Ullhas Pagey
We live in an age when Artificial Intelligence (AI) predicts our desires before we feel them and quietly reshapes the very meaning of human intelligence. The digital economy has woven an invisible web that binds continents in an instant yet leaves the individual soul strangely orphaned. In such a time, the Gita descends like grace, offering the timeless path of Karm Yog, yog of action without attachment to fruit.
When an individual surrenders the feverish clinging to success or failure to likes or crashes to market volatility or algorithmic prophecy, then alone does the human spirit remain sovereign.
AI may take over the task, but it can never touch the sanctity of selfless action. In surrendering the ego’s demand for reward, we discover the deepest freedom; the soul stands unshackled amidst supercomputing machines that can compute everything except surrender.
Yet the outer world burns. Nations posture, alliances fracture, the shadow of multipolarity lengthens across the globe like the darkening before Kurukshetra’s war. Missiles replace chariots, drones circle where once Garuda soared, and the same ancient fear grips the heart of humanity: how shall we act when strength is in our hands and anger in our blood? The Gita does not counsel retreat into mountain caves nor the pacifism of the powerless. It thunders the truth that true nonviolence is not the absence of action but the presence of dharm. When Krishn urges Arjun, “Fight, but without hatred”, He is revealing the beautiful mystery of righteous strength, shakti that protects rather than destroys, power that restores the broken order instead of feeding the cycle of revenge.
The real Mahabharat rages in the hidden chambers of the mind where fear, greed, and attachment reside. Only when a leader, a nation, a civilisation wins that inner war, establishing the steady throne of equanimity, can the outer world be touched by lasting peace. The Gita is not asking us to lay down weapons; it is commanding us to first lay down the ego that wields them for selfish ends.
It is not just a scripture in the narrow sense; Gita is a song of the Self; it belongs to no sect, no border, no era. Its eighteen chapters are eighteen doorways into the boundless sanctuary where the individual soul remembers its identity with the Supreme.
Whether one sits before a screen in Silicon Valley or walks the dust of Kurukshetra, the question remains the same: “Who am i when everything i have built can be made obsolete in a moment?” And the answer, spoken thousands of years ago, is still vibrating in the air: You are not the body, not the role, not the nation, not the algorithm, but Tat tvam asi , the deathless, fearless, unchanging light.
The battlefield is still here, within and without, but so is the chariot, and charioteer. The song has not ended; it has only begun to be heard again by a world that stands, like Arjun once did.
Disclaimer
Views expressed above are the author’s own.
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