A blind king says the word dharma in the first line of the poem, and never uses it cleanly again. His sons ignore it, his nephews die for it, and seven hundred verses later it is still the hardest thing in the text to pin down. Dharma is not a commandment handed from above. It is the shape your own nature makes when it acts without flinching. Krishna never tells Arjuna what dharma is in the abstract. He tells him what his dharma is — and the difference matters. Another person's duty, performed beautifully, will still wreck you. Your own duty, performed roughly, keeps you whole. These verses trace that argument from crisis to clarity. You already sense what is yours to do. The Gītā asks why you are still hesitating.