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Chapter 18 · Verse 16
🪈 Krishna speaks
Illustration for Chapter 18, Verse 16

तत्रैवं सति कर्तारमात्मानं केवलं तु यः। पश्यत्यकृतबुद्धित्वान्न स पश्यति दुर्मतिः॥

tatraivaṁ sati kartāramātmānaṁ kevalaṁ tu yaḥ | paśyatyakṛtabuddhitvānna sa paśyati durmatiḥ ||

Word by Word 13 words
तत्र
tad that tatra there, in that case

there, in this matter

एवम्
evam thus, so

thus, this being so

सति
as to be

being the case, since it is so

कर्तारम्
kṛ to do, to act kartṛ doer

the doer, the one who acts

आत्मानम्
ātman self

the Self, oneself

केवलम्
kevala alone, sole, only

alone, the sole one

तु
tu but, however

but, however

यः
yad who

who, the one who

पश्यति
dṛś to see

sees, regards

अकृतबुद्धित्वात्
a not kṛ to do, to refine buddhi understanding tva the state of being

because of an untrained, unrefined understanding

न
na not

not

सः
tad that, he

he, that one

दुर्मतिः
dur bad, faulty man to think mati thought, mind

of poor judgement, dull-minded

Now gives the lesson hidden in those five helpers. Whoever thinks "I alone am the doer" — that the little self by itself makes everything happen — has not truly looked. Their understanding is still untrained, like an eye that has not yet learned to see. They miss the bigger picture: that the real Self inside is calm and free, and that every deed is woven from many threads, not spun by one proud hand.

कथा

The Wave Who Thought He Was the Sea

From the mythological

In the old stories, the sage Markandeya wandered the shore of the great ocean at the edge of the world, where the water meets the sky. There he met a single tall wave, white-crested and proud, rising again and again from the rest.

"Look at me," the wave boomed each time it rose. "See how high I climb! See how I crash and thunder! I am the strongest thing on this whole sea. I make the cliffs tremble. I, only I, do all of this."

Markandeya sat on a rock and watched, and he smiled, but he did not laugh, for the wave's mistake was an honest one.

"Friend wave," the sage called out, "where were you yesterday?"

The wave faltered. "Yesterday?" it said. "I... I was the sea, I suppose."

"And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I shall fall back," the wave admitted, "and be the sea again."

"Then who is rising and falling?" asked Markandeya. "Is it truly you, all on your own? Or is it the wind that pushes you, and the moon far above that pulls the tide, and the deep wide ocean that lifts you up and catches you when you drop? You are not nothing, little wave. But you are not everything either. You are one bright shape the great water makes for a moment."

The wave grew quiet. It rose once more, but softer now, and as it looked down it saw, for the first time, the whole shining sea beneath it, holding it, the same water it was made of.

"I thought I was the doer of it all," the wave said. "I see now I am only part of something far larger. And the deepest part of me, the still water underneath, never rose or fell at all."

"That stillness," said the sage, rising to leave, "is your true Self. The one who forgets it, and shouts 'I, I, I' over every wave, has good eyes but has not yet learned to see. Learn to see, little wave, and you will be glad instead of proud, and gladness lasts much longer."

चिन्तनम्

Have you ever felt sure you did something all by yourself? What threads — people, luck, the world around you — were quietly helping that you did not notice at first?