Krishna nodded slowly, and to Arjuna's surprise there was agreement in
his face, not correction.
"You speak the truth, mighty-armed one," he said. "Without any doubt the
mind is restless and hard to hold. I will not pretend otherwise. Anyone
who tells you the mind is easy to quiet has never tried to quiet it."
Arjuna felt a small relief, as a student does when the teacher admits the
lesson is genuinely difficult.
"But hard," Krishna went on, "is not the same as impossible. Let me show
you something." He lifted his chin toward the distant hills, where the
great rivers were born. "Think of a wild mountain river. In flood it
smashes its banks, tears up trees, drowns the fields. Could you stop it
by standing in front of it with your shield? Could you catch it in your
fists?"
"No one could," said Arjuna. "It would sweep me away."
"Just so. And that is what you tried with your mind — to seize it and
crush it still, all at once, by sheer strength. The river only laughs at
strength." Krishna's voice grew quieter, almost tender. "But go up into
the hills and watch the farmers. They do not fight the river. Over many
seasons they dig a channel, a little each day — one length of ditch, then
another — and patiently they coax the water to run where they wish.
Season by season, the same wild river that flattened their fields now
waters them. They did not conquer it with force. They guided it with
practice."
He raised one finger. "That patient daily digging — that is *abhyasa*,
practice. Sit a little each day. Bring the mind back, and back, and back
again, never angry when it wanders, only steady."
He raised a second finger. "And the other thing the farmer does — he
stops feeding the flood. He does not pour more storms into the river.
That is *vairagya*, letting go: you slowly stop chasing every shiny thing
your mind craves, and so the mind has less to churn about. Less wanting,
less storming."
Krishna smiled. "Practice and letting go. Two hands, working gently
together over time. With these two, even a mind as restless as the wind
can be held. Not snatched — held. Do you see?"
And for the first time that morning, Arjuna thought that perhaps he did.
