विवेचन सारांश
Path of Devotion: Embracing the Supreme through Love, Surrender, and Selfless Service
Chapter 12 of Śrīmad Bhagavad Gītā is Bhakti Yoga: The Yoga of Devotion
The session commenced with deep prajwalan, the customary lighting of lamp, prayers to the Supreme, and salutations to all the Gurus.
Vasudeva Sutam Devam, Kansa Chānūra Mardanam |
Devakī Paramaānandam, Krishna Vande Jagadgurum ||
Yogesham Saccidānandam, Vāsudeva Priyam Dharam |
Dharma Sthāpakam Vīram, Krishnam Vande Jagadgurum ||
Śrī Guru Charan Kamalebhyo Namah
By the boundless and auspicious grace of Bhagavān, an extraordinary fortune has awakened in the lives of all. It is by this rare blessing alone that this precious human birth has found meaning — a path has opened to transform this very life into one of true success and fulfillment, both in this world and beyond.
It is this fortune that has drawn everyone to the study of the Bhagavad Gītā, the timeless dialogue between Bhagavān Śrī Krishna and Arjuna. But here arises a gentle reminder, one that must be received with humility yet deep conviction: this journey into Gītā was never a matter of personal choice.
At first glance, it might seem that one decided to join — a link was received, the class was chosen, and the registration was done. But the deeper truth stands firm and unshakable: it is not the seeker who selects the Gītā; it is the Gītā that chooses the seeker. It is Bhagavān who, out of His boundless compassion, selects each soul and leads them towards this sacred path.
Not everyone, even if they wish, finds themselves in the study of Gītā. Bhagavān Himself declares in the eighteenth adhyāya:
"ya idam paramam guhyam madbhakteṣv abhidhāsyati |
bhaktiṁ mayi parāṁ kṛtvā mām evaiṣyaty asaṁśayaḥ ||" (18.68)
And further:
"na ca tasmān manuṣyeṣu kaścin me priyakṛttamaḥ |
bhavitā na ca me tasmād anyaḥ priyataro bhuvi ||" (18.69)
Those who even taste a drop of this supreme wisdom, without doubt, attain Bhagavān. And if every person in this world were to arrive at Bhagavān merely by reading the Gītā, the entire divine play — this lila — would lose its design. Therefore, only those marked by Bhagavān’s special grace are drawn towards it.
The Bhagavad Gītā, a scripture both concise and infinitely powerful, has stood as the guiding light of humanity for more than 5300 years. Across the wide spectrum of Indian spiritual traditions, differing sampradāyas, philosophies, and schools, there are countless debates and disagreements about scriptures — some uphold one text, some reject another. But there exists no sampradāya in Bhāratavarṣa that does not accept the Bhagavad Gītā. It is the one text whose universal authority remains unquestioned.
The reason for this harmony lies in the unique spirit of the Gītā. Bhagavān never insists on any particular ritual, mantra, or external religious marker. Nowhere does the text command, "Perform worship in this way," or "Apply this tilak," or "Chant this specific mantra." Even the word ‘Hindu’ finds no place in the entire scripture.
The Gītā is not a book confined to any sect, religion, or community. It is a scripture for the entire human race — a direct invitation from Bhagavān for the upliftment and liberation of all beings. What matters to Him is not the path one follows, but the destination one ultimately reaches. Regardless of the route, the essence remains the same: the journey must culminate in the divine.
Throughout the Gītā, Bhagavān offers various tools for self-assessment. In the twelfth adhyāya, He presents the characteristics of a true bhakta — 39 divine symptoms to help one reflect: ‘How does one know if one is truly a bhakta?’ Similarly, in the second adhyāya, He outlines the signs of a sthitaprajña — one established in wisdom. In the thirteenth, the qualities of a jñānī are unveiled. The sixteenth adhyāya describes the daivī-sampatti — the divine attributes — while the fourteenth adhyāya reveals the lakṣaṇas of one who has transcended the guṇas, the guṇātīta.
In every section, Bhagavān provides clear, rational checklists — signposts for inner reflection. The Gītā is too rational and too powerful to be neglected, too universal to be confined.
And it is not only within India that the Bhagavad Gītā has left its mark. Thinkers and philosophers from all corners of the world have drawn deeply from its wisdom — Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Aldous Huxley, Albert Einstein, Oppenheimer, and Romain Rolland, among others. Even among those born into other religious traditions, reverence for the Gītā has stood unwavering.
One shining example is Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, who — despite being born into a Muslim family — held such deep respect for the Gītā that he would not drink even a glass of water before reading from it each day. Such was the transformative power the Gītā held in his life.
For indeed, the Bhagavad Gītā is not merely a Hindu scripture. It is Bhagavān’s message to all of humanity — a song of wisdom, a call to inner strength, a guiding light for those who seek meaning both in life and beyond.
The Krishna of the Bhagavad Gītā is profoundly scientific in His approach. As one begins to immerse oneself in the study of the Gītā and steadily listens to its explanations, a silent but transformative shift starts to take place within. Over the span of a year, the entire perspective towards life changes so deeply that one no longer remains the person one once was. The way the world is seen, the way situations are understood — all of it transforms. Such is the subtle and extraordinary power of the Bhagavad Gītā.
It has been beautifully said that even if one does not grasp the deep meaning of the shlokas, merely listening to the recitation of the Gītā, especially when the verses are heard directly from the lips of a realized speaker, begins to reprogram the mind. Such is the potency of this divine dialogue. The sound vibrations themselves are infused with transformative power.
The Bhagavad Gītā contains 700 shlokas, out of which 574 have been directly spoken by Bhagavān Himself. The Vedas are described as Bhagavān’s exhalation — uvāca. It is said that as Bhagavān breathes, the sacred vibrations that flow through His nostrils manifest as the mantras of the Vedas.
Now, if the Vedas — born from the gentle exhalation of Bhagavān — are considered so supremely sacred, just imagine the divinity of the Gītā, which emerged directly from the lotus-like mouth of Bhagavān! The Gītā is not born from breath, but from Bhagavān’s speech, spoken directly and intentionally for the upliftment of humanity.
Although the Bhagavad Gītā holds a place of such towering reverence, it is not an independent scripture. It is, in fact, part of the grand epic — the Mahābhārata — which consists of one lakh shlokas. The Gītā forms a section within the Bhīṣma Parva, spanning from the 25th to the 42nd adhyāya. It is merely an extract, a part of the Mahābhārata, yet it outshines countless scriptures in depth and clarity.
Throughout the Mahābhārata, whenever Maharshi Veda Vyāsa refers to the speech of Śrī Krishna, the words used are kṛṣṇa uvāca, keśava uvāca, or vāsudeva uvāca. But within the Bhagavad Gītā, not once is Śrī Krishna addressed in this manner. Instead, Maharshi Veda Vyāsa consistently writes: śrī bhagavān uvāca. Because while Śrī Krishna performed all His divine pastimes (līlās) in the form of Śrī Krishna — the son of Vasudeva and Devakī — the teachings of the Bhagavad Gītā were not delivered as Śrī Krishna the avatāra, but as the supreme, transcendental reality — Parabrahma Paramēśvara.
Thus, the Gītā transcends any sectarian lens. While reading or reflecting upon the Gītā, there is no question of whether one is a devotee of Bhagavān Rāma, or of Śiva, or of Viṣṇu, or of Durgā. Bhagavān addresses all beings beyond such boundaries.
In the Gītā, Bhagavān proclaims:
"mām evaiṣyaty asaṃśayaḥ" || 18 - 68 ||
But who is this mām — this ‘Me’ that Bhagavān refers to?
For the one whose cherished iṣṭa is Śrī Rāma, this mām is Śrī Rāma. For the one devoted to Bhagavān Śiva, it is Bhagavān Śiva. For those who adore Durgā mata, it is Durgā mata. For those who worship Bhagavān Nārāyaṇa, it is Bhagavān Nārāyaṇa. Bhagavān, in His infinite grace, ensures that the seeker receives the vision and the devotion corresponding to their chosen iṣṭa. The Gītā does not confine anyone to a singular form. Instead, it reveals the universal nature of the supreme, allowing each devotee to meet their iṣṭa through its wisdom.
This is the unparalleled beauty of the Bhagavad Gītā — the eternal song of Bhagavān, for every seeker, for every heart, beyond all boundaries.
Before stepping into the depths of the 12th chapter of the Bhagavad Gītā, it is essential to understand the background that led to the manifestation of this divine dialogue.
Driven by deceit and compelled by the sinful intentions of Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Duryodhana, the noble-hearted Pāṇḍavas were exiled to the forest for twelve long years, followed by one year of incognito exile. Despite enduring such undeserved suffering, they neither retaliated nor rebelled. Dharmarāja Yudhiṣṭhira, in deep adherence to dharma, chose to obey the elders' command and embraced exile without complaint.
Yet, even after fulfilling every condition of their exile, Duryodhana arrogantly declared his refusal to return their rightful kingdom. If they wanted their kingdom, they would have to wage war. Bhagavān Śrī Kṛṣṇa, in His boundless compassion, undertook every possible effort to avoid war. Initially, emissaries were sent, but when the situation remained unyielding, Bhagavān decided to go Himself as a final attempt to restore peace.
Despite counsel from many not to trust Duryodhana, Bhagavān assured them: "I have My confidence; Duryodhana can do nothing to Me." Even as a precaution, His entire army was stationed at the borders of Hastināpura, ready to act at the slightest sign of betrayal. A master of strategy, Bhagavān's policies are flawless and filled with foresight.
In the royal court of Hastināpura, Bhagavān presented the most reasonable proposal — one that any noble heart would accept. He said, "Why this conflict? These Pāṇḍavas are dharmic, patient, and deeply contented. If peace can be secured, give them merely five villages. That will be enough for them to live with satisfaction." After all, the Pāṇḍavas had already earned the entire empire through their valor and dharma — it was never a mere inheritance. And yet, Yudhiṣṭhira was prepared to renounce it all for the sake of peace.
But the obstinate and wicked Duryodhana refused, declaring, "I shall not give them land even as much as can fit on the tip of a needle!" Neither Yudhiṣṭhira, nor Arjuna, nor even Bhagavān desired war. In fact, among the five brothers, four were against war. It was only Sahadeva who believed battle had become inevitable.
When Duryodhana's adamant defiance crossed every limit, Kuntī Devī sent a message through Bhagavān to Yudhiṣṭhira: "A kṣatriya mother gives birth to her son for this very day. Now the time has come. You must fight — not for yourself, but for the protection of dharma and the welfare of your subjects." It was only upon receiving his mother's command that Yudhiṣṭhira finally accepted the call of dharma-yuddha.
The battle of Mahābhārata did not erupt impulsively. Months of preparation went into it. The search for the perfect battlefield led them to Kurukṣetra, the very land sanctified by the tapas of King Kuru. Roads were laid, bridges constructed, stables and elephant sheds established, warehouses built, wells dug, and stepwells constructed. Armies from across Bhāratavarṣa began gathering, and nearly a full year passed in preparations.
The code of war was meticulously crafted by ministers and brāhmaṇas from both sides, and finally, the fated day was chosen — Māgha Kṛṣṇa Ekādaśī.
It is believed that the entire dialogue of the Bhagavad Gītā spanned about 45 minutes. A seeker who memorizes all 700 ślokas can recite them in approximately the same time, reaffirming that the Gītā's wisdom was bestowed within that brief, divine conversation.
There is yet another fascinating detail. The Bhagavad Gītā's mention in the Mahābhārata appears twice. Once before the war began, and again later, after Bhīṣma Pitāmaha fell upon his bed of arrows — śarśayyā. At that moment, Sanjaya returned to Hastināpura to report the grave news to Dhṛtarāṣṭra. Overwhelmed, Dhṛtarāṣṭra demanded, "Tell me everything from the beginning."
And there began the first śloka:
"dhṛtarāṣṭra uvāca–
dharma-kṣetre kurukṣetre samavetā yuyutsavaḥ |
māmakāḥ pāṇḍavāś caiva kim akurvata sañjaya || 1 - 1 ||
Sanjaya, endowed with divya-dṛṣṭi — the divine vision granted by Bhagavān Vedavyāsa — began narrating the entire sacred dialogue.
Before concluding this introduction, one must reflect on a gentle yet profound story. Once, a great saint named Nārāyaṇa Svāmī, deeply immersed in bhakti, was visited by his close friend Śramaṇa, a jñāna-mārga seeker. Śramaṇa humbly asked to be taught the path of devotion. Nārāyaṇa Svāmī agreed and invited him to wash his hands and face, saying, "Meanwhile, I shall arrange something for you to drink."
Puzzled at the sudden formality between old friends, Śramaṇa complied. Soon, Nārāyaṇa Svāmī brought a glass of water. Śramaṇa, not particularly thirsty, sipped a little and set it aside. The saint then returned with a sharbat, and without asking for an empty glass, he began pouring the sweet drink into the same glass, already half-filled with water.
Naturally, as the sharbat flowed, the glass overflowed, spilling everywhere. Śramaṇa, unable to hold back, exclaimed, "What are you doing? The glass is already full; how can you pour more?"
With a serene smile, Nārāyaṇa Svāmī replied, "Your first lesson is complete. An already full glass cannot hold anything new. You came to me seeking devotion, but your mind is brimming with preconceived notions, accumulated knowledge, and intellectual clutter. Unless you empty that, no new wisdom can enter."
Just like the old makeup must be removed before applying new, and the deity's old ornaments are first taken off before adorning new ones, so too must the mind be emptied of old conditioning for fresh knowledge to settle in.
This is the way of the seeker — to become an open, receptive vessel, so that the nectar of the Bhagavad Gītā may truly be received.
A question must have arisen in many hearts — why begin the study of Bhagavad Gītā from the 12th adhyāya? Why not from the very first chapter? Some might even have felt, upon joining this session, that perhaps they had landed in the wrong class!
This curiosity is natural, but there is a profound reason behind this choice.
Bhagavad Gītā is not an ordinary text; it is a shāstra. And shāstras are not studied the way one reads common books — from page one to the final page. The study of shāstra follows a distinct method, a precise tradition. Which part is to be studied first and which later — this decision rests under the guidance of a Guru.
In the case of the Bhagavad Gītā, this tradition has been in place not just for years but for millennia. Ācāryas, through the ages, have advised that when a seeker takes the first step towards the Bhagavad Gītā, the journey ought to begin from the 12th adhyāya. Why so?
There are several reasons, but the most significant ones are worth contemplating.
The session commenced with deep prajwalan, the customary lighting of lamp, prayers to the Supreme, and salutations to all the Gurus.
Vasudeva Sutam Devam, Kansa Chānūra Mardanam |
Devakī Paramaānandam, Krishna Vande Jagadgurum ||
Yogesham Saccidānandam, Vāsudeva Priyam Dharam |
Dharma Sthāpakam Vīram, Krishnam Vande Jagadgurum ||
Śrī Guru Charan Kamalebhyo Namah
By the boundless and auspicious grace of Bhagavān, an extraordinary fortune has awakened in the lives of all. It is by this rare blessing alone that this precious human birth has found meaning — a path has opened to transform this very life into one of true success and fulfillment, both in this world and beyond.
It is this fortune that has drawn everyone to the study of the Bhagavad Gītā, the timeless dialogue between Bhagavān Śrī Krishna and Arjuna. But here arises a gentle reminder, one that must be received with humility yet deep conviction: this journey into Gītā was never a matter of personal choice.
At first glance, it might seem that one decided to join — a link was received, the class was chosen, and the registration was done. But the deeper truth stands firm and unshakable: it is not the seeker who selects the Gītā; it is the Gītā that chooses the seeker. It is Bhagavān who, out of His boundless compassion, selects each soul and leads them towards this sacred path.
Not everyone, even if they wish, finds themselves in the study of Gītā. Bhagavān Himself declares in the eighteenth adhyāya:
"ya idam paramam guhyam madbhakteṣv abhidhāsyati |
bhaktiṁ mayi parāṁ kṛtvā mām evaiṣyaty asaṁśayaḥ ||" (18.68)
And further:
"na ca tasmān manuṣyeṣu kaścin me priyakṛttamaḥ |
bhavitā na ca me tasmād anyaḥ priyataro bhuvi ||" (18.69)
Those who even taste a drop of this supreme wisdom, without doubt, attain Bhagavān. And if every person in this world were to arrive at Bhagavān merely by reading the Gītā, the entire divine play — this lila — would lose its design. Therefore, only those marked by Bhagavān’s special grace are drawn towards it.
The Bhagavad Gītā, a scripture both concise and infinitely powerful, has stood as the guiding light of humanity for more than 5300 years. Across the wide spectrum of Indian spiritual traditions, differing sampradāyas, philosophies, and schools, there are countless debates and disagreements about scriptures — some uphold one text, some reject another. But there exists no sampradāya in Bhāratavarṣa that does not accept the Bhagavad Gītā. It is the one text whose universal authority remains unquestioned.
The reason for this harmony lies in the unique spirit of the Gītā. Bhagavān never insists on any particular ritual, mantra, or external religious marker. Nowhere does the text command, "Perform worship in this way," or "Apply this tilak," or "Chant this specific mantra." Even the word ‘Hindu’ finds no place in the entire scripture.
The Gītā is not a book confined to any sect, religion, or community. It is a scripture for the entire human race — a direct invitation from Bhagavān for the upliftment and liberation of all beings. What matters to Him is not the path one follows, but the destination one ultimately reaches. Regardless of the route, the essence remains the same: the journey must culminate in the divine.
Throughout the Gītā, Bhagavān offers various tools for self-assessment. In the twelfth adhyāya, He presents the characteristics of a true bhakta — 39 divine symptoms to help one reflect: ‘How does one know if one is truly a bhakta?’ Similarly, in the second adhyāya, He outlines the signs of a sthitaprajña — one established in wisdom. In the thirteenth, the qualities of a jñānī are unveiled. The sixteenth adhyāya describes the daivī-sampatti — the divine attributes — while the fourteenth adhyāya reveals the lakṣaṇas of one who has transcended the guṇas, the guṇātīta.
In every section, Bhagavān provides clear, rational checklists — signposts for inner reflection. The Gītā is too rational and too powerful to be neglected, too universal to be confined.
And it is not only within India that the Bhagavad Gītā has left its mark. Thinkers and philosophers from all corners of the world have drawn deeply from its wisdom — Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Aldous Huxley, Albert Einstein, Oppenheimer, and Romain Rolland, among others. Even among those born into other religious traditions, reverence for the Gītā has stood unwavering.
One shining example is Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, who — despite being born into a Muslim family — held such deep respect for the Gītā that he would not drink even a glass of water before reading from it each day. Such was the transformative power the Gītā held in his life.
For indeed, the Bhagavad Gītā is not merely a Hindu scripture. It is Bhagavān’s message to all of humanity — a song of wisdom, a call to inner strength, a guiding light for those who seek meaning both in life and beyond.
The Krishna of the Bhagavad Gītā is profoundly scientific in His approach. As one begins to immerse oneself in the study of the Gītā and steadily listens to its explanations, a silent but transformative shift starts to take place within. Over the span of a year, the entire perspective towards life changes so deeply that one no longer remains the person one once was. The way the world is seen, the way situations are understood — all of it transforms. Such is the subtle and extraordinary power of the Bhagavad Gītā.
It has been beautifully said that even if one does not grasp the deep meaning of the shlokas, merely listening to the recitation of the Gītā, especially when the verses are heard directly from the lips of a realized speaker, begins to reprogram the mind. Such is the potency of this divine dialogue. The sound vibrations themselves are infused with transformative power.
The Bhagavad Gītā contains 700 shlokas, out of which 574 have been directly spoken by Bhagavān Himself. The Vedas are described as Bhagavān’s exhalation — uvāca. It is said that as Bhagavān breathes, the sacred vibrations that flow through His nostrils manifest as the mantras of the Vedas.
Now, if the Vedas — born from the gentle exhalation of Bhagavān — are considered so supremely sacred, just imagine the divinity of the Gītā, which emerged directly from the lotus-like mouth of Bhagavān! The Gītā is not born from breath, but from Bhagavān’s speech, spoken directly and intentionally for the upliftment of humanity.
Although the Bhagavad Gītā holds a place of such towering reverence, it is not an independent scripture. It is, in fact, part of the grand epic — the Mahābhārata — which consists of one lakh shlokas. The Gītā forms a section within the Bhīṣma Parva, spanning from the 25th to the 42nd adhyāya. It is merely an extract, a part of the Mahābhārata, yet it outshines countless scriptures in depth and clarity.
Throughout the Mahābhārata, whenever Maharshi Veda Vyāsa refers to the speech of Śrī Krishna, the words used are kṛṣṇa uvāca, keśava uvāca, or vāsudeva uvāca. But within the Bhagavad Gītā, not once is Śrī Krishna addressed in this manner. Instead, Maharshi Veda Vyāsa consistently writes: śrī bhagavān uvāca. Because while Śrī Krishna performed all His divine pastimes (līlās) in the form of Śrī Krishna — the son of Vasudeva and Devakī — the teachings of the Bhagavad Gītā were not delivered as Śrī Krishna the avatāra, but as the supreme, transcendental reality — Parabrahma Paramēśvara.
Thus, the Gītā transcends any sectarian lens. While reading or reflecting upon the Gītā, there is no question of whether one is a devotee of Bhagavān Rāma, or of Śiva, or of Viṣṇu, or of Durgā. Bhagavān addresses all beings beyond such boundaries.
In the Gītā, Bhagavān proclaims:
"mām evaiṣyaty asaṃśayaḥ" || 18 - 68 ||
But who is this mām — this ‘Me’ that Bhagavān refers to?
For the one whose cherished iṣṭa is Śrī Rāma, this mām is Śrī Rāma. For the one devoted to Bhagavān Śiva, it is Bhagavān Śiva. For those who adore Durgā mata, it is Durgā mata. For those who worship Bhagavān Nārāyaṇa, it is Bhagavān Nārāyaṇa. Bhagavān, in His infinite grace, ensures that the seeker receives the vision and the devotion corresponding to their chosen iṣṭa. The Gītā does not confine anyone to a singular form. Instead, it reveals the universal nature of the supreme, allowing each devotee to meet their iṣṭa through its wisdom.
This is the unparalleled beauty of the Bhagavad Gītā — the eternal song of Bhagavān, for every seeker, for every heart, beyond all boundaries.
Before stepping into the depths of the 12th chapter of the Bhagavad Gītā, it is essential to understand the background that led to the manifestation of this divine dialogue.
Driven by deceit and compelled by the sinful intentions of Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Duryodhana, the noble-hearted Pāṇḍavas were exiled to the forest for twelve long years, followed by one year of incognito exile. Despite enduring such undeserved suffering, they neither retaliated nor rebelled. Dharmarāja Yudhiṣṭhira, in deep adherence to dharma, chose to obey the elders' command and embraced exile without complaint.
Yet, even after fulfilling every condition of their exile, Duryodhana arrogantly declared his refusal to return their rightful kingdom. If they wanted their kingdom, they would have to wage war. Bhagavān Śrī Kṛṣṇa, in His boundless compassion, undertook every possible effort to avoid war. Initially, emissaries were sent, but when the situation remained unyielding, Bhagavān decided to go Himself as a final attempt to restore peace.
Despite counsel from many not to trust Duryodhana, Bhagavān assured them: "I have My confidence; Duryodhana can do nothing to Me." Even as a precaution, His entire army was stationed at the borders of Hastināpura, ready to act at the slightest sign of betrayal. A master of strategy, Bhagavān's policies are flawless and filled with foresight.
In the royal court of Hastināpura, Bhagavān presented the most reasonable proposal — one that any noble heart would accept. He said, "Why this conflict? These Pāṇḍavas are dharmic, patient, and deeply contented. If peace can be secured, give them merely five villages. That will be enough for them to live with satisfaction." After all, the Pāṇḍavas had already earned the entire empire through their valor and dharma — it was never a mere inheritance. And yet, Yudhiṣṭhira was prepared to renounce it all for the sake of peace.
But the obstinate and wicked Duryodhana refused, declaring, "I shall not give them land even as much as can fit on the tip of a needle!" Neither Yudhiṣṭhira, nor Arjuna, nor even Bhagavān desired war. In fact, among the five brothers, four were against war. It was only Sahadeva who believed battle had become inevitable.
When Duryodhana's adamant defiance crossed every limit, Kuntī Devī sent a message through Bhagavān to Yudhiṣṭhira: "A kṣatriya mother gives birth to her son for this very day. Now the time has come. You must fight — not for yourself, but for the protection of dharma and the welfare of your subjects." It was only upon receiving his mother's command that Yudhiṣṭhira finally accepted the call of dharma-yuddha.
The battle of Mahābhārata did not erupt impulsively. Months of preparation went into it. The search for the perfect battlefield led them to Kurukṣetra, the very land sanctified by the tapas of King Kuru. Roads were laid, bridges constructed, stables and elephant sheds established, warehouses built, wells dug, and stepwells constructed. Armies from across Bhāratavarṣa began gathering, and nearly a full year passed in preparations.
The code of war was meticulously crafted by ministers and brāhmaṇas from both sides, and finally, the fated day was chosen — Māgha Kṛṣṇa Ekādaśī.
It is believed that the entire dialogue of the Bhagavad Gītā spanned about 45 minutes. A seeker who memorizes all 700 ślokas can recite them in approximately the same time, reaffirming that the Gītā's wisdom was bestowed within that brief, divine conversation.
There is yet another fascinating detail. The Bhagavad Gītā's mention in the Mahābhārata appears twice. Once before the war began, and again later, after Bhīṣma Pitāmaha fell upon his bed of arrows — śarśayyā. At that moment, Sanjaya returned to Hastināpura to report the grave news to Dhṛtarāṣṭra. Overwhelmed, Dhṛtarāṣṭra demanded, "Tell me everything from the beginning."
And there began the first śloka:
"dhṛtarāṣṭra uvāca–
dharma-kṣetre kurukṣetre samavetā yuyutsavaḥ |
māmakāḥ pāṇḍavāś caiva kim akurvata sañjaya || 1 - 1 ||
Sanjaya, endowed with divya-dṛṣṭi — the divine vision granted by Bhagavān Vedavyāsa — began narrating the entire sacred dialogue.
Before concluding this introduction, one must reflect on a gentle yet profound story. Once, a great saint named Nārāyaṇa Svāmī, deeply immersed in bhakti, was visited by his close friend Śramaṇa, a jñāna-mārga seeker. Śramaṇa humbly asked to be taught the path of devotion. Nārāyaṇa Svāmī agreed and invited him to wash his hands and face, saying, "Meanwhile, I shall arrange something for you to drink."
Puzzled at the sudden formality between old friends, Śramaṇa complied. Soon, Nārāyaṇa Svāmī brought a glass of water. Śramaṇa, not particularly thirsty, sipped a little and set it aside. The saint then returned with a sharbat, and without asking for an empty glass, he began pouring the sweet drink into the same glass, already half-filled with water.
Naturally, as the sharbat flowed, the glass overflowed, spilling everywhere. Śramaṇa, unable to hold back, exclaimed, "What are you doing? The glass is already full; how can you pour more?"
With a serene smile, Nārāyaṇa Svāmī replied, "Your first lesson is complete. An already full glass cannot hold anything new. You came to me seeking devotion, but your mind is brimming with preconceived notions, accumulated knowledge, and intellectual clutter. Unless you empty that, no new wisdom can enter."
Just like the old makeup must be removed before applying new, and the deity's old ornaments are first taken off before adorning new ones, so too must the mind be emptied of old conditioning for fresh knowledge to settle in.
This is the way of the seeker — to become an open, receptive vessel, so that the nectar of the Bhagavad Gītā may truly be received.
A question must have arisen in many hearts — why begin the study of Bhagavad Gītā from the 12th adhyāya? Why not from the very first chapter? Some might even have felt, upon joining this session, that perhaps they had landed in the wrong class!
This curiosity is natural, but there is a profound reason behind this choice.
Bhagavad Gītā is not an ordinary text; it is a shāstra. And shāstras are not studied the way one reads common books — from page one to the final page. The study of shāstra follows a distinct method, a precise tradition. Which part is to be studied first and which later — this decision rests under the guidance of a Guru.
In the case of the Bhagavad Gītā, this tradition has been in place not just for years but for millennia. Ācāryas, through the ages, have advised that when a seeker takes the first step towards the Bhagavad Gītā, the journey ought to begin from the 12th adhyāya. Why so?
There are several reasons, but the most significant ones are worth contemplating.
- Firstly, the 12th adhyāya is the shortest — only 20 shlokas.
- Secondly, these shlokas are exceedingly simple; there is no complex philosophical jargon that might intimidate a beginner.
- Thirdly, if by chance the student grows weary and reads only a part of the Gītā, it is still a blessing — because the 12th adhyāya encapsulates Bhakti Yoga. Even if the study remains incomplete, at least the seeker shall carry bhakti within, and bhakti alone can transform a life.
After all, who knows the span of one’s life? Whether the study continues for long or is interrupted midway, if bhakti is secured, then even in departure the journey remains auspicious. Hence, it is the timeless wisdom of the tradition to begin with the 12th adhyāya.
And once the meanings of the verses are explored in the order being presented here, a realisation dawns upon every seeker, often after six or eight months, that this method, this design, is truly remarkable. Many students later reflect, “Had we begun from the first adhyāya, we would never have understood the essence as clearly as we do now.”
This approach, handed down by revered Ācāryas, including Pujya Swāmījī Mahārāja and countless wise masters, is no coincidence. It is the fruit of deep deliberation.
Out of the 700 shlokas of the Bhagavad Gītā, only one was spoken by Dhritarāshṭra. Forty-one shlokas were spoken by Sanjaya. Arjuna voiced 84 shlokas. And the remaining 574 shlokas emerged from the sacred lips of Bhagavān.
For this reason, the entire Gītā is mantramaya — filled with the divine power of mantra.
One more important reflection: When the Gītā was spoken, what were the ages and circumstances of the speaker and the listener? Whenever this question arises, most visualize Arjuna as a young warrior, around 30 to 40 years of age, troubled, struck by despair on the battlefield. This impression has much to do with the popular depictions of Arjuna in paintings and media. But the historical reality is quite astonishing.
The Mahābhārata itself does not directly mention ages, but when the timeline is calculated — from Bhagavān’s birth in Gokula, His move to Mathurā, the episode of the Lākṣāgṛha, the various chapters of His life — it becomes clear that Arjuna was around 30 when he first met Bhagavān. By the time of the Mahābhārata war, Arjuna was 84 years old, and Bhagavān’s age was around 87, according to most scholarly estimates.
Arjuna and Bhagavān shared a bond that spanned 54 long years. This was not an ordinary friendship. Arjuna was no ordinary warrior either. He had once fought and pleased Bhagavān Mahādeva Himself. He single-handedly vanquished entire celestial armies. He had defeated the Kaurava army alone in the court of Virāṭa — a force that included grandsire Bhīṣma, Guru Droṇa, Karṇa, Duryodhana, Duḥśāsana, and many more.
In his entire lifetime, Arjuna never lost a battle. But it wasn’t merely his valour that made Arjuna extraordinary. His nobility, humility, and adherence to dharma set him apart. Even when faced with the celestial nymph Urvaśī, who approached him with desire, Arjuna bowed with folded hands and lowered his gaze, saying, “I regard you as a mother.” When Urvaśī, offended, cursed him, Arjuna accepted the curse gracefully.
His integrity was such that not even Indra, the king of heavens, could tempt him. Not once did Arjuna break the code of dharma, not once did he raise his voice before elders, and not once did he allow arrogance to cloud his conduct.
One who reads the Mahābhārata deeply cannot help but admire Arjuna. In fact, for many, the admiration for Bhagavān, though ever-present, takes on a new shade when seen through the lens of Arjuna’s character. After all, Bhagavān is svayam Bhagavān, capable of the impossible. But Arjuna — Arjuna is a mortal, and yet, so sublime.
That is why the relationship between Bhagavān and Arjuna was so profound.
There is a well-known episode: just before the war, both Duryodhana and Arjuna approached Bhagavān, seeking His aid. Duryodhana seated himself near Bhagavān’s head; Arjuna stood humbly at His feet. When Bhagavān opened His eyes, His gaze first fell on Arjuna. Duryodhana protested, “But I arrived first!” Bhagavān replied, “Perhaps. But I saw Arjuna first, and he is younger. Hence, he has the first right to choose.” Bhagavān offered them two options: on one side, His entire Nārāyaṇī army — the most powerful force on earth; on the other, He Himself, alone, unarmed.
Arjuna did not even pause to deliberate. Without a moment’s hesitation, he declared, “I want You.” Even though Bhagavān was to remain unarmed, Arjuna sought only His presence, not the might of an army. Such was his devotion, his bhakti. Had anyone else been in Arjuna’s place, worldly reasoning might have prevailed — “Let friendship remain where it is, but in a war, an army is of more use than company.” But Arjuna was unlike others.
For Arjuna, Bhagavān’s presence was enough to conquer the three worlds. Such was his unwavering love.
It is for this very reason that Bhagavān chose Arjuna as the nimitta — the medium — for revealing the Bhagavad Gītā to the world. Arjuna alone was worthy of it. Thus, the Gītā did not arise because Arjuna needed teaching. The Gītā was spoken so that through Arjuna, the wisdom could be gifted to all of humankind.
And as the dialogue flows, it is at the 12th adhyāya that Arjuna poses his question, and from that very question, the sacred teaching of the 12th adhyāya begins.
And once the meanings of the verses are explored in the order being presented here, a realisation dawns upon every seeker, often after six or eight months, that this method, this design, is truly remarkable. Many students later reflect, “Had we begun from the first adhyāya, we would never have understood the essence as clearly as we do now.”
This approach, handed down by revered Ācāryas, including Pujya Swāmījī Mahārāja and countless wise masters, is no coincidence. It is the fruit of deep deliberation.
Out of the 700 shlokas of the Bhagavad Gītā, only one was spoken by Dhritarāshṭra. Forty-one shlokas were spoken by Sanjaya. Arjuna voiced 84 shlokas. And the remaining 574 shlokas emerged from the sacred lips of Bhagavān.
For this reason, the entire Gītā is mantramaya — filled with the divine power of mantra.
One more important reflection: When the Gītā was spoken, what were the ages and circumstances of the speaker and the listener? Whenever this question arises, most visualize Arjuna as a young warrior, around 30 to 40 years of age, troubled, struck by despair on the battlefield. This impression has much to do with the popular depictions of Arjuna in paintings and media. But the historical reality is quite astonishing.
The Mahābhārata itself does not directly mention ages, but when the timeline is calculated — from Bhagavān’s birth in Gokula, His move to Mathurā, the episode of the Lākṣāgṛha, the various chapters of His life — it becomes clear that Arjuna was around 30 when he first met Bhagavān. By the time of the Mahābhārata war, Arjuna was 84 years old, and Bhagavān’s age was around 87, according to most scholarly estimates.
Arjuna and Bhagavān shared a bond that spanned 54 long years. This was not an ordinary friendship. Arjuna was no ordinary warrior either. He had once fought and pleased Bhagavān Mahādeva Himself. He single-handedly vanquished entire celestial armies. He had defeated the Kaurava army alone in the court of Virāṭa — a force that included grandsire Bhīṣma, Guru Droṇa, Karṇa, Duryodhana, Duḥśāsana, and many more.
In his entire lifetime, Arjuna never lost a battle. But it wasn’t merely his valour that made Arjuna extraordinary. His nobility, humility, and adherence to dharma set him apart. Even when faced with the celestial nymph Urvaśī, who approached him with desire, Arjuna bowed with folded hands and lowered his gaze, saying, “I regard you as a mother.” When Urvaśī, offended, cursed him, Arjuna accepted the curse gracefully.
His integrity was such that not even Indra, the king of heavens, could tempt him. Not once did Arjuna break the code of dharma, not once did he raise his voice before elders, and not once did he allow arrogance to cloud his conduct.
One who reads the Mahābhārata deeply cannot help but admire Arjuna. In fact, for many, the admiration for Bhagavān, though ever-present, takes on a new shade when seen through the lens of Arjuna’s character. After all, Bhagavān is svayam Bhagavān, capable of the impossible. But Arjuna — Arjuna is a mortal, and yet, so sublime.
That is why the relationship between Bhagavān and Arjuna was so profound.
There is a well-known episode: just before the war, both Duryodhana and Arjuna approached Bhagavān, seeking His aid. Duryodhana seated himself near Bhagavān’s head; Arjuna stood humbly at His feet. When Bhagavān opened His eyes, His gaze first fell on Arjuna. Duryodhana protested, “But I arrived first!” Bhagavān replied, “Perhaps. But I saw Arjuna first, and he is younger. Hence, he has the first right to choose.” Bhagavān offered them two options: on one side, His entire Nārāyaṇī army — the most powerful force on earth; on the other, He Himself, alone, unarmed.
Arjuna did not even pause to deliberate. Without a moment’s hesitation, he declared, “I want You.” Even though Bhagavān was to remain unarmed, Arjuna sought only His presence, not the might of an army. Such was his devotion, his bhakti. Had anyone else been in Arjuna’s place, worldly reasoning might have prevailed — “Let friendship remain where it is, but in a war, an army is of more use than company.” But Arjuna was unlike others.
For Arjuna, Bhagavān’s presence was enough to conquer the three worlds. Such was his unwavering love.
It is for this very reason that Bhagavān chose Arjuna as the nimitta — the medium — for revealing the Bhagavad Gītā to the world. Arjuna alone was worthy of it. Thus, the Gītā did not arise because Arjuna needed teaching. The Gītā was spoken so that through Arjuna, the wisdom could be gifted to all of humankind.
And as the dialogue flows, it is at the 12th adhyāya that Arjuna poses his question, and from that very question, the sacred teaching of the 12th adhyāya begins.
12.1
arjuna uvāca
evaṁ(m) satatayuktā ye, bhaktāstvāṁ(m) paryupāsate,
ye cāpyakṣaRāmavyaktaṁ(n), teṣāṁ(ṅ) ke yogavittamāḥ. 12.1
Arjuna said : The devotees exclusively and constantly devoted to you in the manner stated just earlier, adore You as possessed of form and attributes, and those who adore as the supreme reality only the indestructible unmanifest Brahma (who is Truth, Knowledge and Bliss solidified) of these two types of worshippers who are the best knowers of Yoga?
A question arose from Arjuna, a question that resided deep within his heart, simple yet profound. With folded hands, Arjuna addressed Bhagavān — O Mādhava, in my limited understanding, I see two distinct paths unfolding before me. There are those who, with unwavering devotion, engage their minds and hearts in the worship of Your saguṇa-sākāra rūpa — the divine form, the beautiful figure, the captivating charm of Your flute-bearing self. They meditate upon the sweetness of Your form, envisioning every feature, every gesture, every līlā with ease.
And then there are others, who traverse the subtle, formless path, contemplating You as akṣara, avyakta, beyond name, beyond form, beyond imagination. Their sādhanā rests solely in the abstract — they neither picture Your smile nor Your flute, but see You as pure, boundless consciousness.
Arjuna’s question was honest, unpretentious: Between these two, who is the most accomplished in yoga? Who walks the nobler path? Which devotion is dearer to You?
For a moment, Arjuna’s words hung in the sacred air of Kurukṣetra, much like a seeker standing in a grand apothecary, staring at countless medicines, pondering which remedy would cure his affliction. The shelves are lined with endless choices, but the mind seeks only one answer — Which medicine is meant for me? Which path should I choose?
Such was Arjuna’s humble yearning: I do not wish to gather all philosophies, nor store them away like trinkets. Grant me clarity — tell me plainly which path I must follow.
Bhagavān, the master orator, the supreme teacher, the very embodiment of compassion, always knows the heart of His devotee. A true teacher never leaves a question lingering; first the essence is offered, then the depth.
And so, before Arjuna could ask further, Bhagavān, wearing His ever-charming smile, glanced at His beloved Sakhā and in that glance alone, His affection, appreciation, and delight in Arjuna’s question were all reflected.
The smile was no ordinary smile. For Bhagavān is the eternal wellspring of bliss, and He delights in seekers who approach with genuine longing. After all, Bhagavān loves cheerful hearts. Faces that remain heavy and burdened, clouded with self-made worries, do not please Him. Some faces wear their seriousness so permanently that even in moments of happiness, they appear as though sorrow resides in their eyes.
But Bhagavān’s nature is quite the opposite — He smiles, and His smile carries both wisdom and warmth. Thus, with a gentle, knowing smile, Bhagavān looked at Arjuna — a smile that affirmed: You have asked well, Arjuna! Your question is timely and worthy.
And then, as the dialogue of the 12th chapter unfolded, Bhagavān, in His infinite wisdom, answered first in essence and later in detail. In the second śloka, Bhagavān addressed Arjuna’s heartfelt enquiry directly, and as the chapter progressed, He expanded the answer gracefully.
This style — of first offering the essence (samāsa) and then the elaboration (vyāsa) — is the hallmark of true teaching. Such is the beginning of the 12th chapter, where the conversation transitioned from Arjuna’s candid question to Bhagavān’s compassionate guidance.
And then there are others, who traverse the subtle, formless path, contemplating You as akṣara, avyakta, beyond name, beyond form, beyond imagination. Their sādhanā rests solely in the abstract — they neither picture Your smile nor Your flute, but see You as pure, boundless consciousness.
Arjuna’s question was honest, unpretentious: Between these two, who is the most accomplished in yoga? Who walks the nobler path? Which devotion is dearer to You?
For a moment, Arjuna’s words hung in the sacred air of Kurukṣetra, much like a seeker standing in a grand apothecary, staring at countless medicines, pondering which remedy would cure his affliction. The shelves are lined with endless choices, but the mind seeks only one answer — Which medicine is meant for me? Which path should I choose?
Such was Arjuna’s humble yearning: I do not wish to gather all philosophies, nor store them away like trinkets. Grant me clarity — tell me plainly which path I must follow.
Bhagavān, the master orator, the supreme teacher, the very embodiment of compassion, always knows the heart of His devotee. A true teacher never leaves a question lingering; first the essence is offered, then the depth.
And so, before Arjuna could ask further, Bhagavān, wearing His ever-charming smile, glanced at His beloved Sakhā and in that glance alone, His affection, appreciation, and delight in Arjuna’s question were all reflected.
The smile was no ordinary smile. For Bhagavān is the eternal wellspring of bliss, and He delights in seekers who approach with genuine longing. After all, Bhagavān loves cheerful hearts. Faces that remain heavy and burdened, clouded with self-made worries, do not please Him. Some faces wear their seriousness so permanently that even in moments of happiness, they appear as though sorrow resides in their eyes.
But Bhagavān’s nature is quite the opposite — He smiles, and His smile carries both wisdom and warmth. Thus, with a gentle, knowing smile, Bhagavān looked at Arjuna — a smile that affirmed: You have asked well, Arjuna! Your question is timely and worthy.
And then, as the dialogue of the 12th chapter unfolded, Bhagavān, in His infinite wisdom, answered first in essence and later in detail. In the second śloka, Bhagavān addressed Arjuna’s heartfelt enquiry directly, and as the chapter progressed, He expanded the answer gracefully.
This style — of first offering the essence (samāsa) and then the elaboration (vyāsa) — is the hallmark of true teaching. Such is the beginning of the 12th chapter, where the conversation transitioned from Arjuna’s candid question to Bhagavān’s compassionate guidance.
śrībhagavānuvāca
mayyāveśya mano ye māṁ(n), nityayuktā upāsate,
śraddhayā parayopetāḥ(s), te me yuktatamā matāḥ. 12.2
Śrī Bhagavān said : I consider them to be the best Yogīs, who endowed with supreme faith, and ever united through meditation with Me, worship Me with their mind centred on Me.
Bhagavān, in His ever-compassionate response to Arjuna, revealed a profound truth hidden within simplicity. Arjuna had spoken the words satatayuktāḥ — one who remains ever-engaged in devotion. Bhagavān, gently acknowledging Arjuna’s understanding, refined it further with the term nityayuktāḥ — one whose connection is not momentary or occasional, but eternal, unbroken, and continuous.
Bhagavān affirmed: mere ritualistic worship does not alone define a true devotee. The one whose mind is perpetually immersed in Bhagavān — mayyāveśya mano ye māṁ — who is united with Him in every moment, and who is adorned with parā śraddhā — supreme faith, such a devotee is considered the most intimately connected, the yuktatamā.
In just one stroke, Bhagavān revealed the beauty of saguṇa bhakti — devotion towards the manifest form. The message was subtle yet clear: "I cherish saguṇa bhakti deeply."
This subtle difference between satatayuktāḥ and nityayuktāḥ was illuminated through a simple yet striking illustration.
A young man’s wedding had been fixed, and like every excited groom-to-be, he had prepared a wardrobe of new clothes. On one such day, his closest childhood friend arrived at his home. As it happened, the boy's father needed help distributing wedding invitations, and his friend had arrived just in time.
The father suggested, "Why don’t you two go together to distribute the cards?" The friend, dressed casually in a t-shirt and track pants, hesitated, "Had I known, I would have dressed appropriately!"
The groom reassured him, "That’s no problem. I’ve got plenty of new clothes. Pick anything you like — all will suit you." Their measurements were the same, so the friend selected a pair: a particularly fine pant-shirt set. Little did he know, the pair he chose was the groom's personal favorite.
Seeing his friend dressed in that cherished outfit, the groom’s heart sank. Though outwardly silent, inwardly his mind was in complete turmoil: "Why this one? He could’ve chosen any other! Why did it have to be my favorite?"
And so began a silent inner dialogue, a constant mental loop — pant-shirt, pant-shirt, pant-shirt — repeating within him, coloring every moment. At the first house, when asked who the friend was, he replied, "He’s my friend — even these clothes he’s wearing are mine."
Hearing this, the friend felt insulted, "You shouldn’t have mentioned that! You offered the clothes, I didn’t force you. Why humiliate me?" An apology followed, but the inner storm did not subside.
At the second house, once again, the same question arose: "Who is he?" And once again, the tongue betrayed the mind’s obsession: "My friend — the clothes are his." The friend was now both hurt and annoyed. Apologies followed once more, yet the mind remained trapped.
By the third house, the same situation repeated. The boy, trying to restrain himself, managed only to add: "My friend — about the clothes, I have nothing to say." Still, the fixation on the clothes lingered.
At the fourth house, the mind reached a curious point of resignation. Once again asked, "Who is he?" the boy answered: "This is my friend. About the clothes — I’ve decided I will not speak."
This small tale holds a deep secret: that which fills the mind becomes an inseparable part of one's being. Even against one's own intention, it slips into conversation, into thoughts, into actions. The boy, though desiring silence on the matter, could not escape it — the attachment to that pair of clothes had wrapped around his entire consciousness.
This is precisely the kind of state Bhagavān pointed to: when the heart and mind become so absorbed in Him that, regardless of what action the devotee engages in, remembrance of Bhagavān remains unbroken. Such absorption is not mechanical; it is a natural, effortless consequence of deep love and āveśa.
Just as the boy could not stop thinking about that particular pant-shirt, the nityayuktāḥ bhakta cannot — even if he wishes — remove Bhagavān from his thoughts. Whether in action, in speech, or in silence, the remembrance remains unshaken and ever-present.
Bhagavān's teaching here held another subtle but essential truth — a life lesson not confined to the realm of devotion alone.
In worldly dealings, people often measure their giving based on the recipient’s social standing. When the occasion concerns someone less privileged — say, a humble wedding — the gift offered is minimal, often a token. But when the celebration is hosted by someone wealthy, the envelope is suddenly filled with a larger sum, even though the recipient has little need for it.
Yet true wisdom lies in giving not according to the recipient’s status, but from one’s own capacity and sincerity.
When it came to Arjuna, Bhagavān applied this very principle. He did not speak from an aloof height of spiritual absolutes. Instead, He lovingly addressed Arjuna at his current level of understanding, gradually lifting him higher. Arjuna had spoken of satatayuktāḥ, and Bhagavān gracefully refined it to nityayuktāḥ.
Alongside this, Bhagavān highlighted the indispensable role of śraddhā — that quiet yet powerful force which makes the impossible smooth and the difficult delightful.
In the world of machines, one might note how an engine functions best when infused with the right oil. The oil reduces friction, allowing the parts to move gracefully, seamlessly. In the same way, śraddhā is the unseen oil of the heart. When actions are performed with śraddhā, obstacles soften, paths open, and the sādhanā becomes natural, fluid, and filled with rasa.
Śraddhā transforms not only actions but the very personality of a seeker. A heart filled with śraddhā speaks sweetly, acts humbly, and carries an invisible charm that draws others near. Without śraddhā, even the most polished words sound hollow, and even noble deeds lack warmth.
Bhagavān emphasized the same in the Gītā:
śraddhāvān labhate jñānaṁ
— Only the one blessed with śraddhā receives true knowledge.
And where śraddhā is absent, the result is inevitable:
aśraddadhānāḥ saṁśayātmā vinaśyati
— The one who is faithless, lost in doubt, meets only with ruin.
Thus, śraddhā is not merely an accessory on the path; it is the very foundation.
Having revealed the path of saguṇa bhakti — devotion to the manifest — Bhagavān gently prepared Arjuna for the next part of his inquiry. For Arjuna’s question had two parts: one concerning the devotion towards the saguna form, and the other concerning the contemplation upon the nirguṇa nirākāra — the unmanifest, the formless Absolute.
Bhagavān, in His boundless kindness, responded to both. After establishing the beauty of saguṇa bhakti in this verse, the upcoming shlokas would turn to the contemplation of the formless.
Bhagavān affirmed: mere ritualistic worship does not alone define a true devotee. The one whose mind is perpetually immersed in Bhagavān — mayyāveśya mano ye māṁ — who is united with Him in every moment, and who is adorned with parā śraddhā — supreme faith, such a devotee is considered the most intimately connected, the yuktatamā.
In just one stroke, Bhagavān revealed the beauty of saguṇa bhakti — devotion towards the manifest form. The message was subtle yet clear: "I cherish saguṇa bhakti deeply."
This subtle difference between satatayuktāḥ and nityayuktāḥ was illuminated through a simple yet striking illustration.
A young man’s wedding had been fixed, and like every excited groom-to-be, he had prepared a wardrobe of new clothes. On one such day, his closest childhood friend arrived at his home. As it happened, the boy's father needed help distributing wedding invitations, and his friend had arrived just in time.
The father suggested, "Why don’t you two go together to distribute the cards?" The friend, dressed casually in a t-shirt and track pants, hesitated, "Had I known, I would have dressed appropriately!"
The groom reassured him, "That’s no problem. I’ve got plenty of new clothes. Pick anything you like — all will suit you." Their measurements were the same, so the friend selected a pair: a particularly fine pant-shirt set. Little did he know, the pair he chose was the groom's personal favorite.
Seeing his friend dressed in that cherished outfit, the groom’s heart sank. Though outwardly silent, inwardly his mind was in complete turmoil: "Why this one? He could’ve chosen any other! Why did it have to be my favorite?"
And so began a silent inner dialogue, a constant mental loop — pant-shirt, pant-shirt, pant-shirt — repeating within him, coloring every moment. At the first house, when asked who the friend was, he replied, "He’s my friend — even these clothes he’s wearing are mine."
Hearing this, the friend felt insulted, "You shouldn’t have mentioned that! You offered the clothes, I didn’t force you. Why humiliate me?" An apology followed, but the inner storm did not subside.
At the second house, once again, the same question arose: "Who is he?" And once again, the tongue betrayed the mind’s obsession: "My friend — the clothes are his." The friend was now both hurt and annoyed. Apologies followed once more, yet the mind remained trapped.
By the third house, the same situation repeated. The boy, trying to restrain himself, managed only to add: "My friend — about the clothes, I have nothing to say." Still, the fixation on the clothes lingered.
At the fourth house, the mind reached a curious point of resignation. Once again asked, "Who is he?" the boy answered: "This is my friend. About the clothes — I’ve decided I will not speak."
This small tale holds a deep secret: that which fills the mind becomes an inseparable part of one's being. Even against one's own intention, it slips into conversation, into thoughts, into actions. The boy, though desiring silence on the matter, could not escape it — the attachment to that pair of clothes had wrapped around his entire consciousness.
This is precisely the kind of state Bhagavān pointed to: when the heart and mind become so absorbed in Him that, regardless of what action the devotee engages in, remembrance of Bhagavān remains unbroken. Such absorption is not mechanical; it is a natural, effortless consequence of deep love and āveśa.
Just as the boy could not stop thinking about that particular pant-shirt, the nityayuktāḥ bhakta cannot — even if he wishes — remove Bhagavān from his thoughts. Whether in action, in speech, or in silence, the remembrance remains unshaken and ever-present.
Bhagavān's teaching here held another subtle but essential truth — a life lesson not confined to the realm of devotion alone.
In worldly dealings, people often measure their giving based on the recipient’s social standing. When the occasion concerns someone less privileged — say, a humble wedding — the gift offered is minimal, often a token. But when the celebration is hosted by someone wealthy, the envelope is suddenly filled with a larger sum, even though the recipient has little need for it.
Yet true wisdom lies in giving not according to the recipient’s status, but from one’s own capacity and sincerity.
When it came to Arjuna, Bhagavān applied this very principle. He did not speak from an aloof height of spiritual absolutes. Instead, He lovingly addressed Arjuna at his current level of understanding, gradually lifting him higher. Arjuna had spoken of satatayuktāḥ, and Bhagavān gracefully refined it to nityayuktāḥ.
Alongside this, Bhagavān highlighted the indispensable role of śraddhā — that quiet yet powerful force which makes the impossible smooth and the difficult delightful.
In the world of machines, one might note how an engine functions best when infused with the right oil. The oil reduces friction, allowing the parts to move gracefully, seamlessly. In the same way, śraddhā is the unseen oil of the heart. When actions are performed with śraddhā, obstacles soften, paths open, and the sādhanā becomes natural, fluid, and filled with rasa.
Śraddhā transforms not only actions but the very personality of a seeker. A heart filled with śraddhā speaks sweetly, acts humbly, and carries an invisible charm that draws others near. Without śraddhā, even the most polished words sound hollow, and even noble deeds lack warmth.
Bhagavān emphasized the same in the Gītā:
śraddhāvān labhate jñānaṁ
— Only the one blessed with śraddhā receives true knowledge.
And where śraddhā is absent, the result is inevitable:
aśraddadhānāḥ saṁśayātmā vinaśyati
— The one who is faithless, lost in doubt, meets only with ruin.
Thus, śraddhā is not merely an accessory on the path; it is the very foundation.
Having revealed the path of saguṇa bhakti — devotion to the manifest — Bhagavān gently prepared Arjuna for the next part of his inquiry. For Arjuna’s question had two parts: one concerning the devotion towards the saguna form, and the other concerning the contemplation upon the nirguṇa nirākāra — the unmanifest, the formless Absolute.
Bhagavān, in His boundless kindness, responded to both. After establishing the beauty of saguṇa bhakti in this verse, the upcoming shlokas would turn to the contemplation of the formless.
ye tVākṣaRāmanirdeśyaṁ(m), avyaktaṁ(m) paryupāsate,
sarvatragamacintyaṁ(ñ) ca, kūṭasthamacalaṁ(n) dhruvam. 12.3
Those, however, who fully controlling all their senses and even-minded towards all, and devoted to the welfare of all beings, constantly adore as their very self the unthinkable,
Bhagavān, in this śloka, speaks of a rare class of seekers who direct their devotion towards the formless, attributeless Brahman — the nirguṇa-tattva. He lovingly describes the nature of this supreme reality through eight distinct qualities.
- 1. Akṣaram — the imperishable. That which neither perishes nor undergoes any change. It is untouched by the cycles of birth, growth, decay, and death.
- 2. Anirdeśyam — beyond all indication. There is no way to point out or designate it, for it is all-pervading and cannot be localized.
- 3. Avyaktam — unmanifest. The senses cannot perceive it, and language fails to capture its essence. It cannot be expressed in words or represented by form.
- 4. Sarvatragam — all-pervading. There is no place where this reality is absent, for it is the very substratum of existence.
- 5. Acintyam — inconceivable. The mind, bound by limitations of thought and form, cannot fathom it. It lies beyond the reach of imagination.
- 6. Kūṭastham — changeless, like the steadfast anvil of a blacksmith. Forms may come and go, but the substratum remains ever the same, unaffected by the modifications of the world.
- 7. Acalaṁ — immovable. That which pervades all, by nature, cannot move from one place to another, for there is no ‘other’ place where it is not.
- 8. Dhruvam — eternal and fixed. Timeless, unaltered, and ever-present.
In essence, Bhagavān reveals that the object of meditation for the nirguṇa-upāsaka is not some abstract imagination, but the very formless foundation of all that exists, which is eternal, unchanging, and beyond sensory perception.
sanniyamyendriyagrāmaṁ(m), sarvatra ṣamabuddhayaḥ,
te prāpnuvanti māmeva, sarvabhūtahite ratāḥ. 12.4
Controlling all their senses, equal-minded towards all, and devoted to the welfare of all beings, assuredly they come to Me only.
Having described the nature of the formless Brahman, Bhagavān now speaks about the qualities required in the seeker who wishes to tread this subtle path.
Firstly, such a seeker must practice sanniyamyendriyagrāmam — complete mastery over the senses. The indriyas, by nature, are extroverted and always pull the mind towards the external world of names and forms. Without mastering them, the subtle contemplation upon the formless becomes impossible.
Secondly, the seeker must cultivate sarvatra samabuddhayaḥ — equanimity of vision. One must learn to view all beings and situations with equal-mindedness, free from personal bias, attachment, or aversion. Whether pleasure or pain, success or failure, friend or foe, the mind remains balanced.
And lastly, such a heart is described as sarvabhūtahite ratāḥ — absorbed in the welfare of all beings. The love and compassion of such a seeker extend beyond the limited boundaries of self, family, or society. Every creature, every form of life, and even the insentient world becomes an object of care and reverence.
Bhagavān assures that those who walk this path, fulfilling these conditions, too attain Him. Whether one’s devotion is directed towards the saguna form or the nirguṇa essence, sincere seekers who cultivate these divine qualities reach Bhagavān without fail.
Firstly, such a seeker must practice sanniyamyendriyagrāmam — complete mastery over the senses. The indriyas, by nature, are extroverted and always pull the mind towards the external world of names and forms. Without mastering them, the subtle contemplation upon the formless becomes impossible.
Secondly, the seeker must cultivate sarvatra samabuddhayaḥ — equanimity of vision. One must learn to view all beings and situations with equal-mindedness, free from personal bias, attachment, or aversion. Whether pleasure or pain, success or failure, friend or foe, the mind remains balanced.
And lastly, such a heart is described as sarvabhūtahite ratāḥ — absorbed in the welfare of all beings. The love and compassion of such a seeker extend beyond the limited boundaries of self, family, or society. Every creature, every form of life, and even the insentient world becomes an object of care and reverence.
Bhagavān assures that those who walk this path, fulfilling these conditions, too attain Him. Whether one’s devotion is directed towards the saguna form or the nirguṇa essence, sincere seekers who cultivate these divine qualities reach Bhagavān without fail.
kleśo'dhikatarasteṣāṁ(m), avyaktāsaktacetasām,
avyaktā hi gatirduḥkhaṁ(n), dehavadbhiravāpyate. 12.5
Of course, the strain is greater for those who have their mind attached to the Unmanifest, as attunement with the Unmanifest is attained with difficulty by the body-conscious people.
In this verse, Bhagavān reflects upon the difficulty encountered by those who aspire to worship the nirguṇa Brahman, the formless, attributeless aspect of divinity. He acknowledges that devotion to the formless is filled with obstacles, causing greater distress than the path of devotion to the saguna Brahman, or the personal, form-based aspect of God.
- 1. Kleśo’dhikatarasteṣāṁ — The struggles faced by those who dedicate themselves to the formless are many and intense. The mind, being constantly drawn to the material world, finds it difficult to concentrate on an abstract concept.
- 2. Avyaktāsaktacetasām — For those whose hearts are attached to the unmanifest, their minds remain unfocused. The formless Brahman is beyond sensory perception and mental construction, making it an extraordinarily challenging object of meditation.
- 3. Avyaktā hi gatirduḥkham — The path of the unmanifest is filled with difficulty. Since the mind is accustomed to form and sensation, the formless reality causes confusion and discomfort.
- 4. Dehavadbhiravāpyate — The core difficulty arises because individuals still identify with the body. When one identifies with the physical form, the formless Brahman becomes an unreachable ideal. The attachment to one’s body, desires, and worldly identity makes it impossible to perceive and worship the formless reality.
Bhagavān points out that the devotion to the nirguṇa form of Brahman is not accessible to everyone. To practice this, one must transcend the identification with the body and mind, understanding that they are not the self. Only then can a person meditate on the formless, imperceptible essence.
Bhagavān speaks of the difficulties encountered on the path of nirguṇa bhakti (devotion to the formless) compared to saguna bhakti (devotion to a form). As long as an individual identifies with their body, it is nearly impossible to meditate on the formless reality. One must understand that the body is merely a vehicle, not the self. As long as there is attachment to the body and the senses, the true nature of the nirguṇa Brahman remains elusive.
When someone calls themselves by a name, they are referring to the body, not the true self. The body undergoes constant changes: it ages, it grows, and it changes in appearance, but the true self within remains constant. This realization helps a person transcend the attachment to the body and the associated identities. As long as one associates with the body and its changes, true realization of the formless Brahman remains beyond reach.
Bhagavān also refers to the idea that different forms of devotion (like to Rāma, Śiva, Kṛṣhṇa, and others) are not separate; all point to the same reality, the nirguṇa essence. It is just that the approach may vary based on the saguna forms or attributes.
Gośwāmī Tulasīdāsa Ji, once explained this beautifully:
Bhagavān speaks of the difficulties encountered on the path of nirguṇa bhakti (devotion to the formless) compared to saguna bhakti (devotion to a form). As long as an individual identifies with their body, it is nearly impossible to meditate on the formless reality. One must understand that the body is merely a vehicle, not the self. As long as there is attachment to the body and the senses, the true nature of the nirguṇa Brahman remains elusive.
When someone calls themselves by a name, they are referring to the body, not the true self. The body undergoes constant changes: it ages, it grows, and it changes in appearance, but the true self within remains constant. This realization helps a person transcend the attachment to the body and the associated identities. As long as one associates with the body and its changes, true realization of the formless Brahman remains beyond reach.
Bhagavān also refers to the idea that different forms of devotion (like to Rāma, Śiva, Kṛṣhṇa, and others) are not separate; all point to the same reality, the nirguṇa essence. It is just that the approach may vary based on the saguna forms or attributes.
Gośwāmī Tulasīdāsa Ji, once explained this beautifully:
nāma rūpa dvau akhata kahānī| samajha pare nahīṃ jāta bakhānī ||
Its very difficult to differentiate and describe.
ko baḍu choṭū kahata aparādhu|
To call someone big or small is a crime. In the same way, the formless and the real Brahma are not different.
"Rāma syāmā jānahiṃ doū, saguṇa nirguṇa bhedu na koū।" (Rāmacaritamānasa, Aranya Kāṇḍa)
"Whether one perceives Him as Rāma or Syāma (Kṛṣhṇa) — there is no difference, for the distinction between saguṇa and nirguṇa is merely an illusion. Both are one and the same supreme essence."
sarve ramati iti rāmaḥ|
sarve karṣati iti kṛṣṇaḥ|
That is, one who captivates everyone is Śrī Krishna.
A story further illustrates this truth: When a person goes to buy a papaya at the market, the vendor may call them by their identifying features, such as “the one with glasses” or “the one wearing a red shirt.” However, these labels do not define the person in essence. In the same way, different names and forms of divinity are just labels pointing to the same reality. It is all the same Bhagavān, expressed through various forms and names.
Thus, the body and form are temporary, ever-changing. The true self, however, is constant and immutable, the eternal essence. This is the realization that one must come to in order to worship the formless, nirguṇa Brahman.
ye tu sarvāṇi karmāṇi, mayi sannyasya matparāḥ,
ananyenaiva yogena, māṁ(n) dhyāyanta upāsate. 12.6
On the other hand, those depending exclusively on Me, and surrendering all actions to Me, worship Me (God with attributes), constantly meditating on Me with single-minded devotion.
In this verse, Bhagavān begins to explain how to worship with complete devotion. He speaks of the path of saguna bhakti, where one dedicates all their actions to Him, with a heart fixed on Him alone. He reveals that the ultimate form of devotion is to offer every action to Him with an unwavering mind.
The devotees who dedicate all their actions to Bhagavān, with no attachment to the results, and worship Him through the ananya yoga (undivided devotion), remain immersed in Him through constant meditation. Their minds are wholly focused on Him, and through this exclusive devotion, they experience His presence in every moment.
Such devotees perform their daily duties as an offering to Bhagavān, not as individuals seeking personal gain, but as instruments for His divine will. By surrendering all actions to Bhagavān and meditating on Him with undivided attention, they walk the path of true spiritual liberation.
The devotees who dedicate all their actions to Bhagavān, with no attachment to the results, and worship Him through the ananya yoga (undivided devotion), remain immersed in Him through constant meditation. Their minds are wholly focused on Him, and through this exclusive devotion, they experience His presence in every moment.
Such devotees perform their daily duties as an offering to Bhagavān, not as individuals seeking personal gain, but as instruments for His divine will. By surrendering all actions to Bhagavān and meditating on Him with undivided attention, they walk the path of true spiritual liberation.
teṣāmahaṁ(m) samuddhartā, mṛtyusaṁsārasāgarāt,
bhavāmi nacirātpārtha, mayyāveśitacetasām. 12.7
O Arjuna! Who fix their mind on Me, I rescue them from the ocean of birth and death.
Here, Bhagavān assures the devotees that He will save them from the ocean of birth and death. Those who engage in the exclusive devotion, dedicating themselves entirely to Him, are swiftly rescued from the cycle of mṛtyu (death) and saṁsāra (worldly existence).
Bhagavān promises that such devotees, who fix their hearts upon Him with complete devotion, will be liberated from the cycle of rebirth and suffering. He is their uddhārta (savior) from the ocean of material existence, and He will guide them safely to the shore of eternal peace.
This verse emphasizes that the devotees who sincerely surrender to Bhagavān, abandoning all ego and attachment to the material world, are shown the way out of the endless cycle of life and death. Bhagavān’s grace brings them peace and ultimate freedom.
A powerful story about Bharat Ji, who set out on a journey to Chitrakoot to invoke Bhagavān’s blessings. While many around him expressed their desire to accompany him, Bharat Ji stopped them. He asked his ministers and warriors to remain behind, explaining that someone must protect the treasures of Ayodhya, which were part of the kingdom.
Bhagavān promises that such devotees, who fix their hearts upon Him with complete devotion, will be liberated from the cycle of rebirth and suffering. He is their uddhārta (savior) from the ocean of material existence, and He will guide them safely to the shore of eternal peace.
This verse emphasizes that the devotees who sincerely surrender to Bhagavān, abandoning all ego and attachment to the material world, are shown the way out of the endless cycle of life and death. Bhagavān’s grace brings them peace and ultimate freedom.
A powerful story about Bharat Ji, who set out on a journey to Chitrakoot to invoke Bhagavān’s blessings. While many around him expressed their desire to accompany him, Bharat Ji stopped them. He asked his ministers and warriors to remain behind, explaining that someone must protect the treasures of Ayodhya, which were part of the kingdom.
"sampatti saba raghupati ke ehī”
When asked why he seemed concerned about the wealth, Bharat Ji responded by clarifying that everything, including the kingdom's treasures, belonged to Raghupati (Bhagavān), and he was simply the caretaker. He did not claim ownership over them. He said, "All that is mine is not truly mine. It belongs to Raghupati, and I am merely entrusted with its care. If something happens to it, the responsibility is mine, not the ownership."
This principle applies to everything in life. One must realize that all wealth, relationships, and even the body are Bhagavān’s property, entrusted to the individual for safekeeping. When these things are taken away, there should be no attachment or regret. The devotee should understand that everything in the material world is Bhagavān’s grace, and they are simply caretakers of it.
Bhagavān teaches that those who surrender all actions to Him, seeing Him as the true owner of everything, will be freed from the burdens of worldly attachments. This is the essence of karma yoga — performing all actions as offerings to Bhagavān, detached from personal desire or ego.
This principle applies to everything in life. One must realize that all wealth, relationships, and even the body are Bhagavān’s property, entrusted to the individual for safekeeping. When these things are taken away, there should be no attachment or regret. The devotee should understand that everything in the material world is Bhagavān’s grace, and they are simply caretakers of it.
Bhagavān teaches that those who surrender all actions to Him, seeing Him as the true owner of everything, will be freed from the burdens of worldly attachments. This is the essence of karma yoga — performing all actions as offerings to Bhagavān, detached from personal desire or ego.
mayyeva mana ādhatsva, mayi buddhiṁ(n) niveśaya,
nivasiṣyasi mayyeva, ata ūrdhvaṁ(n) na saṁśayaḥ. 12.8
Therefore, fix your mind on Me, and establish your intellect in Me alone; thereafter you will abide solely in Me. There is no doubt about it.
In this verse, Bhagavān provides another option to Arjuna, offering a simpler yet profound path of devotion. He instructs that the mind and intellect should be dedicated solely to Him. By directing one's heart and thoughts towards Bhagavān, a devotee can experience His presence in all their actions and decisions.
The mind (mana) and intellect (buddhi) are the most important faculties through which a person can connect to Bhagavān. If one fixes both these faculties on Him, with devotion and detachment from worldly distractions, then there is no doubt that such a person will dwell in Him, and thus, rise to a higher state of spiritual understanding and bliss.
This guidance suggests that devotion is not just about performing rituals or external actions, but about internal dedication — aligning one’s inner world (mind and intellect) with the divine. With this alignment, one can transcend worldly limitations and experience oneness with Bhagavān.
The mind (mana) and intellect (buddhi) are the most important faculties through which a person can connect to Bhagavān. If one fixes both these faculties on Him, with devotion and detachment from worldly distractions, then there is no doubt that such a person will dwell in Him, and thus, rise to a higher state of spiritual understanding and bliss.
This guidance suggests that devotion is not just about performing rituals or external actions, but about internal dedication — aligning one’s inner world (mind and intellect) with the divine. With this alignment, one can transcend worldly limitations and experience oneness with Bhagavān.
atha cittaṁ(m) samādhātuṁ(n), na śaknoṣi mayi sthiram,
abhyāsayogena tato, māmicchāptuṁ(n) dhanañjaya. 12.9
If you cannot steadily fix the mind on Me, O Arjuna! then seek to attain Me through the Yoga of practice.
Here, Bhagavān acknowledges that not everyone might be able to immediately fix their mind on Him in a steady and unshakable manner. He recognizes that for some, such an intense level of concentration may be challenging at first. However, He assures Arjuna that there is another approach — the path of abhyāsa yoga (the yoga of practice).
If one cannot establish their mind firmly in Bhagavān, then through consistent practice and dedication to the yoga that suits them best, they can still attain the desired connection with the divine. Whether it’s through japa (repetition of the divine name), dhyāna (meditation), or studying scriptures, Bhagavān emphasizes that persistent practice will eventually lead to realization.
"karata karata abhyāsa te jadmata hota sujāna||"
Bhagavān reassures that it is not necessary to have a single, fixed method to attain Him. Whatever method of devotion — whether chanting, meditation, or other spiritual practices — feels most natural to the devotee, should be practiced with sincerity. Through constant effort, a devotee will ultimately find Bhagavān in that very practice.
Bhagavān compares this to the idea of becoming one with a practice — just as a person, with continuous repetition of their practice, reaches mastery, so too does the devotee who continually strives to connect with the divine through their chosen path.
If one cannot establish their mind firmly in Bhagavān, then through consistent practice and dedication to the yoga that suits them best, they can still attain the desired connection with the divine. Whether it’s through japa (repetition of the divine name), dhyāna (meditation), or studying scriptures, Bhagavān emphasizes that persistent practice will eventually lead to realization.
"karata karata abhyāsa te jadmata hota sujāna||"
Bhagavān reassures that it is not necessary to have a single, fixed method to attain Him. Whatever method of devotion — whether chanting, meditation, or other spiritual practices — feels most natural to the devotee, should be practiced with sincerity. Through constant effort, a devotee will ultimately find Bhagavān in that very practice.
Bhagavān compares this to the idea of becoming one with a practice — just as a person, with continuous repetition of their practice, reaches mastery, so too does the devotee who continually strives to connect with the divine through their chosen path.
Here, Bhagavān offers another practical way for devotees who may find it difficult to maintain a constant focus on Him. He understands that not every person can immediately engage in such intense meditation or concentration. However, He assures Arjuna that through abhyāsa yoga — which involves continuous and sincere practice of any form of spiritual discipline — the devotee will gradually draw closer to Him.
In a way, this is an inclusive path, as it allows for different practices. Whether it’s chanting His name, meditating on His form, or reading sacred texts, the key is to remain consistent and dedicated. Bhagavān mentions that even if someone cannot perfectly control their mind at first, with steady practice, they will reach a place where their efforts culminate in realization.
No matter which specific practice one follows, the sincerity and dedication behind it are what truly matter. Whether it's through devotion, chanting, or other spiritual practices, the end goal remains the same — to experience the presence of Bhagavān and transcend the material world.
abhyāse'pyaṣamartho'si, matkarmaparamo bhava,
madarthamapi karmāṇi, kurvansiddhimavāpsyasi. 12.10
If you are unable even to the pursuit of such practice, be intent to work for Me; you shall attain perfection (in the shape of My realization) even by performing actions for My sake.
In this verse, Bhagavān offers yet another option to Arjuna. He tells Arjuna that even if he finds himself incapable of intense meditation, he can still engage in karma yoga — the yoga of selfless action. The key is to dedicate all actions to Bhagavān, performing them with the sole intention of pleasing Him. By doing so, Arjuna will attain siddhi — perfection, fulfillment, and spiritual realization.
Bhagavān emphasizes that every role one plays in life, no matter how mundane or significant, is an opportunity to act in alignment with divine will. Whether one is a parent, a student, a worker, or a leader, all actions can be performed with devotion if they are offered to Bhagavān. Just as an actor plays their role in a drama, without attachment to the outcome, one should play their role in life.
For example, a person performing their duties as an employee, counting money in a bank, does not feel pride or sorrow over the amount counted because they know the money does not belong to them. Similarly, in life, everything is a part of a divine plan, and by performing one's duties selflessly, with devotion, one can rise to a state of spiritual enlightenment.
Bhagavān emphasizes that every role one plays in life, no matter how mundane or significant, is an opportunity to act in alignment with divine will. Whether one is a parent, a student, a worker, or a leader, all actions can be performed with devotion if they are offered to Bhagavān. Just as an actor plays their role in a drama, without attachment to the outcome, one should play their role in life.
For example, a person performing their duties as an employee, counting money in a bank, does not feel pride or sorrow over the amount counted because they know the money does not belong to them. Similarly, in life, everything is a part of a divine plan, and by performing one's duties selflessly, with devotion, one can rise to a state of spiritual enlightenment.
athaitadapyaśakto'si, kartuṁ(m) madyogamāśritaḥ,
sarVākarmaphalatyāgaṁ(n), tataḥ(kh) kuru yatātmavān. 12.11
If, taking recourse to the Yoga of My realization, you are unable even to do this, then, subduing your mind and intellect etc., relinquish the fruit of all actions.
Bhagavān further explains that if even selfless action seems difficult to practice, then there is still hope. Arjuna is encouraged to focus on karma phala tyāga — the renunciation of the fruits of actions. By surrendering the results of every action to Bhagavān and maintaining a mindset free from attachment to outcomes, one will still attain spiritual fulfillment.
This is not an easy task, but it is the most valuable one. The idea is to perform actions without expecting rewards or being disturbed by success or failure. When one dedicates all results to Bhagavān, whether the outcome is favorable or not, they remain unaffected. The key is detachment from the fruits of action, allowing Bhagavān to decide what is best.
An example from the life of Jnābāi, a saint in Maharashtra, illustrates this beautifully. Jnābāi, a humble worker in the household of the saint Namdev, was once preparing cow dung cakes, and someone stole some of her cakes. When others questioned which cakes were hers, she said that the ones she had made with devotion to Krishna would carry the sound of His name, as she had been chanting "Krishna Krishna" while making them. This story teaches us that when one dedicates their actions to Bhagavān, even the most mundane tasks become sacred.
Eery individual is given a specific role in life, whether it be that of a parent, worker, or leader. Just as an actor plays their role on stage without attachment to the character they portray, one should perform their role in life with the same level of detachment. This detachment does not mean abandoning one's responsibilities but performing them selflessly, with devotion, and without attachment to the outcomes.
Bhagavān reminds Arjuna that whatever role one is appointed to in life, one should fulfill it with sincerity and devotion. Whether one is a teacher, a student, a worker, or a leader, each role is an opportunity to perform karma yoga and connect with Bhagavān.
When Arjuna inquires if there are any other paths or options, Bhagavān, with great compassion, offers a final option: to surrender all actions to Him and remain free from attachment to the fruits. This teaching is a profound one — that true freedom and spiritual progress come when one detaches from the results and surrenders them to Bhagavān, trusting in His divine will.
As the session comes to a close, a short prayer or nāma-sankīrtana is performed, where the names of Bhagavān are chanted, to invoke His blessings.
Hari Śaraṇam, Hari Śaraṇam, Hari Śaraṇam...
This is not an easy task, but it is the most valuable one. The idea is to perform actions without expecting rewards or being disturbed by success or failure. When one dedicates all results to Bhagavān, whether the outcome is favorable or not, they remain unaffected. The key is detachment from the fruits of action, allowing Bhagavān to decide what is best.
An example from the life of Jnābāi, a saint in Maharashtra, illustrates this beautifully. Jnābāi, a humble worker in the household of the saint Namdev, was once preparing cow dung cakes, and someone stole some of her cakes. When others questioned which cakes were hers, she said that the ones she had made with devotion to Krishna would carry the sound of His name, as she had been chanting "Krishna Krishna" while making them. This story teaches us that when one dedicates their actions to Bhagavān, even the most mundane tasks become sacred.
Eery individual is given a specific role in life, whether it be that of a parent, worker, or leader. Just as an actor plays their role on stage without attachment to the character they portray, one should perform their role in life with the same level of detachment. This detachment does not mean abandoning one's responsibilities but performing them selflessly, with devotion, and without attachment to the outcomes.
Bhagavān reminds Arjuna that whatever role one is appointed to in life, one should fulfill it with sincerity and devotion. Whether one is a teacher, a student, a worker, or a leader, each role is an opportunity to perform karma yoga and connect with Bhagavān.
When Arjuna inquires if there are any other paths or options, Bhagavān, with great compassion, offers a final option: to surrender all actions to Him and remain free from attachment to the fruits. This teaching is a profound one — that true freedom and spiritual progress come when one detaches from the results and surrenders them to Bhagavān, trusting in His divine will.
As the session comes to a close, a short prayer or nāma-sankīrtana is performed, where the names of Bhagavān are chanted, to invoke His blessings.
Hari Śaraṇam, Hari Śaraṇam, Hari Śaraṇam...
Questions and Answers
Sanjay Ji
Q: In Bhagavad Gita, there is mention of both Saguna and Nirguna forms of Bhagavān. You mentioned the Nirguna form in Chapter 12, but is there further description of Nirguna in other chapters?
A: Yes, there are numerous references to the Nirguna form of Bhagavān in the Gita, especially from Chapter 7 to Chapter 15, which describe the path of knowledge (Jnana Yoga). These chapters emphasize the formless aspect of Bhagavān, where His essence is understood as transcendent and beyond form.
Anuradha Ji
Q: Sometimes, even when we are chanting the name of Bhagavān, we are troubled by material thoughts that overwhelm our minds. How can we remove these distractions?
A: This is quite natural, as the mind tends to get pulled by material desires. The key is to control the intensity and duration of these distractions. Even if something unfavorable happens, the reaction we give to it and how long it lasts is in our control. Bhagavān has advised in Chapter 17 to maintain a calm and joyful mind in all situations. It is essential to realize that our thoughts are a creation of our own mind, and with practice, we can master them. If we learn to control our reactions, we can find peace and harmony in all circumstances.
Lalita Ji
Q: I have just joined the class, and I often feel I cannot pronounce Sanskrit correctly. Will it be wrong to read the Gita in a way that is not perfect?
A: No, even if you make mistakes while reading, there is no harm. Bhagavān is like a mother, and He appreciates even the imperfect words we offer with devotion. Just like a child’s imperfect speech is loved by the mother, your sincere efforts are accepted by Bhagavān. The benefit lies not in perfect pronunciation but in the intent and devotion with which we chant.
Maina Ji
Q: In the verse where Bhagavān says to dedicate the mind and intellect to Him, what is the difference between the mind and intellect, as they often seem to have different directions?
A: Bhagavān wants both the mind and intellect to be surrendered to Him because both play a role in guiding us. The mind tends to be driven by emotions, while the intellect is guided by logic and reasoning. Bhagavān is asking us to align both these aspects towards Him, understanding Him through both emotional devotion and intellectual reasoning.
Anil Ji
Q: Sometimes, I feel that I am constantly judging situations and thinking I can do things better. Also, I have doubts about the concept of praising Bhagavān. Why does He want us to praise Him?
A: Bhagavān is not asking for praise out of ego, but to show us our true nature. He wants us to recognize that we are not just material beings but divine sparks of the Supreme. Just like a lion’s cub in a flock of sheep may not realize its identity, we too often forget that we are part of the divine whole. Bhagavān’s teaching is to realize our connection to Him and not get trapped in the illusion of material existence. Our praise for Him is a recognition of our own higher self.
The session concluded with prayers and chanting Hanuman Chalisa.
Q: In Bhagavad Gita, there is mention of both Saguna and Nirguna forms of Bhagavān. You mentioned the Nirguna form in Chapter 12, but is there further description of Nirguna in other chapters?
A: Yes, there are numerous references to the Nirguna form of Bhagavān in the Gita, especially from Chapter 7 to Chapter 15, which describe the path of knowledge (Jnana Yoga). These chapters emphasize the formless aspect of Bhagavān, where His essence is understood as transcendent and beyond form.
Anuradha Ji
Q: Sometimes, even when we are chanting the name of Bhagavān, we are troubled by material thoughts that overwhelm our minds. How can we remove these distractions?
A: This is quite natural, as the mind tends to get pulled by material desires. The key is to control the intensity and duration of these distractions. Even if something unfavorable happens, the reaction we give to it and how long it lasts is in our control. Bhagavān has advised in Chapter 17 to maintain a calm and joyful mind in all situations. It is essential to realize that our thoughts are a creation of our own mind, and with practice, we can master them. If we learn to control our reactions, we can find peace and harmony in all circumstances.
Lalita Ji
Q: I have just joined the class, and I often feel I cannot pronounce Sanskrit correctly. Will it be wrong to read the Gita in a way that is not perfect?
A: No, even if you make mistakes while reading, there is no harm. Bhagavān is like a mother, and He appreciates even the imperfect words we offer with devotion. Just like a child’s imperfect speech is loved by the mother, your sincere efforts are accepted by Bhagavān. The benefit lies not in perfect pronunciation but in the intent and devotion with which we chant.
Maina Ji
Q: In the verse where Bhagavān says to dedicate the mind and intellect to Him, what is the difference between the mind and intellect, as they often seem to have different directions?
A: Bhagavān wants both the mind and intellect to be surrendered to Him because both play a role in guiding us. The mind tends to be driven by emotions, while the intellect is guided by logic and reasoning. Bhagavān is asking us to align both these aspects towards Him, understanding Him through both emotional devotion and intellectual reasoning.
Anil Ji
Q: Sometimes, I feel that I am constantly judging situations and thinking I can do things better. Also, I have doubts about the concept of praising Bhagavān. Why does He want us to praise Him?
A: Bhagavān is not asking for praise out of ego, but to show us our true nature. He wants us to recognize that we are not just material beings but divine sparks of the Supreme. Just like a lion’s cub in a flock of sheep may not realize its identity, we too often forget that we are part of the divine whole. Bhagavān’s teaching is to realize our connection to Him and not get trapped in the illusion of material existence. Our praise for Him is a recognition of our own higher self.
The session concluded with prayers and chanting Hanuman Chalisa.
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