The Mahabharata is not merely a book, it is a tradition. To call it scripture shrinks its spirit; to call it literature underestimates its sweep. It is a living reservoir of India’s civilizational experience, enriched by centuries of oral memory, cultural dialogue, and philosophical reflection. Unlike many doctrinal texts that demand unquestioning belief, the Mahabharata demands something far more difficult—reflection. It probes, questions, unsettles, and exposes the contradictions and moral ambiguities that define political power and human behaviour. Its genius lies in its refusal to offer easy answers. It does not preach; it holds a mirror.

A Neglected Civilizational Chronicle 

Yet, in post-Independence India, we grew strangely hesitant to teach this epic to our own children. In our eagerness to maintain a secular national identity, we packed the epics into the “religion” box, conveniently forgetting that for millennia they served as mirrors to society, not manuals of worship. This artificial distance created an ironic outcome: the Mahabharata appears “religious” today not because it is sectarian, but because it has been rendered unfamiliar.

Generations grew up studying political theory through Western thinkers, Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau, while remaining distant from India’s most sophisticated text on power, duty, and leadership. Had we taught the epic as the civilizational chronicle it truly is, we might have raised citizens far better equipped to understand power, ethics, conflict, and the consequences of human weakness.

An Enduring Epic

To expect the Mahabharata to offer a fixed ideology is to misunderstand the epic itself. It is too vast, too layered, too comfortable with contradiction to fit into the neat compartments that political ideologies demand. What it offers instead is a pragmatic middle path, an honest recognition that power is inherently unstable, that righteousness is always contested, and that the pursuit of absolute correctness often leads straight into conflict.

Seen this way, the dilemmas of Yudhishthira and the impulses of Duryodhana feel surprisingly modern. We see their echoes not only in parliaments and ministries, but in corporate boardrooms, family gatherings, and even in the tone of our online conversations. The epic endures because the human mind of today is not all that different from the human mind of 2,000 years ago. Only the scenery has changed.

Two Extremes Of Modern Politics

Today’s political stage is not dominated by thoughtful citizens who read widely and ponder deeply. Instead, it is crowded by two equally dangerous extremes. On one side stand those who follow blindly, convinced that loyalty is a substitute for judgment. On the other stand those who oppose reflexively, rejecting even sensible actions simply because they come from the “other side.”

The Mahabharata warns us about both kinds. Blind loyalty ruined the Kauravas; it turned intelligent men into silent spectators. At the same time, rigid opposition wounded the Pandavas themselves, for even their vows, taken without thought for consequences, sometimes became shackles. A nation that embraces either extreme endangers itself, because in both cases the mind stops working long before the mouth stops talking.

Envy: The Oldest Poison

What fuels these dangerous tendencies? Often, the oldest poison of all, envy. “Why not me?” is a question as old as humanity. It tormented Duryodhana, surfaces repeatedly in our historical chronicles, and shakes the foundations of modern politics. Envy breeds resentment, resentment hardens into hatred, and hatred eventually turns into malice; the slow, corrosive kind that accumulates like venom in a serpent’s tooth. The tragedy is that the venom harms not only the intended target but ultimately the hand that holds it.

Global Echoes: Churchill and de Gaulle

World history offers its own Mahabharata-like warnings. Winston Churchill led Britain through its darkest hour, steadied a weary nation, and defeated a monstrous tyranny. Yet as soon as victory arrived, he was voted out. Charles de Gaulle faced a similar fate in 1946, even after leading France out of humiliation and occupation. These men did not fall because they failed; they fell because their success made them targets of fatigue, envy, and insecurity.

Their stories remind us that political fortune is ephemeral, public sentiment unpredictable, and virtue no guarantee of continuity. The wheel turns, the Chakra moves. One moment one stands at the peak; the next, one is displaced by forces that have little to do with merit and much to do with emotion.

The Enemy Within

The Mahabharata’s deepest warning is stark and sobering: nations rarely fall because of external enemies alone. They fall because of internal decay. Hastinapur did not collapse under foreign assault. Its destruction was the inevitable outcome of accumulated resentment, festering grievances, unchecked ambition, wounded egos, and a collective failure to address its own fault lines. The gates were opened from within, and once the poison reached its tipping point, war became unavoidable.

Modern India faces similar dangers. Our most serious threats come not from across borders but from within - polarization, blind loyalty, blind opposition, envy, distrust, and the relentless quest for political dominance. When we ignore history’s warnings, we walk confidently toward the same cliff our ancestors once described so vividly.

War As Last Resort

Another profound lesson of the Mahabharata, too often forgotten, is its insistence that war must be the last resort. Before Kurukshetra, Lord Krishna went to Hastinapur as a peace envoy, fully aware of the catastrophic consequences of war. His proposal was astonishingly reasonable: the Pandavas would accept just five small villages to avoid bloodshed.

Duryodhana rejected even this minimal compromise. His refusal was not born of strength but of arrogance, insecurity, and the fear of losing face. Krishna’s mission failed, but his effort stands as the epic’s clearest moral instruction - before lifting a weapon, every path to peace must be exhausted.

Lesson Nations Ignore

Today, many nations reverse this wisdom. They rush to the battlefield first and approach the negotiating table only after lives have been lost and cities shattered. Diplomacy becomes an afterthought instead of the first instinct. The Mahabharata’s message remains painfully relevant - true strength lies in giving peace every possible chance before embracing war. A civilization that forgets this lesson does so at its own peril.

(The author is an Indian Army veteran and a contemporary affairs commentator. Views expressed are personal. He can be reached at  kl.viswanathan@gmail.com )