Chariot on Fire

There’s a moment in the Mahabharata, after the trumpets of victory fall silent, when Arjuna turns to Krishna, his charioteer, and asks him to step down from the chariot first, as a mark of respect to the warrior. It was Arjuna’s moment of accomplishment and vanity, for he had carried the weight of the war on his shoulders, believing his strength had seen it through. 

But Krishna refuses. He instructs Arjuna to descend first. Only after Arjuna obeys does Krishna step down himself, and along with him Hanuman, who was gracing the flag of the chariot, also leaves. The next instant, the grand chariot erupts into flames and crumbles to ashes. It had been damaged, struck, pierced, and cursed during the war. What had kept it from collapsing throughout the battle wasn’t Arjuna’s ability to intercept everything, but it was the presence of Krishna and Hanuman. As long as divinity remained within, the destruction had held its breath. Once this realization hits him, Arjuna instantly regrets his pride and becomes grounded. 

I’ve been carrying this story with me for long now, not just as a metaphor, but as a mirror. 

In the arena of life, we all fight many battles, for we are all the protagonists in our own hero’s journey. We are focused, skilled, and burdened with decisions that ripple far beyond the visible moment. We draw our bows in moments of clarity, and lower it in moments of doubt. But when we have lived enough, built enough, and let go of enough, an invisible truth starts residing deep in our hearts, that the outcomes never rest solely in our hands, for we are never alone in the chariot. 

But another truth surfaces later, in silence, peace and contemplation: for even as Krishna shielded the chariot, Arjuna still fought. Still bled. Still won, lost and endured. And it is only in the stillness aftermath that we feel the full weight of our wounds and the hurt. Not just from what attacked us, but from exhaustion. From decisions that tore us. From seeing others fall, rising from our own falls. 

The path of duty leaves its marks. Even the chosen ones are not spared fatigue; in fact, especially the ones who choose themselves to accomplish something, have the worst of scars. Just as pride can blind us to the presence of external factors, we can also underestimate our own strengths at times, especially the sheer will it took to hold steady through the storm. 

When we understand that both the truths coexist, in that moment of clarity, balance is born. 

We were not alone. But we did endure. 

And before the next battle, do not rush. Rest, not out of weakness, but wisdom. Reflect, not in guilt, but in gratitude. And remember, that doing one's duty is noble, but even the strongest champions must recover before they ride out again.