Arjuna's Doubt

The sun was rising over Kurukshetra, a wide, flat plain in the north of India.

On one side stood the army of the Pandavas. On the other stood the army of their cousins, the Kauravas. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers, horses, chariots and elephants faced each other across the field. Conch shells blew. Drums thundered. The great war was about to begin.

In a chariot drawn by white horses stood Arjuna, the finest archer of the Pandavas. Holding the reins was his dearest friend and guide, Krishna.

"Take me to the middle"

"Krishna," said Arjuna, "drive my chariot into the middle, between the two armies. I want to see the people I'm about to fight."

Krishna drove the chariot forward and stopped it in the open ground between the two sides.

Arjuna looked across at the enemy army. And his heart turned cold.

There was Bhishma, his beloved grand-uncle, who had loved him since he was a child. There was Drona, his teacher, who had taught him everything he knew about archery. There were his cousins, his uncles, his friends, the fathers and sons of families he had known all his life.

The bow falls

Arjuna's mouth went dry. His legs trembled. His great bow, Gandiva, slipped from his hand.

"Krishna," he said, "I can't do this. How can I fight the people I love? What happiness would there be in winning a kingdom, if it costs the lives of my own family? I would rather they defeated me."

And Arjuna sank down in the chariot, his eyes full of tears.

What Krishna said

Krishna looked at his friend with great kindness. Then he began to speak, and what he said has been treasured by readers for more than two thousand years.

He told Arjuna that the real self in every person, the soul, is never born and never dies. Bodies change, as we change our clothes, but the soul goes on. So there is no need to grieve in the way Arjuna was grieving.

He told Arjuna that every person has their own duty, their own work in the world. Arjuna was a warrior, sworn to protect what was right. To run away from that duty, out of fear or sorrow, would not be kindness. It would only be giving up.

And then Krishna said the words that the Gita is most famous for. You have a right to do your work, he said, but you have no claim on the results. Do not work only for the reward. But do not stop working, either.

Do your duty well, Krishna said, and give your whole effort to it. Then let go of the result. Treat success and failure, gain and loss, pleasure and pain, with the same steady mind. A person who can do that is calm in any storm.

A clear mind

Arjuna asked Krishna many questions, and Krishna answered every one. They spoke about duty and about peace, about how to quiet a restless mind, about what it means to live a good life, and about the divine that lives in all things.

The Gita tells that, at one moment, Krishna showed Arjuna his true, cosmic form: the whole universe, with all its worlds and all its beings, shining within him. Arjuna was overwhelmed, and humbled, and he understood.

At last, Arjuna's doubts were gone. His confusion had cleared, like mist when the sun comes out.

"My doubts are gone," he told Krishna. "I will do as you say."

He picked up his bow again.

Why the Gita still matters

The Bhagavad Gita is only 700 verses long, a small part of the vast Mahabharata. But it has become one of the most widely read books in the world. Mahatma Gandhi spoke of it as a mother to him and turned to it for comfort in hard times, and many scientists, thinkers and ordinary people have found guidance in it.

Its central lesson is one that anyone can use: in a student's exam, a worker's job, an athlete's race or a parent's long day. Give your best effort. Then stay calm about what happens next. That is how to work without fear.

About this story

The Bhagavad Gita, "the Song of God", is part of the Bhishma Parva, the sixth book of the Mahabharata. It takes the form of a conversation between Arjuna and Krishna on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. This story retells only its opening and a few of its best-known teachings, in simple words. It is a shortened, simplified retelling, not a translation.