Richard H. Davis
Bard College
At the conclusion of the great eighteen-day battle of Kuruksetra that lies at the center of the Sanskrit epic Mahabharata, the queen Gandhari surveys the battlefield where millions of warriors lie slain. “Those glorious heroes who used to lie upon couches, their limbs slathered with sandal-paste and aloe,” she observes, “now lie in the dust, and the vultures, jackals, and crows toss their ornaments aside while screeching their gruesome, horrid calls over and over.” (MBh 11.16.33-34) War turns things upside down. This war, like so many, had begun with masses of proud warriors eager to attain glory through their heroic exploits on the field of battle. But now, in this most unblinkered of heroic epics, Gandhari watches the other women of the palace searching for the remains of dead husbands, fathers, and sons, and reflects on the changes the battle has brought about. “Clever bards would celebrate them in the wee hours of every night with the best songs of praise and flattery. Now the best of women, tormented with pain—women in an agony of grief and pain—mourn them wretchedly.” (MBh 11.16.41)
As mother of one hundred sons, leaders of the losing Kaurava army and now all of them dead, Gandhari has good reason to be bitter. But the leader of the victorious Pandava side, Yudhisthira, grieves just as deeply over the wartime devastation.
We who had won have now been defeated, and the others, who have been defeated have now won. Having killed out brothers and companions, fathers, sons, lots of our friends, kinsmen, counselors, and grandsons; having conquered them all, we have now been defeated… If someone is victorious but then grieves like a poor afflicted imbecile, how can he think of it as victory? In fact his enemies have defeated him worse than he did them. (MBh 10.10.10-13)
Ordinary notions of victory and defeat become paradoxical in the harsh light of war.
In classical India, as in most human cultures that have left written records, the grim realities of warfare and its dire consequences have led to efforts to control, legitimate, or bring moral order to this disordering human practice. Under what circumstances might war be morally justified? How might warfare be pursued in a just manner? In the West, the most sustained reflections on these moral issues developed within Christian ethics, especially around the “just war” concept most fully articulated by Thomas Aquinas in the thirteenth century. The key term for Aquinas is Latin jus, “justness” or “law.” Aquinas sets out conditions for both jus ad bellum, justice in going to war, and jus in bello, just prosecution of warfare. In classical India, the vocabulary and social foundation of moral reflection differs from that or Aquinas, though the fundamental human issues may be the same. For classical Indian writers, the central term is Sanskrit dharma.
Dharma is the key term in the vocabulary of moral reflection in classical India, but not easy to define. As many characters in the Mahabharata and elsewhere repeat, dharma is subtle (suksma). The sage Markandeya adds that it is extremely ramified—like a tree with a single trunk and innumerable branches, twigs, and leaves—and without end. (MBh 3.200.3) The word derives from the verb root dhr, to support or maintain, and in its broadest sense dharma denotes that which upholds and supports the order of things. In different contexts it may be translated as law, duty, justice, morality, merit, virtue, righteousness, code of conduct, religion, or order. This order has a universal aspect, the orderly processes of the cosmos and nature, as well as referring to the harmonious functioning of human society. Dharma bears on human conduct. The religious actions of ritual specialists, such as the recitation of the Vedas and sacrifices to the gods, which maintain the natural order and insure harmonious relations between gods and humans, are acts of dharma par excellence. But dharma extends to all human actions: it refers to the code of righteous conduct incumbent on all members of society. While there are some principles of dharma that apply to all, much of the code of dharma is ramified and contextual.
As specific to particular persons, it is known as svadharma, one’s own dharma. An individual may have a specific code of dharma, but it is not always easy to determine what that may be. Dharma varies according to gender, class, and stage of life. The svadharma of a husband will differ from that of his wife, that of a Brahmin priest from that of a Ksatriya warrior, and that of a student from that of a married householder. Further complicating the calculation of dharma, codes of conduct in times of distress (apad-dharma) allow certain kinds of behavior not acceptable in normal times. Different places may have different codes, as the codes for proper marriage differ in northern and southern India. Dharma as a code for conduct, then, is deeply situational. Given the complexity of dharma and its importance as the fundamental term of social philosophy in classical India, it is not surprising that an enormous body of writing was devoted to the topic, presenting a wide variety of views.
The issues that Aquinas and his successors in the Christian West addressed through the moral vocabulary of jus ad bellum and jus in bello are discussed in classical Indian works under several branches of dharma: the dharma of the warrior (ksatriya-dharma), the dharma of a king (raja-dharma), and the dharma of battle (yodha-dharma). In this paper, I will consider reflections on the issues of dharma and warfare in two works of classical India, both composed in the early centuries C.E., that have played a formative role in the development of Hinduism. Both are regarded by most modern Hindus as authoritative works. The Dharmasastra (or treatise on dharma) of Manu, also called the Manu-smrti, is the most important work in the Dharmasastra genre. This treatise seeks to set out social and moral guidelines or rules (vidhi) for the various classes (varna) and stages of life (asrama) of Indian society, from the perspective of orthodox Brahmins loyal to the older Vedic tradition. The Ramayana of Valmiki is one of two principal epic poems in Sanskrit. It tells the story of Prince Rama, a member of the Ksatriya class and heir to the throne of Ayodhya, who is exiled from his homeland and ends up waging a great war with the Raksasas or demons of Lanka. If Manu presents dharma in the didactic format of rules and guidelines, Valmiki’s poem teaches lessons in dharma through narrative, in the actions of exemplary characters like Rama and his wife Sita, and in the dialogues that occur throughout the poem. Both works represent the moral perspectives of authors of the Brahmin class, but both also attempt to set out a framework of values for all classes of an orderly society. Both are deeply concerned, therefore, with the actions of the Ksatriya class of warriors and rulers.
In looking at these two classical Indian works, I am not attempting directly to answer the question of whether Hindus in India did or did not have a concept of “just war.” (The answer would be, “not exactly.”) Rather, I wish to reconstruct briefly some of the ways these works discuss the human issues surrounding warfare within their own distinctive moral framework.
The author or authors of the Manusmrti, whom we will call Manu, envision a social and political order composed of four basic classes (varna) of people: Brahmins (priests), Ksatriyas (warriors), Vaisyas (producers), and Sudras (servants). Manu views this hierarchical order not as a contingent or historical human development, but as a part of an original emanation by the creator god Brahman or Prajapati. The class order is consonant, he believes, with the most sacred works of the tradition, the Vedas, which are also part of this primordial creation. In this originative order, the Brahmin class has responsibility for maintaining the Vedas and the ritual practices they set forth, most notably sacrifice.
Within the socio-political system, each class has basic qualifications (adhikara) and duties (varna-dharma) particular to it, and these are believed to be inherent, inborn (svabhava) characteristics of persons born in that class. For Manu, dharma has an autonomous and self-enforcing agency: actions in accord with one’s own duty (as inflected by gender, class, stage of life, etc.) are inherently fruitful, while conduct contrary to dharma will inevitably lead to unhappy consequences sooner or later. Like most classical Hind authors, Manu takes for granted the principle of metempsychosis or transmigration. Therefore the consequences of moral and immoral actions may accrue in future lives or determine the nature of one’s future rebirths. No human intervention is necessary, nor is there need for a God to evaluate and assign rewards and punishments.
The Ksatriyas are responsible for the exercise of physical force within society, with the aim of protecting all members of society. From this class of warriors should come the king (rajan). The king is the foremost warrior within a polity, and Manu devotes considerable attention to this key figure.
The institution of kingship, says Manu, has a divine origin. Manu is deeply concerned with the danger of social disorder or anarchy. He conveys this in his creation myth of kingship. In the time before the king, he observes, people were fleeing in every direction. In many works, this state of anarchy is referred to as matsyanyaya, the rule of fishes, where larger fish eat smaller ones without restraint or remorse. (Our nature-derived equivalents are “dog eat dog” and “law of the jungle.”) So the Lord creates the king for the purpose of protection (raksa). Further, the Lord invests the king with particles of various gods, giving the king a kind of charismatic brilliance (tejas). Like the sun, the king burns the eyes of those who look too directly at him.
The Lord also grants to the king the power of the Stick (danda)—authorized coercive force or violence—needed to bring discipline to the subjects of the kingdom. Without this Stick, Manu believes, anarchy looms.
If the king does not apply the Stick unwearyingly to those who deserve punishment, the strongest will fry the weak like fish on a skewer. Crows will eat up the sacrificial offerings and dogs will lick the oblation food. No one will have dominion and everything will turn upside down. (MS 7.20-21)
As Manu portrays it, the Stick is not simply a human instrumentality, as we would regard manmade weapons, but an autonomous force that is created by the Lord and invested with its own brilliance (tejas) derived from the creator god Brahman.
Of course, the person invested with this great power, no matter how divine himself, must be subject to restraints. Manu is well aware of the corrupting influence of power on humans, and accordingly he stresses the necessity of self-restraint for the king. The king must discipline himself (vinaya) through yoga-like control of his senses and through avoidance of any activities based on greed (lobha). Just as important, the king must attend to learned Brahmins—people like Manu himself—for they can serve as important advisors and counselors. Overall, the king’s responsibility extends to all members of society. “The king was created as protector of all the classes and all the stages of life, as each carries out their own particular duties, from Brahmins on down.” (MS 7.35) Thanks to the king’s protection and the compelling threat of the Stick, all subjects are able to pursue their own proper duties within an orderly society.
So far Manu focuses on the duties of the king towards the subjects (praja) living within a delimited kingdom or realm (rastra). What of those outside his realm? How should a king behave towards other kings and other territories? Here is where we would look to find considerations bearing on the idea of a “just war.”
Manu opens his discussion of interstate relations by invoking the duty of the Ksatriya class. “When a king, while protecting his own subjects, is challenged by another, no matter whether the other is equal, superior, or inferior in strength, he should not turn away from battle, keeping in mind the duty of Ksatriyas.” (MS 7.87) There are three ways, he continues, for the king to achieve his highest goals (sreyas): protecting his subjects, serving Brahmins, and not turning back in battle. (MS 7.88) Unflinching heroic combat, never turning away from warfare, is the best means for members of the Ksatriya class to go to heaven (svarga). Thus, the duty of a king, and of Ksatriya warriors generally, calls for a steadfast and valorous defense of one’s own kingdom and its subjects whenever challenged by an enemy, even if that foe has superior strength. Defensive warfare for preservation of an established polity fits without question in Manu’s conception of a Ksatriya’s dharma. It is a just cause that overrides even the calculation of its probability of success.
When it comes to the initiation of war against others, Manu declares that a king should seek always to acquire what has not been acquired. Here Manu appears to accept an inborn aggressiveness of Ksatriyas, and to condone it as a means of aggrandizing the state. The king should make an active effort to increase the kingdom, and he should do so, says Manu, through the use of the Stick. The Stick shifts from being a rod of punishment aimed at wrongdoers within society, and becomes here an offensive weapon directed at other rulers. Manu follows here a widespread notion of interstate relations as fraught with animosity, conceptualized in terms of concentric circles (mandala) of enmity. One’s immediate neighbors on all sides are enemies (ari); the next encircling kingdoms are the enemies of one’s enemies and therefore one’s allies or friends (mitra); and so on outward. If a king’s adjacent polities are enemies, then the king should adopt an attitude of both vigilance and probing. He should keep his own forces always in readiness, he should display his strength publicly for others to observe, he should conceal any weaknesses in his own position, and at the same time he should look constantly for his opponent’s weak points (chidra).
Manu recommends that the king and his advisers make careful calculations about the relative strengths and weaknesses of the ruler’s own polity and that of a potential opponent.
When the king considers that all the constituents (prakrti) of his kingdom are very energetic and he himself is extremely mighty, then he should consider going to war. When he believes that his own army is energetic and well-fed, and that the reverse is true of his opponent, then he should advance towards his enemy. When his mounted units [i.e. chariot, elephant, and horse units] and foot-soldiers are exhausted, he should remain cautious and quiet, and try to make peace with the enemy. (MS 7.170-172)
Or as Manu puts it more succinctly, sounding like an early Indic Muhammad Ali, “The king should think over his affairs like a heron, run away like a rabbit, snatch like a wolf, and march forth like a lion.” (MS 7.106)
Recognizing the fogginess of war, Manu urges caution in any declaration of war. There are four strategies (upaya) that a king may adopt in interstate relations: conciliation (saman), gift-giving (dana), splitting (bheda) or causing division, and war (yuddha). It is better, Manu observes, for the king to seek his ends through the first three, because “in battle victory and defeat are uncertain.” (MS 7.199) But “when the first three strategies fail, the king should engage in battle and defeat his enemies.” (MS 7.200)
If defensive war is always warranted by the king’s duty to protect his subjects, offensive war aimed at the defeat of enemy kings and increase of one’s own realm is governed by expedience or prudential deliberation (naya). Manu acknowledges and accepts the king’s desire to “acquire what has not been acquired” through aggressive warfare, but he warns the king to be circumspect and calculating. Only when there is a probability of success should the king initiate hostilities. Here the Vedic Brahmin and conservative moralist Manu agrees with the classical Indian advocate of radical realpolitik, Kautilya in his Arthasastra. The two directions of royal policy—internal protection of one’s subjects and external defeat of enemy states—both involve the deliberate employment of the Stick and both are aimed at removing impediments to the flourishing fruitful kingdom. “Like a farmer removing weeds and protecting the grain crop, the king must protect the kingdom and kill his opponents.” (MS 7.110)
Beyond the royal duty of protecting the subjects of the kingdom, Manu makes no attempt to distinguish just and unjust grounds for undertaking war. Calculations are based on relative strength, not on moral considerations. However, once war is engaged, Manu requires that certain moral guidelines, the dharma of the battlefield (yodha-dharma), be observed by all parties. These guidelines cover such matters as proper adversaries, proper conditions, and proper weapons, through a series of prohibitions.
When fighting on the battlefield, a warrior should not kill his enemies with concealed weapons, nor with barbed ones, nor poisoned ones, nor ones with flaming shafts. And he should never kill a person standing on the ground [if he is mounted in a chariot or on a horse], nor an impotent warrior, or one whose hands are folded in supplication. He should not kill a warrior whose hair is untied, or one seated on the ground, or one who says, “I am yours.” He should not kill someone who is sleeping, one without his battle-dress, one who is naked, or one without a weapon. He should not kill a noncombatant spectator, a person fighting with another, a warrior whose weapons are damaged, an injured warrior, one who is seriously wounded, one who is frightened, or a warrior who has turned away from battle—this is the code followed by good Ksatriyas. (MS 7.90-93)
Likewise, clear principles govern such matters as the redistribution of wartime loot or prize. The king receives a share in all wartime acquisitions, and is required to distribute all that is not won in individual combat among the entire army. (MS 7.96-97) As Manu sees it, war does not lie outside the realm of dharma, but it does require special provisions. It is a specific situation, for which Manu sets out broad guidelines of dharma.
Finally, Manu sets out recommendations for a king in victory. “After victory the king should honor the gods and the dharma-observing Brahmins. He should grant tax-exemptions and proclaim safety [to the subjects of the defeated realm].” (MS 7.201) Rather than integrating the captured kingdom into ones own territories, the victorious king should install a new ruler from the family of the deposed king, one who will owe his position to the victor, and thereby create an ally or client state. He should draw up a covenant (samayakriya) and honor the new ruler and his ministers with gifts. A king, observes Manu, does not prosper as much by gaining gold or land as by securing a firm ally.
In this treatise on dharma, Manu endorses violence as a necessity in maintaining social order within the state, and he also accepts the interstate war-making activities of the rulers and warriors of the Ksatriya class. For him the justness of war lies in the dharma of the warrior class and their inborn proclivity to the use of force. Manu does not attempt to specify just conditions for undertaking war, only prudential ones. He does however seek to specify moral guidelines for the prosecution of war.
As a situated author, the Brahmin-oriented Manu speaks within a culture in which a single class, the Ksatriyas, are granted legitimate use of force. Deeply committed to this class system, which he sees as the foundation of an orderly society, Manu accepts this arrangement. Ksatriyas will be Ksatriyas. But in war it is the Ksatriyas who will bear the consequences. In this setting, one role for Brahmins is to describe these consequences, and to convey moral guidelines and principles to Ksatriyas, often in the form of exemplary stories like the epics Mahabharata and Ramayana.
If Manu’s Dharmasastra seeks to guies members of the warrior class through codes of conduct expressed in injunctive form (vidhi), the epics set out to guide Ksatriyas through narratives of ideal conduct, often juxtaposed with its opposite. Dharma is a key concern in the epics. Not only are principles of dharma illustrated through conduct, but they are also endlessly debated by characters enmeshed within the narrative action. In this way the epics provide complex reflections on the situational application of dharma. This includes the question of Ksatriya violence, as addressed in the Ramayana of Valmiki.
The protagonist of the Ramayana, Rama is the eldest son of Dasaratha, king of Kosala. As he grows up, this young prince is an exemplar of dharma in every way.
He was of noble descent on both sides of his family, he was upright and cheerful, truthful, and honest. Aged brahmans had seen to his training, men who were wise in the ways of righteousness [dharma] and statecraft. And thus he understood the true nature of righteousness, statecraft, and personal pleasure. He was retentive and insightful, knowledgeable and adept in the social proprieties…. He could head a charge in battle and lead an army skillfully. He was invincible in combat, even if the gods and asuras [demons] themselves were to unite in anger against him. He was never spiteful, haughty, or envious, and he had mastered his anger. He would never look down on any creature nor bow to the will of another. (Ram 2.1.18-19, 24-26)
He marries the princess Sita from Mithila, who proves to be just as determined as her husband in her observation of the principles of dharma, though of course these differ in the case of a female and wife. By all rights Rama ought to succeed his father as king, but due to a court intrigue his younger brother Bharata is made ruler and Rama is forced into exile for fourteen years. Accompanied by an insistent Sita and an equally devoted brother Laksmana, Rama willingly puts on the bark clothing of a forest-dwelling ascetic, crosses the Ganges and Yamuna Rivers, and heads south into the forest.
In classical India the “forest” (vana, aranya) designates those territories beyond the settled agricultural lands of the north Indian kingdoms, which then flourished primarily in the Indo-Gangetic plains. So as he travels south into the Dandaka Forest, Rama is passing beyond the zone of Indo-Aryan civilization in which he has grown up. But that does not mean the forest is unoccupied. Notably, he encounters two categories of beings in the forest: Brahmin ascetics (tapasvins, munis) and Raksasas.
The Brahmin ascetics are living in small clustered settlements or ashrams. They lead austere lives, wearing clothes of bark and dwelling in huts built of leaves. They devote much of their time to the practices of Vedic recitation and sacrificial ritual, the sacred activities that the Brahmin class views as its highest dharma. Some also perform more rigorous acts of asceticism, and from their virtuous lives and acts of austerity they come to glow with brahmanical brilliance (tejas). It is apt to see these groups of Brahmin settlers as pioneers. They have emigrated out from the Indo-Aryan cultural zone into a previously “uncivilized” region, and they have brought with them the essential cultural practices of their home civilization. Their entry into the Dandaka Forest, however, has provoked the ire of another group residing there, the Raksasas.
In the Ramayana, the Raksasas (literally, “night-stalkers”) are portrayed as a class of demons or anti-gods (asuras). They are social and intelligent beings; many live in a glittering capital city far to the south in Lanka. They also have superhuman powers, such as the ability to take on whatever form they wish (kamarupin). They are not, however, governed by the Indo-Aryan norms of dharma. They are outsiders to the civilization represented by both Rama and the Brahmin ascetics. Their response to the encroachment of the Brahmin pioneers, accordingly, is ferocious aggression. They dump blood and raw meat onto the sacrificial fires and they eat the Brahmins.
This is the state of affairs between the Brahmins and the Raksasas when Rama arrives in the forest. It is not the kind of interstate rivalry between adjacent kingdoms sharing cultural premises that Manu’s Dharmasastra depicts as normative. Instead, this is a kind of protracted war involving the cultural expansion of Indo-Aryan civilization southward into peninsular India coming into conflict with indigenous inhabitants. And the Ramayana portrays this antagonism in the most contrastive terms: pious, peaceful, and dharma-loving Brahmin settlers versus violent and aggressive demons. It is apt to consider the Ramayana in allegorical terms. The fictive narrative of the epic parallels the actual historical expansion of Indo-Aryan culture during the classical period, though of course the Indo-Aryan pioneers confronted not shape-shifting demons but human hunter-gatherer tribes, nomadic pastoralists, and agrarian chiefdoms as they moved south. Violent clashes between Indo-Aryan expansionists and indigenous residents of the subcontinent were certainly a historical reality.
With his bark clothes and matted hair, Rama may appear in the forest like an ascetic, but he also carries a bow, hunts animals, and bears all the marks of a Ksatriya. As soon as he shows up at an ashram, the Brahmin ascetics immediately recognize him as a Ksatriya prince, and they appeal to him for protection.
As guardian of righteousness and glorious refuge of his people, a king is worthy of reverence and esteem. He is a guru who wields the staff of punishment (danda)…. We are residents of your realm and need your protection. Wherever you may find yourself, in city or forest, you are our king, the lord of the people. We have renounced violence, your majesty, and learned to control our senses and anger. You must always protect us ascetics, for we are as your children. (Ram 3.1.17, 19-20)
In their request the Brahmins set forth duties of the king very similar to Manu’s presentation in his Dharmasastra. The king wields the Stick to guard the code of dharma, and his primary duty is to protect his subjects, most particularly vulnerable Brahmins like themselves. But their appeal also glosses over some inconsistencies. Rama is not the king of Kosala; his brother Bharata is. Further, the Brahmin ascetics are dwelling in a region outside the ordinary territorial boundaries of the kingdom. The ascetics seem to believe that their dharma-based practices deserve royal protection even beyond their homeland. Brahmin settlers here are pushing outward the perimeter of state responsibility for protection.
Rama assents to their request without hesitation. He is dedicated to protecting all those in need, he says, and makes his promise: “I am ready to slay in battle the Raksasas, the enemies of the ascetics.” (Ram 3.5.20) It is a fateful promise, for it will lead to an escalating battle between Rama and the Raksasas, first in Dandaka Forest and then all the way to Lanka at the southern tip of India. His wife Sita will be abducted and held prisoner in Lanka, and Rama will need to enlist an entire kingdom of monkeys (as well as bears, vultures, squirrels, and other animal assistants) into his war to defeat the Raksasas.
The Ramayana certainly presents Rama’s declaration of war against the Raksasas as justified within the principles of dharma. The epic depicts the Brahmin settlers as pious and peaceable exemplars of brahmanic virtue, and does not question their right to settle in Dandaka Forest. The Raksasas, by contrast, appear as violent antagonists of Vedic sacrifice and consumers of human flesh. The rules of dharma are outside their ken. Nevertheless, the Ramayana also gives voice to some contrary viewpoints. Sita herself warns Rama, affectionately and diplomatically, about the dangerous consequences of his immediate promise to the ascetics. Latin the epic the defeated king of the monkey kingdom of Kiskindha, Valin (whom Rama has shot down in a very questionable manner), will also criticize Rama’s readiness to intervene in the dynastic affairs of other polities. But in this paper we will confine ourselves to Sita’s warning.
Dharma is very subtle, she begins. In her view, it is imperative above all that one avoid misdeeds based on self-serving desire. Sita identifies three such desire-driven offenses: false speech, sexual intercourse with another man’s wife, and violence (raudrata) without provocation (vaira). The first two she is confidant Rama will not commit, but she is anxious about the third. After giving their assurance to vanquish the demons of Dandaka Forest in order to protect the sages, Rama and Laksmana are now venturing into the Raksasas’ territories with bows and arrows ready to hand. Sita fears that their weapons will lead them to shoot innocent creatures who have given them no offense. “A bow to a Ksatriya,” says Sita, “is dry grass to a fire. If it gets too close, the flame of brilliance (tejas) is sure to flare up.” (Ram 3.8.12)
Sita goes on to relate an anecdote. A pure ascetic living in a forest ashram was once given a sword by the god Indra for safekeeping. The ascetic gradually became obsessed with protecting the weapon, and began to take it with him everywhere he went. From carrying the sword, his mind started to turn to using it. Wicked thoughts arose from the regular handling of the weapon. The ascetic was dragged away from dharma and eventually went to hell. So, Sita concludes, Rama should not take up his own bow, as this may turn his mind to violence directed at beings who have done nothing to provoke him.
Furthermore, she argues, there is a contradiction between the Ksatriya code and asceticism. When they return to Ayodhya, Rama may follow the dharma of the Ksatriyas. But here, Sita suggests, they should adhere to the local code of conduct (desa-dharma). Living in the forest ashrams of sages, Rama should behave like one of them, maintaining a pure and peaceful mind as the ascetics do. Only then will be fulfill the full renunciation of kingship that was part of the vow he made before leaving Ayodhya.
Sita concludes on a note of feminine self-deprecation. Only her female impulsiveness has caused her to speak out like this, she says, and she is certain that Rama well understands the principles of dharma and will always do the right thing. But her argument is subtle and far-reaching, touching on the psychology of violence as well as the complexities of dharma. For Sita, violence is warranted only if there is a provocation. She does not accept Manu’s acquiescence to the Ksatriya ethos. Rather, she points to the serious danger in their code. Given the psychological force of desire on all humans, proximity to the tools of violence is likely to lead Ksatriyas (as it led the ascetic) to depart from dharma and to resort to violence for their own desire-driven ends. Sita’s speech also suggests a new contextual subtlety to dharma. Not only does dharma vary according to gender, class, and stage of life, but also according to location. The forest is the site for a peaceful and austere mode of life, not for the violent wielding of the Stick that is incumbent on a king within his kingdom.
Rama’s response to his wife’s warning is comparatively simple. If Sita points to the subtlety of dharma, Rama is eager to identify the one operative moral principle. In this case, he says that the categorical imperative is truth (satya), adherence to one’s word. He reminds Sita that the sages were engaging in practices of dharma appropriate to members of the Brahmin class, and that the Raksasas were the ones who initiated violence against them. He repeats the pleas of the ascetics for his protection, and states that Ksatriyas bear arms only for the protection of the weak, not for personal aggrandizement. “As soon as I heard their appeal,” he says, “I promised complete protection to the sages in Dandaka Forest.” (Ram 3.9.16) Once his word has been given there is no going back, for truth is his constant guide. Rama would rather give up his life, he says, or even that of his wife or brother, than to fail in living up to his promise, especially one given to Brahmins.
Rama’s argument here holds sway and Sita quickly assents to his determination. The text endorses Rama’s simple principles of dharma, even though the consequences for both Rama and Sita will involve great tribulations. The Ramayana accepts an Indo-Aryan doctrine of manifest destiny, comparable perhaps to the historical expansion of westward settlements into Native American territories in the United States. Later, justifying his intervention in a fraternal dispute over the throne in the monkey kingdom of Kiskindha, Rama articulates a still broader doctrine of imperial dominion. The earth itself belongs to his dynasty, he proclaims. But in Sita’s warnings (and likewise in the later objections of Valin, the deposed monkey king) the epic also acknowledges some of the dangers in this expansive imperial vision.
In the lead essay to this collection, Roger Berkowitz poses the question: are some religions more peaceful or more militaristic than others? Hinduism has often been promoted as being a religion of peace. Of course there are many Hindus who have been passionate and forceful advocates of peace and non-violence (ahimsa). But Hinduism, like all the major religious traditions, contains within its vast corpus of texts and teachings a great complexity of positions with regard to issues of war and peace. By looking at how several influential classical Hindu works deal with dharma and war, we have glimpsed a small portion of this debate within the Hindu tradition. Manu’s realistic condoning of a state’s military expansionism, as well as Rama’s war against demons in the Ramayana, could be and have been cited by Hindu elites and ruling groups to warrant violence against opponents within and without the state. At the same time, Sita’s warnings to Rama about the dangerous consequences of violence give voice to a more pacifist orientation, equally an important part of the Hindu religious tradition.
SANSKRIT SOURCES AND TRANSLATIONS
Arthasastra of Kautilya
Kangle, R. P. 1969. The Kautilya Arthasastra, Part 1: Sanskrit Text with a Glossary. Delhi: Motilal Banasidass.
Shamasastry, R. 1951. Kautilya’s Arthasastra. Mysore: Sri Raghuveer Press.
Mahabharata (MBh)
The Mahabharata (Critical Edition). 1933-1959. 19 vols. Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute.
Van Buitenen, J. A. B. 1973-1978. The Mahabharata, Books 1 to 5. 3 vols. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Fitzgerald, James L. 2004. The Mahabharata, Books 11and 12. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Manusmrti (MS)
Olivelle, Patrick. 2005. Manu’s Code of Law: A Critical Edition and Translation of the Manava-Dharmasastra. Edited by P. Olivelle. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Ramayana of Valmiki (Ram)
The Valmiki-Ramayana: Critical Edition. 1960-1975. 7 vols. Baroda: Oriental Institute.
Goldman, Robert and others. 1984-2009. The Ramayana of Valmiki: An Epic of Ancient India, Princeton Library of Asian Translations. 6 vols. Princeton: Princeton University Press.