THE MONUMENTAL SANSKRIT epic Rāmāyaṇa functions as an ancient repository of social and moral values which are very much alive today in the Hindu world. The Rāmāyaṇa portrays the legendary exploits of the virtuous warrior-prince Rāma. The story has undergone innumerable interpolations, redactions, vernacular translations, and local retellings throughout its vast and dynamic receptive history. The themes thereof, however, have remained quintessential aspects of Hindu thought and culture over the centuries, inspiring art, dance, narrative, and moral instruction, not only in India but across South and Southeast Asia to this day.¹ Rāma is regarded within the Hindu tradition as the exemplar of social and moral conduct, serving to define and perpetuate South Asian social values. As Robert Goldman notes, “few works of literature produced at any time have been as popular and influential as the great and ancient Sanskrit epic poem, the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa [which has] entertained, moved, enchanted, and uplifted untold millions of people in India and much of Southeast Asia” (1984: 4).

The most ancient and influential rendition of the exploits of Rāma is ascribed to the primordial poet-sage figure Vālmı̄ki, and serves as the culmination of a long bardic tradition resulting from an oral composition originating over two millennia ago. Vālmı̄ki is lauded by the Hindu religious tradition as its ādi kavi (first poet). We are told that Vālmı̄ki, while tranquilly engaged in his ritual bath at the banks of a river one morning, was admiring two beautiful krauñca birds engaged in the act of mating. The scene is sullied when an arrow from a hunter (niṣāda) pierces the breast of the male of the pair, leaving the female to wail in grief for her fallen mate. Vālmı̄ki is so overwhelmed with pity at the sorrowful sight that the following curse spontaneously springs from his unknowing lips:² “Since, niṣāda, you killed one of this pair of krauñcas, distracted at the height of passion, you shall not live very long!” (mā niṣāda pratiṣṭāṃ tvam agamaḥ śāśvatı̄ḥ samāḥ, yat krauñcamithunād ekam avadhı̄ḥ kāmamohitam, I.2.16). This verse is not only indicative of the aesthetic mood of the work, but is also revered as the very first instance of poetry within the Indian subcontinent. It is telling, for our purposes, that poetry itself is derived from grief, and grief born of violence. The sight of wanton violence affronts the sage's moral sensibilities, and though he returns it with an act of violence of his own (albeit an arguably more refined variety), the violence of the hunter is condemned by the text, yet that committed by the sage is not: rather, the violent moment occasioning the hunter's retribution occasions, too, the genesis of poetic verse, and thus constitutes cause for celebration. In a like fashion, Vālmı̄ki's Rāmāyaṇa functions to contrast proper and improper uses of force. While the epic speaks to many lasting ethical considerations, this study confines itself to one such concern: the legitimization of violence.

When is violent force justified? This question, especially when concerned with the large-scale loss of human life, has rightly occupied religious discourse worldwide over the centuries. A Just War framework evolved from Roman and early Christian thinkers (e.g. Cicero and St. Augustine) and has played a key role in the formation of modern international law. It remains the dominant Western approach, providing straightforward criteria to address some of the most basic question about the use of force. Its criteria can be grouped as follows:

Why use force? Just War requires:

(1) A just cause (2) The right intent (3) A net benefit

Who should authorize force?

(4) A legitimate authority

When can force be used?

(5) As a last resort

What level of force?

(6) Proportional means of force

How and where to apply force?

(7) With right conduct³

To what extent does the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa include the criteria of the Just War model? In order to address this question, we performed a manual sweep of the epic and isolated all episodes and passages explicitly pertaining to armed force as well as violence more generally. These passages naturally congealed into groups strikingly similar to those of the Just War framework. The vast majority of the ethical conditions relating to violence were directly comparable to at least one of the criteria comprising the Just War model. Furthermore, while our examination of the epic retrieved no explicit discourse corresponding to the Just War framework's “presumption of peace,” we did find significant material lauding ahiṃsā (nonviolence) and correlated values, such as patience, tolerance, forgiveness, and compassion.

While this examination serves only as one step toward understanding Hindu approaches to armed force, it supports the notion that the themes espoused in the Just War tradition are common to long-standing indigenous Indian deliberations on the ethics of warfare. Rather than an imposition of Western Just War themes, this study shows how very similar ethical considerations assume a distinctly Indian character in the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa. In doing so, the study also indicates the inadequacy of the Just War model to fully address the epic's complex affirmation of peace, a theme which ironically abounds in an epic largely concerned with the legitimization of warfare. This article serves to further incorporate the Hindu ethics of violence into the broader modern global discourse on war and peace.

RELATED SCHOLARSHIP

Despite the recent rise in scholarship on Hinduism and Just War (Clooney 2003; Subedi 2003; Allen 2006; Brekke 2006; Patton 2007; Roy 2009),⁴ this collective enterprise pales in comparison to work done on other religious traditions (Dorn 2010), including Christianity (Johnson 1981), Islam (Kelsay 2007), and Buddhism (Bartholomeusz 2002). Francis Clooney (2003: 109–126) acknowledges that the discussion of a Hindu Just War is still in its infancy; however, he manages to establish the importance in Hinduism of one key Just War criteria: right intention when going to war (jus ad bellum ⁵). Similarly, Nick Allen focuses his insightful study of the Mahābhārata on Just Cause, in addition to discussing the epic's ample supply of parameters for rules of engagement and briefly touching upon issues of Right Authority and Last Resort. But what of the other criteria? Torkel Brekke observes that the Hindu tradition has produced an extensive code of ethics for combat during war (jus in bello) but a relatively meager discourse on jus ad bellum criteria, while the Christian tradition exhibits an inverse emphasis.⁶ Is jus ad bellum discourse truly scarce in the Hindu context, or is it merely more subtly voiced? It is our task to probe narratives as richly didactic as the Rāmāyaṇa in search of the ethical discourses encoded within.

This study contends that, Brekke's observation notwithstanding, the absence of ample comparison between the war ethics of India and the West results in large part from the degree to which the Indian discourse is embedded in narratives such as the Rāmāyaṇa, narratives understudied throughout the history of Indological scholarship. While more overtly didactic strata of the Hindu corpus (e.g., Vedānta) have enjoyed far more probing and sustained scholarly attention than narrative texts (especially the purāṇas), it is worth noting that the vast and ongoing career of the Rāmāyaṇa has proved enormously more far-reaching than strands of philosophy intended for, and preserved by, India's social and religious elite.

The discourses on violence embedded in epic narrative, while far less succinct and direct than, for example, Dharmaśāstra literature, nevertheless constitute powerful avenues of insight into lasting ethical concerns within Hinduism. Though narrative is often considered descriptive, it is also prescriptive in the Indian context, particularly since the epics are replete with social and moral ideologies (Dhand 2002). This is especially the case with the Rāmāyaṇa since, as Laurie Patton remarks, the work attempts to integrate violence with Rāma's moral perfection (2007). Given the epic's preoccupation with the legitimization of violence, and its enormous clout as a source of social and moral guidance, it serves as an excellent text to help bridge the lacuna in scholarship regarding the intersection of Just War discourse and Hindu ethics pertaining to armed force.

A work as popular and influential as the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa has, of course, been subject to modification (interpolation, redaction) from one milieu to another across the sweep of its vast geographical and historical transmission. While historicist and philological analysis has by and large dominated the study of Sanskrit texts, “often occupied with excavating texts for the purpose of reconstructing the chronology of identifiably distinct textual layers” (Black and Geen 2011: 9), this study employs primarily a literary mode of engagement (similar to that of Black 2011; Geen 2011; Lindquist 2011; Patton 2011); that is, we are interested in the epic in its current form, embracing the ideological and creative enterprises of the text's numerous interpolators and redactors. The search for a pristine, “original” text may be as futile as it is unimportant to the concerns of the living tradition which has sculpted the narrative to its current shape in accordance with prevailing values. While little can be certain about the intentions of Vālmı̄ki (or even of his historical existence), it is clear that the narrative fabric of the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa readily lends itself to discussion of the ethics of violence. Since Hinduism preserves ahiṃsā (nonviolence) as an ethical imperative, it is no wonder that the Rāmāyaṇa exhibits so marked an anxiety regarding the use of force, an anxiety which the epic competently addresses through its characterization and dialogue. It is these literary elements to which we turn in search of counsel on the legitimate use of force.

THE JUST WAR CRITERIA

THE UNJUST WAR: SAGE COUNSEL AT THE COURT OF RĀVAṆA

Vālmı̄ki's overwhelming concern for just warfare, as evidenced by the inclusion of the seven criteria, is especially apparent in Book VI, Yuddhakāṇḍa, “The Book of War.” Given that several dialogues in Laṅkā contained in this book deal explicitly with the themes of statecraft and warfare, they have been given their own section in this article. The material therein serves to bolster several Just War considerations, particularly the criterion upon which the ethical system hinges: Just Cause. Goldman notes in the introductory essay that:

The Yuddhakāṇḍa is not entirely devoted to the strategies and conduct of war … the Book's narrative offers many opportunities for discussions of statecraft, [and] moral and ethical debates… . The principal junctures for the exposition and discussion of ethical and expedient conduct are the councils … when the leaders, Rāma and Rāvaṇa, are confronted with crises and calamities and are forced to make critical decisions. (van Nooten 2009: 28)

At three of these critical decision-making junctures—the two councils at the court of Laṅkā and in Rāvaṇa's encounter with Kumbhakarṇa—Vālmı̄ki demonstrates the irrefutable unrighteousness of the villain's cause, and, by contrast, the righteousness inherent in the cause of the hero Rāma. Vālmı̄ki reinforces Rāvaṇa's villainous nature throughout the book by repeatedly calling attention to the injustice of so unethical a motive for waging war as forcefully coveting the wife of another. Ironically, at these pivotal junctures, the poet delivers his sage counsel on the nature of war and peace by using three of the demon-king's closest kinsmen as mouthpieces. The three are: his brother, Vibhı̄ṣaṇa; his great-uncle Mālyavān; and another of his brothers, the giant warrior Kumbhakarṇa. These three exchanges articulate a concern underscored throughout the epic, i.e., that violence never be deployed in the absence of just cause, and conversely, that it must be readily deployed in defense of righteousness.

The first of the two rākṣasa war councils takes place before Rāma and his army cross the ocean, well before the deployment of weapons. The very existence of a prewar council is significant: war ought not to arise from rashness or impulse, but, rather, from careful and methodical consideration. So great is the necessity for counsel in times of war that even the self-absorbed Rāvaṇa respectfully requests his ministers' advice, declaring that “those who are venerable and wise say that counsel is the cornerstone of victory.” If it is ironic that the rash and self-absorbed monarch would humble himself before his ministers for deliberation about the prospect of war, the allegedly sagacious “advice” he receives from among that congregation is also befittingly ironic. While the rākṣasa council enthusiastically assure Rāvaṇa of his prowess and inevitable victory—thus further inciting his arrogance and misguided sense of invincibility—Rāvaṇa's own brother, Vibhı̄ṣaṇa, dares to offer sensible counsel (VI.9.12–VI.9.13, 15–16, 19–20, 22):

By no means, night roaming rākṣasas, should we rashly underestimate our foes; for their forces and valor are immeasurable. And what offence had Rāma previously committed against the king of the rākṣasas that the latter should have abducted that illustrious man's wife?¹² … Vaidehı̄¹³ constitutes a grave danger to us. She who has been abducted must be surrendered. There is no point in acting merely to provoke a quarrel. It would therefore not be appropriate for us to engage in pointless hostility with this powerful and righteous man. You must give Maithilı̄ back to him … .¹⁴ If you do not of your own free will give back Rāma's beloved wife, the city of Laṅkā and all of its valiant rākṣasas will surely perish. As your kinsman, I beseech you. Do as I say. What I am telling you is both salutary and beneficial ….¹⁵ Give up your wrath, so destructive of both happiness and righteousness. Practice righteousness, which is conducive to pleasures and fame. Calm yourself, that we may survive together with our sons and kinsmen. You must give Maithilı̄ back to Dāśaratha.¹⁶

Vibhı̄ṣaṇa advises his king to surrender Sı̄tā, who is being sought by both sides. Insofar as she is the object of dispute, she is also the proximate cause of the war. The war does not begin with Rāma's siege of Laṅkā, but rather originates from Rāvaṇa's malicious abduction of Sı̄tā, which we are told is the mundane impetus for Rāma's cosmic conquest of Rāvaṇa, evil personified. It is that very misdeed which Vibhı̄ṣaṇa addresses as an unjust cause for warfare. He argues that Sı̄tā's abduction was unwarranted, and that Rāma had committed no previous offence against the lord of the rākṣasas, save for the slaying of the demon Khara, which according to Vibhı̄ṣaṇa was in self-defense, and thus justified. This confirms the twin notions that violence must be sanctioned by just cause, and that self-defense is a legitimate cause for the use of force.

Once the war is underway and Rāma and his troops have made headway toward Laṅkā, Rāvaṇa holds another council. Yet again his rākṣasa ministers assure him that victory is inevitable and prod him to continue on his path of destruction. However, reason is again voiced by one of Rāvaṇa's kinsmen. Similar to Vibhı̄ṣaṇa's courageous challenge, Mālyavān (the paternal uncle of Rāvaṇa's mother) challenges the ethical foundation of the war (VI.26.6–VI.26.8)

Your majesty, a king who is well versed in the traditional branches of learning and who acts in accordance with sound policy will long exercise sovereignty and bring his foes under his power. And if he makes peace or war with his enemies at the appropriate times and strengthens his own side, he will thus enjoy broader sovereignty. A king who is weaker than his rival or equal to him in strength should sue for peace. Only one who is stronger should make war, but even he must never underestimate his enemy.¹⁷

Mālyavān launches an argument based on the inevitability of defeat and a consideration of net benefit. Just as Vibhı̄ṣaṇa insisted upon the return of Sı̄tā to avert the war, so too does Mālyavān insist upon her return to avert further destruction and salvage what is left of the city of Laṅkā. Thus, they both recommend that Rāvaṇa make peace with Rāma. While Vibhı̄ṣaṇa offered his counsel when war was a mere possibility and not yet a reality, emphasizing the unrighteousness of their cause, Mālyavān somewhat sidesteps the question of righteousness at this later stage of the game. Given that armed conflict has already arisen, he focuses on the necessity for survival, emphasizing the inevitability of defeat. This is reminiscent of the category of Net Benefit and the component “reasonable prospect of success,” for which there is little chance for the rākṣasas.

The third and final juncture examined here occurs after much destruction has taken place. Rāvaṇa, desperate for aid, decides to awaken his brother, the giant Kumbhakarṇa who sleeps for six-month intervals. Upon lamenting his dire predicament (for the war has taken several turns for the worse since the second council), he sues for the giant's assistance in the war. Kumbhakarṇa delivers a lengthy speech in which he severely chastizes Rāvaṇa for not heeding the advice of his ministers and for being blinded by arrogance and committing wicked acts without reflection. Kumbhakarṇa condemns such rash, selfish disregard for counsel as “unsound policy” since it is opposed to “the texts on polity.” Such wanton passion is unbefitting the ideal monarch. The giant informs us that (VI.51.12–VI.51.13; VI.51.20): He who … practices righteousness, profit, and pleasure at their appropriate times never comes to grief in this world. And the king who, together with ministers who understand the true nature of things and have this interest at heart, deliberates over what he ought and ought not to do in this world in order to achieve a beneficial result thrives… . And so a king who underestimates his enemy and fails to protect himself meets with calamities and falls from his lofty state.¹⁸

The giant rebukes Rāvaṇa not only for ignoring the sage advice offered in the war councils, but also for his “wicked deed” that caused the calamity, i.e., the fateful abduction of Sı̄tā. However, unlike both Vibhı̄ṣaṇa and Mālyavān, Kumbhakarṇa appears oblivious to or unconcerned with the inevitability of Rāvaṇa's defeat, though he eventually submits to Rāvaṇa's request and agrees to fight on his behalf. Interestingly, he in no way appeals to Rāvaṇa to end the conflict, and, unlike his two fellow interlocutors, makes no plea for Rāvaṇa to return the wife of Rāma. Perhaps his omission is indicative that the conflict has escalated to a point of no return. Instead, he rebukes the lord of the rākṣasas for having gone to war in the first place. He also invokes three of the four puruṣārthas, the aims of human life sanctioned in classical Hindu philosophy,¹⁹ harshly criticizing Rāvaṇa for not “taking to heart” which of these aims deserves priority in dharma or righteousness. Since the war being waged presents Rāvaṇa with no economic gain, he must not be motivated by artha. That leaves only kāma, which is pleasure, and desire. Rāvaṇa was desirous of Rāma's wife, and his desire threatened to destroy him. Kumbhakarṇa's central critique of the lord of the rākṣasas is his selfish lack of awareness and foresight. Blinded by kāma, Rāvaṇa remains heedless to śāstric injunctions and is deaf to the advice of his learned ministers. He wages a war born of desire, which by its very hedonistically selfish nature precludes concern for righteousness, or the welfare of the kingdom at large.²⁰

With respect to his ultimate indifference to the dictates of dharma, Rāvaṇa is the antithesis of the self-composed Rāma, who effortlessly surrenders his own throne for fourteen years for the sake of dharma. Rāvaṇa, on the other hand, would not even sacrifice the ill-begotten wife of another for the sake of protecting his entire kingdom and his multitude of rākṣasa subjects. Thus, the diatribes of Kumbhakarṇa, Vibhı̄ṣaṇa, and Mālyavān constitute a thematic triangulation of critique: Rāvaṇa, drunk with desire, demonstrates his moral depravity by waging a war entirely ungrounded in śāstra (scriptural authority), lacking just cause, and detrimental to the fabric of dharma. His vice also serves to define by contrast Rāma's unblemished virtue. Vālmı̄ki's concern for just warfare as exemplified in Yuddhakāṇḍa is evident, and rings true centuries later, as victory in the battle of Rāma over Rāvaṇa is celebrated to this day.

CONCLUSIONS ON THE APPLICATION OF JUST WAR CRITERIA

The Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa is an epic tale of a warrior-prince's valorous rescue of his abducted wife. It is also a tale of the descent of divinity to destroy cosmic evil on earth. Yet it is by no means a tale that celebrates unbridled force. Violence is permissible only under specific conditions. All of the Just War criteria are present in the text, though not consolidated in one place. In order for violence to be just in the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa, there must be adequate cause. These include restoration of cosmic order, punishment of evil doers, protection of those under attack, and self-defense. Although other key Hindu texts go so far as to permit force for the purpose of conquest (Dorn et al. 2010), the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa does not give righteous examples of such.

As in Just War, there must be the right intention, namely preservation of the welfare of others and society in general. The force must be authorized and applied by proper authority, in this case, the ruling members of the kṣatriya class. There must also be a net benefit for society or at least the absence of senseless loss. The text expresses the need for proportionality between the amount of force wielded and the gravity of the offense. Also, violence must be the last resort, occurring only once peaceful stratagems (three are commonly cited) have been exhausted. Additionally, a warrior must not harm civilians, a norm which is increasingly being asserted in Western military circles.

There are, of course, differences between the Just War model and the treatment of violence in the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa, incongruities which are compounded by the fact that the Just War tradition includes various interpretations of its criteria. Four differences can be clearly identified. First, the epic tells us that kṣatriyas (the ruler and warrior caste) may wield weapons and apply force for punishment as well as protection. By contrast, contemporary Just War thinking (National Conference of Catholic Bishops 1983) and international law (United Nations Charter) do not make provisions for punishment per se.²¹ Secondly, international law disallows conquest but allows for self-defense when an armed attack has occurred on a state (UN Charter, Article 51). However, in modern Just War discourse, the legitimacy of preemptive self-defense is highly debatable, though the Charter provisions speak against it. The Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa offers no examples of preemptive self-defense, but it does allow for wars of conquest, though Rāmā does not avail himself of that right. Thirdly, legitimate authority under contemporary Just War thinking can be either the national authority, the international authority, or both. Under the UN Charter, the international authority that has a monopoly on the use of force is the UN Security Council. Obviously, there is no equivalent organizational body in the world of the Rāmāyaṇa; however, the use of counsels therein might be considered analogous to national authorities (parliaments). The ruler and counselors are determined by caste in the rules of that system, though this would be taboo today. Fourthly, the rules of combat represented in the epic differ from their modern counterpart insofar as only combatants of equal advantage may rightly engage one another, whereas modern warfare stipulates no such standards. Indeed, in epic warfare, one could not even engage a combatant from aboard a chariot unless he is similarly mounted, yet modern Just War discourse does not even prohibit the air launch of missiles on ground targets.

This study nevertheless demonstrates the remarkable affinity between the Just War criteria and the sanction of violence in the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa. The ancient Indian justifications for force found therein, which may very well prefigure their Western counterparts, appear quite compatible with modern Western notions on morally acceptable force. The fact that all seven Just War criteria are traceable in the ancient Sanskrit epic strongly suggests that elements inherent in the Just War model are not as culturally defined as one might think. The counter-examples found in the text (e.g., the hero Rāma's harsh slaying of Vālin) are presented in a way that shows the moral tension and does not obviate the concern. These examples actually reinforce the value of the Just War criteria. The authors of the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa, from so distant historical, geographical, and cultural spheres, exert so much effort on specifying the conditions legitimizing warfare, suggesting a universality to the human anxiety concerning the ancient enterprise of organized violence.

Despite its remarkable compatibility with the components of Just War ideology, the text evades a categorical “presumption of peace” for the warrior class, whose caste duty is to fight. However, this is not to say that the maintenance of peace is presumed to be of no value in the text. It would be impossible to be so concerned with the justification and systemization of violence without an underlying interest in peace. Why else would the authors of the text exert so much effort discoursing on the justification for violence had peace not been of great value?

AHIṂSĀ: THE RĀMĀYAṆA'S “PRESUMPTION OF PEACE”

John Brockington (2004) notes that the word ahiṃsā appears only twice in the text of the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa. The absence of the term ahiṃsā, however, in no way denotes the absence of an esteem for nonviolence. Sı̄tā is the primary but not exclusive proponent of nonviolence within the text. At one point, she describes Rāma as possessing all virtues, including “ahiṃsā” (VI.23.31). In the forest, she requests that Rāma not harm the rākṣasas unless he is provoked. Moreover, once the great war is over and Hanumān recovers her from Rāvaṇa's private grove, Hanumān asks permission to slaughter the she-demons who have been tormenting Sı̄tā over the past year (VI.101.23–VI.101.25). The compassionate Sı̄tā refuses to consent, seeking neither vengeance nor punishment of her tormenters. She rather embodies an ideal of peace and forbearance, sagaciously invoking śāstric injunctions in her speech to Hanumān as follows (VI.101.34–VI.101.37): There is an ancient verse in keeping with righteousness that a bear once recited in the presence of a tiger… . “A superior person never requites evil on the part of evildoers with evil”… . A noble person must act compassionately whether people are wicked, virtuous, or even deserving of death. For, leaping monkey, no one is entirely innocent. One should not harm rākṣasas, who can take on any form at will and take pleasure in injuring people, even when they do evil.²²

While punishment is well within the parameters of her dharma, Sı̄tā instead espouses the loftier moral precept of ahiṃsā. Sı̄tā, however, is not alone in her esteem for nonviolence. Rāma also expresses qualms about the use of violent force, which is especially remarkable given his duty as a warrior. Despite his right of succession, Rāma eschews Lakṣmaṇa's suggestion of using force to seize the throne.²³ At the conclusion of Book II (Ayodhyākāṇḍa), when we find Rāma at the outskirts of Ayodhyā about to commence his exile, the Brahmin Jābāli presents Rāma with a harsh critique of ascetic values, arguing that they are mere conceits contrived by the priestly class. He urges Rāma to relinquish his superstitious notions and return to society and pursue a life of worldly enjoyment at the court of Ayodhyā (II.100.2–II.100.17). Rāma, in turn, explicitly declares that he rejects the kṣatriya code where “righteousness and unrighteousness go hand in hand, a code that only debased, vicious, covetous and evil men observe” (kṣātraṃ dharmam ahaṃ tyakṣye hy adharmaṃ dharmasaṃhitam kṣudrair nṛśaṃsair lubdhaiś ca sevitaṃ pāpakarmabhiḥ, II.101.20). In denouncing the warrior code, Rāma implicitly extols nonviolence. His restraint and passivity are valorized, despite the threat they pose for his social caste duty as a warrior. Rāma does not even consider defending his own throne with force while at Ayodhyā.

Rāma openly engages in violence only while away from “civilization,” far from Ayodhyā and the sphere of utopian human order. In exile, he regularly employs violence in order to protect sages, slay several demons, slaughter a usurper monkey-king, and wage war against the rākṣasas in order to regain his abducted wife. Rāma is valorized for defeating his wife's captor, Rāvaṇa, who is the embodiment of evil. Violence never erupts in Ayodhyā, nor does Rāma ever engage in combat with human beings. The warrior-king only exercises the use of force away from Ayodhyā. He only combats rākṣasas and vānaras and these encounters occur only in the wilderness: in Kiṣkindhā, which is the city of the vānaras, and in Laṅkā, the city of the rākṣasas. Violence becomes a recourse for dealing with the demonic and the animal, “quite literally, the strategy of the inhuman” (Pollock 1986: 20). However, the values that Vālmı̄ki articulates through Rāma's interaction with the rākṣasas and vānaras are obviously meant to apply equally (if not more so) to the human world. Recall that Vālmı̄ki voices sage war counsel via the demons at the court of Laṅkā, which itself is described as possessing a highly sophisticated and refined social culture. Also, Rāma holds the vānaras accountable to human social values, to which they themselves appear to adhere; Rāma rebukes Sugrı̄va for not keeping true to his word, and Vālin for adultery. The epic consistently holds these nonhuman characters to highly refined human standards. They are not mere ogres and apes living in depravity: both species of nonhuman foils are described as living highly civilized lives, particularly the rākṣasas. Furthermore, the use of nonhuman interlocutors serves to preserve the idyllic status of Ayodhyā, of which peace is a crucial element.

Vālmı̄ki portrays Rāma as the ideal human even at the expense of being the ideal warrior, since at times nonviolence takes ethical priority over sanctioned violence. At the very onset of the epic, Vālmı̄ki questions the great sage Nārada about the ideal man, i.e., one “who is benevolent to all creatures” (sarvabhūteṣu ko hitaḥ, I.1.3), yet “who when his fury is aroused in battle is feared even by the gods” (kasya bibhyati devāś ca jātaroṣasya saṃyuge, I.1.4). Nārada responds with a glowing description of Rāma, whom he describes as “the protector of all living things and the guardian of righteousness [and] versed in the science of arms” (rakṣitā jı̄valokasya dharmasya parirakṣitā … dhanurvede ca niṣṭhitaḥ, I.1.13). Rāma is extolled as a great warrior, a champion of the underprivileged, and a defender of the devout, yet he is also described as “always even-tempered and kind-spoken, [and as one who] would ignore a hundred injuries, so great was his self-control” (sa hi nityaṃ praśāntātmā mṛdupūrvaṃ ca bhāṣate ucyamāno ‘pi paruṣaṃ nottaraṃ pratipadyate; kathaṃcid upakāreṇa kṛtenaikena tuṣyati na smaraty apakārāṇāṃ śatam apy ātmavattayā, II.1.15–16). Yet the text unambiguously states that Rāma's martial prowess is unequalled: indeed, we are told that “in his wrath he resembles the fire [of destruction] at the end of time” (kālāgnisadṛśaḥ krodhe, I.1.17). He conquers many foes throughout his legendary career. Yet he advocates passivity on several important occasions, subverting his social duty in favor of the doctrine of nonviolence. The Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa extols sagacious equanimity in tandem with martial prowess. Thus, the formidable prince-regent is content to live in the forest in ascetic garb for fourteen years. The Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa celebrates Ayodhyā as the ideal state and Rāma as the ideal warrior who engages in combat for a righteous cause, in a righteous fashion. However, Rāma is well-endowed with moral ideals of nonviolence, tolerance, equanimity, self-restraint, forgiveness, etc., thereby rendering our hero an intriguing champion of peace. The Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa engages the tension between legitimizing and reproaching the use of force. This dichotomy is at the heart of the tradition as enshrined in the tensions between ascetics and kings, and brāhmaṇas and kṣatriyas. The text is consciously both world-affirming and world-denying, which helps to account for its poignant social relevance for twenty-five centuries: Hinduism to this day preserves both ideals, and thus preserves this tale which speaks to both.

The presumption of peace, expressed through the motif of ahiṃsā, dominates the epic's vision of the ideal society. The ultimate state is a peaceful one, as symbolized by the utopic Ayodhyā. Combat occurs only under certain conditions, the foremost of which is Just Cause, including the restoration of dharma (righteousness). It is this very prerequisite which defines the valor of the hero of the Rāmāyaṇā, since Rāma fights for righteousness, dharma itself, fulfilling his function as avatāra by quelling the demonic forces and restoring cosmic balance. This rebalancing of cosmic and social order entails the establishment of peace, corresponding to the Just War notion of fighting only in order to achieve peace. Given the concerns entertained by the authors of the Vālmı̄ki Rāmāyaṇa regarding the legitimization of violence, this ancient Indian epic exhibits a remarkable adherence to both the spirit and criteria of the modern Just War model. It is our hope that this is one of many possible contributions toward rendering audible Hindu voices in the global conversation on the justifications for the use of force.