India's March into the light and the great lie of the golden bird

Sherif! As long as you Arabs are a bunch of small tribes, you are a small people, a silly people: greedy, barbarous, and cruel.

Lawrence of Arabia

  A 5 trillion economy, that was the original promise. They started with 2022 and then went to 2025. To be fair, I buy it. A 5 trillion economy is viable. In the absence of an ex machina as we are now seeing, a 5 trillion economy is a certainty. A 10 trillion economy is a certainty. So is a 20 trillion economy. I daresay a 30 trillion economy too. It's a matter of inertia. In the presence of stability, prosperity will flourish. Growth is certainty from a low base as long as no one's rioting and nobody is burning buildings and nobody is firebombing towns. And as long as those things don't happen and the government doesn't actively mess with things, the country will grow. Emphasis on that final part. More often than not some moron in power with good intentions will interfere. It's in the nature of humanity to interfere. To want to do better. Whether it is with Mugabe and his relentless printing of notes or Maduro and his thieving from the rich to give to the even more rich (himself). And more often than not as with our dear PM and his demonetization scheme it is with good intentions. It was a wise move, unfortunately, directed at the wrong people. The problem with it is that ignores the fundamental issue with wealth. Most wealth is fundamentally today stored in human skill, not heaps of cash or steel. Human capital as it is called. And what human capital needs most is opportunity and education along with a host of other things important among which is the lack of being hectored and bothered while doing good work. That is the type of corruption that truly hurts this nation. Functional corruption that acts as constant spanner in the works of India's burgeoning business ecosystem. It is not a shortage of tax revenue caused by presence of black money that is a threat. Fundamentally Black money isn't even that much of a problem. I mean it hurts that taxes are not paid on it, but as long as it is spent and moved around, it is still contributing to the economy. It might even better serve us away from a government that is likely to fritter it away on some scheme or the other. I'd rather go hacking at the bureaucracy that's busy holding goods hostage in ports and causing delays in projects by denying one or the other clearance.

 

  But back to the original point of human capital. In a fundamental sense, there is more money in what we can do with things than there is in those things themselves. This has not always been true. For much of history, we could do little from what providence provided us. We took from the earth, consumed, and discarded. Sometimes reused but that was the limit. Metal raised from the earth was at best refined and forged into a sword or a farm implement or armor. Fairly valuable an addition in value, but unlikely to be too much more valuable than the steel in the sword itself. In the right hands, a hunk of steel could do a solid fraction of the damage that the sword could cause on its own. Maybe doubling in the forging the value of materials therein. Maybe more, depending on the nature of supply and demand. But the actual use-value has not risen much. But the Industrial Revolution changed everything. If ever there was an event that we owe the most to, for all the wealth of the world we live in, it is the industrial revolution. The Industrial Revolution changed the rules. No more was the money in the extraction of metals but in their utility. A car is worth tens of times the value of the materials put into it. The entire modern world order of stability is borne from this fundamental truth.  No more must the deprived hordes of Mongolia, join together to launch a grand conquest of the world to fuel their great ambitions of great wealth. There is more wealth in processing the oil in Iran than actually pulling it out of the earth or owning it outright. Why waste precious blood on a conquest when it could be working in the factories making money. As long as this fundamental truth remains true, the larger world will remain at peace. The second world war was the last war of the old kind we will have fought for a long time. The Germans don't need more land to feed their starving populace as they did at the outbreak of WW2. The amount you can squeeze from the soil is now far more dependent on how you squeeze it from it than how much soil you have in the first place. And the how is far better thought of in peaceful conditions. The value of a car is vastly greater than the thunk of metal it was cleaved from. Wealth is no longer hard-capped as it once was.

 

THE GOLDEN LIE

 Much is made of the great glorious land of India, that India was pre-British arrival. And that is true to an extent. We were sort of rich. As a portion of GDP, India commanded a quarter of the world's wealth. Alexander would have cowered before the great might of the Nanda's that faced him a few miles deeper into India.  But make no mistake we held a comparable number of people. We always have. India has always been populous, because of the Ganga delta being so conducive to farming, a large population could be supported. And that meant more total wealth. But a man can only be as rich as the wealth he can yield. He can only make as much money as he provides to the world in value. And that remains constant across the world. So a farmer in India was about as rich as a farmer in Italia under the auspices of the Roman Republic. So was every place equally rich? Not precisely. A farmer in Londonium at the edges of the Roman Empire was likely to struggle. The soil was simply not as productive there. And so the wealth was in what the world gave us in the soil, the rivers, the livestock, and the metals. And we revered them and we prayed to them and treated them as gods as that was what they were to us. The source of all sustenance. The source and essence of wealth. We fought over them, and that was what conquest was fundamentally about. When the British arrived we had a lot of the raw materials they needed. India was wealthy, so to say. But nowhere as rich as we are today. But to the British that sailed from their wretched frozen lands, it was paradise. And so we thought. That we were the stronger one in that bond. The British bent and jostled before the Mughal Emperor, and begged for trades rights. They had no idea. Unbeknownst to all involved, the rules were about to change. 

    

     The Industrial Revolution had arrived and Britannia was the factory of the world. All the Cotton we could raise we could do little with. Weave it with effort into quality clothing as in Bengal. It was called the proto-industrialization. It was impressive and it made Bengal one of the Richest provinces in the world for a while. The Mughals were rich off it. But the British factories could do so much more with the cotton. And more importantly so much faster. Their clothing was cheaper if a little worse in quality. The coffee had cooked and no one was awake to smell it. 

  Not exactly nobody. If you've ever wondered why Japan is so rich, you have your answer in this very revolution. The answer to what would happen to India, if the British had not played their tricks and let the Marathas consolidate India is Japan. A country united can look outwards. And if it has the humility to acknowledge it's own shortcomings all the better for it. If the Marathas were victorious and had this humility, we would be Japan. If they didn't we'd be China circa 1940s. A country leaving their famed century of humiliation. This is the consequence of vanity. To be used as China was for a century. The worst thing the British ever did to India was to tie it up and blindfold it just when the world finally hit it's stride. All of human history had led up to this glorious period. And one frontrunner was tied up and blindfolded while the other one (China) refused to look and learn out of stubbornness. It was a period where anyone could rise, a true era of opportunity where any free nation could rise into its own, and the wealth of a nation had little to nothing to do with what mother nature endowed its soil and hills, but rather what the creator placed between the ears and under the heads of its men and women. 

   The Japanese were watching. Quietly. And their humility was to yield results. And when they were united under one ruler they had the stability to look outwards and see the world as it was, and as it could be. They saw an opportunity. And they were desperate for it. And they were willing to learn. The Meiji Restoration stands out as a prodigious move in the grander scale of history. A nation humble enough to know it was blind. And to be willing to see, even if it meant learning from another nation, however oppressive. It takes a certain kind of resilient humility for a good man to learn from the devil as he sees him. Personal dislike put aside. To acknowledge that the states that they hoped to defeat were indeed more capable, and to have the humility and wisdom to learn and study from them. To bring the technology back home. It remains the only way for a nation to rise into the light. And all the way back in the 1880s too. By 1940, Japan was going toe to toe in battle with the greatest economy in the world in the US. In the 1980s Deng Xiaoping showed similar brilliance and humility in accepting western capitalism in his country while he led the communist party of China. This humility tempered with the utilitarianism to know what would help and what would hurt built the great edifice that is China today. A nation that can bully and mock India with impunity and we must push with great care not to offend the great dragon too much. In India, it took a complete disaster before we could be dragged, kicking and screaming into the light. We never had the humility to accept that we were not equals in the global order. We had not the humility to watch and learn. We still aren't equals in the great world order. The narrative of India is that of a fallen nation fighting for redemption. No nation that has ever tried to rise using that narrative has ever made it out of the past. This is the narrative that has wracked Africa for decades and locked it in inter-community and inter tribal strife. After all, those are the institutions of the glorious past. When you think the past holds all the answers, it makes little sense to look anywhere else. In Turkey Kemal Pasha had the same humility and courage to push for modernisation. And he raised Turkey into a great modern developed nation from the declining Ottoman Empire that had been declining for centuries. A nation that looks to it's past rather than to it's future with pride is a nation likely to keep to that configuration for long. Tradition to such a nation is sacred. After all it is the one vestige of our greatness. It is the one thing we have from the good ol' days. Ideas and social structures ossify and remain constant. It is challenging to abolish a system while you glorify the era of it's inception. To the modern Indian consciousness, India is a temporarily humiliated nation. Stolen from and now trying to take back it's old wealth. This is similarly shown in the declining United States call for Make America Great Again. From Obama's optimistic idea of Change to looking backward to an older era, the Americans face a similar threat in the form of a regressive culture. As with the Americans, the future for India is not in its past. To those who say that the greatest thing stolen from us by the British is wealth in hard terms and other things like diamonds, the truth is far from it.

 The greatest thing stolen from us was our choice. The greatest loss from the British rule is in opportunity cost. What is opportunity cost? It is the cost in terms of things that could have been ours if things had gone differently. And the opportunity has been back in our hands for 60 years now. Do we have the humility to accept that there is at least a solid failure on our part to make use of it? The Chinese had the century of humiliation to teach them through hard labor and insult their own shortcomings, but in India, the pride of the Indian state is it's greatest downfall.

We must instead adopt the Ideals of Enlightenment Europe. Those of a nation rising from the darkness into the light. A constant eternal march into the light. Each day better than the last. I have often mocked it. Even on this blog (This post on the nature of evil). That human nature remains constant. That the people of a century ago are no more wretched or corrupt than ourselves in all their troubling traits and acts. But the truth is that this is an ideal. It is humility. To accept that we are not a perfect society. That the answer lies in tomorrow and not yesterday. To a society built on such ideals, no idea or tradition is sacred. The world is suddenly open and rife with fresh ideas and innovations waiting to be adopted. And like the Romans that built a great empire from a disparate part of the world, let us adopt and steal ideas from all and sundry and build us a new culture based on progress and growth. A new India divorced from its old community conflicts, castes, patriarchal ideas, and other vestiges. Let some traditions remain ceremonially as a form of national pride as the British foist their Monarchy. But the British queen doesn't veto and pass law. Because if the greatest capital a society can have is it's human capital the only things that can trap human capital are culture and ignorance. And so only on the ideas of a society rising into the new world, shedding the chains of the past, a nation willing to introduce both western and eastern ideas into its society can we rise into the new world. Not as fallen heroes rising yet again, or sleeping dragons rising from their slumber, but a wounded capable nation of great potential fighting it's way into the light. 

  

 

The pull of forward and backwardness and the paradoxes of life

How does culture affect the success of capitalism?

 The common charge levelled at communism often is that it fails to account for human nature. That it operates at a utopian idealist level. That most people would rather take the free stuff and not do any work or do the minimal work required for lack of incentives. It is one of the main reason why slavery fails in the modern economy too. You can whip a slave into doing the minimum, but he'll move a bone unless he's compelled, not out of mean spirit or laziness, but sheer logic. The more skill and quality work demands the more incentives become essential to motivate humans. And incentives remain a goldmine of possibilities in economics. That is why slaves were so often offered freedom in Ancient Rome and other societies where slavery survived long. Unlike the far more barbaric and racially based American. Even skilled work was done by slaves in the case of Rome. Anything that were too low to be done by the elites or the citizens. Even something lucrative like accounting. An escape from servitude made for good motivation. That your children would be citizens, even better. As the generations went each generation would gain opportunities from the last. Families would connive to unite land so as to build wealth across generations, living as living pieces of a great machinery. That's probably where the arranged marriage concept came from. And the opposition to love marriages. You were shirking your duties by marrying for love. In a world where wealth was scarce, building wealth was the difference between back breaking about and living off others back breaking labour.

  But that is a topic for another time. The more interesting question then is, does capitalism really account for human nature. It has a record for prosperity, but a century is hardly a great show of reliability in the big picture. Not in the species that received a perfect century of world-class rule under the five good emperors of Rome and then watched it fall apart for 2 centuries afterward. (Check it out if you haven't, it's fascinating. Would you condemn your screw up of a son to death to save the empire and it's future? It would be a hard choice, and t would define the next 2 centuries) So that is what we explore here.

The merits of protectionism. It's fascinating how a beacon of capitalist success might be the perfect example of such an uncapitalist concept. China is famed for it's private business revolution. Protectionism is an idea, that has long been derided as a great source of stagnation. Protect, the local business i.e ban foreign business, or protect local labour, like Andhra Pradesh with it's hundred percent local employees reservation (That's a real thing) All these measures have come to hold the stink of socialism. And yes, a stench indeed is how I would describe socialism is perceived by much of modern India. Without competition the argument goes, there can be no innovation. And thus there will be stagnation. In a purely capitalist world, the consumer knows best, and all is served to him as he pleases. The internal dealings of any buyer and seller are none of our concerns. Let them do as they please. Free them to produce, bring in foreign investment. We rant and rave (at least I do) at each act of regulation, and each restriction placed upon foreign businesses. Us Capitalists, we look at the government as they place regulation upon regulation upon Amazon, trying to find ways to ban their business as Amazon dances around the whip modifying it's business structure over and over until the government gives up. (This ones fascinating if you care to read about it) All there seems to be is a desperate attempt at pulling us back to the old days, before the liberalisation and the new India, that we seem to see today. Business is the lifeblood of this country. It has been for all the powers that have risen and stayed risen since the 20th century. When traders go and complain to the government about their business getting hit by ecommerce, they seem to sticking to an old antiquated order doomed to fail. Adapt or die is the mantra in an ever evolving world. Can't handle the change Deal with it. There is no mercy for the modern businessman. And maybe there shouldn't be. If you are entitled to all the upside (Save some frankly ridiculously high tax) you should probably accept a potential hit on the the downside. Capitalism taketh as it giveth. And for the most part, I've stuck by these ideas. That the long period of socialism that seemingly lost us many a game changing opportunity was a great tragedy wrought by the people, for the people and on the people. God bless Manmohan Singh's Soul and the soul of the western world and everybody in the government that fucked up so bad we practically were forced to open up the economy. It took a near knockout punch, but it got done.

   And the Indian economy revelled in the fresh flow of freedom. As the economy opened the country saw a fresh lease of growth. My parents generations great sadness over the lack of Coca Cola and Pepsi, would now be sated with a whole host of goodies, noone in India had ever scene. From one TV channel to hundred and eventually to thousands. 2-3 cars to global brands and ferrari showrooms. The dough flowed in. Ever since then we've been tought in all sources of information that the path wrought for us that year is the optimal one. Captitalism and free markets shall be our saviour. We must attract foreign investment. This is the narrative of modern India. Of of forward lookers and optimists. To capitalists and free marketers it was a constant source of frustration under Manmohan singh to watch a certain socialist politician from West Bengal rip through every liberalisation attempt our PM brought up. FDI, GST, everything that could be blocked was blocked. Goodbye Walmart, I suppose. While socialist schemes like the food security bill, designed to win elections got passed left and right. 1.2 lack crore per year in expenses, pass it right up! We have a very small set of voters paying the taxes. And when the resentment of the people reached a boil, the current disposition pushed into power, promising growth and development, a welcome change to the narrative. When Deng Xiaoping, visited the United States under Nixon he made a point to visit the space centre and other scientific establishment. On returning he openly supported capitalism. Saying a 'It doesnt matter if a cat is black or white as long as it catches mice'

 And that became the operating philosophy of Communist Party China. If it works we do it. Too many people? Stop having kids. Communism not working. Capitalism working in your neighbours house? Capitalism it is. Roll open the economy. Let us all bow in wonder at the immensity of brilliance it must have taken to successfuly open up the economy as you lead the Communist Party of China. There is far more danger there from rigid idealists than most would consider. An absolute rule is rarely absolute at that scale. All governments operate on systems. And systems give vast amounts of power to the bearecarcy. A beaurecracy that gains and loses from such big bang reforms. A beaurecracty you rely on to get stuff done. Not only do you not get shot and declared a traitor (And let no man use that term on so great a man lightly) you pull together the start of the single greatest growth spree in human history. A half billion people pulled from poverty. Not too many resumes that good in human history.


The Non Free Market Argument
But the interesting bit, and this is the part that fascinates me, is that the move wasn't absolute. Chinese protectionism clamped down on the internet in China, blocking foreign services from operating. No Whatsapp, or Facebook or Google. And contrary to expected stagnation like Indias case pre 1990 it led to innovation. The lack of foreign interference has led to quality apps build by vast companies often comparable to their western counterparts. In the absence of Google came Baidu, without Whatsapp there was WeChat, and so on. Even as China thrived on foreign investment, by manufacturing for the world, it parallelly leveraged closed markets in another sector. To leverage globalisation even as you spit on it at the same time. And it worked. It's fascinating, and repeatable. Nationalising banks is another case. Not usually popular in free market circles. Present changes in sentiment notwithstanding, sarkari has rarely ever been a compliment. More Sarkari is usually not a good thing. But in 1969 when Indira Gandhi nationalised 14 banks, deposits rapidly went up 800 percent. A vast increase. Despite switching to a seemingly less efficient system of control, the result was a game changer, regarded by the RBI as the greatest single most important economic decision since 1947, greater even than the liberalisation of 1991. It was a game changer, resulting in vast increases in the number of bank branches, including the proportion of rural branches. It increased the involvement of the Indian populace in banking. And the reason, heavily was trust. People did not trust bankers. They were a disliked class, and not very well regarded. At least partly with reason. Unintuively sometimes, liberalisation isn't the answer. It should be. As a lover of freedom and the free market, it's fascinating how often backward seeming moves with bandage instead of medicing, type implications tend to pay off. The India of that era needed it. It doesn't need it now. It would hurt from it now. Terribly. In a system with a degree of stability, trust and enough freedom and optimism to grow the free markets work wonders. Wealth if nothing else is likely to flood in. But to all that call socialism evil and a great failure in the great human experiment that is civilisation. It's interesting to see the parts where it works. What may seem like a wasted period of Indian history may not completely be so. The land reforms, land holding limits that were enforced and nationalisation all reek of a bygone era. And let it remain so. But perhaps not with so much distaste. We might find  that some good came from it. Socially the country that got freedom in 1947 needed socialist measures. It needed the land reforms that can legitimately be called theft in modern India, it needed the breaches of freedom that were the blatant nationalisation that took place seemingly at will, like with oil companies, banks and the premier Indian car company today.


   This part will be scrubbed from history eventually. I don't see a friendly disposition to out socialist past arriving soon. I pray infact that it doesn't. But let us not purely willify the people who led it. It was the will of the people after all the voted in the socialists time and again. And the will of the people that encouraged them if not compelled them to act as they did. Even in 1980 when Indira Gandhi pushed forward with a liberalisation with the forward plan, she took a lot of backlash. It isn't always obvious the way that is likely to be looked upon well by those who judge us. But if the past reveals anything to us, let it be that the ends that we seek are not always optimally seeked upon rigid principles. No system is entirely perfect. Not democracy, socialism or fascism. No system adapts perfectly to human nature. Some do better than others. But none perfectly. Because the trick isn't as much to adapt to nature, which is constant, but who we are at that place in time. And that is a function of more than nature, but also place and time. A country with bonded labour does not turn into Europe through liberalisation but instead Somalia. And yet a stable country may yet do well with a fair bit more freedom as history has shown us time and again. It all depends on the people. Who they are. How strongly they are influenced by an idea. The people that are to work the system we develop. Sometimes it's best to just focus on getting the rat, rather than focussing how we get it.

Part 1: The soul of a civilization

 "German Engineering, Japanese Productivity, American Ingenuity and Obesity, European Decadence, French Romance and rudeness, the terms are common. But what do they mean?" The professor is an old man, prodigious by years and achievement.
  "What is it that builds the soul that we so often refer to? Man is infinitely variable, he changes like the wind, blowing hot and cold, generous and selfish, an asshole a moment and a beloved friend the next. The great brutal drug lord Escobar that ran wild nearly a century ago was a renowned family man. Napoleon was hopeless in bed, and Ceasar lived in eternal fear of balding, if at least for political reasons. Man is discrete in his traits, jagged in their combinations. A mishmash of pieces pulled together to certain affect. At scale, you would imagine this would yield a great mass. Amorphous in nature, with no specific traits but the physical ones that seemingly define them." His accent, worn with a little bit of french as he rails and roams the stage, exploring and splattering concepts freely like paint on a blackboard. He carries with him a stick of polished wood that taps the ground with a clack every time he steps anywhere he steps.
 "They say the world makes us. That the deserts made the Inuit and the forests the aborigines. Or is it the other way around? But do we not affect the world around us? Are we not at least partly our own product. The world makes the man, and the man makes the world. A great game of chicken and egg. An eternal cycle." He stares at the class before him. His eyes covered in brown semi-transparent framed glasses.
 "It is tempting" he inflects the world with force. "It is tempting to think that we have agency in all this. That a civilization has an inherent personality. That it was Japanese bravery and ingenuity that aided their reconstruction after the second world war and not the perfect storm of an educated, nationalist populace formed from the Meiji restoration, we talked about last class and a shortage of extractable resources combined with globalization in the '60s that would yield those resources without significant exploitation of the people and encouraging entrepreneurship to produce and process those materials in an era where that would yield far greater profit. That the jew proclivity for banking and mercantile enterprise is a result of some supernatural capability or conspiracy and not a result of mass ostracisation from any and all classical fields, like farming, and really primarily farming. Ban a people from doing all but lending and trading and ban all other people from lending as the church declared at one point and what else would result but a culture that masters and dominates banking. And not just masters as some would tastelessly imply, but also pioneers it. But as those variables disappear so do the warpages. And sooner or later every damn hippy is out collecting interest" He swings his stick pointing at the class.
  "As individuals we are free and people of agency. An individual is unpredictable, a pawn can kill a queen without any regard for position or power. Blood spills the same either way. People evolve and change, warp, intimidate, and cower. But as a group you are influenceable. Your reactions are predictable. You are like a mimosa. A plant that closes to the touch. You respond to stimuli. And quite effectively and to the right eye and arm, predictably. The world can be engineered to you're taste. And society always yields. But never against its nature. You must weaponize the nature of mankind to control it. Understand what they desire, and give it to them, But for a price. The dictator of Albania in the '50s, the 1950s mind you, nearly a century ago spent considerable effort to exterminate religion. He jailed the priest and clergy, appropriated temple and church property and arrested people for following their religion in peace. For years he put his entire weight into it." He smirks, shaking his head as if humored by the failed attempt. As if he could do better. And he probably could, as he had, in his time. Repression 101 as the class was called with a little humor, and sometimes by the professor himself,  for this was not an ordinary professor to deal with. For where do tyrants go to retire if not in bespectacled universities where all is forgiven but never forgotten in the name of objectivity.
 "Human nature, of course, outlasted him. Albania today remains strongly religious. Islam is the biggest religion, with more than 50 percent of the populace, and Christianity also continues strong. No effort of man is ever as wasted as that which goes against his nature. The competent dictator is as much a construction of the people, as they are of him. If you notice, keen students, that that is more religion than much of Europe and America. Prosperity achieved more in decades than Repression ever could. Statistically, the easiest way to make man forget god is to make him rich and idle. A society of 30 hour work weeks and olive oil with toast is hard to keep religious. The nature of Humanity brought to bear. And that's how you bend the populace. With chocolates and cheese and plenty of bread to spare. But never too much lest they might think too much of themselves" He smiles at the class.
 "Questions?"

An hour Later
 Harold smiles to himself as he looks at the door at the students shuffling out of the class. He uncaps the top of his stick and looks over at the one oncoming student as he takes a swig from the stick. Always wise to be a little buzzed for these interactions. The warm rum runs down his throat burning slightly, his throat. "Yes Franklin" He smirks. "What question do you have for me today?"
 "No question, sir. That was a fascinating lecture" He stares at the professor, a little trepidated.
 "I have your results sir. The coroners office gave me a right tight fight on it, but I got it. They were wondering what it was I wanted to do with it?" He looks at him. "I told them I'm doing a project on death rates by ethnicity, location and age." He smirks. "It would be very hard to do that with these" Harold grabs the sheets smiling at the kid, "Your help is appreciated." He nods slightly, hobbling a bit towards the door. Then turns, sensing the kid's hesitance. "I'll get you that 'A' kiddo." The kid nods, smiling slightly, "Thank you sir" he nods and walks past the old man. Harold smirks. The perks of making friends outside the department. Every once in a while they can be useful. And hard to track.

Harold
 In a 117AD when Trajan stood upon his ship surveying the Persian gulf, I wonder if he knew he'd be the last emperor to ever walk those shores? Harold smirks as rolls his palms through the paperwork, I'll find what that fucker did, and have him nailed by morning. On the TV, the errant entrepreneur jibbers and jabbers, about one construction and the next. Great plans that speak of decades unseen, of golden towers and streets of paved silver, or so he'd imply. I know what you did, you motherfucker.

The thought flashes through his head. You didn't just pop out of the womb on that pedestal. It's the tyrant's lesson, if you've made it somewhere, you know what it takes to get there. If blood were as adhesive as in Shakespeare's play Hamlet, his hands would be painted red. Or perhaps those of his goons. It's a rare man who does his own dirty work. A rarer one who gets there without ever doing so. The document is a large one, a file with thousands and thousands of names, printed in paper form so as to be unsearchable. Nasty bastard, if only I weren't your match. He works through the pages, pushing date by date, location by location. It's designed not to be scannable. Text that undulates ever so slightly, it's unreadable to the computer. Of course, that's bullshit. That shit would fly in the 20' and maybe the '30s but the truth here is far more simple. There's no way a few warps in the text can confuse a computer that can read bad handwriting as if it were cooked on a typewriter. The truth is, he's messed with the software companies to make sure no software comes out that will cut out his little loops, to read the text. A good way to enforce control. Since most people never run across documents with such text, no major open source solution has been attempted. Why solve something that doesn't affect you? Controlling the variables. He hasn't learnt the first lesson of control yet, the entrepreneur. But he will. Harold will make sure of that, if painfully. He thumbs through files pushing, date by date, place by place. The info is in here somewhere. He knows it. The first farms were located in North India, somewhere in Bihar. A perfect place, fit for exploitation. And the entrepreneur had really dug in. The more Harold had read, all those years ago, he'd been fascinated. The entrepreneur leased the land for peanuts and mechanized the farms at vast scale, building a tax free business empire that over the years rivaled the best. Like all good businesses, he'd integrated vertically, controlling the supply chain, leveraging a great waterways network along the Ganga and Brahmaputra to move goods rapidly and across India. Controlling the manufacturing for the requisite massive farm machinery. Even occasionally selling to competitors. Never at quite the same quality though. That should have been a hint. Most businessmen would have taken the short term gain. Plowing money from every means possible. The plans here were bigger. The margins he was making were unheard off, undercutting all other farms and still swimming in profits. The benefits of unprecedented scale and efficiency. The next thing he knew he had a business that commanded 20 percent of the food flowing into Kolkata and Delhi. He hedged against the weather by spreading his farms along the network and cut his costs to peanuts by leveraging the scale of his network. Nobody could compete. It was surprisingly simple, not easy mind you, but simple on the surface. Underneath, it was all sorts of complicated, with logistics networks so vast, the government would have struggled to build them. The wonders of private enterprise. He found it on the map, Harold. Tapping his fingers upon the paper at the location. A village that no longer existed. In fact, none of them did, for miles and miles now. Factories and factories, spinning up goods, farms, weaving food in the fields and the occasional tenement for the small corps of engineers required to run them. Turns out the city business had turned out to be more lucrative than the farm business. Though less tax-free. But who cares about taxes when you're making money hand over fist. Everybody cares. The thought flashes by as he smirks. Not a man he has seen in all his years with a deep love for those beloved taxes. It had been an elegant idea, and the next thing it was everywhere. Cities so high they would touch the sky. Clumps of towers all interconnecting, capable of housing more people than had ever lived together. The first megacity built in all of human history of even comparable size was Tokyo. And upon that model came even larger constructions than that which once stood out as the gold standard. Where Tokyo housed 40 million people the first great Megacities the entrepreneur would build would grow up to 50-60 million people. Chewing upon the hungry masses that dotted the Indian subcontinent. And soon it was Africa and the middle east too that was engulfed. Wherever there were villages, and a sparsely spread populace living in poverty, there was a megacity, ready to hoover them up and stack them sky-high. Saturating and concentrating opportunities, and building a culture of hope and mobility as he proudly called it. If the country was to ever grow into anything as great as the west ever had, more people had to live in cities, a bright future was almost certain to have more cites, and possibly bigger ones. It was a sharp insight, that drove the entrepreneur driving him to sink all that he could and more into these constructions. It was obvious, an inevitability, but not certain to work. Mistimed brilliance works out to little more than folly. Almost but no cigar is no cigar. And possibly more. But it worked. It would have been a disaster to get the timing wrong. But he got it right. And maybe he aided in making it so. And so did others. Harold's fingers press the buttons on his remote to build up the volume. He looks at the tv. And as he looks at that smug, proud, face expositing away, he smiles. Not over yet Buddy. Not over yet.

The power of distractions: The forces that drive the world around us

    

    Distractions in politics are a fascinating concept. For the longest time, I've seen them as the purest form of Realpolitik. An act carried out purely for the maintenance and the propagation of power. It's easy to mask it under guises, but at their heart distractions, misdirections and manipulations work on the same principles of smoke and mirrors that drive most moves carried out to gain power. There is, however, real value in them for the greater good. Like the proverbial placebo, sometimes the belief that things are likely to get better does make things get better. In the economic context of politics (as shockingly underrated context), uninvested money held in reserve flows back into the market, the courageous see enough opportunity to build businesses, the established see better chances of expansion and start hiring driving towards greater risk and with that, potential reward. Hope drives commitment. And commitment drives progress. You cannot produce without at the fundamental level setting resources into action. In a conceptual sense to progress as an economy is to produce more and possibly to produce more efficiently. And that takes resources, whether it is oil or cement or salt or manpower. And what is money if not the correlated representation of resources? A dollar is at once a few kilos of Cement, a few litres of petrol and possibly a few grams of gold at once but only ever one of them. Depending on your needs, wants and tastes. That's all it is and conversely that's exactly what it is. To be more precise hovewer it is the ability to command those resources. At its heart a dollar is a license to command 1/80 trillion (The global gdp) of the world's resources as we value them. The value of something may vary by location but the net value of everything as valued by the people who trade in it on the net (Because price varies ever so slightly from place to place and person to person) and use it sits at that princely figure.         
     The reason why then, that the placebo works is because it encourages people to do things they wouldn't do if they saw the truth. If we need to get a stuck wheel moving in a stagnant economy it often takes a few lemmings jumping off the cliff to start things off before one or the other business built in the bad economy takes off, setting things in motions. Of course, nobody wants to be the lemming (A creature famed for its apparently suicidal behavior) in business. If the people don't have jobs and don't have the money to buy the product the factory is likely to fail, making little sense for investment. But without investment, you cannot have growth. It is a vicious cycle. Money uninvested is the equivalent of resources hoarded. Cement in a warehouse and Oil in a refinery stored in drums does no good for the world if no cars are driven and bought and buildings and factories built. Without these things we don't produce more and end up with no growth, irrelevant of the money we print. When you lose money, it is these resources that you're losing, if the factory is run into the ground, all that iron ore for the machines and concrete for the construction are now worthless and rotting. To reuse some of that would take even more resources like heat to melt the iron to reshape it in the form of coal or other incendiary materials. As such then we have lost value, what we built is worth less to the world than it could have been in say a better run factory.

   In a sense then it makes sense to manipulate perceptions to drive optimism. In the greater picture, the greater commitment you drive the better it is for the economy. Or is it? If there is a fundamental disease at the heart of the beast it might take more than a jog to fix it. The more you commit, the more you are vulnerable. There is a reason reserves are maintained in war. As the great German general Carl Von Clausewitz theorized there are no certainties in war, merely probabilities. As such there are no certainties in economics either, merely possibilities and their probabilities. If the business is really likely to fail, then you have put all those resources in harm's way by encouraging the investment. You end up setting risk calculations off a fair bit. In the big picture, this means more businesses will fail than expected. When they fail, and enough of them are likely to fail if the situation is dire enough at the fundamental level due to some truly fundamental problem, (Inefficiencies in governance, excessive corruption, threat of violence and social discord as some possibilities) then all those failing resources are likely to drag you down.
 
     It is a prevailing theory that the '08 crisis was less devastating to some extent in India partly by the widespread spendthriftiness of the Indian populace and their investments in gold. A relatively stable if slow-growing investment which is known to weather recessions well. This, if true is a classic example of the benefits of not committing and the values of committing. The west was leveraged and committed to the hilt, with a large percentage of the populace and even the governments in Europe and the US in deep debt on housing loans and the like, driving aggressive growth and prosperity. But the growth was built on a rotting core of inefficient lending. Nobody was producing enough value to exchange it for buying those houses. They were built, priced and paid for on a lie. If you're not producing as much as you're receiving, someone is paying for it. And they're eventually gonna stop or run out. And so when it fell apart, all those inefficiently committed resources were worth shite. In India, a lot of people it seems had a reserve of uncommitted resources in the form of gold. They were sitting around doing nothing. As such they could do no good for the economy when we were growing. All that value in the form of cash could have been sitting in our companies as investments or our banks who would have further invested it or even government bonds to build roads. But instead, the gold bars and necklaces and the occasional bangles sat in lockers doing for the most part nothing. But for all the good they did, they were unlikely to disappear in there. Considering that there was a rotten core at the heart of the economy the optimism, then was misplaced and it was best to pull back resources and carry out emergency surgery (Regulations, arrests, taxes variations and the like) on the economy before declaring it safe to further commit. The Indians in their general emotional love for gold seemed to have carried out this wise measure (Without the surgery bit it would seem) holding back resources from what it turned out was a toxic bet. Hovewer a toxic bet is a toxic bet and it eventually pays off. We didn't exactly go scot-free on the crisis and the fundamental issues in the economy would bite us in 2011 as growth would take a hit. Nonetheless, gold made for a strong shield for the Indian economy and also a great deadweight. Better deadweight than a bomb, I guess.
 

    In recent times we have seen little dearth of distractions, whether it be the boorish behavior of Trump and his glorious tweets (History shall remember them, for better or for worse) or the suspiciously timed CAA crapshoot. The law itself I have no interest in, but the timing is fascinating. The Modi government has carried out every distraction in the playbook all the way to manipulating the numbers (Changing the GDP metrics for better or worse but definitely raising the numbers on the net) and passing laws that if nothing else acts definitely as a distraction. It is a ploy right out of the Chinese playbook (Heavily accused of manipulating numbers among other things) and by that, I mean that only as a compliment. If done right, the Chinese have proven that controlling perceptions can drive aggressive growth. That among a slew of measures. Of course controlling information only goes so far. The Chinese economy is a beast built on far more legs than one. But it seems to help considering their absolute obsession with controlling the flow of information and the perceptions it builds. Going back some time the Chinese attack on India in the war of 1962 was carried out under the cover of the Cuban Missile Crisis with the US too deeply engaged in a near deathmatch with the Soviet Union to bother with non-client states like India. Conveniently ending the war in a unilateral ceasefire and pullback at the conclusion of the crisis.

    It's fascinating because Nehru is always accused of short-sightedness in the assumption that the Chinese wouldn't attack. On the other hand the attack was truly a foolish thing to do under any but the most precise circumstances. The assumption that those circumstances would never arrive was the real flaw in thought process, and that is a far more common flaw for a person to have. It's almost defensible, perhaps. Especially when you consider the inefficiency of money spent on an idle defensive military that brings no plunder or loot. Especially in a poor country. The Romans would learn that lesson to the extent that it would bring their civilization down almost all on its own. Perhaps there is wisdom to be had even in wrong decisions.
 
      Nonetheless, can you blame a man for not preparing for the impossible? The Cuban Missile Crisis was after all a once in a generation event. A statistical anomaly. Give it enough time however and by the very laws of probability that deem it improbable, a statistical anomaly becomes a virtual certainty. Throw enough dice and every combination is a certainty. With every moment being the equivalent of a fresh die being thrown into the works, it starts to stack up pretty quick. Nonetheless here again we see the power of a distraction done right (Quite fortuitously for the Chinese). So if we are to look at the recent set of events we have seen and the reaction to the economic downturn from the lens of a distraction from other troubles far more prevalent, you start to see a fascinating problem.

  If the condition of the economy is cyclical (A bunch of bad decisions made in the good times paying off in good time. The classical arc of history) and not something systemic (Say a certain cash suction act carried out in the recent past massacring businesses like chickens at the poultry farm) Then this makes great sense. A placebo is what we need. If however, it is a systemic problem then we are throwing money into the incinerator. Potentially good money joining bad money in an unholy purging of the economy. The government has been pushing an image of goodwill, barely acknowledging the downturn and if they were more competent at it we'd believe them. But claiming Ola and Uber are killing car sales has only so much mileage. And claiming onion prices don't matter cos you don't buy them, well the less said the better. That itself is sad. Even the propaganda here sucks. The CAA then rides in like a horse-mounted knight in (very) shining armor distracting us from a growth rate that might be as low as 1.5 percent (Improbable that that number holds up to serious scrutiny, but when the official facts are manipulated anything seems to go, even the words of an often inaccurate Subramaniam Swamy)  which is developed country levels. They might have bitten more than they can chew on this one with the protests but it sure is effective. Like killing a fly with a flamethrower. It's not wise to kill bad news with more bad news. The one thing worse than an anemic economy is an unstable and arbitrary one. Then we're right into Afghanistan, Iran and Iraq territory (A purely economic point). By the time we're out of this crapshoot, the economy should hopefully be turning around. But then what is the fascinating problem I was talking about? Well, it goes down to the fundamental problem with lies. For it is the level I've found most effective to operate at. What is the greatest threat that comes with a lie?

 Remember the last lie you've told. Could be a white lie, a perfectly decent one. But it must have been believed. Remember the last effective lie you told. The bigger the better. There is a mechanic to it. The best way to tell a lie is to absorb it. To let it flow through you as if it were the absolute truth. As if you were convinced of it. And for the moment you are convinced of it. I remember the moment I had the epiphany as clear as day. I remember stating to someone I had so much work done when I had done none. I remember smiling to myself thinking about all the work that I had done and that the position I was in was tenable on ending that call. And then I remember catching myself. It was jarring. No work had been done. All of it was left. The greatest threat in a lie has nothing to do with the act itself. For all the threats that that may bring the greatest threat is that one may believe it oneself.

 It remains the most puzzling of human phenomena, so much of history driven by irrational foolish acts that from even the objective perspective of only known information at the time were carried out foolishly. Delusion remains the most fascinating and underrated of human phenomena. We never consider it because we cannot perceive it. It seems so unnatural to be blind to the truth. Especially when it stares us right in the face dancing around with pom-poms and with loud music playing in the background. It's easy to ignore something one has no interest in, especially when there are images of glory and victory beyond. The possibility that things will remain as they always have been or as they currently seem to be. The assumption of Homeostasis as it is called is intoxicating. And yet it is tempting, tugging at us constantly. Did the CEO of WeWork not see that he was making foolish deals that simply could not pay off. That there was no profitable endgame to his business plan. Maybe he could, maybe he was malicious in his attempt to steal from investors, but I have come to prefer the alternate perspective. It would take something to fool that many people. But to believe in it oneself, that makes all sorts of lies easy. In effective conmanship the first man you have to con is yourself. It's the sort of victory that comes with a ticking bomb. Like Napoleon and his blustering confidence. The same confidence that drove him to challenge all of Europe drove him to march into Russia. Tick Tick Tick Boom. Bernie Madoff should've known that his investors would come calling someday. That was a bomb, that simply had to go off. But in all the money and the sex and the occasional gold chains, it's a hard thing to see. It's easier to see only what you like. To turn the lie into reality, until it comes crashing down, and it very often does. But in Modi's case, that lie he talks about is our reality. When the leader falls to that common sickness that is delusion, it is the people who suffer. It is the men who serve under his command that often take the blow. It might be the greatest threat we face. The lies are all good, and the tricks and the smoke and the mirrors all decent and acceptable maneuvers but never forget the pulsing truth underneath all the shimmer. The country isn't doing well. Spread optimism and hope but work underneath the hood in silence, lest the car may blow up while you rev on the accelerator. A torn gasket is probably better fixed than ignored. Who knows what the truth may be. Perhaps we truly have a master at the helm. I certainly used to think so. I thought we finally had someone who could see what mattered. The big picture leader that long term growth often requires. And everything seems to line up but nothing seems to work. And it does well then to remember under these circumstances that it is a man that is at the helm. With all the flaws and strengths and tendencies that come with it. It's not a symbol or a character or a set of ideas on an agenda as we chose to or want to see it. Or rather as we're tempted to see it. It's a complete person with all the creaking mechanisms and beauties that come with it. And he might be a damn good one, perhaps the greatest man in the nation for that role, but I doubt he is anything more than that. And that's something, isn't it?

The Forging of the Man

 Click! Click! Click! Click! It was a sharp slope that they climbed, slowly trudging up the hill on a dark muddy day. The air was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of mud over leather. The ground was sticky with slush and as the earliest drops of rain precipitated around them, the men marched on, wordless in their exhaustion. Today was a good day. A great raid, a grand victory. To the middle of the troop train rode the commander himself, surrounded by his guard, the finest of his men. He was in a good mood today. The double envelopment maneuver was a success. It was the lynchpin of his grander plans. He could feel the smile form up on his face, uncontrollable. The commander was a passionate man. Given the right army and a clear mandate, he would have sailed out to conquer the world. Alas, he was stuck to the sticky forests of Iberia. He could feel his heart pulse with excitement, this one was long awaited. The air was cold, smelling of oncoming rain and storm. The wind gaining turbulence. The troops moved in a single file, trudging up the hill as they hulked their food stacks and gold reserves. It was the day's plunder. Another village burnt, another people evicted. It was not to his taste, the destruction. But it was necessary. The leaves rustled slightly as the wind moved against their march, tunneling through the tight forest path, the smell of wildflowers and berries in the air. The commander stared out over the distance, as he trotted along upon his horse. He was tempted to celebrate. His first great victory. A boy of mere sixteen. But he won't, not today. His father's words run through his head, over and over. "Remember this day, my son. Remember this day on the date of you're finest victory" He prayed it was not this day he spoke of. This was too early.

  It was a strange day, a half-decade before when he heard those words. He grimaced slightly at the memory. The cut still fresh across his face. The gash still sharp across his chest, a cut upon his shoulder. A gift from his father. The commander rode along on his massive stallion. A horse of dark brown, he cast a majestic shadow upon the ground in the evening sun. All seemed to be going well, if a little painful. He couldn't help but reminisce. All those nights training, fighting at the bottom of the legions. Rising up the ranks. The fear, real. No bodyguard to protect him. Perhaps it was all to pay off. He could see it still, his father standing over him, blade in hand, swinging away at him as he parried the strokes with ever increasing franticity. All up until the first strike cut through. A cut upon his shoulder. The chamber was a stone structure, dimly lit by the flame of a single urn set in the center. It set ghostly shadows upon the wall as the boy fell to the ground. It was the first time he asked his father for a place on the Iberian campaign. His father had looked down upon him a moment, not a word escaping his mouth. "Only when you are worthy" he had said. And when he protested, claiming he was ready, his father had looked seemingly hurt a moment, then taken him by by the hand and led him down to the temple. There he had taken off his armor, staring down at the kid. He had raised his blade in challenge and struck down upon his own son. He said nothing as the boy parried the blow barely, the blade glancing off his shoulder. The boy was skilled. But even the most skilled fighter must bend to the rules of reach and strength. His father was a taller man of great strength. A monster of a beast before the child, and he showed little mercy. As the ghostly shadows of the flame danced around the cove, the men joined in the dance, striking away at each other with ever-increasing ferocity until the boy was left merely defending against the fury of his father's blows. Blocking and deflecting with rapidity. A strike, a parry, then one to the legs parried, all at an increasing lag, and then the man struck. Drawing blood from the boys shoulder. In the dim red light of the fire the wound was barely visible, but the pain was real. Ripping though boy's body as he stepped back, only to be thrown back by a kick from his father. The boy chaffed at the unfairness of it, the size of his opponent. He hoped to hide it, but the father understood all "Do you think it will be fair, when you send your men off to die against the legions?" He smirked, looking down at the kid. "Do you think it will be easy, to have your men face down an army twice their size? To have them stand their ground, let alone fight." He smirked. "Why would they do that for you?" He muttered. "This fear you feel is merely awe at the strength of your opponent. You have not been afraid in your life. Not until you have been stabbed through the neck, stomped down upon by a metal boot thinking to yourself that not a thing in the world would change if you were to die lying there upon that ground." The boy rose charging at his father only to be kicked back onto the wall. "You fight because you want something. You fight for a purpose of your own. But why must your men fight? Answer that question for yourself" He swung his blade, opening up a gash in the boy's chest. He collapses, the pain intense. A tear runs down his cheek. "Feel that pain, my son" The father held his son against the wall. "On the greatest day of your life, in your finest victory, remember this day. This is what you led your men into" He mutters. He presses the blade into the kids skin, drawing a line across the skin of his face. Up close, all of his scars are laid bare. All the cuts, bruises and burns from his many campaigns. The artillery scalds, the arrow cuts, the bones broken upon maces. Shadows of light fly over the marks as the fire flickers in the background. "This scar will remind you, my son. Every time you feel powerful, every time vanity threatens your mind, remember where your strength comes from. Remember the source of it all. The day you forget that, is the day of your final victory" The commander placed his finger across the scar, tracing the line down his cheek. His finger comes back wet. The rain is now a torrent. He smirks. He hasn't forgotten. He never will, or so he hopes.

 The commander was shaken out of his reverie by the sound of a single spear. The silence of the forest broken by the felling of a single man. Thwip! a spear flew through the air hitting a man on guard. It was as if the air itself were charged. In an instant the forest was alive. The bodyguard was the first to react. They moved with rapidity prodding the general's horse to push him out of harm's way. A spear flew out of nowhere, killing the man to his right. The commander stared out, not quite sure how to react. The bodyguard though, was a professional force. Within a moment another man was in the space, completing the cordon. The commander must be protected. They charged up the hill as the men fall apart around them in disarray. Bogged down by their supply packs, the troops were slow to react, struggling to form up battle lines. Thousands seemed to fall within an instant, not a chance to fight. Looking down from the hill it became clear, the masterful maneuver. The barbarians awaited the passing of the front, to isolate the back of the troop train. Then set themselves upon the enemy with savage abandon. As the front half of the troop train moved past the hill, the rear was ravaged and surrounded by the savage foe, hitting them from all sides. Blocking them off from the frontal troops. The commander scanned the battlefield, unable to comprehend the disaster that he faced. A full half of his men lay in the maelstrom. "Rally the troop" he commanded the lieutenant "We must face this enemy" The frontal forces had gathered behind him by this time. Rapid action was required. The lieutenant though, was a wise man, a veteran of many a war. Known for his keen advice to the man in command. He stared at the commander "We must retreat" he muttered. His voice solid as wood "We must cut our losses, commander, pull back and return with reinforcements. We are outnumbered" The commander grips his sword tight. He can see it yet. The image of his father diving into the flames. The last he saw of him. He would not leave. Never to abandon his men. But he could also see the foolishness of a charge. The lower forces were spent for force. The upper troops that he carried on the other hand did not have the might to batter the barbarian force. He would have probably struggled to face them in open battle leave alone an ambush.  He wanted to call out for aid, a strange impulse pulsing through him. Call the commander. As a soldier, you learn to trust the chain of command. You hope and pray, the commander you follow is a man to trust. Where's the commander? And then he realizes something. He is the commander. "The last man to leave the field." His father had once said. The last man to leave the field. He nodded at the lieutenant slightly. Feeling his chest balloon up with courage. "Pull back the troops" He muttered, and before the old man could respond he turned his horse about, turning to face the enemy. He raised a prayer to the high heavens... and he charged.
  "For Carthage!" the cry echoed off the valley hills, as the lone man charged into the throng. The commander would die with his men. But it was not to be, for without even a moment of silence, the commander's cry was met with another. The entire Carthaginian force rallied down the hill, charging down to hell and all else, no orders given, no exhortations need. The entire force charging as one. But as they charged down the hill, it was not Carthage that they called out for. It was not the the nation that they fought for, tears streaming, blades swinging. That was not what this army was built on. And so it was with his name echoing off the walls of the valley, his arms spread in a charge to the death, that the man was forged....

The Greatest Plan Ever Made

Part 1: This will be beautiful

Tell me we won
 The words slip out of my mouth, my voice shaky and weak from the serum. I'm hazy, and yet, barely lucid, lying in a bed of stone, a physicians instrumentation strewn about me. He stands before me, Maharbal. Anguish spread across his face. He stares at me, shaking his head slightly. My teeth grind together, my mind struggling to construct a response. I'm usually more eloquent, as a commander. But here.... I'm speechless. Truly silenced. I knew this was coming. It was always a possiblity. And more so with time. And yet at the edge of the ravine, it's easy to be overwhelmed. Knowing full well that there's no way but ahead. "Fuck" I feel an aching pain spread through me. And then rage. "Fuck!" My voice is ragged. Pure rage and fury. It hardly matters who hears me now. This is it.... This is what happens when you live your life for a single moment. I smirk. It passes. "Fuck" A tear rolls down my cheek. My head runs the permutations. Over and over they run. Allies, manpower, gold. It has never failed me, my mind. Where can I find the men for a counterattack? Perhaps the Numidians can be turned. I could train a citizen levy to man the center. It makes no sense. But I hardly care. I cannot allow this. I cannot allow defeat. I push myself up from the bed. I have little else. A sharp pain cuts through my system. Maharbal moves. A sharp glare handles it. "I am not helpless" I push with solidity. He eyes move over me. "Where is the council?" The man hesitates "Where is the council, Maharbal" I sigh "I must take command" He steps back "They are debating...." I narrow my eyes. "Debating what?" His voice shakes, his face white. "T-Terms." I sigh. A savage fury gripping. Terms? Fucking Terms? I dedicated my life to this city and they will discuss terms? There will be no terms. There will definitely be no surrender. I struggle up. He walks up to me with franticity "You must rest, commander." I fend him off with a glance and a swipe. Another burst of pain flares up. "Your wounds...." "I must take command, Maharbal." I mutter as I stand before him. My hand bleeding through its stitches. Dressed in a medics tunic, a cut across my face and a bandage across my forehead. I step forward with difficulty, my face hot "I must take command...."

10 YEARS AGO
CANNAE, SOUTHERN ITALY, ROMAN REPUBLIC
AT THE BATTLEFIELD
Hannibal Barca- Commander of the Carthaginian Field Armies in Italy
"We're screwed"
 The officer mutters wryly to his comrade. His face pale, his eyes built of fear. I look back, a little struck. A strange look on my face. "Screwed, eh?" The man stares at me. "Commander" The officer stutters, not quite sure what to say. "Commander..." "What's your name" "Gisgo, sir" "A fine name you have, officer" I smirk to myself. A solid name indeed. "You know what I find fascinating, Gisgo?" I shake my head. Looking across the ravine. "In all the thousands that face us... there is not one man that could call himself Gisgo" My lips widen into a wry smile as the officers eyes follow. "Keep strength officer, there is gold immeasurable to be had across the ravine." I shake my head. "All down to an hour of courage" I walk away as a laugh breaks out in the cohort. The weather is cold today. A strange mist hanging over the field. I shake my head as I feel the wind move across. What hell have we brought upon ourselves. Maharbal waits for me at the front of the line. His horse at his side. The commander of the cavalry cohorts stares at me. "Are you sure this is wise?" I scan the distance. An open field. I shake my head. Flatlands until the eye can see and then the beast. I smile as I look at it. It seems to cover the horizon, moving as if a shadow on land. And as I stare at it I feel myself shudder. 80,000 men brought to the field. 8 legions and attached auxilia. I sigh. The greatest army to ever step into the field. Before the Roman behemoth, it's tempting to feel puny.
    It is easy to imagine the scene beforehand. To see it in the mind's eye. But nothing prepares a man for the sight. There is nothing like staring at the greatest army ever assembled right across the field. Knowing it's your job to defeat it. It's momentous... and it should be scary. I can feel the troops shifting behind me. Their morale withering. I smirk, looking down at my blade. I am not afraid. Not today. Fear would not serve me on this field. Fury on the other hand, I got plenty of that to spare. My lips open up, stating what I truly feel, under all the layers "Calm down dear Marharbal. Calm down and calm your men. Today... today is important" I stare across the field "Today will be beautiful."

A FEW HOURS LATER
What does it take?
  I sigh, staring at the scene that faces me. What does it take to pull together a nation? It is a question I have struggled with a multitude of times. It is the defining question of my profession. The question that defines the greatest of generals, and emperors. What does it take to whip up a mass. For what else are we doing than rallying the mass of our nations to a cause, our every move aimed at maximizing the focus of the nation. Victory very often finds itself in the hands of the more focussed power. An absolute determination to master the art, is often the key. For the average man, though it is about purpose. The masterful general can construct purpose from thin air. Produce enough dedication to power a nation's pulse. And you cannot win wars without having soldiers to fight them. As I said, it is the defining the question of my profession. I smirk to myself. It is rare to find the answer staring you right in the face. Quite literally, as it seems. And yet here I am.... The answer it seems is one scrawny general and the 40,000 odd barbarian mercenaries at his back. I sigh, clenching my sword. I might have pushed the envelope on this one. I feel the sweat run down my arm. My shield held in my right arm as my knees buckle for impact. I nod to the officer beside me as we lock shields. Shields lining up across the line. The orders are clear. I clench my teeth looking into the distance as I feel my heart palpitate. This will be ugly. Maharbal stands at the flank leading the cavalry. I smirk. The plan is clear in my head, almost too elegant to work. It is a thing of beauty, the plan. And yet I can see it happen as if right before me. It is as if it were the simplest thing... the most beautiful thing in the world. The officer at my side nods with confidence. Gisgo. I smirk as I nod back. Solidity is key. I must radiate solidity. An absolute and complete stability of thought. As if victory were assured. No matter how bad things get, the morale of an army lives and dies with it's general. Right until the last man falls, the great general could rally his men. Bringing entire armies to risk their lives out of pure dedication. I pull out my spear, bracing my shield. I can hear the enemy charging in the distance. 80,000 men's worth of pure muscle descending upon us. A pulsing beat pumping through the ground as it shakes from the impact. And then I feel it in my heart. A surge of crazy. I smile to myself as I shake with glee. This will be beautiful.




A FEW HOURS BEFORE
    I walk the distance inspecting the formation. The Romans are still in camp. Not ready to engage. We have a few hours, perhaps a day if they chose to delay. Maharbal walks by my side muttering protests. "I would reccommend a retreat. We do not have the numbers. Perhaps we can find an advantageous location. Hannibal" He holds me by the shoulder pulling me to a stop. I look up at him a reassuring smile spread across my face. "If we retreated every time they outnumbered us, Maharbal" I wag my finger at him. "We would be back in Iberia by now." I smirk, raising the facade. He stares back at me. Maharbal is a loyal man, if a little conservative. The perfect advisor, as I have learned. Someone to play the contrarian. The man would speak his mind irrelevant of what I think. I can respect that, and I can definitely use that. I smile wryly, responding to his concerned expression "We have to win someday, Maharbal" I mutter. "If there is someplace we must fight, then I would rather it be here." He sighs. "I hope you know what you're doing" I nod looking at him "Gather the cavalry and await instructions" I turn to walk away, giving him a withering glance "Cheer up Maharbal. It's a good day to fight" He smirks. "Worse day to die" I swear at him, walking away as I feel the stress come on. I walk into my tent, placing myself upon the cushions. This one is tough.... not nice. I gotta pull myself together. This one could challenge me. Might've stretched it enough. Time to get down to business.


Hannibal
  What game am I playing here? I consider it. They have the big cards, it would seem. Superior numbers on the field with 2 men marching to a man of ours. They have better training and better armor, a deadly combo. Weaknesses? 80,000 well-trained men. Fighting for their homeland facing  before them a severely outnumbered mercenary coalition with little national loyalty and seemingly low unit cohesion. I smirk. I love this one. It does not add up for me, or so it would seem. But the math is never so cut and dry. Rarely if ever. I have troops coming from Gaul, Iberia and some from Africa. That's half of Europe and Africa. More than a couple dozen languages and close to that many cultures. Different styles of fighting across the fighting line. I smile slightly. Looks like a clusterfuck. At least from the outside, that is. I consider it. We have a stronger cavalry force. Significantly faster, if lighter. And much stronger in numbers. But not enough to turn the tide. Not on its own that is.

    I feel my heart thud in my chest. Until today everything has gone well. A day ago I was excited. This was exactly what I wanted. Victory by annihilation.The tacticians strategy. I smile to myself. It's elegant. The trick is to pull the fight onto your field and play the game to your advantage.  If you are weak strategically, make it a battle of tactics. And vica versa. Draw your enemy to the field and make strange things happen. The Romans hold the Peninsula. They have the resources in both gold and men. I have 40,000 men and no food. The strategic game, as they say, is a losing one. The war itself is a losing one. I smirk.  Unless, that is, I make the strategics irrelevant. I burn the harvests, kill the peasants. Make it a matter of honor. Draw them to the field. But this can't be just any battle. This must be a stroke of the soul. A devastation of the Roman prestige. Like destroying the only standing army in all of Italy, now that would hurt. But most importantly, it will terrify. And so here we are. Two major victories on the march and this is what shows up. Rome sends it's best. It's beautiful. In a single day a battle of strategy becomes a tactician's game. And the tactician's game is where the beauty lies. For once you're on that field, anything can happen. Larger armies have been upset before. Greater empires have been brought to their knees. And this...? This will be a massacre.

  I look down at the ground. Considering it. It's easy to whip oneself into a fury. But I am struck by the beauty of the line. It will be a massacre. Either way this goes, it will be a massacre. It's amazing.... I have lived my entire life for this day. It is the rarest day.... When something truly magical can happen. The opportunity for greatness comes along rarely. Till yesterday I was a joke. A thorn in the Roman side. Tomorrow... tomorrow I could be a legend. I look at the enemy and then back at my troops. Mercenaries. There's only so much a man will do for gold. But these men have fought through the dirt for me. I can imagine the Romans staring down at us from across the field. From that distance we must look utterly harmless. An ant waiting to be swept by the flood. I smirk. It's poetic. The puny punic hero facing the Roman Goliath. They must think we are a joke. What a joke.

  And that's when it hits me. Like an arrow through the heart and a shard of glass, the idea is brilliant. I smile with glee as the absolute brilliance of it hits me. It is elegant... yet so obvious. Cutting through my thoughts with precision. The weakness... It's fascinating. A strength in the weakness. An advantage staring me right in the face. I shake my head. Trying to separate truth from fluff. And yet the picture does not leave. Damn.... I feel the mania come on. This might just work.

    The punch and the palm. I smirk. It's elegant. The greatest weaknesses are psychological. They represent the cracks in our thoughts process. The overconfidences we overlook because they seems so goddamn... obvious. I mutter the word in my head. The key to it all. And suddenly the beast looks like no beast at all. The behemoth is now slow and foolish. Hamstrung by its own size and strength and lacking in mobility. Trapped in an open field and waiting to be picked apart. I can see it play out before me. My greatest victory. My Pieta. And I have never felt better. Not once and never again. I grin up at Maharbal as he stares down at me. Watching from the entrance of the tent as he questions my sanity. I feel a rush flow through me looking at him "You bloody beautiful bastard... Maharbal. I have done it! I have figured it out! Call the officers, gather the troops. This is glorious" I laugh. Chuckling to myself. "We got business to do" I look into the distance. This will be beautiful. Holy hell, this will be beautiful. And that's how the greatest plan in history was made. With a scrawny general hunkered in a tent. Half mad and laughing at himself. A moment without a plan and the next he was crazed.



BACK UPON THE FIELD
Oh... boy is this gonna hurt. I brace for the impact. Bang! The sound is closer to the rush of water hitting the edges of a wall. Smashing hard with intensity. I'm pushed into the great crush as the line smashes into us. Shield hits shield, spear cuts spear. I feel my bones crunch as I smash into the Roman war machine.
  The Roman cohorts charge in in tight formations. Smashing through, shield first after flinging their javelins. I feel the javelin dig in as the enemy missile hits its mark. The pila breaks as it is designed to. Curving down from the sharp end as the handle hangs limp, leaving me with a uselessly heavy shield and an unusably broken javelin. Goddamn Romans. I swear to myself as I fling aside the shield and scream pulling out my sword. Goddammit. This is it. I stab out as I feel the chaos surrounds me. Very little means anything anymore. I could be praying for Maharbal to succeed at this moment. But to be honest I'm not. It's as if the world dissolves around me as I fight. Maharbal must win. The though flickers past like an arrow through an apple. I might have cut through a few jaws and broken a few bones. Or perhaps not... but who knows? In the grand crush, we are all meat. Gisgo is gone. I find myself picking up a shield from a fallen man as I push ahead in the crush of battle, praying it has no pila in it. And then everything is red.

 I stumble back as another man replaces me in the crush. I feel no pain. I have little time for pain. I look around as it hits me. I have a job here. I shake my head scanning for injuries. At the skull, if I were to theorize. But I can think, so there's that. "Step back!" I scream, praying they hear me. "Step back!" This is crucial. The center of the line pushes back ever so slowly. It has to subtle. I clench my teeth. It has to be subtle. But moving a line has its stresses. Men fall as they fail to retreat while they fight. I can see the line arcing as the sides hold their ground. It's subtle at first, but definite and obvious. A man dies at my side as I realize I am now at the front. I stab out. I might have hit a neck judging from the blood. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. I stab out. My sanity holding on by a thin string. This is crazy. So fucking crazy. I laugh out loud. I love it.

 I scream. Tempted to shove ahead and force a forward charge. But that would be suicide and I have little love for suicide. So I step back with the rest of the line. Stabbing out at intervals. Pushing to the back on tiredness as a man replaces me in the crush and repeating the cycle again. And at one point it seems eternal. From past to future time ceases to mean anything. It's tempting to lose track. To dissolve into the cycle and lose myself. It takes a blade to my shoulder to bring me back. I swear as I smash my hilt into his helmet. The man falls. Perhaps to live another day. I step back as the blood gushes from my shoulder. I can feel the force of the battle. It's as if the line revolves around me. The troops are close to a rout. The Romans have run a deep formation, as I theorized. They hit us with the force of a brick wall. I see men fall all around me. And for a moment it seems hopeless. The tears running down my face. I swear to myself. Goddammit. I have to collect myself. I sigh. Fuck. I smile hysterically. If there ever were a moment, for something beautiful, this would be it.

  The line is at breaking point. I look around. The arc is complete. We are at our thinnest. Stretched to the limit. I can see the sides at the front, holding their positions. I cough. Vomiting blood. I swear. Fuck! I pull out my blade and push ahead. It's up to Maharbal now. All I can do now is hold the line.

  We are at our weakest. The men fight fearfully. I can smell the panic as it flows through the troops. Panic is the precursor to collapse. We are so close to a route now, I can feel it. It's strange how close victory and defeat can get. I can see it all falling apart. I scream in frustration. This doesn't make any sense. The trap worked. Every single thing moving in perfect symmetry. How can something so beautiful fail? My heart palpitates in it's cage. So close. And it means nothing. This cannot happen. Not if there were any elegance in the universe. Fuck. What will it take? What will it fucking take.

   I feel the frustration pulsing through me from toe to temple. Nothing! I have lived for this moment my entire life. And it means nothing? The blood is everywhere now. I'm not sure which of it is even mine. Some spraying in my face. Some across my armor. Some running across my arm. I should feel pain. But I have little time for pain. Come on Maharbal. I can see the men peel away now. Fleeing the battlefield. Roman morale rising. As the victory appears before them. So close. And I feel more pain than I have ever felt. A pulsing crushing pain in my heart that far overshadows any pain in the physical. I feel my muscles compress. My grip tightening on the blade. My teeth clenching.

No.

    No they won't. No one flees. Not until the last Roman has fallen. Not until I win! I will not lose. I will not be beatern.... I grit my teeth and charge.
  What follows... follows. The last string breaks. And I slip into insanity. Driven by barbarity and madness. If only temporary. The cycle exists no more. I have no need for rest. I don't know if it works. I don't know if it makes any difference. But I honestly don't care. For after a moment has passed and we have won, who cares why? And if am glad for anything, it is that horses can gallop, and men can fight.

   It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. A line of horses smashing into the backs of the Romans. Maharbal prevails. The cavalry charges in. And I smile with glee. My Pieta. This is it! This is everything I ever lived for. The perfect moment. Trebia, Transimene and Cannae. The trifecta is complete. And if ever there were a tale written about me it would be because of this moment. Because in a single instant the game changes. And right before my eyes it happens. The greatest military achievement of all time. The perfect double envelopment. The tears are now ones of joy. It was perfect. Perhaps to never be seen again. Not like this. Never again. The encirclement is complete and the Romans are surrounded. Driven by vanity they pushed hard into the center where the weakest troops lay. Held together through the sheer willpower of the general. And so vain were the Romans, they could not see the game falling apart right in their faces. And like a punch landing in an open palm, they are surrounded. And just as they think they are winning, Maharbal charges in with devastating zeal having beaten the flanking cavalry with superior forces. It's beautiful, the completion of the circle. And with nowhere to escape the Romans are massacred. Ripped down and broken to a man.

  Perhaps I should rest... Lol. I've earned this. And I go berzerk, spilling guts on blood. No order is required. No command. And history is made... And as we go about our bloody business, if only for a moment, I feel truly.... free. Capable of anything in the world. Undefeatable and Invincible. I smirk as I look over the scene. The fallen lying before me. It's a lie, of course. An illusion. But so tempting to live on. I shake my head, looking into the distance. Not today. I smile to myself as I walk away. Not today....
TO BE CONTINUED


 Follow us on Facebook here to get updated on the continuation in this series and other cool stuff. Click it for beautiful stuff.

This is Part 1 of The Greatest Plan Ever Made. The tale of the greatest campaign in all of history and the man who led it. Stay tuned for upcoming posts in the coming days as we look through the mind and journeys of one of the greatest generals in history.
Share and like this post if you liked it and let more people see the cool stuff you enjoy. This is Ballads and Broken Dreams.
Enjoy
Ciao Ciao

The absolute power of Tenacity: The siege of Masada

 I have always found Zombies fascinating. Or precisely our fear of them. Zombies are relatively weak creatures. Very often slow, dragging across the ground and exceedingly stupid. As a threat they really don't have much firepower. They aren't even very gory. Grey and skinless at times, but they got nothing on Freddy Krueger. And yet they remain an enduring symbol in modern culture. Appearing repeatedly in our movies and games and doomsday survival plans. These creatures have very little going for them except of course for their tenaciousness. Zombies are difficult to stop. They just keep coming. They're not smart, but they are determined. You can rip out their limbs, shoot of their heads and rip out their hearts and they will keep coming. You can push them back. Fairly easily very often. But they will always be there. And there will always be more. And eventually little by little they will defeat you. It's inevitable. And that is what scares us. Because there is nothing scarier than an opponent you cannot defeat.

The Roman Empire at its peak

 The Romans built an empire spanning a vast majority of Europe. Uniting a land mass that was broken into a variety of warring tribes and pulling together one of the greatest empires of all time. They sustained that rule for close to 2 millennia. That's 2000 years. Talk about endurance. The fascinating thing about the Romans is that they were essentially originally just a city. The empire was literally the city of Rome and it's tributary provinces. Imagine India as the Mumbai empire (I am not going to say Delhi) or the United States being completely conquered by the city of Washington. That is stunning. Never before or again (until now...) would a single city dominate the world like that. So how do the citizens of a single city pull together such absolute power for themselves? Ruling empires and nation states a world away. It's fascinating to consider this question. How does a continent go from a million warring tribes, cities and empires to a singular power raised by a single city? The answer always seems to be complex. And yet the underlying truth is often simple. The personality of a civilization is often revealed in singular moments of desperation and drive. If ever there was such a battle for the Romans. One that would explain how such power and legacy was built singularly it would be the siege of Masada. An absolute masterclass of tenacity. If you ever need to understand how empires are built, this is the battle to look at. Read on to know more about one of the most fascinating battle of all time and the men who fought it.
 
I present to you the Siege of Masada

 If ever there was a battle won through pure audacity it would be this one. You see that picture above? That is the modern day ruin of Masada.

Masada was a fortress nigh impregnable. Those small walls you see above? They were 6 metres tall originally. That’s more than 19 feet. The fortress was built on a mountaintop and was considered nigh impregnable. It had double walls with space in between to store food. The area under the land that you see stored water for long periods of time. It was in the middle of nowhere. So any besieger would run out of supplies before the garrison in the fort. The only entry paths were snaking and thin or extremely steep. Nowhere near ideal for assault.
 That is to say no ordinary army, no matter how big could have broken through those walls. To paraphrase the great George R.R Martin "A million men could have marched on those walls and million men would have been repulsed" But the Romans… the Romans were a force of nature. Noone denied the Romans. Noone stood in their paths. Not unless they were allowed to. In 73AD the Jews of Judaea revolted in a revolt that shook the very base of the empire. It was a bloody brutal rebellion. As casualties mounted rapidly the Romans responded with impunity. Claims from the time place the casualties of the siege of Jerusalem at 1 million. With 97000 prisoners taken. This might not be an accurate number, almost definitely, but it gives us a good idea of the psychological impact of the rebellion on the people of the time.
But as with all the rebellions they faced the methodical brutality and military brilliance of the Romans won out. And city by city, town by town the zealots were subdued until finally, only Masada remained. The last stand of the Sicarii rebels. Knife-wielding murderers, the Sicarii were known to carry out kills in crowded marketplaces and surprisingly enough could also hold their ground against Roman legionaries in the field. A garrison of less than a thousand held the fort. Many of them refugees. The fortress was located in a region of minimal resources. Supplies were difficult to provide. Any other empire would have ignored the rebels. They could do very little from their hidey hole. Their numbers were weak. Their army, for all intents and purposes, broken. But you do not last in power for two millennia by letting rebels fester away in your territory. No, a message had to be given. No matter where their enemies hid, the Romans would find them. And they would kill them.

Yep, that’s what they were facing

And so the Romans marched past the dead sea and into the Negev desert. They sent the very best, the Legio X Fretensis or the 10th Legion of Rome. Levied by Augustus Caesar himself, it had been around for more than a hundred years since the era of the first Emperor of Rome. With a multitude of Auxiliary cohorts (Allied troops) the 10th Legion set seige to Masada. They built a set of walls around the fort. Walls of stone, quarried from the region itself. Reaching a total length of 3.2 km the walls can be seen even today, more than 1900 years later. The walls were formidable, cutting off the Zealots from the outside world. They had camps set up on both side and multiple outposts where they kept auxilliary troops on guard. This was to be a perfect operation.

One of the Roman Legionary camps that can still be seen

At this point, the zealots still held the advantage. They had supplies that could last decades. And the Romans had literally no chance of breaking through with the 10,000 men they had. Or so it seemed.
What follows is one of the most impressive military maneuvers of all time. A marvel of human brilliance actually. For I cannot imagine calling it anything else. Imagine standing on the hill. Looking down on the sieging army. Knowing with absolute certainty that you are safe. Knowing that there is no way on planet earth that those men can come up that hill. And then imagine looking down and watching a miniature mountain rise. Imagine it as it reaches ever closer by the day. And day by day it threatens you more. There is no scarier feeling in the world than this. Than watching the impossible happen right before your eyes. Watching it slowly walk up to you, smiling, blade in hand. Ready to kill you. What do you do when the conditions don’t suit you? When every single variable stands against you? If you are the Romans, you change the conditions and break the variables.

 The Romans effectively reshaped the mountain. They built a ramp along one side with a more forgiving slope than the mountainside. A ramp as tall as the mountain itself. The massive construction weighed one and a half times the empire state building. And it was built in 2 months. Pushing rock up the hill until the fort was a short leap away and then nothing. The construction remains a masterpiece of military construction. Built by the legion and by a labour force consisting of slaves captured from the great revolt. Because nothing raises the middle finger like rebel slaves working under arrow fire from their own side.

Yep, that route you see up the hill was built by the Romans. The square structures on the right are the Roman camps at the fortifications.
And when the ramp was ready the Legion marched up the hill. Swords and Shield in hand. Ready for a grand fight.
They found a massacre.
The cowardly zealots decided to kill each other rather than risk getting captured. They watched for months as the Romans pushed their siege engines up the hill. Firing arrows at the marching besiegers. But when the time came to fight they would not raise their blades.
And that was the difference between the Romans and their enemies. They would fight to the end. Even when there was no hope. Hannibal faced the same problem 4 centuries before. He brought Rome to its knees. Marched into Italy and destroyed an army of 16 legions (84,000 men). And yet the Romans would not surrender. They would not surrender until they were completely destroyed. The only two options in any war for them were victory and total annihilation. Very few in war as in life can truly annihilate their enemies. Victory depends on capitulation. And thus the rare opponent like the Romans that never relent and never surrender end up winning over the larger scale of time. The Sicarii thought they were safe cowering in their forts. They could not have been farther from the truth. No one is safe from the truly relentless. And the Romans were nothing if not relentless. If there was no other option they would held the fortifications for decades if necessary until the zealots surrendered. And they would have surrendered. Or died. And so it happened. The siege of Masada ended in a Roman victory. Yet another in a long list to come. The empire would live on for 3 more centuries. Until their determination crumpled. And with it their power.

 If you like this post do subscribe to this blog to know about our latest updates. This is Of Ballads and Broken Dreams where we explore History, Philosophy and the intersection between the two. Next we will be exploring how the humble stirrup changed the history of Medieval Europe, Hannibal's masterpiece of a victory at Cannae and the connection between the Romans and Mcdonalds. Stay tuned for more!
Ciao Ciao
Parth Thakur
(Check me out on Quora if you're interested)
Ciao Ciao