When Doubt Takes Over: A Call to Rise from Confusion - Abhisshek Om Chakravarty | Holistic Life Coach & Mindfulness Mentor

I still remember the first time I heard this shloka — not just read it, but heard it echo inside me.

कुतस्त्वा कश्मलमिदं विषमे समुपस्थितम् |

Lord Krishna's voice wasn't just speaking to Arjun on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. That question—"Where has this delusion come from, especially now?"—has echoed within me many times in life, especially during moments when I knew what was right, yet my heart trembled, and my mind hesitated.

I once had a client, Rajnish — yes, the same Rajnish whose journey we've been walking through in the blog series. This shloka came alive for me during one of our most intense sessions. Rajnish had made a lot of progress by then — from depression to emotional stability, from victimhood to responsibility. But one day, he sat quietly, eyes downcast, and said,

"I feel like giving up. Maybe this isn't for me. Maybe I should just go back to the old life. Who am I trying to fool?"

That day, I didn't give him a pep talk. I opened the Gita, handed him the verse:

Bhagavad Gita: Chapter 2, Verse 2

कुतस्त्वा कश्मलमिदं विषमे समुपस्थितम् | अनार्यजुष्टमस्वर्ग्यमकीर्तिकरमर्जुन ||

"Whence has this timidity come to you at this crisis? It is not worthy of the noble, nor does it lead to heaven, nor does it bring fame, O Arjuna."

We both sat in silence.

The weight of the verse filled the room. I watched his face as he read it once, twice, three times. Something shifted in his eyes—not a dramatic transformation but a subtle recognition, like when you glimpse your reflection in a window and suddenly remember who you are.

This verse is more than a reprimand. It's a wake-up call. Lord Krishna isn't shaming Arjun. He's reminding him — This doubt is not you. This fear is not your truth. You are meant for something greater. It's the most compassionate slap in spiritual history.

I've been there myself. After my mother and father passed away in 2017, there was a moment—maybe more than a moment—when I wanted to shut off everything. Coaching, writing, guiding others… I questioned it all.

"How can I lead anyone when I'm broken myself?"

The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was, a man who guided others through their darkest moments, now sitting in my own darkness, unable to see the path forward. The grief wasn't just about losing my parents together at once — it was about losing my anchor, my north star, the woman who had first introduced me to the Gita when I was barely seven and the man who taught me the importance of balancing.

I remember sitting at my study desk after the thirteenth-day ceremony, holding that worn copy of the Bhagavad Gita, its pages yellowed with time, margins filled with her handwriting. I opened it randomly, and there it was — the second chapter, verse 2:

कुतस्त्वा कश्मलमिदं विषमे समुपस्थितम् | अनार्यजुष्टमस्वर्ग्यमकीर्तिकरमर्जुन ||

My mother underlined it twice and wrote in the margin in her steady hand: "Remember this when fear speaks louder than dharma."

That's when I "Re"-realized the power of Lord Krishna's words. Confusion is not weakness. It's a temporary fog. But the real danger is staying in that fog, calling it your home.

I closed my eyes and could almost hear my Parents' voice mixing with Lord Krishna's:

"Where has this weakness come from, my son? Especially now, when so many need your light?"

In Sanatan Dharm, doubt is not a sin. Staying stuck in doubt is.

Our tradition recognises that the path to clarity often winds through valleys of confusion. Even our greatest sages had moments of doubt. The difference lies in what we do with that doubt — do we make it our home, or do we use it as a doorway to deeper understanding?

I've seen this play out in hundreds of coaching sessions: the client who doubts her decision to leave a toxic workplace, the young man questioning whether to follow his artistic passion or take the "safe" corporate job, and the woman wondering if she should reconcile with family who hurt her deeply.

These are all modern-day Kurukshetras — battlefields where our higher self faces off against our fears, conditioning, and attachments.

Just like Arjun, Rajnish stood at a dharmic crossroads. Should he live a life of compromise, or rise into his deeper purpose? That week, he wrote in his journal:

"Maybe I'm afraid because I finally see my power. Maybe this fear is the final shadow I need to walk through."

When he read that out to me, I smiled and said,

"You're not Arjun the warrior yet. But you're walking the path. And Lord Krishna is walking with you."

This is the beginning of Dharm Sadhana — not as ritual, but as inner alignment. A moment when you catch yourself sinking, and say,

"Wait. This isn't me. This isn't the voice of my soul."

Dharm Sadhana isn't about performing elaborate pujas or memorizing shlokas, though those practices have their place. At its core, it's about the daily practice of aligning with your higher nature, your swadharma.

My guru, Sree Om Swami, says, "Dharm is not what you do in the temple. It's what you do when no one is watching." This wisdom has guided my approach to coaching. I don't ask clients to adopt religious practices they don't connect with. Instead, I invite them to discover their own inner compass — that quiet, steady voice that knows what is right, even when the mind is clouded with doubt.

For Rajnish, Dharm Sadhana began with small daily commitments:

• Five minutes of sitting in silence each morning

• Writing down one truth he was avoiding

• Taking one action aligned with his deeper values, however small

• Practicing gratitude before sleep

These weren't spectacular spiritual practices. They were humble stepping stones, helping him cross the river of doubt to reach the shore of clarity.

In coaching, I often see clients reach a cliff. They come so far, and just before they take flight, fear grips them. Their mind starts spinning stories — "What if I fail?" "What if people laugh?" "Who do I think I am?"

I call this the "Arjun Moment." It's that critical juncture where transformation hangs in the balance.

I remember Dhriti, another client who came to me after years of putting everyone else's needs before her own. She had always dreamed of starting a small business teaching classical dance to children. She had the training, the experience, and the love for it. But every time she came close to taking the leap, panic would set in.

"What right do I have to ask parents to pay me? What if I'm not good enough? What if I fail and everyone sees it?"

During one session, I asked her to close her eyes and imagine herself on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. "You are Arjun," I said. "Your bow is in your hand. Your purpose is clear. But suddenly, you're overwhelmed with doubt. And then Krishna speaks to you..."

"This confusion-this self-doubt-is not Arya behavior. It is not you. It will not bring you respect, it will not lead to elevation. It will only steal your light."

When she opened her eyes, they were wet with tears. "I've been standing still for so long," she whispered. "I've been letting fear speak for me."

The next week, she registered her business name. Six months later, she had twelve students. Today, three years on, her dance school is thriving, and she regularly stages performances that blend classical forms with contemporary themes. She once told me,

Sometimes during rehearsals, when I feel that old doubt creeping in, I hear Lord Krishna's question in my head: 'Where has this weakness come from, especially now?'

You see, being Arya isn't about birth. It's about dignity in thought and action. It means rising above the waves of emotion, choosing clarity and action, choosing dharm.

The second part of the shloka is equally powerful:

अनार्यजुष्टमस्वर्ग्यमकीर्तिकरमर्जुन

"It is not worthy of the noble, nor does it lead to heaven, nor does it bring fame, O Arjuna."

Krishna doesn't just question Arjun's momentary weakness; he points out its consequences. This hesitation:

• Is not behavior befitting the noble-minded (अनार्यजुष्टम्)

• Does not lead to higher realms of consciousness (अस्वर्ग्यम्)

• Brings no honor or fulfillment (अकीर्तिकरम्)

In my work with clients, I've found that this framework helps cut through the fog of indecision. When facing a difficult choice, I often ask them:

1. What would the noblest version of yourself do? (अनार्यजुष्टम्)

2. Which choice expands your consciousness rather than contracts it? (अस्वर्ग्यम्)

3. Which path will bring you true fulfillment, not just temporary comfort? (अकीर्तिकरम्)

These questions rarely fail to clarify the path forward.

A Call to Rise: "The Dharmic Mirror"

This verse serves as what I call a "dharmic mirror" — it reflects back to us our highest potential when we've momentarily forgotten it.

I've kept a small framed copy of this shloka on my desk for years. It's been with me through my own dark nights of the soul, through caree, relationship endings, and moments of profound professional doubt.

I remember one particularly difficult period when I questioned my entire approach to coaching. A high-profile client had left abruptly, criticizing my methods as "too spiritual" and "not practical enough." For weeks, I contemplated a complete overhaul of my practice — maybe I needed to be more like the strategic, metrics-focused coaches who dominated the corporate world.

One evening, as I sat staring at my computer screen, trying to rewrite my website with more "practical" language, my eyes drifted to the framed shloka.

"Where has this confusion come from, especially now?" 

I had spent years developing an approach that integrated timeless Vedantic wisdom with contemporary psychology. I knew it worked. I had seen the transformations.

The clarity came like a thunderclap: I was letting one person's opinion drown out the chorus of those who had benefited from my work. I was abandoning my dharm out of fear.

This verse is not just a slap — it's an invitation:

Rise. Remember who you are. Act from your truth.

Over time, Rajnish did rise. He returned to the gym. Reconnected with his family. Started helping other young men going through emotional darkness. He became the very lighthouse he once searched for.

His journey wasn't linear or straightforward. There were setbacks — weeks when old thought patterns would resurface, days when motivation would wane. But something fundamental had shifted in him. He had glimpsed his higher potential, and that vision became his anchor.

Six months into our work together, he brought me a gift — a handmade bookmark with the shloka written in his own uneven handwriting. "I keep it in whatever book I'm reading," he said. "It reminds me not to get lost in the story my mind is telling."

A year later, when we were winding down our formal coaching relationship, I asked him what had been the turning point for him. I expected him to mention one of our breakthrough sessions or a particular technique we'd worked on.

Instead, he said, "It was that day you showed me the verse from the Gita. For the first time, I realised that my confusion wasn't some deep truth about me. It was just a temporary condition, like a fever or a storm. That meant I could move through it."

And that's the beauty of Sanatan Dharm. It doesn't shame your shadow — it helps you walk through it, and reminds you that beyond the fog, your soul still shines.

The Modern Battlefield

Today's Kurukshetra doesn't have chariots and armies (though sometimes corporate politics come close). Our battles are often internal, invisible to others:

• The middle-aged professional is questioning whether to leave a secure but soul-crushing job to pursue meaningful work

• The parent torn between cultural expectations and their child's unconventional choices

• The artist decides whether to create what sells or what feels true

• The caregiver balancing self-care with family responsibilities

These are all dharmic dilemmas. Doubt can be a teacher or a prison in each case.

I've seen clients transformed by understanding this distinction. Take Veer, a brilliant engineer who spent fifteen years climbing the corporate ladder only to find himself depressed and disconnected at the top. When he first came to me, he spoke of leaving it all behind—his career, his home, perhaps even his family—to find "real meaning."

I recognised this as what I call "spiritual bypassing"—using spirituality to avoid difficult emotions or situations rather than working through them.

During one session, I asked him to consider whether this extreme solution was coming from clarity or confusion. Was it dharm calling, or was it simply exhaustion speaking?

We worked with the shloka as a framework:

1. What would be the noble path here? Abandonment or transformation?

2. Which choice would truly elevate his consciousness?

3. What would bring lasting fulfillment versus temporary relief?

   
   

Over weeks of reflection, Veer realised his dharm wasn't to abandon his life but to transform his relationship with it. He negotiated a different role that allowed him to mentor younger engineers, work that gave him purpose. He established boundaries around family time. He reconnected with his love of classical music, something he had abandoned in the pursuit of professional success.

Three years later, he leads a more integrated life. He didn't need to burn everything down; he needed to align his outer circumstances with his inner values.

I, too, went through this phase, not just once but multiple times, and it's okay. So now the questions are:

How do we apply this ancient wisdom to our modern lives? 

How do we practice Dharm Sadhana when faced with our own moments of paralyzing doubt?

Here are some practices I've found powerful, both in my own life and in my work with clients:

1. The Dharmic Pause: When confusion strikes, don't react immediately. Create space between stimulus and response. Breathe. Remember who you are beyond the storm of emotions.

2. Sacred Reading (Svadhyaya): Keep wisdom texts close, not just the Gita, but any writing that reconnects you with your higher purpose. Read a few lines each morning to set your internal compass.

3. Truth Journaling: Regularly write down what you know to be true beyond your fluctuating thoughts and feelings. Create a repository of clarity you can return to in moments of doubt.

4. Sangha Support: Surround yourself with at least a few people who know your highest self and can reflect it back to you when you forget. In traditional terms, find your own "Madhav."

5. Dharmic Decision Framework: When facing choices, ask yourself: Is this action aligned with my highest values? Will it expand or contract my consciousness? Will it bring lasting fulfillment or momentary relief?

6. Purposeful Discomfort: Regularly do things that challenge your comfort zone in service of growth. This builds the muscle of moving through resistance.

7. Daily Remembrance: Create a simple ritual to reconnect with your purpose each day. It might be lighting a lamp, reciting a mantra, or simply standing in silence for two minutes.

   
   

These aren't elaborate spiritual practices. They're practical tools for navigating life's inevitable moments of doubt and confusion.

The Shloka as Daily Medicine

I often suggest that clients pick a verse or teaching that particularly resonates with them and use it as daily medicine for the mind. For many, including myself, this shloka from the second chapter of the Gita serves this purpose perfectly.

Try this:

Write the verse on a small card. Carry it with you. When doubt clouds your mind or fear freezes your action, take out the card and read it—first in Sanskrit if you can, feeling the vibration of the ancient sounds, then in English, absorbing its meaning.

Let Lord Krishna's question echo within you: "Where has this confusion come from, especially now?"

Feel the gentle but firm reminder that this doubt is not your essence. It's a passing cloud, not the sky itself.

I have been practicing "A Call to Rise" for many years. Sometimes, just touching the card in my pocket is enough to reconnect me with clarity. It's become a kind of spiritual touchstone, a reminder that wisdom is always available when I need it most.

So today, if you're reading this and feel like Arjun — stuck, confused, overwhelmed — know this:

You are allowed a moment of fear. But not a life of it. You are born for more.

Let Krishna's voice awaken your inner guide.

This is your Kurukshetra. And your Dharm Sadhana begins… now.

Om poornamadah Poornamidam |

Poornaat Poornamudachyate |

Poornasya Poornamaadaya |

Poornamevaavashishyate |

Om shanti, shanti, shanti hi ||

Hari Om Tatsat!

Warm regards,

Abhisshek Om Chakravarty, (Coach Abhisshek)

Holistic Life Coach | Mindfulness Mentor | Family Mindset Coach 

"Within each soul lies infinite wisdom; I simply help others uncover their light."

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