“अन्तवत्त्विमे देहा नित्यस्योक्ताः शरीरिणः।
अनाशिनोऽप्रमेयस्य तस्माद्युध्यस्व भारत॥”
(Bhagavad Gita 2.18)
“These bodies are perishable, but the soul within is eternal, indestructible, and immeasurable. Therefore, rise and fight, O Arjuna.”
The evening that wasn’t meant to be ordinary
It was just another evening, one of those days that feel almost perfect. I was leaving work, still in my office uniform, my identity card hanging loosely around my neck. The air was cool, almost soothing, as I rode my scooter through familiar streets. It was the kind of evening that makes you forget the stresses of the day.
But life has a way of turning peaceful moments into nightmares in the blink of an eye.
I was cruising along when, out of nowhere, a street dog darted across the road. In sheer panic, I slammed both brakes, but my world spun out of control. I don’t remember the exact moment I hit the ground, but when I regained consciousness, I was in a daze. My right leg was trapped between the handlebar and the scooter, and the pain, it was sharp, relentless. I tried to pull my leg free, but I couldn’t. The helplessness hit me like a wave.
I screamed for help, and that’s when two kind strangers came. They lifted my scooter and freed me from the trap I was in. But as I stood up, my heart sank. I couldn’t put any weight on my leg. The pain shot through me, and I knew, deep down, that something was terribly wrong.
The local people rushed to help, someone even fetching ice from a nearby restaurant to try and ease the swelling. One of them, in particular, was incredibly kind. He asked me for my phone number, and in my state of shock, I was conscious enough to give him my family’s phone number. Everything felt like a blur, my leg was trapped, I was in immense pain, but somehow, amid all the chaos, this stranger had acted quickly, and that made all the difference. That divine intervention, that moment of grace was not random. It was Krishna in disguise, working through kind souls to rescue me.
“परित्राणाय साधूनां विनाशाय च दुष्कृताम्।
धर्मसंस्थापनार्थाय सम्भवामि युगे युगे॥”
(Gita 4.8)
“To protect the righteous, to annihilate the wicked, and to reestablish dharma, I manifest myself age after age.”
That day, Krishna manifested not with a conch or chakra, but through compassion and swift action. Within a couple of minutes, my brother arrived. My brother wasted no time and we rushed to the hospital. My heart was pounding as we waited for the X-rays. The thought that I might be okay flickered in my mind, but deep down, I already knew. And then, the doctor walked in, his face serious. "You've fractured your tibia plateau," he said. "It’s a medial tibial plateau fracture." Hearing those words felt like my entire world collapsed. In that moment, it wasn’t just my leg that broke, something inside me did, too. Surgery was inevitable. Screws would be placed inside my body. My mobility, my freedom, would be taken away, replaced by months of pain, uncertainty, and bedrest.
Why did this happen to me?
This was the question that haunted me. Why me? Why now? Why this way?
The Bhagavad Gita does not answer this with empty comfort. It speaks in truth, depth, and divine law.
“कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन।”
(Gita 2.47)
“You have the right to perform your duties, but not to the results thereof.”
And yet, what about the results of past actions? The pain we did not choose?
Here, the Gita introduces us to the law of karma that every action we perform, whether in this life or previous ones, creates impressions that return to us. Sometimes in love. Sometimes in joy. And sometimes… in pain.
This accident wasn’t punishment. It was a karmic unfolding. Perhaps a debt being paid, a lesson being learned, a path being corrected.
The body may break, but the soul is beyond damage
The first few days were unbearable, not just because of the pain, but the emotional weight of the situation. I went from swimming 60 to 70 laps a day to being completely bedridden. I used to be so full of life, but now I was helpless, dependent on others for even the simplest of tasks.
At the hospital, I cried endlessly. The nurses and doctors reassured me, telling me I’d recover and be stronger than before, but it was hard to believe them. My leg was in a cast, and surgery had left me with screws in my bone. I couldn’t imagine feeling "stronger" when I could barely stand on my crutches.
After five days in the hospital, I was sent home. But going home didn’t make things easier. The cast felt like a prison on my leg. It was heavy, and I couldn’t move without it feeling like my leg might fall off. I was counting the days until I could remove the cast, thinking that would be the turning point. But when the cast finally came off after 25 days, I was hit with another cruel reality. My leg was stiff, like a block of wood. It wouldn’t even bend 10 degrees. I was devastated. The reality hit me like a punch in the gut. This wasn’t over. My journey had just begun. It was in these still moments that I began to feel something deeper. Not anger. Not blame. But awakening.
“न त्वेवाहं जातु नासं न त्वं नेमे जनाधिपाः।
न चैव न भविष्यामः सर्वे वयमतः परम्॥”
(Gita 2.12)
“Never was there a time when I did not exist, nor you, nor all these kings; nor will there ever be a time when any of us shall cease to be.”
I began to realize I am not this broken body. I am the unbroken soul within it. My pain was real, yes. My tears were real. But they were not me. They were passing clouds. The sky (the atma), remained untouched.
Love, the highest grace
What sustained me was not just medicine or physiotherapy. It was the unwavering presence of love.
My family, friends, and colleagues showed up for me in ways I’ll never forget. During my bedrest days, my friends and family used to visit the temple to pray for my recovery. They would tell me stories about how they were praying for me, how they lit candles and asked for strength on my behalf. In those moments, despite the pain, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I realized that no matter how broken I felt, I had earned something far greater than physical strength. I had earned love and loyalty. Even as I felt broken, they believed in my recovery. My colleagues and boss also visited me often, spending hours by my side, talking to me, laughing with me, just to keep my mind from spiraling into dark places. They reminded me that I wasn’t forgotten, that even though I couldn’t be at work, I was still a part of their world. I’ll never be able to fully express the depth of my gratitude for those moments. They gave me hope, the kind of hope I was struggling to find on my own. I could never fully express how much their support meant to me. It was during those visits that I realized how important human connection is, and how it can lift you up when everything else seems to be falling apart. They carried me not just physically, but spiritually.
One by one, they became mirrors of Krishna’s compassion. They brought flowers to my window, laughter to my silence, and food to my bedside. They prayed for me. They lit candles in temples. They sat in silence with me during the darkest nights.
“मत्तः परतरं नान्यत्किञ्चिदस्ति धनञ्जय।
मयि सर्वमिदं प्रोतं सूत्रे मणिगणा इव॥"
(Gita 7.7)
“There is nothing superior to Me, O Arjuna. Everything rests upon me like pearls strung on a thread.”
Now I see, everything good that reached me came through His thread of grace. He may not have removed the pain, but He walked with me through it.
Rebuilding: One crutch at a time
Recovery was not magical. It was slow and painful. Full of setbacks.
Physiotherapy started soon after, and I had no idea how painful it would be. Each session was a test of endurance, both physically and mentally. My physiotherapist would bend my knee, and the pain would shoot through me like fire. I screamed, I cried. Every time felt like torture. I had never experienced pain like that before, and it broke me in ways I couldn’t explain.
There were nights when I’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, tears rolling down my face. I’d ask my parents and my brother, “Will I ever be okay again?” I couldn’t even go to the bathroom by myself. They took care of me, day in and day out, without hesitation. And while their love gave me strength, I felt like a burden. The frustration, the helplessness, all became too much at times. I missed my old life, the freedom I once took for granted.
Each day was a battle. After six weeks, I started walking with just my left leg and two crutches. Walking felt like learning how to move all over again. Then, slowly, I was allowed to put 25 percent weight on my injured leg. A week later, it was 50 percent. Little by little, I was making progress, though the pain remained a constant companion.
Physiotherapy was grueling. The sessions felt endless, the pain unbearable, but I kept pushing because giving up wasn’t an option. I had to believe I would walk again. I had to believe I would regain my strength, even if my mind was screaming at me to stop. Slowly, painfully, I began to see progress. I could bend my knee a little more each week. I could walk with more weight on my leg. But it was slow, so agonizingly slow. I would look at my leg, this part of my body that had once been strong and capable, and feel a wave of sadness. But through it all, I held onto the words of my doctors, my family, my friends: “You will be stronger than before.”
When I finally graduated to one crutch, then none, I realized something important: recovery isn’t just about healing your body. It’s about healing your mind, too. I had to accept that my life had changed, but that didn’t mean it was over. The physical pain would eventually fade, but the mental scars needed time and patience to heal. I kept going because something within me had shifted. A fire had been lit, not of anger but of purpose. I was determined to rise again. It’s been a long road. Every step, every small victory, came with its own struggles, but it also came with a lesson in resilience. There were days when I felt like giving up, when the weight of everything seemed too much to bear. But through it all, I held onto the belief that I would walk again, swim again, and find myself again.
“योगस्थः कुरु कर्माणि सङ्गं त्यक्त्वा धनञ्जय।”
(Gita 2.48)
“Be steadfast in yoga, Arjuna. Perform your duty without attachment, remaining even-minded in success and failure.”
And so I detached from the outcome. I stopped asking when I’d heal, and focused on how I could stay present, grateful, and faithful. Step by step, I moved forward.
What the fall taught me
This accident wasn’t the end of something. It was the beginning of everything. I learned to:
- Let go of control.
- Surrender to what is.
- See Krishna in the stranger.
- Hear His voice in my family’s prayers.
- Feel His strength in my weakest moments.
I realized: this body will one day perish. But what I gain in character, in love, in awareness that is eternal.
I am not the one I was that evening
That woman who fell on the road? She is gone.
The one writing this today? She has risen from her pain.
I’m still on this journey, still pushing forward. And now, when I look back, I see more than just the pain. I see the strength I didn’t know I had, the love and support of my family, my friends, and colleagues, and the kindness of strangers. But I’m no longer the same person who hit the ground that evening. I’ve been broken and rebuilt in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I see how fragile life can be, but also how strong we can become when faced with our darkest moments.
My steps are still careful. My legs still ache. But my heart is no longer afraid. Because now I know:
“नायं छिन्दन्ति शस्त्राणि नैनं दहति पावकः।
न चैनं क्लेदयन्त्यापो न शोषयति मारुतः॥”
(Gita 2.23)
“The soul can never be cut by weapons, burned by fire, moistened by water, or dried by the wind.”
I am that soul.
Unbroken.
Unburned.
Unshaken.
Unbound.
To you, dear reader
If you are going through a dark time, please remember:
Your suffering is not meaningless. It is a turning point. Your soul is being carved into something luminous. Every tear, every prayer, every breath you take in faith is bringing you closer to truth.
Don’t resist the breaking. Through it, you will be rebuilt; stronger, deeper and freer.
With folded hands,
Bandana
(The author is currently serving in the government sector.)
