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The Deathless Self – Beyond Grief, Beyond Illusion


Not born, not bound, not made to fall,
The Self stands silent, watching all.
It does not burn, it cannot die,
It does not weep, it does not cry.

The sword may slash, the fire may blaze,
But still it dwells in changeless ways.
No age can wrinkle, time can't fade,
What was not formed, cannot degrade.

We wear these bodies, like old clothes,
And shed them when the moment goes.
Yet we remain—untouched, unseen,
Beyond the play, beyond the screen.

So grieve not, friend, for death or birth,
For none can end the soul’s true worth.
Begin the path, though far it seems—
This truth will wake you from your dreams.

In the heart of the second chapter of the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna gently yet powerfully peels away Arjuna’s confusion, fear, and sorrow—not by dismissing them, but by elevating his vision to a far deeper truth.

We live under the spell of form—the body, the name, the story, the victory, the defeat. But Krishna declares: there is no real existence in what is transient, and there is no end to that which is eternal.

This is not philosophy for the bookshelf. This is the piercing truth that, once realized, dissolves the very root of fear and sorrow.

नासतो विद्यते भावो नाभावो विद्यते सतः ।
उभयोरपि दृष्टोऽन्तस्त्वनयोस्तत्त्वदर्शिभिः ॥ 2.16॥

“The unreal has no being; the real never ceases to be. The seers of truth have concluded the same about both.”


The Illusion of the Battlefield

Krishna urges Arjuna to look beyond the battlefield, beyond the apparent drama of war. What he sees as a conflict between families is, in truth, an illusion. There are no Kauravas, no Pandavas, no victory, and no defeat. These are fleeting appearances in the field of the eternal.

The war, the sorrow, the confusion—they all belong to the world of maya (illusion), not to the Self.


Your True Nature Is Eternal

This Self—your true Self—is not born, nor does it die. It simply is—unborn, eternal, ancient, beyond all decay.

न जायते म्रियते वा कदाचिन्
नायं भूत्वा भविता वा न भूयः ।
अजो नित्यः शाश्वतोऽयं पुराणो
न हन्यते हन्यमाने शरीरे ॥ 2.20॥

“He is not born, nor does He ever die; after having been, He again ceases not to be. Unborn, eternal, changeless, and ancient, He is not killed when the body is killed.”

When Arjuna trembles at the thought of killing his kinsmen, Krishna reminds him: you cannot kill, nor can you be killed. The Self doesn’t slay, nor is it slain.


The High Starting Point of the Gita

At this point, it’s worth noting something fascinating about the way traditional Indian scriptures, including the Bhagavad Gita, are structured. In most traditional Indian Scriptures, we see a common trend—they begin with the highest level and gradually descend to more practical layers.

Krishna knew Arjuna deeply. He understood that such a lofty message—the deathless nature of the Self—would not immediately resolve Arjuna’s turmoil. But still, he began with it. Why?

Because we must first glimpse the peak, even if we are nowhere near it.

As we move through the upcoming chapters, we’ll see Arjuna asking more questions, expressing confusion, and struggling to grasp the depth of this truth. Krishna, with infinite compassion, gradually simplifies the teachings to meet Arjuna where he is.

If Arjuna—a great warrior and devotee—found it hard to grasp this message, it is natural that we too may struggle to truly comprehend or live it. And that’s okay.

In today’s world, many of us have heard of the Atma, Maya, and the illusion of the ego. Yet, our lives often don’t reflect that understanding. It remains a noble concept, a distant ideal—perhaps even a fantasy.

But this is where we must begin.

We must know the final goal, even if we start far away from it. We must feel the distance, not to be discouraged, but to be inspired to walk the path.


Beyond the Cycle of Life and Death

Just as a man changes worn-out clothes and puts on new garments, so too the Self changes bodies. This is the natural rhythm of form, not a tragedy to be mourned.

Weapons cannot pierce it. Fire cannot burn it. Water cannot wet it. Wind cannot dry it. The Self is impervious to all forces of the material world.

This is why Krishna emphasizes: Knowing this, there is no reason to grieve.


Seeing Through Illusion, Acting from Clarity

This moment on the battlefield is symbolic of every challenge we face in life—painful decisions, moral dilemmas, personal losses. The confusion arises not from the world, but from our identification with what is perishable.

Once you know who you truly are—not the restless mind or the changing body, but the deathless awareness itself—then sorrow dissolves, and the path becomes clear.


Get Up and Do Your Dharma

When Arjuna trembles at the thought of killing his kinsmen, Krishna says: “You cannot kill, nor can you be killed. The Self doesn’t slay, nor is it slain.” All violence, all death, all suffering—these belong to the realm of illusion. The swords may clash, the bodies may fall, but the Self remains untouched, unaffected.

Just as a person casts off worn-out clothes and puts on new ones, the indwelling Self drops old bodies and takes on new ones. Do we mourn the shirt we threw away yesterday? Then why mourn the body that life discards?

This truth is not only freeing—it is liberating. It is not a denial of action, but a transformation of perspective. You are not the doer, and nothing is truly done to you. The Self is uncut by weapons, unburnt by fire, untouched by water, and undried by wind. It is immutable, all-pervading, still, and eternal.

This is why Krishna says: Knowing this, there is no reason to grieve.

So Krishna tells Arjuna: “Get up, Arjuna. Stand and fight. Not for the sake of victory, not out of hatred or ego, but out of your duty, your dharma. Because now you know the truth: nothing real can ever be threatened.”

And this is the turning point—not only for Arjuna, but for every one of us who stands at the edge of doubt and despair. The Gita doesn't teach us to withdraw from life, but to step into it fully—with the clarity that you are never what is happening. You are the unchanging witness of it all.

Stand in that truth.

Let it melt your sorrow.

And from that stillness, act—with love, with courage, with wisdom.


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