Everything Was Gone in the Crash, Except the Gita (And What It Means)
Riya Kumari | Jun 14, 2025, 22:53 IST
( Image credit : Freepik, Timeslife )
Picture this: you've just stepped off a flight that, let's be honest, was already testing your patience with mediocre peanuts and endless boarding delays. But now—boom—a crash, chaos, heartbreak. Yet somewhere in the mess of burning metal and broken dreams, emerges one survivor: a copy of the Bhagavad Gita, unscathed. Cue dramatic music.
When nothing makes sense, sometimes what’s left behind says everything. On June 12, 2025, a plane went up into the sky—and came crashing down 33 seconds later. Air India Flight AI171. A regular day, regular people, regular lives. Until suddenly, it wasn't. 260 people. Gone. Some were passengers, others on the ground. A student writing his exam. A doctor sipping tea. A crew member looking forward to dinner with his family. It was fast, fiery, and final. But from that wreckage—literal twisted metal, blackened earth, and unbearable loss—something made it out. A copy of the Bhagavad Gita, untouched. And here’s where it gets uncomfortable: not because the Gita survived, but because nothing else really did.
Do you scroll past it? Whisper “miracle” and move on? Argue on the internet about physics and fireproof binding? Or—do you stop?
Because something about that image feels... pointed. As if the universe sent a push notification, and most of us didn’t know whether to read it as divine, absurd, or deeply, deeply human.
It’s a voice that showed up in a battlefield centuries ago—when a warrior, Arjuna, stood paralyzed by fear. Not fear of dying. Fear of what comes with living. Choices. Consequences. The unbearable weight of being conscious. And Krishna said to him, “You are not the body. You are the doer, the witness, the soul.”
That very book, those very verses, somehow stood tall in the middle of this real-world battlefield too—a crashed plane, a burned hostel, a city in mourning. Maybe that wasn’t coincidence. Maybe it was context.
Not the paper that didn’t burn. Not some attempt to oversimplify loss with the word “faith.” This is about what survives. In the middle of noise, pain, and tragedy—what is left standing? When all your plans crash, what remains? Not your calendar. Not your Wi-Fi. Not even your body, maybe.
Maybe it’s something quieter. Your conscience. Your values. The truth you didn’t outsource. The questions you kept hidden from even yourself.
When we say the Gita survived, it’s easy to label that “divine.” But divinity doesn’t always come with fireworks. Sometimes, it’s in the fact that something stayed still. When everything else moved, broke, burned, disappeared—this didn’t.
And maybe that’s the real point. Not that the Gita is more powerful than fire. But that the ideas inside it are harder to destroy than anything physical. Because they don’t sit on your shelf. They sit inside you.
That’s the question. Not what book survived. But what in you can? What can get through job loss, heartbreak, disease, betrayal, fear, death? The world is showing us daily that nothing is promised. But maybe this one moment, this one book, surviving in silence—that’s a clue.
A nudge. A soft tap on the shoulder. Saying: You can burn the body, the machine, even the dreams… but there’s something you can’t touch. Call it soul. Call it dharma. Call it stillness. Call it whatever fits your language. But please—don’t miss it.
This isn't an article about religion. This is about resilience. About finding something in the rubble—literally or emotionally—that tells you, “There’s more.”
When the smoke clears and the questions remain, maybe the Gita wasn’t just preserved by chance. Maybe it was preserved for us. To remind us that while everything can break, something in you… doesn’t have to.
What do you do with something like that?
Mindful
( Image credit : Pexels )
Do you scroll past it? Whisper “miracle” and move on? Argue on the internet about physics and fireproof binding? Or—do you stop?
Because something about that image feels... pointed. As if the universe sent a push notification, and most of us didn’t know whether to read it as divine, absurd, or deeply, deeply human.
The Gita isn’t just a book. It’s a voice
Present
( Image credit : Pexels )
It’s a voice that showed up in a battlefield centuries ago—when a warrior, Arjuna, stood paralyzed by fear. Not fear of dying. Fear of what comes with living. Choices. Consequences. The unbearable weight of being conscious. And Krishna said to him, “You are not the body. You are the doer, the witness, the soul.”
That very book, those very verses, somehow stood tall in the middle of this real-world battlefield too—a crashed plane, a burned hostel, a city in mourning. Maybe that wasn’t coincidence. Maybe it was context.
So, what is this really about?
Wisdom
( Image credit : Pexels )
Not the paper that didn’t burn. Not some attempt to oversimplify loss with the word “faith.” This is about what survives. In the middle of noise, pain, and tragedy—what is left standing? When all your plans crash, what remains? Not your calendar. Not your Wi-Fi. Not even your body, maybe.
Maybe it’s something quieter. Your conscience. Your values. The truth you didn’t outsource. The questions you kept hidden from even yourself.
We love survival stories. But we need meaning more
Idea
( Image credit : Pexels )
When we say the Gita survived, it’s easy to label that “divine.” But divinity doesn’t always come with fireworks. Sometimes, it’s in the fact that something stayed still. When everything else moved, broke, burned, disappeared—this didn’t.
And maybe that’s the real point. Not that the Gita is more powerful than fire. But that the ideas inside it are harder to destroy than anything physical. Because they don’t sit on your shelf. They sit inside you.
In a world constantly crashing, what in you doesn’t burn?
Yoga
( Image credit : Pexels )
That’s the question. Not what book survived. But what in you can? What can get through job loss, heartbreak, disease, betrayal, fear, death? The world is showing us daily that nothing is promised. But maybe this one moment, this one book, surviving in silence—that’s a clue.
A nudge. A soft tap on the shoulder. Saying: You can burn the body, the machine, even the dreams… but there’s something you can’t touch. Call it soul. Call it dharma. Call it stillness. Call it whatever fits your language. But please—don’t miss it.
Final Thought
When the smoke clears and the questions remain, maybe the Gita wasn’t just preserved by chance. Maybe it was preserved for us. To remind us that while everything can break, something in you… doesn’t have to.