external battle. It mirrors the internal conflict and turmoil within Dhritarashtra himself. It represents a battle within each of us—a battle we’re sure to lose if, like Dhritarashtra, we remain blinded by attachment.
The battlefield Arjuna finds himself on is an arena of attached positions. Both sides are fighting for a kingdom they believe is their rightful claim, and failing to talk through their differences, they face each other on the brink of war. This startling standoff casts Arjuna into his dark night of the soul, as he realizes for the first time just how absurd this all is, and how powerless he is.
Our power withdrawn from us in a dark night of the soul, we realize we can’t push life about. Learning to truly let go, we allow ourselves to flow with life without struggle or fear, and without continually trying to impose our will.
Krishna wants to teach Arjuna a skilful way to act, even in his dark night of the soul. “Don’t try to control what’s outside your control,” Krishna teaches him. “Put your heart into what you do, make it an expression of love and devotion, and then let the results take care of themselves. This is yoga.”21
In the Bhagavad Gita, Arjuna’s bow is his instrument of action. If we fire an arrow, we’ll need to take aim. We’ll need to focus on hitting the target. But once we release our arrow, what more can we do? The arrow, like the outcome of all our best efforts, is now outside of our control. Therefore, Krishna advises, “Let go of the fruits. Don’t obsess about the arrow that has left your bow.”22
We have a birthright to live in alignment with our nature. When we focus on our birthright, we experience vitality and fulfilment. But when we become obsessed about the results of our actions, we experience clinginess, stress, anxiety, competition, fear, discontent, resentment and anger.
Rather than live life like Dhritarashtra, blinded by attachment, we can set off on our yoga journey, like Arjuna, making what we do an offering of love, without being overly concerned about what we get back.
–3–
When I arrived at the American Airlines counter, I knew I was close to missing my plane; it was going to be tight. I was alert and ready, but I wasn’t consumed by anxiety and desperation anymore.
I smiled at the assistant and explained what had happened.
“Your flight is a little delayed,” she said, “and it’s also really full. We’re offering remaining passengers the choice to catch a later flight, which leaves in two hours. It goes via Miami instead of New York. We would reroute you and pay you £100 for your trouble.”
As I was considering what to do, the assistant leaned over and advised, “I would take it, if I were you. Most flights are delayed in New York for several hours due to bad weather, with many passengers stranded. It’s chaos.” I agreed, and she began typing away on her system.
“You look like a nice gentleman. I’ll even bump you up to business class,” she added with a wink.
Grateful, I made my way to Miami and had a pleasant onward journey, in business class. We never know what will happen. Sometimes the things we desire most turn out to be deceptive, even damaging; and sometimes what seems terrible to us at the time, ends up being the best thing that could have happened to us. We can only apply our best effort.
If we’re trying to force an outcome, it also tends to bring out the worst in us: we get caught up in a cycle of want and frustration. We find ourselves resisting the present, lamenting the past, and hankering for the future. We’re not present in the here and now. This is a disempowering way to act, which leads only to bewilderment.
Krishna therefore teaches, “Don’t be moved by success or failure. Don’t be attached; the outcome is not dictated by you.”23 For example, we can’t guarantee how many participants will attend our Sunday workshop or yoga class. We can’t control whether a book we write will be well received. Our start-up could fail, despite all the energy and money we have put into it.
Whenever we feel attached to an outcome, it indicates we’re trying to control what lies outside of our remit. Krishna teaches the warrior Arjuna a new way to act, one that doesn’t bind him to suffering. In breaking the connection to suffering, such action constitutes yoga.24
Letting go of the fruits is not the same as not caring or not being committed. Rather, it means living with strong purpose and commitment, but remaining open to whatever the results of what we do might be.
We can plant a mango tree. We can watch it grow. We can care for it and water it. But whether that tree will in the end deliver large, succulent mangoes is not something we can guarantee. The best way to act, then, is to plant your mangoes and look after your orchard with presence and love, making the action itself its own reward. Let the action, as an expression of love, be an end in itself.
If we’re doing work for the sake of the work itself, rather than for a desired result, we’re less likely to be plagued by constant anxiety. We’re less likely to suffer crippling disappointment if things don’t go as planned. The best way to act, Krishna explains, is to devote ourselves to the cause, but not to the fruits.
–4–
The monkeys in the town of Vrindavan, North India, are exceedingly shrewd. They’ve learned how to jump on to a person’s shoulders and seize their glasses. Perched high up on a wall, they’ll return the spectacles only in exchange for bananas or, better still, mango juice. When you get your glasses back, they’re usually mangled and chewed up, but at least you have the costly lenses. Today, the monkeys have learned that stealing a mobile phone works just as well.
Every few years, the town makes an effort to reduce its rising population of monkeys. They capture as many as they can and release them into the forest miles away. Monkeys are traditionally captured using deceptively simple traps. You take a bottle that is just large enough for a monkey to push its hand into, and fix it to a post or wall, placing a banana inside as bait.
Sure enough, a monkey will spot the succulent banana and push its hand into the bottle. The mouth of the bottle is large enough for the monkey’s little hand, but not large enough for the monkey’s hand along with the banana. Now so attached to having that specific banana, the monkey won’t release its grip, allowing the monkey trapper to throw a cloth bag over the primate’s head.
Despite its exceptional intelligence, in the pursuit of a desired object the monkey is easily fooled. If the monkey would just let go of the banana, it would be free.
I’ve come to realize that we humans are like this too. We’re exceptionally intelligent, until we become attached to a particular object or outcome. Our “bananas” are our projections of what our life should look like:
“I should have a bigger and nicer house by now, so I won’t enjoy the beautiful home I’m in already.”
“My partner doesn’t fulfil my checklist of criteria that a life partner should fulfil, so I won’t give this relationship the attention and care it deserves. Rather than focus on everything that’s right about the relationship, I’ll focus on everything that’s wrong with it.”
“Why am I not earning as much as my friends? I’ll make sure not to be grateful for what I have by being resentful and angry about what I should but don’t have.”
“I should have achieved a lot more at my age, so I’ll live in a state of restless dissatisfaction with my life.”
The list of “bananas” goes on and on. But in the end, it’s all just self-inflicted suffering; it’s all just bananas.
The monkey, if it would simply let go, could find many more bananas elsewhere. But he can’t relinquish this particular banana. Also, he can’t relinquish his idea of what he needs to do to get this banana. The monkey is in a form of captivity even before the trapper bags him.
Krishna emphasizes the importance of letting go of our attachments.25 At first Arjuna misunderstands: he thinks Krishna is advising him to give up the world. But Krishna explains that the secret of action is to renounce our infatuation with the world, without renouncing the world itself. Non-attachment is not that we should own nothing, but that nothing should own us.
When I first came across these teachings of Karma-yoga, they stopped me dead in my tracks. I knew what it was like to act with attachment to the results. I had plenty of experience of the suffering this generates. I also understood what doing things without attention or care was. But to put all my heart into something and at the same time let go of the fruits sounded radical and surprising. Is it even possible?
–5–
Vrindavan is surprisingly cold in the winter, as the temples and homes don’t have heating. My Sanskrit teacher wore a thick woollen hat. His room was full of Sanskrit books. I paid my respects and sat on the straw mat laid out on the floor.
Despite his erudition, my teacher always maintained a humble demeanour. I remember once seeing him affronted by an angry man. I don’t know what was bothering this man, but he was shouting and gesticulating wildly. My teacher remained calm and unmoved, replying respectfully and with a quiet affection. It was so disarming that the angry man could no longer hold on to his anger.
“Prabhu, in the Bhagavad Gita Krishna advises Arjuna to follow his calling as a warrior, but not to be attached to the fruits of action. How is it possible to do something you care about without feeling attached to the results?” I asked.
“Usually, we covet the fruits of our work before we start any kind of work,” my Sanskrit teacher replied. “We don’t consider any kind of work without the promise of payment or a reward. But Krishna teaches Arjuna to follow his personal dharma and make it an act of service, an act of devotion, so that what he does becomes its own reward.
“Whether we ultimately meet with success or failure, a change of perspective can make our endeavours an act of worship. This is a beautiful and deeply satisfying way of acting, and one that doesn’t bind us to this world; rather, it sets us free.
“Of course, it’s important to remember that the teachings themselves won’t free us. Only to the extent that we apply them, that we live them, will they free us.”
“Can this form of yoga be applied to anything we do?” I asked.
“Yes, what matters most is not what you happen to be doing, but how you do it. It’s about right attitude and motive—from inception. Then there’s meaning even within difficult or frustrating tasks.”
It seemed so simple, but I still had a doubt: “I’m worried that if I take a non-attached approach, maybe I’ll be less effective at what I do. Maybe I won’t do it quite so well.”
“No, you’ll be able to act more skilfully and more effectively than you can imagine. By remaining unattached and approaching all of your work with a mood of service, your best qualities will naturally emerge.” My teacher explained that letting go of the fruits frees us to act impeccably; and when we act impeccably, success will find us.
Karma-yoga allows us to detach from the ego’s need to claim success, as well as its fear of failure. When we let go of the results, we make a space for the action to become its own reward. In doing so, we’ll remain fulfilled whatever the results.
Krishna explains that there is a way to live beyond the binaries of this world: beyond gain and loss, praise and blame, triumph and defeat. The wise person who lives like this, beyond the binaries, “awakens to the light in the night of all beings.”26 In other words, such a person crosses beyond the underlying dark night of the soul that affects us all.
“Can you tell me more about such a person?” I asked.
“Krishna compares such a person to the vast ocean.27 During the rainy season, the rivers that rush to the sea are overflowing, and during the summer they dry up; but the ocean always remains unmoved. Similarly, whether good things flow into our life or not, whether difficulties emerge or not, a person situated in yoga remains undisturbed, like the ocean. Whether such a person has everything or nothing, they remain self-satisfied. They are never shaken, even amid the greatest difficulties. They remain at peace whether they meet with success or failure.”
I longed to become such a yoga warrior on the field of life. Undisturbed by anxiety and incessant longing, such a yogi lives perfectly in the present moment. From my own experience, I knew that presence is impossible if we’re overly attached to specific outcomes and results. Letting go of my obsession with the results would free up a space in which I could focus on the work itself with complete attention. It would create a sacred space in which to act.