"Not everyone climbs the hill to reach the house," Krishna said. "Many
stop partway, at a wishing-well, and ask only for what they want today."
Arjuna tilted his head, listening.
"There is nothing wicked in it," Krishna went on. "People long for their
plans to work. The farmer wants rain. The trader wants a good road and a
safe journey. The mother wants her child to be well. So they offer prayers
and gifts to the shining ones — the gods of rain and fire and the bright
sky — and they ask: *let it go well, let it go well, and quickly.*"
He let the reins rest across his knee.
"And it does, often enough. In the world of people, results that come from
busy hands and clever plans arrive fast. Plant a fast-growing crop in the
spring and by summer you are eating it. There is a real pleasure in that —
the quick harvest, the wish granted, the thing you wanted now in your
hands."
Then Krishna grew thoughtful.
"But have you ever watched a mango tree grow, Arjuna? It does not feed you
the first summer, or the second. For years it only stands there, growing
quietly taller, sending roots down deep into the dark. The fast crop is
eaten and gone, eaten and gone, season after season. The slow tree asks
for patience. And then, one day, it lifts up more sweet fruit than a hundred
fast crops, and it does this every year, for longer than a person lives."
Arjuna understood that Krishna was not really talking about trees.
"So the quick success is not bad," Arjuna said carefully, "only small."
"Only small," Krishna agreed, "and quick to pass. I am pointing you toward
something that grows slower, and lasts. But that is a teaching for the
verses still to come." His eyes glinted. "For now, simply notice how many
hands at this wishing-well reach for the harvest of a single season."
On the field below, somewhere, a man was muttering a hurried prayer over
his spear, asking only to live through the day. Krishna watched him with
great tenderness, and said nothing more.
