Geeta Darshan #9

Now, the sutra:
“Thus, O Arjuna, listen from me as I explain fully and distinctly the threefold division, born of the gunas, of intelligence and steadfastness.
“O Partha, that intellect which knows the path of engagement and of renunciation, what ought to be done and what ought not, fear and fearlessness, bondage and liberation—that intellect is sattvic.
“And, O Partha, the intellect by which a person does not truly discern dharma and adharma, and what ought to be done and what ought not—that intellect is rajasic.
“And, O Arjuna, that intellect which, enveloped in tamas, takes adharma to be dharma, and sees all meanings upside down—that intellect is tamasic.”

Before every statement Krishna says, “O Partha, hear what I say.”
There is great emphasis on listening. Arjuna keeps missing—he does not truly hear. Krishna goes on speaking, and Arjuna does not hear. Krishna says one thing, Arjuna hears another. The needle of his attention never quite lodges in Krishna’s heart. He does not hear what Krishna wants to say, is saying. Hence the dialogue becomes so long. Therefore, before each utterance Krishna says: “O Partha, hear what I say.”

These three gunas of Sankhya are very unique. They apply to every aspect of life. This is not philosophy; it is a direct analysis of life. Such it is—prakriti is threefold. Therefore, naturally, every phenomenon will have three qualities. Dividing by these three gives great clarity. Through these categories, things become visible. For minds pressed under darkness, surrounded by smoke, entangled—this gives substantial support.

“The intellect enveloped in tamas takes adharma to be dharma…”
The one burdened by tamas has this mark: he takes adharma as if it were dharma. His intelligence is inverted. He sees light as darkness and darkness as light. He knows life as death and death as life. Everything is reversed for him. He is doing a headstand; everything appears upside down. His skull is inverted.

There is a story about Mulla Nasruddin: when he was a little boy, his name was “Upside-down Head.” If you wanted him to sit quietly, you had to say, “Nasruddin, make a lot of noise!” Then he would sit quietly. If you wanted him to make noise, you had to say, “Nasruddin, sit quietly.” Then he would make noise. Whatever you told him, he would do the opposite.
Ego lives by doing the opposite. Tamas is condensed ego.

One day Nasruddin’s father was returning from the river with him. Sandbags were loaded on the donkey. They were crossing a bridge. The load was heavy and the bag on the left side was slipping down. The father got worried. If it had been an ordinary boy, he would have said, “Tilt the load a little to the right.” But this is an upside-down head. If you tell him “right,” he will tilt left and the bag will fall.
So the father said, “Look son, tilt the bag a little to the left; it’s leaning too far to the right.” And for the first time in his life, Nasruddin tilted it to the left. The bag fell—and the donkey too.
The father said, “Nasruddin, today you acted contrary to your habit—how come?” Nasruddin said, “I am eighteen now. I am no longer a child. I too have become mature. Please think a little before you speak to me.”

Tamas is the name of an inverted intellect. Whatever needs to be done, tamas will refuse to do; it will be willing only to do the opposite. Therefore with a tamasic person you must deal very carefully. It is possible that all your methods to improve him become the very causes that make him worse.

A woman comes to me; her husband drinks. She has been reforming him all her life. He doesn’t improve—he worsens. Drunkards are generally tamasic by tendency.
I tired of telling her, “At least you stop reforming him. You’ve tried for twenty years—that is a long time. No result has come; only life has been wasted—quarrel and quarrel. Either you are reforming him or he is creating havoc drunk at home. Two events, over and over, for twenty years—both unpleasant, both painful. He won’t quit; please, you at least quit trying to reform him.”
She cannot stop. I said, “Kindly try for three days—say nothing.” Next day she told me, “It’s impossible. I cannot hold back. Seeing him, a fire rises; I cannot keep quiet.” She too is tamasic.
So I said, “Then I’d better stop telling you to stop—this is a bigger entanglement. I thought only your husband was tamasic; you are the same. You cannot even see that for your husband drinking is a twenty-year-old habit—it will be hard for him. You have no addiction to drop, just the habit of telling him to stop. If telling is so intoxicating, imagine the pull of alcohol—twenty years!”
She said, “Whatever it is, I just cannot not say something. When I see it, I burn; I have to speak.”
And I know, until she can refrain from speaking, he cannot quit drinking. It has become an ego-duel—who wins?
The ego cares about winning, not about happiness, not about peace, not about liberation—about victory. And who is he trying to win against? This poor wife—and he is throwing away his life. And the poor wife too is throwing away her life to win against this poor husband. In twenty years, liberation could have been attained; only hell has grown.

But with a tamasic person, this is the pattern. Changing it is very difficult. You have to speak to him thoughtfully. You should not ask him to do exactly what you want him to do.
“For, O Arjuna, the intellect enveloped in tamas takes adharma to be dharma; it regards all meanings in reverse—such an intellect is tamasic.
“And, O Partha, the intellect by which a man does not truly know dharma and adharma, and what ought to be done and what not—that intellect is rajasic.
“The tamasic intellect sees the reverse; the sattvic sees directly—pure perception. It sees as it is: stone as stone, flower as flower; dharma as dharma, adharma as adharma. To see what is, as it is—that is sattvic intellect. To see what is not, as if it were—that upside-down seeing is tamasic. Between the two lies rajasic.
“Rajasic intellect—by which one does not truly know dharma and adharma, and what should or should not be done…”
Things are not understood rightly; he is tangled in the middle. Some things look clear, some do not. Dharma sometimes looks like dharma, and sometimes adharma also seems somewhat like dharma. Adharma appears as adharma, yet dharma too seems to contain some adharma. The rajasic person stands in the middle—split in half, Trishanku.

Therefore you will find the tamasic person more at ease and healthy than the rajasic. It is a strange fact.
Tamasic people generally live more simply—because there is no dilemma. It’s all clear to them—wholly wrong, but clear from their side. “Eat, drink, make merry”—that is their ultimate attainment. Beyond that, nothing.
Charvaka said, “Borrow if you must, but drink ghee!” If you have to take a loan to drink clarified butter, drink! Because who returns after death? To whom will you have to repay? Is there any real “debt” in this world? Whoever takes, takes; whoever doesn’t is a fool. Plunder if you must, because life is four days long; once gone, it’s gone. Do not leave any enjoyment un-enjoyed; no one returns after death.
This entire philosophy of Charvaka is based on tamas—the worldview of the tamasic person.
The word “Charvaka” itself is good: it means “sweet-spoken”—charu-vak, one whose words are sweet. And this view sounds sweet: eat, drink, be merry—even on credit. To whom will you repay? Laws, courts—human contrivances. No worry. No sin, no virtue; no heaven, no afterlife—all inventions of priests. Do not be deceived by them.
Charvaka said, “These are the devices of tricksters: heaven, liberation, religion, virtue—all nonsense. The essence is: enjoy; drink as much as you want—you won’t return again. There is no soul, no immortality. Life is momentary—but this is all there is.”
His teaching also came to be called Lokayata—meaning: approved by the people; what the majority adheres to.
You will be surprised: you won’t find anyone who calls himself Charvaka. But if you look within people, ninety-nine out of a hundred are Charvakas. One sits as a Hindu, another as a Muslim, another as a Christian—but strip off the outer garments and search within: you will find Charvaka.
“Lokayata” fits well. Most people believe Charvaka. They may worship Mahavira or invoke Muhammad, but in the end they hold fast to Charvaka’s feet. Their life reveals it; for it is deeds, not words, that prove.

Still, you will find these people fairly calm. There isn’t much dilemma in their lives. Even the ignorant have a kind of peace—just as the wise have a great peace. A faint reflection of that appears in the ignorant too. The reason:
The wise are certain that truth is truth, untruth is untruth. The ignorant are also certain that what they take as truth is truth, and what they take as untruth is untruth.
Both, at least, are sure. In between stands the rajasic—wavering. He walks the tightrope, now leaning left, now right. Both things appear right to him, yet not so right that he can choose. He is always in doubt.
The rajasic person is always tangled. He cannot decide; he lives half-and-half. Therefore the rajasic will be the most tense—his life full of stress, restlessness, excitement.

“And, O Partha, the intellect by which a man does not truly know dharma and adharma, and what ought to be done and what not—that intellect is rajasic.
“That which knows, in essence, the paths of engagement and renunciation, duty and non-duty, fear and fearlessness, bondage and liberation—as they are—that intellect is sattvic.”

Search within to see which intellect is active in you. Until you come to sattvic intellect, know that you cannot be related to dharma.
If a tamasic person goes to a temple, he will go for wrong reasons. If a rajasic person goes, he won’t go whole; half of him will be left in the marketplace. The sattvic person has no need to go to a temple—wherever he stands, the temple comes.

Do a clear analysis within.
Arjuna is not tamasic; Duryodhana is tamasic. Therefore the Gita could not be said to Duryodhana—there was no way to speak to him. No question at all. Duryodhana is Charvaka: eat, drink, be merry—that’s all. Beyond this, nothing to attain. Where to go? What to gain? Soul, God—all empty talk. Enjoyment is the only liberation.
For Duryodhana no question ever arose. He is, in a sense, straightforward. However wrong his intellect, he is simple. There is no question in his life. He is satisfied with darkness. Inquiry has not yet arisen. The seed has not cracked; the sprout has not emerged. There is nothing to ask Krishna.

Nor is there a sattvic person there—otherwise he too would not ask. If Mahavira were there, he would have quietly stepped down from the chariot and gone away. He would not ask Krishna: “O mighty-armed, my limbs are weakening, my Gandiva slips from my hand; I tremble, I am afraid. I do not know what is to be done and what is not. Give me understanding.”
Mahavira would not say such things; nor would Buddha. They too were kshatriyas; they knew the bow like Arjuna. They too had their Gandivas. If they were on the battlefield, they would have quietly walked away. Even if Krishna ran after them asking, they would say, “Useless—there is nothing to ask.”

Neither Duryodhana has to ask, nor Buddha. It is Arjuna who must ask—Arjuna is rajasic. He stands in the middle. The one in the middle must ask—because he must decide. He fears that without Krishna’s support he might fall where Duryodhana stands. He does not want to—he does not want to enter battle like Duryodhana. It seems utterly futile—there will be violence, killing, hundreds of thousands will die, sin will spread; it is ghastly. There is no taste in it.
He is not in the state of Mahavira either, where everything is clear and he would lay down the Gandiva and go to the forest. Not sattvic—rajasic: in the middle, undecided, restless, wavering, trembling. Therefore he fits with Krishna.
A tamasic person never becomes a disciple; a sattvic person has no need to. A rajasic person does—Arjuna does. All disciples are Arjunas; Arjuna is the quintessential symbol of discipleship.

Search within yourself. But be mindful: there are other dangers too.
As I said, the Mahabharata, its war and its tale, is very unique. There is Yudhishthira too. He does not ask either. He is “Dharma-raj,” but he does not leave the war like Mahavira. He is just a pundit. He is not sattvic; he has the idea of sattva, the doctrine, the words. He is a scholar; not a sage. No awakening has happened to him. He stands where Arjuna stands, but is weighed down by pedantry. Arjuna is simple; he is not burdened by learning—so he can ask. Yudhishthira cannot ask; he already “knows” the answers—answers not discovered from his own life, but borrowed.

In the Mahabharata you will find everyone—it is a condensed portrait of the whole world. If you look at each character, you will see it is a symbol; behind each character there are whole types of people throughout the world.

If an inquiry has arisen in your mind, know that you stand in the middle. If you do not seize the thread of inquiry and move forward, there is the danger of falling back. If you do not rise upward, there is the danger of becoming a Duryodhana.
Krishna’s whole effort is to save Arjuna from becoming Duryodhana—and also to save him from remaining Arjuna. And if Arjuna enters the war, let him enter as Buddha would have entered—so purely, so innocently, so unattached—an instrument only, a mere means.

Enough for today.