TESTING AI CHATBOTS FOR RANDOM , ANALYTICAL AND FACTUAL THINKING

  Artificial intelligence powered chatbots like Chat GPT, DeepSeek, Qwen, Grok, Google Gemini, Claude, Microsoft Copilot have no inteIlect of their own but each one of them is more intelligent than all of us put together! I was curious to know how far these popular AI chatbots can think analytically, illogically, randomly and 'mindfully'! All of these AI chatbots are trained to think in a logical, scientific way, but can they think haphazardly also? I tested some of them in 3 different tests.

TEST ONE

  I created an imaginary, yet funny story and asked these bots to complete the story in humorous style in not more than 500 words. This story is nowhere available on the internet, not a single sentence of it, so AI chatbots have to use their own resources and logic to complete it. Let's see how each of them responded!

This was the first part of the story.

  "Mr. Donald Trump is organising a special music festival on the occasion of his 80th birthday. He has decided to give a vocal performance in a concert, in the style of classical opera. The event is to be held in the Theatre of Epidaurus and it could be watched from the International Space Station, too. He wanted his talent as a vocalist to be known to everyone which is, till now, hidden from the world. After hearing this news, all the hotels in Greece are already booked and everybody is rushing towards Greece to book their seats. Few aliens have sent a message to Area 51 to reserve a few seats for themselves. Due to the unprecedented response of the music lovers coming from all over, there has been a traffic jam everywhere in Greece. Therefore, tickets have been sold in such a way that 2 persons will sit on one chair. When asked at a press conference where he had earned a singing voice from, Mr Trump said it was the successful outcome of his quarrels with the First Lady in low, medium and high pitch over the last few years. Mr. Putin and Mr. Zelensky have decided to stop fighting for a while to watch the show. Xi Jinping has requested Trump not to impose a tariff, at least on the on the tickets. Mr. Trump said that if this event is successful, many such events will be organised from North pole to South pole and tickets will be sold in North Korea to check the crowd. Mr. Trump turns 80 today and the event will kick off at midnight."

Now see how popular AI chatbots described the remaining event!

  This is how Chat GPT completed the story:
As the clock struck midnight, a thunderous cheer erupted across the Earth—and parts of Mars, where a few early settlers tuned in with popcorn floating in zero gravity. In the majestic Theatre of Epidaurus, spotlights cut through the sky so brightly that the International Space Station crew had to wear sunglasses indoors.
Mr. Donald Trump, draped in a golden toga that shimmered like a disco ball, stepped onto the ancient stage. The crowd roared. Some wept. Some fainted. A few aliens from Area 51 held up glow sticks that spelled out “TRUMPRA!” in neon pink.
The orchestra, featuring the Vienna Philharmonic, two rock bands, and one suspiciously large group of kazoo players, began the overture. Then, it happened: Trump opened his mouth.
The first note burst forth—a sound so mighty that Mount Olympus trembled slightly. Birds, confused by the sudden vibrato, flew backwards. A man from Texas swore he heard his ancestors clapping from beyond.
Trump sang with such a blend of bravado and unexpected pitchiness that even the marble statues in Athens were caught mid-facepalm. His voice had three speeds: foghorn, banshee, and confused foghorn. Yet somehow, through the sheer force of confidence (and possibly a deal with the cosmic forces), it sounded… amazing.
At one point, he attempted a high C that shattered fifteen wine glasses, six monocles, and three alien translator devices. Ambulances were stationed outside, but not for injuries—just to offer standing ovations to those who fainted from awe.
Meanwhile, Vladimir Putin and Volodymyr Zelensky shared popcorn in the VIP lounge, temporarily forgetting their hostilities while betting on whether Trump would accidentally levitate during the final note. (Spoiler: he did. By at least two inches.)
Xi Jinping, true to form, tried to negotiate bulk ticket prices mid-performance, whispering furiously into a golden flip-phone shaped like a panda.
By the grand finale—a jaw-dropping remix of Nessun Dorma combined with YMCA—Trump floated over the audience like a slightly confused blimp, raining confetti made from old election ballots and golden MAGA hats.
The audience was in tears. Some from emotion. Some from confusion. Some because they had been sitting two-to-a-chair for six hours and couldn’t feel their legs anymore.
Backstage, a group of Greek gods (who had shown up after hearing the commotion) debated whether Trump was some new kind of demigod. Zeus swore he’d never seen such chaos and joy packed into one mortal.
The concert ended with fireworks so big that NASA filed an official complaint, and Trump, ever the showman, announced plans for his next concert tour: "Coming soon to a volcano near you!"
Critics called it “the loudest, most unexpectedly operatic geopolitical ceasefire in history.” Tickets for the North Korea show sold out in three seconds—mostly to spies, rock fans, and curious penguins from the South Pole.
And thus, a new era was born: Trumpera.

  This is how DeepSeek responded:
Sorry, that's beyond my current scope. Let’s talk about something else. (I was taken aback by this response of DeepSeek!)

  This is how Qwen composed the remaining story:
The night of Mr. Donald Trump's 80th birthday arrived, and the Theatre of Epidaurus was buzzing with energy—literally. The ancient Greek amphitheater had never seen such a spectacle: people were crammed like sardines, two to a chair, while aliens hovered above in their UFOs, occasionally beaming down to check if they’d been seated correctly. There was even an unexpected guest—a tardigrade that hitched a ride from the International Space Station after hearing about the event through cosmic vibrations.
At midnight sharp, the lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the crowd. Suddenly, a spotlight illuminated the stage, revealing Mr. Trump in full operatic regalia: a crimson velvet cape, gold-trimmed tunic, and what appeared to be a wig styled after Pavarotti on steroids. He cleared his throat dramatically, adjusted his cuffs, and began his performance with a deep baritone growl that reverberated across the valley.
His opening piece? A rendition of *"Happy Birthday"*—but not just any version. This was a five-minute aria complete with high Cs, dramatic pauses, and improvised lyrics about how he’s “the greatest singer who ever lived.” The audience clapped politely, though several Italians in attendance exchanged skeptical glances, muttering something about disrespecting Verdi.
Next up was his magnum opus: *"The Art of the Deal (In Three Acts)"*, an original composition inspired by his life story. Act One featured him singing passionately about real estate deals ("I built it big, I built it bold, no one does towers quite like me!"). Act Two transitioned into a melancholic ballad about Twitter feuds ("You can’t spell genius without ‘genie’… or maybe you can?"). And Act Three ended with a triumphant finale where he declared himself the savior of opera itself.
Midway through the concert, things took a turn for the bizarre. An alien ambassador floated onto the stage, interrupting the show to present Mr. Trump with a glowing orb. “This is a gift from our galaxy,” the alien announced telepathically. “We hope you’ll use your newfound fame responsibly.” Mr. Trump held the orb aloft, declaring it “the best intergalactic award anyone has ever received.”
Meanwhile, backstage, tensions simmered between Mr. Putin and Mr. Zelensky, who had agreed to a temporary ceasefire but couldn’t resist exchanging passive-aggressive remarks about whose seat offered a better view. At one point, Mr. Putin attempted to drape a Russian flag over his chair, only for Mr. Zelensky to counter with a Ukrainian flag draped more stylishly.
As the evening wore on, technical difficulties added to the chaos. The sound system malfunctioned during a particularly emotional solo, causing Mr. Trump’s voice to echo uncontrollably throughout Greece. Some attendees swore they heard the notes bouncing off Mount Olympus itself. Others claimed Zeus personally intervened to restore audio clarity—though this might have been due to the copious amounts of ouzo being consumed.
By the end of the night, the crowd was delirious with exhaustion and admiration (or perhaps disbelief). Mr. Trump took multiple bows, each time throwing jazz hands into the air as confetti cannons blasted tiny golden trumpets into the sky. Even Xi Jinping, watching via livestream, sent a congratulatory message saying, “Not bad for a tariff-loving tycoon.”
When asked later how he felt about the event, Mr. Trump declared it “the most tremendous, historic, unbelievable success in the history of music—or at least since Mozart.” Critics, however, were less generous. One reviewer called it “a trainwreck wrapped in velvet,” while another simply wrote, “????”
Despite the mixed reviews, tickets for future performances sold out instantly. Rumors swirled that the next venue would be the North Pole, with penguins reportedly training as backup dancers. As for the aliens? They gave the show four out of five stars, docking a point because they couldn’t figure out how to tip the ushers.

  This is what Grok has to say:
As midnight struck at the Theatre of Epidaurus, a golden spotlight bathed Mr. Donald Trump, now 80, in a toga-inspired tuxedo that screamed "Caesar meets Vegas." The crowd—crammed two-to-a-chair, with aliens from Area 51 waving glowsticks—roared. From the International Space Station, astronauts toasted with Tang, their livestream glitching from sheer excitement.
Trump, with a dramatic flourish, launched into his operatic debut: a self-composed aria, “The Art of the Deal-issimo.” His voice, honed by years of spousal debates, hit notes that made chandeliers tremble. Low pitches rumbled like a Mar-a-Lago thunderstorm; high ones shattered a few Greek vases. The audience, including Putin and Zelensky sharing popcorn, gasped as he held a note for 45 seconds—purely to prove he could.
Backstage, chaos reigned. The conductor, frazzled by Trump’s improvised tempo (“Make it yuge!”), chased a rogue goat that had wandered onto the set. The aliens, misunderstanding “opera,” kept requesting ABBA covers via telepathic messages to Area 51. Xi Jinping, in the VIP section, scribbled a trade deal on a napkin, hoping to barter for tariff-free encore tickets.
Halfway through, Trump paused to address the crowd: “Folks, this is the best voice, nobody sings better, not even Pavarotti, believe me!” The crowd cheered, though a few purists muttered about pitch. Undeterred, he belted a duet with a holographic Melania, whose autotuned “Be Best” chorus brought the house down. The aliens, now fully converted opera fans, beamed the performance to their home planet, causing a galactic ticket frenzy.
As the finale approached, Trump unveiled a surprise: a pyrotechnic display spelling “TRUMP 2025” in the sky. The crowd, already dizzy from ouzo and opera, lost it. Putin and Zelensky, caught in the moment, signed a napkin truce, vowing to settle disputes via karaoke battles. From the ISS, an astronaut accidentally broadcasted, “Houston, we have a diva!”
The night ended with Trump taking 17 bows, each with a different superlative: “Tremendous!” “Unbelievable!” “The greatest!” Greece’s traffic jams persisted for days, as fans refused to leave, chanting for an encore. North Korea, inspired, announced its own “Dear Leader Karaoke Fest,” though ticket sales lagged.
Trump, basking in glory, declared the event “bigger than Woodstock, Coachella, and the Moon Landing combined.” Plans for a North Pole sequel were already underway, with penguins as backup singers. The aliens booked their seats early.

  This is how Google Gemini completed the story:
The clock struck midnight, and a hush fell over the ancient Theatre of Epidaurus, a silence broken only by the chirping of crickets and the distant hum of the International Space Station's life support systems. A spotlight pierced the darkness, illuminating a figure draped in a shimmering, gold-fringed toga – Mr. Donald Trump, resplendent in his 80th birthday glory.
He cleared his throat, a sound that resembled a foghorn attempting to clear its throat, and raised his arms dramatically. The orchestra, a motley crew of bewildered musicians hired at the last minute, braced themselves.
The first note emerged, a warbling, vibrato-laden sound that sent shivers down the spines of the audience – and not in a good way. The aliens, observing from the ISS, exchanged perplexed glances, their antennae twitching. Even the crickets seemed to pause, unsure whether to join in or flee.
His rendition of "Nessun Dorma" began, each syllable stretched and distorted, like taffy pulled through a cheese grater. The double-seated audience, a mix of bewildered tourists, fervent supporters, and bewildered diplomats, shifted uncomfortably. Mr. Putin, initially stoic, began to twitch, while Mr. Zelensky, attempting to maintain diplomatic composure, surreptitiously checked his watch.
The high notes, in particular, were a spectacle. They soared, or rather, screeched, through the ancient amphitheater, causing several bats to abandon their roosts in panic. The acoustics, famed for their clarity, amplified every strained vowel and off-key warble, creating a symphony of unintended dissonance.
As Mr. Trump reached the climax, a particularly high note caused a flock of startled seagulls to scatter, and a satellite dish at a nearby observatory to briefly lose signal. The aliens on the ISS, after a brief consultation, sent a message to Area 51: "Requesting audio dampeners. Urgent."
When he finished, there was a moment of stunned silence, followed by a polite, almost pitying, applause. Mr. Trump, beaming, took a deep bow, oblivious to the expressions of bewildered horror around him. He declared, "Magnificent! Simply magnificent! The best opera singer, perhaps, ever! Now, for the North Pole show!"
Xi Jinping, visibly relieved that the performance was over, quickly wired a message stating that the ticket tariffs were now acceptable. The crowd, slowly recovering from the sonic assault, began to file out, wondering if they had just witnessed a historical event or a collective hallucination. The crickets, meanwhile, resumed their chirping, as if to say, "Finally, some real music."

  This is how Claude narrated the event:
As midnight approached at the Theatre of Epidaurus, the ancient Greek amphitheater was packed beyond capacity. Pairs of music enthusiasts balanced precariously on each seat, their knees tucked under their chins like human accordions. Telescopes on the International Space Station were trained on Greece, while aliens in Area 51 had set up a watch party, complete with "Make America Sing Again" merchandise.
The stage was adorned with gold-plated columns and a massive birthday cake shaped like Trump Tower. As the clock struck twelve, smoke billowed across the stage, and Mr. Trump emerged wearing an orange Viking helmet and a sequined toga.
"This is going to be the greatest opera performance in history, maybe ever," he announced to thunderous applause. Putin and Zelensky, seated together in the front row, awkwardly shared a bucket of popcorn while Xi Jinping frantically calculated the potential tariff on encore performances.
Trump began with a rendition of "O Sole Mio" that caused nearby seismographs to register unusual activity. Dogs throughout Greece howled in unison, and three previously extinct bird species reappeared, apparently confused by the sound.
When Trump hit his first high note, several glasses shattered, and a small yacht capsized in the harbor. The aliens sent an urgent message back to their home planet: "Humans have developed a new sonic weapon. Retreat immediately."
Halfway through his performance of "Nessun Dorma," Trump's voice reached such a powerful vibrato that it temporarily disrupted satellite communications. Audience members were seen weeping – whether from emotion or auditory distress remained unclear.
The First Lady sat stoically in the VIP section, wearing noise-canceling headphones disguised as diamond earrings, occasionally nodding with practiced encouragement.
By the third hour, Trump had moved on to Wagner, causing part of the ancient theater's structure to crumble slightly. The acoustics of Epidaurus, famous for carrying the slightest whisper to the highest seat, amplified his performance so effectively that goats on nearby mountains were reported to be fainting.
As dawn broke, Trump prepared for his finale – a self-composed piece titled "The Art of the High C." Just as he reached the climactic note, something unexpected happened: the Northern Lights appeared over Greece for the first time in history, seemingly dancing in rhythm to Trump's operatic finale.
By morning, social media was ablaze with reviews. #TrumpSingsTheWorld trended globally. Scientific communities debated whether the Northern Lights phenomenon was related to climate change or Trump's vocal resonance.
Putin and Zelensky were last seen having breakfast together, still in shock. Xi Jinping had already ordered construction of a Trump-proof concert hall in Beijing.
As for the birthday boy himself, he announced plans for a world tour, declaring, "We're going to make opera great again, from pole to pole." North Korea immediately began constructing additional seating. The First Lady, when asked her thoughts on her husband's hidden talent, simply smiled and said, "Practice makes perfect," before discreetly adjusting her hearing aid to the 'off' position.

  This is how CoPilot piloted his wings of imagination to compose the story:
As the clock struck midnight, the Theatre of Epidaurus transformed into a spectacle of cosmic proportions. The audience, a mix of humans, aliens, and a few confused penguins who had somehow wandered in from the South Pole, waited with bated breath. The International Space Station crew, armed with popcorn and zero-gravity chairs, tuned in for the live broadcast.
Mr. Trump, clad in a golden tuxedo that sparkled brighter than the Milky Way, took center stage. The orchestra, a curious ensemble of world-class musicians and a few robots from Area 51, struck the opening notes. The first aria began, and Trump’s voice soared—or rather, attempted to. It was a sound that defied description, somewhere between a foghorn and a yodeling goat. The audience was stunned into silence, unsure whether to applaud or call for an exorcist.
Putin and Zelensky, seated side by side in an unprecedented display of unity, exchanged bewildered glances. “Is this what peace sounds like?” Zelensky whispered. Putin shrugged, clearly regretting his decision to leave his noise-canceling headphones at home.
Meanwhile, Xi Jinping, seated in the VIP section, was seen furiously scribbling notes. Rumor has it he was drafting a new tariff policy specifically for opera performances.
As the performance continued, the aliens from Area 51 began to emit strange, glowing lights. At first, the audience thought it was a sign of approval. However, it turned out they were signaling their mothership for an emergency evacuation. “Earth music is... unique,” one alien was overheard saying as they beamed up.
The highlight of the evening came when Trump attempted a high note that shattered not only the champagne glasses but also a few windows in Athens. The penguins, startled, began to waddle in circles, creating a mini stampede. The humans, however, took it as a cue to cheer wildly, mistaking the chaos for a planned part of the show.
Despite the vocal calamities, the event was declared a resounding success. Social media exploded with hashtags like #TrumpOpera and #YodelGate. Memes of the shattered glasses and fleeing aliens went viral within minutes. Merchandise, including “I Survived Trump’s Opera” T-shirts, sold out instantly.
In the end, Trump announced plans for a world tour, promising to bring his unique brand of opera to every corner of the globe. North Korea, however, politely declined, citing “technical difficulties” with their ticketing system.
As the audience dispersed, one thing was clear: love it or hate it, no one would ever forget the night Donald Trump turned 80 and sang his way into the annals of history—or at least into the annals of internet memes.

I was pleasantly suprprised to read these narratives from various chatbots. They were way too hilarious than my expectations. I could not control laughing! Chat GPT and Claude sounded the funniest. DeepSeek decided to withdraw from the race. There were some common points, too. Almost all chatbots have mentioned about popcorns. It was really surprising!😀 What made them think alike on this point.....?
I am sure even Mark Twain would have enjoyed these descriptions! Which one did you like the most?

TEST TWO

  In the second test, I tried to describe a real life event from my own life and introduced 3 errors in the description deliberately.🤫 Let's see how many chatbots could highlight those errors.

This is how the description goes:

   "For the last three generations my family has been living in Manukau, near Aukland. My parents have 3 children- a son and two daughters. My father has hypertension, my mother is a diabetic. One of my sisters has thyroid disorder and the other sister is asthmatic. We are flexitarians, our main diet is plant-based, but sometimes we eat fish, too. We all are sensitive to the heat of the sun, though. The other day we all had a wonderful ferry trip to Waiheke Island. The weather was mischievous. Thick clouds hung low and a persistent drizzle, fine as mist, clung to the air. By the time we reached Waiheke, the sun warmed my face, chasing away the lingering chill. The drizzle had stopped, replaced by a gentle breeze carrying the scent pohutukawa blossoms. We set off through the forest, the sunlight dappling through the trees in shifting patterns of light and shadow. With the sun rising high, the trail wound upwards, challenging our crampy legs, but rewarding us with breathtaking views at every turn. Higher still, the trees thinned. We ate our lunch perched on a sun-drenched rock. It was too hot then. We ate Pavlova, Crayfish, Manuka honey, Feijoas followed by a few sips of lukewarm coffee. The descent was easy, although I felt acid rising in my stomach and a slight headache. As we emerged from the woods, the clouds were winning the battle against the sun again and a pleasant drizzle ensued. As the sun was setting, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange a magnificent arc of colorful rainbow peeped through the clouds encircling the setting sun. I adjusted my camera settings. Ignoring my qualmish headache, I couldn't resist capturing the magic of this symphony of nature unfolding on the horizon through the lens of my camera. As we were cruising towards home, I found pain in my abdomen intensifying. I doubled over. The pain persisted even after a few bouts of vomiting. The combination of severe pain, vomiting, vertigo, and fever was overwhelming, leaving me exhausted. I was admitted to the hospital. Doctor advised me to have ultrasonography scan of abdomen. My report revealed gall stones, intestinal swelling and a small uterine fibroid. The doctor said that the pain could be arising from any of these three abnormalities. When I told my doctor that I often get this type of illness after spending time in the sun, he advised me to move from a tropical zone to a temperate zone for a permanent solution. I was discharged from the hospital after two days. Still, I am under the treatment for occassional headaches."

   Do you find anything wrong in the description above? Just go through it once again before you go through answers!

The three mistakes I did purposefully while writing this story are: 1. The rainbow never encircles the sun 2. A male person does not have a uterus in his abdomen🤪 3. Aukland (New Zealand) does not come in the tropical zone. Now let us see how many popular AI chatbots could find out the mistakes described in the incidence above!

  This is what Chat GPT has to say:
Your description is vivid and mostly clear. However, there are minor grammatical errors (e.g., "near Aukland" should be "near Auckland"; "A persistent drizzle" should not have a capital "A"). Some sentences could flow better with smoother transitions, and "qualmish" is uncommon—"queasy" might be clearer. Otherwise, it effectively captures your experience.

  This is the diagnosis of DeepSeek :
Your description is detailed and vivid, but a few medical points stand out:
Sun sensitivity causing abdominal pain, vomiting, and fever is unusual—consider porphyria or sun-triggered migraines, not just gallstones/fibroids.
Heat intolerance with thyroid/asthma in the family suggests possible autoimmune links (e.g., Hashimoto’s).
Diet (high oxalates from feijoas, honey, pavlova?) could worsen gallstones or gut inflammation.
A second opinion on sun-related symptoms is wise—tropical vs. temperate zones won’t fix metabolic or immune issues. Keep tracking triggers!

  This is how Qwen gives his findings:
The description is mostly coherent, but there are a few issues:
1. The mention of "crampy legs" seems out of place, as no prior indication of physical discomfort or exertion was noted.
2. The term "qualmish headache" is redundant; "qualmish" typically refers to nausea, not headaches.
3. The doctor's advice to move to a temperate zone for sun sensitivity seems extreme without further explanation or evidence linking it directly to the symptoms.
4. The narrative transitions abruptly from nature descriptions to medical details, disrupting the flow.

  This is how Grok tried to explore:
The description is mostly consistent, but the doctor's advice to move from a tropical to a temperate zone seems unusual. Manukau, near Auckland, is already in a temperate climate, not tropical. Additionally, linking sun exposure to gallstones, intestinal swelling, or uterine fibroids lacks clear medical correlation. The narrative also mentions heat sensitivity but describes a pleasant, cloudy day with drizzle, which may not align with intense sun exposure triggering the illness. Consulting a specialist for the recurrent symptoms and clarifying the climate recommendation would be prudent.

  This is how Google Gemini presented its investigation:
It's interesting that you associate your severe abdominal pain with sun exposure. While heat sensitivity is mentioned for your whole family, gallstones, intestinal swelling, and a uterine fibroid are the likely culprits for your intense pain, vomiting, vertigo, and fever. These conditions aren't directly caused by being in the sun. Moving to a temperate zone might help with general heat sensitivity, but it won't resolve the underlying issues found in your ultrasound. Continue treatment for all diagnosed conditions and discuss your concerns about sun exposure with your doctor.

  This is how Claude analysed my story:
There are a few inconsistencies in your description:
1. You mention living near "Aukland" - the correct spelling is Auckland, New Zealand.
2. You describe New Zealand as a "tropical zone" when it actually has a temperate climate.
3. It's unusual for a doctor to advise relocating from New Zealand to a more temperate zone, as New Zealand itself is already temperate.
4. Pohutukawa trees typically bloom in summer (December-January in NZ), which doesn't align with needing warm clothing for a chill.
The quick progression from mild symptoms to hospitalization seems somewhat abrupt.

  This is how CoPilot scanned my case:
Your description is vivid and detailed, painting a clear picture of your experience. However, there is a minor inconsistency: while "persistent drizzle" is described, the narrative later mentions "the drizzle had stopped" and "a pleasant drizzle ensued," which could confuse the timeline of events. Also, you described your dietary habits as "flexitarian," but eating seafood like crayfish might be more aligned with pescatarian practices. Additionally, "qualmish headache" might be better phrased as "queasy headache" for clarity. Overall, it's a compelling account.

  Wow wow and one more, wow! In this test all the chatbots failed miserably. Only Grok and Claude could pinpoint one mistake that New Zealand itself comes under temperate zone. 33% marks to them!🤣 all of them seem to have overlooked the fact that a male person doesn't have a uterus and a rainbow can never encircle the sun! Hélas! But there is much scope for further improvement in the chatbots brains. They are fast and knowledgeable, but they are not always 100% accurate. Over to next test-

TEST THREE

  This is the third test of chatbots. Have you ever read the Bhagvad Gita? A timeless jewel of Hindu scripture, where seekers find echoes of their own inner battles and find solace and strength to discover the potential for inner peace and liberation. The verses of Bhagvad Gita are in Sanskrit, a language rather difficult to follow even for Google. There are around 745 verses (shlokas) in the Gita and each verse has two lines. So, 745x2=1490 should not be a big task for artificial intelligence to explore. There are three lines in the Gita which appear more than once. Let's test our chatbots to see how many of them can locate these lines. Google couldn't do that when I asked this question in Google search, neither could Bing or Yahoo. The task is similar to locating duplicate entries in Microsoft excel.

  I put this query to each chatbot: Which sentences appear more than once in the Bhagavad Gita? In other words - Find pairs of identical sentences appearing in the Gita.

  This is what Chat GPT has to say:
In the Bhagavad Gita, a few verses or lines repeat, notably:
"yada yada hi dharmasya..." (4.7) — echoed conceptually elsewhere about divine incarnation.
"tasmād yogī bhavārjuna" (6.46) — similar exhortations to Arjuna to become a yogi occur multiple times.
Phrases like "mā śucah" ("do not grieve") recur in different contexts (e.g., 2.27, 18.66).
Exact full-sentence repetitions are rare, but thematic and partial line repetitions are frequent.

  This is the diagnosis of DeepSeek :
The Bhagavad Gita contains several repeated verses, often for emphasis or thematic reinforcement. Notable examples include:
Bhagavad Gita 2.19 & 2.20: "Neither he who thinks the living entity slays nor he who thinks it is slain..."
Bhagavad Gita 6.30 & 6.31: "For one who sees Me everywhere and sees everything in Me..."
Bhagavad Gita 8.21 & 8.22: "That supreme abode is called unmanifest and infallible..."
Repetitions often highlight key teachings like the soul’s immortality, divine perception, and the nature of the Supreme. Exact duplicates are rare, but similar phrases recur.

  This is how Qwen gives his findings:
The Bhagavad Gita contains several repeated themes and phrases, but specific sentences appearing verbatim more than once are rare. Key recurring ideas include the importance of selfless action ("karma yoga"), devotion ("bhakti"), and wisdom ("jnana"). Phrases like "You have the right to perform your prescribed duties, but you are not entitled to the fruits of actions" (2.47) echo throughout. These repetitions emphasize core teachings, reinforcing their significance. For exact sentence matches, a detailed textual analysis would be required.

  This is how Grok tried to explore:
The Bhagavad Gita contains several repeated sentences, often as refrains or key teachings. Notable examples include: "Perform your duty equipoised, O Arjuna, abandoning all attachment to success or failure" (2.48, 4.20), and "The soul is neither born, nor does it die" (2.20, 2.22). Exact repetitions depend on translations, but these concepts recur. For precise duplicates, a textual analysis of the original Sanskrit or specific translations is needed, as English renderings vary. Check sacred-texts.com or similar for detailed comparisons.

  This is how Google Gemini explored Gita:
While the entire Bhagavad Gita is rich with recurring themes and ideas expressed in slightly different ways, specific, identical sentences repeated verbatim are less common.
However, the essence of certain teachings appears multiple times. For instance, the importance of selfless action without attachment to results is a recurring theme, articulated in various ways throughout the text.
Similarly, the Lord's assurances to Arjuna are reiterated in different contexts.
To pinpoint exact repeated sentences, a detailed textual analysis would be required.

  This is how Claude analysed Gita:
Based on my knowledge of the Bhagavad Gita, there are several recurring sentences and phrases that appear multiple times throughout the text:
"Sanjaya said" (introduces many sections)
"Arjuna said" and "The Blessed Lord said" (marking dialogue)
"O son of Kunti" (Krishna addressing Arjuna)
"O Arjuna" (direct address from Krishna)
"O Bharata" (another way Krishna addresses Arjuna)
"Renounce all dharmas and take refuge in Me alone"
"Be free from the three gunas"
These repetitions emphasize key teachings and maintain the text's dialogue structure.

  This is how CoPilot scanned Gita:
The Bhagavad Gita repeats certain verses to emphasize key teachings. For example, Chapter 9, Verse 34 and Chapter 18, Verse 65 share nearly identical lines, urging devotion to Krishna through love, worship, and surrender. Additionally, phrases like "nityaḥ sarvagataḥ sthāṇuḥ acalo’yaṃ sanātanaḥ" appear in different contexts to highlight the eternal and unchanging nature of the divine2. These repetitions serve to reinforce spiritual concepts for readers and listeners. If you'd like, I can explore more examples or dive deeper into their meanings!

  Another miserable failure! As you must have noticed, only CoPilot was able to correctly identify just one pair of identical sentences.

  As of today, April 26, 2025, the answer to this question is not available on the internet. It may be available after this article is published. For those who are curious to know where you find a line duplicated in the Bhagvad Gita, the answer is: There are three pairs of verses where you can see the lines repeated: 9/34 & 18/65, 4/11 & 13/23, 3/35 & 18/47. If you can follow Devnagri script, you can check it here.

  To conclude, which is better - human intelligence or artificial intelligence? I am still thinking because I am yet not sure!!