O Krishna, Guide My Chariot

A prayer. A plea. A conversation across time.

Hey Keshava,
Be My Sarthi.

A letter to Lord Krishna — written from the battlefield of the 21st century

Hey Madhusudana  ·  Hey Vasudeva  ·  Hey Devakinandana  ·  Hey Hari  ·  Hey Govinda  ·  Hey Keshava
Hey Murari  ·  Hey Giridhari  ·  Hey Parthasarathi  ·  Hey Yogeshwara  ·  Hey Jagannath  ·  Hey Murlidhar

Divine names & Krishna Personal confession Dharma & wisdom Warrior spirit

Hey Krishna… I don't know if you hear these kinds of things anymore. I don't know if someone like me, sitting in a small room somewhere in Nepal, calling out to you — if that even reaches you. But I'm going to try. Because honestly, I don't know who else to ask.

I have been thinking about you a lot lately. Not the temple-version of you — the one in the frame with flowers around it. I mean you. The one who stood on that battlefield with Arjuna. The one who held the reins and didn't say a word for a long time. Just waited. Just watched. And then, when it mattered most, spoke.

That was 5,000 years ago. And somehow, nothing has changed.

"Arjuna was the mightiest archer the world had seen. And still — without you — he sat down, put his bow aside, and wept. Even the mighty need a guide."

Think about what you did, Krishna. The Pandavas — Arjuna, Yudhishthira, Bhima, all of them — they were not weak men. They had strength, they had training, they had dharma on their side. But they were directionless. Without you, the greatest army with the purest cause would have lost. Not because they lacked courage. Because they lacked clarity.

You were not just Arjuna's sarthi. You were the compass of the whole army. You held the vision when everyone else could only see the dust and the arrows and the noise in front of them. You knew — you always knew — what was dharma, what was adharma, what was the right move, and when to move. You were the only one who could see the full battlefield at once.

Hey Madhusudana — hey destroyer of all that is dark and murky — I am sitting here in the 21st century and I think I understand Arjuna now. A little bit, at least. Not his skill. Not his strength. But his confusion. That moment when the battlefield opened in front of him and instead of clarity, he just felt… lost. Like the scale of it all was too much. Like he couldn't tell anymore what was right and what was convenient. What was dharma and what was just fear dressed up as dharma.

I know that feeling. Maybe too well.

I am also in a battlefield, Krishna. It doesn't have arrows and chariots, but it has its own weapons. Confusion. Distraction. The habit of running towards everything interesting instead of standing still for the thing that matters. The noise of ten directions. The pull of what looks like purpose and sometimes is just avoidance. And in the middle of all of it — me, sitting here, not always sure which way to move.

"Even the mighty Yudhishthira, even the fierce Bhima, even the brilliant Draupadi — they all needed you, Keshava. Not as a king. As a guide. As the one who could see what they couldn't."

So I am asking you the same thing Arjuna must have asked, maybe not in words, maybe in that long silence before you spoke — Hey Hari, guide me. Please.

Be my sarthi. Not just for one battle. For this whole messy, uncertain, beautiful, difficult life. Hold the reins when my mind runs in seven directions. Whisper to me when I am about to pick the wrong path. Pull me back when I drift toward adharma — not the dramatic kind, but the quiet kind. The kind where I convince myself the small compromise is fine, the shortcut is justified, the delay is just strategy.

Show me my dharma, Devakinandana. Not in some abstract cosmic sense — I mean in the very ordinary Tuesday-morning sense. Show me what I am supposed to do today, this hour, in this life I have been given. Help me remember that every moment I waste is a moment borrowed from something I owe the world. Help me fulfill what I am supposed to fulfill.

Hey Govinda — nourisher of all things — nourish whatever small fire I carry inside me. Don't let it go out under the weight of everything that keeps piling up. And hey Giridhari — you who once lifted a whole mountain — sometimes my problems feel that heavy, even though they are probably not. Remind me that weight is something you can bear if you stop flinching.

Guide my chariot, Krishna. Show me where to move. Tell me when to be still. Help me tell the difference between dharma and comfortable rationalization. Between real purpose and beautiful distraction. Between the warrior I am supposed to become and the version of me that just talks about it.

I want to live like a warrior — fully present, fully responsible, doing what I am here to do. Not perfectly. Just honestly. With direction.

Hey Yogeshwara — master of all stillness — when my mind becomes a Kurukshetra of its own, be there in the middle of it. Like you were in that chariot. Steady. Unafraid. Knowing what's next.

Hey Parthasarathi —

You guided the greatest archer who ever lived. I am not asking for that. I am just asking to be guided. Honestly. Without illusion. Without me running away from my own battlefield.

Arjuna had you beside him on the chariot. I am asking for the same thing — not outside me, maybe, but somewhere deep inside. In that quiet place where I actually know what is right. Where I can hear what you're saying, if only I am still enough to listen.

Guide my mind. Guide my karma. Guide my dharma.

And help me not get lost in the battlefield.

"Because even Arjuna needed you, Krishna. And he was Arjuna."

— A warrior still learning to hold his bow. Somewhere in Nepal, 2026.

ॐ नमो भगवते वासुदेवाय