We live in troubled times. The world is on the edge. Yet, the tension between war and peace is not new. The Bhagavad Gita—arguably one of the most profound spiritual texts ever composed—was delivered on the battlefield of Kurukshetra, in the midst of an impending war—the bloodiest in ancient times. And yet, its teachings are not about military strategy, but about clarity on what constitutes dharma—righteous action.
The set of teachings that Krishna imparts to Arjuna is the distilled essence of the Upanishads that align us with dharma. While there is no exact English equivalent for the term, dharma can be understood as doing what is right in a given situation, guided by a commitment to the greater good. It transcends religion and doctrine, resting instead on universal principles of responsibility, balance and ethical action. At its core, dharma calls for action free from selfishness.
Central to dharma is ahimsa— the commitment to avoiding harm. A foundational principle of Vedic philosophy and a cornerstone of Sanatana Dharma, ahimsa is also the first yama in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. This raises an apparent contradiction: if non-violence is so central, why are the Ramayana and the Mahabharata—texts that exemplify dharma—framed around great wars?
Dharma calls for wisdom to explore all non- violent options and choose deadly force only when the preservation of justice truly requires it
The answer lies in a deeper understanding of ahimsa, which cannot be separated from dharma. Ahimsa is not simply pacifism. No Vedic text advocates turning a blind eye to injustice or allowing wrongdoing to go unchecked. Sometimes, the harm caused by inaction and the failure to address injustice can be greater than the harm caused by confronting it. So ahimsa teaches restraint and an avoidance of violence unless it becomes necessary to uphold dharma.
In some situations, use of force may become unavoidable, not as an act of aggression, but as a dharmayuddha—a just war not fought for conquest, greed, or ideological expansion, but to defend righteousness and restore moral order. The wars in the Ramayana and the Mahabharata are understood in this light—tragic yet necessary, because allowing dharma to lose would have been a greater wrong.
The shastras offer a structured framework for managing conflict through four escalating strategies, or Upayas: sama, dana, bheda, and danda.
Sama represents dialogue, peaceful negotiation aimed at reaching a mutually acceptable resolution. It is always the preferred approach. If dialogue breaks down, dana follows, offering concessions or compromise to preserve peace.When these measures fail, bheda is employed through strategic persuasion or pressure, which in modern terms may resemble diplomatic maneuvering or economic sanctions. Only after all these options have truly been exhausted does danda, the use of force, become necessary.
Even then, it is justified only when dharma is at stake, and no other option remains. In such a context, the use of force does not violate ahimsa; instead, it upholds the sentiment behind it by preventing the spread of violence.
This framework is more than just theoretical; it is clearly demonstrated in the epics.
In the Ramayana, Rama makes every effort to avoid war. He sends Angada to Ravana with a final plea—return Sita and prevent bloodshed. War happens only when all attempts at peaceful resolution fail.
Likewise, in the Mahabharata, Krishna exhausts every means to avoid bloodshed. He begins with sama, urging Duryodhana to act fairly and return the Pandavas’ kingdom to them.When this fails, he offers dana, a compromise of five villages, one for each Pandava. Duryodhana flatly refuses, declaring unwillingness to yield even a tiny bit of land equal to the tip of a needle. Krishna then turns to bheda, revealing to Karna his true lineage as Kunti’s son in the hope of altering the course of events. When this effort fails too, war becomes inevitable.
In both epics, to refuse to act would have been to enable injustice. Had Rama chosen to leave Sita in Lanka, it would have been a greater violation of dharma than the war. Had the Pandavas relinquished their claim, they would have legitimised greed and oppression.
The philosophy of dharma—grounded in restraint, discernment, and responsibility—offers a nuanced framework for ethical decision-making even today. It calls for wisdom—to seek peace first, to explore all non-violent options, and to choose deadly force only when the preservation of justice truly requires it.
In a world grappling with geopolitical conflicts, this ancient framework remains relevant. It pushes us to remember the true meaning of dharma—acting with clarity, responsibility, and a commitment to the greater good. It reminds us that the real challenge is not simply choosing between war and peace, but discerning when each becomes a moral necessity.