विवेचन सारांश
Jñāna-Vijñāna Yoga: The Path to Knowing Bhagavān as All
The seventh chapter of the Śrīmad Bhagavad Gītā is titled Jñāna-Vijñāna-Yoga — The Yoga of Jñāna (knowledge of the Nirguṇa Brahmān) and Vijñāna (experiential knowledge of the manifest Divinity).
The discourse commenced with the ceremonial lighting of the Dīpam (lamp) at the lotus feet of Śrī Bhagavān, invoking divine grace and enveloping the gathering in a profound atmosphere of Bhakti and reverence.
Vasudevasutam Devam, Kaṁsacāṇūramardanam
Devakīparamānandam, Kṛṣṇam Vande Jagadgurum
Yogeśam Saccidānandam, Vāsudevam Vrajapriyam
Dharmasaṁsthāpakam Vīram, Kṛṣṇam Vande Jagadgurum
The discourse commenced with the ceremonial lighting of the Dīpam (lamp) at the lotus feet of Śrī Bhagavān, invoking divine grace and enveloping the gathering in a profound atmosphere of Bhakti and reverence.
Vasudevasutam Devam, Kaṁsacāṇūramardanam
Devakīparamānandam, Kṛṣṇam Vande Jagadgurum
Yogeśam Saccidānandam, Vāsudevam Vrajapriyam
Dharmasaṁsthāpakam Vīram, Kṛṣṇam Vande Jagadgurum
श्री गुरु चरण कमलेभ्यो
– At the lotus feet of the revered Guru.
By the boundless grace of the Supreme Divine, a seeker is blessed with the rare privilege of studying, imbibing, and integrating the sacred wisdom of the Gītā into daily life. This opportunity may arise through the fruits of past or present karmic merits, the blessings of noble ancestors, or the compassionate glance of a Sadguru. In truth, it is not we who have chosen the Gītā—it is the Gītā that has chosen us.
Only through divine intervention does this sacred scripture enter our lives. Without Bhagavān’s grace, neither true understanding nor inner realization of the Gītā is possible. It is through His will alone that we are drawn to this transformative path.
The path of Jñāna-Yoga is intricate and demanding. A key prerequisite is that one must first become a Yogī. As Bhagavān declared to Arjuna at the conclusion of Chapter 6:
By the boundless grace of the Supreme Divine, a seeker is blessed with the rare privilege of studying, imbibing, and integrating the sacred wisdom of the Gītā into daily life. This opportunity may arise through the fruits of past or present karmic merits, the blessings of noble ancestors, or the compassionate glance of a Sadguru. In truth, it is not we who have chosen the Gītā—it is the Gītā that has chosen us.
Only through divine intervention does this sacred scripture enter our lives. Without Bhagavān’s grace, neither true understanding nor inner realization of the Gītā is possible. It is through His will alone that we are drawn to this transformative path.
The path of Jñāna-Yoga is intricate and demanding. A key prerequisite is that one must first become a Yogī. As Bhagavān declared to Arjuna at the conclusion of Chapter 6:
तपस्विभ्योऽधिको योगी ज्ञानिभ्योऽपि मतोऽधिकः |
कर्मिभ्यश्चाधिको योगी तस्माद्योगी भवाजुर्न || 6.46 ||
कर्मिभ्यश्चाधिको योगी तस्माद्योगी भवाजुर्न || 6.46 ||
"The yogī is superior to the ascetic, superior even to the man of knowledge, and superior to the ritualist. Therefore, O Arjuna, become a yogī."
Here, the instruction “Tasmāt Yogī Bhava Arjuna — Therefore, become a Yogī, O Arjuna” marks the culmination of the sixth chapter. But who exactly is a Yogī?
In popular understanding, we often assume someone is a yogī if they can perform advanced yogāsanas (physical postures) or sit for long durations in prāṇāyāma (breath control), like Anuloma-Viloma. That is not incorrect—but it is incomplete.
To understand this, let us turn to a traditional analogy from Nyāya-śāstra (the Indian system of logic). In the context of weaving a sari, the thread-making section of the factory is essential, for no sari can be woven without thread. Now imagine a person visits such a factory and sees only the thread-making process. If asked later, "Did you see the sari being made?" he might respond, "No, I only saw the threads being made." He would then wrongly assume that sari-making is nothing more than thread-making.
Similarly, yogāsana and prāṇāyāma are like the thread—necessary, but not the complete sari. A true Yogī is not limited to physical discipline or breath control. These are foundational steps, not the culmination of Yoga.
The word Yoga comes from the Sanskrit root "yuj", which means to join, to connect, to unite. But connect with what?
With Parabrahman, the Supreme Reality—Paramātmā. Yoga is the process of joining the limited self with the Infinite.
That is why Maharṣi Patañjali, in his Yoga Sūtras, elaborated the eight limbs of Aṣṭāṅga-Yoga:
Yama, Niyama, Āsana, Prāṇāyāma, Pratyāhāra, Dhāraṇā, Dhyāna, Samādhi
Each is a progressive step. The very first limb is Yama, which has five parts:
Here, the instruction “Tasmāt Yogī Bhava Arjuna — Therefore, become a Yogī, O Arjuna” marks the culmination of the sixth chapter. But who exactly is a Yogī?
In popular understanding, we often assume someone is a yogī if they can perform advanced yogāsanas (physical postures) or sit for long durations in prāṇāyāma (breath control), like Anuloma-Viloma. That is not incorrect—but it is incomplete.
To understand this, let us turn to a traditional analogy from Nyāya-śāstra (the Indian system of logic). In the context of weaving a sari, the thread-making section of the factory is essential, for no sari can be woven without thread. Now imagine a person visits such a factory and sees only the thread-making process. If asked later, "Did you see the sari being made?" he might respond, "No, I only saw the threads being made." He would then wrongly assume that sari-making is nothing more than thread-making.
Similarly, yogāsana and prāṇāyāma are like the thread—necessary, but not the complete sari. A true Yogī is not limited to physical discipline or breath control. These are foundational steps, not the culmination of Yoga.
The word Yoga comes from the Sanskrit root "yuj", which means to join, to connect, to unite. But connect with what?
With Parabrahman, the Supreme Reality—Paramātmā. Yoga is the process of joining the limited self with the Infinite.
That is why Maharṣi Patañjali, in his Yoga Sūtras, elaborated the eight limbs of Aṣṭāṅga-Yoga:
Yama, Niyama, Āsana, Prāṇāyāma, Pratyāhāra, Dhāraṇā, Dhyāna, Samādhi
Each is a progressive step. The very first limb is Yama, which has five parts:
- Satya – Truthfulness
- Ahimsā – Non-violence
- Asteya – Non-stealing; not violating others' rights
- Brahmacarya – Control over the senses; celibacy in thought and action
- Aparigraha – Non-hoarding; not possessing beyond one’s genuine need
To awaken Yama within, one must examine:
- Is my life aligned with truth?
- Do I cause suffering or harm to others?
- Do I covet what isn’t rightfully mine?
- Is my gaze always fixed on “free offers,” lotteries, unearned gains—a mindset fed by consumerism and greed?
- Is my discipline over my senses intact?
- Do I accumulate unnecessarily, beyond need?
Aparigraha teaches us to release this tendency—to let go of the compulsive urge to hoard. When these yamas are truly cultivated, the foundation for real Yoga is established.
नाव में बाड़े पानी घर में बाड़े दाम।
दोनों हाथ उचियो। यही सज्जन को काम।
If a boat begins to fill with water, we bail it out. If wealth starts accumulating in the house, we must give it away—to those in need. It is not meant for hoarding.
We ask:
We ask:
- How many fixed deposits do I have?
- How many land deeds have I secured?
- How many shares and bonds have I collected?
- How much mutual fund investment have I accumulated?
But remember—not a single rupee will go with you when you leave this body. Not one.
What can accompany you is the merit (puṇya) earned by using that wealth to serve others. Wealth does not travel with the soul, but the virtue earned through it does.
That is why Aparigraha—non-hoarding—is taught in Yoga.
It means: Do not keep more than what is truly needed.
Bhagavān has entrusted this wealth to you not for your indulgence, but because He considers you capable and wise. You are meant to be a guardian of this wealth—not its owner.
So, we must learn not only how to earn and preserve wealth, but also how to gracefully release it—for the welfare of others.
Next, in Patañjali’s Aṣṭāṅga-Yoga, we come to the second limb: Niyama, consisting of five observances:
Śauca (purity), Santoṣa (contentment), Tapaḥ (austerity), Svādhyāya (self-study), and Īśvara-praṇidhāna (surrender to God).
1. Śauca – Purity
Purity of body and mind.
How attentive are we to cleanliness in our thoughts and actions?
People often say, “Why bother with purity? Lions never wash off their delusion!” or “If the mind is clean, even muddy water is sacred!”—but such thinking is careless. Without inner and outer cleanliness, Yoga cannot be perfected.
2. Santoṣa – Contentment
As Bhagavān says in Chapter 12:
What can accompany you is the merit (puṇya) earned by using that wealth to serve others. Wealth does not travel with the soul, but the virtue earned through it does.
That is why Aparigraha—non-hoarding—is taught in Yoga.
It means: Do not keep more than what is truly needed.
Bhagavān has entrusted this wealth to you not for your indulgence, but because He considers you capable and wise. You are meant to be a guardian of this wealth—not its owner.
So, we must learn not only how to earn and preserve wealth, but also how to gracefully release it—for the welfare of others.
Next, in Patañjali’s Aṣṭāṅga-Yoga, we come to the second limb: Niyama, consisting of five observances:
Śauca (purity), Santoṣa (contentment), Tapaḥ (austerity), Svādhyāya (self-study), and Īśvara-praṇidhāna (surrender to God).
1. Śauca – Purity
Purity of body and mind.
How attentive are we to cleanliness in our thoughts and actions?
People often say, “Why bother with purity? Lions never wash off their delusion!” or “If the mind is clean, even muddy water is sacred!”—but such thinking is careless. Without inner and outer cleanliness, Yoga cannot be perfected.
2. Santoṣa – Contentment
As Bhagavān says in Chapter 12:
सन्तुष्टो येन केनचित्।
"One who remains satisfied with whatever comes his way is dear to Me."
Contentment is a great wealth. To live joyfully with what we receive is a sign of inner maturity.
3. Tapaḥ – Austerity
Life should involve some self-discipline.
For example: Ekādaśī was just yesterday—how many of us observed the fast?
For a Vaiṣṇava, observing Ekādaśī is a sacred obligation. Fasting once every 15 days strengthens the body and purifies the mind.
A Japanese Nobel Laureate has shown through scientific research that if one abstains from food for at least 22 days in a year, the chances of developing cancer reduce significantly.
And how many Ekādaśīs are there annually? 24.
But austerity is not just fasting—it is the ability to cheerfully endure discomfort.
If something doesn’t go our way—be it extreme cold or heat, hunger or thirst—we should not react with sorrow or irritation.
Contentment is a great wealth. To live joyfully with what we receive is a sign of inner maturity.
3. Tapaḥ – Austerity
Life should involve some self-discipline.
For example: Ekādaśī was just yesterday—how many of us observed the fast?
For a Vaiṣṇava, observing Ekādaśī is a sacred obligation. Fasting once every 15 days strengthens the body and purifies the mind.
A Japanese Nobel Laureate has shown through scientific research that if one abstains from food for at least 22 days in a year, the chances of developing cancer reduce significantly.
And how many Ekādaśīs are there annually? 24.
But austerity is not just fasting—it is the ability to cheerfully endure discomfort.
If something doesn’t go our way—be it extreme cold or heat, hunger or thirst—we should not react with sorrow or irritation.
- No breakfast? No problem.
- Tea was skipped? That’s fine.
- Sugar was less? Let it be.
- Food was delayed or missed altogether? It’s alright.
- Someone forgot to serve? Not an issue.
- The weather is too hot or too cold? Accept it gladly.
But today, even when the fan hasn't stopped, and the power goes out for just a moment, we say:
“Is this why we voted for the government?”
We panic, complain, and grow restless.
True Tapas is to turn off your fan or AC for two hours and sit in the summer heat. Train the body to endure.
Occasionally, skip a meal. Skip a cup of tea. Let the body get used to less-than-ideal situations, so that if life ever demands austerity, we can face it with a smile—not suffering.
As Bhagavān says in the Gītā:
“Śītoṣṇa-sukha-duḥkheṣu samaḥ” — Be equal in heat and cold, pleasure and pain.
The ability to endure cheerfully is called Tapas.
4. Svādhyāya – Self-study
To study the Self, to seek the answer to “Who am I?”
To reflect deeply on spiritual truths.
To regularly read sacred scriptures like the Gītā, to listen to the discourses of saints and sages, to engage in the company of the wise—this is Svādhyāya.
5. Īśvara-praṇidhāna – Surrender to God
To dedicate all actions and thoughts toward Bhagavān. To long for union with Him.
This is the spirit of surrender that sustains the path of Yoga.
Together, Yama and Niyama are the first two limbs of Aṣṭāṅga-Yoga.
Then comes the third: Āsana—mastery over one’s posture.
Maharṣi Patañjali describes 84 āsanas ideal for meditation—Padmāsana, Siddhāsana, Vajrāsana, Sukhāsana, and so on.
True mastery of āsana means being able to sit steadily and comfortably in one posture for a significant duration.
Only such a person can truly meditate. One who keeps shifting positions cannot enter Dhyāna. So, before meditation, the body must become steady. Only then does the mind begin to settle.
Prāṇāyāma
Mastery over the breath is mastery over the mind.
The motion of the mind follows the motion of the prāṇa. Until one learns to steady the breath, the mind cannot be brought under control.
Prāṇāyāma involves four stages:
“Is this why we voted for the government?”
We panic, complain, and grow restless.
True Tapas is to turn off your fan or AC for two hours and sit in the summer heat. Train the body to endure.
Occasionally, skip a meal. Skip a cup of tea. Let the body get used to less-than-ideal situations, so that if life ever demands austerity, we can face it with a smile—not suffering.
As Bhagavān says in the Gītā:
“Śītoṣṇa-sukha-duḥkheṣu samaḥ” — Be equal in heat and cold, pleasure and pain.
The ability to endure cheerfully is called Tapas.
4. Svādhyāya – Self-study
To study the Self, to seek the answer to “Who am I?”
To reflect deeply on spiritual truths.
To regularly read sacred scriptures like the Gītā, to listen to the discourses of saints and sages, to engage in the company of the wise—this is Svādhyāya.
5. Īśvara-praṇidhāna – Surrender to God
To dedicate all actions and thoughts toward Bhagavān. To long for union with Him.
This is the spirit of surrender that sustains the path of Yoga.
Together, Yama and Niyama are the first two limbs of Aṣṭāṅga-Yoga.
Then comes the third: Āsana—mastery over one’s posture.
Maharṣi Patañjali describes 84 āsanas ideal for meditation—Padmāsana, Siddhāsana, Vajrāsana, Sukhāsana, and so on.
True mastery of āsana means being able to sit steadily and comfortably in one posture for a significant duration.
Only such a person can truly meditate. One who keeps shifting positions cannot enter Dhyāna. So, before meditation, the body must become steady. Only then does the mind begin to settle.
Prāṇāyāma
Mastery over the breath is mastery over the mind.
The motion of the mind follows the motion of the prāṇa. Until one learns to steady the breath, the mind cannot be brought under control.
Prāṇāyāma involves four stages:
- Pūraka – inhalation,
- Antaḥ-kumbhaka – retention after inhalation,
- Recaka – exhalation,
- Bahiḥ-kumbhaka – retention after exhalation.
All prāṇāyāma techniques revolve around these four.
- In Kapālabhātī, we mainly perform Recaka and Bahiḥ-kumbhaka.
- In Bhastrikā, both Recaka and Pūraka are active.
- In Anuloma-Viloma, all four phases are engaged.
The scriptures speak of five vital functions of prāṇa: Chalana (movement), Balan (strengthening), Dhāvan (flowing), Āpana (elimination), and Sakucana (contraction). Though we won’t go into the full detail here, the essential point remains—prāṇāyāma is not optional.
In every Vedic ritual—whether a yajña or pūjā—you’ll notice the priest instructs: “Do prāṇāyāma with the mantra—Om Mādhavāya Namaḥ, Keśavāya Namaḥ…” etc.
Even the Trikāla Sandhyā—the daily prayer observed by sādhakas—requires prāṇāyāma. Without prāṇāyāma, no Vedic ritual is complete. It is essential to spiritual practice.
Pratyāhāra
Pratyāhāra means withdrawal—of the senses from their objects.
We often think we consume only through the mouth. But we also "feed" ourselves through the eyes, ears, nose, skin, and mind.
In every Vedic ritual—whether a yajña or pūjā—you’ll notice the priest instructs: “Do prāṇāyāma with the mantra—Om Mādhavāya Namaḥ, Keśavāya Namaḥ…” etc.
Even the Trikāla Sandhyā—the daily prayer observed by sādhakas—requires prāṇāyāma. Without prāṇāyāma, no Vedic ritual is complete. It is essential to spiritual practice.
Pratyāhāra
Pratyāhāra means withdrawal—of the senses from their objects.
We often think we consume only through the mouth. But we also "feed" ourselves through the eyes, ears, nose, skin, and mind.
- What we see is food for the eyes.
- What we hear is food for the ears.
- What we smell is food for the nose.
- What we touch is food for the skin.
- What we think is food for the mind.
So Pratyāhāra means: What do I permit my senses to consume?
What should I see or avoid seeing?
What should I listen to or turn away from?
What should I allow myself to feel, smell, taste, or think?
This is the practice of selective intake—disciplined perception.
Thus, Yama, Niyama, Āsana, Prāṇāyāma, and Pratyāhāra are the five external disciplines (bāhya sādhana) —practices involving the gross body.
What should I see or avoid seeing?
What should I listen to or turn away from?
What should I allow myself to feel, smell, taste, or think?
This is the practice of selective intake—disciplined perception.
Thus, Yama, Niyama, Āsana, Prāṇāyāma, and Pratyāhāra are the five external disciplines (bāhya sādhana) —practices involving the gross body.
Now come the three internal disciplines (aṃtaḥ sādhana) involving the subtle body: Dhāraṇā, Dhyāna, and Samādhi.
Dhāraṇā
This is where most people go wrong. Without following the first five steps, we try to leap directly to the seventh—meditation.
People say, “I do meditation.” But ask them:
“What about Yama? Niyama? Āsana? Prāṇāyāma? Pratyāhāra? Dhāraṇā?”
They say, “I don’t know those, but I meditate.”
But this is like trying to jump directly to the seventh floor of a building without climbing the earlier ones.
You may use stairs or an elevator, but you cannot bypass the floors.
Without Dhāraṇā, Dhyāna is not possible.
So what is Dhāraṇā? It is deciding your method of meditation.
Dhāraṇā
This is where most people go wrong. Without following the first five steps, we try to leap directly to the seventh—meditation.
People say, “I do meditation.” But ask them:
“What about Yama? Niyama? Āsana? Prāṇāyāma? Pratyāhāra? Dhāraṇā?”
They say, “I don’t know those, but I meditate.”
But this is like trying to jump directly to the seventh floor of a building without climbing the earlier ones.
You may use stairs or an elevator, but you cannot bypass the floors.
Without Dhāraṇā, Dhyāna is not possible.
So what is Dhāraṇā? It is deciding your method of meditation.
- Will I meditate on my Guru Mantra?
- On the form of Bhagavān?
- On the Divine Name?
- On Light, Om, or Nada (sound)?
There are countless valid forms of meditation. The Bhagavad Gītā, Chapter 6, elaborates on them beautifully.
But what do we do?
One day we do Vipassana, another day Sahaj Yoga, another day dynamic meditation, then kundalini, then chakra meditation—each one with exotic branding.
But hopping from method to method keeps us stuck in confusion. We keep trying everything but never go deep in anything.
Dhāraṇā means clarity and commitment.
Just like if you want to go from Mumbai to Delhi, you must decide: Will I take a train? Bus? Flight? Car?
You can’t keep switching midway: a little by foot, a little by train, a little by boat.
You must fix the vehicle of your journey.
In the same way, I must firmly resolve: “This is the method by which I will meditate.”
That unwavering resolve is Dhāraṇā. Without Dhāraṇā, Dhyāna-siddhi (perfection in meditation) is impossible.
Some people say, “I enter deep meditation.” But in truth, they may be only experiencing preliminary stillness, where the mind begins to turn inward.
That is not Dhyāna.
It’s only the entry point—a momentary silence. Only one who has firmly walked the first six limbs will truly ascend to the seventh. And only he who has traversed all seven will arrive at the eighth and final state—Samādhi.
Dhyāna (Meditation)
What is dhyāna?
Dhyāna is the continuous and steady practice (abhyāsa) of the dhāraṇā one has undertaken. Whatever method I chose in dhāraṇā to anchor my mind—dhyāna is the disciplined effort to remain steadily absorbed in that very method, that very focus.
Suppose I resolved in dhāraṇā that I will contemplate on the form (svarūpa) of Bhagavān. Now, in dhyāna, I practice visualising that form in detail. I begin with the Prabhu's feet, then move to His clothing, His anklets, His waist ornaments, His chest adorned with divine jewels, His armlets, His lips, His nose, His eyes, His tilak, and finally His crown.
Gradually, we train our minds to remain anchored in this vision. But in the beginning, what often goes wrong?
We try to meditate on Rāma, and suddenly Arun Govil appears in the mind. We try to meditate on Kṛṣṇa, and suddenly Nitish Bharadwaj from television surfaces. Isn't this what happens?
This indicates that dhāraṇā hasn’t matured into true dhyāna.
Only when the practice of dhāraṇā ripens, when it becomes steady and unwavering through abhyāsa, does it transition into genuine dhyāna.
And when that focused contemplation (dhyāna) stabilizes—even if for a few moments—there comes a profound union (yoga). The meditator (dhyātā), the process of meditation (dhyāna), and the object of meditation (dheya)—all three merge into one unified experience. Nothing remains separate. This ultimate integration is called samādhi.
Meaning of Samādhi:
The word samādhi comes from "sam" (equanimity, balance) and "dhi" (intellect, understanding). Thus, samādhi means a state of perfect equilibrium of the buddhi (intelligence). The mind and intellect have become absolutely still and balanced.
For a simple metaphor, consider the flame of a lamp. At first, it flickers and wavers. But there comes a moment when it becomes still—steady and upright, without any movement. That unmoving flame is symbolic of samādhi.
Another example from the scriptures:
When you pour water from a container, it splashes, scatters, and does not form a continuous stream. But when you pour oil, it flows in a single, unbroken stream—smooth and undisturbed. This is called "taila-dhārāvat"—a stream like flowing oil.
No matter how much oil you pour, it maintains a steady, cohesive flow. In contrast, water cannot flow like that—it disperses. Similarly, when the mind becomes like the steady stream of oil, undisturbed and continuous, it has reached the state of samādhi.
In samādhi, all restlessness ends. All movements of the mind stop. No conflicting thoughts, no dual desires—everything becomes still. This is samādhi.
Pūjya Swami Rāmadeva has explained this concept beautifully in his commentary. Those interested can refer to his detailed exposition.
And then Bhagavān says:
"Tasmāt yogī bhava Arjuna"
Therefore, O Arjuna, become a yogī!
With this declaration, Bhagavān prepares to open the next chapter of the Gītā. We enter the seventh chapter.
But what do we do?
One day we do Vipassana, another day Sahaj Yoga, another day dynamic meditation, then kundalini, then chakra meditation—each one with exotic branding.
But hopping from method to method keeps us stuck in confusion. We keep trying everything but never go deep in anything.
Dhāraṇā means clarity and commitment.
Just like if you want to go from Mumbai to Delhi, you must decide: Will I take a train? Bus? Flight? Car?
You can’t keep switching midway: a little by foot, a little by train, a little by boat.
You must fix the vehicle of your journey.
In the same way, I must firmly resolve: “This is the method by which I will meditate.”
That unwavering resolve is Dhāraṇā. Without Dhāraṇā, Dhyāna-siddhi (perfection in meditation) is impossible.
Some people say, “I enter deep meditation.” But in truth, they may be only experiencing preliminary stillness, where the mind begins to turn inward.
That is not Dhyāna.
It’s only the entry point—a momentary silence. Only one who has firmly walked the first six limbs will truly ascend to the seventh. And only he who has traversed all seven will arrive at the eighth and final state—Samādhi.
Dhyāna (Meditation)
What is dhyāna?
Dhyāna is the continuous and steady practice (abhyāsa) of the dhāraṇā one has undertaken. Whatever method I chose in dhāraṇā to anchor my mind—dhyāna is the disciplined effort to remain steadily absorbed in that very method, that very focus.
Suppose I resolved in dhāraṇā that I will contemplate on the form (svarūpa) of Bhagavān. Now, in dhyāna, I practice visualising that form in detail. I begin with the Prabhu's feet, then move to His clothing, His anklets, His waist ornaments, His chest adorned with divine jewels, His armlets, His lips, His nose, His eyes, His tilak, and finally His crown.
Gradually, we train our minds to remain anchored in this vision. But in the beginning, what often goes wrong?
We try to meditate on Rāma, and suddenly Arun Govil appears in the mind. We try to meditate on Kṛṣṇa, and suddenly Nitish Bharadwaj from television surfaces. Isn't this what happens?
This indicates that dhāraṇā hasn’t matured into true dhyāna.
Only when the practice of dhāraṇā ripens, when it becomes steady and unwavering through abhyāsa, does it transition into genuine dhyāna.
And when that focused contemplation (dhyāna) stabilizes—even if for a few moments—there comes a profound union (yoga). The meditator (dhyātā), the process of meditation (dhyāna), and the object of meditation (dheya)—all three merge into one unified experience. Nothing remains separate. This ultimate integration is called samādhi.
Meaning of Samādhi:
The word samādhi comes from "sam" (equanimity, balance) and "dhi" (intellect, understanding). Thus, samādhi means a state of perfect equilibrium of the buddhi (intelligence). The mind and intellect have become absolutely still and balanced.
For a simple metaphor, consider the flame of a lamp. At first, it flickers and wavers. But there comes a moment when it becomes still—steady and upright, without any movement. That unmoving flame is symbolic of samādhi.
Another example from the scriptures:
When you pour water from a container, it splashes, scatters, and does not form a continuous stream. But when you pour oil, it flows in a single, unbroken stream—smooth and undisturbed. This is called "taila-dhārāvat"—a stream like flowing oil.
No matter how much oil you pour, it maintains a steady, cohesive flow. In contrast, water cannot flow like that—it disperses. Similarly, when the mind becomes like the steady stream of oil, undisturbed and continuous, it has reached the state of samādhi.
In samādhi, all restlessness ends. All movements of the mind stop. No conflicting thoughts, no dual desires—everything becomes still. This is samādhi.
Pūjya Swami Rāmadeva has explained this concept beautifully in his commentary. Those interested can refer to his detailed exposition.
And then Bhagavān says:
"Tasmāt yogī bhava Arjuna"
Therefore, O Arjuna, become a yogī!
With this declaration, Bhagavān prepares to open the next chapter of the Gītā. We enter the seventh chapter.
7.1
śrībhagavānuvāca
mayyāsaktamanāḥ(ph) pārtha, yogaṃ(m) yuñjanmadāśrayaḥ,
asaṃśayaṃ(m) ṣamagraṃ(m) māṃ(m), yathā jñāsyasi tacchṛṇu. 7.1
Śrī Bhagavān said :Arjuna, now listen how with the mind attached to Me (through exclusive love) and practising Yoga with absolute dependence on Me, you will know Me, the repository of all power, strength and glory and other attributes, the Universal soul, in entirety and without any shadow of doubt.
Bhagavān's Teaching on Asakti (Attachment) and Āśraya (Dependence)
Here, Bhagavān begins a profound discourse. He is laying out the pathway to becoming a true Yogī—one who is deeply united with Him in heart and mind.
But what does Bhagavān mean when He says “mam” (in Me)?
Who is this “Me”?
Clarifying "Bhagavān" – The Identity of the Speaker
Vedavyāsa, the compiler of the Mahābhārata and the Bhagavad Gītā, clarifies this identity.
He doesn’t just refer to the speaker as “Kṛṣṇa” casually. Instead, he uses specific epithets to remove all ambiguity:
"Vasudeva-sutam devam, Kaṁsa-Cāṇūra-mardanam, Devakī-paramānandaṁ, Kṛṣṇam vande jagadgurum"
– I bow to that Kṛṣṇa:
Here, Bhagavān begins a profound discourse. He is laying out the pathway to becoming a true Yogī—one who is deeply united with Him in heart and mind.
But what does Bhagavān mean when He says “mam” (in Me)?
Who is this “Me”?
Clarifying "Bhagavān" – The Identity of the Speaker
Vedavyāsa, the compiler of the Mahābhārata and the Bhagavad Gītā, clarifies this identity.
He doesn’t just refer to the speaker as “Kṛṣṇa” casually. Instead, he uses specific epithets to remove all ambiguity:
"Vasudeva-sutam devam, Kaṁsa-Cāṇūra-mardanam, Devakī-paramānandaṁ, Kṛṣṇam vande jagadgurum"
– I bow to that Kṛṣṇa:
- the son of Vasudeva,
- the slayer of Kaṁsa and Cāṇūra,
- the joy of Devakī,
- the preceptor of the world.
Because even during Kṛṣṇa's time, there were others who claimed to be Kṛṣṇa, false imposters. To avoid confusion, Vedavyāsa precisely identifies the authentic Kṛṣṇa—not just any Kṛṣṇa, but Jagadguru Śrī Kṛṣṇa, the avatāra of the Supreme.
In the very first verse of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, Vedavyāsa writes:
"Sac-cid-ānanda-rūpāya viśvotpatty-ādi-hetave | tāpa-traya vināśāya śrī-kṛṣṇāya vayaṁ namaḥ"
– We bow to that Śrī Kṛṣṇa,
In the very first verse of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam, Vedavyāsa writes:
"Sac-cid-ānanda-rūpāya viśvotpatty-ādi-hetave | tāpa-traya vināśāya śrī-kṛṣṇāya vayaṁ namaḥ"
– We bow to that Śrī Kṛṣṇa,
- the embodiment of existence, consciousness, and bliss,
- the cause of creation,
- the destroyer of all three types of suffering.
But here’s something remarkable:
In the entire Mahābhārata, Vedavyāsa uses phrases like “Kṛṣṇa uvāca”, “Keśava uvāca”, “Vāsudeva uvāca”.
Yet, in the Bhagavad Gītā, which appears in the Bhīṣma Parva (Chapters 25–42), he chooses a unique term:
"Śrī Bhagavān uvāca" – The Blessed Lord said
Why?
Because it is not merely the historical Kṛṣṇa speaking—but Parabrahman Himself, the eternal Sat-Cit-Ānanda, speaking in the form of Kṛṣṇa. The Avatār is transparent, the speaker is God Himself.
So What Does “mam” (Me) Mean?
Some people ask:
“I worship Śiva, should I read the Gītā?”
“I worship Rāma or Durgā, is this meant for me?”
Yes. Absolutely.
Because when Bhagavān says “Me”, He is referring to the Supreme Divine in whatever form you love and worship.
For a devotee of Śiva, it is Śivovāca.
For a devotee of Rāma, it is Rāmovāca.
For a devotee of Nārāyaṇa or Devī, it is Nārāyaṇovāca or Durgovāca.
The message is universal. The Divine is one, manifested in many forms.
So, when Bhagavān says, “Fix your mind in Me”, it means: Fix your mind in your chosen Iṣṭa-devatā—with total absorption, surrender, and longing.
What Kind of Asakti (Attachment) Is Expected?
Bhagavān describes six qualities of true attachment (āsakti), starting with:
1. Mayi Āsakta – Attachment in Me
Look at how we are naturally attached to the world—our spouse, children, car, home, job, status. We constantly think about:
In the entire Mahābhārata, Vedavyāsa uses phrases like “Kṛṣṇa uvāca”, “Keśava uvāca”, “Vāsudeva uvāca”.
Yet, in the Bhagavad Gītā, which appears in the Bhīṣma Parva (Chapters 25–42), he chooses a unique term:
"Śrī Bhagavān uvāca" – The Blessed Lord said
Why?
Because it is not merely the historical Kṛṣṇa speaking—but Parabrahman Himself, the eternal Sat-Cit-Ānanda, speaking in the form of Kṛṣṇa. The Avatār is transparent, the speaker is God Himself.
So What Does “mam” (Me) Mean?
Some people ask:
“I worship Śiva, should I read the Gītā?”
“I worship Rāma or Durgā, is this meant for me?”
Yes. Absolutely.
Because when Bhagavān says “Me”, He is referring to the Supreme Divine in whatever form you love and worship.
For a devotee of Śiva, it is Śivovāca.
For a devotee of Rāma, it is Rāmovāca.
For a devotee of Nārāyaṇa or Devī, it is Nārāyaṇovāca or Durgovāca.
The message is universal. The Divine is one, manifested in many forms.
So, when Bhagavān says, “Fix your mind in Me”, it means: Fix your mind in your chosen Iṣṭa-devatā—with total absorption, surrender, and longing.
What Kind of Asakti (Attachment) Is Expected?
Bhagavān describes six qualities of true attachment (āsakti), starting with:
1. Mayi Āsakta – Attachment in Me
Look at how we are naturally attached to the world—our spouse, children, car, home, job, status. We constantly think about:
- How to improve comfort and wealth
- How to be respected by others
- How to gain pleasure and praise
We mix a little bhakti in this material package—read a bit of Gītā, chant a few names—but the core of our mind remains in the world.
Bhagavān says:
Just as your mind clings to the world, turn that same attachment towards Me. Make Me your central desire.
But what happens in real life?
You're doing pūjā, and suddenly the doorbell rings. Or the phone rings. You immediately say, “Check who it is!” or “Give me the phone!”—even during worship, your mind is still tethered to the world.
Bhagavān says: No!
Your body can act in the world, but let the mind be with Me. Not the other way around.
Transform Every Action into Worship
Bhagavān says:
"Let everything you do become My worship."
Bhagavān says:
Just as your mind clings to the world, turn that same attachment towards Me. Make Me your central desire.
But what happens in real life?
You're doing pūjā, and suddenly the doorbell rings. Or the phone rings. You immediately say, “Check who it is!” or “Give me the phone!”—even during worship, your mind is still tethered to the world.
Bhagavān says: No!
Your body can act in the world, but let the mind be with Me. Not the other way around.
Transform Every Action into Worship
Bhagavān says:
"Let everything you do become My worship."
- You cook? Offer it as worship.
- You work? Offer it as worship.
- You drive? Offer it as worship.
- You scold your child? Let even that be with a sense of offering to Me.
Let life itself become a yajña—an act of divine offering.
2. Mad-Āśrayaḥ – Taking Refuge in Me
Bhagavān further says: Take refuge in Me.
What does āśraya (refuge) mean?
The scriptures describe four kinds of worldly support systems that people rely on:
i. Āśraya – Worldly Dependence
People depend on:
2. Mad-Āśrayaḥ – Taking Refuge in Me
Bhagavān further says: Take refuge in Me.
What does āśraya (refuge) mean?
The scriptures describe four kinds of worldly support systems that people rely on:
i. Āśraya – Worldly Dependence
People depend on:
- Wealth
- Power
- Intellect
- Family and Contacts
When a problem comes, they say:
“I have money, I’ll solve it.”
“I have brains or contacts, I’ll manage it.”
But such supports often fail.
ii. Avalambana – Crutches
Like a stick to an old man, or a phone to a child.
A child won’t eat unless he sees the phone—“mobile-devatā ki jay!”
iii. Ādhīnatā – Subjugation
When someone is completely under another's control—like a prisoner who eats only when the jailer allows.
iv. Prapatti – Complete Surrender
Like a paralysed person who can’t turn on their own unless helped. Total helplessness. This is the deepest form of dependence.
Bhagavān says:
“Don’t rely on money, power, intellect, or people.
Make Me your refuge—Mad-āśrayaḥ."
Let your faith, your hope, your support, be only in Me.
“I have money, I’ll solve it.”
“I have brains or contacts, I’ll manage it.”
But such supports often fail.
ii. Avalambana – Crutches
Like a stick to an old man, or a phone to a child.
A child won’t eat unless he sees the phone—“mobile-devatā ki jay!”
iii. Ādhīnatā – Subjugation
When someone is completely under another's control—like a prisoner who eats only when the jailer allows.
iv. Prapatti – Complete Surrender
Like a paralysed person who can’t turn on their own unless helped. Total helplessness. This is the deepest form of dependence.
Bhagavān says:
“Don’t rely on money, power, intellect, or people.
Make Me your refuge—Mad-āśrayaḥ."
Let your faith, your hope, your support, be only in Me.
हमारे साथ श्री रघुनाथ फिर किस बात की चिंता
शरण में रख दिया जब माथ फिर किस बात की चिंता
मेरा आपकी कृपा से सब काम हो रहा है
करते हो तुम कन्हैया मेरा नाम हो रहा है
मेरा आपकी कृपा से सब काम हो रहा है
शरण में रख दिया जब माथ फिर किस बात की चिंता
मेरा आपकी कृपा से सब काम हो रहा है
करते हो तुम कन्हैया मेरा नाम हो रहा है
मेरा आपकी कृपा से सब काम हो रहा है
Taking Refuge in Bhagavān – A Living Example
The speaker once personally witnessed what it means to take complete Bhagavat-āśraya—full refuge in the Divine.
A father, known to the speaker, lost his only son in a sudden and tragic accident. The young man was full of life, not yet married, and his untimely departure left everyone shaken. It was a moment of deep sorrow and disbelief.
As the speaker travelled to meet the grieving father, his heart was heavy. He kept wondering, What can I say? How can I offer solace in such a moment? Will even the words of the Gītā help? The speaker felt the weight of helplessness, uncertain whether any scripture or consolation would be adequate in the face of such a loss.
But when he arrived, he was met with something entirely unexpected. The father sat there, quiet, calm, composed. There was no trace of bitterness—only stillness.
The speaker gently began to say a few words, offering whatever little comfort he could muster. But the father softly responded:
“It happened just as Bhagavān willed. He had sent him to us for a certain number of days, and now He has taken him back. He was His to begin with.”
The speaker was stunned. He had read such words in scriptures, heard them in discourses—but to see them lived, to witness someone speak with such steadiness and surrender in the face of unimaginable personal loss, was deeply humbling.
That, the speaker realised, is Bhagavat-āśraya. To see everything as belonging to Bhagavān—to live in acceptance of His will, not just in theory, but in the raw reality of life’s most painful turns. That moment became a living lesson, far beyond books, of what true surrender looks like.
When Worship Lacks Refuge
The speaker has also witnessed the opposite.
There are those who appear to walk the path of devotion sincerely—they perform daily rituals with care, read the Bhagavad Gītā regularly, speak often and eloquently of Bhagavān, and even inspire others in spiritual discussions. Outwardly, their lives seem deeply religious.
But then, life delivers a blow—a sudden loss, a painful tragedy, an unexpected disappointment. And everything changes.
Such individuals often withdraw from worship. They abandon their practices. The same person who once extolled the glories of devotion now says:
“What did I gain from all this? What was the point of my prayers and japa? Why did Bhagavān let this happen to me?”
There is frustration. Sometimes even bitterness. They feel let down by the very One they once praised.
The speaker observed that this shift reveals something crucial—that the devotion, though sincere on the surface, lacked the inner foundation of true Āśraya, refuge. It was not surrender but expectation. Not offering, but transaction.
What is True Bhagavat-āśraya?
When a person takes refuge in Bhagavān, all other dependencies become secondary or irrelevant. They no longer rely on wealth, strength, intellect, or family connections.
Their inner stance becomes:
“Bhagavān will take care. He stands before me. Why should I worry? Whatever He does will be for my highest good.”
This mad-āśraya—relying entirely on Me, as Bhagavān says in the Gītā—is the true beginning of authentic Bhakti. Until then, even worship is merely a ritual; the heart has not yet surrendered.
Freedom from Fear through Surrender
It is this refuge that dissolves fear. Look within—our lives are full of anxieties:
What if this happens? What if that doesn’t happen? Will my son still talk to me after marriage? Will he come back from abroad? Will he stand by me in my last moments?
These fears torment us only because we have not truly surrendered. If we had, the attitude would be:
“If he comes—good. If not—that too is fine. Why should I worry? Bhagavān is there to care for me.”
I am surrendered. I don’t need anything or anyone else. I have no other dependence. Just one support—You alone, O Bhagavān. That is enough.
मुझे सहारा तेरा राम एक सहारा दे आराम
भगवत शरण शांति के धाम मुझे सहारा तेरा नाम
मुझे दूसरा कोई सहारा नहीं चाहिए
भगवत शरण शांति के धाम मुझे सहारा तेरा नाम
मुझे दूसरा कोई सहारा नहीं चाहिए
"Mad-āśraya – Taking Refuge in Me"
In this one profound verse, Bhagavān speaks of six key principles. Just one verse—and it is so rich, so complete, that one could base an entire discourse upon it. Such is its depth.
Bhagavān says:
“Whatever actions you perform, let them be an act of Yoga—performed with the intention of uniting with Me.”
- If you’re dealing with your child—do it to please Bhagavān.
- If you're relating to your husband—do it to please Bhagavān.
- When you're speaking with your wife—do it to please Bhagavān.
- At work, in the office—perform your duties to please Bhagavān.
- Even when you cook—do it in remembrance of Him.
- Going out, meeting people, returning home—do all of it for His joy.
- When you eat, eat as an offering to Him.
- When you sleep, sleep as a surrender to Him.
The inner sentiment must be:
“Whatever I do, may it become an act of worship unto You.”
“This body has been given to me for the sake of Your bhajana. Let me use this time to remember You.”
You don’t need a separate slot in the day to engage in bhajana.
Those who feel they need a separate time for bhajana—aren’t truly doing bhajana yet.
True bhajana is:
"Whatever I do—may it become Your worship."
“Whatever I do, may it become an act of worship unto You.”
“This body has been given to me for the sake of Your bhajana. Let me use this time to remember You.”
You don’t need a separate slot in the day to engage in bhajana.
Those who feel they need a separate time for bhajana—aren’t truly doing bhajana yet.
True bhajana is:
"Whatever I do—may it become Your worship."
- A mother cooking in remembrance of Bhagavān—that is bhajana.
- A man doing office work with the awareness of Bhagavān—that is bhajana.
- Driving a car, remembering Him—that too becomes bhajana.
- Even when anger arises in an interaction—if one remembers Him, it becomes an offering.
Fourth, samagram—seeing Bhagavān in everything.
This son, this factory, this entire world—every part of it is Bhagavān’s form.
Whether it is one’s wife, husband, mother, or father—whether it is pleasant or unpleasant—all are manifestations of Bhagavān. That which we like is His form, and even that which we dislike is also His form. When everything is Bhagavān—where is the question of preference or aversion?
Samagram means seeing Him everywhere— Vāsudevam sarvam iti—recognising that Vāsudeva alone is all.
Fifth, asaṁśayam—freedom from doubt.
As Bhagavat-āśraya deepens, doubts naturally dissolve.
The more one learns to trust Bhagavān fully, the more all confusion and hesitation clear on their own.
Then, after listening to the teachings, one no longer feels the urge to question.
Where there is doubt, there will be questions. And let it be clear—there is no harm in asking questions. Please don’t misunderstand. But if one is still compelled to ask, it simply means there is still a lack of clarity.
When devotion matures, when trust becomes complete, asaṁśayam—all doubts vanish. That is the fullness of Bhakti.
And sixth, Bhagavān speaks of the difference between samagra and ananya.
There is a subtle distinction.
There is a well-known and deeply touching incident from the life of Gosvāmi Tulasīdāsjī Mahārāj.
Once, he journeyed from Kāśī to Vṛndāvan. There, immersed in divine love, he was going from temple to temple, having darśana of the enchanting forms of Bhagavān Śrī Kṛṣṇa. Surrounded by beauty—Kṛṣṇa’s flute, the peacock feather, the graceful pose—his heart was moved.
But then, being an ananya bhakta—a single-minded devotee of Śrī Rāma—a certain feeling welled up in his heart. Spontaneously, in front of one such beautiful deity of Śrī Kṛṣṇa, these words came out:
"Kā kahūṁ chavi āp kī, bhale bane ho nātha;
Tulasī mastak tab nave, jab dhanuṣ bāṇ lo hāth."
"What can I say of Your form, O Lord? You are indeed most beautifully adorned.
But Tulasi bows his head only when You hold bow and arrow in hand."
This wasn’t rebellion—it was an expression of deep Rāma-bhakti. And he spoke it standing right there in a temple of Śrī Kṛṣṇa, amidst a crowd of devotees. And then, a miracle occurred.
A flash of divine light—brilliant like lightning—and before everyone’s eyes, the form of the deity transformed.
This son, this factory, this entire world—every part of it is Bhagavān’s form.
Whether it is one’s wife, husband, mother, or father—whether it is pleasant or unpleasant—all are manifestations of Bhagavān. That which we like is His form, and even that which we dislike is also His form. When everything is Bhagavān—where is the question of preference or aversion?
Samagram means seeing Him everywhere— Vāsudevam sarvam iti—recognising that Vāsudeva alone is all.
Fifth, asaṁśayam—freedom from doubt.
As Bhagavat-āśraya deepens, doubts naturally dissolve.
The more one learns to trust Bhagavān fully, the more all confusion and hesitation clear on their own.
Then, after listening to the teachings, one no longer feels the urge to question.
Where there is doubt, there will be questions. And let it be clear—there is no harm in asking questions. Please don’t misunderstand. But if one is still compelled to ask, it simply means there is still a lack of clarity.
When devotion matures, when trust becomes complete, asaṁśayam—all doubts vanish. That is the fullness of Bhakti.
And sixth, Bhagavān speaks of the difference between samagra and ananya.
There is a subtle distinction.
There is a well-known and deeply touching incident from the life of Gosvāmi Tulasīdāsjī Mahārāj.
Once, he journeyed from Kāśī to Vṛndāvan. There, immersed in divine love, he was going from temple to temple, having darśana of the enchanting forms of Bhagavān Śrī Kṛṣṇa. Surrounded by beauty—Kṛṣṇa’s flute, the peacock feather, the graceful pose—his heart was moved.
But then, being an ananya bhakta—a single-minded devotee of Śrī Rāma—a certain feeling welled up in his heart. Spontaneously, in front of one such beautiful deity of Śrī Kṛṣṇa, these words came out:
"Kā kahūṁ chavi āp kī, bhale bane ho nātha;
Tulasī mastak tab nave, jab dhanuṣ bāṇ lo hāth."
"What can I say of Your form, O Lord? You are indeed most beautifully adorned.
But Tulasi bows his head only when You hold bow and arrow in hand."
This wasn’t rebellion—it was an expression of deep Rāma-bhakti. And he spoke it standing right there in a temple of Śrī Kṛṣṇa, amidst a crowd of devotees. And then, a miracle occurred.
A flash of divine light—brilliant like lightning—and before everyone’s eyes, the form of the deity transformed.
- The flute was gone.
- The peacock feather vanished.
- The gentle cowherd expression shifted.
And in its place stood Raghunātha—Rāma with bow and arrow in hand.
People were astonished. An immortal moment had occurred—so powerful that we still speak of it five centuries later.
It was at that moment someone composed this couplet:
"Taj murli, taj candrikā, taj gopiyan ko sāth;
Apne jan ke kāraṇ, Kṛṣṇa bane Raghunāth."
"Forsaking the flute, the moonlight, and the company of the gopīs,
For the sake of His devotee, Kṛṣṇa became Raghunātha."
That temple still exists in Vṛndāvan, now known as Tulasīdās Sthalī.
Now, if someone like us were to say, “O Bhagavān, take this form, only then I’ll bow,” would Bhagavān change His form? Not likely. But this was not an ordinary request. This was the call of a premī bhakta, and Bhagavān responded—not to be tested, but out of affection.
Yet after this incident, Gosvāmi Tulasīdās felt deep remorse. He thought, “What have I done? I conditioned my Lord! I am a mere servant—how could I set terms for my Master?”
He returned to Kāśī and was filled with intense longing and repentance. He, who never considered Rāma and Kṛṣṇa different, was grieved that a fleeting emotion made him speak such a thing. And from that day onward, he began composing stotras, hymns, and praises of Śrī Kṛṣṇa.
He had not written much on Kṛṣṇa before. But after this moment, he poured his heart out in devotion to both Rāma and Kṛṣṇa with equal love.
Such is ananya bhakti—pure, heartfelt, unconditional.
People were astonished. An immortal moment had occurred—so powerful that we still speak of it five centuries later.
It was at that moment someone composed this couplet:
"Taj murli, taj candrikā, taj gopiyan ko sāth;
Apne jan ke kāraṇ, Kṛṣṇa bane Raghunāth."
"Forsaking the flute, the moonlight, and the company of the gopīs,
For the sake of His devotee, Kṛṣṇa became Raghunātha."
That temple still exists in Vṛndāvan, now known as Tulasīdās Sthalī.
Now, if someone like us were to say, “O Bhagavān, take this form, only then I’ll bow,” would Bhagavān change His form? Not likely. But this was not an ordinary request. This was the call of a premī bhakta, and Bhagavān responded—not to be tested, but out of affection.
Yet after this incident, Gosvāmi Tulasīdās felt deep remorse. He thought, “What have I done? I conditioned my Lord! I am a mere servant—how could I set terms for my Master?”
He returned to Kāśī and was filled with intense longing and repentance. He, who never considered Rāma and Kṛṣṇa different, was grieved that a fleeting emotion made him speak such a thing. And from that day onward, he began composing stotras, hymns, and praises of Śrī Kṛṣṇa.
He had not written much on Kṛṣṇa before. But after this moment, he poured his heart out in devotion to both Rāma and Kṛṣṇa with equal love.
Such is ananya bhakti—pure, heartfelt, unconditional.
jñānaṃ(n) te'haṃ(m) savijñānam, idaṃ(m) Vākṣyāmyaśeṣataḥ,
yajjñātvā neha bhūyo'nyaj, jñātavyamavaśiṣyate. 7.2
I shall unfold to you in its entirety this wisdom (Knowledge of God in His absolute formless aspect) along with the Knowledge of the qualified aspect of God (both with form and without form), having known which nothing else remains yet to be known in this world.
Arjuna, listen carefully—Bhagavān says, "I will now fully explain to you this supreme knowledge along with its application—jñāna and vijñāna. After knowing this, nothing more remains to be known in this world." (Bhagavad Gītā 7.2)
This single verse is extraordinarily rich. Bhagavān mentions three key concepts here:
- Jñāna – Knowledge
- Vijñāna – Direct realization
- Ashesham – Leaving nothing out, complete
Ādi Śaṅkarācārya’s Perspective
Śaṅkarācārya explains that jñāna refers to parokṣa jñāna—indirect knowledge gained through scriptures, teachers, and study. Vijñāna, on the other hand, is aprokṣa jñāna—the direct experiential knowledge that transforms one’s being.
For instance:
- Reading how to make tea—that’s jñāna.
- Actually making the tea and gaining confidence through doing—that is vijñāna.
- Just reading a recipe doesn’t guarantee that you’ll make good tea—until it becomes your lived skill, it is not vijñāna.
Śrī Rāmānujācārya’s View
Rāmānujācārya offers another beautiful explanation:
Jñāna is general knowledge, nāma-rūpa-dṛṣṭi—seeing names and forms.
Vijñāna is deeper, discriminative knowledge—tattva-dṛṣṭi, the vision of essence.
He gives a striking analogy:
When we go to buy gold ornaments, we admire the design of earrings, the shine of a necklace, the artistry of a ring. Our attention is on form—appearance, beauty, style.
But when you go to sell the same item to a goldsmith, he cares not for design, name, or shape. He simply places it on the scale and says, “Put it on the pan. I’ll pay you for the gold content—nothing more.”
You might protest: “But I paid so much for the making! The design is so intricate!”
He replies, “You may value that—but I only see gold. I see the substance, not the form.”
Just like this, common people perceive the world through nāma and rūpa—names and forms. But the tattva-jñānī, the seer of Truth, sees only Bhagavān in everything.
For such a yogī, Vāsudevaḥ sarvam iti—he sees trees, people, animals, objects… yet recognizes them all as forms of the one Divine.
Jñāneśvar Mahārāj’s Insight
Sant Jñāneśvar interpreted jñāna as Self-knowledge, and vijñāna as understanding the workings of the world—prapañca-jñāna. That is, knowing both the Self and the play of Māyā.
Lokmanya Tilak's View
Bal Gangadhar Tilak, who wrote his commentary on the Gītā from a Karma Yoga perspective, defined:
• Jñāna as knowledge of the whole—samaṣṭi-jñāna
• Vijñāna as knowledge of the individual—vyaṣṭi-jñāna
For example:
If I drink water and my thirst is quenched—that’s personal, vyaṣṭi-level jñāna.
But if I reflect on how much water Bhagavān has created for the entire planet, and how vital it is for all beings—that's broader, samaṣṭi-level vijñāna.
The real transformation happens when jñāna and vijñāna become one—when knowledge is no longer just theoretical, but lived, internalized, and embodied. That is when the seeker no longer just knows about Bhagavān, but sees Him in everything and lives in alignment with that Truth.
The Tale of Two Monkeys: Knowledge and Wisdom
Once upon a time, there were two monkeys living in a forest—one was young and energetic, the other old and experienced. One year, the forest was struck by a severe drought. The trees dried up, and food became scarce. The two decided to leave in search of a new forest where they could survive.
As they journeyed, they came upon a village. Just outside the village stood a large tree, full of ripe, attractive fruits. The young monkey’s eyes lit up with excitement.
He exclaimed, “What fortune! We've been suffering for no reason in that forest, and here is a tree so full of fruits that even a lifetime of eating won’t exhaust them. Our problems are over!”
But the old monkey was more cautious. “Wait,” he said, “Something doesn’t feel right.”
“What could possibly be wrong?” said the young monkey. “The tree is healthy, full of fruits—what more can we ask for?”
The old monkey replied, “Have you noticed? Despite so many fruits, not a single squirrel or bird is on this tree. And look—its fruits hang low near the ground, yet no village children are picking them. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
The young monkey dismissed him: “You always overthink! We haven’t eaten in days, and here you are finding faults. I’m going to eat!”
The elder said gently, “Listen to me. Please wait a moment. Let me go into the village and observe a little. I’ll come back and then we’ll decide.”
He went ahead. As he entered the village, a woman spotted him and threw a piece of roti. He ate it. She threw another. The old monkey thought, “What a generous place! Why do we even need to eat from trees when people are this kind?”
He returned happily, holding a roti for the young monkey. But what he found was heartbreaking—the young monkey was lying unconscious beneath the tree. When he checked more closely, he realized the young one had died.
The fruits of the tree were poisoned. That’s why no bird perched on it, no squirrel played on its branches, and no child dared to touch its fruit.
The young monkey, trusting only jñāna—his bookish or surface knowledge—ignored the elder’s vijñāna—the wisdom of experience. In his haste and overconfidence, he paid the ultimate price.
The Moral
Prosperity and success in life do not come from knowledge (jñāna) alone, but from knowledge united with experience (vijñāna). Reading, learning, and information are important—but unless applied through discernment and insight, they can lead to dangerous consequences.
A truly successful life is lived by one who balances information with lived understanding.
Let us remember: it is not necessary to know everything in life (aśeṣatā), but it is crucial to know what to trust—and when to pause.
Dig Deep in One Spot: The Story of the Five Pits
Sometimes, in the pursuit of knowing and doing too many things, people end up losing what truly matters.
Once, a man arrived in a village seeking to settle down. It was an old time, so he asked the villagers, “What do I need to do to arrange for food and water?”
The villagers replied, “If you want food, you’ll have to farm your own land and grow your crops. For water, dig a well outside your home.”
He asked, “How long will it take to get water?”
“Not too long,” they replied. “There’s water at about 20 feet. If you dig one foot each day, you’ll reach it in 20 days. Until then, take water from our well.”
Twenty days passed. Twenty-five days passed. Still no water.
Frustrated, the man went to the village head (sarpañcha) and said, “You told me I’d get water by 20 feet. I’ve dug 25 feet and still haven’t found any!”
The sarpañcha was surprised. “Twenty-five feet and no water? That’s strange. In fact, I told you more than needed—it usually appears around 15 or 16 feet. Let me come and see.”
When they arrived, the sarpañcha was stunned. The man had dug five separate pits, each five feet deep.
“What have you done?” the sarpañcha asked.The man replied, “You told me I’d find water at 20 feet. I’ve dug a total of 25 feet—five pits, each five feet deep. That makes 25 feet, doesn’t it?”
The sarpañcha sighed, “Oh dear man… Do you think water works like simple math? Digging five pits of five feet each is not the same as digging one pit twenty-five feet deep. You’ll never reach water this way. You need to dig deep in one spot. Only then will you strike water.”
This is where many of us go wrong in life. We keep digging shallow pits. A few days of reading the Bhagavad Gītā. Then a few days of chanting Nāma. Then switching to another Guru. hen another place of worship—maybe this temple, maybe that shrine, maybe this technique, maybe that promise. We keep jumping from one method, one path, one teacher to another—digging five feet here, five feet there.
And then we complain, “I’m not progressing spiritually. My mind is not calm. My prayers aren’t answered.”
But success—whether in spiritual life or worldly life—comes only when we go deep in one place. When we stay steady, focused, and consistent. Not by hopping, but by holding. Not by trying everything, but by committing to something.
The Message
Choose your path with discernment.
Once chosen, go deep. Stay steady.
Only a well dug in one place reaches water.
एक साधे सब सदे सब साधे सब जाए
The Rare Path to Realisation: One in Thousands
This is the key principle:
Hold on to one sādhana (spiritual practice) and pursue it with steady abhyāsa (discipline) and vairāgya (detachment).
When Bhagavān speaks of abhyāsa, He is not referring to scattered practice. He means single-pointed, unwavering discipline in one chosen path, received through the guru.
When someone walks this path sincerely, Bhagavān says, “Then nothing remains unknown—aśeṣataḥ—there is nothing more left to be known.”
manuṣyāṇāṃ(m) sahasreṣu, kaścidyatati siddhaye,
yatatāmapi siddhānāṃ(ṅ), kaścinmāṃ(m) vetti tattvataḥ. 7.3
Hardly one among thousands of men strives to realize Me; of those striving Yogīs, again, some rare one, devoting himself exclusively to Me, knows Me in reality.
But He also makes a deeply thought-provoking statement in the Bhagavad Gītā
"Among thousands of human beings, perhaps one strives for perfection; and among those striving, scarcely one knows Me in truth."
Let us pause and reflect.
There are 84 lakh species of life forms—classified as aṇḍaja (born from eggs), pindaja (born from wombs), svedaja (from sweat), and udbhijja (from the earth).
Within them are water-dwellers, land-dwellers, sky-dwellers, and amphibians.
Of all these, the human birth is the rarest and most exalted.
And yet, Bhagavān says:
Even among human beings, thousands live without ever striving for true spiritual attainment.
And among those few rare ones who do strive, only one among thousands comes to truly know Me as I am.
In other words:
"Among thousands of human beings, perhaps one strives for perfection; and among those striving, scarcely one knows Me in truth."
Let us pause and reflect.
There are 84 lakh species of life forms—classified as aṇḍaja (born from eggs), pindaja (born from wombs), svedaja (from sweat), and udbhijja (from the earth).
Within them are water-dwellers, land-dwellers, sky-dwellers, and amphibians.
Of all these, the human birth is the rarest and most exalted.
And yet, Bhagavān says:
Even among human beings, thousands live without ever striving for true spiritual attainment.
And among those few rare ones who do strive, only one among thousands comes to truly know Me as I am.
In other words:
- Out of thousands, one may develop an attachment or interest in Bhagavān.
- Even among those with some spiritual inclination, only one might actually strive sincerely for divine realization.
- And even among the sincere seekers, only a rare soul comes to know Bhagavān in His full essence—tattvataḥ (in truth).
Isn’t this our lived reality?
You ask a hundred people to attend a Gītā class—how many actually join? Maybe five, maybe ten.
We say, “A new batch is starting on the 30th, it’s the 40th batch!” Still, we have to invite dozens, even hundreds, for a handful to commit.
That is manuṣyāṇāṁ sahasreṣu in action.
Who knows—among those five may be that one soul who is destined to realise Bhagavān.
So it becomes our duty to do the seva of spreading the word. The Gītā Pariwār gives everything for free—at least we can do this much: invite others, plant the seed of interest, help that ‘one in a thousand’ find their path.
Even when hundreds attend discourses, how many truly listen with ruchi—heartfelt interest? And among those with interest, how many actually act on it? All of us clap at the right moments.
We say, “Wow, Ashu Bhaiya spoke so beautifully today! That story was amazing!”
But then what?
The moment the talk ends, it’s “Okay, let’s eat now, where’s the chai?”
The impact fades. Next morning it’s back to routine—no change.
Bhagavān says:
Among thousands, one develops ruchi (interest).
Among those with ruchi, one actually puts in effort.
And among those who strive, one becomes fully surrendered—mat-parāyaṇaḥ—and comes to know Me.
The Rare Attainment of Bhakti: A Gītā-Rāmāyaṇa Synthesis
Bhagavān Śrī Kṛṣṇa, in the Bhagavad Gītā (7.3), offers a startling revelation:
manuṣyāṇāṁ sahasreṣu kaścid yatati siddhaye |
yatatām api siddhānāṁ kaścin māṁ vetti tattvataḥ ||
“Among thousands of human beings, perhaps one strives for perfection;
and among those striving and perfected, only a rare soul truly knows Me in essence.”
This one concise verse contains volumes—but Gosvāmi Tulsidās, in the Uttarakāṇḍa of the Rāmcaritmānas, elaborates on this very truth with poetic brilliance. Addressing Bhagavān Śiva, Garuḍa raises a doubt: “How could a crow—Kākabhūṣuṇḍi—attain the supreme devotion to Śrī Rāma? Is such a thing even possible?” Śrī Śiva responds with a profound spiritual hierarchy:
nara sahasra mahaṁ sunahu purārī| kou eka hoī dharma bratadhārī||
dharmasīla koṭika mahaṁ koī| biṣaya bimukha birāga rata hoī||1||
koṭi birakta madhya śruti kahī| samyaka gyāna sakṛta kou lahī||
gyānavaṃta koṭika mahaṁ koū| jīvanamukta sakṛta jaga soū||2||
tinha sahasra mahuṁ sabasukha khānī| durlabha brahma līna bigyānī||
dharmasīla birakta aru gyānī| jīvanamukta brahmapara prānī||3||
sata te so durlabha surarāyā| rāma bhagati rata gata mada māyā||
so haribhagati kāga kimi pāī| bisvanātha mohi kahahu bujhāī||4||
rāma parāyana gyāna rata gunāgāra mati dhīra|
nātha kahahu kehi kārana pāyu kāka sarīra||54||
“O Lord of Kailāsa,” says Garuḍa,
Among thousands of men, only one is devoted to dharma and spiritual vows.
Among crores of such dhārmic men, only one becomes detached from sensual pleasures and masters the senses.
Among crores of such detached men, only one understands the essence of the scriptures and becomes truly knowledgeable.
Of such jñānīs, only one in crores becomes a jīvanmukta (liberated while living).
Among thousands of such jīvanmuktas, rare is the one who is truly Brahma-līna—absorbed in Brahman and endowed with vijñāna (experiential knowledge).
And yet, rarer than even this, is the one who, despite all these attainments, is immersed in Bhagavad-Bhakti, free from pride and delusion.
O Viśvanātha, tell me—how did such rare Bhakti come to a mere crow?
How did one like Kākabhūṣuṇḍi—though born in the form of a crow—attain such pure devotion, become absorbed in Rāma, and ride the chariot of knowledge with steady intellect and songful praise?
Bridging Gītā and Rāmāyaṇa
What Śrī Kṛṣṇa declared in one sutra, Gosvāmi Tulsidās unfolds into a ladder of evolution:
You ask a hundred people to attend a Gītā class—how many actually join? Maybe five, maybe ten.
We say, “A new batch is starting on the 30th, it’s the 40th batch!” Still, we have to invite dozens, even hundreds, for a handful to commit.
That is manuṣyāṇāṁ sahasreṣu in action.
Who knows—among those five may be that one soul who is destined to realise Bhagavān.
So it becomes our duty to do the seva of spreading the word. The Gītā Pariwār gives everything for free—at least we can do this much: invite others, plant the seed of interest, help that ‘one in a thousand’ find their path.
Even when hundreds attend discourses, how many truly listen with ruchi—heartfelt interest? And among those with interest, how many actually act on it? All of us clap at the right moments.
We say, “Wow, Ashu Bhaiya spoke so beautifully today! That story was amazing!”
But then what?
The moment the talk ends, it’s “Okay, let’s eat now, where’s the chai?”
The impact fades. Next morning it’s back to routine—no change.
Bhagavān says:
Among thousands, one develops ruchi (interest).
Among those with ruchi, one actually puts in effort.
And among those who strive, one becomes fully surrendered—mat-parāyaṇaḥ—and comes to know Me.
The Rare Attainment of Bhakti: A Gītā-Rāmāyaṇa Synthesis
Bhagavān Śrī Kṛṣṇa, in the Bhagavad Gītā (7.3), offers a startling revelation:
manuṣyāṇāṁ sahasreṣu kaścid yatati siddhaye |
yatatām api siddhānāṁ kaścin māṁ vetti tattvataḥ ||
“Among thousands of human beings, perhaps one strives for perfection;
and among those striving and perfected, only a rare soul truly knows Me in essence.”
This one concise verse contains volumes—but Gosvāmi Tulsidās, in the Uttarakāṇḍa of the Rāmcaritmānas, elaborates on this very truth with poetic brilliance. Addressing Bhagavān Śiva, Garuḍa raises a doubt: “How could a crow—Kākabhūṣuṇḍi—attain the supreme devotion to Śrī Rāma? Is such a thing even possible?” Śrī Śiva responds with a profound spiritual hierarchy:
nara sahasra mahaṁ sunahu purārī| kou eka hoī dharma bratadhārī||
dharmasīla koṭika mahaṁ koī| biṣaya bimukha birāga rata hoī||1||
koṭi birakta madhya śruti kahī| samyaka gyāna sakṛta kou lahī||
gyānavaṃta koṭika mahaṁ koū| jīvanamukta sakṛta jaga soū||2||
tinha sahasra mahuṁ sabasukha khānī| durlabha brahma līna bigyānī||
dharmasīla birakta aru gyānī| jīvanamukta brahmapara prānī||3||
sata te so durlabha surarāyā| rāma bhagati rata gata mada māyā||
so haribhagati kāga kimi pāī| bisvanātha mohi kahahu bujhāī||4||
rāma parāyana gyāna rata gunāgāra mati dhīra|
nātha kahahu kehi kārana pāyu kāka sarīra||54||
“O Lord of Kailāsa,” says Garuḍa,
Among thousands of men, only one is devoted to dharma and spiritual vows.
Among crores of such dhārmic men, only one becomes detached from sensual pleasures and masters the senses.
Among crores of such detached men, only one understands the essence of the scriptures and becomes truly knowledgeable.
Of such jñānīs, only one in crores becomes a jīvanmukta (liberated while living).
Among thousands of such jīvanmuktas, rare is the one who is truly Brahma-līna—absorbed in Brahman and endowed with vijñāna (experiential knowledge).
And yet, rarer than even this, is the one who, despite all these attainments, is immersed in Bhagavad-Bhakti, free from pride and delusion.
O Viśvanātha, tell me—how did such rare Bhakti come to a mere crow?
How did one like Kākabhūṣuṇḍi—though born in the form of a crow—attain such pure devotion, become absorbed in Rāma, and ride the chariot of knowledge with steady intellect and songful praise?
Bridging Gītā and Rāmāyaṇa
What Śrī Kṛṣṇa declared in one sutra, Gosvāmi Tulsidās unfolds into a ladder of evolution:
- Dharma-rati – A life aligned with values.
- Vairāgya – Withdrawal from viṣaya (sense objects), attachment to Bhagavān.
- Jñāna – Theoretical understanding of the Self.
- Jīvanmukti – Living liberation.
- Vijñāna-Brahma-niṣṭhā – Direct absorption in Brahman.
- Bhagavad-Bhakti – Devotion to Bhagavān with no trace of ego or māyā.
Each rung is exponentially rarer than the last.
Bhagavān Śiva himself admits:
“Even among jīvanmuktas, rare is the one whose heart melts in loving devotion for Rāma.”
Application to Our Lives
And yet—what do we often assume?
That by attending a few satsangs, chanting a few rounds, and doing occasional pāṭha of the Gītā, we are ready for mokṣa.
But Bhagavān is clear—tattvataḥ vetti—to know Him in truth, a deep, singular commitment is needed.
Many listen. Few absorb. Fewer still apply. Among those, only one becomes a Bhagavad-Parāyaṇa—a soul wholly surrendered to God.
Just as digging five holes five feet deep never gives water—you must go deep in one place.
Choose one sādhana. One śāstra. One path. Dig with sincerity.
As Swami-ji says:
“Gītā is theoretical science. Rāmāyaṇa is applied science.”
The Gītā shows the law. Rāmāyaṇa shows how that law lives in life.
Bhagavān Śiva himself admits:
“Even among jīvanmuktas, rare is the one whose heart melts in loving devotion for Rāma.”
Application to Our Lives
And yet—what do we often assume?
That by attending a few satsangs, chanting a few rounds, and doing occasional pāṭha of the Gītā, we are ready for mokṣa.
But Bhagavān is clear—tattvataḥ vetti—to know Him in truth, a deep, singular commitment is needed.
Many listen. Few absorb. Fewer still apply. Among those, only one becomes a Bhagavad-Parāyaṇa—a soul wholly surrendered to God.
Just as digging five holes five feet deep never gives water—you must go deep in one place.
Choose one sādhana. One śāstra. One path. Dig with sincerity.
As Swami-ji says:
“Gītā is theoretical science. Rāmāyaṇa is applied science.”
The Gītā shows the law. Rāmāyaṇa shows how that law lives in life.
bhūmirāpo'nalo vāyuḥ(kh), khaṃ(m) mano buddhireva ca,
ahaṅkāra itīyaṃ(m) me, bhinnā prakṛtiraṣṭadhā. 7.4
Earth, water, fire, air, ether, mind, reason and also ego-these constitute My nature divided into eight parts. This indeed is My lower (material) nature;
7.4 writeup
apareyamitastvanyāṃ(m), prakṛtiṃ(m) viddhi me parām,
jīvabhūtāṃ(m) mahābāho, yayedaṃ(n) dhāryate jagat. 7.5
This is My inferior Nature; but distinct from this, O Valiant One, know thou that my Superior Nature is the very Life which sustains the universe.
Understanding Para and Apara Prakṛti: A Journey from Nature to Consciousness
In the Bhagavad Gītā, Bhagavān Śrī Kṛṣṇa reveals a profound truth:
"bhūmir āpo 'nalo vāyuḥ khaṁ mano buddhir eva ca |
ahaṅkāra itīyaṁ me bhinnā prakṛtir aṣṭadhā ||" (Gītā 7.4)
“Earth, water, fire, air, space, mind, intellect, and ego—these eight constitute My differentiated lower nature (aparā prakṛti).”
He continues:
"apareyam itas tv anyāṁ prakṛtiṁ viddhi me parām |
jīvabhūtāṁ mahābāho yayedaṁ dhāryate jagat ||" (Gītā 7.5)
“But beyond this is My higher nature (parā prakṛti), O mighty-armed one—the conscious principle, the jīva, by which this entire universe is sustained.”
Two Meanings of Prakṛti
The word “prakṛti” is commonly translated as nature. We say, “This is my nature,” or “It is in her nature to be kind.” In this sense, prakṛti means svabhāva—one’s innate tendency.
One person enjoys sweets by nature, another prefers spicy food. Some thrive in the cold, others in the heat. These variations are all expressions of prakṛti.
But Bhagavān speaks of prakṛti in a cosmic sense—the fundamental material and conscious substrates of creation.
Sāṅkhya Cosmology and the Evolution of Creation
The Bhāgavatam outlines the origin of creation through a descending sequence:
1. Prakṛti (primordial nature)
2. Mahat-tattva (cosmic intelligence)
3. Ahaṅkāra (ego)
4. Pañca Mahābhūta (five great elements: earth, water, fire, air, space)
5. Mind, senses, and objects
This evolution proceeds in two streams:
• Samaṣṭi bhāva (universal perspective)
• Vyasṭi bhāva (individual ego perspective)
The aparā prakṛti is the gross and subtle material realm—this includes the eightfold division (aṣṭadhā prakṛti): earth, water, fire, air, space, mind, intellect, and ego. All of this is inert—jada. It is perishable, subject to decay and dissolution.
By contrast, the parā prakṛti is conscious—chaitanya. It is the jīva-śakti, the living being, the spark of divinity that animates the inert.
The True Value of the Body: When the Chaitanya Departs
Consider the moment of death. The eyes remain, the ears remain, the weight of the body remains exactly the same.
Hair, limbs, skin—everything is still there. Yet, everything has changed. That animating principle—parā prakṛti, chaitanya—has departed.
What follows? The same body we adorned, nourished with vitamins, creams, and clothes, that we protected and cured with medicines and surgeries—now becomes a burden.
Not even five minutes of delay is tolerated.
"Quick, arrange the cremation. Don’t wait too long. No one wants to keep the body now."
Even if someone’s flight is landing at 4 PM, we say:
“Don’t come home. Go straight to the cremation ground. You can see the body there.”
Why this sudden shift?
Because now, aparā prakṛti stands alone—disconnected from parā prakṛti. And without the conscious element, the material becomes worthless.
This teaches us: as long as the inert (jada) is united with the conscious (chaitanya), it holds value. Once that unity breaks, the truth is exposed—matter alone has no worth.
Aṣṭadhā or More? The Progressive Breakdown of Elements
In Chapter 13 of the Gītā, Bhagavān expands further—listing 24 tattvas. Apart from the aṣṭadhā prakṛti (8 elements), He includes:
In the Bhagavad Gītā, Bhagavān Śrī Kṛṣṇa reveals a profound truth:
"bhūmir āpo 'nalo vāyuḥ khaṁ mano buddhir eva ca |
ahaṅkāra itīyaṁ me bhinnā prakṛtir aṣṭadhā ||" (Gītā 7.4)
“Earth, water, fire, air, space, mind, intellect, and ego—these eight constitute My differentiated lower nature (aparā prakṛti).”
He continues:
"apareyam itas tv anyāṁ prakṛtiṁ viddhi me parām |
jīvabhūtāṁ mahābāho yayedaṁ dhāryate jagat ||" (Gītā 7.5)
“But beyond this is My higher nature (parā prakṛti), O mighty-armed one—the conscious principle, the jīva, by which this entire universe is sustained.”
Two Meanings of Prakṛti
The word “prakṛti” is commonly translated as nature. We say, “This is my nature,” or “It is in her nature to be kind.” In this sense, prakṛti means svabhāva—one’s innate tendency.
One person enjoys sweets by nature, another prefers spicy food. Some thrive in the cold, others in the heat. These variations are all expressions of prakṛti.
But Bhagavān speaks of prakṛti in a cosmic sense—the fundamental material and conscious substrates of creation.
Sāṅkhya Cosmology and the Evolution of Creation
The Bhāgavatam outlines the origin of creation through a descending sequence:
1. Prakṛti (primordial nature)
2. Mahat-tattva (cosmic intelligence)
3. Ahaṅkāra (ego)
4. Pañca Mahābhūta (five great elements: earth, water, fire, air, space)
5. Mind, senses, and objects
This evolution proceeds in two streams:
• Samaṣṭi bhāva (universal perspective)
• Vyasṭi bhāva (individual ego perspective)
The aparā prakṛti is the gross and subtle material realm—this includes the eightfold division (aṣṭadhā prakṛti): earth, water, fire, air, space, mind, intellect, and ego. All of this is inert—jada. It is perishable, subject to decay and dissolution.
By contrast, the parā prakṛti is conscious—chaitanya. It is the jīva-śakti, the living being, the spark of divinity that animates the inert.
The True Value of the Body: When the Chaitanya Departs
Consider the moment of death. The eyes remain, the ears remain, the weight of the body remains exactly the same.
Hair, limbs, skin—everything is still there. Yet, everything has changed. That animating principle—parā prakṛti, chaitanya—has departed.
What follows? The same body we adorned, nourished with vitamins, creams, and clothes, that we protected and cured with medicines and surgeries—now becomes a burden.
Not even five minutes of delay is tolerated.
"Quick, arrange the cremation. Don’t wait too long. No one wants to keep the body now."
Even if someone’s flight is landing at 4 PM, we say:
“Don’t come home. Go straight to the cremation ground. You can see the body there.”
Why this sudden shift?
Because now, aparā prakṛti stands alone—disconnected from parā prakṛti. And without the conscious element, the material becomes worthless.
This teaches us: as long as the inert (jada) is united with the conscious (chaitanya), it holds value. Once that unity breaks, the truth is exposed—matter alone has no worth.
Aṣṭadhā or More? The Progressive Breakdown of Elements
In Chapter 13 of the Gītā, Bhagavān expands further—listing 24 tattvas. Apart from the aṣṭadhā prakṛti (8 elements), He includes:
- 10 indriyas (5 organs of perception + 5 organs of action)
- 5 viṣayas (objects of senses: sound, touch, form, taste, smell)
- Prakṛti and Puruṣa (primordial nature and spirit)
This enumeration is known as Sāṅkhya Yoga—the path of discriminative analysis through counting (saṅkhyā = number).
It helps the seeker break down reality into knowable parts to eventually transcend it.
A Question with Many Answers: “What is 1 + 1?”
A beautiful teaching once unfolded through a question:
“What is one plus one?”
A simple-minded man answered: “Two. What else could it be?”
Another replied: “It is the strength of unity. One and one make eleven.”
A third, recently engaged, said with a smile: “Two hearts become one—love arises.”
Another, well-versed in diplomacy, said:
“Keep one and one apart—this is diplomacy. Like America keeping India and Pakistan from uniting so it can keep selling weapons.”
A student of politics said:
“Make one fight another—this is politics. Divide castes, create conflict, win votes.”
But a spiritual seeker, who had studied the Brahmasūtras, said:
“When one merges into one—there remains only zero. Because where there is only One, the Second cannot be.
Ekameva advitīyam brahma—Brahman is One, without a second.”
The Guru embraced this last answer.
But he added:
“No answer was wrong. The one who saw two was not wrong. The one who saw eleven, or love, or diplomacy, or politics—they all saw from their own level.”
Truth is One. The wise express it in many ways.
“Ekam sad viprā bahudhā vadanti.”
From Intellectual to Experiential Unity
There are many deities, many scriptures, many paths—not because truth is many, but because people are many.
Each requires a unique approach to reach the same One.
What we need is:
• Ekattva-dṛṣṭi – a unifying vision.
• Non-insistence – not "I am right and you are wrong," but "You too may be right in your way."
This absence of egoic insistence (agrapūrvak dṛṣṭi) is what opens the door to spiritual elevation and Bhagavad-darśana.
When we stop fighting over names and forms and start seeking essence, then begins the journey from aparā to parā, from jada to chaitanya, from prakṛti to puruṣa.
In Jain philosophy, there is a profoundly beautiful doctrine known as Syādvāda — the doctrine of conditional or relative predication. If you ask a follower of this tradition, “Does God exist?”, the answer might be, “Possibly.” If you ask, “Does God not exist?”, again the answer might be, “Possibly not.” They do not assert anything with absolute rigidity. This is the essence of Syādvāda: “Maybe yes, maybe no — maybe both, depending on perspective.” It’s a worldview rooted in possibility and openness rather than fixed certainties.
The core idea is that nothing is absolutely certain, and everything can be seen in multiple ways depending on conditions. The principle expresses itself in phrases like:
• Syād asti — “It may be.”
• Syād nāsti — “It may not be.”
• Syād asti ca nāsti ca — “It may both be and not be.”
This is not superficial relativism. It's a deep philosophical insight that acknowledges the complexity and relativity of knowledge. One could speak on Syādvāda alone for hours — such is its richness. It embodies the spirit of non-insistence (anāgraha) — the absence of dogmatism. There's no rigid clinging to a single standpoint. Even truth (satya) is not always singular or uniform; even what is true can appear different from different viewpoints.
As the Ṛgveda declares:
"Ekam sat viprā bahudhā vadanti" — Truth is one, but the wise describe it in many ways.
This principle affirms that truth is multi-faceted, and our understanding of it is shaped by the relative perspectives of the one who questions and the one who answers.
Now consider this in the context of the twofold nature of prakṛti as explained in the Gītā:
Parā prakṛti is Bhagavān’s higher nature — conscious, sentient, eternal.
Apāra prakṛti is the lower nature — inert, material, perishable.
Let’s take a simple example to understand this better:
Both our ear and our jacket are “ours”
Isn’t that true? The ear is ours, and so is the jacket.
But are they “ours” in the same way?
No.
The ear represents parā prakṛti — it is endowed with consciousness, it is integral to my being.
The jacket represents apāra prakṛti — it is inert, external, and replaceable.
If we tear the jacket, We feel no pain.
But if we cut the ear, We feel intense pain.
Why? Because the ear is part of our living system, while the jacket is just an object we possess.
Both are “our,” yet they belong to very different orders of reality.
So too, the entire material world — earth, water, fire, air, space, mind, intellect, and ego — is apāra prakṛti.
It is mine, says Bhagavān in the Gītā, but it is lower, inert, subject to change and decay.
But the jīva, the conscious self that enlivens this body — that is parā prakṛti, Bhagavān's own eternal portion.
When this parā prakṛti leaves the body, the apāra prakṛti — even if untouched, even if perfectly preserved — immediately becomes worthless. The body remains exactly the same in form and weight, yet we rush to dispose of it. The same body which we once cherished, dressed, nourished, protected — suddenly feels repulsive. Why? Because the spark of life, the sentient presence, the parā prakṛti, is no longer there.
This profound distinction — between the changing and the unchanging, the inert and the conscious, the lower and the higher — lies at the heart of understanding the Self, the world, and Bhagavān.
Only when we recognize that the material is valuable only as long as it is touched by the conscious, do we begin to see clearly. And only when we rise above narrow insistence — “I am right, you are wrong” — and begin to say, “You may also be right, just from a different perspective,” does wisdom begin to dawn.
Such openness leads to unity.
Such humility leads to transcendence.
Such clarity leads to Bhagavat-prāpti — realization of the Divine.
It helps the seeker break down reality into knowable parts to eventually transcend it.
A Question with Many Answers: “What is 1 + 1?”
A beautiful teaching once unfolded through a question:
“What is one plus one?”
A simple-minded man answered: “Two. What else could it be?”
Another replied: “It is the strength of unity. One and one make eleven.”
A third, recently engaged, said with a smile: “Two hearts become one—love arises.”
Another, well-versed in diplomacy, said:
“Keep one and one apart—this is diplomacy. Like America keeping India and Pakistan from uniting so it can keep selling weapons.”
A student of politics said:
“Make one fight another—this is politics. Divide castes, create conflict, win votes.”
But a spiritual seeker, who had studied the Brahmasūtras, said:
“When one merges into one—there remains only zero. Because where there is only One, the Second cannot be.
Ekameva advitīyam brahma—Brahman is One, without a second.”
The Guru embraced this last answer.
But he added:
“No answer was wrong. The one who saw two was not wrong. The one who saw eleven, or love, or diplomacy, or politics—they all saw from their own level.”
Truth is One. The wise express it in many ways.
“Ekam sad viprā bahudhā vadanti.”
From Intellectual to Experiential Unity
There are many deities, many scriptures, many paths—not because truth is many, but because people are many.
Each requires a unique approach to reach the same One.
What we need is:
• Ekattva-dṛṣṭi – a unifying vision.
• Non-insistence – not "I am right and you are wrong," but "You too may be right in your way."
This absence of egoic insistence (agrapūrvak dṛṣṭi) is what opens the door to spiritual elevation and Bhagavad-darśana.
When we stop fighting over names and forms and start seeking essence, then begins the journey from aparā to parā, from jada to chaitanya, from prakṛti to puruṣa.
In Jain philosophy, there is a profoundly beautiful doctrine known as Syādvāda — the doctrine of conditional or relative predication. If you ask a follower of this tradition, “Does God exist?”, the answer might be, “Possibly.” If you ask, “Does God not exist?”, again the answer might be, “Possibly not.” They do not assert anything with absolute rigidity. This is the essence of Syādvāda: “Maybe yes, maybe no — maybe both, depending on perspective.” It’s a worldview rooted in possibility and openness rather than fixed certainties.
The core idea is that nothing is absolutely certain, and everything can be seen in multiple ways depending on conditions. The principle expresses itself in phrases like:
• Syād asti — “It may be.”
• Syād nāsti — “It may not be.”
• Syād asti ca nāsti ca — “It may both be and not be.”
This is not superficial relativism. It's a deep philosophical insight that acknowledges the complexity and relativity of knowledge. One could speak on Syādvāda alone for hours — such is its richness. It embodies the spirit of non-insistence (anāgraha) — the absence of dogmatism. There's no rigid clinging to a single standpoint. Even truth (satya) is not always singular or uniform; even what is true can appear different from different viewpoints.
As the Ṛgveda declares:
"Ekam sat viprā bahudhā vadanti" — Truth is one, but the wise describe it in many ways.
This principle affirms that truth is multi-faceted, and our understanding of it is shaped by the relative perspectives of the one who questions and the one who answers.
Now consider this in the context of the twofold nature of prakṛti as explained in the Gītā:
Parā prakṛti is Bhagavān’s higher nature — conscious, sentient, eternal.
Apāra prakṛti is the lower nature — inert, material, perishable.
Let’s take a simple example to understand this better:
Both our ear and our jacket are “ours”
Isn’t that true? The ear is ours, and so is the jacket.
But are they “ours” in the same way?
No.
The ear represents parā prakṛti — it is endowed with consciousness, it is integral to my being.
The jacket represents apāra prakṛti — it is inert, external, and replaceable.
If we tear the jacket, We feel no pain.
But if we cut the ear, We feel intense pain.
Why? Because the ear is part of our living system, while the jacket is just an object we possess.
Both are “our,” yet they belong to very different orders of reality.
So too, the entire material world — earth, water, fire, air, space, mind, intellect, and ego — is apāra prakṛti.
It is mine, says Bhagavān in the Gītā, but it is lower, inert, subject to change and decay.
But the jīva, the conscious self that enlivens this body — that is parā prakṛti, Bhagavān's own eternal portion.
When this parā prakṛti leaves the body, the apāra prakṛti — even if untouched, even if perfectly preserved — immediately becomes worthless. The body remains exactly the same in form and weight, yet we rush to dispose of it. The same body which we once cherished, dressed, nourished, protected — suddenly feels repulsive. Why? Because the spark of life, the sentient presence, the parā prakṛti, is no longer there.
This profound distinction — between the changing and the unchanging, the inert and the conscious, the lower and the higher — lies at the heart of understanding the Self, the world, and Bhagavān.
Only when we recognize that the material is valuable only as long as it is touched by the conscious, do we begin to see clearly. And only when we rise above narrow insistence — “I am right, you are wrong” — and begin to say, “You may also be right, just from a different perspective,” does wisdom begin to dawn.
Such openness leads to unity.
Such humility leads to transcendence.
Such clarity leads to Bhagavat-prāpti — realization of the Divine.
etadyonīni bhūtāni, sarvāṇītyupadhāraya,
ahaṃ(ṅ) kṛtsnasya jagataḥ(ph), prabhavaḥ(ph) pralayastathā. 7.6
Arjuna, know that all beings have evolved from this twofold Prakṛti, and that I am the source of the entire creation, and into Me again it dissolves.
Bhagavān says: “O Arjuna, understand that all beings are born from these two natures — the higher (parā) and the lower (apara). I am the source of the entire universe — its origin and its dissolution. I alone am the ultimate cause of all creation and destruction.”
In other words, there are two aspects of creation:
In other words, there are two aspects of creation:
- Bhūta padārtha — the material elements, the physical world.
- Bhūta prāṇī — the living beings, the conscious world.
One belongs to the material realm, which is perishable and ever-changing.
The other belongs to the immortal realm, which is sentient and eternal.
Like Kabir and other saintly seers, this bhajan reveals the all-pervasiveness and equanimity of the Divine. He cries as a child, comforts as a mother. He is the thief, and He is also the guard. Paramātmā is present in every form, in every movement, in every being.
When the vision turns inward—when the ego dissolves and the sense of separation fades—then alone does one truly see:
"Wherever I look, there is only You."
What else is there?
He becomes the tiniest insect; He is the massive elephant. He alone is; where is anything apart from Him?
Everything that exists, O Arjuna, is because of Me—says Bhagavān. Nothing is apart from Me. I alone am the source of all that is.
The other belongs to the immortal realm, which is sentient and eternal.
Like Kabir and other saintly seers, this bhajan reveals the all-pervasiveness and equanimity of the Divine. He cries as a child, comforts as a mother. He is the thief, and He is also the guard. Paramātmā is present in every form, in every movement, in every being.
When the vision turns inward—when the ego dissolves and the sense of separation fades—then alone does one truly see:
"Wherever I look, there is only You."
What else is there?
He becomes the tiniest insect; He is the massive elephant. He alone is; where is anything apart from Him?
Everything that exists, O Arjuna, is because of Me—says Bhagavān. Nothing is apart from Me. I alone am the source of all that is.
mattaḥ(ph) parataraṃ(n) nānyat, kiñcidasti dhanañjaya,
mayi sarvamidaṃ(m) protaṃ(m), sūtre maṇigaṇā iva. 7.7
There is nothing else besides Me, Arjuna. Like clusters of yarn-beads formed by knots on a thread, all this is threaded on Me.
There is a beautiful maxim in the Bhagavad Gītā, expressed in the form of a profound aphorism, a sūkti. Among the many striking sūktis in the Gītā, one stands out:
“Mattah anyat kiñcit na asti, Dhanañjaya” — “O Arjuna, there is nothing whatsoever apart from Me.”
There is no second cause, no other existence independent of Me. All that exists is pervaded and sustained by Me alone.
Bhagavān says: This entire creation—both material things and living beings—arises from Me alone. From the One Divine Principle are born the three guṇas (qualities): sattva, rajas, and tamas. These three guṇas constitute the fundamental forces of nature from which the entire universe is woven.
Now, one may wonder: how can just three qualities create such an immense variety in this universe?
Let’s take a simple modern analogy. Consider a home printer—say, one costing just ₹2,000. It can produce over 16 million colours in a single colour print. And yet, it only uses four ink tanks: Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, and Black (CMYK). That’s all. Just four colours—yet the combinations can express what seems like an infinite palette.
Similarly, on the screen you're viewing right now—your phone, your computer—the entire range of visible images and colours are formed from just three light pixels: Red, Green, and Blue (RGB). That’s it. With only these three, your screen displays billions of colours, forms, and shades.
So too, Bhagavān has manifested this entire cosmos from just three guṇas. Planets, plants, creatures, humans, gods, species, emotions, inclinations—everything is a permutation of sattva, rajas, and tamas.
Why do people differ in tastes? Why does one person like sweet and another salty? Why are no two fingerprints or retinal patterns alike? Why are all personalities distinct? Because the ratios and interactions of these three guṇas differ in each being.
And yet, Bhagavān says:
“There is ultimately only one essence—Me. There is no second reality apart from Me.”
How can this be?
Bhagavān offers a metaphor:
“Sūtra-maṇi-gaṇā iva”—Like pearls strung on a thread.
This is a beautiful image. Imagine a garland: what do you see? The pearls, beads, decorations—but they’re all held together by one invisible string. That thread is not visible at first glance, but it is what unites the garland, gives it form and cohesion. It begins with the thread, it ends with the thread, and everything in between is sustained by that same thread.
The beads are shaped from the same fibre as the string. Even the tassel at the end—the sumeru—is made from the same material. The entire garland is nothing but a transformation of one string.
Similarly, this entire creation—visible and invisible, gross and subtle, outer and inner—is nothing but a transformation and expression of one fundamental essence: Bhagavān.
Whether in the past, present, or future—whether in creation, sustenance, or dissolution—the same Divine Essence pervades all.
Guru Nānak Dev Jī said it powerfully:
"Ādi sac, jugād sac, hai bhī sac, Nanak hosi bhī sac."
He was True in the beginning, He is True through the ages, He is True even now, and He shall always be True.
To simplify further, let’s use an example from food:
Have you ever had gatte ki sabzī or gatte ki kadhi?
The dumplings (gatte) are made from besan (gram flour). The curry’s base liquid is also made from besan. If you were to eat besan ki roṭī alongside, that too is made from besan. And besan comes from chanā (gram).
So the dumplings, the curry liquid, the roṭī—though they look, taste, and feel different—are all made from one base ingredient: chanā.
In the same way, this entire diverse universe, with its infinite forms and names, is made from one fundamental tattva (element)—Bhagavān.
From verses 7 to 11 of the 7th chapter, Bhagavān elaborates His all-pervading nature.
Let us conclude today’s reflection by examining these subtle revelations:
“Mattah anyat kiñcit na asti, Dhanañjaya” — “O Arjuna, there is nothing whatsoever apart from Me.”
There is no second cause, no other existence independent of Me. All that exists is pervaded and sustained by Me alone.
Bhagavān says: This entire creation—both material things and living beings—arises from Me alone. From the One Divine Principle are born the three guṇas (qualities): sattva, rajas, and tamas. These three guṇas constitute the fundamental forces of nature from which the entire universe is woven.
Now, one may wonder: how can just three qualities create such an immense variety in this universe?
Let’s take a simple modern analogy. Consider a home printer—say, one costing just ₹2,000. It can produce over 16 million colours in a single colour print. And yet, it only uses four ink tanks: Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, and Black (CMYK). That’s all. Just four colours—yet the combinations can express what seems like an infinite palette.
Similarly, on the screen you're viewing right now—your phone, your computer—the entire range of visible images and colours are formed from just three light pixels: Red, Green, and Blue (RGB). That’s it. With only these three, your screen displays billions of colours, forms, and shades.
So too, Bhagavān has manifested this entire cosmos from just three guṇas. Planets, plants, creatures, humans, gods, species, emotions, inclinations—everything is a permutation of sattva, rajas, and tamas.
Why do people differ in tastes? Why does one person like sweet and another salty? Why are no two fingerprints or retinal patterns alike? Why are all personalities distinct? Because the ratios and interactions of these three guṇas differ in each being.
And yet, Bhagavān says:
“There is ultimately only one essence—Me. There is no second reality apart from Me.”
How can this be?
Bhagavān offers a metaphor:
“Sūtra-maṇi-gaṇā iva”—Like pearls strung on a thread.
This is a beautiful image. Imagine a garland: what do you see? The pearls, beads, decorations—but they’re all held together by one invisible string. That thread is not visible at first glance, but it is what unites the garland, gives it form and cohesion. It begins with the thread, it ends with the thread, and everything in between is sustained by that same thread.
The beads are shaped from the same fibre as the string. Even the tassel at the end—the sumeru—is made from the same material. The entire garland is nothing but a transformation of one string.
Similarly, this entire creation—visible and invisible, gross and subtle, outer and inner—is nothing but a transformation and expression of one fundamental essence: Bhagavān.
Whether in the past, present, or future—whether in creation, sustenance, or dissolution—the same Divine Essence pervades all.
Guru Nānak Dev Jī said it powerfully:
"Ādi sac, jugād sac, hai bhī sac, Nanak hosi bhī sac."
He was True in the beginning, He is True through the ages, He is True even now, and He shall always be True.
To simplify further, let’s use an example from food:
Have you ever had gatte ki sabzī or gatte ki kadhi?
The dumplings (gatte) are made from besan (gram flour). The curry’s base liquid is also made from besan. If you were to eat besan ki roṭī alongside, that too is made from besan. And besan comes from chanā (gram).
So the dumplings, the curry liquid, the roṭī—though they look, taste, and feel different—are all made from one base ingredient: chanā.
In the same way, this entire diverse universe, with its infinite forms and names, is made from one fundamental tattva (element)—Bhagavān.
From verses 7 to 11 of the 7th chapter, Bhagavān elaborates His all-pervading nature.
Let us conclude today’s reflection by examining these subtle revelations:
raso'hamapsu kaunteya, prabhāsmi śaśisūryayoḥ,
praṇavaḥ(s) sarvavedeṣu, śabdaḥ(kh) khe pauruṣaṃ(n) nṛṣu. 7.8
Arjuna, I am the sapidity in water and the radiance in the moon and the sun; I am the sacred syllable OM in all the Vedas, the sound in ether, and virility in men.
"Raso ’ham apsu kaunteya, prabhāsmi śaśi-sūryayoḥ"
O Kaunteya, I am the taste in water, the radiance in the moon and sun.
"Praṇavaḥ sarva-vedeṣu, śabdaḥ khe pauruṣaṁ nṛṣu"
I am the sacred syllable Oṁ in all the Vedas, the sound in space, and the manliness in men.
What is Bhagavān saying here?
He is not merely the creator of water, the moon, the sun, the sky, or manliness— He is the very essence within each. Not apart from them, but immanent within them.
He is not just the maker of the universe—He is the very thread that runs through it all.
O Kaunteya, I am the taste in water, the radiance in the moon and sun.
"Praṇavaḥ sarva-vedeṣu, śabdaḥ khe pauruṣaṁ nṛṣu"
I am the sacred syllable Oṁ in all the Vedas, the sound in space, and the manliness in men.
What is Bhagavān saying here?
He is not merely the creator of water, the moon, the sun, the sky, or manliness— He is the very essence within each. Not apart from them, but immanent within them.
He is not just the maker of the universe—He is the very thread that runs through it all.
puṇyo gandhaḥ(ph) pṛthivyāṃ(ñ) ca, tejaścāsmi vibhāvasau,
jīvanaṃ(m) sarvabhūteṣu, tapaścāsmi tapasviṣu. 7.9
I am the pure odour (the subtle principle of smell) in the earth and the brightness in fire; nay, I am the life in all beings and austerity in the ascetics.
"I am the tapas (austerity) of the ascetics, the sacred fragrance in the Earth, the brilliance in fire. In all beings, I am the very life itself."
In this verse Bhagavān reveals the essence within all things—the strength behind spiritual effort, the purity in nature, the radiance in fire, and the life-force in every creature.
In this verse Bhagavān reveals the essence within all things—the strength behind spiritual effort, the purity in nature, the radiance in fire, and the life-force in every creature.
bījaṃ(m) māṃ(m) sarvabhūtānāṃ(m), viddhi pārtha sanātanam,
buddhirbuddhimatāmasmi, tejastejasvināmaham. 7.10
Arjuna, know Me the eternal seed of all beings. I am the intelligence of the intelligent; the glory of the glorious am I.
"O Arjuna, know Me to be the eternal seed of all beings. I am the intelligence of the intelligent and the brilliance of the radiant."
This verse expresses that Bhagavān is the root cause and source of all life and qualities. Wherever there is wisdom or brilliance, it is a reflection of His presence.
balaṃ(m) balavatāṃ(ñ) cāhaṃ(ṅ), kāmarāgavivarjitam,
dharmāviruddho bhūteṣu, kāmo'smi bharatarṣabha. 7.11
Arjuna, of the mighty I am the might, free from passion and desire; in beings I am the sexual desire not conflicting with virtue or scriptural injunctions.
"O best of the Bhāratas, I am the strength of the strong, free from desire and attachment. I am also that desire which is in accordance with dharma and the scriptures.
That means, even if one wishes to enjoy the world—if that longing is righteous, within the bounds of dharma—Bhagavān says, 'That too is My manifestation.'
There is nothing to object to in such desires when they are guided by justice and righteousness. Even the aspiration for wealth, when rooted in dharma, is an expression of the Divine.
Next, He will speak about how all substances are constituted by the three guṇas—Sattva, Rajas, and Tamas.
In the next session, we will delve deeper into the upcoming verses of the Bhagavad Gītā, exploring their profound wisdom.
The session concluded with Harinām Sankīrtan, followed by an engaging Question and Answer segment, where thought-provoking queries were addressed with practical insights and deep spiritual wisdom.
That means, even if one wishes to enjoy the world—if that longing is righteous, within the bounds of dharma—Bhagavān says, 'That too is My manifestation.'
There is nothing to object to in such desires when they are guided by justice and righteousness. Even the aspiration for wealth, when rooted in dharma, is an expression of the Divine.
Next, He will speak about how all substances are constituted by the three guṇas—Sattva, Rajas, and Tamas.
In the next session, we will delve deeper into the upcoming verses of the Bhagavad Gītā, exploring their profound wisdom.
The session concluded with Harinām Sankīrtan, followed by an engaging Question and Answer segment, where thought-provoking queries were addressed with practical insights and deep spiritual wisdom.
Questions and Answers:
Manisha ji
Q: I can’t sit in one posture for long. I have to keep changing it during meditation.
A: That’s why āsana practice is essential. Until the posture becomes steady, true meditation isn’t possible. In the beginning, it’s natural to shift—even I had to—but that’s still the stage of practice (abhyāsa), not perfection (siddhi).
So don’t worry—keep practising the āsana throughout the day, whenever you get a chance. Over time, stability will come. Without āsana-siddhi, dhyāna-siddhi is not possible.
Pusphalata ji
Q: You mentioned that Goswami Tulsidas Ji also wrote some compositions on Lord Krishna. Can you name any such scripture?
A: Yes, there is a scripture called Krishna Geetavali.
Q: We should have the attitude of renouncing our rights and protecting the rights of others. Please explain this with an example.
A: According to the wisdom of Swami Pragya Chakshu Sharananand Ji Maharaj —
“To be free from suffering in life, one must renounce one’s own rights and protect the rights of others.”
This means if there is a right of mine that I do not receive, I may ignore it. But that does not mean I should ignore the rights of others. Neither taking nor giving should be the attitude. Respect and rights must be given to others. One must give up one’s own desires and honor the rights of others.
Q: Is it really that easy to give up one’s own rights?
A: No, it comes through practice. With continuous practice, one understands how beneficial it is. When one makes a small effort and experiences the benefit, the mind naturally inclines towards it.
Nikhil ji
Q: I do diya and aarti before Bhagavān twice a day, morning and evening. But sometimes, maybe once or twice a week, I get late. Is there a fixed time for worship that should be followed?
A: If your devotion is selfless and sincere, then delay is not a fault. Performing puja during Brahma Muhurta (early morning) is ideal, but if delayed, it only reduces some merit—there’s no harm or negative effect.
Q: Is there a minimum requirement for daily worship?
A: Yes, it’s good to at least chant half a mala (rosary), do some praise or aarti, and spend a little time in conversation with Bhagavān. This forms the foundation of worship, and you can always increase it. We have also shared a concise puja method and video on learngeeta.com for guidance.
The discourse concluded with a prārthanā (prayer) at the padakamala (lotus feet) of Śrī Hari, followed by the recitation of the Hanumān Chalisa.
Q: I can’t sit in one posture for long. I have to keep changing it during meditation.
A: That’s why āsana practice is essential. Until the posture becomes steady, true meditation isn’t possible. In the beginning, it’s natural to shift—even I had to—but that’s still the stage of practice (abhyāsa), not perfection (siddhi).
So don’t worry—keep practising the āsana throughout the day, whenever you get a chance. Over time, stability will come. Without āsana-siddhi, dhyāna-siddhi is not possible.
Pusphalata ji
Q: You mentioned that Goswami Tulsidas Ji also wrote some compositions on Lord Krishna. Can you name any such scripture?
A: Yes, there is a scripture called Krishna Geetavali.
Q: We should have the attitude of renouncing our rights and protecting the rights of others. Please explain this with an example.
A: According to the wisdom of Swami Pragya Chakshu Sharananand Ji Maharaj —
“To be free from suffering in life, one must renounce one’s own rights and protect the rights of others.”
This means if there is a right of mine that I do not receive, I may ignore it. But that does not mean I should ignore the rights of others. Neither taking nor giving should be the attitude. Respect and rights must be given to others. One must give up one’s own desires and honor the rights of others.
Q: Is it really that easy to give up one’s own rights?
A: No, it comes through practice. With continuous practice, one understands how beneficial it is. When one makes a small effort and experiences the benefit, the mind naturally inclines towards it.
Nikhil ji
Q: I do diya and aarti before Bhagavān twice a day, morning and evening. But sometimes, maybe once or twice a week, I get late. Is there a fixed time for worship that should be followed?
A: If your devotion is selfless and sincere, then delay is not a fault. Performing puja during Brahma Muhurta (early morning) is ideal, but if delayed, it only reduces some merit—there’s no harm or negative effect.
Q: Is there a minimum requirement for daily worship?
A: Yes, it’s good to at least chant half a mala (rosary), do some praise or aarti, and spend a little time in conversation with Bhagavān. This forms the foundation of worship, and you can always increase it. We have also shared a concise puja method and video on learngeeta.com for guidance.
The discourse concluded with a prārthanā (prayer) at the padakamala (lotus feet) of Śrī Hari, followed by the recitation of the Hanumān Chalisa.
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