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On April 22, 2025, the emerald meadows of Pahalgam—once alive with the laughter of tourists—fell into a haunting silence, disrupted by the sharp echoes of gunfire. In New Delhi, within the secure corridors where military planners pored over satellite images and intelligence briefings, another kind of resonance emerged: the verses of the Bhagavad Gita. This sacred text served as the philosophical backbone of Operation Sindoor—India’s modern-day dharma yuddha.

Echoes of the Mahabharata loomed over India’s strategic deliberations. Krishna’s final peace overture to the Kauravas—seeking just five villages—found its parallel in India’s long-standing efforts to engage diplomatically with Pakistan. Decades of backchannel diplomacy, multilateral negotiations, and unilateral ceasefires were extended in good faith—even as state-sponsored terrorism continued unabated. The Pahalgam massacre, steeped in religious hatred, demanded a response. Yet, in keeping with its pluralistic heritage and the Gita’s vision of transcendent duty, India resisted the temptation for crude retaliation. Operation Sindoor was thus framed not as a vengeful reprisal, but as a dharma yuddha—a righteous war to uphold civilizational balance.

Pakistan’s refusal to rein in terrorist outfits like Lashkar-e-Taiba mirrored Duryodhana’s obstinate declaration: “I shall not yield a needle-point of land.” In the failure of diplomacy, scripture met statecraft. India’s course of action was ultimately shaped by Krishna’s counsel to Arjuna—that duty, not desire, must guide action, and that defending dharma is not a choice, but a cosmic imperative. The invocation of the Gita, however, also raises difficult questions: Can scripture justify the violence of the modern state? Does invoking dharma elevate or obscure the moral complexities of contemporary warfare?

The Gita’s Ethical Labyrinth: Duty, Violence, and Restraint

At the heart of the Bhagavad Gita lies a paradox: Krishna’s exhortation to engage in battle is paired with a call for inner detachment. Violence is not glorified; rather, it is presented as a last resort, a reluctant duty (svadharma) when all peaceful alternatives have failed. As Krishna tells Arjuna:

स्वधर्ममपि चावेक्ष्य न विकम्पितुमर्हसि। धर्म्याद्धि 

“Considering your duty as a warrior, you should not waver. For a warrior, no cause is greater than fighting for righteousness.” (Gita 2.31) Yet Krishna immediately tempers this mandate. 

In verse 2.38, he advises Arjuna to engage in battle with equanimity—indifferent to pleasure or pain, gain or loss, victory or defeat. This duality defines the Gita’s ethical framework: while it acknowledges violence as necessary in certain contexts, it insists that such action be free from hatred, desire, or ego.

Modern interpretations diverge. Nationalists tend to highlight Krishna’s martial command as divine sanction for state violence. Scholars like Wendy Doniger O’Flaherty, however, remind us that the Gita’s original context was a “brutal, lawless, internecine war”—not a treatise on pacifism. Operation Sindoor leans toward the former view, framing its strikes on terror infrastructure as a reluctant dharma yuddha, compelled by Pakistan’s continued sheltering of extremist groups. Still, equating modern precision warfare with Krishna’s spiritual teaching risks oversimplifying the text’s nuanced message on violence and restraint.

Dharma Yuddha in Practice: Precision or Paradox?

Operation Sindoor sought to align with dharma yuddha principles by exercising measured restraint. India deployed SCALP and HAMMER missiles, along with kamikaze drones, to target terrorist camps—avoiding direct strikes on Pakistani military assets and minimizing civilian casualties. This selective use of force evokes Krishna’s guidance:

युध्यस्व विगतज्वरः

“Fight without agitation or attachment.” (Gita 3.30)

Yet, even this alignment is fraught with complexity. Krishna’s emphasis on restraint (sannyasa) extends beyond battlefield tactics to the warrior’s inner disposition. Violence, according to the Gita, must arise not from political vengeance but from dispassionate duty to uphold cosmic order. Critics argue that India’s public framing of the operation as “punishment” for Pakistan undermines this spiritual foundation. When dharma yuddha becomes a rallying slogan rather than a moral commitment, it risks hollowing out the Gita’s deeper call for detachment and humility.

The Gita’s ontology of action rests on the three gunas—with rajas (dynamic energy) seen as a moral necessity to combat tamas (inertia and ignorance). Operation Sindoor can be seen as a rajasic response to Pakistan’s tamasic perpetuation of terror, carried out not with triumphalism, but reluctant clarity. The ethical goal is not destruction, but restoration—of order, balance, and justice.

Dharma Yuddha and Just War Theory

The philosophical framework of the Gita resonates with Western just war theory, particularly in its emphasis on jus ad bellum (right to war) and jus in bello (just conduct in war). Much like Thomas Aquinas’ criteria, Krishna sanctions war only when waged by legitimate authority, as a last resort, and with proportionate force. Operation Sindoor’s conformity to Article 51 of the UN Charter (right to self-defense) and its attempt to spare civilian lives underscores this alignment.

Yet, a fundamental divergence remains. While Western just war theory is grounded in legal and moral considerations, the Gita elevates warfare to the metaphysical plane. Arjuna is not fighting for land or revenge; he is fighting to preserve rita—cosmic order. This spiritual elevation raises a thorny question: Can a modern secular state invoke such a framework without reducing spiritual doctrine to state rhetoric? At what point does this invocation slip from moral justification into religious idealization?

The Danger of Weaponized Scripture

The invocation of scripture is not without peril. While India cites the Gita to validate its military ethics, Pakistani media portrays Operation Sindoor as an asura yuddha—an unrighteous war—highlighting alleged civilian casualties. Both sides cherry-pick religious texts to legitimize their narratives, thereby eroding the Gita’s universal ethical authority.

Moreover, the Gita’s instruction to act “without desire for the fruits” (2.47) clashes with the political calculus of modern warfare. India’s emphasis on “sending a message”—to both Pakistan and domestic audiences—risks reducing dharma to expedient rhetoric, incompatible with Krishna’s insistence on selfless duty.

Dharma in the Age of Drones

Operation Sindoor dramatizes the enduring relevance—and vulnerability—of the Gita’s moral philosophy in the age of technological warfare. It challenges policymakers to reconcile strategic imperatives with spiritual ethics. As Krishna warns:

सुखदुःखे समे कृत्वा लाभालाभौ जयाजयौ। ततो युद्धाय युज्यस्व नैवं पापमवाप्स्यसि॥

“Treat pleasure and pain, gain and loss, victory and defeat alike. Then prepare for battle. Thus, you will not incur sin.” (Gita 2.38)

India’s success must be measured not merely in tactical achievements, but in its fidelity to this higher ideal. Only if Operation Sindoor embodies restraint, humility, and detachment can it truly claim the mantle of a dharma yuddha—a war waged not for conquest, but for the preservation of universal peace.