Title: The Bhagavad Gita Author: Traditional (attributed to Vyasa, as part of the Mahabharata) Creation Date: c. 2nd century BCE Location: India
Summary
The Bhagavad Gita is a 700-verse dialogue embedded in the sixth book of the Mahabharata, set on the battlefield of Kurukshetra moments before the cataclysmic war begins. The warrior prince Arjuna, seeing his kinsmen, teachers, and friends arrayed on both sides of the battlefield, is seized by despair and refuses to fight. His charioteer, Krishna — who is in fact the Supreme God in human form — responds with a philosophical teaching that ranges across the nature of reality, the immortality of the soul, the three paths to liberation (knowledge, devotion, and selfless action), and the structure of the cosmos itself. The dialogue culminates in Krishna revealing his terrifying universal form, and Arjuna, overwhelmed, takes up his bow.
Why This Book Matters
The Gita is the single most influential text in Hindu philosophical and devotional life, and among the most widely read spiritual works on earth. Its central teaching — that one must act according to duty without attachment to the fruits of action (nishkama karma) — offered a revolutionary synthesis between the world-renouncing asceticism of the Upanishads and the active life demanded by society. This made it a text of enormous political as well as spiritual power: Gandhi built his philosophy of nonviolent resistance on the Gita, interpreting the battle as an internal moral struggle. Oppenheimer quoted it upon witnessing the first atomic detonation. Its influence on Western transcendentalism (Thoreau, Emerson), modern yoga philosophy, and global spiritual thought makes it one of the most consequential literary-philosophical works ever composed.
Historical Context
The Gita was likely composed during the period when Indian civilisation was undergoing a profound spiritual crisis — the challenges posed by Buddhist and Jain renunciation to the Vedic ritual order. It represents a Brahmanical response that incorporated and synthesised these ascetic movements rather than rejecting them. The text draws on Samkhya philosophy, early Yoga traditions, and Upanishadic metaphysics, weaving them into a framework that validates worldly action, devotion to a personal god, and social duty. Its inclusion within the Mahabharata anchors cosmic philosophy in the most human of situations: a man's dread of killing those he loves.
Literary Significance
As literature, the Gita achieves something extraordinary: it transforms a moment of dramatic paralysis into the occasion for the most far-reaching philosophical dialogue in Indian tradition. The dramatic tension never flags because the metaphysical teaching is inseparable from the existential crisis — Arjuna does not seek abstract knowledge but an answer to the specific, agonising question of whether he should fight. Krishna's revelation of the vishvarupa (universal form) in Chapter 11 is one of the most sublime passages of visionary literature in any language, a terrifying theophany that reduces the warrior to trembling awe. The Gita's verse form — primarily the anustubh metre — is compressed and memorable, lending itself to recitation and memorisation across millennia.
Research Notes
The Gita occupies an unusual position: it is both a self-contained philosophical poem and an integral episode of the Mahabharata. It is included here as a standalone entry because its reception history has overwhelmingly treated it as an independent text. Patton's 2008 Penguin translation captures the verse form better than most prose renderings. The scholarly literature on the Gita is vast — Eknath Easwaran's popular edition includes extensive commentary, while the critical editions of van Buitenen and Robert Minor are important for understanding its place within the Mahabharata.
The Reading
The Despair of Arjuna (Chapters 1–2)
Hear, O King — for you, blind Dhritarashtra, who cannot see, I, Sanjaya, have been given the inner sight that passes through walls and across the dust of armies. I see what unfolds upon the field of Kurukshetra, where dharma is weighed in blood. Two hosts stand against each other. On the one side, the Kauravas — the hundred sons of your house, who took by guile the kingdom that was not theirs. On the other, the Pandavas — five brothers returned to claim what was stolen. Every warrior in the world of men has chosen one banner or the other. Teachers stand opposite their pupils, grandfathers face the grandsons they once dandled, cousin has lifted his bow against cousin, and the conch shells are at the lips of the trumpeters.
Among the Pandavas, foremost of archers, stands Arjuna. To him Krishna, son of Vasudeva, dark one of Vrindavan, has come as charioteer — he, who is in truth the unborn Lord, who upholds the worlds by a fragment of himself.
"Krishna, drive my chariot into the space between the armies, that I may see those whom I have come to fight."
The chariot moves. Between the two formations it halts. Arjuna sees Bhishma, the grandsire who carried him on his knee. He sees Drona, the teacher who placed the first bow into his hand. He sees uncles, cousins, friends — an entire world he has loved, arrayed for slaughter.
His limbs begin to tremble. His mouth dries. His hair stands on end. The bow Gandiva slips from his hand.
"Krishna, I see no good in killing my own kinsmen in battle. I do not desire victory, nor kingdom, nor pleasures. What use is a kingdom bought with the blood of those we love? What use is life itself, when those for whose sake life is sweet are stretched before us, waiting to die?
"If our elders are killed, the eternal laws of the family will perish. When dharma perishes, lawlessness overwhelms the women of the family; from corruption of women comes the mixing of castes; from the mixing of castes, the ancestors fall, deprived of their rice-cakes and their offerings of water. Better, far better, that the sons of Dhritarashtra, weapons in hand, should kill me in battle, unresisting and unarmed."
So speaking, Arjuna sank down upon the chariot seat. He cast aside the bow and arrows. His heart was overcome with sorrow, and he would not fight.
And Krishna, beholding him so cast down, smiled.
The Yoga of Knowledge (Chapters 2–4)
"You speak words of wisdom," said the Lord, "yet you grieve for those who should not be grieved for. The wise grieve neither for the living nor for the dead.
"There has never been a time when I was not, nor you, nor these kings of men. Nor will there ever be a time hereafter when any of us shall cease to be. As childhood, youth, and age pass through this body, so the embodied one passes through bodies.
"That which pervades all this is indestructible. It is not born, nor does it die. Having been, it will never not be. Unborn, eternal, changeless, ancient — it is not killed when the body is killed. As a man casts off worn-out garments and puts on new ones, so the embodied self casts off worn-out bodies and enters into new. Weapons cannot cut it. Fire cannot burn it. Water cannot wet it. Wind cannot dry it.
"Knowing this, why do you grieve? Over what is unavoidable you should not mourn.
"And consider, son of Kunti, your own dharma. You are Kshatriya. There is nothing more welcome to a warrior than the war that finds him at the gate of duty. If you do not fight this rightful war, then having forsaken your duty and your honour you shall incur sin. Men will speak of your cowardice through all the ages to come — and for one who has been honoured, dishonour is worse than death.
"Therefore, hear my teaching. You have a right to the action alone, never to its fruits. Do not let the fruit of action be your motive, nor let your attachment be to inaction. Established in yoga, perform your actions, abandoning attachment. Be the same in success and in failure. This evenness of mind is yoga.
"The disciplined one is the same in pleasure and pain, gain and loss, victory and defeat. He whose mind is undisturbed in sorrow, unattached to pleasure, who has gone beyond desire and fear and anger — that one, sage of steady wisdom, walks already in the light."
Arjuna spoke: "If you hold that knowledge is greater than action, why then do you urge me to this terrible deed?"
The Lord answered: "No one can remain even for a moment without acting. Helplessly all are driven to action by the gunas born of material nature — sattva, the luminous; rajas, the impassioned; tamas, the dull. They turn upon each other in every living thing. Even the man who sits still in the forest is being acted upon by the gunas. Better, then, to act with knowledge, surrendering the fruit, than to pretend one can step outside the loom on which the gunas weave.
"Look upon me. There is nothing in the three worlds I need to do — and yet I act. If I did not engage in action, these worlds would perish. Therefore the wise also should act, but without attachment, for the holding together of the world.
"This eternal teaching I declared, in the dawn of the age, to Vivasvat the sun. Vivasvat told it to Manu the lawgiver, and Manu to Ikshvaku the king. Thus, handed down from king to royal sage, it was known. Then, by long lapse of time, it was lost. This same ancient yoga I now declare again to you, for you are my devotee and my friend."
The Yoga of Renunciation and Meditation (Chapters 5–6)
Arjuna, his mind not yet settled, asked: "You praise renunciation of actions, and again you praise their performance with yoga. Which of these is better? Tell me with certainty."
The Lord said: "Both lead to the supreme good. But of the two, the yoga of action is the better. He who performs his prescribed duties, surrendering the fruits to me, is untouched by sin — as a lotus leaf, resting upon the water, is not wetted by the water.
"For him who would attain yoga, let him in a clean and solitary place set down a firm seat, neither too high nor too low. There, seated, holding the body, head, and neck erect and still, fixing the gaze upon the tip of the nose, the mind quieted, fearless, controlled in thought — let him sit, his whole being yoked to me alone.
"The mind, when conquered, is the dearest of friends. Unconquered, it is the bitterest of enemies."
Arjuna said: "This yoga of evenness which you have declared, O Krishna — I see no abiding-place in it. For the mind is restless, turbulent, strong, and stubborn. To restrain it seems to me as hard as to restrain the wind."
The Lord answered: "Without doubt the mind is hard to restrain. But by practice, son of Kunti, and by detachment, it is held. And he who strives toward yoga and falls short of perfection — none of his effort is lost. No one who does good, my friend, ever treads the path of woe."
The Yoga of Knowledge and Discernment (Chapters 7–10)
"Hear now, son of Pritha, how I am to be known.
"I am the origin of all. From me everything proceeds; into me everything returns. All this is strung upon me as pearls upon a thread.
"I am the sapidity in waters. I am the light of the sun and the moon. I am the sacred syllable Om in all the Vedas, the sound in the ether, the manhood in men. I am the pure fragrance in the earth, the brilliance in fire, the life in all that lives, the austerity of ascetics.
"But this whole world, deluded by the three gunas, does not recognise me. For this divine illusion of mine — maya, made of the gunas — is difficult indeed to cross over. Only those who surrender to me cross beyond it.
"Four kinds of doers of good worship me: the distressed, the seeker of knowledge, the seeker of wealth, and the wise. Of these the wise, ever-united, devoted to the One, is the foremost; the wise person is my very self.
"At the end of a cosmic age all beings enter my unmanifest nature; at the dawn of the next, I send them forth again. Helplessly the multitude is sent forth and dissolved by the power of nature. But those who know me pass beyond this turning.
"Listen, then, to something of my divine manifestations, for there is no end to them. Among the Adityas, I am Vishnu. Among lights, the radiant sun. Among the Maruts, Marici; among stars, the moon. Among the Vedas, the Sama Veda. Among the gods, Indra; among the senses, the mind; among living beings, consciousness. Among the Rudras, Shiva; among rivers, the Ganges. Of all that is created I am the beginning, the middle, and the end. Wherever there is splendour, wherever there is power, wherever there is beauty, know that it springs from a spark of my radiance."
The Vision of the Universal Form (Chapter 11)
Then Arjuna, his hair standing on end with what he had heard, joined his palms: "Lord, if you think I am able to behold it — show me your imperishable, cosmic form."
The Lord said: "Behold, son of Pritha, my hundreds of forms, my thousands of forms, of many colours and many shapes. Behold here today the whole universe, moving and unmoving, standing as one in this body of mine. But with these eyes of yours you cannot see me. I give you the divine eye. Behold my majestic yoga."
And so, O King — Sanjaya speaks now what he has been given to see — the great Lord of yoga revealed his supreme form. If the splendour of a thousand suns were to blaze forth all at once in the sky, that might resemble the radiance of that great being.
Arjuna saw the entire universe, divided in many ways yet standing as one, in the body of the God of gods. He saw all the gods gathered there; he saw Brahma seated upon the lotus; he saw the sages, the celestial serpents, the hosts beyond counting. Infinite faces, infinite eyes, infinite mouths, infinite arms, infinite bellies — boundless form on every side.
"I see you everywhere," Arjuna cried, "infinite in form. I see no beginning, no middle, no end. I see you crowned, armed with mace and discus, a mass of light shining on every side, hard to look upon, blazing like fire, like the sun.
"Glory to you in front, glory to you behind, glory to you on every side — you pervade all things; therefore you are All."
Then the vision darkened. The faces opened into many mouths with terrible tusks, blazing like the fires that consume the worlds at the close of an age. And Arjuna saw the warriors of both armies — the sons of Dhritarashtra, and the kings on his own side — rushing into those flaming mouths. Bhishma, Drona, Karna — heroes whose names had filled the songs of his childhood — he saw them crushed between the dreadful teeth, some with their heads dangling.
"As many currents of rivers flow toward the sea, so these heroes of the world of men enter your flaming mouths. As moths fly into a burning fire and perish there, so the worlds hurry to their destruction in your mouths.
"Tell me — who are you, in this terrible form? I bow down to you. Have mercy. I do not comprehend your purpose."
The Lord answered: "I am Time, the great destroyer of worlds, and I have come here to annihilate all peoples. Even without your participation, all these warriors arrayed in the opposing armies shall not survive. Therefore arise. Win glory. Conquer your enemies and enjoy a prosperous kingdom. They are already slain by me. Be only my instrument, O left-handed archer.
"Drona, Bhishma, Jayadratha, Karna — these I have already slain. Slay them, you who are not yet slain. Fight! You shall conquer the rivals in battle."
Arjuna, trembling, bowed again and again: "Rightly does the world rejoice in your praise. Infinite Lord of gods, refuge of the world, you are the imperishable — you are being, non-being, and that which is beyond both.
"If I have ever, in carelessness or in love, called you Krishna, Yadava, friend, thinking you were only my comrade — not knowing this your greatness — forgive me, as a father bears with his son, a friend with his friend, a lover with his beloved. My mind trembles with fear. Show me your former form. Be again the gentle one I have always loved."
And the Lord, taking pity, resumed his gentle form. "This form which you have beheld is most difficult to see. Not by the Vedas, not by austerities, not by alms-giving, not by sacrifice can I be seen in this form. Only by undivided devotion."
The Yoga of Devotion (Chapter 12)
Arjuna asked: "Of those who worship you, ever-united, and of those who worship the imperishable, the unmanifest — which know yoga best?"
The Lord said: "Those who fix their minds on me, ever united, endowed with supreme faith — them I consider the most perfectly devoted. Those who worship the imperishable, the unmanifest, all-pervading and unthinkable, mastering the senses — they also reach me. But greater is their toil, for the goal of the unmanifest is hard for the embodied to attain.
"He who hates no creature, who is friendly and compassionate, free from selfishness and the sense of 'mine', equal in pain and pleasure, patient, ever content, controlled, firm of purpose, with mind dedicated to me — he is my devotee, and he is dear to me.
"One from whom people do not shrink, and who does not shrink from people — who is free from joy, impatience, fear, and anxiety — that one is dear to me."
The Field and the Knower (Chapters 13–15)
"This body, son of Kunti, is called the field. He who knows it is called the knower of the field. The body and the senses and all that they grasp — this is one thing. The awareness that watches and is not watched — this is another. He who knows the difference is wise.
"Again, the three gunas: sattva, pure and luminous, binds by attachment to happiness and to knowledge. Rajas, impassioned, binds by attachment to action. Tamas, born of ignorance, binds by negligence, sloth, and sleep. Every creature is a weaving of all three; the wise man works to increase sattva, and at last passes beyond all three.
"There is a tree of which men speak — the ashvattha, the eternal fig — its roots above, its branches below. Its leaves are the Vedic hymns. Its branches, nourished by the gunas, spread upward and downward; its secondary roots strike downward into the world of human action, knotting men into work. Having cut this firmly rooted tree with the strong axe of detachment, one should seek that place from which, having gone, one does not return."
Renunciation and Liberation (Chapters 16–18)
Then Krishna spoke of the two kinds that walk the earth — the divine and the demonic. The divine: fearlessness, purity, generosity, self-restraint, truth, compassion. The demonic: ostentation, arrogance, conceit, anger, harshness, ignorance.
He spoke of the three kinds of faith, of food, of sacrifice, of austerity — sattvic, rajasic, tamasic, each shaped by the guna that rules its doer.
At the last, Arjuna asked: "Tell me the truth, O mighty-armed, about renunciation and about relinquishment — about sannyasa and tyaga, and the difference between them."
The Lord said: "Some sages say that all action ought to be given up as evil. Others say that acts of sacrifice, gift, and austerity ought not to be given up. Hear my judgement. Sacrifice, gift, and austerity should be performed. What is to be given up is attachment to those acts, and to their fruits. Perform your duty, abandoning attachment, in success and failure alike. This equanimity is called yoga.
"There are three kinds of knowledge, of action, of doer, of understanding, of resolve, of happiness — each according to the guna which governs it. Better one's own dharma, son of Kunti, even imperfectly performed, even unto death, than the dharma of another, which is full of fear.
"Hear again my supreme word, the most secret of all. Fix your mind on me, be devoted to me, sacrifice to me, bow down to me. You shall come to me alone. I promise you truly, for you are dear to me.
"Abandoning all dharmas, come to me alone for refuge. I shall free you from all sins. Do not grieve."
Then Arjuna, his bewilderment lifted, spoke quietly: "My delusion is destroyed. I have regained my memory through your grace. I stand firm, my doubts dispelled. I shall act according to your word."
And I, Sanjaya, who through the grace of the sage Vyasa was given to hear and to see this whole supreme yoga, declare this to you, O King: wherever there is Krishna, Lord of yoga, and wherever there is Arjuna, the great archer — there will be fortune, victory, prosperity, and enduring righteousness. Of this I am certain.
Arjuna took up Gandiva. The bowstring rang. The conch shells sounded along the line, ten thousand at once, and the horses began to move, and the great war that would end the age of heroes began.
This post is part of Civilisations, a 149-book chronological journey through world literature. See the full collection →
Laurie L. Patton's Penguin Classics translation (2008) captures the verse form and poetic energy of the original better than most prose renderings. Barbara Stoler Miller's Bantam Classics version is equally excellent and perhaps more widely available — clear, precise, and deeply thoughtful.
Translated by Laurie L. Patton. Vivid and poetically faithful — captures the verse form of the original.
Translated by Barbara Stoler Miller. Clear, precise, and deeply thoughtful — a perennial favourite.
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