Wise people know this, and do not lament. That soul, the witness of our every thoughtĪnd action, persists from one life to the next Īs one discards old clothes and puts on new. You speak as if this life were all there is.īodies are born, they flourish, age, and die.īut the soul, part of that greater spirit ‘Son of Kunti, your doubts sound honourableīut they spring from deep misunderstanding. How can we, who know dharma, do the same?Īt those I should protect, my kin – how can IĬut them down as though they were rank weeds?’ Sick with greed and anger – but, Krishna,Įven though they are blind to their own evil,Įven though they are desperate to kill us, Gathered round, enraptured by his stories? Joined to him by blood – who once were children There is Drona, our dear teacher, and Bhishma, Who have nurtured, taught and grown with us? To kill our kinsmen, to coldly slaughter those ‘I will not fight! A kshátriya enters battle Striking his brow, he cries aloud to Krishna, Whether this war brings victory or defeat
How to make them stranger to him than strangers?ĭeath takes on new weight, sharper meaning. Threshing them like standing stooks of grain Of the Pándavas are pinned the obstacle,Ībove all others, the son of DhritarashtraĪrjuna has fought scores of bloody battles, Is the point, the mainspring of the action. The bow, Gandíva, drops from his nerveless hand.įor Krishna – for each differently – Arjuna His eyes stream with tears, his limbs tremble, Of death not yet begun – there, at that point With each blade whetted, every weapon honed There, in the moment before hell’s unleashing, One east, one west with ten thousand conchesīlaring out in challenge, the din of cymbalsĪnd the deep, heart-stopping throb of war drums,Īnd there, with every soldier tense and ready, This, the well-trained warrior’s highest calling.įear, suffering and grief would follow later.
In both, men’s hearts were filled with joy and pride The close-packed troops and beasts, constantly moving,īoth armies were terrible, both beautiful.
The flashing gold and bronze rivalled the sun. So much armour, on elephants, horses, men! Others sat erect on the necks of elephants Others, bright flowers, stars, eagles, comets… One king’s standard carried a scarlet bull, With noble banners, each with its own emblem. The chariots of the princesĪnd all the royal allies were resplendent The heat slowly burned off the mist that hungĪs far as the eye followed the curving earth.Īll was brilliant. To the king) streaked the sky with scarlet. As morning broke on the opening day of war,