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Chapter 8 · Verse 10
🪈 Krishna speaks
Illustration for Chapter 8, Verse 10

प्रयाणकाले मनसाचलेन भक्त्या युक्तो योगबलेन चैव। भ्रुवोर्मध्ये प्राणमावेश्य सम्यक्स तं परं पुरुषमुपैति दिव्यम्॥

prayāṇakāle manasācalena bhaktyā yukto yogabalena caiva | bhruvormadhye prāṇamāveśya samyaksa taṁ paraṁ puruṣamupaiti divyam ||

Word by Word 21 words
प्रयाण
pra forth to go

departure, going forth

काले
kāla time

at the time

मनसा
man to think, mind

with the mind

अचलेन
a not cal to move, to waver

unmoving, steady

भक्त्या
bhaj to love, to be devoted

with devotion, with love

युक्तः
yuj to join, to yoke

joined, united, endowed

योग
yuj to join, to yoke

yoga, disciplined union

बलेन
bal strength, power

by the strength, by the power

ca and

and

एव
eva verily, indeed

indeed, surely

भ्रुवोः
bhrū eyebrow

of the two eyebrows

मध्ये
madhya middle

in the middle, between

प्राणम्
pra forth an to breathe

the life-breath

आवेश्य
ā into viś to enter, to fix

having fixed, having settled

सम्यक्
sam well, fully añc to direct

rightly, perfectly

सः
tad he, that

he, that one

तम्
tad that

that, Him

परम्
para highest, supreme

supreme, highest

पुरुषम्
puruṣa the Person, the Spirit

the Person, the Spirit

उपैति
upa toward i to go, to reach

reaches, attains

दिव्यम्
div to shine, the heavens

divine, shining

describes a person leaving the body well. At the moment of departure, with a mind that does not waver, full of love, and with the strength gathered from long practice, he settles his life-breath steadily at the point between the eyebrows — and so he reaches that supreme, shining divine Person. Death, for such a person, is not a falling but a calm walking home.

कथा

The Yogi Who Walked Home Calmly

From the yogic tradition

High on a mountain ledge, above the place where two rivers meet, an old yogi named Devala had lived for sixty years. The villagers below knew him as the man who never seemed afraid of anything.

One morning he came down the path — something he almost never did — and sat among the people by the well. "Tomorrow at dawn," he said gently, "I will leave this body. I wanted to say goodbye, and to show you that there is nothing to fear."

A young mother began to cry. "But you will die!"

"I will leave," Devala corrected, smiling. "There is a difference. A traveller who has packed carefully and knows the road does not fall off a cliff in the dark. He simply walks out the door in the morning light."

"How can you not be afraid?" asked an old man.

"Because I have practised," said Devala. "For sixty years, every day, I have steadied my mind until it stopped wavering like a flame in the wind. I have kept my heart full of love for the Shining One. And I have learned to gather my life-breath and rest it, steady and bright, at the point right here —" he touched the place between his eyebrows — "like lifting a lamp to light the way. When the moment comes, my mind will not panic and scatter. It will already be looking at the One it loves."

At dawn the next day, a few villagers climbed quietly to his ledge. The morning sun was just touching the snow-peaks, turning them gold. Devala sat upright, very still, his eyes half-closed, his face turned a little upward. His breathing slowed. There was the smallest smile on his lips, the look of someone who sees a face he has loved and waited for. And then, between one quiet breath and the next, he was simply gone — not fallen, not struggling, but as though he had stepped through an open door into a brighter room.

The young mother, who had climbed up too, found that she was no longer crying. The peace on the old yogi's face had passed into her. "He wasn't afraid," she whispered.

"No," said the old man beside her. "He had practised the way home so many times that when the day came, his feet already knew it."

चिन्तनम्

The yogi was calm at the end because he had practised peace every single day. How might the small calm habits you build now — taking a breath, being kind, staying steady — help you stay calm during something hard later?