When luck is a gamble
Thirukkural with the Times explores real-world lessons from the classic Tamil text ‘Thirukkural’. Written by Tamil poet and philosopher Thiruvalluvar, the Kural consists of 1,330 short couplets of seven words each. This text is divided into three books with teachings on virtue, wealth, and love and is considered one of the great works ever on ethics and morality. The Kural has influenced scholars and leaders across social, political, and philosophical spheres.
Motivational speaker, author and diversity champion Bharathi Bhaskar explores the masterpiece.
I have often wondered why someone as virtuous as Yudhishthira should resort to gambling so fervently — to the point of pledging Draupadi herself. Was he a compulsive gambler? Why could he not resist the temptation to play further, even as his fortune slipped away?
The Mahabharata tells us he was lured, that destiny led him to the dice. Yet once seated at the table, it was not fate but frenzy that consumed him — the shimmer of chance, the intoxication of gamble. He played ceaselessly, mindlessly, raising the stakes until he lost every possession, every relationship, every ounce of dignity. In that hall of deceit, Yudhishthira was not conquered by Sakuni but by his own delusion — the belief that one more throw of the dice might change his fate.
Modern science offers an explanation. Gambling activates the brain’s reward system much like drugs or alcohol do. The tragedy of gambling-related suicides has become a quiet epidemic.
When I was very young, I watched a Shivaji Ganesan–Padmini film titled Pesum Deivam. A couple, long childless, are finally blessed with a son. The boy becomes their world. One day, the father takes him to a wedding while the mother stays back, warning him repeatedly to take care of the child.
At the wedding hall, the father meets old friends playing cards and succumbs soon. The clink of coins, the rhythm of the cards — all blur into one. His eyes gleam with a fever that blinds him to everything else. The child, forgotten, wanders away into the night. The rest of the film is a long search — for the boy, for forgiveness, for peace. What I still remember is the extraordinary acting of legend Shivaji Ganesan that depicts how gamblers succumb to temptation.
Thiruvalluvar, in his timeless wisdom, captures this folly with haunting precision:
“Vaendarkka Venridinum Soodhinai Vendradhom;
Thoondirppon Meenvizhungi Atru.”
Kural 931
Even if you win, do not gamble; the bait may be made of gold, yet what good
Is it to the fish that swallows it?
In the same chapter, Valluvar condemns gambling across all the ten couplets. So gambling clubs existed as an organised business even two millennia ago! Today, gambling houses are not tucked away in alleys; they are glowing icons on our phones. Betting apps promise easy money, masking risk as entertainment. Once I took a cab from airport to my office in Mumbai. The cab driver, mistaking me for an IT professional, asked if I could ‘hack’ a gambling app. I was appalled and asked why. He had lost 12.7 lakh rupees on one such app and if I could help hack that app, he could recover his losses. I was stunned — not just by the scale of loss, but by the desperation that drives people to such extremes.
These digital platforms blur the line between play and peril. What begins as harmless fun often turns into addiction — a slow erosion of willpower.
Perhaps the only remedy is to recognise gambling as what it is — a snare. As Valluvar warned, even victory in gambling is defeat in disguise. The bait may glitter, but to swallow it is to lose everything that matters — as Yudhishthira learned, too late, in the echoing silence after the last throw of the dice. He has lost Draupadi.
Motivational speaker, author and diversity champion Bharathi Bhaskar explores the masterpiece.
I have often wondered why someone as virtuous as Yudhishthira should resort to gambling so fervently — to the point of pledging Draupadi herself. Was he a compulsive gambler? Why could he not resist the temptation to play further, even as his fortune slipped away?
The Mahabharata tells us he was lured, that destiny led him to the dice. Yet once seated at the table, it was not fate but frenzy that consumed him — the shimmer of chance, the intoxication of gamble. He played ceaselessly, mindlessly, raising the stakes until he lost every possession, every relationship, every ounce of dignity. In that hall of deceit, Yudhishthira was not conquered by Sakuni but by his own delusion — the belief that one more throw of the dice might change his fate.
Modern science offers an explanation. Gambling activates the brain’s reward system much like drugs or alcohol do. The tragedy of gambling-related suicides has become a quiet epidemic.
When I was very young, I watched a Shivaji Ganesan–Padmini film titled Pesum Deivam. A couple, long childless, are finally blessed with a son. The boy becomes their world. One day, the father takes him to a wedding while the mother stays back, warning him repeatedly to take care of the child.
At the wedding hall, the father meets old friends playing cards and succumbs soon. The clink of coins, the rhythm of the cards — all blur into one. His eyes gleam with a fever that blinds him to everything else. The child, forgotten, wanders away into the night. The rest of the film is a long search — for the boy, for forgiveness, for peace. What I still remember is the extraordinary acting of legend Shivaji Ganesan that depicts how gamblers succumb to temptation.
Thiruvalluvar, in his timeless wisdom, captures this folly with haunting precision:
“Vaendarkka Venridinum Soodhinai Vendradhom;
Thoondirppon Meenvizhungi Atru.”
Kural 931
Even if you win, do not gamble; the bait may be made of gold, yet what good
Is it to the fish that swallows it?
In the same chapter, Valluvar condemns gambling across all the ten couplets. So gambling clubs existed as an organised business even two millennia ago! Today, gambling houses are not tucked away in alleys; they are glowing icons on our phones. Betting apps promise easy money, masking risk as entertainment. Once I took a cab from airport to my office in Mumbai. The cab driver, mistaking me for an IT professional, asked if I could ‘hack’ a gambling app. I was appalled and asked why. He had lost 12.7 lakh rupees on one such app and if I could help hack that app, he could recover his losses. I was stunned — not just by the scale of loss, but by the desperation that drives people to such extremes.
These digital platforms blur the line between play and peril. What begins as harmless fun often turns into addiction — a slow erosion of willpower.
Perhaps the only remedy is to recognise gambling as what it is — a snare. As Valluvar warned, even victory in gambling is defeat in disguise. The bait may glitter, but to swallow it is to lose everything that matters — as Yudhishthira learned, too late, in the echoing silence after the last throw of the dice. He has lost Draupadi.
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