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Chapter 6 · Verse 8
🪈 Krishna speaks
Illustration for Chapter 6, Verse 8

ज्ञानविज्ञानतृप्तात्मा कूटस्थो विजितेन्द्रियः। युक्त इत्युच्यते योगी समलोष्टाश्मकाञ्चनः॥

jñānavijñānatṛptātmā kūṭastho vijitendriyaḥ | yukta ityucyate yogī samaloṣṭāśmakāñcanaḥ ||

Word by Word 8 words
ज्ञानविज्ञानतृप्तात्मा
jñā to know vi specially jñā to know tṛp to be satisfied ātman self

one whose self is content with knowledge and deep wisdom

कूटस्थः
kūṭa peak, anvil, unchanging summit sthā to stand

standing firm and unchanging, immovable

विजितेन्द्रियः
vi fully ji to conquer indriya the senses

one who has fully mastered the senses

युक्तः
yuj to yoke, to join

united, in yoga, steadfast

इति
iti thus, so

thus, so

उच्यते
vac to speak

is said to be, is called

योगी
yuj to yoke, to join

a yogi

समलोष्टाश्मकाञ्चनः
sama equal, the same loṣṭa a clod, a lump of earth aśma a stone kāñcana gold

to whom a clod of earth, a stone, and gold are all the same

describes the steady yogi: someone so content with true knowledge and deep understanding that nothing in the world can shake them. They have mastered their senses, and they stand unmoved like a mountain peak. To such a person a lump of mud, an ordinary stone, and a piece of gold are all worth the same — because their happiness no longer depends on what they own.

कथा

Two Buyers, One Price

An original story

On market day in the village, Nani spread out her paintings on a cloth in the shade of the peepal tree. Among them were two she had finished that week. One was a peacock she had loved making — every feather a small joy, the blue so deep it seemed lit from inside. The other was a quick painting of a lotus she had not enjoyed at all; the lines had fought her, and she had finished it only to be done.

By midmorning two buyers came.

The first was a rich merchant from the town. He fell in love with the peacock at once. "Name your price," he said, jingling a heavy purse. "I will pay twice, three times what you ask." His eyes shone with the wish to own that beautiful thing.

The second was a thin old woman with a single small coin knotted in the corner of her shawl. She lingered over the lotus — the one even Nani thought was poor. "It is all I have," she said shyly, opening her palm to show the little coin, "but it would brighten my doorway."

Ravi, helping at his grandmother's side, watched closely. He was sure Nani would fuss over the rich man, smile and bow and treat him grandly, and barely glance at the old woman with her one coin.

But Nani treated them exactly the same.

She greeted the merchant with the same easy warmth she gave the old woman. She let the peacock go for its fair price, not a rupee more, though he would have paid a fortune — and she did not preen at his praise. She sold the lotus to the old woman for her single coin, wrapped it as carefully as the peacock, and thanked her just as kindly. To both buyers her face was the same calm, friendly face.

Walking home, Ravi tugged her sleeve. "Nani, the rich man would have made us so much money! And the painting you sold him was the good one! Weren't you even a little excited?"

Nani smiled and shifted her empty cloth bag on her shoulder.

"I had my joy already, Ravi — in the making of the peacock. The gold the man offered could not add to it, and the old woman's coin could not take it away. When your happiness lives inside, in the knowing and the doing, then heavy gold and a single coin weigh just the same in your heart. A lump of mud, a stone, a piece of gold — to a settled mind they are all simply things."

चिन्तनम्

If someone offered you a lot of money for something you made with love, would it change how you feel about the thing itself? Where does the real joy of making something live?