When Dhritarashtra, the blind king of Hastinapura, asked Sanjaya, “What did my children and Pandu’s children do?” as the Kurukshetra war began, his words revealed more than his physical blindness. They exposed the emotional fog that had long clouded his judgement. To him, the Kauravas were his children; the Pandavas were merely Pandu’s. This subtle yet telling distinction, “mine” versus “theirs”—was not just a slip of the tongue. It was the crystallisation of decades of unchecked partiality.
Blinded by his overpowering affection for his son Duryodhana, Dhritarashtra ignored repeated transgressions—an unfair game of dice, the humiliation of Draupadi, and the Pandavas’ rightful claim to power. Each silence was not neutrality but complicity. His refusal to rise above personal ties corroded the moral order of his kingdom, emboldened his son’s arrogance, and paved the way for a war that destroyed an entire civilisation. His love, untempered by discernment (Viveka) and righteous duty (Dharma), became the undoing of his legacy.
Dangers of Partiality and Unchecked Affection
This ancient story holds an uncomfortable mirror to today’s world of leadership. I have often described this as the “Dhritarashtra-element” in leadership—the inner tendency to view reality through a narrow, self-serving frame. It is the quiet preference for “my people,” “my party,” “my protégés,” the mental shorthand that privileges proximity over principle. This element is not confined to a character in an ancient text. It resides in each of us, subtly shaping what we notice, whom we trust, and which wrongs we permit. The danger is not love itself; the danger is love that goes unexamined, ungoverned, and unmoored from dharma—today’s language for ethical clarity, institutional integrity, and the common good.
Look around and you will find modern theatres of Kurukshetra in both corporations and governments. In one organisation, a founder fast-tracks an heir despite thin experience; capable leaders leave, performance plateaus, and the market quietly votes with its feet. In another, a CEO shields a favoured lieutenant after repeated cultural or ethical violations; the top team learns that values are negotiable for insiders, and the culture calcifies into fear and cynicism. In public life, leaders appoint loyalists to watchdog roles, blur the line between state and party, and convert healthy dissent into disloyalty. Citizens begin to assume that accountability is partisan, not principled. None of this collapses an institution overnight. The damage accrues like compound interest—an erosion of trust that becomes visible only after it has become costly.
Path to Ethical Leadership: Three Key Steps
What, then, must a conscientious leader do?
The first move is inward. Dhritarashtra’s tragedy underscores that a leader’s external fairness is impossible without internal clarity. Self-awareness is not a soft skill that is spoken of only in training programmes and corporate retreats. It is the operating system of ethical leadership. Leaders need to adopt this simple discipline, which they can make into a continuous mindful practice. Before pivotal decisions, ask three questions in writing—Am I drawn to this choice because it is right, or because the beneficiary is “mine”? If this person were a stranger, would my decision change? What precedent will this set for the next ten decisions? The act of writing slows the reflex of bias and invites the rigor of conscience.
Second, personal clarity must be translated into institutional design. Good intentions alone cannot withstand the weight of human bias; only strong systems can. A leader must therefore put in place processes that make partiality difficult and integrity the natural default. Conflict of interest must never be left to individual discretion—recusal should be automatic whenever family, friends, or protégés are involved. Succession should be anchored in merit and benchmarked against independent standards, so that lineage becomes one factor, never the only one. The culture of truth-telling must be actively built by encouraging dissent, rotating devil’s advocates, and rewarding those who surface uncomfortable facts early. Silence must become costly, and candour must be safe. Transparency, too, is a powerful deterrent. Protecting whistleblowers, publishing outcomes of investigations transparently, and ensuring that oversight roles like audit and compliance report independently to the Board rather than to those they scrutinise will reinforce the principle that institutions must outlast individuals. When such structures exist, leaders are not forced to rely solely on their own strength of will; they create environments where fairness is systemic, not situational.
Third, lead visibly by principle when it is hardest—especially with “your own.” The moments that define a legacy are often those where affection must bow to fairness. If a high-performing star violates values, remove privileges quickly and explain the principle at stake. If a family member or longtime aide is a candidate for a role, insist on competitive evaluation, declare your conflict, and accept the panel’s decision. If a party colleague breaches conduct, enable due process without your shadow. These are not acts of betrayal; they are acts of fidelity—to the institution, to the people who trust it, and to the idea of leadership itself.
Building Systems of Integrity and Fairness
There is also a deeper, quieter practice that immunises leaders against emotional capture—cultivating detached empathy. Detachment is not indifference; it is the refusal to let affection distort truth. Empathy is not favouritism; it is the commitment to understand before you judge. Together, they allow a leader to love people and still uphold standards; to be compassionate and still be consequential. Dhritarashtra loved, but he did not discern. He felt deeply, but he did not act rightly. The Gita’s teaching is that love must be yoked to dharma, or it will end up serving the ego it seeks to comfort.
For corporate leaders, this translates into practical choices. It could be to professionalise family businesses before succession is due; appointing independent chairs; tying executive bonuses to culture metrics as much as to financials; publishing promotion criteria and audit outcomes; rotating mission-critical roles to prevent fiefdoms; and setting tenure limits for positions with outsized discretionary power.
Test of True Leadership
I return finally to the image of Dhritarashtra sitting in his court as the dice roll, hearing what he does not want to hear, and choosing the comfort of silence. Leaders today have more data, more advisors, and more tools than any king ever did. Yet the essential test remains the same. Will you hear beyond your preferences? Will you see beyond your circle? Will you act beyond your affections? A leader’s greatness is not measured by how fiercely he protects his own, but by how faithfully he protects what is right. When we cross the distance from mine to ours, from loyalty to dharma, we do more than avoid catastrophe—we build institutions that outlast us.
That, to me, is the enduring lesson of Kurukshetra for our boardrooms and cabinets alike. Do not be blinded by filial affection or partisan pull. Love your people but serve your purpose. Let your decisions be tough on bias and tender on truth. And let your leadership be remembered not for whom it favoured, but for what it made possible—for everyone.
(Dr R Balasubramaniam is a leadership expert and is the author of the bestselling book, “Power Within: The Leadership Legacy of Narendra Modi”. More info about him is at drrbalu.com.)
Views are personal, and do not represent the stance of this publication.
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