Karma Yoga : Master Yajna – the science of living in sacred reciprocity to unlock abundance
If you have not already done so, I would request you to review the Chapter 2, Sankhya Yoga before studying chapter 3 as that would help set the right context.
You can find the explanation of the previous set of shlokas from chapter (3.8 to 3.9) here. Please go through that to get a better understand and maintain continuity in your learning.
You can also listen to all the episodes through my Spotify Portal, Apple Podcast, and on YouTube as well.
You can find below the condensed gist of the narrative. For the complete expanded narrative, look below the verses.
To truly thrive in the modern world, one must master Yajna – the science of living in sacred reciprocity. This ancient wisdom, found in the heart of the Bhagavad Gita, teaches us that we are not isolated beings but part of a vast, interconnected web. When we embrace Yajna – the science of living in sacred reciprocity, we move from a mindset of scarcity to a state of overflowing abundance.
This is the ancient wisdom for modern abundance that allows us to stop struggling and start flowing.
The Blueprint of Creation In verses 3.10 and 3.11, Krishna explains that the world was built upon Yajna – the science of living in sacred reciprocity. By performing our actions as a contribution to the whole, we nourish the “Devas” or the natural laws that sustain life. As we apply Yajna – the science of living in sacred reciprocity, these forces nourish us in return.
This creates a sacred exchange where your success is supported by the universe itself. Understanding Yajna – the science of living in sacred reciprocity is the key to how to align with natural laws for a sustainable and peaceful life.
Practical Application in Daily Life You might wonder what is the meaning of Yajna in the Gita for a person living in 2026. It means turning every task into an offering. Whether you are at your desk or with your family, you are practicing Yajna – the science of living in sacred reciprocity.
By focusing on the spiritual law of giving, you trigger the secret of divine partnership. Those who live by Yajna – the science of living in sacred reciprocity find that their needs are met effortlessly. This is the core of applying Gita teachings to daily work; it transforms a job into a mission and a struggle into a dance.
The Result of Sacred Connection Ultimately, Yajna – the science of living in sacred reciprocity leads to the supreme good. It is a cosmic interdependence that ensures no one is left behind. When you commit to Yajna – the science of living in sacred reciprocity, you become a conduit for grace.
If you have ever asked how can I live in harmony with the universe, the answer lies in this practice. By making Yajna – the science of living in sacred reciprocity your foundation, you secure both material prosperity and spiritual peace, proving that how selfless service leads to prosperity is a lived reality.
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Verses 3.10 – 3.11
सहयज्ञा: प्रजा: सृष्ट्वा पुरोवाच प्रजापति: |
अनेन प्रसविष्यध्वमेष वोऽस्त्विष्टकामधुक् || 10||
saha-yajñāḥ prajāḥ sṛiṣhṭvā purovācha prajāpatiḥ
anena prasaviṣhyadhvam eṣha vo ’stviṣhṭa-kāma-dhuk
सहयज्ञा: (sahayajñāḥ) – along with sacrifices; प्रजा: (prajāḥ) – beings; सृष्ट्वा (sṛṣṭvā) – having created; पुरोवाच (purovāca) – spoke in the beginning; प्रजापति: (prajāpatiḥ) – Prajapati, the lord of creatures; अनेन (anena) – by this; प्रसविष्यध्वम् (prasaviṣyadhvam) – be more and more prosperous; एष (eṣa) – this; वोऽस्तु (vo’stu) – let it be; इष्टकामधुक् (iṣṭakāmadhuk) – the cow of plenty, yielding your desires.
Prajapati (Brahma), having created beings along with sacrifices, spoke in the beginning, “By these sacrifices and yajnas, be more and more prosperous; let this be the cow of plenty, yielding your desires.”
देवान्भावयतानेन ते देवा भावयन्तु व: |
परस्परं भावयन्त: श्रेय: परमवाप्स्यथ || 11||
devān bhāvayatānena te devā bhāvayantu vaḥ
parasparaṁ bhāvayantaḥ śhreyaḥ param avāpsyatha
देवान् (devān) – the gods; भावयतानेन (bhāvayatānena) – may you nourish; ते (te) – those; देवा (devā) – gods; भावयन्तु (bhāvayantu) – may nourish; व: (vaḥ) – you; परस्परं (parasparaṁ) – mutually; भावयन्त: (bhāvayantaḥ) – nourishing; श्रेय: (śreyaḥ) – prosperity; परम् (param) – the highest; अवाप्स्यथ (avāpsyatha) – will you attain.
May you nourish the gods with this, and may those gods nourish you. Thus nourishing each other, you will attain the highest good.
The Story of King Ambarish and the Angry Sage Dhurvasa
Let us review a story that brings the essence of the previous set of shlokas to life (3.7 to 3.9).
Long ago, there lived a king named Ambarisha. From the outside, his life looked entirely worldly. He wore the crown of a vast empire. His days were filled with meetings and decisions, with petitions from his people, with all the endless demands that come with ruling a kingdom.
But inside, his heart was somewhere else. It was turned toward Vishnu. He did not want his devotion confined to morning prayers or temple visits. He wanted that devotion to live in everything he did. In how he spoke to his ministers. In how he made difficult decisions. In how he dealt with difficult people. In every interaction, every moment.
The Bhagavata Purana tells us about one particular year in his life. Together with his queen, he observed the sacred fast of Ekadashi and Dvadashi. Every month, for twelve months, faithfully kept. When the holy month of Kartika came, the royal couple traveled to the banks of the Yamuna River. They bathed in the sacred waters. They worshipped Hari. They fed the brahmanas. They gave charity to those in need.
And through all these activities, a steady current of remembrance flowed beneath the surface.
Now let us focus on one particular day. A day when this king’s practice was tested in a way he never expected.
It is Dvadashi, the day after Ekadashi. According to the rules of the vow, the fast must be broken within a specific time window. This is not just tradition for tradition’s sake. A vow shapes the inner world. It trains the unruly mind. When we honor sacred boundaries, the mind learns to submit to something greater than its own preferences.
Just as the window for breaking the fast is about to close, an unexpected guest arrives.
Durvasa Muni. Accompanied by his disciples.
Now, Durvasa’s reputation travels ahead of him. He is a sage of immense spiritual power. Brilliant in his austerities. Formidable in his accomplishments. And famous for a temper that could erupt without warning.
King Ambarisha receives him with complete respect. He seats the sage properly. He attends to his comfort. He invites him to accept a meal as an honored guest.
The sage agrees. But first, he says, he will go to the river to bathe and complete his noon rituals.
He leaves. And the king waits.
Minutes pass. More minutes. The sun moves across the sky. The sage does not return.
Now the king faces a painful dilemma. The window for breaking his fast is closing. If he waits too long, he breaks his vow. A vow he has kept faithfully for a full year. But if he eats before his guest returns, he insults the sage. A serious breach of hospitality.
Two sacred duties. Pulling in opposite directions. No easy way to honor both.
Here is a question worth asking ourselves. When duties collide, what guides us? Our impulses? Or dharma?
The king does not act on impulse. He does not assume he knows the answer. He consults the learned brahmanas in his court. They deliberate carefully and offer a solution. A small sip of water can technically count as breaking the fast. This fulfills the letter of the vow without taking a full meal. The king can then wait and serve the sage properly when he returns.
Ambarisha takes a sip of water. And continues waiting. His intention stays clean. He is not looking for a loophole to serve himself. He is protecting his sacred commitment while honoring his guest.
But when the sage returns, he immediately senses that the king has taken water in his absence. He does not ask what happened. He does not inquire about the circumstances. Anger rises in him, fast and hot. The Bhagavatam describes what happens. His face reddens. His body trembles. Harsh words pour from his mouth toward a king who stands before him with folded hands and lowered eyes.
And then Durvasa does something terrifying.
In his rage, he reaches up and pulls a lock of hair from his own head. Through his mystic power, he transforms this hair into a demon, a kritya, a being made for one purpose only. Destruction. The Bhagavatam says it blazed like the fire that consumes the universe at the end of time. Carrying a trident. Moving with unstoppable force. Coming straight for the king.
Now watch the king. This is where the teaching lives.
Ambarisha does not run. He does not argue. He does not protest his innocence. He does not try to fight back with whatever power he has.
The text tells us he remains undisturbed. Steady in his dependence on the Lord.
This is what sense control looks like when it has matured into something real. The mind does not collapse into fear. Anger does not rise to meet anger.
Here is another question worth sitting with. When do we find out if our mind is truly steady? When we are praised? Or when we are attacked?
In response to the king’s steadiness, divine protection appears. The Sudarshana Chakra, the discus of Lord Vishnu, manifests. It burns the demon to ashes instantly. And then it turns toward the one who created it.
Now Durvasa is the one in danger.
He runs. The Bhagavatam describes a chase that crosses the boundaries of ordinary space. The sage flees from realm to realm, desperately seeking shelter. He goes to Brahma. Brahma says he cannot help. He goes to Shiva. Shiva says he cannot help. Finally, exhausted and terrified, he reaches Vaikuntha itself. He falls at the feet of Lord Narayana.
And what does the Lord tell him?
He does not dismiss what happened. He does not treat it as a small matter. He makes something absolutely clear. The path out of this situation is not negotiation. It is not spiritual status. It is not accumulated power. The only way out is humility. Durvasa must go back to the very devotee he tried to destroy. He must ask for mercy. The Lord will not overrule the heart of His devotee. The sage must return and seek forgiveness himself.
And so Durvasa goes back to where the story began.
Here is the most beautiful part.
A full year has passed. During that entire year, King Ambarisha has been waiting. He has not eaten. He has not moved on with his life. He has been holding the situation in prayer, waiting for the sage to return, unwilling to simply enjoy his own protection while another person suffered.
When Durvasa finally appears, he is broken. Humbled. Stripped of his earlier arrogance.
Look at the situation now. The king has all the power. He could turn this moment into a victory parade for his ego. He could demand public humiliation. He could extract apologies. He could savor the sight of his attacker brought low.
Instead, his heart remains soft.
Ambarisha prays for the sage’s welfare. He asks the Sudarshana Chakra to withdraw. He refuses to buy any satisfaction at the price of another person’s suffering. Even this victory, even this vindication, he offers back to the Lord rather than keeping it for himself.
This is what the story leaves us with.
Devotion can live inside action. It does not require us to leave the world. Discipline protects remembrance by training the mind to honor commitments greater than our own comfort. Sense control shows its true depth only when we are provoked, when something hits us that we did not expect and did not choose. And the spirit of offering reveals its purity most clearly when we have power and choose not to use it for ourselves.
The king did not escape action. He escaped bondage.
That is nishkama karma yoga in action.
The perspective of Yajna
In shlokas 3.10 and 3.11, He speaks of something that happened at the very dawn of existence. He tells Arjuna that when Prajapati, the creative intelligence of the cosmos, first brought beings into the world, he did so together with yajna.
That word, yajna, carries a richness that no single English translation can hold. It points toward offering. Toward sacred participation. Toward a way of living in which every act becomes an offering to the source from which everything came.
Prajapati, Shri Krishna tells us, declared that this spirit of yajna would be like the wish-fulfilling cow Kamadenu for humanity. The very means by which life would flourish.
And then, Shri Krishna reveals the great reciprocal rhythm at the heart of existence. Nourish the devas, the luminous forces that sustain the cosmos, through our offerings. And let the devas nourish us in return. Through this mutual cherishing, this shared sustaining, the highest good becomes available.
What is emotionally at stake here? Arjuna is still caught in the grip of his personal dilemma. He is looking for a way out. A justification to withdraw from the messiness of life.
And Shri Krishna, with extraordinary tenderness and precision, is showing him that withdrawal from the web of life is itself a misunderstanding of how life works. We will always be a participant in this life. The only question is whether we will participate consciously or unconsciously. Happily or grudgingly.
The Architecture of Giving
To understand what Shri Krishna is pointing to, consider the simple act of breathing. We inhale, and the air fills our lungs. We exhale, and the carbon dioxide we release feeds the trees and plants around us.
No human designed this system. It has existed long before humans appeared on earth. And yet every single breath is an act of participation in a cycle of mutual nourishment that sustains all of life.
This is the essence of what Shri Krishna means by yajna. It is the recognition that existence itself is a great exchange. A continuous flow of giving and receiving. Our deepest fulfillment comes from stepping into this flow with awareness and willingness.
The Isha Upanishad opens with a verse that illuminates this beautifully.
ईशावास्यमिदं सर्वं यत्किञ्च जगत्यां जगत् |
तेन त्यक्तेन भुञ्जीथा मा गृधः कस्यस्विद्धनम् ||
īśāvāsyam idaṃ sarvaṃ yat kiñca jagatyāṃ jagat
tena tyaktena bhuñjīthā mā gṛdhaḥ kasya svid dhanam
All this, whatever moves in this moving world, is pervaded by the Lord. Enjoy through renunciation. Do not covet anyone’s wealth.
The instruction here is strikingly practical. Enjoy life. Fully. But enjoy it through the spirit of offering. Through the willingness to loosen the tight grip of ownership.
When Shri Krishna speaks of yajna as the wish-fulfilling companion of humanity, He is pointing to the same truth. The fulfillment we are all seeking arises from participating generously in the great cycle.
This brings us to the extraordinary image in shloka 3.11, where Shri Krishna describes the mutual nourishment between humans and devas. The word “bhāvayatā” that appears in this verse carries the sense of cherishing. Sustaining. Causing to flourish. It is a word full of warmth.
When we offer the fruit of our actions to the greater order of life, we sustain the forces that hold the world together. And in turn, those forces sustain us. Rain falls. The earth yields food. The seasons turn. Health, intelligence, creativity, all of these are gifts from the larger order of existence. And they flow most abundantly when we are active, willing participants in the cycle.
The Taittiriya Upanishad captures this spirit of mutuality in its famous invocation.
ॐ सह नाववतु | सह नौ भुनक्तु | सह वीर्यं करवावहै |
तेजस्विनावधीतमस्तु मा विद्विषावहै | ॐ शान्तिः शान्तिः शान्तिः ||
oṃ saha nāvavatu | saha nau bhunaktu | saha vīryaṃ karavāvahai
tejasvi nāvadhītam astu mā vidviṣāvahai | oṃ śāntiḥ śāntiḥ śāntiḥ
May He protect us both. May He nourish us both. May we work together with great energy. May our study be luminous. May we not hate each other. Om, peace, peace, peace.
Notice how the prayer does not say “protect me” or “nourish me.” It says “us both.” The teacher and the student. The human and the divine. The individual and the whole.
This is the very essence of yajna as Shri Krishna describes it. Life is a shared undertaking. And the highest good, what He calls shreya, emerges from this togetherness.
The Inner Resistance
If this teaching is so natural and so beautiful, why does it feel difficult to live? Why does Arjuna need to hear it at all?
The answer lies in the nature of the human mind. In the deep conditioning that makes us experience ourselves as separate, isolated units competing for survival.
There is a voice inside every one of us that says, “If I give, I will have less. If I serve, I will be depleted. If I offer without holding back, I will be taken advantage of.”
This voice belongs to ahamkara, the ego structure, the part of our psychology that is wired to protect and accumulate. We all know this voice. It is not a sign of failure. It is simply what the unexamined mind does when it feels the world is a place of scarcity.
Shri Krishna is gently, firmly addressing this voice in these shlokas. He is asking Arjuna to recognize that the self-protective instinct, when it becomes the ruling principle of life, actually cuts us off from the very source of nourishment we are trying to secure.
Think of a branch on a tree, pulling away from the trunk because it wants to keep its sap for itself. The moment it separates, the sap stops flowing altogether. The branch, in trying to protect its share, destroys the very connection through which nourishment arrives.
What makes this psychological pattern so persistent is that it operates beneath the level of conscious awareness. Most of us do not wake up in the morning and decide to be withholding. The contraction happens automatically. It is a reflex built over years and lifetimes of habitual self-protection.
When someone asks for our time, there is an instant tightening somewhere in the chest or the belly. When we are expected to contribute without recognition, a subtle resentment rises before the thinking mind even has a chance to process the situation. We have all felt this. It is honest and human. And yet, left unexamined, it becomes a life lived in a mindset of scarcity.
This is what the contemplative traditions call vasana, the deep grooves of habitual response that shape our experience without our permission.
Shri Krishna is addressing these vasanas when He speaks of yajna. He is offering a practice. A way of gradually rewiring the nervous system and the mind so that the default setting shifts from contraction to openness. From grasping to offering. This is inner transformation at the most practical, granular level.
Each small act of conscious offering loosens the old grooves and carves new ones. We do not undo a lifetime of self-protective conditioning in a single moment of insight. We undo it breath by breath, choice by choice, in the small unremarkable moments where nobody is watching and no one is keeping score.
It is like learning a new language. At first, the old reflexes dominate. But with steady practice, the new way of responding begins to feel natural.
There is also a subtler layer of resistance that deserves attention. It is the resistance of the spiritual seeker who has become convinced that transcendence means detachment from all worldly affairs. This is precisely the trap Arjuna is falling into. He wants to renounce everything. He wants to step back from the entanglement of action and find peace in withdrawal. Many of us recognize this impulse.
There are moments when the complexity of our responsibilities feels so overwhelming that the idea of simply walking away begins to feel very appealing. And Shri Krishna, with great compassion, is showing Arjuna that the path to the highest good moves through the world. Not away from the world. Through active participation. Through generous engagement with the very web of relationships and duties that feels so overwhelming.
The Mundaka Upanishad 3.1.1 offers a remarkable image that speaks to this.
द्वा सुपर्णा सयुजा सखाया समानं वृक्षं परिषस्वजाते |
तयोरन्यः पिप्पलं स्वाद्वत्त्यनश्नन्नन्यो अभिचाकशीति ||
dvā suparṇā sayujā sakhāyā samānaṃ vṛkṣaṃ pariṣasvajāte
tayoranyaḥ pippalaṃ svādvattyanaśnannanyo abhicākaśīti
Two birds, inseparable companions, perch on the same tree. One eats the sweet fruit while the other looks on without eating.
The two birds represent the engaged self and the witnessing Self. They sit together on the same tree. The witness does not abandon the tree.
Participation and awareness are inseparable companions. Yajna is the way they work together in a human life.
The Wider Vedantic Frame
When Shri Krishna speaks of yajna as something that is integral to the very core of creation, He is pointing toward what Vedanta calls rta. The cosmic order. The deep intelligence that governs the turning of the seasons, the movement of rivers toward the sea, the way a seed knows to sprout and become a tree.
We are all expressions of this intelligence. When we live in alignment with it, there is a natural ease and flow to life. When we set ourselves against it, when we hoard and refuse to participate, life becomes fearful and tiring.
The Yoga Vasishtha teaches at great length that the mind which understands its place within the larger order of existence naturally becomes calm and clear. The mind that imagines itself to be the sole author of its destiny remains perpetually agitated.
The practice of yajna, understood in this light, is a form of sadhana, a spiritual practice that trains the mind to relax its grip. To trust the reciprocal generosity of life itself.
This trust does not come easily. That is why Shri Krishna frames yajna as a daily orientation rather than a one-time realization.
Every time we offer something without calculating the return, we weaken the habit of resistance and scarcity mindset. Every time we approach our work as a contribution to the whole rather than a personal campaign for success, we are rewiring the deep patterns of the mind.
This is tapas in the truest sense. The slow, steady heat of transformation that reshapes our inner landscape over time.
And the beauty of it is that the results come naturally. Shri Krishna uses the word “kamadhenu,” the wish-fulfilling cow, to describe yajna. This is a remarkable promise. When we live in the spirit of offering, life becomes abundant. The things we need find their way to us, because we are no longer blocking the flow with the tight fist of self-interest.
Where This Meets Our Lives
Consider how this teaching applies to the way we approach our work. For many of us, professional life is dominated by a transactional mindset. We do the work. In return, we expect compensation, recognition, and advancement. There is nothing wrong with any of these things.
But when our motivation depends on what we will get, the quality of our engagement changes. The work becomes a burden. The joy drains out of it. We begin to feel resentful when the rewards fail to match the effort. Most of us have experienced this. That slow drain of enthusiasm. The creeping sense that we are giving more than we are getting. It is one of the most common forms of quiet suffering in modern professional life.
Now imagine a subtle shift. We still do the same work, in the same job, with the same responsibilities. But we approach each task as something offered. Something given to the larger web of life that supports us. We write the report. Design the project. Teach the class. Care for the patient. And we do it with the quality of attention that comes from knowing we are participating in something larger than our personal story.
This shift does not require us to ignore our needs or accept exploitation. It asks us to change the inner posture from which we act. And when that posture changes, everything around us begins to respond differently. The work itself starts to feel lighter, because the weight of expectation has been set down.
Think also about our relationships. How often do we enter them, whether with partners, children, friends, or colleagues, with an unconscious accounting process running in the background? I gave this much, so I expect that much in return. I was generous on Tuesday, so I deserve generosity on Wednesday.
This bookkeeping of the heart is one of the greatest sources of suffering in human connection. It turns love into commerce. Shri Krishna’s teaching on mutual nourishment offers a profoundly different foundation. When we care for someone as an act of yajna, as an offering made freely and fully, the relationship transforms. We are no longer keeping score.
We are participating in a cycle of giving that has its own intelligence. Its own way of returning to us what we need. We have all seen this in the people who love most freely. They are rarely the ones who feel depleted. They are the ones who seem to have the most to give. Their generosity comes from a place of inner fullness, and it creates the conditions for genuine intimacy and trust.
There is also the question of how we relate to the natural world. The teaching of mutual nourishment between humans and devas can be understood quite literally.
The “devas” that Shri Krishna speaks of include the forces of nature itself. Agni, the fire principle, presides over digestion and transformation. Vayu, the wind principle, governs the breath and the movement of prana. Indra governs vitality and strength.
When we eat food that has been grown with care, when we drink clean water, when we breathe fresh air, we are receiving the nourishment of the devas.
And the question Shri Krishna is implicitly raising is this. What are we offering in return? Are we consuming without gratitude, without any sense of reciprocity? Or are we living in a way that sustains the forces that sustain us?
In a time of ecological crisis, this ancient teaching carries an urgency that cannot be ignored. The yajna that Shri Krishna describes is the original sustainability framework. A vision of life in which taking and giving are held in sacred balance.
The Quiet Challenge
There is something deeply comforting and deeply challenging in these two shlokas.
The comfort lies in knowing that we are held within a benevolent order. That the cosmos is not indifferent to us. That there is a reciprocal relationship between our effort and the grace that flows toward us.
The challenge lies in actually living this way.
It is easy to nod along when the teaching is presented in words. The real test comes in the small moments.
- When a colleague takes credit for our idea, will we contract or will we offer?
- When the returns of our effort seem negligible, will we stop giving or will we trust the cycle?
- When life asks more of us than feels comfortable, will we resist or will we participate?
Shri Krishna is offering Arjuna, and each one of us, an invitation to step out of scarcity mindset and self-concern and into the vast abundant field of sacred reciprocity.
The yajna He speaks of is not a ritual. It is a way of being. An orientation of the heart that extends far beyond any altar or ceremony.
It is the willingness to stay connected to the tree even when the season is harsh, trusting that the sap will flow, the leaves will return, and the fruit will come in its own time.
This is the ancient promise. And it remains as alive today as it was on the battlefield of Kurukshetra.
kṛṣṇadaasa
Servant of Krishna