The Bhagavad Gita is one of my favorite holy books. It is less than 100 pages, quite modest for scripture. In that short space, it contains a description of the essence of Hindu spiritual practice and belief.
The Bhagavad Gita is actually a brief interlude within a much larger work called the Mahabharata. The Mahabharata is huge - one of the longest epics ever written. It consists of some 74,000 verses contained in 18 parts. Mahabharata describes a battle between the Kurus (also called "Kauravas") and the Pandavas, two rival clans vying for power. In doing so, it provides an abundance of background material only a Sanskrit scholar would appreciate - endless digressions into the lineage of the warriors, tales explaining their names or powers, occasional discussions of ethics, and so on.
The chief Pandavas are five brothers, among them Arjuna, who is Krishna's friend. Krishna is a human incarnation of God, but he isn't snobbish.
Trying to summarize an epic that runs to over 2 million English words is a futile endeavor, and I won't even try. In fact, I have not even read the whole thing, since I don't have access to any English translations other than one by William Buck. Mr. Buck wrote a highly abbreviated translation in which he modified the story, much to the horror of scholars (but in the spirit of the Indian storytellers, who no doubt had embellished the epic over the millennia). Buck's story runs to several hundred pages, but still omits a vast amount of material.
The essence of the story is that these two clans represent "good" and "evil", or more accurately, those who are aligned with a just cause, versus those who are aligned with an unjust cause. Krishna offers the combatants a choice - either they could have Krishna alone, who would not fight; or they could have a powerful fighting force. Arjuna, a Pandava, chooses Krishna. Duryodhana, on the side of the Kurus, chooses the fighting force. Krishna serves as Arjuna's charioteer.
Although by this time it is clear that the Kurus have no just claim to the throne they have usurped, not all of those fighting on their side are evil. In fact, many soldiers are bound by oaths of honor, debts of gratitude, promises made (for whatever reason), or other duty. They have a duty to fight as well as possible, even if the cause for which they fight is dishonorable. Moreover, the Pandavas, though much abused, are not without their own faults. They lost their kingdom because one of their members gambled it away, along with everything they own, including themselves. This is why I say it is not just a battle between good and evil - it's not that simple.
What makes this war so tragic is that this is more or less a family feud - the warring families are related. They Pandavas and the Kurus grew up together, had the same teachers and preceptors. The warriors are facing their own family members - uncles, grandfathers - and facing honored childhood teachers. They are facing men who had raised them, who taught them what they know (including how to fight) - men for whom they'd give their own lives, under different circumstances. Often the only reason someone was on a particular side was that he had made a promise to fight on that side. These were beloved family members and friends, not an unknown, faceless enemy.
Now it is the time for the battle. The armies are massed up, eager to fight. There is a strict code of behavior for this battle, in keeping with Kshatriya (warrior) caste honor. No one can be killed, who has stopped fighting, or whose weapon is lost, or who is fleeing. A rider cannot fight an unmounted man. Fighting begins at dawn and must stop at sunset, after which warriors from both sides are free to mingle in friendship. All in all it was very civilized. Of course, as the fighting grinds on, all these rule fall by the wayside.
According to the Mahabharata, close to 4 million men were assembled on that battlefield. Most of them would be killed in the next eighteen days. It was an impressive slaughter. However, the Bhagavad Gita takes place on the first day, just before battle begins.
Arjuna asks Krishna to drive his chariot in between the two armies, so he can see them all. He is looking at the massive assembly of men, knowing that many of them will soon be dead, knowing that these are his childhood friends, cousins, beloved uncles, and revered instructors. His sadness is overwhelming - he is being called upon to fight and kill the very people who were there for him while he was growing up, who he played with as a child, uncles and grandfathers who sat him in their laps. These are the people who made him what he is today, who make life worth living. Realizing the enormity of what is about to happen, Arjuna suddenly loses his nerve. He would rather be killed, he says, than to fight against his beloved family, teachers, and friends. What joy could there be in any victory, if at the cost of killing his loved ones? This first chapter of the Bhagavad Gita is called, "The Yoga of Arjuna's Sorrow".
Krishna begins to speak, and what follows is a dialog between the two friends, the "Lord's Song".
The Bhagavad Gita has 18 chapters. In each, Krishna expounds on a spiritual practice of one sort or another. Often these practices seem out of sync, even contradictory. Frustrating to those of us who have grown up with an either-or way of thinking, this is a common feature in Indian scripture.
As Krishna speaks, Arjuna's confusion and dejection ease somewhat, but he still has doubts. He is uncertain - what Krishna says makes sense, but... Finally, in Chapter 11, Krishna reveals himself in his supreme manifestation, after giving Arjuna the eye he needs to behold such a thing. Arjuna is suitably impressed. His hair stands on end, he is filled with dread. He realizes that he has been talking to Krishna - God Almighty - as a friend, perhaps joking and teasing - and begs forgiveness. Arjuna spends some time saying "namaste, namaste", bowing before God in utter terror. Krishna kindly returns to his normal, four-armed form.
After this, though, Arjuna is no longer beset by doubts. He asks for some clarification, and Krishna obliges; but now Arjuna is without any doubts. He knows he must fight, that this is his duty - his 'svadharma' - and that it's OK.
Without trying to force too much meaning into all this, I would suggest that the battle can be viewed as the sort struggle we may face at some point in our lives - a fight between two sides, pulling us in different directions. Like Arjuna, we may be called upon to say goodbye to some beloved friends, traits or habits we learned early and that have served us well. The struggle may not be between 'right' and 'wrong', but more between what furthers our spiritual growth, and what holds us back. We may find ourselves deeply troubled and confused when we realize that there needs to be a battle, that we've got to choose sides and fight. Like Arjuna, we may lose heart and decide that the fight isn't worth it.
We may also wend our way through various philosophical concepts, hearing about this or that technique, not convinced that any of them are useful or relevant. Until we perhaps get a glimpse of the Divine...
One of the first words of the Bhagavad Gita offers a hint as to the spiritual nature of the text. It begins, "Dhritarastra said, 'Dharmakshetre'...". That word, 'Dharmakshetre', means 'in the field of Dharma'. While it could be just another name for the field on which the battle was fought ('Kurukshetra'), it seems to me to make more sense if we take it to mean, 'in the field of honor, truth, what is right'. The word 'Dharma' has many meanings. We don't have a single English word that covers them all. It can mean truth, righteousness, religion, law or lawfulness, the way of righteousness, and similar concepts. 'Dharmakshetra' can mean the place where one seeks to do what is right. That place is often within us.