Arjuna's hair stands on end twice: once facing his own family across the battlefield, and once facing God. The Gītā does not treat these as separate problems. Fear of the world and fear of the infinite are the same trembling in different light. The body knows before the mind does — mouth dry, skin burning, the bow slipping. Krishna does not say stop being afraid. He says: even a little practice protects from great fear. The Gītā's answer is not bravery as performance but a kind of seeing that goes beneath the shaking. When Arjuna begs to see the familiar form again, Krishna obliges — gently, like a friend. The terror does not vanish. But it no longer owns you. Fear is the door you are standing in; walking through it is the only direction that leads somewhere real.