Living Bhagavad Gita 04

Short articles on the Bhagavad Gita for the busy, stressed working people of today. Discusses how to live the Gita in our daily life.

[Continued from the previous post]

Then Bhishma, the aged Kuru grandfather, roared like a lion and blew a powerful blast on his conch making Duryodhana’s heart leap with joy. BG 1.12

Bhishma thoroughly understands Duryodhana’s psychology and that is why without allowing him to continue, in a brilliant move, he roars like a lion and blows his conch powerfully making the whole war field boom with its sound.

In the Richard Attenborough movie Gandhi there is an amazing satyagraha scene which we cannot watch without holding our breath because of the intensity of the feelings it arouses in our heart. In May 1930, soon after the highly successful Dandi March against the salt tax imposed on India by the British, following a call given by Gandhiji, a large group of freedom fighters assemble to peacefully raid the British managed Dharasana Salt Works in Gujarat because, as Mahatmaji said, India’s salt belongs to India. We see a multitude of Indians waiting not far from the gate of the Salt Works ready to move towards the factory. There are several women volunteers waiting a little distance away to nurse those men who would be brutally beaten up by the policemen guarding the factory gate. And there are journalists present, covering the event.  The British want the event to turn violent, thus defeating Gandhiji’s determination to make the event non-violent. They arrest Gandhiji hoping it will provoke the people and turn them violent. But people are determined come what may they will not raise a hand: they will not fight back and they will not turn away and run.

As the first row of freedom fighters led by Maulana Abul Kalam Azad approach the gate, police batons come down brutally on their heads and shoulders. We hear the sound of bones cracking and people collapsing on the ground, blood flowing freely bathing their faces. As the women volunteers come forward and carry them away for first aid, the second line of freedom fighters move forward. Steel tipped police lathis come down heavily on their heads and shoulders too, crushing the skull and breaking bones. The scene is repeated again and again and we see the reporters turning their faces away, unable to stand the viciousness of the police and the silent, wordless superhuman endurance of the satyagrahis.

Here is how American journalist Webb Miller who was an eye-witness to the scene reports it:

“Not one of the marchers even raised an arm to fend off the blows... From where I stood I heard the sickening whacks of the clubs on unprotected skulls. The waiting crowd of watchers groaned and sucked in their breaths in sympathetic pain at every blow.

“Those struck down fell sprawling, unconscious or writhing in pain with fractured skulls or broken shoulders. In two or three minutes the ground was quilted with bodies. Great patches of blood widened on their white clothes. The survivors without breaking ranks silently and doggedly marched on until struck down. When every one of the first column was knocked down stretcher bearers rushed up unmolested by the police and carried off the injured to a thatched hut which had been arranged as a temporary hospital...

“Bodies toppled over in threes and fours, bleeding from great gashes on their scalps. Group after group walked forward, sat down, and submitted to being beaten into insensibility without raising an arm to fend off the blows. Finally the police became enraged by the non-resistance....They commenced savagely kicking the seated men in the abdomen and testicles. The injured men writhed and squealed in agony, which seemed to inflame the fury of the police....The police then began dragging the sitting men by the arms or feet, sometimes for a hundred yards, and throwing them into ditches.”

According to Wikipedia from which this quote is taken, “Miller later wrote that he went to the hospital where the wounded were being treated, and "counted 320 injured, many still insensible with fractured skulls, others writhing in agony from kicks in the testicles and stomach....Scores of the injured had received no treatment for hours and two had died."

There are several forms of courage, what we see here is without a doubt courage of the highest kind.  

What gives such extraordinary courage to ordinary people? What awakens in ordinary peddlers and street vendors, school teachers and office clerks, farmers and fishermen, carpenters and blacksmiths the courage to stand up against the mightiest empire the world has seen? It is one thing to be struck by the police lathi unawares. It is an altogether different thing to know that when you take the next step the lathi is going to come down heavily on you and break your skull causing unspeakable pain, to see this happening to the person right in front of you and yet take that step. While there are other reasons involved, the satyagrahis were able to rise to such superhuman levels of courage through they were afire with the cause for which they were fighting. 

In the Hindi movie Lagaan, we see ordinary village people who have never played cricket forming a team and beating the English who have played cricket all their life. The strength of the villagers: inspiration born of their cause.

The Hindi movie Chak De India shows us how, following the final speech by their coach, the members of the Indian hockey team forget their rivalries and personal goals and fight as a single team, again inspired by their cause of making India win.

What we find lacking in the Kaurava team under Duryodhana is this inspiring cause. And because of that, none of the leading men of his army is able to give himself entirely to his war, none of them is able to forget their personal rivalries or their personal goals.

And Duryodhana himself is weighed down by guilt. He knows full well his cause is not just, that his heart is full of bitterness and jealousy, that the ways he has been practicing all his life, right from mixing deadly poison in th food of a completely unsuspecting Bhima at Pramanakoti while they were both children, were  treacherous.

In the Udyoga Parva, sometime before the war becomes inevitable, Dhritarashtra gives a long speech in a Kuru meeting about who the rightful heir to the Hastinapura throne is and concludes it by telling Duryodhana: “I was not fortunate to have the right over the kingdom; how can you then desire to be king? You are not the son of a king and therefore the kingdom does not belong to you. You are coveting what does not belong to you and trying to snatch it away from its rightful owner. The noble Yudhishthira is the son of the king, and this kingdom has rightfully been inherited by him. He is now the lord of all of us Kauravas, and that generous one is the [rightful] ruler of this land.”

It is this inner ethical conflict that creates confusion in Duryodhana’s heart and undermines his confidence as he looks at the Pandava army assembled, to cover up which he starts talking, saying exactly what he should not be saying, like praising the opposition army and insulting his guru Drona who is one of his greatest warriors.

Unless your cause is right, you will have no inspiration. And unless your cause is right and you yourself are inspired, you will not be able to inspire others. This is a universal truth.

Bhishma understands what is going on in Duryodhana’s mind and does precisely what needs to be done to cheer him up and bring back some semblance of confidence in him.

O0O

This ability to understand other people’s emotions is part of what is called emotional intelligence, which is intelligence in the true sense of the term because eighty to ninety percent of our success in life depends on emotional intelligence. The supreme example for emotional intelligence in the Mahabharata is, of course, Krishna. Each of his actions emerges from the brilliance of his emotional intelligence. And perhaps the worst case of emotional intelligence in the entire epic is Duryodhana who does exactly what should not be done most of the time in the epic, as he does at this moment, eventually leading not only his family and the Bharata clan into tragedy but all of India, sending this glorious land into a long age of darkness much longer than what Europe went into from around the fifth century of the Common Era.

Duryodhana was the most powerful man in Bharatavarsha when the war begins and he was the de facto emperor of the land, though officially he was not. Tragedy is what naturally results when the person at the helm of affairs in any organization lacks emotional intelligence – be it a war, a business, an industry or a nation.

O0O

Thank you in advance for your comments and questions.

Living Bhagavad Gita 003: Arjuna Vishada Yoga

Short articles on the Bhagavad Gita for the busy, stressed working people of today. Discusses how to live the Gita in our daily life.

[Continued from Living Bhagavad Gita: 002]

Praise in the right place is praise; praise in the wrong place is an insult. Praise at the right time is praise; praise at the wrong time is an insult.      

In these opening verses of the Bhagavad Gita, Duryodhana addresses his guru Acharya Drona using the word dvijottama, a word that literally means the best of brahmanas and in common usage means a noble brahmana. Since Drona is neither the best of brahmanas nor a noble brahmana, this definitely is an insult, or at least sarcasm. Unless of course he is trying to flatter his guru, which the context shows he is not.

The definition of a brahmana handed down for thousands of years through the karna-parampara, the oral tradition, is: one who knows the Ultimate Reality, Brahman, or in other words someone who knows God: brahma janati iti brahmanah. By an extension of the definition, the term could also be used for one whose aim of life is knowing God and treads the path that leads to God realization by living a life of nivritti – of serenity, quietude, acceptance, forgiveness, patience and so on.

This is not the way Drona has been living his life, though the society in his days expected a brahmana to live such a life. Instead, he had chosen to be a teacher of the martial arts and is standing in the battlefield fully armed to fight a war and kill Duryodhana’s enemies. Though he is not the commander-in-chief of the Kaurava army yet, he would become that once Bhishma falls. That definitely is not being a noble brahmana.

The Buddha is just stating the traditional perception of who a brahmana is when he says in the Dhammapada:   

One who has laid down the rod

In dealing with beings, moving or still,

Who neither kills nor causes to kill,

Him I call a brahmin. [James Carter translation]

And again:

Whoever endures abuse, assault, and imprisonment

Without animosity,

And who has forbearance as one’s strength,

As one’s mighty army,

I call a brahmin. [Jack Kornfield translation]

Forget about being a dwijottama, Drona is hardly a dwija at all, unless you go by birth alone, though even then you are expected to live a certain lifestyle which Drona has given up a long time ago.  Some of the basic virtues by which a brahmana lives are lack of vengefulness, forgiveness, great self mastery, endurance and so on.

Consciously or unconsciously, Duryodhana is just adding another insult to the list of insults he heaps upon his guru in these opening verses. And by doing that, he is not promoting his cause in any way. The only way to understand his behavior is by assuming he has temporarily lost mastery over himself and his actions are not emerging from his conscious self but from his unconscious, as it happens with all of us in our moments of great fear or stress.

Duryodhana here demonstrates complete lack of emotional intelligence. He is not in touch with his own inner feelings and naturally has no mastery over these feelings. He has got into such situations numerous times in the past too, thus incurring the curse of rishis and the anger of his elders.

The Kuru prince has throughout his life been a slave to his emotions, something no leader can afford to become, either in earlier times or today. Atma jeyah sada rajna – one should always be a master of oneself, says the Mahabharata, discussing one of the first principles of leadership. And self mastery means mastery over one’s body, one’s senses and one’s mind. It includes mastery over the six enemies of man – kama, krodha, lobha, moha, mada and matsarya – lust, anger, greed, delusion, pride and intolerance..This is particularly true of a man in a leadership position, because he is responsible not only for himself but for others, sometimes tens of thousands of others, as in the case of an ancient king or the head of a modern corporate house, or the captain of a team of let’s say mountaineers, sportsmen, explorers, or whoever else.  One of the most striking examples of a sportsman losing mastery over himself and suffering great loss for himself, his team and his nation in modern times is that of the great Zinedine Zidane in the 2006 Football World Cup final in Berlin.

Why has Duryodhana lost mastery over himself? What could be the reason? Let’s look at his words to his guru Drona once again before we proceed further.

Among other things he tells the Acharya his own army is aparyapta and that of the Pandavas is paryapta. His words here are traditionally interpreted in two different ways. One, to mean his army is boundless and that of the Pandavas is limited. And two, just the opposite: his army is not sufficient to meet the challenge, and that of the Pandavas is adequate.

In my previous discussion [Living Bhagavad Gita: Short Essays 002], I had followed the first traditional interpretation of his words. Let’s now give his words the second meaning: that he feels his army is inadequate whereas that of the Pandavas is sufficient. Why does he say such a demoralizing thing when he and his people are standing in the battlefield ready to begin the war?

Well, Duryodhana has just counted the major warriors on both sides. While on the Pandava side he mentions several mighty warriors, he mentions only a few on his own side. Surprisingly he misses even such powerful warriors on his side as his brother Dusshasana, Bhurishava and Shalya, each one of whom is a truly mighty warrior, each capable of commanding large armies and causing great harm to the enemies. Shalya has in fact joined his side with an entire akshauhini of army and would eventually become the commander-in-chief of all Duryodhana’s forces after the death of Karna!

And he mentions Karna – who is not present on the spot to fight the war, has vowed not to enter the war field so long as Bhishma stands!

Has the presence of so many mighty warriors on the enemy side confused him? Has it made him doubt his chances of victory, lose his confidence?

A short while before the war was finally decided upon, Duryodhana was absolutely sure of his victory. When Krishna had gone to the Kuru assembly and negotiated peace, the language Duryodhana used throughout was the language of power. Every time Krshna would suggest a way to end the conflict and find peace, Duryodhana would ask: But who is more powerful, they or us? But all on a sudden, his sense of his own power, his army’s power, seems to have deserted him. What could be the reason?

Could it be that the sight of so many mighty maharathis on the Pandava side made him suspect his own power? It is possible that earlier Duryodhana had assumed that the Pandavas would not be able to procure the alliance of so many mighty warriors and such a huge army?

While I believe that is possible, there could be another important reason. Something related to his people’s commitment to him. 

Duryodhana has doubts about the commitment of his people to him and to his cause. In fact they have told him so openly several times in the past and he himself has accused them of being more sympathetic towards the Pandava cause than to his cause. This has lead to explosive scenes in the Kuru assembly numerous times in the past.

When he looks at the Pandava army, he sees people totally committed to one cause, all of them standing behind Yudhishthira as one. But on his own side he knows no one is really with him. No one, not totally. Except perhaps his brother Dusshasana, who was like his twin soul.

Let’s take a quick look at the important people on Duryodhana’s side, those he mentions and those he does not mention. The first person on his list is Acharya Drona himself. It is well known that Drona’s favourite disciple is Arjuna, loved so much by the Acharya that to make sure that he remains his best student he asks for the thumb of Ekalavya in gurudakshina, thus destroying Ekalavya as an archer forever and gaining for himself eternal notoriety as a guru. It is also equally clear that Drona has no love for Duryodhana. The acharya sees him as arrogant, impulsive, incompetent brat, a usurper of power.

It has been so from the beginning. In the crocodile test devised by him to check the devotion of his disciples, when a crocodile attacks Drona, it was Arjuna who saved him risking his own life while Duryodhana watched on helplessly. While Duryodhana failed to give the guru dakshina Drona wanted in the form of Drupada, captured, bound and brought to him, Duryodhana failed to do that and it was the Pandavas, led by Arjuna, who did it. Arjuna repeatedly proves his total devotion not only to his guru but also to learning, even defeating his guru in his cunning, unethical schemes to stop him from becoming his best disciple. Every teacher would love such a disciple.

Drona has repeatedly said that Duryodhana has neither any right over the Kuru crown nor the ethical requirements to wear it. The acharya certainly has no commitment to Duryodhana. Just before the war starts, as Yudhishthira comes to Drona seeking his blessings in the war and requesting him to join his side, Drona publicly announces he is on Duryodhana’s side only because of his financial indebtedness to him. Arthasya dasah – a slave to his wealth, that is how Drona describes himself then.

Kripa’s attitude in everything, including his commitment to Duryodhna, is the same as that of his brother-in-law Drona. Drona’s son Ashwatthama is close to Duryodhana as a friend, though he has frequently and bluntly questioned Duryodhana’s unethical ways.

It is too well known that Bhishma has no commitment to Duryodhana. Nor has Shalya, not mentioned here by Duryodhana, who is really Pandu’s wife Madri’s brother and thus an uncle of the Pandavas, who was waylaid and tricked to join the Kaurava side while he was on his way to join the Pandava side. His heart is with the Pandavas.

Vikarna, a younger brother of Duryodhana, is the only one who shows the courage to question what was being done in the Dice Hall to Draupadi, apart from Vidura. Though he fights for Duryodhana because they are brothers, his heart is not with him.

And Karna? His heart is definitely not with Duryodhana in this war, as he himself says openly to Krishna, because he considers Duryodhana ethically unfit to become king. When Krishna offers Karna the kingdom and asks him to join the Pandavas who are actually his brothers, Karna tells him he knows that and asks Krishna not to give him the kingdom because if it is given to him, out of his friendship with Duryodhana he would give it to him, and he does not deserve it, he is unfit to become king. True, Duryodhana counts on him heavily and perhaps believes he is with him fully, but he knows the fact that because of a quarrel with Bhishma, he would not be joining his side to fight the war so long as Bhishma stands. He may not know of the promise Karna has made to his mother not to kill any of her sons except Arjuana, but he certainly knows that Karna has put his own ego above Duryodhana’s interests by taking the decision to keep away from the war so long as Bhishma fights.             

Is there any wonder then if Duryodhana is shaken as he looks at both the sides as the war is about to start? He knows that wars are not won by skilled people, but by skilled people with commitment. A successful leader is he who is able to generate that commitment in people whether it is in the Mahabharata war, in any other war, or in a modern corporate house, a political party, an election, or whatever ‘battle’ it is. People contribute best to a cause when their heart in it.

Duryodhana knows he is a failure as a leader. His guide all his life has been Shakuni whereas the Pandavas have Krishna with them to give them strength and to show them their path. He also knows he does not have even the blessings of his own mother for this war in which she considers him on the side of adharma! She refuses to bless him as he goes to her seeking her blessings as he starts out.  As he bends and touches her feet, instead of the conventional vijayi bhava, be victorious, what she says is yato dharmah tato jayah – Victory will be where dharma is!  

O0O  

Rather than asking Duryodhana to shut up, Bhishma in a tactically brilliant act blows his powerful conch to stop Duryodhana’s babbling and to announce the war.  He has openly criticized Duryodhana all his life but does not want to do that again at this juncture and in front of all these people!

tasya sanjanayan harsham kuruvriddhah pitaamahah

simhanaadam vinadyocchaih shankham dadhmau prataapavaan // BG 1.12 //

Then Bhishma, the aged Kuru grandfather, roared like a lion and blew a powerful blast on his conch making Duryodhana’s heart leap with joy.

O0O

Thank you in advance for your comments and questions!

Mahabharata, Leadership and the Language of Power

Power has its own language. It speaks that language all the time, and it understands only that language.

There is a beautiful African folktale I love, about a lion and nine wild dogs.  The lion was old, his limbs weak, his muscles loose and he couldn’t hunt anymore. One day he was sitting just outside his cave when he saw a pack of nine dogs passing by. The lion raised his voiced and asked them, “Come, join me. I’ll let you hunt with me today.” The dogs knew the lion was too weak to hunt and was actually ordering them to do the hunting for him. They looked at each other. True the lion was old, but he was still a lion and they were afraid to say no.

The lion and the dogs hunted the whole morning. By noon they had killed ten deer. The dead deer was piled up in a heap and they sat around it. The lion paused dramatically and then raising his voice said, “Now there is a big problem before us. How do we divide the kill?”

The youngest of the dogs responded instantly, laughing, “What is the problem? There are ten of us and there are ten deer? We will each take one.”

Before the young dog could complete his sentence, the lion leapt up and gave him a resounding slap. ‘You idiot! Don’t talk nonsense! If you don’t know anything, just keep your mouth shut.”

The lion looked at the dogs one by one. None more dared to respond. When he found they were all silent, he said, “I get it now. It is quite easy really.  We You are nine dogs. You take one deer – then you become ten. I am a single lion – I will take the remaining nine deer. Then we too will become ten. That way we end up equal.”

This is how power sees things. This is how power speaks. Chit bhee meri, pat bhee meri, as we say in Hindi - heads I win, tails you lose.

I remember another story I had in my primary school text book, a story that exists in slightly varying forms all over the world, including the Jataka Tales and Aesop’s Fables.

Once a bone got struck in the throat of a wolf. Try all he could, he couldn’t get it out. Screaming in pain, his eyes wide with the fear of death, he ran all over the forest. A stork saw him and taking pity on him, asked him to open his mouth. The stork gently put his head inside the mouth of the wolf and with his long beak pulled out the bone. The wolf gave a grunt of relief and walked off, without even a word of thanks to the stork. “Shouldn’t you at least thank me once?” asked the stork. “Who should thank whom?” howled the wolf. “You put your head inside my mouth and you are still alive. Shouldn’t you thank me for not biting your head off?”

Once again, the language of power. Arrogant power.  

These stories came to my mind when I read a small speech by Duryodhana in the Udyoga Parva of the Mahabharata.  A speech in the language of arrogant power.

The occasion is Krishna’s peace mission to the Kuru assembly in Hastinapura. Krishna has tried to make Dhritarashtra understand how he can rule as the unchallenged emperor of the whole earth united with the Pandavas and how disastrous a war between his sons and the Pandavas would be. He spoke to the old emperor of the need for restraining his wicked sons and their friends. The Mahabharata tells us that goosebumps appeared all over the assembled kings as they listened to Krishna’s wonderful speech but no one had the courage to utter a single word in response because Duryodhana was present and so great was the fear he inspired in them.

When no one else spoke for quite some time, first Sage Parashurama and then Rishi Kanva who were present in the assembly spoke addressing Duryodhana, encouraging him to opt for peace. Duryodhana’s response to the words of these wise men was to look at Karna and burst out in loud laughter at their words. He then slapped his thighs and told them their senseless speech was of no use, he was going to remain what God had made him.

Following Parashurama and Kanva, Bhishma and Narada spoke to Duryodhana advising him not to be obstinate and to agree for peace, but their words too had no effect on him. Dhritarashtra then confessed his helplessness to Krishna and asked him to directly speak to Duryodhana in the assembly, which Krishna did, asking Duryodhana to obey his father for the good of the whole world. He reminded Duryodhana how he had tormented the Pandavas “from their very birth” and in spite of that how they have always acted generously towards him. “Look at your sons, brothers, kinsmen and other relatives,” Krishna told him, “and let not the race of the Bharatas perish.” Krishna assured him that the Pandavas would make him the crown prince, Dhritarashtra the sovereign of the empire and asked him to give back to the Pandavas the half of the kingdom that belonged to them.

Following Krishna, Bhishma spoke to him again at some length, advising peace, and then Drona did the same. After that Vidura spoke and once again Dhritarashtra. Following Dhritarashtra, Bhishma and Drona spoke once again, all speaking of the need to avoid war and the advisability of peace, asking Duryodhana to give back to the Pandava’s their share of the kingdom taken away from them through the dice game.

It is then that Duryodhana gave the small speech we are going to take a look at. The speech is addressed to Krishna.

“Indeed, uttering such harsh words, you, without any reason, find fault with me alone,” said Duryodhana “But do you censure me, having surveyed the strength and weakness (of both sides)?  Indeed, yourself and Vidura, the king, Guru Drona, and the Grandsire, all reproach me alone and not any other monarch. I, however, do not find the least fault in myself. Yet all of you, including the (old) king himself, hate me. O repressor of foes, I do not, even after reflection, see any grave fault in me, or even any minute fault.” [KMG translation. English modernised for ease of reading.]

Duryodhana is deaf to all that so many have said in the assembly because he does not understand their language – the language of love, of kindness, of consideration for others, of generosity, of empathy, the language that all leaders of men should know. He understands only one language – the language of power. For him love is a weakness, kindness is a weakness, thinking of the good of others is a weakness.

I remember one of the top industrial houses of the country asking me to give a speech in an open auditorium. My speech was about the need to keep the good of others too in mind while taking decisions, the need for flexibility in decision making and so on. I was later told that the previous speaker had spoken of selfishness as the ultimate virtue. Krishna wouldn’t have agreed, but Duryodhana would have agreed completely.

After complaining that everyone is criticising him alone, the first thing he does is to ask if Krishna is speaking after assessing the strengths and weaknesses of both sides! For Duryodhana to be strong is to be right, to be weak is to be wrong. Might is right – that is the language of power. If the combined power of Bhishma, Drona, Karna, Ashwatthama, Dusshasana, Jayadratha, himself and their armies can defeat the Pandavas and their army, then there is no need for him to show any generosity to the Pandavas. Then there is no need to give them back their kingdom which he has snatched away from them through treachery. But, if on the other hand, the Pandavas are stronger than him, then he would perhaps be willing to think of it.

Indian leadership philosophy says that kingship is a social contract – the same thing that Rousseau said after several millennia. The Mahabharata says that at one time the world was ruled by matsya nyaya – fish eat fish philosophy, the larger and the stronger eating the smaller and the weaker. And because of this there was complete anarchy and chaos all over the world. No one knew peace – the only way to survive was to be stronger than everyone else. The whole earth became filled with strife, life became a constant battle with rivals. And then some wise people joined together and decided that they would appoint one of them capable of protecting all the others as their leader, the king, and in turn for his protection, give him a share of all they owned. This is how kingship came into being. And now Duryodhana is asking Krishna if he had assessed the strengths and weaknesses of both sides before he suggested peace with the Pandavas.

Krishna’s entire life was a battle – a long battle against the philosophy that might is right, that whatever the might ones did was right, that they had the right to exploit all who were weaker than them.  Krishna wanted to establish a world where dharma – the common good, lokasangraha – would be supreme, where might will not necessarily be right.  Yes, even Krishna agreed with the Mahabharata statement balam dharmo’nuvartate – dharma follows strength, dharma walks in the footsteps of strength. But to Krishna it meant that to practice dharma you had to be strong, and not that whatever the strong did was dharma. Duryodhana right from his birth believed that whatever the strong did was right, if you are strong you can do whatever you want. Krishna’s life mission was to destroy all men in positions of power who practised this philosophy – Shishupala, Raja Saubha, Kashi Raja, Kala Yavana, Paundraka Vasudeva, Naraka Asura were all killed by Krishna because they believed in matsya nyaya. He had Jarasandha killed by Bhima because he too stood for arrogant power that considered might is right – the emperor had already defeated eighty-seven kings and thrown them into dungeons and was waiting for the number to be full one hundred so that he can kill them en masse in a ritual human sacrifice in a show of his imperial power.  Krishna was sure that matya nyaya would lead humanity to its end and the only way humanity can survive was through yajna – actions performed for the common good, for the good of others, leaders living their lives in the service of others, by treating leadership as a kind of spirituality as ancient India envisioned, speaking of which India repeatedly said that if a king served his people well he need not do any yajna, yaga, homa, medha or other sacrifices because by serving his subjects he has achieved the results of all these.  

Duryodhana now tells Krishna that he does not find any fault with himself – he does not find any major fault with himself, he does not find any minor fault with himself, however much he reflects on himself. Let me quote here his exact words once again: “I, however, do not find the least fault in myself. Yet all of you, including the (old) king himself, hate me. O repressor of foes, I do not, even after reflection, see any grave fault in me, or even any minute fault.”  

Power makes you blind to the truth. Particularly to the truth of yourself.

Duryodhana does not find any fault in himself, neither grave nor minute, even after thorough reflection.

This is said by the man who as a child [according to Krishna in his shaishava period, which would mean early childhood] poisoned Bhima and then tied his hands and legs with forest vines and threw him into the Ganga in Pramanakoti. This is said by the man who had tried numerous other times to kill all the Pandavas through poisoning and through all other means available to him speaking. This is said by the man who had tricked the Pandavas and their mother to go to Varanavata and stay in a house he had had specially built for them mixing hemp, resin, lac, clarified butter and other inflammable substances with wood and other the construction material with the intention of burning them all to their death there. This is said by the man who had bribed his citizens and their elders so that they would keep quiet about his wicked actions. This is said by the man who so terrified even his vassal kings that even though they had goosebumbs listening to the words of Krishna in the assembly they were not able to utter a word in response to it because of the fear of Duryodhana – despite there being present in the assembly such men as Duryodhana’s father Dhritarashtra himself and Sage Parashurama, Sage Kanva, Narada, Bhishma, Drona and so on, all of whom approved of what Krishna said,. This is said by the man who later, just because he was jealous of Yudhishthira’s success and wealth, invited him for a deceitful dice game and through it snatched away his kingdom and all his wealth. This is said by the man who presided over what is perhaps the most humiliating thing done to a woman in all of Indian lore – the magnificent Draupadi, the queen of Indraprastha, brought to the assembly dragged by her hair from where she was resting in the inner apartments wearing a single piece of cloth as custom demanded of women in those days during their monthly period. This is said by the man who slapped his left thigh and asked that Draupadi to come and sit on it like you would ask a common whore; by the man who presided over the attempt to publicly disrobe that Draupadi in the assembly in the presence of their husbands, brothers-in-law, father-in-law, other Kuru elders and numerous invited kings from all over the land.

Duryodhana does not see any fault in himself, grave or small, even after reflection.

The Ishavasya Upanishad rishi in a thrilling voice cries out: hiranmayena patrena satyasya apihitam mukham; tatvam pooshan apavrinu, satyadharmaya drishtaye – the face of Truth is hidden by a golden disk of light; oh Lord of the Sun, remove it so that I may see with my inner eyes truth and dharma. In Duryodhana’s case too both truth and dharma are hidden – not by a disk of light, but by the pitch darkness of power.

Duryodhana does not see anything wrong with the dice game. Duryodhana ignores completely what was done to Draupadi in the dice hall – as though it is not even worthy of being mentioned, it is such an insignificant thing done to a woman who had been won in the dice game and had become his slave. As for the rest of the game, he asks Krishna: “In the game at dice, O slayer of Madhu, that was joyfully accepted by them, the Pandavas were vanquished and their kingdom was won by Sakuni. What blame can be mine as regards that? On the other hand, O slayer of Madhu, the wealth that was won from the Pandavas then, was ordered by me, to be returned unto them. It cannot, again, O foremost of victors, be any fault of ours that the invincible Pandavas, were defeated once again at dice and had to go to the woods. Imputing what fault to us, do they regard us as their enemies?” [KMG trans.]

It was Dhritarashtra, shaken thoroughly and trembling like a leaf in a storm by the inauspicious omens that were seen and heard towards the end of the attempt to disrobe Draupadi as she prayed to Krishna and was saved by him, who had ordered the return of the Pandava kingdom and wealth to them. The blind old king cowered before Draupadi’s spiritual might and terrified that she can wipe out the Kurus, ordered everything to be returned to the Pandavas. That is how the epic describes it, but Duryodhana sees it all very differently. For him it was he who had returned it to them and he implies by his tone though he does not expressly say it, that it was an act of generosity on his part. “On the other hand, O slayer of Madhu,” he asks as though he does not comprehend it at all, “the wealth that was won from the Pandavas then, was ordered by me, to be returned unto them.”

There is an expression in Hindi – doodh ka dhula, meaning totally pure and innocent, without a touch of stain. That is what Duryodhana claims himself to be.

Duryodhana continues: “And, O Krishna, though (really) weak, why do the Pandavas yet so cheerfully seek a quarrel with us, as if they were strong? What have we done to them? For what injury (done to them) do the sons of Pandu, along with the Srinjayas, seek to slaughter the sons of Dhritarashtra? We shall not in consequence of any fierce deed, or (alarming) word (of theirs), bow down to them in fear, deprived of our senses. We cannot bow down to Indra himself, let alone the sons of Pandu.” [KMG trans.]

Duryodhana’s power speaks again, in the language that power speaks in: Though really weak, why are the Pandavas quarrelling with them, as if they were strong, he asks. No, he and his brothers are not going to bow down to them in fear. Why speak of bowing down to the sons of Pandu, they cannot bow down to the lord of the Gods himself.”

Duryodhana sees giving back to the Pandavas what is rightfully theirs only in one light: as an act of cowardice. Giving them back what is theirs will be an act of fear. And he and his brothers are not afraid of any earthly power. Why, they are not afraid of any divine power either. If Indra himself comes before them, they will not bow down to him.

It is not wonder that he speaks thus. Power has made him totally blind. In the royal assembly he constantly ridicules and humiliates Grandfather Bhishma, Guru Drona, and sages like Parashurama, Kanva, Narada and so on. As for Vidura, his uncle, he treats him as though he were his servant. The only person whom he does not generally humiliate in public is his father. He does that in private, when he is with his friend Karna, brother Dusshasana and uncle Shakuni. He does not humiliate him publicly because he occupies the throne, wields power – the only thing Duryodhana respects.

What he has learned from his education is that a kshatriya should not bow down before anyone, except before a brahmana, that too for the sake of piety. A kshatriya can break but not bend, says he.

 He forgets there are innumerable other things before which we should all bow down, whoever we are – truth, goodness, kindness, compassion, love...

Finally, he concludes his response to all who had spoken to him of conciliation, peace. “That share in the kingdom which was formerly given them by my father shall never again, O Kesava, be obtainable by them as long as I live... as long as I live, even that much of our land which may be covered by the point of a sharp needle shall not, O Madhava, be given by us unto the Pandavas.’”

0o0

That is how power sees things. That is how power speaks. Arrogant power. Brute power. Power devoid of wisdom.

 A bird flies on two wings, not on one. Even so a king needs both power and wisdom. But all Duryodhana has is power.

The only language arrogant power understands is the language of power. Krishna concludes his failed peace mission to Hastinapura by speaking to Duryodhana in the language of power and showing him what real power is. “You wish for the bed of heroes? Indeed, you shall have it, along with your counsellors. Wait for a short while, and the great slaughter will start,” Krishna assures him.  One by one Krishna lists in the assembly Duryodhana’s evil deeds beginning with the Pramanakoti incident. And subsequently, before leaving, Krishna shows him and the assembly his cosmic form, his vishwaroopa, with a thousand arms and a thousand legs, with a million faces, each more terrifying than the other, the same vishwaroopa he later shows Arjuna in Kurukshetra before the war begins, on his request, seeing which the great warrior trembles in dread again and again, and falls at his feet repeatedly and requests him to come back to his original gentle form.

I wish Duryodhana had understood at least that. But he fails to understand even that language and India plunges into aeons of darkness.

0o0     

Mahabharata: Leadership, Integrity and Courage

There is no integrity without courage. And there is no leadership without integrity.

Hearing that the Pandavas have lost their kingdom and everything else they possessed and are now living in the forest, Krishna rushes to the jungle to meet them there,along with several other Vrishnis. Apart from Krishna and the Vrishnis, several Bhoja, Andhaka, Chedi and Panchala leaders, including Draupadi’s brother Dhrishtadyumna also reach there. Addressing the Pandavas in that anger and sorrow filled atmosphere, Krishna speaks these fiery words: “The earth shall drink the blood of Duryodhana, Karna, Dusshasana and the wicked Shakuni! Slaying them and their followers and royal allies in battle, we shall install Yudhishthira the just on the throne! The wicked deserve to be slain! Verily, this is eternal dharma.”

As at all other times in his life, Krishna has no confusion about what his dharma is and what he should do. And he has no fear in speaking out his mind. He is a man who has never known fear – certainly not the kind of fear that numbs a man into inactivity, silences his words and forces him into meek submission.

The Mahabharata tells us that as he spoke these words, Krishna got into such a rage that it looked like he would consume the whole earth in the fire of his anger and Arjuna had to pacify him. But it was not to pacify Krishna that the fire-born Draupadi wanted. Shivering in humiliation and anger, she spoke to the only man she called her friend. “O Krishna,” she said,“ how could one like me, the wife of Kunti’s sons, the sister of Dhrishtadyumna, and your friend, be dragged to the assembly! Alas, during my monthly period, stained with blood, with but a single cloth on, trembling all over, and weeping, I was dragged to the court of the Kurus! Beholding me, stained with blood in the presence of those kings in the assembly, the wicked sons of Dhritarashtra laughed at me! O slayer of Madhu, while the sons of Pandu and the Panchalas and the Vrishnis lived, they dared express the desire of using me as their slave! Oh, fie on the might of Bhimasena! Fie on the Gandiva of Arjuna! For, O Janardana, they both suffered me to be thus disgraced by small men!”

Draupadi then in a long speech recounts one by one all the dark deeds of Duryodhana and his men against the Pandavas, beginning with the attempt to poison Bhima while they were still children. As she wailed aloud recalling her grief before Krishna, the epic tells us, Panchali’s “tears washed her large, graceful breasts crowned with auspicious marks.” Wiping her eyes and sighing frequently she concludes angrily in a choked voice, 'Husbands, or sons, or friends, or brothers, or father, have I none! Nor have I thee, O thou slayer of Madhu, [na eva me patayah santi na putraa madhusuudana; na bhraataro na ca pitaa na eva tvam na ca baandhavaah] for ye all, beholding me treated so cruelly by inferior foes, sit still unmoved! My grief at Karna's ridicule is incapable of being assuaged! I deserve to be protected by you, Krishna, for four reasons: we are related, you respect me, we are friends and you have the power to.”

When she stops, Krishna speaks, promising vengeance and justice to her. “Fair Draupadi,” he says, “the wives of those with whom you are angry shall weep even as you do, beholding their husbands dead on the ground, weltering in blood and their bodies covered with the arrows of Arjuna! Weep not, Draupadi! I promise you: you shall be a queen once again! The heavens might fall, the Himalayas might split, the earth might be rent, the waters of the ocean might dry up, but my words shall never be futile!”

Having spoken these words and pacified his friend Draupadi, Krishna explains to the Pandavas and their friends and relatives assembled there why he failed to save Draupadi and them in their moment of humiliation.

Addressing Yudhishthira, he says: “O lord of earth, if I had been present at Dwaraka, then, this evil would not have befallen thee! And coming to the gambling-match, even if uninvited by Dhritarashtra or Duryodhana, or by the other Kauravas, I would have prevented the game from taking place. I would have done this by showing its many evils, summoning to my aid Bhishma and Drona and Kripa and Bahlika! And, O foremost of kings, if he had rejected my gentle counsels offered as medicine, then I would have compelled him by force! And, if those who wait at his court, professing to be his friends but are in reality his foes, had supported him, then I would have slain them all, along with those gamblers, there present! It is owing to my absence from the Anartta country at that time, O Yudhishthira, that you fell into such distress begotten by dice! O you best of Kurus, O son of Pandu, on arriving at Dwaraka I learnt from Yuyudhana all about your calamity! And, O foremost of kings, directly on hearing it, I came here with a heart sorely agitated by grief to see you and your brothers!”

[Later answering the question why he was away from Dwaraka, Krishna explains he was busy fighting a battle with the king of Saubha and that is what prevented him from helping them in time.]

So this is what Krishna says: The dice game was evil. Had he known about the dice game, he would have come to Hastinapura – uninvited, if necessary. And he would have pleaded with Dhritarashtra, the king, to stop it. He would have taken the help of Bhishma, Drona, Kripa and Bahlika to plead to Dhritarashtra. And if Dhritarashtra hadn’t listened to him, he would have used force. If it came to that, he would have killed everyone who stood in his way.

Krishna’s words are bold and fearless. There is no equivocation here, no hesitation, no ambiguity. Evil has to be stopped and if force, if violence, has to be used for stopping evil, he would do that.

The ancient Indian ideal, represented by the Vedic Indra [not the Pauranic Indra] is active resistance to evil. Krishna is a reincarnation of that ideal. Try peaceful means, risk your very life for achieving justice through peaceful means, and nothing else works, take up weapons to destroy evil.

Krishna shows here the highest ideals in integrity and courage as a leader of men. And it is this courage and integrity that makes him a true leader. And I have not the least doubt: Krishna would have acted exactly as he spoke. He would have gone there and negotiated with Dhritarashtra and his sons. And if they hadn’t listened to them, he would have taken up weapons and finished them all off. We are talking not only of the greatest leader of the time, but also of the greatest warrior of the age: None, not Bhishma, not Drona, not Arjuna, not Karna was an equal to Krishna in battle – a fact that we often overlook.

Speaking of leadership, contemporary author DM Wolfe says in his Six Dimensions of Leadership that one of the hallmarks of great leadership is great courage and integrity, a statement that all modern leadership studies agree with. Without courage and integrity, no leadership is possible.

0o0

Now let’s take a look at what actually happened in the royal hall of Hastinapura where the dice game took place and where Draupadi was humiliated as no women in Indian culture has been before or since.

The dice hall of the Mahabharata. The dice game between the Pandavas and the Kauravas is about to begin. While on the Pandava side Yudhishthira himself is playing, on the other side it is Duryodhana’s uncle Shakuni that plays for him. The Mahabharata tells us repeatedly that it is a deceitful game that is being played – it is not however clear whether the game of dice itself is deceitful or the way this game is being played is deceitful. There is also the possibility that what is wrong is an expert like Shakuni playing against a novice like Yudhishthira – as in battles, in dice too the times expected you to play with your equals. The Mahabharata suggests all three possibilities. Besides, the epic gives no details of how exactly the game was played – all we know is that Yudhishthira stakes his possessions one after the other and every time Shakuni takes up the dices in hand and then cries out, “Jitam.” Just that one word jitam, meaning ‘Won!’

tato jagraaha zakunis taan akSaan akSatattvavit
jitam ity eva zakuni yudhiSThiram abhaaSata

Then [after Yudhishthira had made the stakes] Shakuni, skilled in dice, picked up the dices [and then] told Yudhishthira, “Won!”

The first stake of Yudhishthira is an excellent wealth of pearls of great value, procured from the ocean by churning it (of old), so beautiful and decked with pure gold. He loses it. Then he stakes several jars each full of a thousand Nishkas, inexhaustible gold, and much silver and other minerals and loses them. The next stake is his chariot, which he says is equal to a thousand chariots. He loses that too. After that he stakes and loses one after the other a hundred thousand serving-girls; thousands of serving men; one thousand musty elephants with golden girdles, decked with ornaments; one thousand chariots, along with their drivers and warriors attached to each, a large number of chosen horses, ten thousand chariots and carts drawn by draught animals; sixty-thousand chosen warriors; then four hundred jewels of great value.

Yudhishthira is now like one possessed – and such indeed is the dice game. He is wagering one by one everything he has like a mad man. A great disaster is unfolding in the hall. Dhritarashtra of course approves of what is going on. He is in fact delighted at it. Since he cannot see by himself, he keeps asking, “Have I won it? Have I won it?” But Bhishma is watching it. So are Drona and Kripa, Ashwatthama and Bahlika and the large number of assembled kings and princes. All of them disapprove of it, but no one shows the courage to speak out against it.

In the entire Kaurava assembly, there is only one person who shows integrity and the courage to speak against it. No, it is not grandsire Bhishma, it is not guru Drona or Kripa, it is not Aswatthama, it is not Bahlika, it is certainly not Dhritarashtra who is supposed to have the interests of his younger brother’s children in his heart. It is none of the assembled kings. It is Vidura. But no one supports him and Duryodhana shouts at him and silences him.

The game continues. Shakuni asks Yudhishthira if there is anything else left with him. This is what Yudhishthira says, “O Shakuni, I know that I have untold wealth. But why is it that you ask me of my wealth? Let tens of thousands and millions and millions and tens of millions and hundreds of millions and tens of billions and hundreds of billions and trillions and tens of trillions and hundreds of trillions and tens of quadrillions and hundreds of quadrillions and even more wealth be staked by thee. I have as much. With that wealth, O king, I will play with thee."

This is not a sane man speaking. He has obviously lost all self-mastery over himself. He has lost touch with reality.

The next moment we hear Shakuni announcing, “Won!”

Yudhishthira then stakes “immeasurable kine and horses and milch cows with calves and goats and sheep” and loses them. Then he wagers his city, his country, the land and the wealth of all dwelling therein except of the Brahmanas. Next comes the turn of the ornaments his brothers are wearing. And then it is his brothers themselves. First Nakula, then Sahadeva, then Arjuna, and then Bhima. And finally, he stakes himself.

Then the unbelievable happens. Yudhishthira does what not even a common street gambler does. He wagers his wife, his queen, the proud Draupadi, whose praises he sings in ecstatic words before he stakes her.

Of course she too is lost. For the first time the assembly speaks. “Shame, shame!” they cry out in horror.

Duryodhana commands Vidura to go to the women’s apartments whether Draupadi is and bring her to the assembly – she is now his slave, he announces. Vidura does not move from his place. He shows the courage to openly defy Duryodhana’s power. Not only does he defy Duryodhana’s order, he shouts at Duryodhana, calling him a wretch who is behaving like a dog. This at a moment that Duryodhana considers the moment of his greatest victory. And publicly in Duryodhana’s own assembly, amidst his friends who are intoxicated with their evil victory.

But he is the only one who shows the courage to do so. Bhishma sits perspiring but silent, Drona sits perspiring but silent, and so do all the other elders. Not one of them shows the courage to speak up in the presence of the power-intoxicated Duryodhana.

There is nothing that Duryodhana can do against the fearless Vidura. He turns to an attendant, the pratikamin, to go and fetch Draupadi. Draupadi refuses to come and instead, asks Yudhishthira a question through the pratikamin: “Did he stake her after he lost himself or before that? Implying, if it was after he had lost himself, then he had no right to do so and she was not a slave.

The pratikamin comes back and asks the question. Duryodhana commands him to go back and tell her to come to the assembly and ask her question herself. Again Draupadi refuses to come. Instead, she asks the pratikamin to go back to the assembly and put the question to the elders in the assembly.

Not one of the elders in the assembly has one word to say in response to Draupadi’s question. Duryodhana commands the pratikamin to go back a third time and bring Draupadi to assembly. Instead of obeying him, the pratikamin turns to the assembly and asks Draupadi’s question again.

Such is the horror unfolding in the assembly that even an ordinary officer of the court gathers the courage to defy Duryodhana. True, it is partly also because he does not have the courage to face Draupadi a third time. But he does defy Duryodhana before whom he has no power.

But none of the powerful kshatriyas present in the assembly has the courage to speak up for Draupadi! Not even Bhishma and Drona!

Now Duryodhana sends his brother Dusshasana to bring Draupadi by force to the assembly. She begs Dusshasana to let her go, she is having her monthly period and according to custom wearing a single piece of cloth, she is not in a position to come before into the assembly. Dusshasana does not relent. Seeing that Draupadi turns around and runs towards where the Kuru women are. Dusshasana now catches hold of her by her hair and drags her into the assembly. Part of the cloth she is wearing slips away from her in their struggle and in that condition she is dragged all the way from her apartment to the dice hall.

A weeping, wailing, shaking Draupadi, with part of her cloth slipped away from her, is brought into the assembly in the dice hall. Dusshasana calls her a slave and Duryodhana, Karna and Shakuni applaud him. But still none present in the assembly has the courage to speak a word against Duryodhana or the evil that is unfolding before their eyes. Not one of them takes a step to put an end to the shameful horror.

Draupadi again asks her question: is she a slave or not? Now Bhishma speaks for the first time. This is what he says: “O blessed one, morality is subtle. I am therefore unable to duly decide this point that thou hast put, beholding that on the one hand one that hath no wealth cannot stake the wealth belonging to others, while on the other hand wives are always under the orders and at the disposal of their lords.”

Bhishma is right. He knows with certainly that Draupadi has now become enslaved to Duryodhana. In fact, Yudhishthira did not even have to wager her. She had become Duryodhana’s slave the moment Yudhishthira became Duryodhana’s slave. By the rules of the day in India, as over practically the entire world, a wife was a husband’s property and when he became a slave, she too became a slave. Besides, a slave had no property rights and whatever was his, belonged to his master, including his wife and children. In not directly saying Draupadi was not a slave, in equivocating, Bhishma was actually being kind to Draupadi.

But that was not the issue. The real issue was not whether Draupadi was technically a slave or not. The issue was what was happening in the Kaurava assembly. The issue was of a woman being publicly humiliated in an assembly as kshatriyas, whoever she was. And the kshatriya code all over the world said a woman begging for protection deserved to be protected even at the risk of one’s own life. It was this basic kshatriya code that everyone in the assembly failed to live up to. And in this case, that woman was the eldest daughter-in-law of the house, a princess by birth, a queen sanctified by the rajasooya sacrifice, a woman who had committed no crime, no sin.

Why did Bhishma fail to see this truth? Why did Drona, Kripa, Ashwtthama, Bahlika and others fail to see the truth?

And why did the Pandava brothers themselves fail to see this truth? True, they had become slaves. But aren’t there things even a slave can, and should, protest against? Couldn’t the slave Arjuna’s Gandiva still have spelled terror for the wicked? Couldn’t the slave Bhima’s muscles still have terrified the wicked?

Becoming a slave is one thing. Accepting slavery is another thing. There are slaves who meekly submit to slavery. And there are slaves who fight for justice even in slavery, who stand with their heads held high even in slavery.

I see this as a sign of the disease that had infected the entire kshatriya class of the day. Rather than standing up for justice, they had learnt to bend their knees before insolent might.

There is a beautiful prayer by Rabindranath Tagore that I love. A line in the prayer says: “Give me the strength never to . . . bend my knees before insolent might.”

What was on display for all to see was insolent might. Pure and shameless insolent might. And the kshatriyas there bent their knees before it.

There is a popular belief that both Krishna and Draupadi were born to destroy the kshatriya race of the day. If it is true, it should be because this is what had become of the kshatriyas of the day. Kshatriyas are meant to be leaders of men and leaders of men require courage and integrity. And the men in that assembly lacked courage and integrity.

Imagine Krishna being present in that assembly. What would he have done? Would he have sat there silently like Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Bahlika and other elders, perspiring and helpless? Or would he have invoked his Sudarshana?

Krishna himself answers the question in the Vana Parva of the epic when he meets the Pandavas and Draupadi in the jungle. If nothing else worked, he would have turned the assembly into a river of blood. He would have killed off every single person there who stood with evil.

Which is what makes Krishna the supreme leader of the age. He fought against the insolent might of Kamsa while he was still a boy. As an adult he would destroy adharma wherever he found it, be it in the mighty Jarasandha, in the powerful Kalayavana, in the cunning Paundraka Vasudeva, or anywhere else.

Leadership means integrity and courage to act. Without integrity and courage to act there can be no leadership.

The day these leaders of men failed to speak up for justice was one of the most shameful days for Hastinapura. Barring Vidura, and Vikarna who would later speak up, everyone else there proved not to be a leader.

Darker things would happen in the assembly on that day. But no leader would emerge in the dice hall. The men assembled there lacked the courage that a leader requires. And without courage, no other virtue is a virtue.

C.S. Lewis put it beautifully: “Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point.”

There was no virtue among the kshatriyas in the dice hall on that day because there was no courage.

0o0

From The Tao of Leadership by John Heider

Flexible or Rigid

At birth, a person is flexible and flowing. At death, a person becomes rigid and blocked. Consider the lives of plants and trees: during their time of greatest growth, they are relatively tender and pliant. But when they are full grown or begin to die, they become tough and brittle.

The tree which has grown up and become rigid is cut into lumber.

The rigid group leader may be able to lead repetitious and structural exercises but can’t cope with lively group process.

Whatever is flexible and flowing will tend to grow. Whatever is rigid and blocked will atrophy and die.

0O0

Devapi: Leadership, Power, Responsibility

The Brihad Devata tells us the story of Devapi. According to the story, Devapi was the elder son of emperor Rishishena. Shantanu, the Kuru-Bharata emperor of the Mahabharata fame and the father of Bhishma, was his younger brother. Devapi was brave, skilled, competent, learned, generous and filled with every imaginable quality desirable in a great leader of men. When Rishishena died, people wanted Devapi to become king. They loved him dearly and were sure he would make a great king. In fact, it appears that the people made him king – for the Brihad Devata tells us: rajyena chhandayamasuh prajaah svargam gate gurau , meaning, they crowned him king at the death of his father. The statement could, though, mean that they chose him for their king.

In ancient India, the traditional relation between even a hereditary king and his subjects was not that of an autocrat and his helpless victims. The people had a lot of say in the choice of the king. In the Ramayana we see Dasharatha calling for a meeting of all important citizens and seeking their approval for the appointment of Rama as the crown prince. The Mahabharata says: “The PEOPLE MAKE such a person their king who is liberal, who shares all objects of enjoyment with others, who is possessed of a mild disposition, who is of pure behaviour, and who will never abandon his subjects,” which suggests that the decision, at least in part, depended on the people. The Mahabharata also says that “That king who acts according to the counsels of a vicious and sinful minister becomes a destroyer of righteousness and deserves TO BE SLAIN BY HIS SUBJECTS WITH ALL HIS FAMILY.”

There is a possibility that later when Krishna was battling to establish dharma among the kings of India, he was trying the root out the autocratic tendencies that were spreading among the rulers like Kamsa, Jarasandha, Kalayavana and so on.

Though people chose him for their king, Devapi refused the position. He pointed out to them that he had a serious skin disease and for that reason he would not be able to show total commitment to his duties. He felt the kingdom should go to his younger brother Shantanu. He told his subjects: na rajyam aham arhami, nripatir vo’stu shantanuh – “I do not deserve the kingdom; let Shantanu be your king.”

When Devapi thus refused kingship and stuck to his refusal, the people made Shantanu their king.

Was Devapi unfit to be king according to the ancient Indian tradition? Is that the reason why he refused the crown? It appears no. His refusal to accept the position was really on ethical grounds and not because the tradition said so. It was a voluntary decision on his part to step down – perhaps he felt that because of his severe skin condition, he may not be able to devote as much time and energy to his job as it deserves. He saw kingship as a responsibility and not as a source of power or privilege. And, besides, Shantanu had every quality that would make for a great king.

The Brihad Devata story itself tells that he was not disqualified by the tradition. In fact, the story tells us that after Shantanu became king, for several years no rains came to the kingdom, though Shantanu was a virtuous ruler and ruled competently, spending all his energy for the good of his people. Kings and people alike in those days believed that if something wrong happened in a kingdom, it was the king who was responsible. If the king was virtuous, nothing could wrong – there would be no deceases in the kingdom, no untimely deaths, the harvests shall not fail, seasons would not err, there would be no crime and so on. Shantanu was sure he must have done something wrong, though he had no idea what it could be, in spite of all his reflection on the matter. He could not recall a single occasion when he had taken a wrong step, not even in words or thoughts. How could the rains have failed then? He consulted the wise men of the kingdom and they told him he had indeed committed a grave sin: he had sat on the throne while his elder brother was alive and in every way qualified.

Shantanu asked the wise man what he could do now to rectify things. And they told him he should give the kingdom back to his elder brother.

Shantanu had no problem with this. He was not greedy for power or position. The years he had ruled hadn’t gone to his head. Power hadn’t corrupted him. And to him too, as the noble kshatriya code he lived by taught him, leadership was not a privilege, leadership was not a power game, but a responsibility. A leader lived not for himself, but for his people.

Shantanu happily agreed to step down if that would be good for the kingdom and people. His only interest was the good of the people.

The Indian tradition considers that a man has five mothers: svamata, patnimata, bhratripatni, gurupatni, rajapatni – one’s own mother, one’s wife’s mother, one’s [elder] brother’s wife, one’s guru’s wife and the king’s wife. The king’s wife was considered a mother because the king was considered one’s father. And that precisely was the attitude of the king to his people – that of a father to his children. It is said about Rama, who in many ways set the highest standards for public leadership in India, that he invariably enquired “about the well-being of the citizens, as well as their children, wives, sacrifices, servants and students, as if they were his own relatives, as a father would about his own sons” every time he came back to Ayodhya after being away from there. “When people are in difficulty he becomes sorely distressed and he delights in all their celebrations as if he were their father,” says the Ramayana about him.

To Shantanu, his people were his children and their interest was his greatest interest.

Devapi had been living in the jungles near Hastinapura ever since he left the crown. He had been devoting all his time to meditation and other religious practices. Shantanu went to his elder brother, accompanied by his ministers and men of learning and wisdom who served the kingdom. The king placed his crown at the feet of his elder brother and begged him to take over.

Devapi’s decision to abandon the crown was not a rash decision, taken in a moment of sentimentality. He truly believed that because of his disease he will not be able to do full justice to the job and the kingdom and the people deserved a king who will devote all his time and energy to their welfare. And that is what Devapi told Shantanu, the ministers and the brahmanas. He told them: na rajyam arhami, tvagroga-upahatah - “I am not fit to sit on the throne, because of this terrible skin disease that is killing me.”

Shantanu could not agree with his elder brother. “The very elements want you to be king,” he told Devapi. “They cry out for you. The earth and the skies cry out for you. That is why the rains do not come. All your subjects cry out to you too. You have no choice but to listen to them.”

According to the Indian tradition, the greatest leader is one whom the very elements cry out for, whom Earth itself seeks as her ruler. The Ramayana tells us that Rama was such a leader. Dasharatha had suggested to his people that they should now have Rama as the crown prince. When the people agreed delightedly, he asked them why they wanted Rama as the crown prince. One of the several reasons given by them was that “the Earth desired him as her Lord.”

Devapi had no doubts he had taken the right decision. And yet the rains had failed. The people for whose sake he had given up the crown was now suffering. He closed his eyes and meditated upon the matter. And then he said, “The solution is that a yajna be performed to please the elements.”

Devapi does the Vedic sacrifice and everything ends wonderfully for all.

Perhaps the gods are appeased by the knowledge that Shantanu has no power hunger and it is not because of hunger for power that he sat on the throne on which his elder brother should sit.

0o0

It is a beautiful story that illustrates ancient Indian ethos in leadership. India said repeatedly and categorically: leadership is not a privilege, it is a responsibility. A responsibility that requires total commitment. In much later days, in the fourth century BC, Chanakya would say that the king need not perform any other religious ritual than performing his duty to his people with total commitment. That was his yajna, and that was enough.

Devapi gives up position because he will not be able to perform the duties involved with total commitment. But two generations later, we have Dhritarashtra whose story tells us what happens when leaders take power as a privilege rather than as a responsibility. He too had a disability, but in his case it was not his decision to give up power. Perhaps he did not have the magnanimity to do it. Instead he had to be told by others that he was not fit to sit on the throne, because he was blind and a blind king cannot fulfil his duties to his people effectively. There is no reason to believe that Dhritarashtra was happy about this. And the moment he gets an opportunity later, he takes over power. He not only takes over power, but he wants it to go to his son after him, even though he is not fit to rule on ethical grounds. The whole tragedy of the Mahabharata happens because he refuses to part with power and hand it over to someone who can do full justice to it.

Interestingly, in a too late attempt to persuade his son Duryodhana to part with power evilly acquired, Dhritarashtra himself tells him the story of Devapi. And the story he tells is very different from the story the Brihad Devata tells us. In his version of the story, found in the Mahabharata, what happens to Devapi is what happened to him. Like him, Devapi too was deprived of power by others.

Here is Dhritarashtra’s version of the story, in Ganguli’s translation. In this story, the father of Shantanu and Devapi is Pratipa, which could have been another name for Rishishena.

“Even the eldest son may be passed over and deprived of the kingdom, and younger sons may, in consequence of their respectful behaviour to the aged, obtain the kingdom. So also, conversant with every virtue there was my father’s grandfather, king Pratipa, who was celebrated over the three worlds. Unto him, were born three sons, Of them, Devapi was the eldest, Bahlika the next and Santanu of great intelligence, who was my grandfather, was the youngest. Devapi, endued with great energy, was virtuous, truthful in speech, and ever engaged in waiting upon his father.

“But that best of kings had a skin-disease. Popular with both the citizens and the subjects of the provinces, respected by the good, and dearly loved by the young and the old, Devapi was liberal, firmly adhering to truth, engaged in the good of all creatures, and obedient to the instructions of his father as also of the Brahmanas. He was dearly loved by his brother Bahlika as also the high-souled Shantanu. Great, indeed, was the brotherly love that prevailed between him and his high-souled brothers.

“In course of time, the old and best of kings, Pratipa, caused all preparations to be made according to the scriptures for the installation of Devapi (on the throne). Indeed, the lord Pratipa caused every auspicious preparation. The installation of Devapi, however, was forbidden by the Brahmanas and all aged persons amongst the citizens and the inhabitants of the provinces. Hearing that the installation of his son was forbidden, the voice of the old king became choked with tears and he began to grieve for his son.

“Thus, though Devapi was liberal, virtuous, devoted to truth, and loved by the subjects, yet in consequence of his skin-disease, he was excluded from his inheritance. The gods do not approve of a king that is defective of a limb. Thinking of this, those bulls among Brahmanas forbade king Pratipa to install his eldest son. Devapi then, who was defective of one limb, beholding the king (his father) prevented (from installing him on the throne) and filled with sorrow on his account, retired into the woods. As regards Bahlika, abandoning his (paternal) kingdom he dwelt with his maternal uncle. Abandoning his father and brother, he obtained the highly wealthy kingdom of his maternal grandfather. With Bahlika’s permission, Shantanu of worldwide fame, on the death of his father (Pratipa), became king of Kuru Kingdom.”

0o0

One of the highest examples in leadership comes to us from the Ramayana. Bharata, though the kingdom was his according to a promise given by Dasharatha to his maternal grandfather at the time of Dasharatha’s marriage to Bharata’s mother Kaikeyi, refuses to accept it even when it is forced upon him by his mother, considering Rama the rightful and more competent ruler. Eventually he agrees to look after the kingdom on Rama’s behalf until he returns from forest after fourteen years. And Bharata, without enjoying any of the privileges that comes with power, rules the kingdom for fourteen years. It is said that Rama on his return found the kingdom nine times richer than when he had left it. Bharata was not an incompetent ruler by any standards!

The Indian perception of leadership as a responsibility rather than a privilege is an invaluable insight that the world filled with power greed desperately needs today. Corruption begins the moment a leader considers leadership as a privilege, and corruption ends when leaders treat leadership as a sacred responsibility. This lesson has great relevance in today’s political world. It has equal relevance in today’s business and industry too, where greed for power is unfortunately universal, causing great damage to the organizations as well as to the society and the nation at large.

Leadership Tales: The King Monkey

Ancient Indian leadership ethos say that living for his people is what makes one a great leader. Living for them, and if necessary, being ready to die for them.

Once upon a time there lived a large troop of monkeys in a forest. The leader of the troop was Mahakapi, a large monkey, strong and wise, and under his leadership the monkeys lived in great prosperity and security. The leader was well known for his love for his monkeys and care for them. He constantly thought of their welfare and how to safeguard them from dangers that might be waiting for them unawares.

The troop of monkeys had made a huge tree next to a towering mountain cliff their home. Beneath the tree that looked like another mighty mountain flowed a brook that that sang as it rushed downstream and, beyond the mountain and the forest, became a quiet river of crystal water.

As spring came, blossoms appeared on the mighty tree and soon the blossoms turned into young fruits. The whole forest was filled with the fragrance of the blossoms and as the monkeys breathed in the air scented with the perfume of fresh blossoms, it intoxicated them.

Soon the fruits were edible and the monkeys began to pluck them and eat them with relish. They were delicious even when they were green and how delicious they would be when they turned ripe! “What a wonderful feast this would make to my troop then,” thought Mahakapi, watching the monkeys eating the fruits.

He was sitting quietly and watching the monkeys enjoying themselves on a huge branch of the tree that hung over the river. They were jumping from one small branch to another, swinging from twigs, and doing all kind of things that monkeys loved to do. Some were leaping down into the river, some swimming back to climb back to the tree. Monkeys chased monkeys everywhere, shrieking in wild glee. Life was pleasant. Everything was wonderful.

And then a sudden thought flashed through the mind of the leader monkey. In a flash Mahakapi saw a terrifying picture. In the picture, hundreds of his monkeys were lying dead, bathed in blood. Dead bodies were floating in their dozens down the river. Terrorized monkeys were running everywhere, screaming in agony.

The future! The fruits on the branch overhanging the river were going to be the death of his troop! No, he couldn’t allow that.

There was deep concern in Mahakapi’s mind, but he was not one to show his worries to his followers. He knew any sign of the slightest fear in him would send rings of alarm through the whole troop and they would go crazy with terror. There is nothing that a troop of terror-stricken monkeys wouldn’t do. Monkeys are wild by nature and always it was only a thin line that separated them from insanity. Aggression was in their very nature. And in terror every monkey became concerned with only one thing: self-preservation. And once that urge took over, they could do anything, including tear one another apart.

In any case the danger was not immediate.

The leader asked his monkeys to eat up all the fruits on the overhanging branch. “Eat as many of them as you can. But make sure not one fruit falls into the brook. And destroy every remaining one, taking care again that none falls into the brook. A single fruit left on that branch could be our death. A single fruit falling into the stream could spell our death.”

The monkeys could make no sense of what he was saying. Destroy all these delicious fruits! And what would happen if a fruit fell into the river? How could it be their death?

But they trusted their leader. He had proved himself wiser than all of them put together. They knew he could see into the future, whereas they missed even what was happening before their eyes. And his love for them and commitment to their welfare were beyond questioning.

The monkeys ate from the branch as many of the fruits as they could. The remaining ones were destroyed as ordered by Mahakapi, taking care none fell into the brook.

Unknown to them, though, a single fruit escaped the destruction. It was hidden inside a nest of ants and the monkeys missed it. When it was tiny, ants had made a nest around it and protected by the nest, the fruit had grown inside it.

And then what the leader feared happened. Exactly as he had feared it would happen.

Over time, the fruit ripened and one day when a light wind blew it fell into the river.

0o0

Beyond the jungle began the outskirts of a city through the heart of which flowed the river. The little brook under the mighty tree in the jungle had become a river by the time it left the mountains and the jungles and reached the plains that made the city. The city was the capital of the kingdom that included the mountains and the forest and vast areas beyond them. The palace of the king was close to the river.

The king and the queens were bathing and sporting in the river when the fruit came floating down. Such was the fragrance of the fruit that it intoxicated the queens instantly. The queens left their sports and there was a race towards the fruit. One of them caught the fruit. She presented it to the king, who took it to the palace with him when their sports and bath were over and they went back.

The fruit was cut and the whole palace was filled with its mouthwatering scent. The king and the queens enjoyed the fruit and they felt the royal meals they had every day was no match to it. They had eaten nothing that tasted so good, nor smelt anything so wonderful. Where could the fruit have come from?

The king decided to go and find out. He was fond of adventures and this would be a new adventure. Such a divine fruit grew in his kingdom and he had no idea of it! No, that had to be rectified. He would locate the tree and when he found it, he was going to declare this fruit a national treasure. Such a wonderful fruit deserved to be a national treasure.

The king took a team of soldiers with him and began the exploration. Crossing the city bounds he entered the jungle and travelled for many days across the thick jungle inhabited by all kinds of wild animals. As he faced the challenges of the jungle and encountered its threats, the king felt he was growing younger. Perhaps the fruit was an omen – an omen of something wonderful going to happen to him. The king felt charged now. Lions, tigers, bears, wolves, nothing scared him anymore. Nor did the sharp thorns and thick vines of the impenetrable forest trouble him.

The river kept growing smaller and eventually became a brook as they began approaching the mountain.

The king smelt the tree long before he came to it. The whole area for miles was filled with the intoxication that was the fragrance of its fruits.

As the king came near, sounds of wild celebrations filled him and his team of soldiers.

And then they saw the tree. A huge tree, as tall as the mountain, its leaves dark green, dominating everything in the surroundings, excepting the mountain. In size and majesty it seemed to vie with the mountain. And the wonderful fruits hung everywhere on the tree – hundreds and hundreds of delicious fruits.

The noise came from the monkeys! There seemed to be a hundred of them on the tree. Maybe, several hundreds! They were swinging from the branches with their tails, chasing one antoher, shrieking and attacking one another in mock fury, only to retreat at the last moment.

Beneath the tree were fruits fallen from the tree. Ripe, golden fruits. Many of them whole and complete, others half eaten by the monkeys.

All on a sudden, a fury filled the king. Such wonderful fruits and monkeys were eating them. Not only eating them, spoiling them too. A national treasure – that is what the fruits were, and the monkeys seemed to have no regard for them. They were treating them like any other fruit.

“Shoot the monkeys down!” ordered the angry king. “Shoot them all down, every one of them!”

Arrows fled everywhere. The king’s soldiers were good. Their arrows never missed. Monkeys started falling down dead everywhere. Many on land, many in the river.

The vision Mahakapi had seen was unfolding before his eyes with terrifying reality. So suddenly that even he did not get time to save his monkeys.

Mahakapi looked around. Soldiers had surrounded the tree and there was no escape.

He had failed his people!

His entire troop was going to be wiped out!

It took a moment for him to make up his mind. A plan took shape in his mind. Then he leapt from the tall branch on which he was sitting. Leapt as no other monkey could leap.
And landed on a bunch of bamboos far away, beyond the clearing around the mighty tree.

There was no escape for the monkeys through the ground. Soldiers stood everywhere, shooting down every monkey in sight. But if they could reach the bamboo bush there was a chance that they might escape to the mountain beyond. The bamboo bush was beyond their reach, true, none of them could leap as far as that, but . . . if only . . .

With all his might, Mahakapi started swaying the bamboo on which he had landed. It was the tallest bamboo in the bush, taller than all others, and stood closest to the tree.

He wanted to make this bamboo a bridge between the fruit tree and the bamboo bush. But no! It was not long enough to reach the tree!

Mahakapi climbed to the tip of the bamboo, as far as he could climb, and began swaying the bamboo wildly. The soldiers noticed what was happening and puzzled, stopped shooting. The king too stood watching it all.

As the bamboo came near the tree, Mahakapi held on to it with his feet as tightly as he could and stretched out his arms. There! He had caught hold of a small branch of three. He shrieked his instructions to the other monkeys and they understood. The whole horde of them ran in his direction from wherever they were on the tree. A bridge had been formed. Part by the bamboo and part by Mahakapi’s body. Monkeys rushed across his body onto the bamboo and away.

Scores of monkeys! Hundreds of monkeys! All in breathless desperation to escape death.

And the bamboo was pulling him away from the tree as it tried to straighten up again.

Mahakapi felt his body being pulled apart. All his ligaments were breaking. And there was blood everywhere, caused by the sharp toenails of the monkeys as they ran across his body frantically.

The soldiers took aim at Mahakapi. Shoot him down and the escape route will be closed. That would be the death of the monkeys.

“Stop!” shouted the king. “Don’t shoot!”

The soldiers lowered their bows and loosened their grip on the bowstrings.

The king stood watching the miracle unfolding before him. He had never seen such a sight. The leader monkey was sacrificing his life to save his people! He held on tightly to the bamboo with his feet and to the fruit tree with his hands, while blood oozed from every part of his body. What a wonderful sight!

Sudden tears welled up in the eyes of the king. He too was a leader of his people. But would he have done what the monkey king was doing?

The king ordered the soldiers to hold a net under the king monkey. Then he ordered his men to cut down with arrows both the branch of the tree which Mahakapi was holding on to and the bamboo. “Cut down both in the same instant,” he ordered.

Mahakapi fell into the net unconscious.

When he came to, he was surrounded by the king and his solders. Other monkeys were watching them from the safety of the bamboos. The solders had applied balms to his broken body and slowly life was returning to him.

0o0

When Mahakapi recovered somewhat, the king asked him, “Why did you do it? Why did you risk your own life to save the other monkeys?”

“I am their leader,” answered Mahakapi. “Putreshu iva eteshu avabaddha-haardah.” “I am bound to them in my heart as though they are my own sons.”

“But it is the duty of the ministers and others to serve the king, and not the other way round. He is the master, not they. Isn’t that so?”

Adhipaartham amaatyaadi, na tadartham maheepatih.

Mahakapi’s answer to this is an important lesson to every leader at all times. He said: “That is what the science of politics ordinarily says. But that is not my way. I cannot do that.”

“As for me,” says Mahakapi, “even death in serving my people is a pleasure. They have served me all their life, and now when I serve them, I am doing no more than paying a debt back to them and becoming free of that debt [poorvopakaara-anrnataa].

“Yugyam balam jaanapadaan amaatyaan
Pauraan anaathaan shramanaan dvijaateen
Sarvaan sukhena prayateta yoktum
Hitaanukoolena piteva raajaa.”

“It is the duty of a king to work constantly to make his horses, army, citizens, ministers, common subjects, orphans, bhikshus, brahmanas, and all others happy as a father tries to make his children happy.”

0o0

This has been the Indian leadership ideal throughout time. The king looks upon his subjects as a father looks upon his children. The leader looks after his people as a father looks after his children. And does everything he can to protect them, to make their lives meaningful and happy. And, if it calls for that, sacrifices himself in the call of his duty.

Another role model Indian culture sets up before the leader is that of a pregnant woman. Just as she lives day and night for the baby in her womb, forgetting all her self-interests, so should a leader look after the interests of his people forgetting his own self-interests, says the Mahabharata, speaking of the leadership ideal.

Yatha hi garbhinee hitvaa svam priyam manaso’nugam
Garbhasya hitam aadhatte tathaa rajnaapyasamshayam
Vartitavyam kurushreshtha sadaa dharmaanuvartinaa
Svam priyam tu parityajya yat lokahitam bhavet.

It is for this reason that Chanakya says in the Arthashastra: “To a king, the religious vow is his readiness to action; satisfactory discharge of duties is his performance of sacrifice; equal attention to all is the offer of fees. In the happiness of his subjects lies his happiness; in their welfare his welfare; whatever pleases himself he shall not consider as good, but whatever pleases his subjects he shall consider as good.”

Performance of his duty to his people is the highest religion of a leader. He does not need any other religious practice.

The Indian word for duty and religion are one: dharma.

0o0
Note: This story is a retelling of the Mahakapi Jataka, one of the hundreds of Jataka tales, all dealing with the previous lifetimes of the Buddha, in each of which he sacrifices himself for others. It is these sacrifices lifetime after lifetime that eventually gives him birth as Gautama Siddhartha who becomes the Buddha. The Sanskrit quotations are from the text of Bodhisattva-Avadhana-Mala of Aryasura. My translations/free renderings into English.