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Chapter 18 · Verse 26
🪈 Krishna speaks
Illustration for Chapter 18, Verse 26

मुक्तसङ्गोऽनहंवादी धृत्युत्साहसमन्वितः। सिद्ध्यसिद्ध्योर्निर्विकारः कर्ता सात्त्विक उच्यते॥

muktasaṅgo'nahaṁvādī dhṛtyutsāhasamanvitaḥ | siddhyasiddhyornirvikāraḥ kartā sāttvika ucyate ||

Word by Word 8 words
मुक्तसङ्गः
muc to release, to free mukta freed sañj to cling saṅga attachment

free from attachment, not clinging

अनहंवादी
an not aham I vad to speak vādin one who declares

not a boaster, one who does not keep saying 'I, I, I'

धृत्युत्साहसमन्वितः
dhṛ to hold, to be firm dhṛti steadiness, firmness ud up sah to endure, to be strong utsāha energy, enthusiasm sam together anvita joined with, possessed of

filled with steadiness and energy

सिद्ध्यसिद्ध्योः
sidh to succeed, to accomplish siddhi success a not asiddhi failure

in success and in failure

निर्विकारः
nis without vi apart kṛ to make vikāra change, agitation

unchanged, unmoved, not thrown off balance

कर्ता
kṛ to do kartṛ doer, agent

the doer, the one who acts

सात्त्विकः
sattva purity, goodness, clarity

sattvic, of clear goodness

उच्यते
vac to speak

is called, is said to be

describes the finest kind of doer: the kind of person you become, not only the work you do. This doer doesn't cling to things, doesn't go around bragging "look what I did," and is full of quiet steadiness and cheerful energy. Best of all, whether the work turns out a great success or a flat failure, this person stays calm and unshaken. Such a doer is called sattvic, a doer of clear goodness.

कथा

The Sea Decides, Not Me

An original story

Aarav loved going out on the early boat with Dadu, but he hated the waiting. Hour after hour they would drift, the nets down in the dark water, the sun crawling up the sky, and Aarav would fidget and sigh and peer over the side a hundred times.

"How many fish, do you think?" he asked. "A lot? Will it be a lot today?"

Dadu only smiled and kept mending a small tear in the corner of the net, his hands steady, humming an old song under his breath.

At last they hauled the net in. It was heavy — wonderfully heavy, silver fish flashing and leaping until the bottom of the boat shone with them.

"We're rich!" Aarav shouted, dancing where he stood. "Dadu, look! Aren't you happy? Aren't you excited?"

Dadu chuckled, working the fish into the baskets. "It's a good day," he said simply, and rowed them home, the same calm song still on his lips.

The next morning they went out again. They waited the same hours, did the same careful work, lowered the same net. But when they pulled it up, it was nearly empty — three small fish and a tangle of weed.

Aarav's face fell. "It's terrible," he groaned. "A whole morning for nothing. You must be so disappointed."

But Dadu was humming the very same tune, coiling the rope just as neatly as the day before. He didn't slump, didn't grumble, didn't snap.

"Why aren't you sad?" Aarav demanded. "Yesterday was amazing and you barely smiled. Today is awful and you're just... the same."

Dadu rested the oars and looked at his grandson kindly. "My job, Aarav, is to mend the net well, to row out steadily, to lower it where the fishing is good, and to work with a glad heart. That much is mine to do, and I did it the same on both days." He nodded toward the wide, breathing sea. "How many fish swim into the net — that is the sea's to decide, not mine. If I let a full net make me wild with joy and an empty one crush me, the sea would be tossing me up and down like a cork. I would rather stay myself." He picked the oars back up. "Do your part fully. Let the rest be."

They rowed home through the small waves, and Dadu's song never changed.

चिन्तनम्

When something you tried turns out great, do you feel completely different than when it flops? What would it feel like to do your best and then stay calm and steady either way, like Dadu?