Gita 07.14 – Knowledge of Krishna’s position brings intellectual force to our call of devotion
daivī hy eṣā guṇa-mayī
mama māyā duratyayā
mām eva ye prapadyante
māyām etāṁ taranti te (Bg 7.14)
Word-for-word:
daivī — transcendental; hi — certainly; eṣā — this; guṇa-mayī — consisting of the three modes of material nature; mama — My; māyā — energy; duratyayā — very difficult to overcome; mām — unto Me; eva — certainly; ye — those who; prapadyante — surrender; māyām etām — this illusory energy; taranti — overcome; te — they.
Translation:
This divine energy of Mine, consisting of the three modes of material nature, is difficult to overcome. But those who have surrendered unto Me can easily cross beyond it.
Explanation:
daivī hy eṣā guṇa-mayī: This divine energy of Mine, composed of the three modes of material nature
mama māyā duratyayā: is extremely difficult to overcome;
mām eva ye prapadyante: but those who surrender unto Me alone,
māyām etāṁ taranti te: they can easily cross beyond this illusion.
This verse is foundational for understanding how the process of bhakti works. To illustrate this, consider the following example. Suppose we visit someone’s home, and that person has a large German Shepherd or Doberman. If the dog suddenly charges toward us, we may try to shoo it away, but the dog is not our servant—it does not listen to us. It keeps running at us, grabs our trousers in its mouth, and is on the verge of sinking its sharp teeth into our leg. At such a moment, it is extremely difficult to defend ourselves. The dog is large, strong, fierce, and has already seized us.
At such a moment, when it is nearly impossible for us to free ourselves from the dog’s grip, if we notice the dog’s owner nearby, we would naturally cry out in desperation, “Sir, please call your dog back—it’s about to bite me!” The owner then simply gives one command—“Tommy, come back”—and immediately the dog lets go and returns.
This illustrates a key point: the dog is under the control of its master. Because of that relationship, what seems frightening and overwhelmingly difficult for us becomes very easy for the master. The owner possesses not only physical authority but also an emotional command over the dog, and the dog responds to that authority.
Similarly, in this world, illusion “dogs us” wherever we go. The word “dog” is generally used as a noun, but it can also function as a verb. When a dog holds onto a bone, it clings to it tenaciously. Thus, to “doggedly” hold on to something means to do so with stubborn determination—often in a negative sense. Additionally, “to dog” means to follow someone closely at their heels. And truly, nobody likes to be dogged constantly.
The point is that illusion constantly “dogs us” in this world—it is never far away, and at any moment it may nip at us. At any time, we may perceive some sense object and immediately begin to think, “This is pleasurable; I want it.” From that initial contemplation (dhyāyato), how swiftly we may fall to ruin (praṇaśyati) is described in Bhagavad-gītā 2.62–63—often before we even realize what has happened. Therefore, our prospects for spiritual growth depend largely on our ability to shake off this dog of illusion.
And how do we shake it off? By ensuring a living, active connection with the One who is master over illusion—Kṛṣṇa. Calling out Kṛṣṇa’s name when temptation strikes is essential, but calling out is not limited to mere vocal utterance, although that is significant. What matters even more is the emotional fervency and urgency behind our call. It is this earnestness that conveys our sincerity—showing Kṛṣṇa that we are not acting mechanically or ritually, but are genuinely longing for His intervention. Not merely eager—desperate.
Just as a person who is about to be bitten by a dog will call out to the master with intensity and desperation, similarly, we too need to call out to Kṛṣṇa with heartfelt emotional force. And that emotional force does not arise merely by instruction; it arises when we have a tangible connection with Kṛṣṇa—when we have conviction in His capacity to intervene and conviction in His willingness and eagerness to intervene on our behalf.
When we philosophically understand that Kṛṣṇa is God—that Kṛṣṇa is omnipotent and benevolent—then we can call out to Him with genuine urgency. For instance, if a fierce dog is about to bite us and we see a small child nearby, we will not call out to the child for help. We will immediately think: I, an adult, cannot stop this dog—what can this child do? Rather, we will naturally call out to the one whom we recognize as capable of helping.
Similarly, we require an intellectually grounded conviction that Kṛṣṇa is both capable of helping us and willing to help us—that He is omnipotent and benevolent. This conviction brings emotional force into our call to Kṛṣṇa. Therefore, as devotees, it is essential for us to hear about Kṛṣṇa’s glories, contemplate on them, and internalize them. When His greatness and His kindness become real for us, our surrender deepens naturally. Then, we will be able to truly experience the promise of the verse: mām eva ye prapadyante māyām etāṁ taranti te—those who surrender unto Me alone can cross beyond this illusion.
The truth of this verse applies both in the moment-to-moment struggles of our daily life and in the broader arc of our material existence. At times, we may feel strongly overwhelmed by illusion and sense the urgent need to call upon Kṛṣṇa to counter it—to resist the desires that illusion evokes. In such moments, temptation may arise suddenly, and our response is to turn to Kṛṣṇa with sincerity.
However, this principle also operates at a macro level. To the extent that we are surrendered to Kṛṣṇa, to the extent that we consistently call out to Him, to that extent we can cross over the illusions of this world whenever they arise. When we maintain a regular connection with Him through steady sādhana, our vulnerability to illusion naturally decreases. In this way, ‘māyām etāṁ taranti te’ manifests in our lives through continuous surrender to Kṛṣṇa.
On the other hand, if we remain half-hearted—unsure whether to surrender to Kṛṣṇa or to continue pursuing enjoyment in this world—then our surrender cannot become steady. We may even doubt whether, after turning toward Kṛṣṇa, He will truly protect us. Therefore, we need to understand Kṛṣṇa’s protection in two ways. One aspect is that Kṛṣṇa can help us overcome temptation by giving us the strength to resist it. The second is that Kṛṣṇa can provide a higher, deeper satisfaction than anything māyā offers.
Our surrender becomes whole-hearted when we appreciate both Kṛṣṇa’s greatness and His sweetness. Māyā initially appears sweet, and we feel, “How can I live without this pleasure?” But when we attempt to turn away from her, she can appear overwhelmingly powerful—the force with which she pulls us and traps us can seem impossible to resist.
For this reason, we need a philosophical understanding of Kṛṣṇa’s greatness—that Kṛṣṇa is greater than māyā. Even when māyā seems to have a strong grip on us, Kṛṣṇa can release us, just as the master in the earlier example can easily call back the dog that we ourselves cannot control.
Another way of looking at this is that although māyā may appear sweet, whatever sweetness she offers is only a fraction of Kṛṣṇa’s sweetness. When we understand that Kṛṣṇa is the master of māyā, we also understand that His sweetness is far greater than anything māyā can offer. Therefore, by surrendering to Kṛṣṇa, we are not deprived of pleasure; rather, we become enriched with a far higher, lasting happiness.
Thus, by recognizing both Kṛṣṇa’s greatness and His sweetness, we bring intellectual clarity and deep conviction into our devotion. This conviction gives rise to a heartfelt, fervent call to Kṛṣṇa, through which we can receive His protection and uplifting mercy.
Thank you.
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