The advent of the Early Historic period in northern India in the sixth and fifth centuries bce saw the emergence of monarchical and oligarchic states and the beginnings of a sustained discussion of the relationship of kingship with violence and non-violence.

The succeeding centuries were marked by a great deal of political conflict and violence, both internal (within states) as well as directed externally towards other states and forest people.

The beginnings of this discourse also coincided with the emergence or increasing prominence of religious traditions that valorised renunciation and non-violence while expressing strong views about the political domain; a coincidence that had an enormous long-term impact. Buddhism empha­sised non-violence, and it is likely that the banner of non-violence was raised by other thinkers and sects as well. Jainism was an older tradition that took the practice of non-violence to great extremes. The early emergence of a strong tradition connecting renunciation and non-violence in the religious domain had a significant impact on the political domain and led to an enduring tension between kingship and renunciation, violence and non­violence.

In ancient Indian thought, Sanskrit compound words with a negative prefix, such as ahimsa, ‘non-violence', acquired a much greater importance than the terms they negated (in this case, himsa, ‘violence') as well as a very strong positive value.^{[1130] [1131]} Along with another term, anrsamsya, which means

‘non-cruelty or compassion', ahimsa was considered to be an important virtue. There were a variety of perspectives across time and textual genre on the connection between these virtues and kingship. Apart from distin­guishing between necessary force and violence in the exercise of political power, ancient Indian intellectuals also focused on two specific activities that involved the king's threat or use of force, namely war and punishment,.

Over the centuries the king's use of force was frequently discussed in relation to the ideas of dharma (pious duty); heaven and hell; liberation from the cycle of birth and death; and renunciation. It was also discussed from a pragmatic political perspective. By the middle of the first millen­nium ce a ‘classical' model of kingship had emerged, one in which the use of a certain amount of force by the king was accommodated and legitimised. At the same time there was a recognition of the dangers of excess, and of force veering into violence. In this chapter I move between the neutral term ‘force' and the word ‘violence', the latter carrying the connotations of force that is considered excessive, unrigh­teous or unjustified. It should be understood that the political discourse of legitimate force was an important part of political ideology. It was constructed and was, in fact, essential for the justification of a variety of political acts involving violence.

Violence and non-violence in ancient India have usually been discussed within the framework of the three dominant religious traditions - Brahmanism/Hinduism, Buddhism andJainism. There are certain qualitative differences in the value placed on non-violence in these three traditions. While non-violence was recognised as a virtue in several Brahmanical texts, it was not a central precept. Jainism and Buddhism, on the other hand, intro­duced an extended, powerful and systematic discourse on ethics in which non-violence towards all beings was central. Their primary concern was with the negative passions that led the perpetrator to engage in violent acts and the impact that these passions and acts had on future lives through the operation of the laws of rebirth and karman (the theory that actions have consequences that have an impact across several births). The Jainas followed the principle of non-violence with greater ardour than any other Indian religion because of their unique theory of the nature of reality, which saw the world as perme­ated with different kinds of life forms which must, as far as possible, not be harmed.

Non-violence was an important part of practice for Jaina and Buddhist monks, nuns and laity. Since the king was an important part of the laity, he too was bound to its practice. However, there were two caveats. Jainism and Buddhism recognised that laypersons could not practice non-violence as strictly as members of the monastic order. They also recognised that the office and function of the king were unique and required a separate, special response. Therefore, when applied to the political sphere, the principle of non-violence was seriously diluted. In view of the fact that political thought constantly interfaced with an awareness of political realities, and that inter­action and dialogue were part of the cultural matrix, it is not surprising that the distinctions between Brahmanical/Hindu, Buddhist and Jaina perspec­tives sometimes get blurred. Furthermore, religion is not the only lens through which the issue of political violence should be examined; there were a variety of non-religious disciplinary and literary perspectives as well.

Dharma, which became a central civilisational concept in India, was an important framing concept for the discussion of kingship, violence and non­violence. Although the word occurs in Vedic texts, it is only in post-Vedic texts that it acquired its classical meaning - the duties of an individual as part of society. It has been suggested that this development was a Brahmanical response to the increasing importance and ethical content given to this term in Buddhism and by the Maurya emperor Asoka (268-32 bce).^[1132] In the Brahmanical tradition, where neither an organised priesthood nor a textual canon existed, dharma became the subject of a special discipline dealt with in a vast corpus of texts known as Dharmasastra. The understanding of dharma in these texts was based on the idea of two normative fourfold divisions.

Apart from varna, the second normative axis important not only for social discourse but also for the political discourse on kingship, violence and non­violence, was that of the division of the life of men of the three upper vamas into four consecutive stages known as asramas - brahmacarya (celibate stu­dent-hood), grhastha (the householder stage), vanaprastha (partial renuncia­tion) and samnyasa (complete renunciation).^[1134] The householder stage involved active engagement with worldly duties; non-violence was especially associated with renunciation. Although renunciation was not considered as obligatory in the theory of the four life stages, it cast a long and powerful shadow over the institution of kingship. The Brahmanical tradition espoused the view that the king must discharge his duties and should he want to become a renunciant, he must do so only after fulfilling his social and political duties.

An important part of the discourse on political paramountcy was the idea of the cakravartin - the paramount king who was victorious over the four quarters.

The king's force and punishment are central to ancient Indian theories of the origins of kingship. They are described as necessary for the maintenance of order and the prevention of chaos. In the Agganna Sutta of the Sutta Pitaka, an early Buddhist text (whose composition is placed roughly between the third and first centuries bce), the origins of kingship are traced to a certain stage in a process of progressive moral decline, when vices such as theft, accusation, lying and punishment had made their appearance among beings. The beings assembled and lamented this situation and decided to appoint a man who would punish those who deserved punishment; in return they agreed to give him a portion of their rice. This ruler was given the designation ‘Mahasammata', which means ‘the Great Elect' or ‘one who has been elected or appointed by the people'.^[1135] In this contractual theory, the king's force is associated with his punishment and justice, especially with reference to the maintenance of property rights.

The Ramayana and Mahabharata are the two great Sanskrit epics, com­posed between c. 400 bce and 400 ce.^[1136] The epics have had enormous cultural impact across the centuries in India as well as other parts of Asia, and this impact extended to the domain of political ideas.

In the second account of the origin of kingship in the Santi Parva, we are told that long ago the people came together and made agreements among themselves in order to counter social anarchy, violence and insecurity.^[1138] They agreed to get rid of violent, aggressive men who stole, violated women and performed other such evil acts; but they were unsuccessful in doing so. So they went to the god Brahma and begged him to appoint a king. Brahma chose Manu, but Manu did not take up the task immediately because he was afraid of the cruel (krura) acts that kingship required, especially among men who were always prone to wrongful behaviour.^{[1139] [1140]} The people urged Manu not to be afraid and reassured him that the sin incurred by his cruel deeds would go away. They also offered to give him one-fiftieth of their cattle and gold and a tenth of their grain. Soldiers skilled in war would follow him everywhere, and one-fourth of the merit earned by the people would go to him. Manu accepted this contract and proceeded to go around the earth, suppressing the wicked and making them perform their duties. This account emphasises the contractual relationship between king and subjects, the need for kings in order to prevent social violence, and the king's essential exercise of force in war and the administration of justice. It also recognises the violence inherent in the king's job and absolves him of the sin arising from it.

The violation of the varna order is central to the vivid descriptions of chaos in the Brahmanical tradition. The king's force is often said to be necessary in order to prevent the onset of ‘the law of the fish' (matsyanyaya), a state of anarchy in which the strong devour the weak. In fact, in the Manavadharmasastra, also known as the Manusmrti (dated between c. 200 bce and 200 ce), the king appears above all as a stern policer and punisher.11 This important text states that the lord created his son Danda (‘Punishment') from the energy of Brahman for the sake of the king. It is fear of punishment (danda) that makes all creatures follow their dharma. The text goes on to bestow fulsome praise on punishment. It is clear that danda refers to punishment that is measured and fair; it can only be wielded by one who is self-possessed, not by one who is foolish, greedy, irresolute or attached to the objects of the senses. The king must wield the rod of punishment properly, and must be both harsh and gentle. Just punish­ment sustains order; unjust punishment not only leads to disorder, it can kill the king and all those associated with him.

Apart from justice, ancient Indian texts also discuss the king's force in relation to war. The Ramayana and Mahabharata are highly political texts whose narratives are marked by dissension within the royal household, exile, war and violence. Both emphasise primogeniture as the proper basis of royal succession. By the time of the compilation of the Ramayana, the hero Rama was considered an incarnation of the god Visnu, but through most of the epic, he is portrayed as an ideal man and ideal king. Although he is the eldest and most worthy son, he prefers to go into exile to honour his father's promise to a favourite queen rather than fight for his right to the throne. But he wages war against the demon Ravana to rescue his abducted wife Sita. The violence of the war between Rama and Ravana is mitigated by its being presented as a righteous war and as part of a cosmic battle between the gods and demons. It is also mitigated by the fact that although he discharges his duties as warrior, prince and king in an exemplary fashion, Rama is also portrayed as an embodiment of compassion, the refuge of all beings, and as worthy of devotion.

The Mahabharata has a more nuanced and elaborate discussion of the problems of kingship and violence than any other ancient Indian text and highlights the dilemmas and grey areas through its narrative as well as didactic portions. Non-violence is described as part of the dharma for all vamas. Practising this and other virtues leads to heaven. Ahimsa and anrsamsya are the two important words in the epic's treatment of the problem of violence. It has been suggested that ahimsa (non-violence) was the ideal for the renunciant; it was impossible to practise it in absolute terms while living a worldly life. Anrsarnsya (which includes goodwill, empathy and compassion), on the other hand, was as an ethic for worldly life.^[1141] Both terms are mentioned as the ‘highest dharma' in the Mahabharata, although many other things are also given this status, including truth, the Veda, following one's spiritual teacher, honouring guests, and wealth. And yet, in spite of the frequent mention of non-violence and compassion as virtues, neither con­stitute the central message of the epic. To some extent, this is because, due to its complex compositional history and multi-vocal nature, the Mahabharata cannot be reduced to a single, central message. But the story is an inherently bloody, violent tale. Of the hundreds of thousands who fight day after day over eighteen days on the battlefield of Kuruksetra, only ten survive. As in the Ramayana, this war, too, is part of the age-old gods versus demons conflict, the Pandavas and Kauravas representing the two sides respectively. But the violence of war and the unhappiness that follows in its wake, even for the victors, are vividly on display.

Given its loose and rambling structure, it should not come as a surprise that the Mahabharata abounds in contradictory statements about violence and non-violence. The dominant view in the text is that force or violence that is necessary to the performance of one's hereditary calling, and therefore one's duty, is justified. The god Krsna is one of the arch proponents of necessary violence. In the Mahabharata, it is not killing in battle, but the killing of kin in battle, that is the problem. The most powerful and philoso­phically complex response to this problem occurs in the Bhagavadgita, which is part of the Bhisma Parva, the sixth book of the epic, and is usually dated between c. 200 bce and 200 ce. The Bhagavadgita is set on the eve of the great war, when Arjuna, seeing his close kin and friends among the enemy array in front of him, lays down his arms and declares that he will not fight. His charioteer, the god Krsna, explains why he must do his duty as a warrior. Weaving together strands from Samkhya, Yoga and Vedanta philosophies with the ideas of duty and religious devotion (bhakti), the Bhagavadgita represents a unique philosophical synthesis. Its idea of karmayoga emphasises the eternal and indestructible nature of the self (atman) and the importance of following one's varna duty; it is the fruits of actions and not actions them­selves that are to be renounced. The warrior must fight because it is his duty to do so, but he must fight with complete detachment, free from ego, pride, desire, anger and covetousness. Krsna's teaching is addressed to the warrior Arjuna, but it also applies to the king, who is presumed to be a warrior par excellence.

In the Mahabharata, compassion and its variants - pity, sympathy, gentleness - are listed among the virtues that a king should possess. But how was the king to practise non-violence? The eldest Pandava brother Yudhisthira (initially would-be king and later king) who is devoted to dharma and free from cruelty is tormented by this problem. The epic emphasises that an excessive predilection for non-violence is disastrous for a king. In his long discourse on kingship while lying on a bed of arrows in the Santi Parva, the wise Bhisma warns the vacillating Yudhisthira of excessive compassion. A king saddled with compassion is like a eunuch and is not respected by his people. Furthermore, absolute non-violence is impossible. All living creatures inflict some kind of harm on other creatures. All livelihoods involve doing some amount of violence. One does not incur sin by violence that is con­nected to one's hereditary calling. It is the king's duty to protect his people and ensure their welfare, and the use of force towards such ends is necessary. Bhisma tells Yudhisthira that a kingdom is the worst scene of killing and a gentle man would find it unbearable. Yudhisthira observes that since the king kills many people while engaged in war, his dharma is surely the most sinful of all dharmas. Bhisma seems to accept this point, but observes that this sin can be driven away by protecting the people and making them prosper, performing sacrifices, giving gifts and ascetic practices.^{[1142] [1143] [1144]} So although the violence inherent in kingship cannot be avoided, compensation and atonement are possible.

At the same time, the epic distinguishes between necessary force and wanton violence. And it also warns that the excessive cruelty and violence of the king and his neglect of his duties can lead to justified violence against him. A cruel king, who does not protect his people, who robs them in the name of levying taxes, is evil incarnate and should be killed by his subjects. A king who, after promising to protect his subjects does not do so, should be killed by them, as though he were a mad dog.1⁴ So although it upholds and exalts the institution of kingship, in exceptional situations where the king does not perform his duties and is cruel to his people, the Mahabharata sanctions regicide.

In Jainism and Buddhism, dharma, or its Pali/Prakrit form dhamma, refers to their doctrines in which non-violence had an important place. Apart from detailed injunctions against harming the various forms of life that inhabit the world, Jainism has detailed prescriptions about acceptable and unacceptable occupations. Jobs which involve violence are to be shunned and those that involve some amount of violence, such as governing and farming, are considered less respectable. The soldier's job is neither specifically approved nor proscribed, although it could be included in the vocation of governing. The moral dimensions of warfare are not discussed directly in detail in Jaina texts, but there seems to be some ambivalence and variation in the attitudes. The Bhagavatl Sutra, composed in the early centuries ce, challenges the idea that soldiers who die fighting bravely go to heaven.1⁵ And yet, there is no strong indictment of war. The attitude seems to be that if one has to fight, one must do so with the right inner dispositions. The strong emphasis on non-violence in Jaina doctrine did not translate into a shunning of war by followers of the faith. Jaina rulers were not pacifists. For instance, the first century bce/first century ce Hathigumpha inscription of the Jaina king Kharavela, who ruled in Kalinga in eastern India, boasts of his great military victories.

The absence of an unequivocal condemnation of war can also be seen in Buddhism. Buddhist texts extol the cakkavatti (the Pali form of Sanskrit cakravartin), the paramount king who is victorious over the whole earth, and associate him with seven treasures - the wheel, elephant, horse, jewel, woman, landed householder and counsellor/advisor. But in Buddhism there are not one but two kinds of wheels, that of the Buddha and that of the cakkavatti, and the former is greater than the latter. In its idea of the dhammiko dhammaraja - the righteous king who rules according to morality - Buddhism goes a long way in endowing kingship with morality. But the early Buddhist tradition does not explain clearly how exactly a king becomes a cakkavatti. In the Mahasudassana Sutta of the Digha Nikaya, King Mahasudassana, accompanied by his fourfold army, follows the wheel of power as it rolls from ocean to ocean. Wherever the wheel stops, kings welcome him and invite him to rule over them. Mahasudassana graciously accepts and delivers a discourse on Buddhist piety. King Dalhanemi of the Cakkavatti Sihanada Sutta (also in the Digha Nikaya) is victorious over the whole earth up to the oceans and attains his victories through dhamma, with­out the use of force. The vagueness on the military aspects of the cakkavatti's career reflects a conscious masking, even a denial, of the element of violence inherent in imperial ambitions.

Benevolence to all beings, including humans and animals, is part of the Buddhist ideal for all, including the king. Buddhist texts frequently critique the killing of animals, especially in sacrifice, but there is no unequivocal rejection of the violence involved in kingship. In the Samyutta Nikaya, we are told that once when the Buddha was living among the Kosalans in a hut in the Himalayan forests, he wondered whether it was possible to exercise rulership righteously, without killing and without instigating others to kill, without confiscating and without instigating others to confiscate, without grieving or causing grief.^[1145] The evil being Mara read the Buddha's mind and approached him, urging him that he (the Buddha) was indeed capable of exercising such rulership on account of his spiritual powers. But the temptation did not work. We see here a recognition of the fact that a king cannot rule without engaging in violence. The king's violence could be mitigated, but not eliminated.

The Buddhist Jatakas, stories of the previous lives of the Buddha, each connected with a moral, emphasise the ideal of the compassionate king who is willing to give up his life for others. In many of the stories, the bodhisattva (Buddha-to-be) is in fact such a king, very often in the animal world. Some Jataka stories have an anti-war subtext. Prince Temiya is so horrified at the violence inherent in kingship that he decides to become an ascetic.^[1146] The virtuous and kind king Mahasilava refuses to resist or fight when attacked. Instead, he sends his enemies away laden with presents. Confronted with imminent death, he ultimately regains his kingdom because the usurper is overwhelmed by his moral virtues.^[1147] Similarly, the bodhisattva born as the king of Varanasi refuses his soldiers' entreaties to let them fight the enemy, and instructs them to do nothing. When the enemy arrives at the city gates, he orders them opened. The king and his courtiers are thrown into prison. The bodhi­sattva is filled with intense pity, which leads to the enemy king's body being racked with great pain. Realising that this is the result of impri­soning a righteous king, the enemy king restores the bodhisattva to his throne.1^[1148] But along with such stories where kings refuse to engage in battle, there are many more Jaitaka stories where good kings, including bodhisattvas, fight wars and win them.

Royal inscriptions take us deeper into the intersection of political ideas and practice. It is clear that the Buddhist and Jaina kings of ancient India fought wars. The only exception is the Maurya king Asoka (c. 268-232 bce), and even he did not eschew war completely. Asoka is best known as a Buddhist emperor whose life's mission was to spread virtue not only within his own dominion but also in the domains of other kings. Asoka had the idea of overlapping political and moral empires, and the uni­versal inculcation of a set of social ethics rooted in ideas related to merit and demerit, and heaven and hell became the king's main agenda. The chief architect and promulgator of this ethical code was Asoka himself.^[1149] Most of his edicts talk about the content and benefits of following a code of virtue that he calls dhamma.^[1150] Non-violence towards all beings, humans and animals, was an important part of this dhamma, which was inspired by, but not identical to, the dhamma of Buddhist texts.

Asoka's thirteenth rock edict is an especially important and unusual docu­ment. It talks of the death, deportation and suffering that was caused by a war waged by the king against the people of Kalinga in eastern India in the ninth year after his consecration. The king expresses his remorse for the event, but moves on to a reasoned critique of warfare in general. He explains that war causes widespread suffering; apart from those who suffer directly, those attached to such people also suffer great emotional pain and suffering. The king regrets such suffering caused by war, especially to good people. He announces that he will not wage war and exhorts his descendants to do likewise, advising them to be light in their punishment if they cannot eschew war completely. But in this edict Asoka goes on to threaten the forest people that he will not hesitate to use force against them if they create any trouble. Furthermore, it is significant that the pacific emperor Asoka, who renounced war and urged his successors to be merciful and moderate in punishment, did not abolish the death penalty. The only concession he made, his fourth pillar edict informs us, was to give a three-day respite to those sentenced to death. The edicts of Asoka, otherwise suffused with the ideas of non-violence and positive caring for all beings, human and animal, reflect the difficulty of absolute non-violence for a king, even a Buddhist king.

Apart from religious texts and royal inscriptions, certain political treatises discuss statecraft from the pragmatic perspective of an ambitious king, to a great extent (but not absolutely) shorn of metaphysical and religious preoccupations. The two most important of these are Kautilya’s Arthasastra and Kamandaka’s Nitisara. The age of the Arthasastra is a matter of debate; the dates suggested range from c. 300 bce to the early centuries ce.^[1151] Kautilya advocates the use of whatever kind of force is required for the king to protect and enhance his interests both within his kingdom and against external enemies. At the same time, he also states that of the three kinds of royal power - military might (prabhusakti), counsel (mantrasakti) and energy (utsahasakti) - the power of counsel is superior. Similarly, of the four

Kingship, Violence and Non-violence in Indian Thought expedients of conciliation (sama), liberality (dana), force (danda) and creating dissension (bheda), Kautilya recommends the use of the other three expedi­ents before recourse to force. Even when it comes to war, he urges prior careful calculation of likely cost and benefit.

The Arthasastra is not, therefore, a votary of the unbridled violence of the king. It advocates the considered and measured (though decisive and ruth­less) use of force that is necessary in order to protect the king's interests. It is also very concerned with the protection of the king from the violence of others. The text has a very detailed discussion of crimes and punishments, and the latter range from fines to exile, corporeal punishment, mutilation, torture and death. Kautilya accepts the right of the state to take life as punishment for certain crimes, especially those that are treasonable or involve the theft of royal property.

The Nltisara of Kamandaka (or Kamandaki), a later text which may have been composed between c. 400-700 ce, is similar to the Arthasastra in its advice to the king to use killing and force in order to maintain his position against his enemies.^[1152] Kamandaka, too, is concerned with the constant exposure of the king to the threat of violence and assassination. And yet there are some significant differences. This text warns the king of the risks, uncertainties and dangers of war, identifies sixteen types of war that should not be fought, and describes war as having many negative qualities. It is also against the death penalty, stating that capital punishment should be avoided even for the gravest offence, with the exception of usurpation.^[1153] This is in sharp contrast to Kautilya, who recommends the death penalty for several offences. Furthermore, unlike Kautilya, Kamandaka considers the royal hunt as the worst of the royal vices. Apart from exposing the king to physical danger, it weakens the king's character, can lead to a neglect of royal duties, and has the inherent evil of taking life.²⁵ All this suggests a political perspective in which pragmatism was tinged with a tilt towards the ethics of non­violence.

Texts and inscriptions of the first millennium ce reflect the gradual emergence of a classical Indian ideal of kingship, marked by many common elements and some differences. The Allahabad pillar inscription of the Gupta

emperor Samudragupta (c. 350-70 ce) expresses this ideal eloquently.^[1154] In its thirty-three lines, composed in a combination of fine Sanskrit prose and verse by a high-ranking official named Harisena, the inscription delineates the portrait of an ideal king. It eulogises Samudragupta's long chain of aggressive military campaigns and victories. He is said to have fought hundreds of battles with his prowess as his sole ally; some kings were uprooted by him, others violently exterminated, and still others captured and released and forced to demonstrate their acknowledgement of his paramountcy. But there is a careful balancing of the image of the king as warrior with pacific elements, including mention of Samudragupta's benevolence and his achievements as a great intellectual, poet and musician. The Allahabad pillar inscription indicates the attempt of political ideologues to describe, aestheti- cise and celebrate the king's military victories and, at the same time, balance the violence of kingship with pacific qualities and attainments.

The emergence of a classical Indian model of kingship is even more evident in Kalidasa's Raghuvamsa, a long poem about the great kings of the Iksvaku lineage.^[1155] Although Kalidasa mentions flaws in the character of a few kings of the lineage, by and large his work contains a strong idealisation of kingship expressed in poetry of the highest order. The poet blends the martial, ritual and benevolent aspects of kingship. The celebrated king Raghu proceeds on a ‘conquest of the quarters' (digvijaya) in which he performs a military circumambulation of the subcontinent, occasionally fighting bloody battles and ultimately receiving the submission of all. There is both a celebration of war and an aestheticisation of its violence. The violence of kingship is also mitigated by Kalidasa's advocacy of an attitude of complete detachment in the king's performance of his duties, the fighting of wars only for the sake of fame, and the idea that after fulfilling their duties, it is proper for great kings to renounce the world. While Samudragupta of the Allahabad pillar inscription is a king-poet, Raghu is a king-renouncer.

Artistic representations of kings can also form an eloquent source of information on the relationship between kingship and violence. Unfortunately, such representations are rather infrequent in ancient Indian

Kingship, Violence and Non-violence in Indian Thought art. Where the king does appear carved in stone, it is generally in relief sculptures at Buddhist sites, and the portrayals are pacific. An exception are the Kusana kings, immigrants from central Asia, who are represented in sculpture in the round. A headless statue of the first-century king Kaniska found in Mathura shows him in central Asian military attire and heavy boots. He firmly clasps the hilt of a great sword in his left hand and holds a mace in his right. This is the earliest visual image that combines two important ingredients of ancient Indian kingship: the king as warrior and as dispenser of justice.

Coins reflect a partial, abridged form of the textual and epigraphic repre­sentations of kingship. The martial aspect is prominent on coins of the Gupta dynasty (c. 300-600 ce), where the king appears as a warrior with weapons, but also as a performer of the horse sacrifice (asvamedha), an elaborate, violent sacrificial ritual which proclaimed his political paramountcy. He also appears as a hunter, on foot or mounted on a horse or elephant, killing or on the verge of killing a lion, tiger or rhinoceros. But these vigorous portrayals emphasising the king's prowess are complemented by the por­trayal of two kings (Samudragupta and Kumaragupta II) playing a musical instrument. Once again, the warrior ethic is very deliberately tempered with pacific and creative elements.

In south India, early Tamil poetry, often referred to as Sangam poetry, composed between c. 300 bce and 300 ce, revolves around love and war and reveals a polity marked by a multitude of chiefdoms and early kingdoms.^[1156] The poems reflect a culture with a distinctive ethos, where war is taken for granted and celebrated. Heroes who died in battle were deified and the hero stones (vlragals) set up in their memory were worshipped. The valorisation of war especially extends to chieftains and kings, and the intensity of the warrior ethic is illustrated by the custom according to which a king defeated in war committed ritual suicide, accompanied by his close family and associates.

In ancient India there were different perspectives on the king's force and violence in general, and on specific issues such as war and punishment. These perspectives were grounded in a variety of concerns - pragmatic, metaphy­sical, religious, ethical and philosophical. Texts and inscriptions usually present highly idealised images of kings, which should be understood as an attempt to legitimise and exalt the institution of kingship. They emphasise that the king should be endowed with qualities of character, should have the

benefit of proper education and training, and should achieve self-mastery. But there was also an awareness that real kings did not always live up to the ideal and often had failings and vices. Ancient Indian epics and legendary accounts single out certain kings for their evil nature.^[1157] The understanding of tyranny focuses on innate traits in the character of individual rulers. Bad rulers have a lack of discernment, balance and self-control. They are immoral, unjust, given to excess, cruel, and do not give due respect to religious elites, especially Brahmanas. But bad men are not necessarily bad kings. Duryodhana of the Mahabharata and Ravana of the Ramayana are villainous characters, prone to anger, cruelty and arrogance, but they are not described as ruling badly. We have seen that the Mahabharata states that it is not wrong to kill bad kings. But it should be emphasised that neither this, nor any other text, promotes regicide, except in exceptional circumstances. Ultimately, the power, authority and the use of force by the king are upheld in the Indian tradition.

Embedded in much of the political discourse of ancient India is a tension between violence and non-violence, a recognition of the desirability of the ethical principle of non-violence and of the pragmatic need for the king to exercise a certain amount of force in the course of the discharge of his duties. Even the pacific Asoka gives a stern warning to the forest people. In general, ancient Indian political discourse distinguishes between force and violence. The king's power of force (danda) is described as essential, as central to the origins and functions of kingship. This includes the force used in war and punishment. However, a distinction is made between necessary force and force that is unnecessary, disproportionate, excessive or random. The former is accepted. The latter - which should be properly understood as violence - is critiqued, even condemned.

The political theorists recognised force as one of the four expedients of royal policy but recognised the limits of its efficacy and did not recommend it as the first option. They also warned that an excessive use of force could result in the king becoming a target of the violence of others, either through a popular uprising or assassination at hands of his enemies. In fact, the king is seen as a constant target of the violence of others, especially his queens and sons. This danger could be countered by constant vigilance and shrewd political management. But what about the violence of the king? In a polity where there were no institutional restraints to the potential violence of the king, the Indian tradition put forward the idea that the pursuit of power and statecraft must be based on careful consideration of actions and conse­quences. It also emphasised self-control as a desirable royal virtue. While the necessity for the king's use of force was recognised by all thinkers, it was increasingly balanced and tempered with several pacific and benevolent elements. As a result, by the middle of the first millennium ce the king's force was justified, legitimised, aestheticised and celebrated. Nevertheless, the awareness of the dangers of the king's actual and potential violence was never completely erased.