Arjuna is now explaining why he doesn’t want a kingdom or the pleasures that come with it, especially if it means spilling the blood of his loved ones.
येषामर्थे काङ्क्षितं नो राज्यं भोगा: सुखानि च |
त इमेऽवस्थिता युद्धे प्राणांस्त्यक्त्वा धनानि च || 33||
yeṣhām arthe kāṅkṣhitaṁ no rājyaṁ bhogāḥ sukhāni cha
ta ime ’vasthitā yuddhe prāṇāṁs tyaktvā dhanāni cha
yeṣhām—for whose; arthe—sake; kāṅkṣhitam—coveted for; naḥ—by us; rājyam—kingdom; bhogāḥ—pleasures; sukhāni—happiness; cha—also; te—they; ime—these; avasthitāḥ—situated; yuddhe—for battle; prāṇān—lives; tyaktvā—giving up; dhanāni—wealth; cha—also;
Translation:
“For whom do we desire a kingdom, enjoyments, and pleasures? Those very people stand here on the battlefield, having already given up their lives and wealth.”
Arjuna expresses that ruling a kingdom and all the pleasures that come with it are not something he truly desires for himself. He understands that such pleasures are temporary, and the possessions they bring are not everlasting. If he ever wanted a kingdom, it was for his brothers, friends, and relatives. But now, seeing them ready to sacrifice their lives on the battlefield, he wonders what value a kingdom, luxuries, and pleasures would have if they were all gone. From any perspective, war seems undesirable.
Arjuna reflects on how the father, son, and others for whom we desire the pleasures of a kingdom are all ready to sacrifice everything in this war. His thoughts are confused at every turn. Arjuna claims that they seek the happiness of a kingdom for the sake of their loved ones, but in truth, no one really desires it for others; everyone desires it for themselves. Even when we think we want it for our father or son, it’s only because they are ours. Our attachment is limited to that, nothing more.
Yes, it’s true that without them, even happiness would feel dull. Happiness is less about what we feel and more about how it looks to others. The joy of having a kingdom isn’t in possessing it but in proving to others that we have it.
Human thinking has its limits. If a queen, adorned with gold and jewels, passes by, a village maid doesn’t feel jealousy because the queen is beyond her reach, outside her thoughts. But if a neighboring maid walks by with even a fake jewel, it pierces the heart. That is within the range. Our jealousy and ambitions are always bound by a certain limit.
If you seek fame, it doesn’t bring pleasure among strangers but only among those who know you. There’s no satisfaction in proving your worth to strangers, but there is in showing your own people what you’ve become and they haven’t.
Jesus once said that prophets are never respected in their own village. They may wish to be, but they aren’t. If Jesus returned to his village, people would see him as the carpenter’s son, unable to believe he gained such wisdom. It’s difficult for a prophet to be honored in his village because it’s within the limits of village jealousy.
Similarly, Vivekananda didn’t receive the same respect in Calcutta as he did in America. In Calcutta, after a brief ceremony, people would dismiss him as just another Kayastha’s son. Ramtirth was greatly respected in America but not in Kashi, where a Pandit even mocked him for not knowing Sanskrit, which led Ramtirth to study it out of insecurity.
There’s a limit, a circle. But perhaps Ramtirth didn’t enjoy the honor in New York as much as he would have in Kashi. That’s why he became sad and worried in Kashi, despite talking about divine knowledge elsewhere. He couldn’t muster the courage to dismiss the importance of Sanskrit in Kashi, even hiring a tutor to learn it. Do you understand this pain?
Arjuna, unknowingly, is telling lies. These lies are so deeply ingrained in human nature that they are hard to recognize. The real lies are those that have become part of our being, those we aren’t even aware of. Arjuna is telling the same lies we all tell. A husband tells his wife he does everything for her, and a wife says the same to her husband. But in truth, no one does anything for anyone else; we all live for ourselves. We do only as much for others as they satisfy our own sense of belonging.
If a wife is no longer considered a wife, the husband stops doing everything for her. If a friend stops serving our ego, we can even become their enemy. We forget everything when someone stops being a part of our ego. As long as someone strengthens our ego, they are ours; when they no longer do, they aren’t.
Arjuna is wrong. He doesn’t know it yet, but he will gradually understand. When he says he desires the kingdom for others, he is mistaken. What he should say is that without those who matter, there’s no joy in wanting a kingdom. We desire it for ourselves, but the joy is in impressing those who recognize us. Without them, what’s the point of having a kingdom among strangers?
Remember, our real competition isn’t with enemies but with friends. We don’t compete with strangers; our deepest competition is with those we know. That’s why two strangers can’t be as big enemies as two brothers can be. We compete with those close to us, needing to prove that we are something.
Arjuna is wrong, but he doesn’t realize it. The lies we tell knowingly are shallow; the lies we don’t realize are deep, ingrained over many lifetimes. Arjuna’s lie is that if those for whom the kingdom is desired are not there, then what will he do with the kingdom? The truth is that the kingdom is desired for oneself, but the joy is in impressing those who know you. But he can’t admit this yet. If he did, the dialogue with Krishna in the Gita would end. Krishna would tell him to turn the chariot around and leave. But the dialogue doesn’t end because Arjuna’s thoughts are conflicted and confused.
To understand Krishna’s answers, we must first understand Arjuna’s dilemma and complexity. Only then can we grasp the depth and resolution of Krishna’s responses.