Contents
About Prompt
- Prompt Type – Scene-by-Scene
- Prompt Platform – ChatGPT, Grok, Deepseek, Gemini, Copilot, Midjourney, Meta AI and more
- Language – English
- Category – Video/Story
- Prompt Title – Bhagavad Gita: The Path of Dharma and Duty
Prompt Details
🎬 Scene 1
The world is a symphony of gray and sorrow. We are on a vast, desolate expanse of churned earth and shattered rock, a battlefield silenced by the ghosts of its own fury. A thick, spectral mist, heavy with the scent of cold iron and damp soil, clings to the ground like a shroud, swallowing sound and sight beyond a few feet. The air is frigid, each breath a plume of white vapor that freezes on the lips. The silence is a heavy, ringing presence, punctuated only by the mournful sigh of a distant wind whistling through the crevices of broken chariots and the skeletal remains of ancient banners, which hang limp and defeated from their poles. In the center of this desolate stage stands Rohan, his monumental form a stark silhouette against the oppressive, colorless sky. He is a statue of conflict, motionless yet brimming with internal turmoil. Droplets of condensation trace slow, sorrowful paths down the cold, dark steel of his intricately engraved armor, each drop reflecting the bleak landscape in miniature. His broad shoulders are slumped, not from physical exhaustion, but from the crushing gravity of a decision that weighs upon his soul. His formidable sword, a masterpiece of lethal craftsmanship, is held loosely in his gauntleted hand, its tip resting on the muddy ground, a silent testament to his hesitation. The entire frame is desaturated, emphasizing the muted tones of mud, steel, and fog, creating a palpable atmosphere of profound despair and existential dread. This is not just a place, but a state of mind—a purgatory of doubt where a warrior has lost his cause.
🎵 Tone: Melancholic, contemplative, suspenseful
🎬 Scene 2
The oppressive stillness of the battlefield is suddenly broken, not by a sound, but by a subtle shift in the very fabric of the atmosphere. The thick mist directly behind Rohan begins to behave unnaturally; it ceases its aimless drift and starts to coalesce, swirling inwards as if being drawn into a single, unseen point. Tiny motes of dust and moisture hang suspended in the air, catching a nascent, ethereal light that has no discernible source. The light intensifies, a soft, sapphire glow that gently pushes back the gloom, sculpting a humanoid form from the swirling vapor. The figure of Indra solidifies, not with a sudden pop, but with the silent, graceful inevitability of a moonrise. He doesn’t stand upon the ground but hovers an inch above it, his shimmering white robes undisturbed by the wind that still rustles Rohan’s cloak. The air around him seems to hum with a quiet, cosmic energy, and the temperature drops by a palpable degree. His presence is not bombastic or threatening; it is a profound and absolute stillness, a point of serene order in a universe of chaos. His sapphire eyes, which seem to contain swirling nebulae, are fixed upon Rohan with an expression of ancient, patient understanding. He is not merely an arrival; he is a revelation, a question made manifest in the heart of Rohan’s despair.
🎵 Tone: Mysterious, awe-inspiring, tense
🎬 Scene 3
Indra remains motionless, his serene gaze holding Rohan’s. With a gesture that is impossibly fluid and slow, he raises a single, elegant hand and points not at Rohan, but at the large, circular shield slung across Rohan’s back. The shield, made of dark, polished steel, is a work of art, its surface covered in battle scars and the faint residue of mud and rain. Yet, as Indra gestures, its surface begins to clear supernaturally, the grime vanishing to reveal a perfect, dark mirror. Rohan, compelled by the silent command, unslings the heavy shield and holds it before him. He stares into his own reflection: the weary eyes, the scar, the grim set of his jaw. But then, under Indra’s unwavering focus, the reflection ripples as if the steel were water. His image splits, becoming a horrifying chimera. On one side, he sees himself as a mighty king, clad in resplendent gold armor, a jewel-encrusted crown on his brow, his expression one of arrogant triumph. On the other side, he is a wretched beggar, draped in filthy rags, his face gaunt with starvation, his eyes hollow with despair. The two halves of the reflection are perfectly joined down the middle, a seamless, surreal portrait of duality that stares back at him from the depths of the steel. The world around the reflection, the misty battlefield, remains unchanged, grounding the impossible vision in a terrifying reality.
🎵 Tone: Enigmatic, surreal, mysterious
🎬 Scene 5
The horrific vision in the shield vanishes, snapping back to a simple, dark reflection of Rohan’s own horrified face. The warrior stumbles back a step, the heavy shield feeling suddenly leaden in his grip. He lets it fall to his side, his gaze dropping from Indra to the sword he still holds in his other hand. The weapon, once a symbol of his strength and skill, now seems alien and monstrous. The intricate carvings on its hilt appear like mocking skulls, and the polished fuller running down its blade reflects the grey, unforgiving sky like a sliver of ice. Indra’s voice, calm and penetrating, cuts through Rohan’s spiraling thoughts. He doesn’t command; he invites. As Rohan looks at the sword, a subtle, golden light begins to emanate from Indra, casting a warm glow on the cold steel of the weapon. The light makes the sword seem heavier, more substantial, as if its true nature is being revealed. It’s no longer just a piece of metal, but a physical manifestation of a promise, a duty, a terrifying responsibility. The air around the blade seems to shimmer, and for a fleeting moment, Rohan can almost see faint, ghostly images swirling around it—the faces of his ancestors, the sigil of his clan, the people he is sworn to protect. The weight he feels is not in his hand, but in his very soul.
🎵 Tone: Introspective, somber, weighty
🎬 Scene 7
The ancestral whispers and ghostly apparitions fade as Indra lowers his hand, drawing all the ambient energy back into himself. The battlefield falls silent once more, but the atmosphere is now charged with expectation. Indra fixes his piercing gaze on Rohan, and the world in front of the warrior shimmers, like heat haze rising from a desert floor. From this distortion, a second figure of Rohan begins to coalesce, stepping forward as if emerging from a mirage. This doppelgänger is a perfect physical copy—same armor, same scar, same weapon—but its demeanor is a twisted mockery. Where Rohan is contemplative, this other self is consumed by raw, naked emotion. Its eyes are wide with terror, its face contorted in a sneer of arrogant pride. It clutches its sword in a white-knuckled grip of aggression, its posture coiled and defensive. This is Rohan’s ego, his fear, and his doubt given physical form. It circles him like a predator, its movements jerky and uncertain. It breathes heavily, its armor creaking with every panicked shift of its weight. This is not an external enemy to be fought, but an internal demon to be confronted, standing there on the misty plains, a perfect, horrifying reflection of the turmoil raging within.
🎵 Tone: Confrontational, psychological, surreal
🎬 Scene 8
Just as the confrontation between Rohan and his fearful double is about to erupt, Indra raises a single finger. The world dissolves. The misty battlefield, the doppelgänger, the very ground beneath their feet—it all vanishes into an infinite, silent void. For a breathtaking moment, they are suspended in a sea of pure blackness. Then, one by one, stars begin to ignite around them, not as distant pinpricks, but as vast, blazing suns and swirling, majestic galaxies of impossible color. They are floating in the heart of the cosmos. A colossal, vibrant nebula of pink and purple gas drifts slowly past them, its scale dwarfing anything imaginable. Comets with crystalline tails streak by in silent, graceful arcs. Indra is completely serene in this environment, his glowing form a small, stable point of light in the overwhelming majesty of creation. Rohan, however, is struck with profound, vertigo-inducing awe. He looks down to where his feet should be and sees a spiral galaxy turning slowly millions of light-years below. The petty concerns of his battle, his kingdom, his very identity, shrink to absolute insignificance in the face of this boundless, silent, and perfect cosmic tapestry. The mystery of his purpose is reframed; it is no longer just about a man and a battle, but about his place in an impossibly vast, interconnected universe.
🎵 Tone: Awestruck, sublime, transcendent
🎬 Scene 9
Suspended in the cosmic void, Rohan slowly turns to face Indra, his eyes now filled not with fear, but with a profound and humbling clarity. In response to his unspoken question, Indra’s form begins to change. The faint, ethereal glow he has maintained intensifies, expanding into a brilliant, blindingly pure white light that forces Rohan to shield his eyes. Within this incandescence, Indra’s humanoid shape dissolves, transforming into a complex, rotating geometric structure of pure energy—a living mandala of interconnected lines, circles, and lotuses, all pulsing with a gentle, rhythmic light. This is his true, divine form, an expression of cosmic law and order. The light is not harsh or burning, but warm and loving, and it seems to speak directly to Rohan’s soul. As Rohan looks upon this form, understanding floods his mind. He finally grasps the concept of Dharma—not as a rigid set of rules or a specific duty, but as his own essential nature, his unique and necessary function within the grand cosmic mechanism. He is a warrior not because of birth or obligation, but because the universe requires a warrior’s action in this specific time and place to maintain its balance. The mystery is solved not with a clue, but with an all-encompassing revelation of his intrinsic purpose.
🎵 Tone: Revelatory, spiritual, uplifting
🎬 Scene 10
The blinding light of Indra’s divine form recedes, and the cosmic vista dissolves. In a smooth, seamless transition, Rohan finds himself standing once again on the same desolate battlefield from the beginning. But everything has changed. The oppressive gray mist has thinned dramatically, and shafts of warm, golden sunlight now break through the clouds, illuminating the landscape and revealing hints of green shoots beginning to push through the churned earth. The air no longer feels frigid and heavy, but crisp and clear. The silence is no longer one of despair, but of calm potential. Indra is there, back in his humanoid form, giving Rohan a small, knowing smile before fading away completely into the morning light. Rohan stands alone, but he is no longer a solitary, conflicted figure. His posture is upright and confident. He reaches out and his sword, which had been floating in space, flies back into his hand, settling into his gauntlet with a quiet, decisive click. He looks at the weapon now not with fear or hesitation, but with clear-eyed purpose. With a smooth, practiced motion, he raises the sword high, its steel blade catching the new sunlight in a brilliant flash. His face, once a mask of tormented doubt, is now a portrait of serene resolve. He has found his path. The mystery is solved. His duty is clear.
🎵 Tone: Hopeful, resolute, uplifting