We had lamented in these columns in an earlier issue the present situation of wars on many fronts taking place across the world, resulting in tremendous loss of lives and property, and dislocation and unbearable suffering of large masses. It is a pity that the situation has only worsened since then. A handful of senseless autocrats, driven solely by ego, are holding entire nations, the world economy and the world order to ransom. There is nothing left of mutual consultation, concern for the poor and the under-developed, and minimum levels of decency in honouring commitments and responsibilities. ‘Might is right’ has become a blatant instrument of public policy. Adharma rules with no cloak of even a pretence of Dharma.
No rules are followed in the present warfare. The mighty can always strike the weak at any time and cause untold destruction with no questions asked. Even hospitals and schools are no exception; they are also brought down in no time with no warning. The United Nations has been reduced to a farce. We claim to be more ‘civilised’ and ‘evolved’ in comparison with our ancestors from the past. Is it true?
Look at the rules of war in Mahabharata as agreed between the Pandavas and Kauravas and their supporters before the start of the war. “After nightfall, when the battle stops, the fighting parties would treat one another with mutual kindness, with no trace of enmity. During the engagement, those who indulge in verbal warfare should be repulsed only verbally. One, who has exited from the battle, should not be killed. The charioteer will only fight with another charioteer; one mounted on elephant will only engage with another similarly placed; similar with cavalry and infantry.
यथायोगं यथाकामं यथोत्साहं यथाबलम् । समाभाष्य प्रहर्तव्यं न विश्वस्ते न विह्वले ॥ ‘Even individual attack should always be launched after prior warning and in proportion to the strength, enthusiasm and capability of the opponent. One who is not vigilant owing to confidence, or one who is afraid, should not be attacked.’ One, who is engaged in combat with another opponent, or who has come seeking refuge, or who has run away showing his back, or whose protective armoury is destroyed, should never be attacked. No kind of attack is permitted on horse-tenders, load-carriers, carriers of weapons, and players of conches, drums etc.” (Bhishma Parva, 1.1.27-32)
Compare this with the present no-rules-warfare. A recent article in Times of India in ‘The Speaking Tree’ section by Jwalant Swaroop refers to another useful and long-forgotten psychological aspect of warfare – ‘Even victors find no joy in the aftermath of war’.
“Spiritual traditions have long viewed humanity as participants in a shared field of consciousness. When violence erupts on a massive scale, that collective field is disturbed. Ancient Indian thought described this disruption as adharma, a disturbance in the moral and cosmic balance of existence. Violent acts affect not only societies and nations but also the subtle psychological fabric of civilisation.
Modern psychology now describes this as collective trauma. Societies often carry emotional scars for generations. Fear, instability, hatred, and moral confusion continue long after the battlefield falls silent. Trauma spreads outward like ripples in water, shaping cultures and future conflicts, leaving behind psychological debris for centuries to clear it.
Mahabharata remains one of humanity’s deepest reflections on the spiritual consequences of war. The battle of Kurukshetra was not merely a political struggle but a catastrophic confrontation between dharma and adharma. Millions perished, families disappeared, and the social order collapsed. Yet even the victors found no joy.
Yudhishthira, crowned king after the war, was overwhelmed with grief and guilt. The triumph of righteousness could not erase the suffering caused by destruction of teachers, friends, and relatives. Victory felt hollow because it came at the cost of humanity. The epic repeatedly reminds us that war leaves wounds deeper than physical destruction.
One of the most symbolic aspects of Mahabharata’s aftermath is Krishna’s withdrawal to Dwaraka. Though he guided Pandavas and delivered Gita, he moved away from Kurukshetra after the war. Dwarka represented distance from the psychic residue of violence and a place where civilisation could rebuild itself.
Ancient traditions believed that land absorbs human emotions and actions. Sacred places are created through meditation and prayer, while battlefields become saturated with suffering and death.
Yet the Mahabharata does not completely reject war. Krishna repeatedly attempted diplomacy and compromise before the conflict began. Even five villages for the Pandavas could have prevented destruction. But when injustice refuses to yield, conflict sometimes becomes unavoidable. War, therefore, is portrayed as a tragic last resort required to restore moral order.
Centuries later, the Buddha taught that wars begin in the human mind long before they appear on battlefields. His famous insight remains timeless: “Hatred does not cease by hatred; hatred ceases only by love.”
Mahabharata and the Buddha together reveal a profound truth. External force may occasionally become necessary to resist injustice, yet lasting peace cannot arise without inner transformation.
The real battlefield, therefore, exists both outside and within the human mind. Civilisations heal slowly after war. Art, philosophy, spirituality, and reflection emerge as attempts to process collective grief. In this sense, Mahabharata can be seen as a warning and not as a celebration of violence. Its ultimate message is clear: true victory does not lie in destroying enemies but in restoring balance, compassion, and wisdom.”
