NINE
Near the end of the dwapara yuga, between two armies, the Pandava warrior Arjuna said to his cousin, the Avatara, “Krishna, tell me about renunciation and relinquishment and the difference between the two.”
The kali yuga yawning before him, the Dark One of Dwaraka said, “Renunciation is when you abandon karma out of desire. Relinquishment is when you act, but abandon the fruit of what you do.
The karma of sacrifice, penance and charity must be performed; these are the purifiers of the wise. But they should be done with no attachment for their results.
The tamasic renunciation is through ignorance, the rajasic through fear. But if a man does his duty, forsaking its outcome to me, his relinquishment is sattvic.
The sage of relinquishment does not doubt; his nature is sattvic. He does not shrink from what is unpleasant, nor is he drawn to the pleasant. No embodied being can renounce karma entirely, but he who relinquishes the fruit of his work is enlightened.
The consequences of karma are pleasant, unpleasant and mixed, each in its season. But those who are detached reap no consequence at all, in this world or the next.
The Vedanta says there are five participants in any deed: the body, the ego, the senses, the motions of life in the body and providence the fifth. All karma, of speech, of body or mind, good or evil, is caused by these five. He who thinks that he is the one that acts, is deluded. But the man who is unattached, untainted by egotism, who acts naturally, perfectly: no karma binds him with any bond. Though he kill thousands, he is no killer.
Arjuna, there are three kinds of conscience and three kinds of happiness, too.
The sattvic conscience knows right from wrong, what is safe and what dangerous. It knows discrimination and relinquishment, what binds the spirit and what frees it. The rajasic conscience cannot distinguish wrong from right, what to do and what not to. And when a man’s conscience tells him wrong is right, that evil is goodness and distorts the world, it is tamasic.
So, too, with happiness. The man who knows the atman has the joy of pure knowledge, like poison at first and ambrosial finally: the joy of sattva, the end of sorrow. The joy of rajas is of the senses uniting with the objects of sense: sweet in the beginning, deadly at last. The warped pleasure, which deludes the soul at both beginning and end, bestial satisfaction born of stupor, sloth or cruelty, is of tamas, always fatal.
There is no being on earth, none among the Devas of heaven, who is free of the gunas of prakriti. Every man’s inner nature ordains his dharma; brahmana and kshatriya, vaishya and sudra, each has his innate, natural dharma.
The brahmana’s dharma is to know the atman, to be serene, restrained and pure; the kshatriya’s is to be battle-skilled, fearless, generous and resolute; the vaishya’s is to breed cattle, to till the earth, to trade; and to serve all men is the dharma of the sudra.
But all men are born equal and equally for perfection and each shall find it if he follows his nature’s dharma.
A man worships God when he performs his prakritic dharma and so he finds perfection. It is better to perform one’s own dharma, however imperfectly, than the dharma of another flawlessly. For there is no sin in following one’s own true nature.
As to imperfection, all karma is clouded with imperfection, as fire is with smoke. But that is no cause to give up one’s natural duty, no reason to stop worshipping God, or seeking Him.
Listen, Arjuna, to how the perfected man is one with Brahman.
His mind and heart are free of delusion, full of compassion. His senses are subdued, naturally, by a steady will, without regret. He seeks solitude, eats little, speaks less and is always absorbed in the Brahman, the truth.
Vanity has gone from him, pride, violence, lust, anger and so have all his possessions, that once possessed him. Entirely serene, he is fit to be with Brahman. And he who is with Brahman, past sorrow, beyond craving, all beings the same to him, he loves me most dearly.
To love me is to know the inmost truth that I am; knowing me is to enter my being. Everything that man does is offered to me in surrender and my grace is upon him. He finds the eternal, the place unchanging.”
Krishna felt a great war won within himself: the worst over, evil overcome, retreating. Arjuna, radiant with faith, said to him, “You have removed my fear. I feel I have already triumphed in all my battles. I know that whatever you have said to me is true; but Krishna, I want to see your divine form. Lord, if you think I deserve that revelation, show me your imperishable self.”
The armies vanished from Kurukshetra; the world vanished from Kurukshetra. Only Krishna, the Blue God, stood smiling and tremendous before Arjuna.
“You cannot see me with your human eyes, but I will give you other sight. Behold, Arjuna, my forms: a hundred, a thousand, endless. See the Adityas, the Vasus, the Rudras, the Asvins and the Maruts. See the hidden realms, the Universe and whatever you care to see. Arjuna, behold Me!”
And Krishna stood transformed before his bhakta: speaking from many mouths, seeing with numberless eyes, carrying countless weapons, wearing divine raiment and garlands, heavenly perfumes, of endless visions and marvels, irradiant, boundless. His face was turned everywhere, the nebulae were his ornaments. If a thousand suns rose together into the sky, their light might approach the splendor of that Being.
It was the vision he had shown a shadow of in the sabha of Hastinapura; now it was complete, refulgent. Arjuna saw the universe with his gifted sight, all its eternity gathered in One, in the body of the God of Gods. His hair stood on end, he folded his hands in awe and the Pandava fell on his knees. “Oh, Lord, I see the Gods and their hosts in you! I see Brahma on his lotus throne and all the rishis and heaven’s nagas. I see you with numberless arms, bellies, mouths and eyes, but I do not see your end, your middle or your beginning, O cosmic, infinite One!
I see you with your crown, mace and wheel of fire. You are the light of lights, incomparable!” cried Arjuna in ecstasy and terror verging on death. “The sun and the moon are your eyes, your face is an eternal fire whose brilliance lights the universe. The void of space between the stars is full of you. The three worlds are in awe of this Form of yours and I tremble seeing you shouldering the sky, blazing in more colors than I had dreamt could be. Oh, Vishnu, this vision makes my soul weak with fear. I see your endless mouths, dreadful with tusks, full of Time’s devouring flames and I quail. Be gracious, Lord of Gods, sanctuary of the galaxies!
I see not just my enemies and friends, but all men and women, humankind, fly like moths into your flaming jaws. Lord, I see the earth and the constellations spinning into your fanged mouths and you licking them up. Have mercy, O Godhead, I know nothing of thee!”
God said in thunder, “Time am I, waster of worlds. Fight or stay your hand, no matter: these kshatriyas will die in me. For that I am come. So, take up your weapons! Win glory by killing your enemies and enjoy a kingdom, O ambidextrous bowman. I have already slain your enemies; you are only my instrument. Kill Drona, Bheeshma, Jayadratha, Karna and the rest, whom I have damned. Fear nothing, fight and you will conquer.”
His face in the grass, his eyes shut tight, Arjuna prostrated himself at the Vision’s feet. He breathed, “O Krishna, it is well the world honors you, I understand it now. Hail, hail to you! A thousand times, hail! For whatever I said rashly to you, thinking of you as just my cousin, not knowing who you really are, calling you Krishna, Yadava, or friend, I beg your forgiveness, O Father of worlds.
Bear with me as a father with his son, as a friend with a friend, as a lover with his beloved. I cannot endure this vision of you. Be merciful; be as you were before, O million-membered One!”
God said, “My love has shown you this Form of fire, luminous, primeval, which no one has ever seen before on earth. Not by the Vedas, by sacrifice or study, not by the sternest tapasya, will anyone else in this world ever see this Viswa Rupa. But look and do not be afraid.”
Again, Krishna, his cousin and friend, stood smiling and gracious before Arjuna and gently pulled the Pandava to his feet.
Red-faced, hands still folded, Arjuna panted, “Lord! I am quiet again.”
The panic drained from his body, though he still shook where he stood. And Krishna was reminded of another purpose of the Avatara: to allay the terror of man faced with absolute Godhead.
He said, “Even the Devas, Arjuna, are always eager to see me as you just did. Only by bhakti can I be seen like that.” He embraced the trembling warrior, “He who worships me and has no enmity with any creature, he comes to me, O Kshatriya. Consecrate all that you do to me; think of me as your nearest kin. Know that I am your only refuge, be one with me in your heart.
When you are with me, I will take you over every trial and sorrow. But if your are conceited and do not listen, you will be lost. It is your vanity that says, ‘I will not fight’. You will fight, Arjuna, your own nature will compel you to. You yourself create the karma that binds you; and caught helpless in its power, you will do even what you want to avoid.
God abides in the hearts of all his creatures. He turns them round on the wheel of his maya. Surrender to him, Arjuna. By his grace you will find supreme peace and the place beyond change.”
Krishna smiled at Arjuna, “Now you know the wisdom that is the secret of secrets. Think carefully on it and then do as you decide. These are my last words to you for now. You are the friend I chose over all others and I speak for your good.”
The Blue God was a being of pure love. He said, “Give me your heart; love me, worship me always. Bow only to me and you shall find me. This is my promise, who love you more than you can imagine.
Relinquish your karma to me, I am your sanctuary. Fear no more, because I will save you from sin and from bondage. Arjuna, you must never tell this holy truth to anyone who has no faith or restraint, or who hates his guru and mocks me. But the man who loves me and teaches my bhaktas this supreme secret of the Gita, will surely come to me.
If any man meditates upon this song of ours, I will know he has worshipped me in spirit. And the man who just listens to it, without derision, will be freed of his sins and attain the swarga of the just.”
His deep hour between the two armies over, his battle of the spirit, Sri Krishna embraced his cousin and soldier. Around them, time unfroze: horses moved, chariots and soldiers. Kurukshetra resounded again with conches, drums and tabors. Arjuna stood forth; the river of light, the Song of God, was a sea in his heart. Enfolded in his charioteer’s fathomless calm, at peace with himself, the Pandava shone with faith.
Krishna said, “Has your soul heard everything I have said, Arjuna, have I dispelled your fear?”
From his new peace, Krishna’s given peace, the archer replied, “Achyuta, your grace has made my mind firm, its doubts have gone. I will do as you say. I will fight.” And he picked up the Gandiva again.
Krishna looked at Arjuna and wondered whether, when faced with his kin, the Pandava would truly aim to kill. The Dark One’s eyes twinkled at his cousin.
Krishna took the silver horses’ reins in his left hand. With a flick of the whip, he plunged his chariot toward Bheeshma and the Kaurava army. With a ringing cry, the Avatara bore his warrior of light into the war on the crack of the ages.