कच्चिन्नोभयविभ्रष्टश्छिन्नाभ्रमिव नश्यति |
अप्रतिष्ठो महाबाहो विमूढो ब्रह्मणः पथि ||३८||
kachchin nobhaya-vibhraṣhṭaśh chhinnābhram iva naśhyati
apratiṣhṭho mahā-bāho vimūḍho brahmaṇaḥ pathi
श्लोक ३८: हे महाबाहु कृष्ण! क्या योग के मार्ग से विचलित हो कर मनुष्य भौतिक एवं आध्यात्मिक दोनों ही सफलताओं से वंचित नहीं रह जाता! क्या ऐसा मनुष्य एक टूटे हुए बादल की तरह नष्ट नहीं हो जाता, जिसका दोनों ही लोकों में कोई स्थान नहीं होता?
Shloka 38: Does not such a person, who deviates from the path of yoga, become deprived of both material and spiritual success, O mighty-armed Krishna! And perish like a torn cloud with no place in either realm?
Arjuna, in Bhagavad Gita verse 6.38, voices a deep existential concern to Krishna about the fate of those who embark on the spiritual journey but, due to an unsettled mind, wander off and fail to reach the goal of spiritual fulfillment. He articulates a vivid metaphor—a cloud split away from the main mass, drifting without anchorage. This image encapsulates Arjuna’s fear: does the seeker who falters in meditation and self-realization end up like a “riven cloud,” lost, unsupported, and ultimately perishing with no tangible gain from either worldly or spiritual pursuits?
At the heart of Arjuna’s question lies the anxiety of losing out on both fronts. If a person, despite honest and enthusiastic beginnings, is unable to sustain the discipline required for yoga because of the inevitable distractions and restlessness of the mind, then what becomes of their efforts? Are they left “unsuccessful in both ways,” unable to truly enjoy the pleasures of the world or attain the higher peace promised by spiritual practice? The term “ubhaya-vibhrashta” captures this sense of being adrift between two realms—like one who juggles two jobs but, unable to do justice to either, ends up losing both.
The analogy of the scattered cloud is especially powerful. A cloud, once separated from its source, cannot nourish the land below nor rejoin its origin; it simply floats, subject to the whims of the wind. Similarly, Arjuna worries that a spiritual aspirant, pulled away from both material and spiritual gratifications, might end up rootless—neither here nor there—anxious and incomplete, without a lasting foundation in either domain of life.
Arjuna’s worry isn’t a theoretical one; rather, it speaks to the real human predicament of distractions undermining even sincere intentions. He recognizes that spiritual discipline often starts with faith and determination, but the mind, so susceptible to wandering, can betray the seeker, leaving them “apratiṣṭhaḥ”—without shelter or steadiness. The fear is not just of failure, but of an intermediate state worse than never having tried: being neither able to enjoy the fruits of worldly engagement nor the peace of spiritual realization.
Within this verse, Arjuna also touches upon the idea of “apratishtha,” a lack of firm grounding. He paints the seeker as one who, having deviated from both karma (worldly action) and yoga (spiritual discipline), is “utterly baffled” or “vimoodhaha.” The implication is that such a person is vulnerable—confused, disheartened, and lacking direction. The metaphor invites contemplation: what is the ultimate fate of those who, through no lack of sincerity, simply cannot overcome the obstacles of their own minds?
This passage is a testament to Arjuna’s honesty and openness with Krishna. Rather than hiding his doubts, Arjuna brings them to the fore, asking for clarity. His question is framed humbly, as he seeks to understand whether spiritual failure leads to a kind of existential extinction—being lost like a fragment of cloud, with no meaningful place in the world or the spiritual realm.
By voicing these doubts, Arjuna is not showing a lack of faith in Krishna but rather a deep concern for the consequences of spiritual struggle. He is eager to grasp the law that governs the journey of the soul, especially when external efforts are thwarted by internal weaknesses. This is not the inquiry of a skeptic but of a sincere seeker who fears the consequences of unfinished spiritual business, longing to know whether divine justice takes into account the genuine struggles of the aspirant.
Ultimately, this verse stands as one of the most relatable and poignant moments in the Gita. It captures the universal anxiety about the value of half-finished efforts and the fear of permanent incompletion. The image of the scattered cloud lingers in the mind, prompting a search for assurance: does any progress on the spiritual path truly go to waste, or is there a deeper benevolence in the cosmic order that saves even those who, for all their striving, cannot reach the journey’s end?
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