Krishna's Choice
-S. JAISHANKAR || THE INDIA WAY||
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| || THE INDIA WAY|| |
Through Krishna, the chapter teaches that true leadership lies in understanding the bigger picture, uniting people with different strengths, and embracing integration over individualism. His actions — whether diplomatic, strategic, or emotional — reflect a spiritual strength that guides the Pandavas to victory, not just by force, but by righteousness.
Ultimately, the India Way, inspired by Krishna, is about being an ethical power, making difficult decisions with a strong moral compass, and embracing our spiritual traditions to navigate a complex world.
A multipolar world with frenemies, balance of power, and a clash of values may today present a challenge for global politics. Yet, these were the very characteristics of a period in India that is captured by a particularly powerful epic. As India rises, questions will naturally be asked as to what kind of power it will be. If nothing else, the world’s experience with China’s rise will surely prompt such queries. It is also something that Indians should be asking of themselves. Part of the answer may well lie in India’s own history and traditions.
Until recently, a Western paradigm has dictated global norms and values. China, as the first non-Western power to seriously rise in the post-1945 era, has drawn on its cultural heritage to project its personality and shape the narrative. It is but logical that India too should follow suit. Indeed, if there are today hurdles to understanding India’s viewpoint, much of that arises from an ignorance of its thought processes. That is hardly surprising when much of the West was historically so dismissive of our society. It is revealing that the standard American introduction to Indian strategic thought does not even refer to the Mahabharata, though that epic so deeply influences the average Indian mind. Imagine commenting similarly on Western strategic tradition ignoring Homer’s Iliad or Machiavelli’s The Prince! Or on China, disregarding their equivalent, Three Kingdoms. If this happens to India, it is less due to our oral tradition than our limited global salience till now. This needs to be rectified precisely because a more multicultural appreciation is one sign of a multipolar world. But also because many of the predicaments that India and the world face currently have their analogy in what is really the greatest story ever told.
Putting out explanations is integral to the process of ascending the global hierarchy. Often, India’s rise is an issue framed in terms of whether it would be an Eastern or a Western power. Underlying this is a Eurocentric assumption that pluralism is a purely Western attribute. India, with a longer history of diversity and coexistence, defies that preconception. A second debate revolves around the themes of nationalism and globalism. Here too, India occupies a singular position in reconciling what others see as antithetical concepts. A nationalistic India is willing to do more with the world, not less.
But what perhaps distinguishes us from other traditions of statecraft is our approach to governance and diplomacy. India’s history shows that it does not follow a ‘winner takes all’ approach to contestation. Nor is there a confident belief that the end justifies the means. On the contrary, the Indian narrative is interlaced with moderation and nuance that highlight the fairness of the outcomes. That reality may not have always lived up to such a standard does not invalidate these concepts. There is continuous reflection on both the goals and the processes, sometimes to the point of self-doubt. But what it boils down to is the importance of making the right choices in difficult situations.
The Mahabharata and Indian Strategic Thought
The Mahabharata is indisputably the most vivid distillation of Indian thoughts on statecraft. Unlike the Arthashastra, it is not a compendium of clinical principles of governance. Instead, it is a graphic account of real-life situations and their inherent choices. As an epic, it dwarfs its counterparts in other civilizations, not just in length but in its richness and complexity. Focusing on the importance of the sense of duty and the sanctity of obligations, it is also a description of human frailties. The dilemmas of statecraft permeate the story, among them taking risks, placing trust, and making sacrifices. The courage required to implement policy is, perhaps, its most famous section—the Bhagavad Gita. But there are other elements of perennial politics as well, including tactical compromises, utilizing obsessive players, undertaking regime change, and ensuring balance of power. Our current concerns have an ancient reflection in that tale, especially leveraging the external environment to address bilateral imbalances. The orthodoxies of strategic competition and gaming the system coexist with more contemporary concepts of controlling the narrative and valuing knowledge as power.
This is an account of debates and decisions made against the background of a competition that becomes a conflict. The global political situation now is nowhere that catastrophic. But it nevertheless has elements of similarity that hold lessons for decision-making today. The India of the Mahabharata era was also multipolar, with its leading powers balancing each other. But once the competition between its two major poles could not be contained, others perforce had to take sides. While there is no reason to suggest a literal repetition today, the manner in which costs and benefits were weighed by interested parties is instructive for all students of strategy. Like the landscape, the choices made then have some resemblance to our contemporary world. The more momentous of them is that of Sri Krishna, who provides strategic guidance, diplomatic energy, and tactical wisdom in navigating challenges.
The best-known of the dilemmas in the Mahabharata relates to a determination to implement key policies without being discouraged by the collateral consequences of the action. The example, of course, is that of the most accomplished Pandava warrior, Arjuna, as he enters the battlefield. Undergoing a crisis of confidence, he is unable to summon up the determination to take on kinfolk ranged against his interests. While he is eventually persuaded by Lord Krishna to do his duty, there are underlying aspects of Arjuna’s behaviour that apply to state players in international relations. This is not to suggest disregard of cost-benefit analysis. But sometimes, even when there is a pathway, it may not be taken due to lack of resolve or a fear of costs.
Unlike Arjuna, we in India are less intimidated by comfort with the known, as by the fear of the unknown. In contemporary parlance, the expression ‘soft state’ describes a nation’s inability or unwillingness to do what is necessary. In Arjuna’s case, it was certainly not a situation of inability. And that, sometimes, is the predicament of the Indian state as well. In the longstanding fight against terrorism, for example, we are often constrained by our lack of imagination and fear of risks. That may have started to change, but it is important to match the level of resolve shown by others. Arjuna eventually takes the field as a righteous warrior and that sense of self-justification is important to recognize.
It is only when a national elite has a strong and validated sense of its bottom lines that it will take a firm stand when these are challenged. So, whether it is an issue of violation of sovereignty or infringement of borders, an ability to respond categorically can come from this inherent self-belief. Asserting national interests and securing strategic goals through various means is the dharma of a state, as indeed it was of an individual warrior. This needs underlining in a climate where judgements are sometimes made with the yardstick of popularity, rather than strategy.
Also relevant in this context is summoning the willpower to address concerns that are upon us, rather than rationalize inaction by highlighting its costs. We have heard, all too often, arguments that a competitor is too big to challenge and would anyway prevail in the end. Or, sometimes, that the very nature of a neighbour is to indulge in terrorism and we simply have to live with it. This is fatalism disguised as deliberation. If there is a message in Arjuna’s choice, it is that we have to face up to responsibilities, however difficult their consequences. India’s national security would have been significantly better if that had been more widely appreciated and practised.
One aspect where the strategic landscape at the time of the Mahabharata bears resemblance to our current world is in regard to the constraints that operate on competitors. In that era, these emanated from a range of human emotions, obviously very different from those that apply today. They were partly driven by a belief that conflict, by its very nature, is destructive to the interests of all the involved parties. There was therefore a visible reluctance to initiate it, among the Kaurava elders and even more so with King Yudhishtira. His brother Arjuna carries that feeling even into the battlefield. But this is also sharpened as sentiments from past relationships clash with the requirements of future interest. Both the patriarch Bheeshma and the teacher Drona display enormous reluctance to bring their full capability into play against their previous wards.
Today’s constraints are less behavioural and more structural. Nuclear deterrence creates one threshold. Economic interdependence is probably a more compelling factor as markets react to tension, let alone actual conflict. A more technological world is also more vulnerable, even if it has created greater capabilities. The range of options that were open earlier have steadily shrunk with the passage of time. In our own case, the scale of conflicts that took place earlier can no longer be realistically contemplated. While all polities will naturally plan for worst-case scenarios, the reality is increasingly of sharp responses, narrow windows and limited application. It does not do away with the need for building up strong overall capabilities. But it does shift the focus on the need to develop the mind games which are more relevant to the likely scenarios.
If there is one quality that a rising power must cultivate, it is that of displaying responsibility. The manner in which Arjuna finally took up arms at Kurukshetra not only highlighted devotion to duty; it also brought out his forbearance. He was, in that sense, a reluctant warrior. In a different way, so too was Sri Krishna. His willingness to forgive his cousin and rival Shishupala a hundred provocations before finally responding decisively is instructive. This too is a lesson for a nation with growing capabilities in the global arena. Power, especially as it grows, must be debated, projected and applied judiciously. Till now, India has rarely faced this dilemma. Most of the conflicts of our modern era have been defensive wars where their justification is largely self-evident. As events have shown in recent times, we need to cultivate the strategic patience required for modern day Shishupalas. India does not need irresponsible talk at this stage of its rise. Use of force must always be the considered option, never the first one. Even superpowers like the US discovered through their experience in Iraq the damage caused by the contrary approach. Major nations have multiple weapons in their armoury and blunt instruments are usually the least productive. But efficacy aside, the imagery is no less significant. Those who casually advocate application of force abroad do damage. Such actions, as the instructive epic tells us, are an option reserved for imminent danger or serial offenders.
Most strategists fight the last war, not the next. In that context, Arjuna made a consequential choice some time before the battle began. Both he and his rival-cousin Duryodhana went to Krishna’s capital Dwarka to seek his support as an ally. Arjuna arrived later but was seen first by the awakening host as he sat at the foot of the bed. Asked to choose between Krishna’s army or his personal participation without weapons, Arjuna surprised Duryodhana by opting for the latter. His understanding of the game-changing potential of Sri Krishna was clearly the basis for his decision. There is a moral in this as we consider enhancing competitiveness in national security. Like most warriors, Duryodhana thought in an orthodox manner, while Arjuna also understood what was outside the box. Without neglecting the established areas of capability, it is vital that this nation prepare itself better for what awaits the world. That may be in areas like artificial intelligence, robotics and data analytics or sensing, advanced materials and surveillance. Particularly if leveraging others is central to success, it is imperative that a contemporary and informed assessment of capabilities is made. Arjuna understood what Sri Krishna was about; Duryodhana did not.
This was not just about getting the big picture wrong but actually not appreciating what is at hand. Duryodhana was oblivious to the significance of Sri Krishna; or else he would not have underestimated him for lack of weapons. Understanding the full value of capabilities is as important as building them. The Pandavas clearly scored better in both departments. Today, India not only needs to pay attention to the quality of cards that it has but also focus on how to play them well.
Relations between states, like policies within them, are based on rules and norms. Even if they are breached from time to time, there is always a larger societal expectation that exceptions will remain just that. All players use practices and traditions to advantage and the Mahabharata is no different. The archery teacher Drona takes the thumb of a talented student, Eklavya, as the ritual offering to the master since he could otherwise overshadow his favourite, Arjuna. The god Indra, disguised as a Brahmin, seeks the invulnerable armour and earrings of the Kaurava general Karna after prayers as it is the one time of the day when he cannot refuse him a favour. Arjuna uses a reincarnated woman as a cover in battle, knowing full well that Bheeshma will not fire back because of gender sensitivity. In a world that is now riven with trade disputes, technology fights and connectivity differences, it may be of some consolation to recall that not playing by the rules has a long history. If some have gamed the system or seek unintended benefits, this is a path that others have trodden before.
The Mahabharata also holds numerous examples of violations of codes of conduct, some more flagrant than others. The main protagonist Duryodhana is killed literally with a blow below the belt. Of the successive Kaurava commanders, one is brought down using a woman warrior as a shield, the second attacked after laying down weapons and the third decapitated when digging his chariot wheel out of the ground. Well-laid rules of individual combat fall by the wayside as stakes mount. Arjuna’s son Abhimanyu is attacked by multiple adversaries simultaneously, including from the rear. His own father, Arjuna, also breaches the code in assaulting Bhoorisvaras when engaged in a fight with his longstanding rival Satyaki. Such deviations provided the justification for the most terrible act of the conflict—the night-time slaughter of the sleeping victors by Drona’s son Ashwathama at the end of the war in revenge against the manner of his father’s killing.
These examples frame a debate on the merits of observing rules and the costs of violating them. Their more contemporary versions can be found in every geography across all eras. For all the constraints and limitations that rules impose, compliance and its appearance are very valuable in international relations. Serial violators are given little credit even when they comply, while an occasional disrupter can always justify a deviation. In many ways, that was the difference between the Kauravas and the Pandavas. The importance of adhering to international law, agreements and understandings is not a theoretical debate. Powerful nations are understandably reluctant to put their options and interests at the judgement of others. That could be the case with India too as it gains in power and stature. Nevertheless, the advantage of being perceived as a rule-abiding and responsible player cannot be underestimated. We saw that when it came to accommodate nuclear aspirations, the world was far more trusting of India than Pakistan. This continues even further as they seek membership of key technology export control regimes. On a matter like maritime claims, India’s acceptance of an arbitral award regarding Bangladesh in 2014 contrasted with what happened to the South China Sea one in 2016.
Playing by the rules is at the heart of games that nations indulge in with each other. To understand the mindset of others is often key to assessing how far they will go and from what they will shrink. The strength of an unorthodox player is to make an accurate judgment about the likely responses of the more orthodox and rule-bound one. While themselves indulging in unrestrained actions, their tactics would be to hold the other side to higher standards. Arbitraging that gap, of course, gives them a great edge. The final exchange between the rival brothers Karna and Arjuna is illustrative of this predicament, as indeed are the last moments of the Kaurava prince Duryodhana. Both Karna and Duryodhana expect competitors to live up to values that they have themselves flouted. Much of Sri Krishna’s relevance to the Pandavas is his contribution to resolving these dilemmas and addressing the situations when rules stop being a rule.
In the modern world, open societies confront such challenges when going up against less scrupulous competitors. Fighting the uneven fight is their karma. The most extreme situations arise when confronting terrorism, especially that backed by state powers. As others have discovered before, there are no easy answers. Consider the diplomatic engagement between India and Pakistan in the last two decades. Pakistan indulges in nuclear scare-mongering to create a moral equivalence between a terrorist and a victim. We then make the mistake at Havana and Sharm-El-Sheikh of playing along. In this logic, “strategic restraint” apparently applies only to the victim, not to the perpetrator. In fact, a narrative was even created that suggests there are no escalatory dangers when Pakistan commits terrorism, but only when India responds to such acts.
What is amazing is how many have bought this self-serving logic, expecting that India must naturally conform to it. Making it a game for two has, therefore, been a real challenge. The value of the Uri and Balakot responses was that, finally, Indian policy could think for itself rather than let Pakistan condition its answers. And that, in many ways, was the role of Sri Krishna as well on the Pandava side.
While deviations from the norm are less rare, a more complex issue is the role of deception. It clearly cannot be that activities in the domains of foreign policy and national security should be transparent in all respects. After all, incentives, fear, and manipulation are part of human nature. Indian strategic thought, most notably Kautilya’s writings, underline the importance of “Sama, Dana, Danda and Bheda” (alliance, compensation, force, and trickery) as the ways of approaching political challenges. The complexity of tactics grows in direct proportion to the gravity of the situation. We see that in two of the ethically disputable situations in the Mahabharata.
At a moment of battlefield desperation, King Yudhishtira is persuaded to make a false public declaration to destroy the morale of Dronacharya, a critical opponent. Earlier, when Arjuna’s oath to kill an enemy by a deadline was being tested, Sri Krishna created an illusion of safety that encouraged Jayadratha, a hunted warrior, to expose himself with fatal consequences. In both cases, the letter of the action violated its spirit. Far more flagrant situations have happened in real life. Many of the most fateful battles in the modern world—Bosworth Field in England, Sekigahara in Japan or Plassey in India—have, after all, been decided by treachery.
Sometimes, deception has even been justified as a call of honour, a case in point being the Japanese saga of the 47 Ronin. Yet, the world does seek conformity with rules and promotes observance of norms. For that reason, Japan sought to formally declare war just before attacking Pearl Harbour so that it was morally and technically in the right. Its failure to do so in time was enormously helpful to President Roosevelt in mobilizing political support. Narratives are necessary to justify departures and violations, and each political culture produces its own version. In modern history, the British were probably the best in this business. Their storyline on India can go to the extent of suggesting that oppression was in the interest of the victim! Others have chosen their own mix of intentions and justification. Retaining the high moral ground is, in many ways, the ultimate test of realpolitik.
Strategic deception, by its very definition, is a high-stakes initiative that requires a certain mindset to succeed. Usually involving a larger number of players and longer timelines, it is difficult to carry out without considerable internal discipline. In the Mahabharata, the Kauravas attempt it thrice against the Pandavas: once in seeking to drown Bheema, again in attempting to burn the Pandavas in a house of lac, and finally in inviting Yudhishtira to play a rigged game of dice. Authoritarian societies are intrinsically more skilled in this regard, and the correlation between statism and strategic deception in the modern world cannot be disregarded. While democracies are far from incompetent in this department, they do require strong and cohesive establishments to practice it effectively.
The Western experience has shown that such initiatives were easier to initiate and implement when there was unity of purpose. When it came to Russia, Yugoslavia, Libya, or Syria, much has been done that was not spoken about. In contrast, there was a very divisive debate on Iraq that brought out many skeletons in many cupboards. Even the Afghanistan strategy has seen differences come to the fore on frequent occasions. One of India’s challenges is that its sense of an establishment is not fully developed. Competitive politics is so visceral that perhaps the only continuity is that those in opposition can be counted on to oppose. This makes it very much harder to reconcile the gaps between narratives and intent.
The one society that has elevated dissimulation to the highest level of statecraft, as one of our foremost Sinologists pointed out, is China. Its virtues are repeatedly lauded in the Three Kingdoms epic, where many of the decisive encounters are won by trickery rather than by force. The 36 Stratagems in the Book of Qi are further proof of how deeply such approaches have percolated into popular Chinese thinking. “Deceiving the heavens to cross the ocean” or “making a sound in the East to then strike West” are among its most well-known aphorisms. No less are “decking trees with false blossoms” or the empty fort strategy. Unlike in India, there is neither guilt nor doubt in dissembling; in fact, it is glorified as an art. Some analysts have even suggested that China’s extraordinary rise has drawn heavily on its cultural attributes.
India has, in contrast, struggled even with gaps between declared policy and actual objectives. Thus, in the 1950s, it was difficult to sustain the messaging of Asian brotherhood with China while preparing an effective border defense. With Pakistan, the nostalgia of a partitioned people has continuously competed with the reality of an obsessive adversary. Even in Sri Lanka, the mandate of peacekeeping was difficult to reconcile with the eventual application of force. Clearly, running a dual-track policy narrative with actual goals being at variance with stated positions is challenging in an environment when contradictions are publicly questioned. A more cohesive elite is best at overcoming this and successfully executing strategic deception. Those constrained by their inabilities can only take comfort in the reputational advantages that they inadvertently enjoy.
Among the critical players in the epic conflict who normally do not get adequate credit for their role are the Trigarta warriors led by Susarma, who hail from the Punjab of today. Traditional allies of the Kurus, they conceived a special enmity towards Arjuna, who defeated them while preparing the ground for Yudhishtira’s coronation ceremony. Their single-minded hostility proved very dear to the Pandavas. Constantly pouring oil into the Kaurava fire, they collaborated in the effort to smoke the Pandavas out from the Virata kingdom during their period of exile. But most damagingly, it was their challenge to Arjuna of a fight to the death which diverted him away from the main battlefield to facilitate a Kaurava attempt at capturing his brother Yudhishtira alive. Arjuna does triumph, but this diversion leads to the death of Abhimanyu, his son, who alone could resist that Kaurava effort. The moral here is of the danger of smaller adversaries whose single-mindedness goes to the extent of destroying themselves to inflict damage.
The potential of such opponents, even if less suicidal, to cause grief should not be underestimated. Another relevant example is of the Sindhu king Jayadratha, who, after an earlier bruising encounter with the Pandavas, acquires the capability to take on the brothers minus Arjuna. As a consequence, he could single-handedly block the support that Abhimanyu expected from them once he entered the spinning wheel formation. In reality, such unifocal competitors are rare, but they deserve special attention once they become a fact of life. That, in many ways, sums up the predicament today of India vis-à-vis Pakistan.
Since 1971, that country has gone to extremes to hurt India even if its own system is corroded by the very forces it nurtures. India obviously cannot replicate Arjuna’s solutions, but it does need to draw some appropriate lessons. Strategic clarity about Pakistan may well be a good starting point. The visceral feelings of such an adversary must be recognized. At the same time, neighbours are not a matter of choice, just as relatives were not in the Mahabharata. How does India straddle this dilemma?
There is no one-time fix and no Indian response should be judged by this impossible yardstick. It therefore will have to come up with its own set of answers. Ensuring that there are no longer guarantees of protection for terrorists is one such move. Enforcing accountability for acts of terrorism is another. Putting aside the naive expectation that engagement by itself is a solution is essential. Process can never be the remedy for behavior. Pakistan’s refusal to countenance normal trade or allow connectivity tells us much about its actual intentions. A practical response currently to such a posture, other than inflicting reputational damage, is to make that costly to sustain. Pakistan can only be treated as a normal neighbour when its behaviour corresponds to one. Till then, India will have to show a mix of fortitude, creativity, and perseverance of a degree that would impress even Arjuna.
If choices of different nature each extract a cost, so do indecision, ambivalence, and detachment. There are three contrasting approaches by players of eminence in this saga. The first is of Shalya, the maternal uncle of the Pandavas, who is tricked by a false flag operation into committing to the Kaurava side. Yet, deception is a double-edged sword and his ambivalence ends up undermining the morale of the Kaurava general Karna, for whom he is the charioteer at a critical battle. Krishna’s brother, Balarama, is genuinely neutral as he has taught warfare to both sides and opts out of the conflict by taking a long pilgrimage during the war. He comes back angered by its outcome and yet unable to influence it in any way. Rukmi of Vidharba is the other notable warrior who stays out of the war, but for a very different reason. He overestimates his value to both sides and ends up accepted by neither.
Each of these examples has some relevance in contemporary politics, especially for a nation that understandably has hedged on the big global divides. India’s non-alignment policy has had different facets at various times, projecting some combination of these situations. Where we have remained uninvolved, we are nevertheless left to face the consequences. On some questions, we run the danger of displeasing all parties. Where we have aligned on larger contradictions, our reluctance in doing so fully has not been without costs.
Regime change has been in practice since states existed, even if it took the Iraq war in 2003 to bring it into the consciousness of the current generation. Because of its weak justification and messy consequences, that term is laden with negative connotations. Yet this practice has usually been justified on ethical considerations. In the Mahabharata, the most telling example was the killing of King Jarasandha of Magadha at the instance of Krishna. His removal was necessary to both put down an immediate challenge, as well as eliminate a focal point for larger opposition to Yudhishtira becoming emperor. From Krishna’s viewpoint, it was also a settlement of a long outstanding score. What was noteworthy in this endeavor was its ostensible reason: the release of ninety-eight princes who were unjustly detained in Jarasandha’s custody. There was even a situation of “imminent danger,” as he was threatening to sacrifice them when the number reached a hundred.
This also illustrates the value of what we would today call South-South cooperation, a coming together against the dominant. Assisting the vulnerable and weak clearly has great value in collective politics. Equally important, a national goal was attained in the name of global good. Regime changes are among the more controversial aspects of international relations since they are visibly violative of sovereignty. But if they must be done, it is best achieved with an ethical explanation that carries credibility. That may have been so in this particular case, but more recent examples like Iraq had less ring to their truth.
Leveraging the external environment is the other side of the coin of regime change. Here, the weaker player solicits or manipulates stronger forces to their advantage. There is no shortage of such situations as the conflict unfolds, bearing in mind that the military balance was 7:11 against the Pandavas. The very gods are invoked to acquire potent weapons and unorthodox capabilities. Building and maintaining alliances may be one avenue of influence, but accessing technology and utilizing knowledge of others is no less effective. This is particularly the case when up against stronger opponents—a strategic predicament to which India today needs to give more thought. Those who advocate strengthening comprehensive national power are certainly in the right; but that is the obvious answer. What should not be neglected is the skill to tap into the influence and power of others.
Modern history has telling examples of powerful nations who have failed just on this account. Wilhelmine Germany, for example, saw its poor diplomacy undermine what was a favourable power balance. Such skills are not just the requirement of the weak or the upwardly mobile. It is also the need of the powerful to retain constituencies of support and discourage collective reaction. Learning from errors is an associated skill so that mistakes are not repeated. One of the great ironies of the Mahabharata is that the same Yudhishtira who loses his kingdom in a game of dice becomes sufficiently skilled as to make it his employment later under King Virata. Where the Pandavas consistently scored over their cousins was the ability to shape and control the narrative. Their ethical positioning was at the heart of a superior branding. Through acts of valour, nobility, and generosity, they generally came out as the better side. Admittedly, they were victims on many occasions, but their ability to play victim was no less. Their very upbringing in the forest gives them a head start with public opinion. The attempt to kill them in the house of lac shows them as an injured party. Accepting an unfair partition of the kingdom fortifies that image. The masterstroke was to make an offer of reasonable settlement and accepting just five towns on the eve of the war, so that peer opinion shifts in their favour.
There is a broad correlation between occupying the high moral ground and shaping the narrative. For that reason, during the Cold War, the two camps each put out their arguments vigorously. One stressed democracy, personal freedoms, and market economy while the other emphasized social justice, common good, and collective welfare. As China rose, it emphasized its peaceful character and underlined the larger prosperity implications. Developing nations improved their bargaining position by making a convincing case for positive discrimination in a wide range of activities. The Western world generally and the European Union specifically reinvented themselves by championing global issues and stressing the responsibility to protect. Much of that is in retreat today as narrower interests dominate current thinking and economic populism takes over. As China’s capabilities expand, it may bring out the challenge of moving from the global to the universal. The US is moving the other way, diluting alliance commitments and going back on international obligations. In an ethos of strong national identities, India too will have to take a call on its own narratives. A society that would soon be the most populous and prominent in its economic size cannot be without its message. In the days when it was weaker, there was comfort in group mentality and non-involvement. That would be increasingly harder with the passage of time.
A subtext that runs through the Mahabharata is the balance of power among the kingdoms of India. Solidarity among them is often explained by kinship, but that itself is often an outcome of state interests. Two significant examples are the Panchala and Matsya kingdoms, the natural allies of the Pandavas. Stress situations are also helpful in revealing inherent leanings. Thus, while planning to hide out in the thirteenth year of their exile, the Pandavas identify kingdoms that would be friendlier. Similarly, when strategizing to take out Jarasandha, Krishna not only highlights his closeness to the Kauravas but lists other allied kingdoms who would be weakened by his elimination. In many ways, the battle lines on the Kurukshetra battlefield bring out the intricacies of a very complex matrix. Today, that intuitive feel for creating and maintaining balances has perhaps diminished in our country. A variety of factors discouraged a deep dive into world politics that is so necessary for this exercise. Some of that reflects limitations in our own capacities. As that improves, so too should confidence levels. If we have reservations on balance of power, it is because the period leading up to the World Wars saw it degenerate into uncontrolled competition. The discipline of the Cold War also created rigidities which minimized the importance of such possibilities. As that ended, a widespread belief in interdependence and globalization obviated such thinking. All of these are now changing in an era of greater nationalism, flatter landscapes, and diluted alliances.
The shift towards realpolitik also brings to the fore the costs and justification of policy prescriptions. Tragic though Abhimanyu’s death was, in the larger scheme of things, it was collateral damage of an effort to secure his king. More deliberate perhaps was the action of his grandmother Kunti, who replaced her own family with a set of guests before setting the house of lac on fire. Or the sacrifice of Arjuna’s son Iravan as a price to be paid for victory when the war started. Maybe less conscious during the battle was the death of the nephew Ghatotkacha to Karna’s unstoppable shakti weapon, thereby precluding its possible use against his uncle Arjuna.
