The Song celestial; or, Bhagabad-gîtâ (from the Mahâbhârata) being a discourse between Arjuna, prince of India, and the Supreme Being under the form of Krishna

CHAPTER III

Ar­ju­na. Thou whom all mor­tals praise, Ja­nar­dana! If med­ita­tion be a no­bler thing Than ac­tion, where­fore, then, great Ke­sa­va! Dost thou im­pel me to this dread­ful fight? Now am I by thy doubt­ful speech dis­turbed! Tell me one thing, and tell me cer­tain­ly; By what road shall I find the bet­ter end?

Kr­ish­na. I told thee, blame­less Lord! there be two paths Shown to this world; two schools of wis­dom.

First The Sankhya’s, which doth save in way of works Pre­scribed[FN#4] by rea­son; next, the Yog, which bids At­tain by med­ita­tion, spir­itu­al­ly: Yet these are one! No man shall ’scape from act By shun­ning ac­tion; nay, and none shall come By mere re­nounce­ments un­to per­fect­ness. Nay, and no jot of time, at any time, Rests any ac­tion­less; his na­ture’s law Com­pels him, even un­will­ing, in­to act; [For thought is act in fan­cy]. He who sits Sup­press­ing all the in­stru­ments of flesh, Yet in his idle heart think­ing on them, Plays the in­ept and guilty hyp­ocrite: But he who, with strong body serv­ing mind, Gives up his mor­tal pow­ers to wor­thy work, Not seek­ing gain, Ar­ju­na! such an one Is hon­ourable. Do thine al­lot­ted task! Work is more ex­cel­lent than idle­ness; The body’s life pro­ceeds not, lack­ing work. There is a task of ho­li­ness to do, Un­like world-​bind­ing toil, which bindeth not The faith­ful soul; such earth­ly du­ty do Free from de­sire, and thou shalt well per­form Thy heav­en­ly pur­pose. Spake Pra­jap­ati– In the be­gin­ning, when all men were made, And, with mankind, the sac­ri­fice– “Do this! Work! sac­ri­fice! In­crease and mul­ti­ply With sac­ri­fice! This shall be Ka­maduk, Your ‘Cow of Plen­ty,’ giv­ing back her milk Of all abun­dance. Wor­ship the gods there­by; The gods shall yield thee grace. Those meats ye crave The gods will grant to Labour, when it pays Tithes in the al­tar-​flame. But if one eats Fruits of the earth, ren­der­ing to kind­ly Heav­en No gift of toil, that thief steals from his world.”

Who eat of food af­ter their sac­ri­fice Are quit of fault, but they that spread a feast All for them­selves, eat sin and drink of sin. By food the liv­ing live; food comes of rain, And rain comes by the pi­ous sac­ri­fice, And sac­ri­fice is paid with tithes of toil; Thus ac­tion is of Brah­ma, who is One, The On­ly, All-​per­vad­ing; at all times Present in sac­ri­fice. He that ab­stains To help the rolling wheels of this great world, Glut­ting his idle sense, lives a lost life, Shame­ful and vain. Ex­ist­ing for him­self, Self-​con­cen­trat­ed, serv­ing self alone, No part hath he in aught; noth­ing achieved, Nought wrought or un­wrought toucheth him; no hope Of help for all the liv­ing things of earth De­pends from him.[FN#5] There­fore, thy task pre­scribed With spir­it unattached glad­ly per­form, Since in per­for­mance of plain du­ty man Mounts to his high­est bliss. By works alone Janak and an­cient saints reached blessed­ness! More­over, for the up­hold­ing of thy kind, Ac­tion thou should’st em­brace. What the wise choose The un­wise peo­ple take; what best men do The mul­ti­tude will fol­low. Look on me, Thou Son of Pritha! in the three wide worlds I am not bound to any toil, no height Awaits to scale, no gift re­mains to gain, Yet I act here! and, if I act­ed not– Earnest and watch­ful–those that look to me For guid­ance, sink­ing back to sloth again Be­cause I slum­bered, would de­cline from good, And I should break earth’s or­der and com­mit Her off­spring un­to ru­in, Bhara­ta! Even as the un­know­ing toil, wed­ded to sense, So let the en­light­ened toil, sense-​freed, but set To bring the world de­liv­er­ance, and its bliss; Not sow­ing in those sim­ple, busy hearts Seed of de­spair. Yea! let each play his part In all he finds to do, with un­yoked soul. All things are ev­ery­where by Na­ture wrought In in­ter­ac­tion of the qual­ities. The fool, cheat­ed by self, thinks, “This I did” And “That I wrought; “but–ah, thou strong-​armed Prince!– A bet­ter-​lessoned mind, know­ing the play Of vis­ible things with­in the world of sense, And how the qual­ities must qual­ify, Standeth aloof even from his acts. Th’ un­taught Live mixed with them, know­ing not Na­ture’s way, Of high­est aims un­wit­ting, slow and dull. Those make thou not to stum­ble, hav­ing the light; But all thy dues dis­charg­ing, for My sake, With med­ita­tion cen­tred in­ward­ly, Seek­ing no prof­it, sat­is­fied, serene, Heed­less of is­sue–fight! They who shall keep My or­di­nance thus, the wise and will­ing hearts, Have quit­tance from all is­sue of their acts; But those who dis­re­gard My or­di­nance, Think­ing they know, know nought, and fall to loss, Con­fused and fool­ish. ‘Sooth, the in­struct­ed one Doth of his kind, fol­low­ing what fits him most: And low­er crea­tures of their kind; in vain Con­tend­ing ‘gainst the law. Needs must it be The ob­jects of the sense will stir the sense To like and dis­like, yet th’ en­light­ened man Yields not to these, know­ing them en­emies. Fi­nal­ly, this is bet­ter, that one do His own task as he may, even though he fail, Than take tasks not his own, though they seem good. To die per­form­ing du­ty is no ill; But who seeks oth­er roads shall wan­der still.

Ar­ju­na. Yet tell me, Teach­er! by what force doth man Go to his ill, un­will­ing; as if one Pushed him that evil path?

Kr­ish­na. Ka­ma it is! Pas­sion it is! born of the Dark­ness­es, Which pusheth him. Mighty of ap­petite, Sin­ful, and strong is this!–man’s en­emy! As smoke blots the white fire, as cling­ing rust Mars the bright mir­ror, as the womb sur­rounds The babe un­born, so is the world of things Foiled, soiled, en­closed in this de­sire of flesh. The wise fall, caught in it; the un­rest­ing foe It is of wis­dom, wear­ing count­less forms, Fair but de­ceit­ful, sub­tle as a flame. Sense, mind, and rea­son–these, O Kun­ti’s Son! Are booty for it; in its play with these It mad­dens man, be­guil­ing, blind­ing him. There­fore, thou no­blest child of Bhara­ta! Gov­ern thy heart! Con­strain th’ en­tan­gled sense! Re­sist the false, soft sin­ful­ness which saps Knowl­edge and judg­ment! Yea, the world is strong, But what dis­cerns it stronger, and the mind Strongest; and high o’er all the rul­ing Soul. Where­fore, per­ceiv­ing Him who reigns supreme, Put forth full force of Soul in thy own soul! Fight! van­quish foes and doubts, dear Hero! slay What haunts thee in fond shapes, and would be­tray!

HERE EN­DETH CHAP­TER III. OF THE BHA­GAVAD-​GI­TA, En­ti­tled “Kar­ma-​Yog,” Or “The Book of Virtue in Work.”