Bhagavad Gita Overview Chapter 1

Hare Krishna
Lord, please guide us as we try to dive deep into the wisdom of the words that you have shared with us, so we can come closer to those words and closer to you.
Hare Krishna.
Hare Krishna.

So I am grateful and delighted to be here with all of you on what we can call the 18th session of the Geeta Yajna that we are going to do.

The way I plan to do this is: the Geeta has 700 verses, and we won’t be able to recite or discuss all of them. But broadly, say if we have one session for about one to one and a half hours, we’ll try to take about five or six verses from each chapter, broadly from each major section of the chapter. That way, we will try to get a sense of the chapter as well as a sense of the flow of what is happening in the Bhagavad Gita.

So let’s begin with the first chapter, first verse.

The Geeta begins with, so I’ll tell the meaning, and if you know some of the verses, it’s still good to understand the meaning and then recite them.

The way we try to do this is, I’ll tell the meaning, we’ll recite each line understanding the meaning first, and then we’ll recite the whole verse.

“Dhritarashtra Vacha” is straightforward. Vacha means to speak. So who Vacha? Vacha is to speak. Who Vacha is to emit or bring about speech. So he says:

“Dharmakshetre Kurukshetre.”

That is, on that place of Dharma, which is known as Kurukshetra.
So:
“Dharmakshetre Kurukshetre, Dharmakshetre Kurukshetre.”

“Samaveta” means assembled. They are assembled for what purpose?
“Yuyutsavah” — for the purpose of fighting.

“Samaveta Yuyutsavah, Samaveta Yuyutsavah.”

“Mamakah” — my people, it is my sons.
“And Pandavas Chaiva” — the sons of Pandu.
Both of them have assembled over there.

“Mamakah Pandavas Chaiva.”

“Akurvata” — Akurvata, Kurvata — that comes from the word Karna, which in Hindi means do.
What did they do?
“Kim Akurvata Sanjaya.”

He is asking this question to his assistant Sanjaya, who is his eyes and, basically, ears for understanding what is happening on the battlefield—primarily the eyes. But he is asking him:

“Kim Akurvata Sanjaya.”

So let us recite this once together:

“Dhritarashtra Vacha, Dharmakshetre Kurukshetre, Samaveta Yuyutsavah. Mamakah Pandavas Chaiva, Kim Akurvata Sanjaya.”

Thank you.

So here, the Bhagavad Gita has how many chapters? Anyone knows?

Eighteen chapters.

And how many verses?

Seven hundred verses. I just mentioned that.

Now out of these, the first chapter is more or less setting the scene. The Gita, as a conversation, can be understood on broadly three levels.

The Gita conversation is, first of all, a conversation between Krishna and Arjuna—and that has not yet begun.

Then, at a bigger level, the Gita is spoken as a conversation between Sanjaya and Dhritarashtra. That is what has begun right now with Dhritarashtra’s question. This comes in 1.1. So this is 1.1 to 18.78.

The core discussion between Krishna and Arjuna actually begins at 2.7 and ends in 18.73. Before that, there is some discussion that happens, but we’ll come to that.

Now beyond this, these are two levels of discussion. At another level, this is, you could say, the Gita as a historical conversation.

Historical means what happened at a particular time in history. But beyond that, the Gita is also meant to be a conversation between the Paramatma and the Atma.

Ultimately, the Gita, this level of conversation, is an eternal conversation.

So what we want to do is not just study the Gita. By studying the Gita, we understand that we, as the soul (Atma), are there in our hearts. And the Paramatma, Krishna, is there in our hearts. Even our body is like a chariot, and within this, our love is present.

So as we study the Gita, as we internalize the Gita, it will become a part of us. And just as the words that Krishna spoke to Arjuna, those words, at the right time, will come to us. They will start manifesting in our hearts, giving us guidance and helping us make healthier decisions, just as the Gita helped Arjuna make a healthy decision.

We are right now at this second level of the conversation.

Where is this conversation happening?

This second-level conversation, yes. The location of the Krishna and Arjuna conversation is in Kurukshetra. The Sanjaya and Dhritarashtra conversation is in Hastinapura.

So when this conversation is happening, Dhritarashtra is asking Sanjaya, “What happened?”

The Gita starts with this narrative frame.

Sometimes in a movie, the action can start right where maybe the hero meets the heroine. Or it can start with a background—there is this family over here and that family over there, and these families are arch enemies.

When that buildup happens, then when the hero and heroine meet, any relationship between them is doomed right from the beginning.

Sometimes we can start right from the heart of the action and then give a background. Sometimes we give the background and then come to the heart of the action. Both ways are there.

So now, there is a gradual buildup.

The Gita is building up, and why this buildup is going to happen will also be revealed as we move forward.

But it starts with this outer conversation that Dhritarashtra is asking.

The first word Dhritarashtra speaks is what?

Dharma.

It’s Dharmakshetra, but even if you consider that to be a compound word, the first word is Dharma.

The whole Gita is Dharmyam Sambadam Avayom.

It is a question about Dharma.

Now, what is the meaning of Dharma? That itself is a big question.

At least seven or eight meanings of the word Dharma come in the Gita itself. We’ll discuss that as they come.

But in this context, when he is using the word Dharma, he is using it as an adjective.

Dharma can be a noun. Nowadays, the word Dharma is used in terms of religion.

So what is Dharma? What is religion? There, Dharma is a noun. But here, when it begins, Dharmakshetra.

Dharmakshetre Kurukshetre.

So the Kshetra is the noun, and the describer of the Kshetra is Dharma.

It’s not that simple. Actually, yes, Dharmakshetra is also a describer of Kurukshetra.

You could say it like this: If somebody says, “Hey, that is an elegant door,” the door is the noun, and elegant is the adjective describing it.

But if someone says, “That is an antique wood, elegant door,” antique wood is a description of the door. Wood is a description of the content, but antique is not the door—antique is the wood.

Basically, it starts with Dharmakshetra as an adjective describing Kurukshetra, the place.

Now, why would he begin with this?

The central inquiry is: a war is going to happen over there, and he wants to know what happened in the war.

Ultimately, he wants to know who is winning, who won.

For example, if a cricket match is going on and we’re somewhere where we can’t watch the match or get the news, we might ask someone, “Hey, what is the score?” That’s what you’d want to know.

But if we knew that rain was likely there, and rain might either cancel the match or curtail it, then we might ask, “In that rainy place where the match is happening, what happened when the teams came to play?”

If someone’s biggest concern is whether the match will happen or not, the first thing they might ask is, “In that rainy place…”

It’s like that.

Dharmakshetra is like the rainy place for a cricket match.

What that means is, that’s the concern in his mind.

What happens in a match? Rain can cancel it or change its trajectory.

Similarly, his fear is, how is this Dharma going to influence things?

“Dharmakshetra, Kurukshetra, Samaveta Yuyutsavah.”

They came for fighting.

So, like in that rainy place, when they came to play the match, what did they do?

In one sense, you’re already answering the question.

They have come to fight. What did they do? They came to fight—they will fight.

That seems to be a straightforward answer.

If someone asks a question whose answer seems obvious, it could mean one of two things: either the questioner is not thinking clearly, or the person expected to answer doesn’t grasp the unspoken implication behind the question. Wouldn’t you agree?

So clearly, there’s more to the question than what meets the eye.

Imagine terrorists planting a time bomb in a hot kitchen. They plan for the bomb to detonate when all the guests have gathered and are about to eat. Now, if someone asks, “When everyone sat down to eat, what did they do?” the obvious answer might be, “They ate.” But that’s not the real concern. The unspoken question is, “Did the bomb explode? Did they all run away? Was there a warning? Or did something happen to prevent the gathering altogether?”

This scenario illustrates how an unspoken question can carry more weight than the spoken one.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Dhritarashtra’s spoken question is, “What did they do?” But the unspoken question he’s truly concerned about is this: “How were they influenced by the place of Dharma—by its sacredness and holiness?”

Dhritarashtra is aware that Kurukshetra is a Dharmakshetra, a place of virtue and sanctity. He fears how this environment might affect Duryodhana, his son, and others on his side.

Dharma can broadly be understood as piety, sanctity, spirituality, and holiness. Dhritarashtra knows that Duryodhana is aligned with Adharma (unrighteousness). His concern is whether this sacred place will weaken Duryodhana’s resolve to fight. He is also worried that it might similarly influence the Pandavas—specifically Yudhishthira, who might decide against the war for moral or ethical reasons.

This is the backdrop for Dhritarashtra’s inquiry.

The narrative then shifts to Duryodhana. The next verse describes how Duryodhana reacts:

“Dhrishtva tu Pandavanikam vyudham Duryodhanastada; Acharyam upasangamya raja vachanam abravit.”

This translates to: Seeing the Pandava army arrayed in military formation, King Duryodhana approached his teacher, Drona, and spoke these words.

The focus of the narrative is now on the Kauravas. Duryodhana, standing on his chariot, goes directly to Drona. Although Bhishma is nearby and can hear the conversation, Duryodhana deliberately chooses to speak to Drona.

Why does the Gita highlight this incident?

At one level, it reflects Dhritarashtra’s concern for Duryodhana. At another level, it reveals Duryodhana’s mindset.

Duryodhana is surprised and shaken by the impressive and aggressive formation of the Pandavas’ army. It’s like a cricket match where one team scores a massive total, demoralizing the opposition. Yet, when the other team comes to bat aggressively, the captain may feel pressured to reassess strategies. Similarly, Duryodhana is caught off guard and feels the need to regroup mentally.

Approaching Drona is strategic. Duryodhana, though de facto king, isn’t officially the commander. In English, we use the terms de facto (in practice) and de jure (by law or office). While Dhritarashtra is de jure king, Duryodhana holds actual power.

The verse refers to Duryodhana as Raja (king), which could subtly mock Dhritarashtra, highlighting his lack of real authority. This duality is hinted at when it says, “Raja vachanam abravit”—it could refer to either Dhritarashtra or Duryodhana.

Duryodhana’s choice to address Drona instead of Bhishma reflects his concern about loyalty within his ranks. Both Drona and Bhishma are powerful, but neither is fully committed to the war. They would have preferred peace. Duryodhana worries about their morale, particularly because Drona’s disciple, Dhrishtadyumna, is the commander of the Pandava army.

Dhrishtadyumna, the son of Drona’s rival, Drupada, had been trained by Drona himself. This fact frustrates Duryodhana, who subtly taunts Drona:

“Just look! Your softness in training your rival’s son has caused this situation. Now he’s leading our enemies. Don’t make the same mistake again!”

By highlighting Drona’s past decisions, Duryodhana seeks to provoke his teacher into greater commitment.

Duryodhana then starts assessing both armies, listing the key warriors on each side. Through this, he is not only rallying his forces but also reassuring himself. He praises his own side’s strength while subtly acknowledging the challenge posed by the Pandavas.

Finally, Duryodhana concludes by emphasizing Bhishma’s importance:

“Our army, protected by Bhishma, is invincible, while theirs, protected by Bhima, is vulnerable.”

This statement aims to appease Bhishma, ensuring he doesn’t feel neglected after Duryodhana’s extended focus on Drona. The use of Bhima instead of Dhrishtadyumna as the Pandavas’ protector further reveals Duryodhana’s perception of threats. For him, Bhima represents the greatest danger.

Throughout this scene, Duryodhana tries to project confidence, but his underlying anxiety is evident. His actions oscillate between inspiring his army and convincing himself of their strength.

This interplay of spoken and unspoken meaning is central to the Gita, where even seemingly simple words can carry profound implications.

When Duryodhana uses a particular word, it conveys two possible meanings. His intended meaning is “immeasurable,” but the same word can also mean “insufficient.” This dual meaning reflects a sense of nervousness and highlights the ambivalent impact of his words. While his intent is to boost morale by claiming, “Our strength is immeasurable,” it could also be interpreted as “Our strength is insufficient.”

He then praises Bhishma’s power but adds that others must protect Bhishma, which hints at underlying insecurities. Bhishma, being a seasoned warrior, likely perceives the emotions and intentions behind Duryodhana’s words. It’s akin to someone praising a wealthy person for their generosity, only to later imply, “How much money will you give?” The subtext betrays the speaker’s real concerns.

Frustrated by this political maneuvering, Bhishma blows his conch, signaling the start of the war. In ancient times, war was viewed somewhat like a sporting event—a test of skill and strength rather than a win-at-all-costs pursuit. The blowing of the conches indicates that hostilities are about to begin. Soon, conches are blown on both sides, and Sanjaya, narrating the events to Dhritarashtra, shifts the focus to the Pandavas’ side.

In the 14th verse, the imagery is vivid:

• “Haya” means horses.
• “Mahati Syandane” refers to a magnificent chariot.
• Krishna (Madhava) and Arjuna (Pandava) are depicted as riding together in this splendid chariot, drawn by divine horses.
• The verse uses poetic resonance, highlighting the divine nature of Krishna and Arjuna’s conches (Divya Shankhava), contrasting the Pandavas’ divine aura with the Kauravas’ unease.

Krishna’s role here is striking. Although he is the Supreme Lord, he humbly serves as Arjuna’s charioteer. This disarming portrayal of Krishna reflects his willingness to take on a servant’s role while still retaining his divine authority. Despite being a charioteer, Krishna blows his conch—a symbolic act that distinguishes him as more than an ordinary participant in the war.

The sound of the Pandavas’ conches is so resonant that it shatters the confidence of the Kauravas, as described in verse 19:
“Sa Ghosha Dhartarashtranam Hridayani Vidarayat”—the sound rends the hearts of the Kauravas.

This sets the stage for the Pandavas gaining the psychological upper hand. The narrative initially depicts the Pandavas as poised for victory. However, as in a dramatic twist in sports, where a confident batsman suddenly gets out against the run of play, events take a surprising turn.

Arjuna, standing on the battlefield, requests Krishna to position the chariot in the middle of the two armies so he can observe who has joined the Kauravas. This seems odd since the opposing warriors are already known, and no last-minute alliances have been formed. Why, then, does Arjuna want to see them?

Arjuna’s desire to see the opposing side stems from a deeper emotional conflict. This is no ordinary battle; it is fratricidal—brothers fighting brothers. The Pandavas have made every effort to avoid this war. Yet, Arjuna hopes to discern the intent of the Kauravas. Are they resolute in their desire to fight, or is there still a chance for reconciliation?

As Krishna places the chariot in the middle, Arjuna sees Bhishma and Drona, his revered elders and mentors. These are the very people who nurtured him and taught him the art of warfare. Overwhelmed with emotion, Arjuna is struck by the realization that he must fight against those he holds dearest. This sight steals away his determination. He begins to question the purpose of the war and the cost of victory, as it involves killing not only his elders but also his extended family, spanning multiple generations.

This internal conflict becomes the turning point of the Bhagavad Gita. Arjuna’s despair sets the stage for Krishna’s teachings, where profound philosophical discussions will guide him toward clarity and resolve.

In the context of the narrative, the repeated emphasis on “seeing” reflects Arjuna’s internal struggle. The act of seeing is not merely physical but symbolic of Arjuna’s attempt to understand his duty and reconcile it with his emotions. Krishna, aware of Arjuna’s turmoil, prepares to guide him through this crisis, leading to the timeless wisdom of the Gita.

Odds means how likely it is to win. In Virat, the odds were actually tougher. Arjuna was all alone over there, and the entire Kaurava army was there. At that time, Arjuna does not become sentimental. Arjuna is not overwhelmed by confusion or hesitation. But now Arjuna is overwhelmed. Why is that? Because the stakes there were lower. Stakes mean what is at stake. In that war, Arjuna had no desire to kill any of them. Arjuna just wanted to stop them. He wanted to protect them. They had attacked Virat’s kingdom, and Arjuna wanted to protect them by which they would understand that the Pandavas cannot just be walked over. They cannot be neglected. They are a force to be reckoned with. But the idea was to just show them the power, and hopefully, they would come to a peaceful solution, a peaceful negotiating table. Reconciliation would happen. But the war was going to happen. One side was not going to go back alive, and therefore the stakes were much higher.

It’s like, say, two teams—India and Australia—meet in the league stages of the World Cup. Maybe some of the Indian players are resting, or some of the Indian players are injured. In this case, the odds may be tougher, but okay, it’s just a league stage match. Even if you lose, it’s no big deal. But say the two teams meet in the finals, and then the stakes become much higher. So, like that, here the stakes are immensely high. When he feels torn, what is his concern? What is his fear? He gives a series of verses, but let’s look at some key verses which show his concern.

So, he says, he lists out all the warriors who are there. Among the various warriors, he says, look at some of the verses. Okay, let’s first go back to another verse. He says the first thing is “Shreya,” meaning long-term good. At a short-term level, he says, yeah, we’ll win a kingdom, but I can’t see what long-term good will come out of it. In this particular battlefield, we kill our own people. The obvious purpose of fighting is to win a kingdom. He says, Krishna, I do not desire a kingdom. Krishna, all in the kingdom—they are royalty. And for them to live in a forest has been a great austerity. This killing of our own relatives is just not worth it.

Now, on one side, he’s saying, I don’t desire the happiness. But he also next says that if we fight, actually, that will be sinful for us to kill all of them. Why should it be sinful? Because sojana—they are our relatives. If we don’t kill them, they are greedy. But then, they are greedy for a kingdom, and that’s why they want to fight. But now, if we want to fight, then how are we any better than them? We are also greedy. The difference is that greed has closed their eyes. But just because greed has closed their eyes, why should I let greed close my eyes? I can see that the cost of this will be terrible.

Then he uses the term “kula dharma.” He says this is our dynasty. The killing of our dynasty is so important. How can I go about causing the destruction of our dynasty? So many times, people think that Arjuna has become cowardly. But Arjuna absolutely has not become cowardly. Because in all the reasons that Arjuna gives, not once does Arjuna mention fear of his own death. Not even once. So, there is fear, no doubt. Arjuna has fear. If we see, the emotion that he is going through is, he says that my hair is standing, my limbs are trembling, my skin is burning, my bow is slipping. So, all of this indicates that he is surely overwhelmed by emotion. From there, the emotion that he is—the fear at one level is overwhelming for him.

But what is the cause of the fear? It is not his own death. He is not afraid of death. His fear is of wrongdoing. He says this fight itself may be the wrong thing to do, and if I do something wrong, the consequences will be disastrous. It’s like, in a pandemic, suppose there is a doctor who has been appointed to save the patients. Say maybe there is the Prime Minister of the country who is mortally sick, and that Prime Minister is also severely infected. Now treating the Prime Minister could mean the doctor might get the infection. I don’t want to treat it. This is a very critical case, and maybe I don’t know how to treat it. I don’t know what treatment to give. And if I do something wrong, then the country will lose its leader. What might be the consequence of that? Maybe riots will break out, maybe unscrupulous elements will take advantage, maybe enemies will attack.

If a doctor has fear of treating an infected patient who is the Prime Minister, now it could be fear of being infected—that is one fear. But the other fear is the fear of giving wrong treatment. So now, are both fears the same? Not at all. The first is a very self-concerned fear, self-centered fear. The second is the fear that comes from being responsible. Sometimes people give seminars on how to conquer your fears, how to become free from all fear. If a person is free from all fear, the people around them should be full of all fear. See, fear is actually a natural protector at one level. If somebody is driving a car and says, I have no fear of any accident, then people in the car say, we have too much fear; we will get out right now. So yes, we should not be conquered by our fears. We should not let our fear control us. But fear is a natural psychological mechanism that alerts us to danger.

Sometimes the more responsible a person is, the more fear they have because they are aware of the responsibility. One of my friends is a pilot, and he tells me that he loves flying planes. Since my childhood, that was my inspiration. But he says every time I have to fly, it is exciting, but it is also a grave responsibility. If I make a mistake—now, of course, there are a lot of machines warning and supporting, and there is a co-pilot and everything—but still, if I make a mistake, people will lose their lives. So, this is a fear coming from being responsible. So, it is Arjuna’s fear. It is coming because he is responsible.

This first chapter of the Bhagavad Gita actually describes how Arjuna is qualified to gain the knowledge of the Gita because he is not just impulsively rushing reflections. He is thinking, am I doing the right thing? He is contemplating and articulating that maybe what I am doing is not the right thing. Maybe this is not the long term. And that concern for the long-term world shows the caliber of Arjuna. Such a person who is thoughtful, responsible, inquisitive at such a time, contemplative, and asks questions is actually ready to receive the knowledge of the Bhagavad Gita. So, Arjuna is responsible. That is what makes him reflective. Reflective means he is reflecting; he is thinking, and because he is reflective, now, sometimes when you think too much, it can make a person confused. But sometimes, when a person thinks too much, that can also lead them to a deeper understanding.

So there is a thin line between overthinking and deep thinking, isn’t it?
In both, there is actually a person who is thinking, and is thinking in both cases.
You could say there is thinking more than usual.
But you could say that overthinking is negative, while deep thinking is positive.
So the Gita will actually take Arjuna. In Chapter 1, Arjuna in some ways is thinking, but his thinking is going towards overthinking.
The difference between overthinking and deep thinking is: one key difference is that overthinking just keeps going round and round and gets nowhere.
But deep thinking goes deeper and deeper. Overthinking is basically pointless or aimless, while deep thinking is directed. Overthinking is directionless; it just goes round and round.
Arjuna’s thinking now is going round and round, and that is not good. But still, the fact that he is thinking is good, it is laudable.

And now, as Arjuna is thinking, we come to the last verse in the series. So, what is Arjuna’s essential dilemma over here?
That will be articulated towards the end.

Utsanna means one who destroys.
Kula dharmaanaam, the duty of the dynasty or duty towards the dynasty.
Utsanna kula dharmaanaam.
Manushanam, Manushanam is that human being, whoever it may be.
Janardhanam or Krishna.
Manushanam Janardhanam Narake is hell.
Niyatam, constantly, perpetually.
Vaso, a person will go forever to hell.
Narake Niyatam Vaso.

This is what will happen to such a person.
I have heard this from authorities, from great souls. So Arjuna is trying to find—he is thinking himself, but he is also trying to find guidance for his thinking by resorting to thinkers.
He says, those are thoughtful people, those are sages, from them I have heard.
They say that if someone destroys the dynasty, that person will go to hell.

Bhavati tanushushruma Utsanna kula dharmaanaam Manushanam Janardhanam Narake Niyatam Vaso.

So basically, Arjuna’s dilemma over here is that Arjuna is torn between two duties, two dharmas.
One dharma, which he came to fight, was the kshatriya dharma. As a warrior, he has to fight.
But now he is also reminded very forcefully of his kula dharma, his duty to his dynasty.
And thus, he is torn. Should I do my professional duty, or should I do my dynasty duty, my family duty?
Which one is more important?

If there is a doctor, and the doctor has a critically ill patient who needs an organ transplant.
Now, that person is a very important person, and if they get the organ transplant, they will be saved.
And wherever an organ is, the doctor should get the organ.
But imagine at that same time, the doctor’s son has met with a lethal accident, and they may die or not die.
It’s likely, but you don’t know. Is he going to die?
And then that organ can go to this person.
So now, should the doctor take away the life support from the son so that they can give the organ to that other person?
Now you may say that, oh, this son has been so critically met with an accident that the chances of survival are practically zero.
But still, because my son, I would like my son to live for as long as possible.
If I take out the life support, it’s like I am killing them.

So the professional duty says to save this patient.
Maybe that patient’s likelihood of being saved is very high.
But if that patient doesn’t get the organ, okay, that’s bad.
But if, to give that patient the organ, I have to remove life support from here.
So in one sense, you could say here both of them are critically ill, but there are high survival chances here.
And here, for the son, there are low survival chances.
But still, it’s not an easy decision.

So Arjuna feels that, how can I fight as a warrior?
If I fight, I am going to kill my own relatives.
Yes, I am a warrior, I am meant to fight.
But these are my own people.
Now, of course, another part of Arjuna is that just because I don’t fight doesn’t mean the war is going to get over.
I may not want to fight, but the government has allowed us to stop fighting.
Even if we just give up our claim to the kingdom, the Kauravas will still chase us and attack us in the forest.
And then, will I not protect my own family?
I may be ready to die also, but will I be ready to see my own brothers and my wife being killed?
Even if they don’t persecute me, there are so many warriors who have come to support us.
The Kauravas will try to persecute them.

“You chose the opposite side.” Like in a political party, say two political parties are there in an election, and say one party wins.
They try to find out who gave funds to the other political party.
“Now we will teach you a lesson. You supported them.” They will get after, they will go after our allies.
Can I watch that happening?

So basically, for him, he sees how horrible fighting will be.
The other side, he says not fighting is also no real solution.
So he becomes so overwhelmed that he just puts aside his bow.
So this chapter ends with Arjuna putting aside his bow.

He basically says, “I won’t fight,” but it’s more, “I just don’t know what to do.”
I just don’t know what to do.

Here’s your corrected version with no change in the wording but adjusted punctuation, grammar, and sentence structure for better clarity:

Like, say, somebody has to become a surgeon, then you have to actually cut open a human body. Now, you say, “Yeah, I can cut it.” Actually, when you see a human body—even if it is dead—and you start cutting it, at that time, it is not easy. So, Arjuna has thought about this earlier, but now, in the gravity and immensity of the situation that comes upon him, it all registers with far greater force. All the previous thinking that had happened has now become much, much more real.

You said that there are different meanings to Sanskrit words; there are different meanings to it. How do we know what meaning we have to use? What meaning fits that particular context? Yes. So, meanings are determined, in general, by the principle of language. There is content, and there is context. We look at what is being said and where it is being said. Based on that, we learn. That is why we cannot just use a dictionary. Somebody has to actually understand the language. You cannot just look at a dictionary, look at this word, and look at that word. You have to understand the subject; you have to understand the worldview.

So, basically, to understand it, first of all, language is important. But beyond language, there is the subject. Just like, say, suppose there is some very important book on physics that is in English. So, just because somebody knows English very well, can they translate that book? Yeah, knowledge of English is necessary. But you need something much more, isn’t it? Because physics is a subject unto itself. So, first, the language of English is required. Then, knowledge of the subject is required. Then, after that, it is best if there is knowledge of the author also because each author speaks in a particular way, writes in a particular way. That’s why, to understand the Gita, one needs knowledge of Sanskrit, one needs knowledge of the philosophy of those times, and one needs knowledge of the speaker, Krishna. When all these three are there, then that person is actually qualified to properly understand and explain the Gita.

That’s why the Gita has a commentary tradition. And a person who doesn’t come as a part of the commentary tradition—that is, the tradition of commentators—may write something on the Gita. Prabhupada would often say that such translations of the Gita are not Bhagavad Gita as it is; they are Bhagavad Gita as you are. So, basically, we bring our own conceptions into the Gita.

Thank you for giving such an interesting explanation of the first chapter. My doubt is regarding the overall discussion of Bhagavad Gita. Like, if a friend asked another friend about how to play cricket, he will answer about that topic. But in the Gita, we see that the confusion in Arjuna’s mind is regarding his Dharma. But Krishna has answered other things also, like Karmayoga, Bhakti Yoga, and other stuff. The other friend is giving the rules of cricket, tennis, golf, geography, history—all things, other things also. So how is this explainable?

Good point. This is going to come in tomorrow’s session, but we have mentioned earlier: see, in any book—every book, every narrative, even a movie—there is something specific, and there is something universal. So, if you consider any movie, the movie might be about how this hero met this heroine, how they did this, how they did that, but there are some universal themes. There could be class differences between the wealthy and the poor. There could be caste differences. The movie could be about, maybe, geographical distances where one person has to go to another country.

There are universal themes that are there. So, generally speaking, in a story, the universal themes are addressed somewhat indirectly. There are also some specific characters, but sometimes those characters have discussions directly where the universal themes come. So, when Arjuna asks a question in 2.7, it is this question: he asks, “What is Dharma?” He does not ask, “Should I fight?” Arjuna could have asked a question at three levels. He could have asked, “Should I fight?” He could have asked, “What is my Dharma?” But what he asks is simply, “What is there?” So, he is himself asking the question at a very universal level.

And so, the specific is the battle, but the universal theme is the right thing to do. And the Gita speaks at that level because Arjuna himself raises the question at that level. If the Gita had simply spoken about, you know, “Should Arjuna fight or not fight?” then that book would have been of interest only to people who are what we call mystery buffs, those who are interested in some historical battle that happened sometime. The Gita has become a book of universal relevance because it addresses issues at a universal level.

Yes, please. So, what was that point? He intends it to be immeasurable, but the word can also have the meaning “insufficient.” So now, which meaning will be taken? That’s a problem.

Yes, please. You asked one question; we’ll come back to you. Would you have seen a difference between overthinking and deep thinking? So, my question is: whenever we are in a situation, we tend to think, but how can we know if we are overthinking or thinking in the right direction?

Thinking is not very linear, but broadly speaking, we can say there is time in thinking, and there is clarity in thinking. So, generally speaking, when you think more, you get greater clarity. But after some time, we hit a plateau. We think more, but we don’t hit anything. After some time, the more we think, the more we get stuck.

Thank you very much.

Jai.

Jai.