Chapter 11

Arjuna spoke: For the peace of my soul, I have heard from you the unfolding of the supreme mystery called Adhyatman, and understanding it, my darkness is gone. Now I know, O Lotus-eyed One, the source of human birth and death, and the greatness of your immortal rule. But I long to see, as you yourself have described it, Sovereign Lord, the actual likeness of that glorious Form fully revealed. O Divine One, if it is possible, if I can endure the sight, make yourself visible, Lord of all prayers — show me your true self, the Eternal God.

Krishna replied: Look then, son of Pritha. I will show you the hundreds of thousands of forms that clothe my Mystery — all my appearances, infinite, rich, divine, my shifting colors and countless shapes. See, in this face of mine, the Adityas, the Vasus, the Rudras, the Aswins, and the Maruts; see wonders beyond counting, prince of India, revealed to none but you. Behold the Universe! Look — all that lives and all that has died, I gather into one, in Me. Gaze, as you asked, upon God Eternal, the Very God. See Me; see what you have prayed to see. But you cannot — not with human eyes, Arjuna, can you ever see this. So I give you divine sight. Receive new eyes, a new light, and look! This is my glory, unveiled to mortal vision.

Sanjaya said: Then, O King, having spoken these words, the God stood before Pritha’s son and displayed all the splendor, wonder, and dread of his vast Almighty-head. From countless eyes he gazed, from countless mouths he gave commands, enfolding countless mystic forms within one supreme Form. He wore countless radiant glories, bore countless heavenly weapons, was crowned with garlands of star-clusters and robed in woven light. From his perfect Presence breathed every subtle essence of every heavenly fragrance. He shed a blinding brilliance and spread, boundless and beautiful, across all spaces with his all-seeing faces. Such was his showing. If a thousand suns were to burst suddenly into the sky, flooding the earth with unimagined light, that might begin to suggest the majesty and radiance of that Holy One.

So did Pandu’s son behold the whole universe folded together, all its enormous diversity gathered into one vast shape, made visible and blended into one Body — subtle, splendid, nameless — the all-comprehending God of Gods, the Never-Ending Deity.

But, overwhelmed, thrilled, overfilled, dazzled and dazed, Arjuna knelt; he bowed his head, clasped his palms, and cried out:

Arjuna said: Yes! I have seen, I do see! Lord, everything is wrapped within you. The gods are in your glorious frame; the creatures of earth, heaven, and hell dwell in your Divine form. In your face shine the features of Brahma seated alone on his lotus throne, and of saints and sages and the serpent races, Ananta and Vasuki. Yes, mightiest Lord, I see your thousand thousand arms, breasts, faces, and eyes on every side, perfect and varied. Of you there is no end, no beginning, no center. Wherever the soul’s gaze lifts, your central Self shifts, all-wielding and all-conquering.

Infinite King, I see the crown upon you, the club, the conch, the discus; I see you burning in unbearable beams, lighting earth, heaven, and hell with brilliance blazing and flashing, turning darkness to dazzling day whichever way I look. Ah, Lord, I worship you — the Undivided, the Uttermost of thought, the Treasure-Palace built to hold the wealth of the worlds, the Shield set up to guard the laws of Virtue, the Fountain from which the stream of life draws all the waters of all the rivers of all being — the One Unborn, Unending, Unchanging and Unmixing, of might and majesty beyond thought, beyond sight.

The silver of the moon and the gold of the sun are glories flowing from your great eyes; your face, shining tenderly through stars and skies, startles your Universe into warm life. The worlds are filled with wonder at your perfections. Star-sprinkled space and empty places from pole to pole of the blue, from one boundary to another, hold you in every spot. You, only you — where you are not, O Holy, Marvelous Form, is nowhere to be found.

O Mystic, Awful One, at the sight of you revealed, the Three Worlds tremble; the lesser gods draw near, fold their palms, bow body and breast and brow, and whispering worship, praise and magnify you. The Rishis and Siddhas cry, “Hail, Highest Majesty!” From sages and singers the hymn of glory breaks in sweet harmony, sounding your praise. Countless companies take up the song — Rudras who ride the storms, the shining Adityas, Vasus and Sadhyas, Viswas, Ushmapas, Maruts, the heavenly fair twin Aswins, Gandharvas, Rakshasas, Siddhas, and Asuras.

These see you and revere you in sudden fear. Yes, the Worlds, seeing you with this immense form, with manifold faces, with eyes that behold everything, unnumbered eyes, vast arms, tremendous limbs, flanks lit with sun and star, feet planted near and far, tusks of terror, mouths both wrathful and tender — the three wide Worlds adore you before you, as I adore you, and tremble, as I tremble, to witness so much splendor.

I see you strike the skies with your forehead, in wondrous fashion, huge, rainbow-painted, glittering; and your mouth open, and your eyes that see all things in all your worlds, east and west and north and south.

O Eyes of God, O Head! My soul’s strength has fled, my heart’s force is gone, my mind’s desire is silenced. When I see you so, with terrible glowing brows, with burning gaze, and lips lit by fire fierce as those flames that will consume earth and heaven at the end — ah, I can see no earth and no heaven. I see you, Lord of Lords, only you, only you. Now let your mercy come to me, Refuge of the World. I see, hurled into the cavern of your wide-open throat and your lips with white tusks, our noblest men — the sons of great Dhritarashtra, Bhishma, Drona, and Karna, caught and crushed. The kings and chiefs are drawn into that gaping gorge, the best of both armies torn and broken. Between your jaws they lie, mangled and bloody, ground to dust and death. Like streams rushing helplessly in headlong fury straight toward the gulfing deeps of the unfilled ocean, so into that flaming cave those brave and great heroes pour in endless streams, helpless. Like moths fluttering at night toward a light, drawn to their fiery doom, flying and dying, so all those multitudes throng to their death, blind, dazzled, swept along without end.

You who fashioned humanity now devour them again, one with another, great and small alike. The creatures you make, you take with flaming jaws, lapping them up. Lord God, your terrors strike from one end of earth to the other, filling life from birth to death with deadly, burning, lurid dread. Ah, Vishnu, let me know why your face is like this. Who are you, feasting on your own dead? Who, dreadful Deity? I bow myself before you — Namostu Te, Devavara! Prasid! O Mightiest Lord, tell me why your face is so fierce. Where does this horrible aspect come from?

Krishna said: You see Me as Time who kills, Time who brings all to doom, Time the Slayer, Ancient of Days, come here to consume. Except for you, of all these hosts of hostile chiefs drawn up in battle, not one will leave this field alive. So be dismayed no longer. Rise, win renown, destroy your enemies, and fight for the kingdom that awaits you when you have defeated them. They fall by Me, not by you. The stroke of death has already fallen on them, even as they stand here so gallantly. You are only my instrument. Strike, strong-armed Prince, at Drona; strike at Bhishma; deal death to Karna and Jyadratha; stop all their warlike breath. I am the one who has bidden them perish. You will only be slaying the already slain. Fight — they must fall, and you must live, victor on this plain.

Sanjaya said: Hearing mighty Keshava’s words, the helmeted Lord trembled, clasped his lifted palms, and stood there praying for Krishna’s grace, with bowed brow and broken voice, speaking these timid words:

Arjuna said: Rightly, Lord of Might, the whole world delights in your surpassing power and obeys you. The Rakshasas, terrified at the sight of you, flee to the four quarters; the company of Siddhas sound your name. How should they not proclaim your majesty, Divinest, Mightiest? You are Brahm, greater than Brahma, the Infinite Creator, the God of gods, the Dwelling-place and Rest of life.

You are the Soul of all souls, the Comprehending Whole, the Framer of beings formed and formless. O Utmost One, O Lord, older than the oldest, who filled the worlds with the wealth of life, O Treasure-Claimer, who know all and are Wisdom itself, O Part in all and All — for everything has risen from you. Now I see your countless aspects. You are Vayu, and Yama who keeps the prison of Narak; you are the shining spark of Agni; the waves of Varuna are your waves. The moon and starlight are yours. You are Prajapati, to whom the first of mortal men knelt in worship in the far light of the old world.

Again, O God, again a thousand thousand times be magnified. Honor and worship, glory and praise be to you — Namo, Namaste, cried on every side, here, above, below, said when you depart, said when you arrive: Namo, we call; Namostu, God adored; Namostu, Nameless Lord! Hail to you, praise to you, you One in all — for you are All, yes, you.

Ah, if you should now in anger remember that I thought of you as a friend, speaking with easy words as people do with each other, calling you “Krishna,” “Prince,” without understanding your hidden majesty, the might and awe of you — if in my carelessness or in my love, on a journey or at play, or when we lay resting, sitting in council or wandering in the grove, alone or in a crowd, I have wronged you, Most Holy — let your grace be granted for that ignorant fault. For now I know you are the Father of all below, of all above, of all the worlds within — Guru of Gurus, more to be revered and adored than anything else that is adorable and high. How in the three wide worlds could anyone be your equal? Could anyone else share your Majesty?

So with bent body and reverent purpose I praise you, serve you, and seek you, asking grace. As a father to a son, as a friend to a friend, as one who loves to the one he loves, turn your face gently upon me. It is good that I have seen this unknown marvel of your Form. But fear mingles with my joy. Take back, dear Lord, for pity’s sake, your earthly shape that earthly eyes can bear. Be merciful and show me the face I know; let me see you again as before, arrayed with discus and forehead-gem, with mace and crown, you who sustain all things. Undismayed, let me once more behold the form I loved of old, you of the thousand arms and countless eyes. My frightened heart longs to see restored my Charioteer, in Krishna’s familiar guise.

Krishna said: Yes, Arjuna, because I loved you well, you have seen the secret face of Me, revealed by mystic power — shining and wonderful, vast, majestic, manifold — which no one in all the ages but you has been granted to see. For it is not by the Vedas, nor by sacrifice, nor by alms, nor by works well done, nor by long penance, nor by prayers or chanted hymns, that mortal eyes can endure to view the Immortal Soul unveiled. Prince of the Kurus, this was kept for you alone. Be glad. Let no more fear shake your heart because your eyes have seen My terror together with My glory. As I was before, so I will be again for you. With a lightened heart, look once more — I am your