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The gist: The string of glories in the tenth chapter leaves Arjuna wanting more than words. He asks to see the real form, once, with his own eyes. Krishna grants him divine sight and unveils the cosmic form. Inside that single body stand all the worlds and all the gods, and also the terrible mouth of time, into which whole armies are pouring. Arjuna begins to shake. And then the most famous line of the Gita rings out: “I am time.”
Arjuna’s demand
Arjuna folded his hands. “The words you spoke to me out of kindness, the deepest secret of the spirit, have carried off the last of my delusion,” he said. “I have heard from you, in full, how beings come into the world and pass out of it again, and I have heard of your undying majesty. You are exactly what you say you are. One longing is still standing in me. I want to see, with my own eyes, that lordly form of yours, the one that holds all wisdom and power and splendor. If you judge that the sight is possible for me, then, master of every yoga, show me your imperishable self.”
Krishna answered. “Look at my forms in their hundreds and thousands, all divine, of every shape and hue. Look at the twelve sons of Aditi, the eight Vasus, the eleven Rudras, the two Ashvins, the forty-nine wind-gods, and a host of marvels no one has ever seen. See the whole moving and unmoving universe gathered here in one place, in this single body of mine, and anything else you wish to see. But these human eyes of yours could never hold such a sight. So I give you a divine eye.” And with that word he gave Arjuna the sight the moment demanded.
The cosmic form
What Arjuna saw next resists language. Mouths beyond counting, eyes beyond counting, arms beyond counting. The form blazed with divine ornaments and wore garlands and robes of light, raised weapon after gleaming weapon, and carried a fragrance from no earthly source. Picture a thousand suns bursting open in the sky in the same instant, and you have only a hint of that radiance. Inside that one body stood the whole universe with all its divisions: Brahma on his lotus throne, Shiva beside him, the seers, the serpents of the deep, the sun and the moon, the gods in all their orders. Arjuna searched for an edge to it and found none, no beginning, no middle, no end. Every hair on his body rose. He lowered his head, pressed his palms together, and began to speak in a voice that shook.
His words came broken. He told Krishna that the three worlds were shuddering at this form. Whole hosts of gods were pouring into it, and some, terrified, stood with folded palms and called out his names. The great seers and the perfected ones were crying “let it be well, let it be well,” and lifting hymn after hymn. Rudras and Adityas and Vasus, Gandharvas and Yakshas and countless others hung there, gazing in amazement. And through the terror Arjuna understood who stood before him: the imperishable, the last shelter of everything that exists, the guardian of an ageless dharma, the one who was there before all beginnings. Then he looked again at the mouths of that vast form, at the fangs blazing like the fires that end a world, and the directions fell away from him. He could not tell north from south. No calm was left in him, and no ground to stand on.
The longer he watched, the more his wonder curdled into dread. Into those blazing mouths the warriors were pouring. They rushed in the way great rivers race toward the sea and lose themselves in it, the way moths hurl themselves into a flame and are gone. The sons of Dhritarashtra, whole ranks of kings, Bhishma and Drona and Karna, and the champions of his own side along with them, all of them were being swept toward the burning jaws. Some he saw caught between the teeth, their heads already crushed. And the vast form went on swallowing them from every side and licking its lips, its terrible light scorching the worlds. Arjuna’s courage gave out.
“I am time”
Shaking, he asked the question. “Tell me who you are in this terrible shape. I bow to you, best of the gods, be kind to me. I want to know you, the first being of all, because I cannot read your purpose.” Then came the answer that has echoed down the centuries.
कालोऽस्मि लोकक्षयकृत्प्रवृद्धो लोकान्समाहर्तुमिह प्रवृत्तः।
ऋतेऽपि त्वां न भविष्यन्ति सर्वे येऽवस्थिताः प्रत्यनीकेषु योधाः॥
“I am time, ever swelling, the destroyer of the worlds, and I have set out now to draw all these worlds in. The warriors ranged against you will cease to be, whether you fight or hold your hand.” No line in the Gita startles a reader more than this one. The thing a life keeps hoarding under the name of the future, time has already ruled on.
Then Krishna lifted the weight from him. “So rise, and take your glory. Beat these enemies and enjoy a kingdom in full flower. I have already killed these men. Be only the instrument, Savyasachi, archer who draws the bow with either hand. Drona and Bhishma, Jayadratha and Karna, and every other brave man out there, all of them already stand slain by me. Do not falter. Fight, and the field is yours.” Do your work, and let go of the conceit that says “I am the one who kills.” The doer is someone else. You are the channel the deed passes through.
That one word, instrument, is the marrow of this whole chapter. Krishna wants the bow raised, the arrows loosed, the whole of Arjuna’s courage spent. Sitting still with folded hands is no part of the order. What has to come undone is the knot inside him, the belief that the thread of outcomes lies in his own fist when it lies in another’s hand. Give the work your whole mind. Give the fruit none of your pride. The Gita has said this from the start, and here it stands up in plain sight, right before the eyes.
A memory of Oppenheimer
The same “kalo’smi” line surfaced before the world once more in the twentieth century. On July 16, 1945, at the first test of the atomic bomb, the American physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer, who had led the Manhattan Project that built it, found this very shloka rising in his mind. The test bore the name Trinity. Science was his whole field, and no one would have called him a teacher of Sanskrit, yet around 1933 he had learned the language and read the Gita in the original. Watching that ball of fire climb out of the desert, he felt he was seeing exactly this: time itself, destroyer of the worlds, made visible before him.
Arjuna asks forgiveness
As the terror drained out of him, Arjuna remembered the old ease between them. How many times had he called this friend by name without a thought, at play, at rest, at the table, alone or in front of others, “hey Krishna, hey Yadava, hey friend,” never once guessing who sat beside him. Palms pressed together, he asked forgiveness again and again. “You are the father of all that moves and all that stands still,” he said, “the teacher worthy of the highest honor, and no one in the three worlds is your equal or your better. Bear with me, then, the way a father bears with his son, a friend with his friend, a lover with the one he loves.”
“I have seen what no one has seen before,” he went on, “and it fills me with joy and with fear at once. Be gracious, lord of the gods, home of the worlds, and let me see that form again, the crowned one with the mace and the discus in its hands.”
Krishna met him with tenderness. He showed first the four-armed form Arjuna had asked for, then took on again the familiar human shape. Seeing that gentle form, Arjuna came back to himself, and Krishna spoke. “What you have seen lies beyond the reach of the greatest seekers. No reciting of the Vedas will uncover it, no yajnas, no gifts, no fierce tapas. Even the gods hunger to look on it.”
भक्त्या त्वनन्यया शक्य अहमेवंविधोऽर्जुन।
ज्ञातुं द्रष्टुं च तत्त्वेन प्रवेष्टुं च परन्तप॥
“Arjuna, only an undivided bhakti, love that leans nowhere else, can know me in this form, see me in this form, and enter into me in truth.” That door opens to love. Fear can wait at it forever and never hear the latch move. And that love wears a plain face: whoever does his work for Krishna’s sake, leans his whole weight on him, keeps free of clinging, and holds no enmity toward any living being, that one comes to him.
The gist
Put it in one sentence. Time itself is Krishna’s own form, and what is coming has already been settled. Our part is only to play it faithfully and to leave the weight of the fruit with him. And the way to look on that vastness is with love.
Source: Srimad Bhagavad Gita