Describe a random encounter with a stranger that stuck out positively to you.
“From Bhagavad Gita — You have a right to perform your prescribed duties, but you are not entitled to the fruits of your actions.
It was not a planned meeting. No names were exchanged, no pasts revealed. Just a passing moment that felt like it carried the weight of something older.
The voice came suddenly—sharp, intrusive.“You think you are a smarty pants.”
The words didn’t feel new. They echoed, as if borrowed from somewhere forgotten. The mind stirred, restless, cluttered.
“I keep telling myself… my mind is garbage.” There was confusion.
A quiet resistance. A questioning of where such thoughts even came from. Was it something read? Something written? Something imagined?A memory flickered—of a story. A devotee and a villain.
Or was it just erased? Deleted? Or still lingering somewhere unseen?The mind began looping, pulling threads that didn’t need to be pulled.So the chanting began.The rhythm of the Chalisa rose—not loudly, but steadily.
Not as an escape, but as a return. Each line like a step away from noise, not fighting it, not rejecting it—just moving past it.
The voice faded. Silence followed. Not an empty silence of loss, but a settled one.And in that stillness, something unexpected appeared—not anger, not victory, not defeat.
Just a simple acknowledgment:
“Thanks for the help… villain.”
No bitterness in it. No praise either.Because there was no game to win.No side to defend.No scoreboard to settle.Only a field—like Kurukshetra—not outside, but within.
Where thoughts arise, clash, and dissolve.And what remained was not triumph.Just peace. Restored quietly, without announcement.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
“Abandon all varieties of dharma and simply surrender unto Me. I shall deliver you from all sinful reactions; do not fear.” — Bhagavad Gita
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