Weakness isn’t a flaw, it’s an opportunity to grow - by Aarushi Agrawal

Dhritarashtra teaches us that everyone has moments of weakness and they don’t define us. What matters is the types of habits we build to tackle those weaknesses.

Dhritarashtra, ruler of the Kuru dynasty and father of the Kauravas, is often described as a weak character. In the historical epic Mahabharata, he has awareness of spiritual culture and principles and he can acknowledge that Krishna is the Supreme Lord, but he’s unable to follow the former and realise the latter. 

His deep attachment to his sons makes him turn his head the other way to their obvious evilness. This leads to Draupadi being dishonoured and disrobed and the Mahabharata war taking place, both things he could have prevented by taking a strong stance against his sons. His half-brother Vidura, his father Vyasadev, his confidant Sanjaya, even Krishna Himself, tried to counsel Dhritarashtra. Sometimes, he even saw the merit in their advice. But his attachment came bursting back to the fore and he became comfortably blinded to all good logic. 

ISKCON monk and leader HH SB Keshava Swami Maharaj explains in a talk that whatever good advice Dhritarashtra got wasn’t penetrating into his mind. When Krishna Himself came to Dhritarashra with good advice, he responded: “Krishna, your words are like lightning. In the moment when you speak, they create an incredible illumination. But the very next moment, I’m engulfed by darkness.” ISKCON monk and speaker HG Chaitanya Charan Das further explains this state in a character study. When Krishna has come to converse with the Kurus, and Duryodhana tries to arrest Him, Krishna shows his viraat roop. Dhritarashtra is able to contemplate on Krishna’s position as the Supreme Lord, but then his attachment comes rushing back, and he convinces himself that what he saw was a trick. “What should have been a steady illumination which shows the right way becomes a flash of lightning which stays for some time, and then again there is darkness. The darkness caused by his attachment.”

If someone entrenched in the culture, living in an earlier yuga, at a time when Krishna Himself was on the planet, with all the knowledge and privilege of being an emperor, can become derailed from spiritual truths, then we must make a desperate attempt to learn what we can from his story.

What exactly does the word ‘weak’ mean in Dhritirashtra’s context? He was able to momentarily see the truth, but then he would become covered by his attachment again. All of us do this sometimes. We’re in denial of something that’s hard to accept, be it hurting someone, failing an exam, getting fired, losing a loved one. Denial is a comfortable, safe space, where things are going the way we want. So we deny something happened, or that we’re to blame. But eventually we come around, we find the strength to face the tough thing. We cry the tears, we feel the sting of rejection, we let the waves of pain ride through us. And then we’re okay. 

But every time Dhritirashtra is faced with the truth about his sons, he willingly lets illusion blind him again. This is not fatherly love. This is an unwillingness to accept the flaws of his sons. Such stubborn blindness, especially in the face of repeated advice to the contrary, can stem from a basic lack of capacity for emotions and the overwhelm they bring. 

Really seeing his sons for who they are would mean going through a roller coaster of negative emotions. A father in such a situation will probably feel guilt and wonder where he went wrong in his upbringing, he might feel outrage at how they’re ruining the family name and reputation, he might feel like it’s a personal failing in some sense, besides the pain and anger he’ll already be feeling. For Dhritarashtra, accepting his sons’ character would mean going through the process of grief. And once that was done, it would mean rejecting them. He would lose not just his sons, but the image he has of himself as a father and a ruler. By really seeing his sons, Dhritarashtra would have to embark on a long journey of feeling overwhelming and turbulent emotions. That journey is unknown and intimidating. 

This is essentially what’s called an emotional blind spot, an area of unawareness about one’s own feelings, habits or behaviours, and their impact on other people. One of the best ways to become aware of them is to be open to feedback from people who are coming from a place of care — and applying it.

We can practice this in our daily lives. Someone might tell you that the car you’ve parked is slightly slanting or that the dish you’ve cooked doesn’t have enough salt. A teacher or boss might point out areas for improvement. A friend might highlight a toxic pattern that needs changing. A parent might give feedback about patterns that you’ve carried your whole life. 

It’s how we react to these small moments that becomes important. We can either face the slight discomfort of being called out or go into denial. But building the habit of accepting and implementing feedback is one of the ways our capacity for uncomfortable feelings increases. It's how we can become the type of devotee who can face whatever comes their way without their faith in Krishna wavering. If we don't practice this every day with the small things, it’s possible that we might become as blindsided as Dhritarashtra when faced with a big challenge. After all, if we can’t even accept that there isn’t enough salt in our dish, how can we accept someone saying that our pride or attachment are impediments in our spiritual journey?

By practicing being uncomfortable and building our capacity for difficult moments and emotions, we can face life as it comes. Krishna will give us opportunities for illumination. We need to lead the sort of life that makes us prepared to receive His lessons, instead of turning our back on Him and returning to the darkness of our attachments.