The rules of the game are simple, but playing is a complex art. It has an opening, middle, and end game
The rules of the game are simple, but playing it is a complex art, necessitating concentration, a calm mind, and the ability to sit still and shut out the world.
My father introduced me to chess when I was eight years old. Almost 40 years later, I know that many of the skills and qualities learned from the game stand one in good stead in life and in litigation. Indians are believed to have invented the game in the 6th century CE, in the era of the Gupta Empire. It was known as “chaturanga” at the time. The word “chaturanga”, which in Sanskrit means four limbs, refers to the four arms of the army — infantry, cavalry, elephants, and chariots.
During the Gupta era, the game was played on an 8×8 grid, much like the modern chessboard of today. By the 11th century, it spread to Persia where it was known as “chatrang” or “shatranj”. From Persia, it went to China and Japan before arriving in Europe via North Africa. In Europe, by the 16th century, some cosmetic changes were brought to the game, including the renaming of the pieces after medieval European figures like knights, bishops, and rooks (or forts).
The rules of the game are simple, but playing it is a complex art, necessitating concentration, a calm mind and the ability to sit still and shut out the world. These are necessary qualities for any discipline or art form, especially advocacy in a courtroom. First, a little more on the rules for those who don’t play. Essentially, when your king is captured or checkmated, you lose. Perhaps in a reflection of real life, the female piece, or the queen, is the most powerful and hardworking piece, while the pawns are committed foot soldiers. Bishops move diagonally, rooks vertically and horizontally, while the horse-headed knights move in an L-shape.
Each piece has its own role, but all must work together to be utilized most effectively by the force that runs them — much like any army, bureaucracy, or state institution. The handling of any crisis — whether Covid or war — reflects how effectively the ruling regime deploys the limbs of the state. Each institution is but a piece on the larger board that is the state. Much like in chess, the constitution describes the role or function of each institution and sets the rules.
I was excited to be in the mothership of chess — the Soviet Union. For long, chess had been used to settle ideological wars and issues of national pride. At the peak of the Cold War years, a challenger from the US, Bobby Fischer, and the defending champion Boris Spassky of the Soviet Union, played at the World Chess Championships in Reykjavik, Iceland. From July 11 to August 31, 1972, spanning 21 games, the two players competed for themselves and their countries. Symbolically, capitalism took on communism. Both Fischer and Spassky were under tremendous pressure to win.
The Soviets had dominated world chess till this point, winning the world championships for the past 24 years. The eccentric Fischer, critical of his government, brilliant and unpredictable, asked for the prize money to be increased, refused to attend the opening ceremony, threatened not to play, and, finally, had to be persuaded by Henry Kissinger to compete. He would go on to win the championship and break Soviet domination.
I found chess again during this time of relative isolation, with the pandemic and the resultant lockdowns and curfews. In the land of its birth, chess has witnessed a renaissance over the past decade. Abhijit Nair writes in Bridge.in that as of 2021, India has 72 Grandmasters, having tripled the number in the last decade. In the last three years alone, from 2018 to 2021, India has produced an astonishing 22 Grandmasters.
During the pandemic, one could still play in the online world of chess sites. Rumour has it that the former world champion and Russian dissident Garry Kasparov often plays anonymously on these sites. If that’s not to one’s liking, then chess programs on laptops are designed to entertain or destroy as per the level of proficiency selected. I played furiously during the loneliest of the lockdowns, used it to bury grief as friends and colleagues at the bar were felled by the brutal second wave of Covid. As migrant laborers starved or decided to walk to their far-off homes, I wondered what kind of “middle game” our rulers had in mind?
As Omicron entered India, I re-watched Satyajit Ray’s only Hindi language film, ‘Shatranj ke Khilari’. Set in 1856, shortly before the revolt of 1857, the movie revolves around two noblemen living in Awadh. Obsessed with the game, both spend all their time playing and neglecting their families and businesses until they are completely ruined. Starring Amjad Khan, Sanjeev Kumar, Shabana Azmi and Richard Attenborough, the movie is based on a short story by Munshi Premchand. Both the short story and the film are intended to capture the selfishness and cowardice of India’s ruling classes at the time, who did not put up a fight against the small group of British soldiers who threatened the grand old kingdom of Awadh. In due course, Awadh would fall and India soon after.
How one lives life is a series of choices. Chess games are divided into opening, middle, and end games. In life, the opening moves are determined by the values one decides to live by, the middle game entails honing the craft of one’s choice, contributing to one’s community, finding love, taking care of family, mentoring the young and speaking up against the powerful when demanded by circumstances. For the end game, you must look at the legacy you leave behind as you walk into the sunset. You may win or lose, but you have played the game by your rules.