India and the Ancient Laws of Warfare: An Academic Restatement of Time-transcending Principles of IHL

Introduction

Recent global conflicts, such as the Russia–Ukraine war and Israel’s war on Gaza and with Iran, and the significant humanitarian crisis created thereby, have given considerable traction to views challenging the legitimacy and competence of international humanitarian law (IHL) in specific, international law in general and international institutions altogether. Stakeholders within the system also acknowledge, introspect and examine the shortcomings of the law in adequately protecting those that it seeks to protect, and acts which it seeks to prevent. ¹ It is not surprising for the public to doubt the legitimacy of principles that are being blatantly flouted, with little scope for the forcible imposition of penalties. In this context, it is important to examine the time-transcending relevance of the principles of IHL, not merely to justify its scholarly existence but to reiterate its philosophy, values and universality.

The historical evolution and existence of principles of IHL must be restated strongly in contemporary times, to remind the public as well as states that these were not mere technicalities brought into existence by entities in power but value systems that have followed similar ethical concerns across time and space, making it universal and eternal. Academic and scholarly engagement with IHL in contemporary times must take this into consideration, and include conversations on, the historical prevalence of IHL principles in the teaching and learning of the subject. It requires close engagement with the principles of IHL, and a pedagogical restructuring of how we engage with these principles in the teaching of the subject. To implement a law, one must truly believe in its value and justice, and it is especially important in contemporary times to reiterate the universality of IHL. This article seeks to trace this by comparing modern IHL with ancient Indian laws of warfare, traced from mythology and epics of the Indian subcontinent.

Modern principles of IHL, or law of armed conflict, are usually traced to the Western philosophical notions that were developed and codified in the efforts of Henry Dunant after the Battle of Solferino. However, the phenomenon of war has been around almost as long as civilizations began to have competing interests and conflicting claims over territory, thrones and titles. From mythology to ancient history, tales of gods and men alike are replete with elaborate tales of wars and how they were fought. It is natural, then, that ancient civilizations also developed norms regarding warfare and adhered to them at least in part. This article uses the methodology of comparative legal history and explores ancient Indian history as well as mythology to analyse the rules of warfare that were formulated and applied centuries ago in the subcontinent.

Two caveats are made at the outset. First, this is not to make competing intellectual claims over principles of IHL, creating an East versus West narrative. Rather, the effort is to highlight how the thought process surrounding armed conflicts has consistently been concerned with similar concerns, such as civilian protection, avoiding unfair means or warfare and preventing unnecessary suffering—all of which are important principles under modern IHL. The fact that authors writing centuries ago shared the same concerns and conclusions as modern lawmakers did further cements how universally important these principles are, irrespective of the time and location of warfare. In other words, it highlights how non-derogable the principles of IHL are. Secondly, the article does not intend to blur the lines between religious mythology and documented history. While a major part of the subcontinent’s oldest texts on warfare are two mythologies—the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, the focus is not to conflate myth and history. Rather, it is to highlight that authors from thousands of years ago also held the view that wars were not supposed to be a free rein for inhuman acts, and placed limits on the use of force by kings and (demi)gods as well. Irrespective of whether a reader wishes to have faith in the theology of it, the fact that texts written a few thousand years ago mention these rules adds to the universality and non-derogability of these principles of IHL. Also, and perhaps more importantly, it is to reaffirm the origin and philosophy of ancient principles and their value systems, tracing them to the Indian subcontinent. Using mythology as literature that existed thousands of years prior to the Geneva Conventions or the Hague Conventions and envisaged fair principles of warfare, the article implores that the multiple origins of IHL principles must be addressed in our classrooms as well.

Wars, Gods and the Epics: Ancient Weapons and Conduct of Hostilities

Indian mythology is replete with tales of wars, including between gods, demigods and humans. Therefore, ancient tales contain detailed narratives of wars, the justness of wars and the methods used to ensure the ultimate triumph of good over evil.

One of the ancient instances of war known in the Indian subcontinent is the Kurukshetra war in the epic Mahabharata, with historical data putting it anywhere between 1000–900 bc, ² 1500–2000 bce ³ or somewhere around 3000 bce. ⁴ While the historical claims vary, we may consider that a war of great magnitude was indeed fought several thousand years ago, causing widespread death and destruction. Mentions of war, including strategy, weaponry and ethics, occur in the Vedas as well as the epics, revealing that means and methods of warfare were given thought and elucidation in ancient Indian scholarship. It is interesting to understand how ancient texts engaged with wars and their means, and to trace similarities with modern IHL principles. This gives us some insight into how people understood, imagined and wrote about wars, irrespective of whether the tales were real, exaggerated or wholly imagined. The texts offer a peek into the ancient civilization’s sensibilities on war and how they engaged with the ethical constraints of it. Some of these texts, such as the Bhagvad Gita, offer direct instructions on the means and methods of warfare (like the Hague Conventions or the ICRC’s Rules), while some texts, like the Vedas, narrate wars in a way that implicitly reveals how wars were perceived.

Texts from the Vedic ⁵ era refer to big forts and large armies of native inhabitants of the ancient Indian subcontinent, with parapets where foot soldiers seem to have fought from during wars. ⁶ This indicates mechanisms of defence rather than offence, with the fort and towers equipped to counter invasions by external forces. Their weapons majorly included dirks (long dagger) and swords, ⁷ knives, axes, spears and bows and arrows with copper heads. The foot soldiers of the time seem to have fought with barbed spears and harpoons, swords and flat axes. ⁸ The era suggests armies being predominantly composed of foot soldiers and chariots, with mentions from the Rigveda on the non-Aryans resisting the Aryan advance. Kings and their nobility rode horseback and commanded armies made of willing members of various tribes. While the nature of weapons is deadly, and meant to cause fatal injuries, it is also clear that these weapons could be used only for individual targeting rather than indiscriminate attacks. Throughout the article, we see how the weapons used in various periods aligned with the principle of distinction and the prohibition against indiscriminate attacks.

Some texts of the Vedic era indicate that the main weapons used were bows and arrows, tipped with metal/horn and sometimes poisoned. ⁹ With time, an emerging code of ethics disallowed the use of poisoned arrows, indicating a shift in what was considered right in battle. ¹⁰ This may be considered an initial form of prohibition of weapons causing unnecessary suffering, one of the important principles of modern IHL. There are also mentions of flaming arrows, presumably intended to set fire to enemy targets. ¹¹ Data from this suggest that victory in these wars was tainted with heavy slaughter, with archers killing from a distance, horse-chariots trampling over people at close-range, and the defeated army fleeing the battlefield to escape the tyranny. ¹² Texts indicate that wars were often fought on riverbanks, and the defeated army was forced into the river to drown and perish. ¹³ Invasions into alien territory were also carried out for resources, which were also shared with people. ¹⁴ The culture of fierceness and valour was such that quarter would not be given or sought, as it eliminated the possibility of the defeated enemy returning for revenge. ¹⁵ There was also the fear that the victory of one party sustains animosity in the other, and anyone left in the loser’s kin would bid time and prepare to strike later and avenge their lost kin. There was fear to leave any survivors, as this retained the possibility of a later reprisal. ¹⁶ While these principles do not align with the commands of modern IHL, it is seen that later texts addressing war expressly spoke of rules against denial of quarter, and the need for principles in the means used in warfare, particularly in the Bhagvad Gita. This marked the transition from a victory-focused teleological perspective to an ethics-focused deontological one on warfare.

The nature of weapons indicates individual-specific targets rather than weapons of mass destruction, complying with what modern IHL prescribes in wars. However, the lack of quarter is a notable difference, since modern IHL expressly prohibits denying of quarter.

The Vedas also draw a distinction between the general masses and the combatants, since the army’s infantry was formed by members of the warrior community who attained the right to fight and to rule. ¹⁷ Buddhist influx and literature show people choosing to be in the army, rather than the status deriving automatically from the community identity, ¹⁸ indicating that the infantry was primarily composed of willing persons rather than hereditary mandate. The culture of imparting training to soldiers was prevalent, including discipline, battle formations and mock training sessions, to develop the right temperament and facilitate usage of weapons in the field. The army was organized by smaller units clubbed together to form progressively larger and larger units, with chariots, horses, elephants and foot soldiers. ¹⁹ The epics also describe the armies being constituted of regular staff—soldiers who are maintained and paid as part of the kingdom. Other irregular soldiers may be hired and retained for a battle, and the terms of service for the two would be different. Under modern international law, principles of IHL specifically distinguish between civilians and combatants by acknowledging the latter’s legitimate right to engage in warfare, and the consequential loss of protection as long as they are not hors de combat. While there are no specific mentions of training soldiers on the rules of warfare in ancient times, narratives on battles and warfare suggest the existence of a code of conduct, and the guilt accrued upon violating the rules.

Rules such as proportionality were not explicitly enumerated at the time, but rather ensured in practice through the nature of warfare and weapons. Most mentions of battles depict them as being fought on separate war-turf away from the civilian population, and using mostly individualized weapons. Common weapons at the time were suitable for use at the level of an individual or a small group, while most of them (swords, arrows, maces, spears and daggers) could have a single (or limited to a small number) target at a time. These weapons ensured precision and specific targets, increasing the possibility that civilians would not be harmed.

Apart from mentions of weapons in ancient texts, there also exists documented historical evidence of the nature of weapons prevalent in the ancient Indian subcontinent. In the evidence corresponding to the Indus Valley civilizations, most of the excavated specimens of weapons are arrows with copper/bronze heads. Spears, swords and axe-blades excavated and traced to the era indicate the possibility of thrusting or cutting an individual. ²⁰ Maces of varying shapes made of stones or metal were also discovered, indicative of interpersonal fight. Excavations have also revealed pellets made of baked clay, varying in shape, weight and size. ²¹ Speculation based on the size and shape indicates that they were weapons that could have been thrown by hand or perhaps hurled from a sling, technically resembling early attempts at bullets. However, no weapons have been discovered so far that indicate the possibility of indiscriminate or widespread attacks with a single weapon by an individual attacker.

Even in the absence of written codes on means and methods of warfare at the time, the mechanisms of war were engineered in a manner that compelled respect for rules such as distinction, proportionality and restraint from unnecessary suffering. The emergence of these ideals, albeit from the limited technology available at the time, is nevertheless indicative of the existence of a sensibility that wars were bound by rules and suffering had to be limited.

Ethical Concerns on ‘Just Wars’ and Hostilities: Parallels with Modern IHL

Warfare in the Vedic period was also influenced by ethical concerns that reflect the modern concern on ‘just wars’, including the realization that war need not be the only method of conquest. Hostile confrontations came after initial non-violent steps at achieving the desired result. For instance, the asvamedha ²² allowed a stallion of the king to roam around for a year while protected by royal guards, with any foreign territory it wandered into ostensibly coming under the king’s control. The kings of the foreign territories could either choose to comply or fight if they wished to resist; this avoided conflict in the first instance, making it a secondary choice, while still allowing kings to expand their rule. While modern international law rejects the conquest of other territories as a legitimate cause for war under Article 2(4) of the United Nations’ Charter, self-defence is protected under Article 51 of the Charter, and Article 2(3) suggests resorting to peaceful means for resolution of disputes. Conduct that was considered justified amongst kings in respect of their territories is entirely different then and under modern international norms, but the ethical concern to prevent unnecessary loss of life has prevailed. Also, the conquest of territories was in fact part of a king’s dharma, and hence a king’s decision to conquer his neighbourhood was in fact morally and legally justified at the time. It was within this general framework that further steps to avoid war, if possible, were envisaged.

At the same time, the conquest of territories was not the only moral justification for war. Religious consciousness was another major reason behind some wars, such as the Aryans attacking the ‘non-believer’. ²³ The conquest of wealth and property in the defeated kingdoms was an added benefit to this religiously motivated war. These justifications for war seem similar to jus ad bellum in modern law that limits when a war is justified, but the grounds are markedly different. Modern IHL justifies war for defence and not for the conquest of the sovereign territory of other states. However, since express notions in ancient periods permitted for, and in fact actively encouraged, annexation of territories, their actions were in compliance with the law at the time. It is more likely that this was seen as a mechanism of pre-emptive self-defence, since all kings shared a mutual risk as well as threat from each other. Unless the kings shared relationships by way of marriage, thus creating allies, the risk of annexation always existed. In the absence of an express international document, such as the UN Charter, which guarantees sovereignty as a concept to all states, it is unsurprising that the ethical–legal sensibility of the time justified pre-emptive conquests.

Apart from justifications for war, ethical concerns were also found in the conduct adopted during warfare, similar to modern jus in bello. Amongst these, initial steps were taken to ensure peaceful settlement as a precursor to wars. Envoys or messengers were considered pious, and hurting them was forbidden in the code of conduct. Kings always received with respect any envoy carrying a message from the enemy side. The person of the envoy was considered sacred, and they were inviolable physically. Similarly, treaties and agreements arrived at between parties were considered sacrosanct, and the fear of the gods forbade from breaching them. Mutual agreements for peace were also common, and the Vedas tasked some entities to avenge those who breached the agreements, ²⁴ similar to the UN Charter mandate under Article 2(4).

Despite this seemingly straightforward mandate, the Vedas also depict instances where loopholes or crooked interpretations were used by parties to deceive the other, and agreements of peace were breached while justifying the resultant slaughter. ²⁵ This is rampant in stories of how the devas broke armistices or truces with the asuras, going to war despite promises not to do so for certain periods or at certain instances. The wars mentioned between the devas and the asuras were, in fact, for ‘prizes’, akin to tournaments where the winner won cattle, land, etc. These also underlined aspects of deception in warfare. However, these instances are depicted as aberrations and are not exalted as examples, indicating that the principles of war did not matter. Rather, the principles existed and mattered, but some parties found ways to violate them by misinterpretation and cunning.

Ancient wars also carried the concept of prisoners of war from conquered or defeated territories, including civilians. Some people were taken as slaves and brought to the victor’s country, while women (mostly daughters of wealthy noblemen) were given away to the brahmanas as tokens of conquest. ²⁶ The Vedas also refer to either seizing of enemies or driving them away, with some being taken prisoners of war to be slaughtered or do menial tasks. Prisoners of war seem not to be treated with much kindness, as they were tied up or fettered to avoid release. Some of the captives also included non-combatants, some driven away and some taken prisoners during war. Conduct at this point would, hence, not be fully in compliance with modern principles envisaged in the Geneva Conventions (GCs), especially GC-III on the prisoners of war (PoWs). The philosophical underpinning of the treatment of PoWs was also different at the two eras—ancient wisdom was more concerned with later retaliations and sought to avoid this by detention or killing. However, the system was not to slaughter all soldiers indiscriminately; allowing for prisoners to be taken meant that at least some enemy lives would be preserved. The concept of dharmayuddha developed it further, prohibiting harming surrendered, sleeping or unarmed combatants.

Upanishads mention a shift in morality, where non-violence or ahimsa gained popularity, and was placed at par with truth and justice. Here, Ahimsa is placed higher than ‘power’, meaning that relative weakness did not permit one to attack the other since this was unjust (against dharma). ²⁷

Buddhist morality that emerged in the later years also put much emphasis on peace and non-violence, abhorring the usual justifications for war. Buddha is known to have advised warriors of the cosmic consequences of war and violence, ²⁸ urging them to settle their disputes peacefully. ²⁹ Per Buddha, unlike the Vedic notion or that of the Mahabharata (more specifically the Bhagavad Geeta), victory in battle (even for dharma as it might be) only leads to mutual hatred, as the defeated party continues to grieve their defeat. On the other hand, a dispute settled peacefully through mutual negotiations leads to lasting peace, as no one is left besmirched. Despite this, mentions of war are found in Buddhist scriptures as well, ³⁰ mostly owing to a contrast between Buddha’s core philosophy and the later sociopolitical contexts that Buddhism went through. However, Buddhist philosophy maintains that the karmic consequences of violence will follow irrespective of the reason behind the war—a sharp contrast with the Vedic and later Hindu iterations on war. In the latter, war is sanctified when for ‘just’ or dharmic reasons.

There also exist differences between the justification for wars in the Vedas and the later literature. Vedic literature reveals a normal inclination to wars, expressly in the nature of the king’s natural desire to annex the neighbours for tributes and homage, if not to dethrone him. This almost-casual annexation of neighbouring territories is markedly different from the epic, large-scale wars fought for higher causes. In the latter, a moral justification is attempted before triggering armed confrontation, and it seems that the scriptures capture the need to justify the side of the warring parties while being mindful of the destruction they would initiate. The Mahabharata, for instance, depicts Krishna attempting a truce with the Kauravas before the Pandavas begin the war; the refusal of the peace terms by the Kauravas is what justifies the Pandavas pursuing armed aggression. Here, there is an attempt to justify the war, specifically showing that it was not devoid of sufficient cause and came only after a reasonable attempt at peace. ³¹ The Mahabharata is one of the ancient texts that prioritizes fairness in the means and methods of warfare, at least in text, although instances of violation exist within specific instances of killing—such as that of Karna. Within war-related literature in the Indian subcontinent, this is the most prominent instance of peace talks as a precursor to war, even in a context where the Pandavas had been betrayed and wronged and would have been in a justified position to directly proceed to armed aggression. The attempts by Krishna followed what, under modern law, is followed as initial negotiations and mediation, at par with Article 33 of the UN Charter, prior to escalation of international conflicts.

There was some understanding of the evils of war and the realization that they were consciously choosing to pursue it with a full grasp of the consequences. War, in the context of the Mahabharata, is not a mere battle to take over material wealth, but is for a ‘just cause’—the victory of virtue over vice is the underlying theme. If the war is to be justified in terms of the cause it supports, it also has to be fought through just means. The righteous war in Mahabharata is fought with rules such as the equal fighting the equal, ³² proportionality in means of attack, ³³ granting relief to persons who have laid down weapons, ³⁴ providing time to the opponent to prepare, ³⁵ attacking only combatants, ³⁶ etc. These principles align with the express rules of means and methods of warfare, namely proportionality in attacks (Rule 14, Customary IHL Rules), protection of hors de combat persons (Rule 47, CIHL), access for humanitarian relief to civilians in need (Rule 55, CIHL), etc. The Mahabharata is also replete with casteist and sexist undertones that prohibit the killing of a brahmana ³⁷ or a woman. ³⁸ This nevertheless did not always guarantee the respectful treatment of women in the course of war, ³⁹ and the protection was often conditional to their class and caste status.

Codes of warriors’ morality were deliberately made a part of their education, along with the training in military tactics. ⁴⁰ A righteous battle was considered a guarantee of attaining heaven, as the warrior fulfils his duty in doing so. Codes of conduct, however, were also broken blatantly at several instances, all while conjuring up justifications derived from other instances or obscure interpretations. For instance, Arjun killing Karna while his chariot was stuck and he was unable to defend himself, ⁴¹ Ram killing Bali while the latter was fighting Sugreev and while himself being hidden from his target, ⁴² Drona being killed while grieving the ‘death’ of his son due to concocted disinformation deliberately fed to him, ⁴³ Bhima killing Duryodhan by striking below the navel (as is prohibited) despite the latter having let the former go when he was unconscious, ⁴⁴ Arjun attacking Bhurisravas when he was engaged in battle with another, ⁴⁵ etc., all depict the bending of well-crafted ethics of war. It seems that the rules of war were regarded as too ideal to be actually observed all the time during war, considering the exigencies that certain circumstances of war bring with them. However, no party ever rebuked the existence of the rules altogether but merely tried to create justifications for their own individual acts, in tandem with the rules. This shows a general respect for the rules of war, and a shame attached with breaking the rules, coupled with rebuke (from foe and friend alike), ⁴⁶ prompting them to find loopholes to justify their acts.

As for civilians, the Mahabharata cites that spectators were allowed to safely witness the fight, while being near the field of battle and still protected from harm. ⁴⁷ Similarly, civilians in pursuit of their respective occupations were left alone and not interfered with, and places of public worship were not targeted in attacks. ⁴⁸

In a similar vein, the fundamental plot of Ramayana attempts to justify its violence and the war while still being contextualized in the larger Hindu norm of ahimsa. For this, it creates a character arc for the protagonist Ram, making him the devoted son, doting brother, dutiful prince and so on. This is placed in stark contrast with the antagonist Ravan, who is depicted as a vile demon king who did mischief to the sages and saints of the time. Per Valmiki Ramayan, it was to curb the menace of the demons under Ravan’s reign that the sages prayed to Vishnu to incarnate on Earth and annihilate Ravan. This backstory of the prince starkly justifies the war that ensues (though it did for very different reasons)—the very birth of Ram was to fight and slay the evil king, hence making the war inevitable and justified.

This larger, apparently pious end-goal justifies the violence that comes with the war, and perhaps anything unholy that Ram committed in the process. ⁴⁹ The Ramayan paints a picture of Ram that is perhaps nothing like the depiction of the warring parties in the Mahabharata. Unlike the characters with various shades of grey in the latter, Ram is the epitome of all virtues, almost as if he can do no wrong. It is this imagery that is relied upon to justify the war he fought and the destruction that came with it. The divine mission to eradicate evil grants the justifications needed by Ram to fight and slay.

During his exile in the forest, Ram is implored by sages to fulfil his duty as a kshatriya ⁵⁰ : to protect [the sages] and to punish [the demons that wreak havoc to the sages]. This apparently justifies the use of force and the commission of violence against demons, since there exists just cause. ⁵¹ Ram also invokes righteousness in the context of self-defence for acts committed during or in pursuance of the impending war, including the destruction and death caused by Hanuman in Lanka, as well as Ram’s killing of Khara. ⁵² The general society also has a duty to come together for collective harmony (the sense of righteousness), but that does not include a right to take up arms—which is reserved for the warrior clans.

The justification for war in Ramayana is made by contrasting when Ram fought and when he refused to. The ideal justification of war is when it is for the greater good and devoid of selfish motives. Ram refuses to fight and usurp the kingdom when he is unjustly sent to 14 years of exile at a time when he was supposed to be coronated as king, indicating that his sense of righteousness forbade him from going to war for his own personal cause, even when there could have been apparent public support. ⁵³ On the other hand, when faced with Ravan—the demon that had been terrorizing sages and who had abducted his wife, war was the righteous choice, devoid of selfish interest. These contracting contexts render just-war colour to the ultimate Ram–Ravan war, and the acts committed during it. Similarly, Ram is depicted to have adhered to the rules prescribed for means and methods of war, further making the war correct in terms of modern IHL’s language.

Ravan, on the contrary, initiated the war for completely selfish motivations, his own ego and lust. ⁵⁴ He is rebuked for this by his own council on multiple occasions—his brother Vibhishana urging him to return Sita and prevent the calamity in the meeting held before the war had begun; his uncle Malyavan advising him to sue for peace and return Sita in a meeting after the war was partly though and rakshasas’ defeat was certain; and a third time by his brother Kumbhakarna who blames his lust that initiated a war for purely selfish reasons and in total disregard for the larger consequences. This apparent contrast highlights when the war was just and when it would have been unjust. Balkaran points out that the dichotomy of larger interest versus selfish interest is not that distinct but is rather a grey area. ⁵⁵ The justification for the use of lethal force is hence seen as protracted and extrapolated to reach a moral end (sometimes even forced); but at the very least, it shows that a need was felt to justify violence—it was for a just cause and not for a whim. To this extent, the epic treats war as a subset of violence, ⁵⁶ where the justification for the war itself can be viewed in the same context as other individual acts of violence, within and outside the war itself. ⁵⁷ The war itself is brought about only after a pre-war council is held, where Ravan seeks advice from his uncle and brothers.

The conversations around whether the potential consequences are worth the war seem to centre around materialistic concerns (possibility of victory) rather than the philosophical concerns (loss of life, destruction). Ravan was counselled against the initiation and subsequently the continuation of war by the elders in his council, but apparently his arrogance sought armed confrontation. The reasoning given in the counsel highlighted the relative weakness of Ravan’s army that had begun to fall apart in the beginning stages of the battle. ⁵⁸ The benefit was in surrendering, but the intention was to save the self, rather than for the larger good of preventing loss to all involved. As for Ram, the material as well as the philosophical justifications were in his favour; since his side had the greater possibility of victory, and it also constituted his dharma to kill Ravana. But, there again, any conversation on the loss of innocent life and the rampant destruction that would follow is absent. That is, while Ramayana does not engage with war uncritically, its justifications are more from the sense of dharma of the war itself rather than the intricacies of the means and methods. The latter are given more prominence in the Mahabharata, however.

The caste identity of Ram (Kshatriya) and his inherent virtue as a person are evoked multiple times to justify his use of force and his choice of armed aggression. From the instance where he takes up arms to protect the sages, to the ultimate killing in full-fledged war, him being a prince makes it his dharma to do so. This also makes his authority legitimate. It is not open to people from all communities to go to war, ⁵⁹ and not everyone may command an army; but an army could rightfully march under Ram since he was indeed a prince and warrior. The justness of the war is because it is commanded by someone who has the legitimacy to do so. It is also because war was not decided on a whim, and attempts at peaceful resolution were made prior to the decision. ⁶⁰ The text, though in praise of war, abhors violence as only the last resort to be adopted when all peaceful attempts fail to restore justice. This is also in line with similar attempts in the Mahabharata made to illustrate that the righteous Pandavas went to war only after their reconciliation attempts were thwarted.

Hanuman is also depicted to consider alternative methods of rescuing Sita when he visits her in Ravan’s garden, where she is held captive. He dismisses the possibility of conciliation, bribery or dissonance before deciding that armed confrontation is the only resort left, again depicting that peaceful methods of reconciliation were considered at the first instance. Similarly, Ravan’s brother Kumbhkarna counsels him that a king must consult his advisers to consider other options before embarking on armed aggression. Vibhishana, the other brother of Ravan, attempts to dissuade him from keeping Sita and prevent the impending war, but is rebuked by his king-brother. He eventually defects and moves to Ram’s side, where he is received with respect by Ram despite others’ suspicion; Ram invokes another principle here, namely that a person seeking refuge must not be hurt or turned away and must always be protected. ⁶¹

Even if the initial criteria to make the war legitimate (just) are met, the means and methods adopted must also be proportionate to the initial threat/harm. This applies not only to the use of violence in wartime but also to the general employment of violence in punishing mundane crimes. ⁶² The treatment accorded to Hanuman by Ravan and to Surpanakha by Lakshman are both punitive in nature but fall short of execution, since their faults are deemed not worthy of the extreme penalty. Additionally, Hanuman being a messenger and Surpanakha being a woman add to their inviolability, though their respective acts attract punishment. In addition to proportional retribution, any force used must also be in conformity with the right conduct expected of warriors. It is also important to note that Surpanakha’s violation by Lakshman was a precursor to the war, and was justified in the epic as an act of self-defence rather than a casualty of war. However, her treatment is mentioned as one of the prime reasons that Ravana set out to abduct Sita, leading ultimately to the war.

Similar to the Mahabharata, the ‘just’ side in the Ramayana also sometimes flaunts the code of ethical conduct, but attempts to justify each transgression in a manner that upholds the sanctity of the code itself while somehow excusing or justifying a violative conduct as an exception. ⁶³ Conduct was also prescribed to limit how a warrior can attack another in an offensive, prohibiting attacks on an isolated/defenceless person, a person hiding or fleeing. ⁶⁴ The relative peace in a kingdom is not indicative of the absence of arms or armoury, as is clear from the case of Ayodhya—portrayed as a prosperous kingdom with disciplined people, and yet possessing weapons and skilled soldiers. The usage of this armoury is, however, limited by ethical concerns.

There are no special mentions of the effects of war on civilians, but the rebuke targeted at Ravana throughout the text includes his disregard for the future of the rakshasa clan in his selfish pursuit of lust. Ultimately, the war caused widespread damage and destruction not only to Ravana and his army but also to all of Lanka.

The epics mention the use of numerous celestial weapons throughout the battles, which in turn determined the victor. There have been attempts to substantiate mythology with historical and archaeological efforts. Excavations have only unearthed maces, swords, daggers, arrows, etc.—all undoubtedly non-celestial and capable of a limited amount of targeted destruction. However, one is left wondering what the stories meant while describing magical weapons that the warring parties in both Ramayana and Mahabharata were supposed to have possessed. The description of some of these indicates mass destruction, the use of chemicals or fire. It defies logic to fathom that the magnitude mentioned in the stories is real, and hence it is safer to assume a fair amount of exaggeration there.

However, it remains pertinent that the idea of destructive weapons was conceived and considered several centuries ago. The quantum of destruction attributed to different mythical weapons is of different magnitudes, with the Brahmastra being described as capable of mass destruction, the Agni Astra creating fire, Gandharvastra used for psychological attacks, etc. ⁶⁵ There are also mentions of extremely sharp arrowheads capable of beheading in a clean sweep, though no viable models have been found in excavations so far. Even when the epics refer to weapons capable of rampant destruction, it is mentioned as being used against specific targets and not the general masses or against entire populations.

For instance, the Brahmastra is said to be capable of mass destruction of entire life from the universe, with no scope for any recurrence of life for several thousand years; one that creates fire and thunder when invoked. However, it is, apparently, targetable only against particular individuals in order to annihilate them. It seems that the texts attempted to create a weapon that is capable of mass destruction, but would actually only destroy an individual when used. On the other hand, a different variant, Brahmashira astra, is also mentioned, capable of actual mass destruction even if used against a particular individual. The weapon would cause widespread collateral damage in addition to the annihilation of the person it is directed against, erasing his very existence from the circle of real and celestial life. While it is unlikely that such weapons could have existed at the time, it is interesting to note that even in exaggerated imaginations of such weapons, authors of the epics cautioned against their actual use. That is, while conjuring up the possibility of weapons of mass destruction, the ancient authors of epics prohibited their use as punishable with a divine curse (Krishna’s curse on Ashwaththama).

The epic counters the possibility of actual destruction of the universe due to misuse of this weapon by claiming that it has been granted extremely rare access, and only a few gods and warriors could wield it. In the lack of any historical evidence (disregarding religiously motivated speculations, which have no authority or academic value), one can only engage with these weapons as mere ideas that existed in the ancient Indian subcontinent. Though the imagination can be chalked up to magical realism intertwined with the narration of both Ramayana and Mahabharata, our attention is on the description of weapons and the eventual narrative arc used to warn against their use, and the consequences described when they were used. The epics seem to convey that weapons of grave potential existed, but their use was widely discouraged, and any transgression was punishable as a cosmic sin, with severe penalties to discourage any misuse. This was in addition to the specific mention of limited access to weapons of this kind—only gifted, talented warriors could earn it from their gurus or even the gods—the person wielding it had to possess some morale and mental qualities. It seems to be emphasizing a collective consciousness that weapons capable of widespread damage must not be made available to all, and any unethical use would be severely punished. ⁶⁶

Going through narratives of ancient warfare, we see a mixture of mythology and possible elements of historical wars, both indicating that wars were expected to abide by certain principles in their conception as well as their means and methods. These are the earliest known instances of rules of warfare, predating modern IHL and still carrying the same ethical backdrop.

Evolution of Warfare: Medieval Indian Rules and Implications for Ethical Warfare

After the ancient Indian tryst with princes and wars—a mixture of history and magical realism that leaves the student to separate and appreciate the ‘real’ from the mysticism—came the phase of princes, fragmented kingdoms, annexations and invasions. This time, however, narratives of history have been more factual, and even the possible instances of exaggerations are thankfully devoid of mythical elements. Wars, however, stayed constant.

By the mid-fifteenth century, parts of the world witnessed the advent of firearms, albeit in rudimentary forms in comparison to current modern versions. ⁶⁷ There are references to early forms of heavy firearms used around the sixteenth century. ⁶⁸ Several kingdoms of the era are known to have redesigned their forts to adapt their strength and impregnability, which can be ascribed to their concern with the advent of cannons with the invading armies. ⁶⁹ This meant a change in the consequences of wars for the smaller kings with relatively smaller kingdoms and armies. ⁷⁰

The advent of heavy weapons, however, did not by itself mean wanton destruction of civilian premises as well, since weapons of this magnitude were usually used to penetrate forts or against armies in confrontations, and not indiscriminately against people. However, the history of invasions, even going behind the advent of firearms, is replete with a tendency of pillage and plunder. This is to be attributed not to the specific kind of weapons existing at the time but to the general culture of invasions and the psyche of the conquerors of the era, meaning that civilians, civilian objects and cultural/religious installations and places were not spared in the wars of annexation.

The initial military raid from the Arabs happened around 710 ce, invading the Sindh that was then under Raja Dahir. ⁷¹ The Afghan warlords then invaded the small North-Indian principalities that were ruled by smaller kingdoms, taking over power and eventually establishing the Delhi Sultanate. ⁷² This marked the phase where pillage and plunder for riches, as was the initial intent, gave way to more structured political ambition. For the civilians, this implied that the rule shifted to another entity, instead of the latter plundering the local land. However, the military appointments in the Sultanate consisted of nomadic Afghan militants interested in loot. In these cases, more than the war itself being indiscriminate against civilian populations, the political consequences of war were adverse against them. Change in the nature of weapons, to firearms, enabled more impersonal attacks as compared to hand-held swords or arrows, and yet it was not in general practice to bombard exclusively civilian areas, but rather the forts that the kings occupied. Civilian harm could result from the same, in the nature of incidental damage, while not being directly targeted.

The Sultanate eventually grew weaker, and the Mughal Empire was established by Babur in 1526, displacing the former. The Mughals were post-nomadic rulers, with the intent to rule the territory under politics and governance, as opposed to loot and plunder. The methods of warfare adopted by the nomadic Turks, as opposed to the Indian princes (Rajputs, mainly), were decisive in the Turkish victory. ⁷³ The Indian warriors used wooden bows and arrows with a shorter range, whereas the Turks had composite bows of higher efficiency. ⁷⁴ Turks also had strong bows and arrows that could pierce through protective gear, ⁷⁵ but the nature of weapons on both sides continued to be capable of individual targeting and distinction. ⁷⁶ While these historical narratives do not explicitly speak of rules of warfare, the nature of weapons, including the nature of gunpowder-based firearms that existed at the time, ensured that warfare had to abide by the rules of targeting those participating in the war, and not civilians.

Although the enemy forces in wars did not need to ‘target’ civilians as part of the warfare itself, the inherent nature of invasions meant destruction for civilians as well as civilian property, with plunder and pillage. Once governance was in place, such as with the emergence of the Mughal Empire, relatively better protection of civilians can be inferred, in terms of consequences of war. In a rudimentary sense, it accorded protection similar to the one accorded to civilians under the IV Geneva Convention (GC-IV), but with different political consequences. Under the GCs, the mandate of protection binds the state under which the civilians are; whereas under the post-war society we discuss here, the protection came from their assimilation into civilian life in the newly established rule.

The establishment and maintenance of formal, institutionalized military also meant better combatant–civilian distinction. The warrior clans of India were defining themselves as separate from the peasants and traders, both in terms of caste identity and in actual involvement in regular military. ⁷⁷ Provincial armies were declining, and a more centralized version was emerging, with larger armies under the command of a centralized power. These align with the most important rule of modern IHL—the principle of distinction. Technology, weapons, and the mode of warfare ensured that only those on the battlefield were subject to the attack, and eliminated the possibility of indiscriminate attacks.

The Mughals, especially under Babur and Akbar, stuck to the use of light artillery instead of heavy mortars, limiting the amount of destruction that the weapons were capable of when used. ⁷⁸ Instead, for sieges, the Mughals mainly depended on archers with light support from firearm-wielding warriors. Eventually, the Mughal Empire procured light cannons and matchlock muskets that had gained popularity in Europe, and aided in their battles and sieges, ⁷⁹ using them in 1526 in the Battle of Panipat. ⁸⁰ Although we see a shift towards modernization in the means of warfare, the methods and rules of primarily targeting enemy combatants remained intact, ensuring that civilians were not targeted. The relevance of the bow and arrow had not diminished. ⁸¹ The slow and gradual shift of weapon technology ensured that no indiscriminate weapons were introduced or used in wars, and the parties were only interested in using force proportionate to the objective sought to be achieved. This can be considered a rudimentary form of the principle of proportionality within modern IHL.

While no specific and explicit mention of means/methods of warfare is used in relation to these wars, the narratives of wars speak of conduct guided by principles of proportionality in attack and in the use of weapons. Apart from mythological and historical statements pertaining to warfare, there also exists a specific treatise in the Indian subcontinent that explicitly referred to the conduct of wars, documenting governance and warfare tactics.

Warfare and Statecraft: Ancient Rulebooks and Modern IHL

So far, we have analysed the implicit respect for ethical warfare consequential either to the dharma of kings or the nature of weapons. Apart from these, the Indian subcontinent’s engagement with rules of warfare also consists of explicit enumerations in texts, much like modern IHL under the Geneva Conventions, Hague Conventions and Customary IHL Rules.

Perhaps the most widely discussed ‘Indian’ text on statecraft and governance is the Arthashastra by Kautilya (also known as Chanakya). ⁸² His work looks at war as a struggle for power, ever-constant and unavoidable. He contextualizes war in a realist philosophy, where political quests for power would always exist, and the struggle to capture/defend power would govern states’ conduct. ⁸³ Per this philosophy, the state’s self-interest is paramount, and the mechanism used to ensure its survival in an ever-constant power-struggle does not matter (morally). For him, an emperor (vijigishu) must strive to expand his kingdom and gain dominance, while the weaker must attempt to gather more power to resist the former’s advance. In any case, armed aggression and confrontation are inevitable, even though the motivation of the stronger (aggressor) might be different from that of the weaker (defender).

The balance of power in international politics is never stagnant, and in order to survive, states necessarily must resort to armed aggression. By this logic, his notion of war need not be ‘just’ in the sense that older epics insisted upon and hence was neither aligned with the principles of modern IHL. It is interesting to situate Kautilya’s take on warfare within the framework of the subcontinent’s general engagement with ethical warfare and the modern rules of IHL. The contrast between his realist, practical view and the epics’ idealist view on warfare tells us about the evolution of warfare philosophy within our cultural history. Kautilya’s philosophy aligned with kutayuddha as opposed to dharmayuddha, envisaged in the Vedic and epic texts. Kautilya’s text deviated from this and considered the former as the right principle of warfare and governance. For him, the objective of any war is victory, and the method of ensuring victory is sometimes by flouting the moral principles that limit conduct in war.

Dharmayuddha entails a face-off, an open, declared war where the parties confront each other on clear rules and structure. But in kutayuddha, victory cannot be ensured absolutely unless one party is considerably stronger than the other. There might be numerous external factors that turn the tide in one’s favour or the contrary. This is where kutayuddha ensures victory to a greater extent, with the use of tact and treachery as opposed to following a rulebook. He surmises war-strategy into multiple stages, with the grand-strategy for larger-scale national security (policy-making), military strategy for implementation of the said policy by deployment of armed forces, and finally battle tactics defining intricate strategy for actual conduct of warfare. ⁸⁴ Kautilya instructed the use of a conniving strategy to create a favourable environment for annexation, weakening the enemy much before the actual waging of war began. His techniques included annihilation of the enemy’s army heads, luring the subjects of the enemy to the prospective conqueror’s favour, attacking an enemy engaged in fighting another force, restricting the enemy’s resources, etc. ⁸⁵

Clearly, the methods envisaged by Kautilya would make the epic-era moral philosophers shudder—but Kautilya seems to have had the audacity to put into text the exact way he envisaged the actual conduct of war; instead of inscribing texts on moral high ground and subsequently violating them in actual conduct of war by ascribing twisted justifications. He envisaged six methods of foreign policy, where diplomacy and war were not antithesis to each other but went hand-in-hand, and the method adopted by a king in a given situation (aggression or dialogue or mixture) depended on the relative strength of the two kings involved. He is to make alliances with the equals and superiors, aggression against inferiors, methods of compromise and deception with superiors unwilling to establish an alliance (such as giving presents, creating dissent between king and nobles, discontent amongst the people, etc.). In addition to the king employing kutayuddha, he also had to adopt measures his own safety from the enemy’s similar tactics. He acknowledges the possibility of internal revolts and attempts by ministers to usurp power and places internal threats as more severe than external ones. The rebellion must be quenched, and leaders either defeated or executed.

Interestingly, he did not seek inter-community harmony in society, ⁸⁶ and was not in favour of a unified military command, ⁸⁷ the absence of both of which he considered better for the king’s own interests. His policies equipped the king for war long before it was even anticipated, with continuous consolidation of intelligence from home and foreign territories as well. ⁸⁸ Though Kautilya’s methods were ruthless as regards foreign rulers, he retained humanity for the population and civilians of captured lands. That is to say, his methods did not completely flout ethical considerations, and some concerns of modern IHL were reflected there in the old texts as well.

He was opposed to destroying the lands and people of captured kingdoms and advised against unnecessarily protracted wars. ⁸⁹ His concern was with a quick, decisive victory through cunning means, rather than extended brutal battles to annihilate the enemy. He would rather win wars through deception and less bloodshed than with widespread destruction for the sake of ‘right’ means. In a very convoluted sense, perhaps, Kautilya’s ‘unjust’ war could have been far less bloody than the conventional ‘just’ war in all practicality. This is because he aimed at strategic and pointed methods like assassinations and orchestrated political takeover, ensuring victory predominantly via what we may call a backdoor mechanism; instead of full-fledged face-offs. Weakening the enemy beforehand would reduce the intensity and duration of actual war, eventually meaning less widespread destruction. To take the liberty, we may say Kautilya’s war was one more of brains and less of brawns. In an unconventional sense, his methods thus aligned more with principles of distinction (Rule 1, CIHL), prohibition of indiscriminate attacks (Rule 11, CIHL), proportionality (Rule 14, CIHL), precautions in attack (Rule 15), etc. While he was not consciously attempting to adhere to ethical concerns, the nature of his confrontation meant that resources would not be spent on indiscriminate attacks or mass casualties, but rather focused on targeted killings and political surrender.

It was under yet another Mauryan Emperor that dharmayuddha returned as the norm, though his reign (the initial phase, in stark contrast with his second phase) also marked wanton slaughter and widespread conquest. Chandragupta Maurya’s grandson Ashoka captured and ruled over almost all of the Indian subcontinent, and his empire extended to the end of present-day Afghanistan. He ruled over the most consolidated empire that an empire has ever been in the times before him, much further than his ancestors. His conquest of the central-east Indian territory of Kalinga marked a drastic shift in his imperialist ambitions and ruthless conquest, to an abrupt turn to non-violence. An estimated 100,000 people perished in the Kalinga war, and this is said to have emotionally rattled the king deeply.

He soon shifted his ways from digvijaya, as was propounded by his grandfather under Kautilya, to that of dhammayuddha, which to him meant spiritual domination. Despite the bloody war and bloodshed he brought about, Emperor Ashoka is, in fact, known for how he atoned and spread Buddhism and ahimsa as the pillars of his regime in the second phase of his reign and life. ⁹⁰ Wars were abhorred, and non-violence was spread across the kingdom and beyond.

Unlike the earlier Vedic and epic notions, war was not regarded markedly distinct from generic violence and killing (recall the morals invoked in and justifications given in instances like the killing of Bali by Ram, acts that were outside of war), which would sanctify killings during dharmic war. Rather, a general revulsion to all violence essentially meant a revulsion from war and conquest as well.

Interestingly, Asoka’s turn to non-violent means did not encumber his reign; he simply resorted to ruling by peaceful means and retaining his kingdom without violent confrontations. His inspectors and ministers owed allegiance to him, reported to him, and he governed the kingdom with a structured web of bureaucracy, only devoid of armed aggression. His conquests were not by armed takeover of territory, but by dhammayuddha—a spiritual dominance by non-violent means. Although different from the philosophy of Kautilya and also distinct in essence from the morals of Hindu warfare, the Ashoka/Buddhist philosophy of war has been more or less academically integrated under an Indianized ethics of war.

Another important text that dealt with several norms of life, including warfare, was the Manusmriti. It says that a king can march to war, aiming at his enemy’s capital and on an expedition with his soldiers. They are advised to proceed when there is trouble for the enemy, indicating fiscal or other weakness, increasing the possibility of the advancing king’s victory. He writes of precautions ⁹¹ and preparations, ⁹² as well as the battle formations, ⁹³ including the position the king must be in to ensure his own safety. ⁹⁴ The king is to choose his medium of fight based on the terrain and his circumstances, ⁹⁵ and test his army before sending them to war. ⁹⁶ Once reached, the king is to hold siege so that the enemy runs out of fodder, food, water and fuel. ⁹⁷ Notably, the sieging army must harass the inhabitants of the captured area by kidnapping and persecuting them. ⁹⁸ This seems to be a blatant violation of the general concept of not harming non-combatants, since it is presumable that inhabitants of the kingdom outside the royal fort would be necessarily civilians. Explanatory notes to the verse also support that until the country is fully taken over under the invader’s control, he must not aid the inhabitants. ⁹⁹ The corollary would imply that once the country is completely under the king’s control, he could work for the benefit of the occupied territory’s people as well, since now they become his subjects. In addition to direct harassment, the king is also supposed to destroy all water reservoirs to cut off the drinking-water supply, breach the fort walls and destroy the ditches. The enemy is to be frightened by scaring tactics so he cannot sleep at night, so that he is weak and exhausted for the next day’s fight. ¹⁰⁰ Deceptive strategies must be employed, encouraging the sieged king’s kin to defect and act against their king, perhaps to usurp the throne for themselves. Such selfish motivations must be taken advantage of by the conquering king, estranging the enemy from his own close ones. ¹⁰¹ This reduces the victim king’s morale, and the conqueror must be aware of the enemy’s state through spies, to know when to attack. However, Manu appreciates that rushing into war may not be necessary in the first instance to conquer a land—he urges kings towards a political takeover by making friendly terms with the enemy, presenting them with gifts and winning over their family and kin. ¹⁰² Personal combat is advised to be avoided, since victory is uncertain irrespective of apparent strengths and weaknesses. ¹⁰³

If the deceptive means of conquest—conciliation, gifts and dissension—all fail, the king must then go to full-fledged war in a manner that guarantees him complete victory. Even then, reading in concert with the code of the Epics, the king is not supposed to attempt full annihilation of the enemy, and is also not supposed to use treachery in his fight itself (though intellectual and strategic deception have been specifically condoned by the text so far). It even permits the warrior to retreat if necessary, since preserving his own life is essential to fulfil his purpose in life. However, if he were to die in the battle, he would attain heaven for having fulfilled his warrior duty. ¹⁰⁴ Manu is also disposed against the use of new weapons and does not recommend the destruction of a retreating enemy. ¹⁰⁵

The position of Manu seems similar to that of Kautilya, to some extent, on an intellectual level, though they also have fundamental distinctions. Both are against the complete wanton destruction of the enemy in the first instance and suggest the employment of an ‘intellectual warfare’ ¹⁰⁶ before the armed confrontation happens. However, they differ in the employment of deception—Manu accepts methods like harassment and treachery only in the pre-war preparations (such as brewing dissent in the king’s kin and subjects), whereas Kautilya calls for treachery in the actual conduct of combat as well (Manu specifically prohibits this). The Vedic and epic texts, on the other hand, have no tolerance for deception on paper, but they do cite instances of its employment in actual warfare with justifications and excuses.

Other sources from the Indian subcontinent also seem to be divided on warfare and its strategies. Kathasaritsagara, for instance, admits that when two equal forces engage in armed confrontation, the employment of deception may become decisive in determining the victor. ¹⁰⁷ Similarly, Nitisara by Kamandikiya also speaks of dharmayuddha, in terms of discouraging kings from pursuing war if possible. It takes into account the king’s subjects, stating how the subjects might suffer in a war, and the king must rather attempt diplomatic means to avoid confrontations for the best interests of his subjects. ¹⁰⁸ This special reference to the concern for civilians in war is noteworthy.

An overview of Kautilyan realism, Ashokan humanitarianism (transformed) and the rules of Manusmriti reveals a historical version of the modern tension between military necessity and humanitarian limitation. Kautilya’s preference for targeted political subversion, albeit while employing deception in war itself, can be considered as a rudimentary form of, and a precursor to, the principles of distinction and the prohibition of indiscriminate attacks (Rule 11, CIHL). Ashoka’s shift towards dhammayuddha captures the conflict he faced—in his first phase as a king aiming for victory at any cost, and his subsequent phase as a carrier of Buddha’s ahimsa. His shift in philosophy, in some sense, reflects the spirit of the 1949 Geneva Conventions, that even in the pursuit of state interest, the mitigation of human suffering remains a moral and legal imperative. Even the blatant violations regarding civilian harassment in the Manusmriti provide a crucial point of thought; they represent the exact conduct that the Hague Regulations and Additional Protocol II now seek to criminalize, specifically regarding the protection of objects indispensable to the survival of the civilian population. As such, Indian historical and cultural take on the ethics and rules of warfare take us through the complete rollercoaster of highest ethical compliance to blatant violations, and then back.

Conclusion: Universality of Principles of IHL and Its Modern Pedagogical Importance

Parallels, contradictions and course-corrections regarding the ethics of warfare in the Indian subcontinent as against the modern iterations of IHL carry great philosophical relevance in emphasizing the universality of the principles themselves.

Ancient and medieval Indian ethics in warfare were driven by different notions which, despite the quest for victory and conquest, allowed a scope for civilians’ security, proportionality in attacks and precautions to prevent indiscriminate harm, similar to the core tenets of modern IHL.

The specific norms on conduct of warfare in the ancient as well as medieval times restrict certain conduct, predominantly to limit harm to combatants and civilians. ¹⁰⁹ Similar rules of conduct of hostilities are imbibed into modern IHL as well, in principles of protection to PoWs, ¹¹⁰ ensuring minimal harm, ¹¹¹ targeting military objectives and the like. ¹¹² It is interesting to note that humanitarian concerns persisted even at times where war for imperial conquest were expressly mentioned as a king’s dharma, and that several of these rules are similar to what emerged as part of modern IHL doctrine at a different part of the world in a different era altogether. It resonates the universal and time-transcending wisdom of the basic premises of IHL—requiring that even where wars are unavoidable and justified, certain restrictions exist to limit harm and suffering.

Tracing the history of these principles into the ancient Indian subcontinent is not an exercise to lay a cultural claim on these or to create a narrative of intellectual superiority. Rather, it is important to reiterate the origin of these principles, dating much earlier than their modern conceptualization post-Solferino, to highlight their importance beyond international borders. In the academic engagement with IHL, it is important to emphasize that the norms were not mere technicalities conjured up in the 1800s, but were basic ethical concerns that have informed warfare as stated in ancient mythologies as well. Alleviating suffering and limiting the use of force were part of early human sensibilities since the advent of armed conflict, and even instances of its violation carry with them a reiteration that it is merely an aberration rather than an indication of disdain for the rule itself.

It is not that theoretical parallels between ancient Indian rules and modern IHL have not been drawn in academic papers. On the contrary, numerous Indian and Western authors’ scholarship highlights principles of warfare in the ancient Indian texts and modern IHL, ¹¹³ and the importance of these principles to modern discourse on IHL. ¹¹⁴ The emphasis of this article is to expand this discourse into the curriculum and pedagogy of Indian law schools, blending Third-World Approaches to International Law (TWAIL) and indigenous principles into the teaching and learning of IHL in India. International law in general, including IHL, has been the subject of serious criticism from TWAIL, revealing how imperialist and capitalist tendencies shaped its content. ¹¹⁵ Western origin of most of international law’s mandates has led to developing countries (the ‘Third World’) pointing out how these expectations carry unfair consequences for them, since their concerns were never taken into account in the formulation of these principles. For instance, refugee laws require asylum to be provided to persons in fear of persecution and prohibit their return to states where they face persecution. For the West that witnessed individual seekers of asylum rather than mass influx across borders, this posed a relatively lower resource deficit. Countries such as India, in the Asian continent, however, face a mass influx of thousands of persons moving across borders, and the ‘general’ mandate becomes impractical unless developed further by deeper international aid. IHL, however, stands on a peculiar footing in this regard. Most principles of IHL are truly universal in a way that other sections of international law could not be. This crucial point is highlighted in the examination of the ethical principles of warfare from the Indian subcontinent’s own texts.

In the contemporary political context, it is important to reiterate the universality of IHL in response to the challenges to its legitimacy and value. Incorporating historical Indian perspectives into IHL pedagogy offers a unique pedagogical intervention for law students, especially in the Indian subcontinent. By integrating these texts and history, educators can move beyond viewing IHL as a series of nineteenth-century technicalities and present it as a universal value system, and as such, a non-derogable set of rules that have governed warfare since time immemorial.

Integration of the Indian subcontinent’s literature also provides an opportunity to examine the deontological versus teleological take on war, pertinent in all conversations on just war, as well as the legitimacy of means and methods of warfare. Krishna’s take in the Bhagvad Geeta, for instance, is mostly deontological, insisting that the war itself being for a just cause (dharmayuddha) justifies the adoption of deceptive means as and when necessary. The argument is used in several instances, including Krishna’s encouragement to Yudhisthir, Bhim and Arjun to violate the rules of attack. ¹¹⁶ However, under modern law, jus ad bellum being satisfied would not permit, to any extent, violations of jus in bello. It is important for the war itself to be just, and equally (perhaps more) so for the means and methods to abide by the rules. At the same time, contemporary instances of warfare reveal rules of both jus ad bellum as well as jus in bello being flouted when convenient. Often, arguments such as pre-emptive self-defence are invoked to justify aggression as well as its methods. In that context, it is necessary to critically engage with questions of the conflicting ethics of warfare—would a just cause (assuming it is present in a given scenario) sanctify a war violating rules of IHL? With the advent of newer technology in warfare, such as automated weapons and drones, it is essential to undertake an ethical reconsideration of the limits of warfare, hopefully beginning in classrooms engaging with the theoretical limits of IHL.

This also permits TWAIL ¹¹⁷ to be integrated into the classrooms of IHL, highlighting that the principles have had philosophical backing in the Indian subcontinent before they were reduced into modern principles. Some suggested ways in which IHL pedagogy can gain a paradigm shift are:

Case-study analysis: Students can analyse the ‘grey areas’ of soldiers’ morality, comparing them to ancient texts’ mention of derogation of rules of warfare, to modern instances of violation of IHL. The methods of justification offered can be compared to critique how the violation of rules can be studied and penalized without considering them as instances of illegitimacy of the rules themselves.

The study of ancient Indian warfare confirms that modern IHL principles are not mere historical accidents but are basic ethical concerns that have informed human conflict since time immemorial. While technology evolved from chariots to firearms to automated weapons, the core legal questions—who may be targeted, when and how and to what extent, what weapons are permissible, and when is force justified—remain constant. Reinvoking these principles through a culturally diverse lens ensures that IHL is viewed not as an obscured Western rulebook but as an eternal, universal mandate for the protection of humanity. Especially in these times, it is important to highlight the importance and universal wisdom of IHL and specifically in how we teach and engage with international law in classrooms.