"There was a young man once," Krishna said, "who decided he would become holy all at once. His name was Sumant."

Arjuna tilted his head, listening.

"Sumant had heard that the greatest sages give up everything and sit perfectly still. So one morning he set down his tools, walked into the forest, found a smooth rock, and sat upon it, determined to be done with the world by sundown."

A horse snorted, as if amused.

"But Sumant had never practiced anything. He had never learned to do a single task without grumbling, never carried water without wishing he were elsewhere, never finished a chore without sulking about the reward. So when he sat on his rock, his mind would not sit with him. It ran back to the village. It itched for praise. It worried over his empty stomach. By midday his legs ached, his thoughts roared, and the stillness he had hoped for was nowhere to be found. He was more restless on the rock than he had ever been at his work."

"So he failed?" Arjuna asked.

"He learned," said Krishna. "An old sage passed by and saw him fidgeting. 'You have tried to carry a full bowl,' the sage said, 'before you ever learned to hold an empty one. Go back. Do your tasks — but do them without grabbing at the reward. Carry the water gladly. Sweep the floor gladly. Let go of the fruit each time. When your hands have learned that thousands of times, your mind will sit down all by itself.'"

Krishna looked at Arjuna.

"Sumant went back. He worked, and worked lightly, releasing the reward each day. And one quiet evening — he could not say which one — he found that the stillness had come to him on its own, like a bird that lands only when you stop reaching for it."

"So acting first," Arjuna said slowly, "makes the stillness possible."

"It clears the path," said Krishna. "Do your work well, and the great peace will not be far behind."