Yada Yada Hi Dharmasya Lyrics

If you want the original Sanskrit line and a reliable translation, the best place to start is the source itself: the shloka appears in 'Bhagavad Gita', chapter 4, verse 7. I often go straight to a couple of solid online repositories — vedabase.io (for the full Devanagari, transliteration, and Srila Prabhupada’s translation) and the Gita Supersite hosted by IIT Kanpur (gitasupersite.iitk.ac.in) because they give parallel texts and multiple translators side-by-side. Typing the exact transliteration "yada yadā hi dharmasya glānir bhavati bhārata" into Google will usually surface Devanagari, transliteration, and many English translations in the top results.

If you’re after lyric-style versions used in bhajans and chant recordings, YouTube is great — search for the line plus terms like "shloka", "bhajan", or "recitation". Spotify, Apple Music, and SoundCloud often host musical renditions where the shloka is sung; their description boxes sometimes include transliteration and translations. For a physical copy, I keep a trusted book on my shelf: 'Bhagavad Gita As It Is' or Eknath Easwaran’s 'The Bhagavad Gita' — both include that verse with commentary, which can help the meaning land properly.

One tip from my digging: if you want the line in Devanagari, search exactly "यदा यदा हि धर्मस्य"; that catches many temple PDF booklets and printable lyric sheets. Scholarly websites like sacred-texts.com and archive.org also host older translations and scanned editions. Personally, verses that announce divine intervention always give me chills, and that particular line is worth hunting down in several translations to see the nuance shift between commentators.

The verse from 'Bhagavad Gita' — commonly quoted as 'yada yada hi dharmasya' — is one of those lines that always snaps me upright whenever I hear it. The full Sanskrit often given is:

'yadā yadā hi dharmasya glānir bhavati bhārata
abhyutthānam adharmasya tadātmānaṃ sṛijāmyaham
paritrāṇāya sādhūnām vināśāya ca duṣkṛtām
dharma-saṃsthāpanārthāya sambhavāmi yuge yuge'

Literally translated, it runs: 'Whenever (yada yada) there is a decline (glāniḥ) in righteousness (dharma) and (bhavati) there is a rise (abhyutthānam) of unrighteousness (adharma), O Bharata (bhārata), then I manifest myself (tadā … sṛijāmy aham). To protect the good (paritrāṇāya sādhūnām), to destroy the wicked (vināśāya ca duṣkṛtām), and to establish the principles of righteousness (dharma-saṃsthāpanārthāya), I appear from age to age (sambhavāmi yuge yuge).'

I like to break it down because that keeps the meaning alive for me: it's not boastful—it's a promise of intervention when moral order collapses, framed as divine response. Contextually, Krishna speaks this to Arjuna to explain why he incarnates repeatedly. For my taste, it reads like a cosmic safety valve: order will be restored when chaos grows too loud. It comforts me on messy days, and it warns me that ethical decline invites correction. I often chew on that balance between protection and destruction and how it plays out in history and fiction I love — feels like mythic storytelling at its cleanest.

If you're hunting for a faithful audio of the line from the 'Bhagavad Gita'—the famous 'yada yada hi dharmasya' verse—there are actually a bunch of places I go to depending on what mood I'm in. For full recitations, YouTube is my go-to; search both the Romanized phrase "Yada Yada Hi Dharmasya" and the Devanagari "यदा यदा हि धर्मस्य" to catch different uploads. You'll find everything from slow, meditative Sanskrit chant recitations to more musical bhajan-style takes by temple choirs or solo artists. ISKCON channels and established devotional music labels often post high-quality recordings with clear pronunciation and sometimes translations in the video description.

If you want something you can carry around, Spotify, Apple Music, Amazon Music, JioSaavn, and Gaana host studio-quality tracks—look for albums of 'Bhagavad Gita' recitation, Krishna bhajans, or specific mantra compilations. Many of these services offer offline downloads if you buy or subscribe. For indie or less-commercial versions, Bandcamp and SoundCloud are goldmines: Bandcamp especially lets you support the artist directly and often download high-quality files.

For historical or public-domain recordings, try Internet Archive (archive.org) and older temple websites; occasionally you can find archival kirtan recordings there. Finally, if you want lyrics alongside audio, websites that provide transliterations and translations of 'Bhagavad Gita' verses often link to recitations—so cross-reference those. Personally, I love switching between a slow Sanskrit recitation when I'm studying the verse and a rousing bhajan version when cooking or cleaning; both hit different emotional notes for me.

That little chant always grabs my ear: 'yadā yadā hi dharmasya glānir bhavati bhārata' — that’s the common opening people mean when they say 'yada yada hi dharmasya.' If you want a friendly, singable pronunciation, try this syllable-by-syllable guide: ya-dā ya-dā hi dhar-ma-sya glā-nir bha-va-ti bhā-rā-ta. Pronounce the ā as a long "ah" (hold it a bit), so "yadā" sounds like "yah-daa." The consonants dh and bh are aspirated — a little puff of air follows them — so "dharmasya" is "dhar-ma-sya" with a soft breath on the d. Keep syllables even; Sanskrit is rhythmic rather than stressed like English.

If you want a more scholarly transliteration, it’s written in IAST as: yadā yadā hi dharmasya glānir bhavati bhārata. The next line often included is: abhyutthānam adharmasya tadātmānaṃ sṛjāmyaham — practice that the same way: ab-hyu-thā-nam adhar-ma-sya ta-daa-tmaa-nam srijaamyaham. A quick tip when practicing aloud: slow it down first, focus on the long vowels (ā) and aspirated consonants, then gradually bring it to a natural rhythm. Listening to a recorded recitation helps lock in the cadence; once I matched the flow, it felt like riding a familiar melody, and that made memorization way easier for me.

The phrase 'yada yada hi dharmasya' is actually a shorthand people use for the famous verse from the 'Bhagavad Gita' — verse 4.7 — which appears in the larger epic 'Mahabharata'. The couplet in full starts with 'yada yada hi dharmasya glanir bhavati...' and in the story it’s spoken by Krishna to Arjuna on the battlefield. Traditionally, the text of the 'Bhagavad Gita' is attributed to Vyasa (Krishna Dvaipayana Vyasa), the sage who compiled the 'Mahabharata', though the lines themselves are presented as Krishna’s words within the epic dialogue. So, if you mean who wrote the original lines, the credit goes to the epic tradition recorded by Vyasa and passed down as scripture; the speaker in the passage is Krishna.

People set these words to music, translate them, and turn them into bhajans, chants, and even pop-cultural references all the time. The reason why anyone would write or adapt those lyrics is pretty clear to me: the verse carries a powerful, compact theology — the idea that whenever righteousness falters, the divine incarnates to restore balance. That message is timeless and comforting, so musicians, poets, and teachers adapt it to reach contemporary ears. Whether it’s a classical raga, a simple kirtan, or a cinematic score, the goal tends to be the same: to make the teaching emotionally accessible and to evoke devotion or moral courage. I love how a few ancient words can ripple through centuries and still feel urgent and alive.

That famous verse from the 'Bhagavad Gita' goes: 'yada yada hi dharmasya glanir bhavati bharata, abhyutthanam adharmasya tadatmanam srijamyaham.' In plain English a common, literal translation is: 'Whenever there is a decline of righteousness and an upsurge of unrighteousness, O Bharata (Arjuna), at that time I manifest Myself.' I like to think of it first as a calm, almost procedural line — a promise that balance will be restored when things tip too far.

Linguistically, each word carries weight: 'dharma' points to duty, ethics, social order and the greater good; 'glanir' signals decline or decay; 'adharma' is unrighteousness or disorder; and 'srijamyaham' is 'I create' or 'I manifest.' The 'I' in the verse is Krishna speaking to Arjuna, and many interpreters read it as a statement about divine intervention through incarnation — the avatara concept — rather than an everyday miracle you expect to find on a timeline. In practice, some translations soften it to 'I appear' or 'I take form.'

Beyond theology, I enjoy treating the line as a poetic reassurance: systems tend to self-correct, sometimes through extraordinary leadership, social movements, or cultural renewal. Whether you read it as metaphysical promise or symbolic hope, it’s comforting to know that the text recognizes moral decline and promises renewal — which feels oddly relevant in any era. That thought always gives me a quiet lift.

That phrase actually belongs to the well-known scripture 'Bhagavad Gita', which is embedded in the epic 'Mahabharata'. The verse most people quote is from chapter 4, verse 7: "yadā yadā hi dharmasya glānir bhavati bhārata, abhyutthānam adharmasya tadātmānaṁ sṛjāmyaham." Right after it comes 4.8, the famous follow-up that talks about protecting the good and destroying the wicked by manifesting the divine.

I love how compact and dramatic this couplet is. In plain terms it means: whenever righteousness (dharma) declines and unrighteousness rises, the divine incarnates to restore balance. That line has been set to bhajans, used in speeches, and quoted in all sorts of cultural works because it so neatly captures the idea of intervention and cosmic justice. If you trace it back, 'Bhagavad Gita' is a 700-verse dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna on the battlefield, and this line is Krishna explaining why he incarnates periodically. Personally, whenever I hear a mellow classical rendition of this verse it gives me goosebumps — there's a charge to the idea that order is cyclic and that hope can reappear when things go sideways.

That verse—'yada yada hi dharmasya' from the fourth chapter of the 'Bhagavad Gita'—always feels like a small key that opens big doors. When I want a reliable translation, I first reach for a few classics side-by-side because tone matters: if you want devotional clarity, 'Bhagavad-gita As It Is' (A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada) gives a traditional, bhakti-centered rendering with extensive commentary; for a lyrical, anthropological take that makes the poem sing in English, Barbara Stoler Miller's 'The Bhagavad-Gita: Krishna's Counsel in Time of War' is lovely and readable.

I also lean on more modern, practical translations like Eknath Easwaran's 'The Bhagavad Gita for Daily Living' when I'm looking to apply the verse to everyday decisions, and Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan's 'The Bhagavadgita' when I want philosophical depth and historical framing. For quick cross-checking, the Gita Supersite (gitasupersite.iitk.ac.in) and Vedabase (the ISKCON Vedabase site) are indispensable — they host Sanskrit, transliteration, multiple English translations, and classical commentaries in parallel. Sacred-texts.com archives older translations useful for comparison too.

My tip: read at least two translations and one commentary (one devotional and one scholarly/poetic) so the nuance of 'manifesting' and the context of dharma and avatara become clearer. I always come away with a different mood depending on the translator — sometimes fierce, sometimes consoling — and that's part of the joy of digging into this line.

That sloka—yada yada hi dharmasya glanir bhavati bharata—has a way of showing up everywhere these days, and I think that says more about modern conversation than it does about scripture alone. In its original home within 'Bhagavad Gita' it functions as a kind of moral checkpoint: when righteousness decays and unrighteousness rises, the divine intervenes. People love neat, resonant lines, and this one is short, dramatic, and can be waved around like a moral flag.

I notice three big reasons it gets used so much now. First, it provides instant moral authority; drop the line into a speech or a tweet and people hear centuries of ethical conversation behind it. Second, it’s adaptable — activists, politicians, spiritual teachers, and influencers all bend its meaning to fit their causes, from social justice to cultural revival. Third, it’s memetic: social media turns it into slogans, GIF-friendly quotes, or even punchlines. That flexibility is powerful but risky, because the context in 'Bhagavad Gita'—the larger dialogue about duty, wisdom, and self-control—often gets clipped off.

I end up feeling ambivalent. I love that ancient wisdom remains alive and can motivate real action, but I also wince when the line is used to justify intolerance or violence without the nuance the text demands. For me the sloka is a spark, not a license, and I prefer seeing it prompt reflection rather than being wielded as an unexamined justification.

I checked a couple of editions and translations the other day, and the famous line 'yada yada hi dharmasya glanir bhavati bharata' is tucked inside the heart of the epic — it's part of 'Bhagavad Gita', specifically chapter 4, verse 7 (often quoted together with verse 8). The 'Gita' itself is embedded within the larger framework of the 'Mahabharata' inside the 'Bhishma Parva'. If you look at traditional chaptering, the whole 'Bhagavad Gita' is presented as chapters within 'Bhishma Parva' (the Gita comprises 18 chapters and 700 verses), so the sloka appears there in the dialog between Krishna and Arjuna.

In different printed editions or regional manuscripts the chapter and verse numbering can vary slightly, but modern scholarly editions consistently list this sloka as 4.7 of the 'Bhagavad Gita'. Verse 4.8 immediately follows, completing the couplet many people cite: that whenever righteousness declines and unrighteousness rises, the Divine incarnates to restore balance. Historically and culturally this little pair of verses has been referenced across devotional, philosophical, and political contexts because of its compact summary of the doctrine of divine descent.

On a personal note, I love how this single line sums up such a huge theological idea in a few Sanskrit words — it’s the kind of passage that keeps pulling me back into translations and commentaries whenever I want to reconnect with why the 'Gita' has resonated across centuries.