The Bhagavad Gita E-Book

Edwin Arnold

• Herausgeber: Harmakis Edizioni
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

The Bhagavad Gita, the greatest devotional book of Hinduism, has long been recognized as one of the world’s spiritual classics and a guide to all on the path of Truth. It is sometimes known as the Song of the Lord or the Gospel of the Lord Shri Krishna. According to Western scholarship, it was composed later than the Vedas and the Upanishads – probably between the fifth and second centuries before Christ. It is a fragment, part of the sixth book of the epic poem The Mahabaratha. The Mahabaratha tells of the Pandavas, Prince Arjuna and his four brothers, growing up in north India at the court of their uncle, the blind King Dhritarashtra, after the death of their father, the previous ruler. There is always great rivalry between the Pandavas or sons of Pandu and the Kauravas, the one hundred sons of Dhritarashtra. Eventually the old king gives his nephews some land of their own but his eldest son, Duryodhana, defeats Yudhisthira, the eldest Pandava, by cheating at dice, and forces him and his brothers to surrender their land and go into exile for thirteen years. On their return, the old king is unable to persuade his son Duryodhana to restore their heritage and, in spite of efforts at reconciliation by Sanjaya, Dhritarashtra’s charioteer; by Bheeshma, his wise counsellor; and even by the Lord Krishna himself, war cannot be averted. The rival hosts face each other on the field of Kurukshetra. It is at this point that The Bhagavad Gita begins. When Prince Arjuna surveys the battlefield, he is overwhelmed with sorrow at the futility of war. The teachings of The Bhagavad Gita are spoken by the divine Lord Krishna, who is acting as the prince’s charioteer. They are overheard by Sanjaya and reported back to King Dhritarashtra. When Krishna has finished speaking to Arjuna, the two armies engage. The battle lasts eighteen days and by the end of it nearly all of the warriors on both sides are dead save Krishna and the five sons of Pandu.

Leseprobe

THE BHAGAVAD GITA

Translated by Edwin Arnold

[1885]

CHAPTER I

Of the Distress of Arjuna

Dhritirashtra. Ranged thus for battle on the sacred plainOn Kurukshetra- say, Sanjaya! say

What wrought my people, and the Pandavas?

Sanjaya. When he beheld the host of Pandavas,

Raja Duryodhana to Drona drew,

And spake these words: “Ah, Guru! see this line,

How vast it is of Pandu fighting-men,

Embattled by the son of Drupada,

Thy scholar in the war! Therein stand ranked

Chiefs like Arjuna, like to Bhima chiefs,

Benders of bows; Virata, Yuyudhan,

Drupada, eminent upon his car, Dhrishtaket, Chekitan, Kasi’s stout lord,

Purujit, Kuntibhoj, and Saivya,

With Yudhamanyu, and Uttamauj

Subhadra’s child; and Drupadi’s; all famed!

All mounted on their shining chariots!

On our side, too, thou best of Brahmans! see

Excellent chiefs, commanders of my line,

Whose names I joy to count: thyself the first,

Then Bhishma, Karna, Kripa fierce in fight,

Vikarna, Aswatthaman; next to these

Strong Saumadatti, with full many more

Valiant and tried, ready this day to die

For me their king, each with his weapon grasped,

Each skilful in the field. Weakest- meseems-

Our battle shows where Bhishma holds command,

And Bhima, fronting him, something too strong!

Have care our captains nigh to Bhishma’s ranks

Prepare what help they may! Now, blow my shell!”

Then, at the signal of the aged king,

With blare to wake the blood, rolling around

Like to a lion’s roar, the trumpeter

Blew the great Conch; and, at the noise of it,

Trumpets and drums, cymbals and gongs and horns

Burst into sudden clamour; as the blasts

Of loosened tempest, such the tumult seemed!

Then might be seen, upon their car of gold

Yoked with white steeds, blowing their battle-shells,

Krishna the God, Arjuna at his side:

Krishna, with knotted locks, blew his great conch

Carved of the “Giant’s bone;” Arjuna blew

Indra’s loud gift; Bhima the terrible-

Wolf-bellied Bhima- blew a long reed-conch;

And Yudhisthira, Kunti’s blameless son,

Winded a mighty shell, “Victory’s Voice;”

And Nakula blew shrill upon his conch

Named the “Sweet-sounding,” Sahadev on his

Called “Gem-bedecked,” and Kasi’s Prince on his.

Sikhandi on his car, Dhrishtadyumn,

Virata, Satyaki the Unsubdued,

Drupada, with his sons, (O Lord of Earth!)

Long-armed Subhadra’s children, all blew loud,

So that the clangour shook their foemen’s hearts,

With quaking earth and thundering heav’n.

Then ‘twas-

Beholding Dhritirashtra’s battle set,

Weapons unsheathing, bows drawn forth, the war

Instant to break- Arjun, whose ensign-badge

Was Hanuman the monkey, spake this thing

To Krishna the Divine, his charioteer:

“Drive, Dauntless One! to yonder open ground

Betwixt the armies; I would see more nigh

These who will fight with us, those we must slay

To-day, in war’s arbitrament; for, sure,

On bloodshed all are bent who throng this plain,

Obeying Dhritirashtra’s sinful son.”

Thus, by Arjuna prayed, (O Bharata!)

Between the hosts that heavenly Charioteer

Drove the bright car, reining its milk-white steeds

Where Bhishma led, and Drona, and their Lords.

“See!” spake he to Arjuna, “where they stand,

Thy kindred of the Kurus:” and the Prince

Marked on each hand the kinsmen of his house,

Grandsires and sires, uncles and brothers and sons,

Cousins and sons-in-law and nephews, mixed

With friends and honoured elders; some this side,

Some that side ranged: and, seeing those opposed,

Such kith grown enemies- Arjuna’s heart

Melted with pity, while he uttered this:

Arjuna. Krishna! as I behold, come here to shed

Their common blood, yon concourse of our kin,

My members fail, my tongue dries in my mouth,

A shudder thrills my body, and my hair

Bristles with horror; from my weak hand slips

Gandiv, the goodly bow; a fever burns

My skin to parching; hardly may I stand;

The life within me seems to swim and faint;

Nothing do I foresee save woe and wail!

It is not good, O Keshav! nought of good

Can spring from mutual slaughter! Lo, I hate

Triumph and domination, wealth and ease,

Thus sadly won! Aho! what victory

Can bring delight, Govinda! what rich spoils

Could profit; what rule recompense; what span

Of life itself seem sweet, bought with such blood?

Seeing that these stand here, ready to die,

For whose sake life was fair, and pleasure pleased,

And power grew precious: grandsires, sires, and sons,

Brothers, and fathers-in-law, and sons-in-law,

Elders and friends! Shall I deal death on these

Even though they seek to slay us? Not one blow,

O Madhusudan! will I strike to gain

The rule of all Three Worlds; then, how much less

To seize an earthly kingdom! Killing these

Must breed but anguish, Krishna! If they be

Guilty, we shall grow guilty by their deaths;

Their sins will light on us, if we shall slay

Those sons of Dhritirashtra, and our kin;

What peace could come of that, O Madhava?

For if indeed, blinded by lust and wrath,

These cannot see, or will not see, the sin

Of kingly lines o’erthrown and kinsmen slain,

How should not we, who see, shun such a crime-

We who perceive the guilt and feel the shame-

O thou Delight of Men, Janardana?

By overthrow of houses perisheth

Their sweet continuous household piety,

And- rites neglected, piety extinct-

Enters impiety upon that home;

Its women grow unwomaned, whence there spring

Mad passions, and the mingling-up of castes,

Sending a Hell-ward road that family,

And whoso wrought its doom by wicked wrath.

Nay, and the souls of honoured ancestors

Fall from their place of peace, being bereft

Of funeral-cakes and the wan death-water.

So teach our holy hymns. Thus, if we slay

Kinsfolk and friends for love of earthly power,

Ahovat! what an evil fault it were!

Better I deem it, if my kinsmen strike,

To face them weaponless, and bare my breast

To shaft and spear, than answer blow with blow.

So speaking, in the face of those two hosts,

Arjuna sank upon his chariot-seat,

And let fall bow and arrows, sick at heart.

HERE ENDETH CHAPTER I OF THE BHAGAVAD-GITA,

Entitled “Arjun-Vishad,”

Or “The Book of the Distress of Arjuna.”

CHAPTER II

Of Doctrines

Sanjaya. Him, filled with such compassion and such grief,With eyes tear-dimmed, despondent, in stern wordsThe Driver, Madhusudan, thus addressed:Krishna. How hath this weakness taken thee?Whence springsThe inglorious trouble, shameful to the brave,Barring the path of virtue? Nay, Arjun!Forbid thyself to feebleness! it marsThy warrior-name! cast off the coward-fit!Wake! Be thyself! Arise, Scourge of thy Foes!Arjuna. How can I, in the battle, shoot with shaftsOn Bhishma, or on Drona- O thou Chief!Both worshipful, both honourable men?

Better to live on beggar’s breadWith those we love alive,Than taste their blood in rich feasts spread,And guiltily survive!Ah! were it worse- who knows?- to beVictor or vanquished here,When those confront us angrilyWhose death leaves living drear?In pity lost, by doubtings tossed,My thoughts- distracted- turnTo Thee, the Guide I reverence most,That I may counsel learn:I know not what would heal the griefBurned into soul and sense,If I were earth’s unchallenged chief-A god- and these gone thence!

Sanjaya. So spake Arjuna to the Lord of Hearts,And sighing, “I will not fight!” held silence then.To whom, with tender smile, (O Bharata!)While the Prince wept despairing ‘twixt those hosts,Krishna made answer in divinest verse:Krishna. Thou grievest where no grief should be! thou speak’stWords lacking wisdom! for the wise in heartMourn not for those that live, nor those that die.Nor I, nor thou, nor any one of these,Ever was not, nor ever will not be,For ever and for ever afterwards.All, that doth live, lives always! To man’s frameAs there come infancy and youth and age,So come there raisings-up and layings-downOf other and of other life-abodes,Which the wise know, and fear not. This that irks-Thy sense-life, thrilling to the elements-Bringing thee heat and cold, sorrows and joys,‘Tis brief and mutable! Bear with it, Prince!As the wise bear. The soul which is not moved,The soul that with a strong and constant calmTakes sorrow and takes joy indifferently,Lives in the life undying! That which isCan never cease to be; that which is notWill not exist. To see this truth of bothIs theirs who part essence from accident,Substance from shadow. Indestructible,Learn thou! the Life is, spreading life through all;It cannot anywhere, by any means,Be anywise diminished, stayed, or changed.But for these fleeting frames which it informsWith spirit deathless, endless, infinite,They perish. Let them perish, Prince! and fight!He who shall say, “Lo! I have slain a man!”He who shall think, “Lo! I am slain!” those bothKnow naught! Life cannot slay. Life is not slain!Never the spirit was born; the spirit shall cease to be never;Never was time it was not; End and Beginning are dreams!Birthless and deathless and changeless remaineth the spirit forever;Death hath not touched it at all, dead though the house of itseems!Who knoweth it exhaustless, self-sustained,Immortal, indestructible, shall suchSay, “I have killed a man, or caused to kill?”

Nay, but as when one layethHis worn-out robes away,And, taking new ones, sayeth,“These will I wear to-day!”So putteth by the spiritLightly its garb of flesh,And passeth to inheritA residence afresh.

I say to thee weapons reach not the Life;Flame burns it not, waters cannot o’erwhelm,Nor dry winds wither it. Impenetrable,Unentered, unassailed, unharmed, untouched,Immortal, all-arriving, stable, sure,Invisible, ineffable, by wordAnd thought uncompassed, ever all itself,Thus is the Soul declared! How wilt thou, then,Knowing it so,- grieve when thou shouldst not grieve?How, if thou hearest that the man new-deadIs, like the man new-born, still living man-One same, existent Spirit- wilt thou weep?The end of birth is death; the end of deathIs birth: this is ordained! and mournest thou,Chief of the stalwart arm! for what befallsWhich could not otherwise befall? The birthOf living things comes unperceived; the deathComes unperceived; between them, beings perceive:What is there sorrowful herein, dear Prince?

Wonderful, wistful, to contemplate!Difficult, doubtful, to speak upon!Strange and great for tongue to relate,Mystical hearing for every one!Nor wotteth man this, what a marvel it is,When seeing, and saying, and hearing are done!