From Kurukshetra to Baghdad: Battlefields of the Mind

An inexplicably huge sandstorm, a haboob, hit with its literal wall of sand, thousands of feet high and flattened our tent. It coated everything: my teeth, my uniform, and even my eyeballs. Next, it invaded my weapon and eventually worked its way into the deepest recesses of my Manas, muting the thinking and feeling faculty of the mind. Something similar also happens when in a combat zone, terrorists in “Technicals”—the improvised fighting vehicles— attack, and the world shrinks. In those moments of super-heightened reality, the ancient dialogue of the Bhagavad Gita ceases to be a theological abstraction or mere scripture. It transforms into a tactical manual for survival. It becomes an operating guide not just for the body, but for the Atman, the Eternal Self.

As a Hindu, I grew up in a household where the Gita was highly respected and studied. When I enlisted in the U. S. Army, I did not know of any other Hindu soldiers, though there may have been a few. This solitary existence caused the Gita to become my only link to Hinduism. In fact the forced perspective caused the Gita to feel less like reading a religious text to me and more like reviewing an after-action report from a battle fought millennia ago. 

The setting is strikingly familiar. It features a battlefield, the noise of war, and a soldier frozen by the sudden, crushing weight of Dharma-Sankata, a profound moral crisis. He stands on his chariot with his hands shaking and his weapon slipping from his grip as he is overwhelmed by the realization that he must kill. Every combat veteran knows Arjuna’s hesitation. It is the deep despondency known as Vishada. It is the gut-wrenching recognition of humanity in the face of inhumanity. It is the moment you realize that your action, or even your inaction, will immensely alter the fabric of your karma. In that frozen moment, the Gita comes alive and it offers a radical restructuring of identity and the concept of duty.

Another aspect of the Gita became clear when the towers fell on 9/11, and the tectonic plates of my world shifted. It was the concept of Svadharma, one’s own specific and inherent duty. The smoke of that day signaled a rise of Adharma, chaos and unrighteousness, so profound that I could not sit idly and hope someone else would fight the enemy. I realized then that Svadharma is not meant to be a static cage that blindly binds me to my expected duties. It was flexible enough to change as defined by the needs of the extreme moment, known in our scripture as Apad-Dharma, or the duty one adopts in times of existential distress. This flexibility offers a shocking sense of liberation. 

As I performed missions in foreign lands, my duty was to protect the innocent and support the lives of those beside me-be it Kandahar or Baghdad. It was also to protect the values I held dear, by temporarily becoming the sword that guarded them. This was also my real introduction to Karma Yoga, the yoga of action. It demanded that I perform the fierce duties of a soldier and act not because I loved war, but because the protection of Dharma required the temporary suspension of my peaceful nature. I fought not to conquer or kill, but to hold the line so that Dharma could once again prevail.

The War Comes Home: Samskaras and the Mind

Returning home presented a different and often more dangerous battlefield. In the military, the enemy is external but in civilian life, the enemy is your own mind. This is where the Gita proved most vital. The text describes the Manas as Chanchala, meaning restless, turbulent, and obstinate. For a war veteran, the mind is a minefield of Samskaras, deep psychological imprints of intense trauma, hypervigilance, and grief. The Gita even warns that for those who have not conquered their mind, it remains their greatest enemy. 

In my case, the enemy was clinically labeled Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but spiritually, I felt the heavy shroud of Tamas, the quality of darkness, inertia, and delusion. It manifested as depression and numbness. The adrenaline of combat, a Rajasic state of passion and activity, had burned out and left only the ash of exhaustion. Here too, the Gita offered a strategy for mental reconstruction. It teaches that we are not our minds, nor are we the trauma etched into them. We are only the Sakshi, or the Witness. The trauma belongs to the Kshetra, the field of the body and mind, and the Kshetrajna, the one who knows the field, remains untouched. 

After all, the Bhagavad Gita is not just a war story. It is a narrative of Sharanagati, a total surrender to the Divine Will. It is the story of Bhagavan Shri Krishna taking the humble position of a chariot driver to guide a confused and frightened soldier through the most difficult hour of his life. For me, as a serving soldier and as a veteran, this is the ultimate comfort. We often feel isolated and unable to explain the sights and sounds of war to civilians. But the Gita reminds us that we are never truly alone. By integrating the discipline of the soldier with the wisdom of the Rishi or seer, we transform our post-traumatic stress into post-traumatic growth. We learn to stand in the “City of Nine Gates,” the body, acting as the ruler rather than the victim of our senses. We eventually realize that the true battle was never against insurgents but against the darkness of Avidya, ignorance of our true nature. 

My service in the U.S. Army gave me the discipline to endure. The Bhagavad Gita gave me the Jnana or wisdom to understand what exactly I was enduring. Decades after I left the physical battlefield, the Gita continues to teach me that the fight continues – for a life of purpose, of balance, and of Shanti. In this ongoing battle, I proceed with the fortitude to accept any outcome, secure in the knowledge that true virtue lies not in victory or defeat, but in the unwavering sincerity of the effort itself.

The call to duty is paramount, and it is a summons I cannot and will not ignore.

About the Author:  A U.S. Army combat veteran, Ruchir Bakshi is now an instructional designer and AI evangelist who builds practical, measurable learning for higher education and Department of War programs. He volunteers for CoHNA and is also authoring a modern, plain English guide to the Bhagavad Gita.