6.35 - Bhagavad Gita - Chapter 6, Verse 35

In Bhagavad Gita 6.35, Lord Krishna directly addresses Arjuna’s heartfelt doubt about whether the turbulent human mind can ever truly be controlled. Krishna, for the first time in this dialogue, agrees with Arjuna’s assessment: yes, the mind is indeed restless, hard to grasp, and as unruly as the wind. This acknowledgment from Krishna forms a deeply empathic moment in the Gita, as the Divine Teacher does not minimize the challenge but recognizes the genuine struggle involved in mastering one’s own mind.

Krishna’s response is more than just understanding—it is constructive. He outlines a practical and attainable approach, emphasizing that while the mind’s nature is difficult, it is not impossible to restrain. The keys he offers are twofold: practice (abhyasa) and detachment (vairagya). Practice refers to the steady, ongoing effort to bring the mind back each time it wanders, almost like training a wild horse with patience and consistency. Detachment, on the other hand, is the deliberate lessening of emotional entanglement with distractions and desires that pull the mind away from its purpose.

To illustrate, imagine trying to train your attention like one might train a puppy. Each time the puppy runs off, you gently bring it back—not with frustration, but with persistent patience. Over time, the puppy learns. The mind, Krishna assures, responds in much the same way to regular, gentle redirection through disciplined focus. Practice cultivates the “mental muscle” needed to harness attention; it is not achieved by a single act but by countless acts of returning, refocusing, and recommitting.

Detachment, or vairagya, serves as the balancing force to practice. While practice strengthens the ability to focus, detachment is about gradually loosening the grip of cravings, attachments, and emotional investments that stir up restlessness within. Krishna does not ask for indifference, but for a conscious separation from those things that agitate or unbalance the inner world. By recognizing the fleeting and often unsatisfactory nature of external distractions, one becomes less drawn to them, making it easier for the mind to settle.

Krishna’s choice to call Arjuna “Mahābāho”—mighty-armed one—reminds Arjuna of his inner strength. The same force that Arjuna brings onto the battlefield can be summoned inward, to confront and gradually master his own mind. It is an empowering message: spiritual discipline is not reserved for the ascetic or the mystic; it is within reach of anyone who applies effort and discernment, regardless of the role they play in society.

By presenting both practice and detachment together, Krishna encapsulates the entire method of self-mastery. If one pursues only practice without letting go of attachments, progress will be slow, like rowing a boat with an anchor still stuck in the sand. Similarly, detachment without practice can lead to apathy or disengagement. The synergy of both is what gradually brings the mind into balance and steadiness.

This verse’s subtle wisdom lies in both its realism and its reassurance. Krishna does not promise an instant cure, nor does he paint an overly optimistic picture. He acknowledges that the journey to control the mind is gradual, often difficult, and filled with setbacks. But he also assures that success is inevitable for the one who persists, combining steady effort with wise discrimination. In this way, the verse becomes not just a response to Arjuna, but a universal encouragement for anyone seeking mastery over their own inner world.

The beauty of Krishna’s guidance here is its practicality. It addresses our lived experiences—those moments when the mind feels scattered, restless, or easily disturbed. By integrating repeated effort with a thoughtful release of what does not serve our peace, we, too, can traverse the same path Arjuna is encouraged to walk. Over time, practice and detachment work together, and what once seemed as uncontrollable as the wind gradually becomes calm, focused, and at peace.