Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (42 page)

the great bow
Gandiva
drops from his hand.

Time itself holds its breath.

For Karna, Kunti, for his brothers,

for Krishna—for each differently—Arjuna

is the point, the mainspring of the action.

He is the hero on whom all the hopes

of the Pandavas are pinned; the obstacle,

above all others, Dhritarashtra’s son

sees as blocking his path to victory.

Arjuna has fought scores of bloody battles,

exulting in the slaughter of enemies,

cutting them down like standing fields of grain

without regret, never looking back.

He is the supreme kshatriya;

the whole effort of his life is geared

to heroism and glorious victory.

But now he is unraveled by distress.

He gazes at the rank on rank of kinsmen.

They are so familiar—human, as he is.

How can they be stranger to him than strangers?

Death takes on new weight, sharper meaning.

Whether this war brings victory or defeat

there will be no occasion for rejoicing.

Striking his brow, he cries aloud to Krishna,

“I will not fight! A kshatriya enters battle

to preserve dharma, but how can it be right

to strike our kinsmen, coldly to kill those

who have nurtured, taught and grown with us?

Look at all our cousins standing there,

and Drona, our revered guru—and Bhishma,

Bhishma, beloved grandfather to us all!

He looks so serene, full of resolve—

has he not imagined how it will be

to aim his arrows at the hearts of those

joined to him by blood—who once were children

gathered round, enraptured by his stories?

“There are Duryodhana and his brothers,

sick with greed and anger—but should we
kill
them?

Oh, Krishna, even though they are geared for war,

even though they are blind to their own evil

and are themselves prepared to kill us—still,

how can we, who know well what is sinful,

do the same? When family is broken,

the spiritual bedrock is destroyed

leading to every kind of social wrong

and vile disorder. Chaos surely follows.

“Their force is much greater than our own—

eleven well-trained armies to our seven.

But even if we are victorious

how could we be happy at such a cost?

It would be better to let them kill us,

or to wander the world as mendicants;

better to give up the kingdom now

than gain it at the cost of so much grief.

No! I will not fight!”

Krishna says, “Friend, this is unworthy of you.

You’re speaking like a feeble-hearted weakling,

not like the noble warrior you are.

Get to your feet, scourge of your enemies!”

“But how can I take aim against my elders

who deserve from me my love and reverence?

I sense already the familiar heft

of
Gandiva
, flexing to unleash death

on those I should be protecting—how can I

cut them down as though they were rank weeds?

Tell me, how, Krishna! My thoughts are scattered.

My mind is seething like a nest of hornets.

You are my guide, my greatest, wisest friend.

Help me to understand where my duty lies.”

Krishna smiles, as at a foolish child.

“Son of Kunti, your doubts sound honorable

but they spring from deep misunderstanding.

You speak as if this life were all there is.

But it is just one brief embodiment

of the indestructible, eternal soul.

Bodies are born, they flourish, age, and die.

But the soul, part of that greater spirit

that infuses everything that exists,

was never born, and cannot be killed.

That soul, the witness of our every thought

and action, persists from one life to the next;

it sloughs off its old and outworn body

as one discards old clothes and puts on new.

Wise people know this, and do not lament.

“You need to refine your understanding.

In this life, nothing is permanent,

nothing can be held, or truly owned.

The individual ‘I’ a person clings to—

the ego with a sense of past and future,

furnished with memories and with intentions—

is illusory. Time
is
the present,

an infinite parade of present moments

to be experienced, to be endured,

misery and pleasure equally.

Beings have mysterious origins.

They emerge into the light, then disappear

into shadow. Why should this cause grief?

“Within the framework of a single life

each person has their proper course, their dharma—

the path of righteous action they should follow,

depending on the station they occupy.

Your dharma is to fight. That is your purpose.

That is what you were born for, and for that

praise-singers will extol your memory

long after you are dead. Think. To refuse

would lead to deep disgrace—people would say,

When it came to it, he was a coward.

What could be more miserable than that

for a kshatriya? Fight as a warrior should

and you cannot lose—either you are killed,

and go to heaven, or win, and enjoy the kingdom.

So gather your strength, Arjuna, stand up!

“The wise mind is as clear as pure water.

The unwise wallow in complexity;

they cast about, pursuing this practice,

that ritual, craving some benefit,

their senses agitated, minds distracted.

Often such behavior is applauded,

What a devout person,
people say.

“But right understanding far outweighs

such action. Follow duty for duty’s sake,

without straining after its rewards.

Do not get caught up in pairs of opposites—

pain and pleasure, failure and success—

but, rather, be strong-minded, equable.

Let your action be informed by discipline.

Practice contemplation, undiverted

by those who claim to understand the Vedas,

or by those addicted to results.

Cultivate a calm and stable mind,

your own right understanding, Arjuna.

Only then will you escape delusion.”

Arjuna is still perplexed. “Tell me,

what are the qualities of a stable mind?”

“A person who possesses such a mind

is not agitated by calamity;

is free of craving and aversion, both;

is not unbalanced by the restless senses

but takes them for what they are, and is unchanged,

as the ocean receives the rippling waters

of the rivers that flow into it

and yet maintains its level. A stable mind

is free from anger; constantly serene,

filled with knowledge of the eternal Self.”

“But in that case,” protests Arjuna,

“why are you urging me to fling myself

into this terrible war? Why should I not

go to a forest ashram and meditate?”

“My friend, there are two paths through this world:

the path of knowledge and the path of action.

You will not attain enlightenment

by renouncing action—and indeed

you would find that is impossible.

To live out this material existence

we have to act, just to keep ourselves alive.

The question is, how to act rightly?

Right action is that which is performed

without selfish attachment to the outcome—

sacrifice offered to sustain the gods

and to maintain order in the world

is right action; not when it greedily

grasps after rewards. Through right action

gods and mortals nourish one another

and the world is held together. Remember—

action carried out in a true spirit

is the most perfect possible achievement.

It is based upon renunciation.

The divine Self informs every selfless act.

“People who are caught up in delusion

think they are sole authors of their actions

and of the consequences. So they are proud

of their success, and suffer shame or guilt

when their efforts fail. But the workings

of cause and effect are infinitely complex,

beyond the scope of human understanding,

part of the eternal cosmic dance

in which each atom mirrors every other;

unknowable and inexpressible.”

Arjuna can hardly concentrate

on Krishna’s words. He is preoccupied

by the enemy drawn up in front of him.

“Krishna, what impels a man to do evil

even when he receives the best advice,

even though he understands what is right—

as if some hidden force is pushing him?”

“It is desire and anger—those attachments

that cast a screen of smoke over the world.

Desire is the root, giving rise to anger.

These are the age-old enemies of wisdom.

The clamorous senses must be grappled with,

the mind must be brought under one’s control.

Beyond the workings of the mind is wisdom

grounded in awareness of the infinite.

This is my yoga, the eternal way

I have taught since the human race began.”

Arjuna is surprised, and mystified.

“But, Krishna, I know when you were born—

what do you mean by
since the human race
. . . ?”

“I have passed through many lives, as you have;

but I remember them, and you do not.

I am the changeless and eternal Self,

sufficient, never born, never dying.

Yet I take on a material form

whenever the world is in need of me,

to protect the good and destroy evil.

I have no personal need to act—and yet

I act, to set the world the right example,

a bulwark against ruin and anarchy.

“The spirit, the ultimate reality

that pervades the cosmos is impersonal.

You should know, I am its embodiment.

Act, and dedicate your actions to me.

Those who truly devote themselves to me,

in whatever way, will be released

from the relentless wheel of birth and death.

“You need to understand what is action

and what is non-action. It is not obvious.

Action can reside in non-action

and non-action can underlie action.

Everything depends on the state of mind.

If a person is bound up, attached

to the outcome of their action, then

that action’s consequences, like a burr,

will stick to them through this life and beyond,

determining the nature of their rebirth.

That is the unshakable law of karma.

But those who do not grasp after results,

who treat success and failure as the same,

are always satisfied. Although they act,

they are really doing nothing—like a boatman

rowing with the current, at his ease.

Their actions do not stick to them, because

they are free of yearning for results.

In acting in this way, they are engaged

in one variety of sacrifice,

offering up their actions with simplicity,

relinquishing all doubt and ignorance.”

“Krishna,” says Arjuna, “I hear you praising

action, and the relinquishment of acts.

I am confused—which of these is better?”

“Both of these can lead to liberation.

Right action is the better course. And yet,

essentially, they are not alternatives.

Through either one, carried out sincerely,

one can attain the benefits of both.

Indifferent to the fruits that follow action,

those whose actions spring from the right spirit

are
renouncers, since they have relinquished

attachment to everything impermanent,

seeing that these things bring no real delight.

“Such rare people see the eternal Self

everywhere—see themselves in all creatures

and all creatures in themselves; for Brahman

is one and the same in everything.

They radiate joy, exude peace and love,

knowing me as their true companion.

Understanding this is everything,

and spiritual discipline—yoga—

is the key.

“I shall tell you what yoga is.

Yoga is austere but temperate.

It is not for the glutton, Arjuna,

but neither does it mean self-starvation.

It is not for one who lies in bed till noon,

but nor does it require sleep deprivation.

“The disciplined mind is calm, as unswerving

as a lighted candle in a sheltered place.

Not identified with suffering,

it is not shaken even by great sorrow.

That is what yoga means—yoking oneself

to true understanding; equanimity

that faces pain and pleasure evenly.”