Centuries back, England comprised seven Saxon kingdoms almost continually at war with each other. It took a conqueror from across the Channel to invade England and unify the warring tribes. It may have been -- to the inhabitants of England certainly -- a patent instance of unprovoked aggression. In the long term, however, was the unification of the English kingdoms by a conqueror from without, inherently wrong? Likewise the conquest of the American West was aggression, pure, brutal and simple. But were its consequences, the unification of America and the opening up of the continent, for this reason, an unmitigated evil? The verdict of history in both cases would be, on balance, a resounding no.

There is an idiomatic expression in Bangla: "Jaha Bahanno Taha Tepanno". Or roughly in English: "52 or 53, what's the difference"? A friend once related an allegory of sorts that purported to explain its origin. In days of yore when might made right, and could be wielded with near impunity, there lived a much feared and fearless bandit, who robbed and killed without qualm or conscience. A jewel-encrusted dagger was his preferred weapon with which he had dispatched as many as 52 victims. One day something unexpected happened. The bandit came upon an ascetic, a sage who had renounced the world, and by some miracle -- it was the age of miracles -- a sea change came over him. He begged the sage to show him the path to salvation. The sage gave him a stout staff, on top of which was affixed a crimson standard, a rectangular piece of cloth, the size of a small flag. The bandit was to travel the length and breadth of the country on foot with the staff in hand. He was to abandon his evil ways, visit holy places, abjure malice and hatred, break journey where he wished for meditation and prayer, until the day the crimson standard turned snow white in colour. Only then would he be absolved of past sins. Our bandit friend set about his arduous trial with zeal and resolution.

Years passed and due either to exposure to the sun or because his burden of sins was declining, the crimson standard began to fade, until only a faint tincture of red was discernible. One day as the former bandit sat, eyes closed in deep thought, in a secluded spot the shrieks of a woman clearly in distress intruded rudely on his meditation. Looking around he saw a lady being molested by an obvious villain. He was in a quandary. What was he to do? He had after all renounced hatred. The answer came to him almost by instinct. His jewelled dagger, which he had kept as a memento among his few belongings, flashed in the sun after many years and claimed its 53rd victim as the villain fell dead. The enormity of what he had done struck him. And yet a sense of serenity also pervaded his being. He could not have acted otherwise. Gently, he asked the lady to go home. Her danger was past, but he would now need to find the sage and perhaps start afresh his journey to salvation. Turning to pick up his staff he gave a start. The standard, which earlier in the morning was a faint but distinct shade of red, was now snow white. The realisation dawned; his 53rd victim did not add to his sins but was the final expiation.

Penitence, penance, and redemption are inter-linked and recurrent themes of religious and moral beliefs, and also lore and legend. There may well be deeds and acts though that are so monstrous, so egregious as to place the perpetrators beyond redemption, but paradoxically enough may result in some reward, at least in the temporal sense. Would the exploits of conquerors of old, the likes of Genghis Khan, Attila and Tamerlane, who carved out sprawling empires and at times without compunction put innocents to the sword, fall in such a category? And likewise those of holy Inquisitors, who burnt "heretics" at the stake and appropriated their properties, with the purest of motives, of course, namely the salvation of their immortal souls? A difficult question, as such people lived in different times, by a different code, and were guided more by habits, values and instincts peculiar to their times than by the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Regardless of what a person may or may not do, the fact remains that apart possibly from stoics and those blessed with an absolute sense of moral certitude, ordinary people, as also the high and the mighty frequently enough -- wittingly or otherwise --crave some form of recognition, vindication or approbation.

Grover Cleveland's standing has declined among scholars in recent decades. He is considered though to have been a strong, scrupulously honest and progressive President of the US. He was opposed to territorial expansion and freely used the presidential veto when he thought it was warranted. At a time of economic depression he did seem a little harsh on Labour, which cost him dearly in political terms. His dying words were:" I have tried so hard to do right." Was it a plea for understanding to the people of his country, or perhaps to the Almighty?

Nuclear weapons have been dropped in anger only twice in human history. There are those who are absolutely assured that both Hiroshima and Nagasaki were avoidable, unwarranted and morally reprehensible. The War was all but over; Japan was in dire straits, exhausted and searching desperately for a face saving formula of surrender. What then was the need for brutalising and visiting such utter devastation upon a people? The decision was President Truman's, after receiving advice from all concerned. There were cogent enough military reasons for unleashing the bomb. It would bring the war to a swift close and save American lives. There may have been other unstated underlying considerations that weighed with some among those who proffered advice. A war was going on; Pearl Harbour still rankled and it was pay back time. And secondly the demonstration effect of the bomb could bear upon the fashioning of the post-war order. Truman, a person of sturdy commonsense and without vestige of artifice, never doubted that he had made the right, in fact the only possible, decision. Years later talking to Merle Miller, he was willing enough to visit Japan, go to Hiroshima, to talk and explain, to stress that the bomb must never be used again, but not -- in his inimitable language -- to "kiss their ass".

After the War the US did travel the extra mile, and afford every assistance and encouragement in the transformation of Japan, politically and into an economic powerhouse second only to the US. Did something good then result from the abomination that was Hiroshima and Nagasaki or, going further back, the horror of Pearl Harbour? A complex question surely. It is a fair assumption though that Truman's birthday will never be celebrated as a national holiday in Japan.

Iraq in particular, and possibly also Afghanistan, may be deemed by many to be modern and moral parallels of the Norman conquest of England and the opening of the American West. None will contend that all the 5000 or so casualties in Afghanistan were unreconstructed terrorists and Talibans, posed imminent threats to all and sundry and thus deserved a violent death. There is also surely little that is moral in holding people in legal limbo for two years or more, in detention without charge, let alone formal trial -- a right that was not denied to even the worst war criminals of World War II. A British citizen, who was recently released without charge from Guantanamo Bay, has alleged that inmates there are deprived of even "animal" rights.

The casualty figures in Iraq would be appreciably higher than in Afghanistan and there was no unequivocal UN imprimatur for military action for the ostensible purpose of locating and destroying WMDs, which are proving to be so inconveniently elusive. Those doubting the legal and moral validity of the decision to go to war in Iraq, and indeed the political wisdom behind it, include eminent international personalities who were in no way partisans of the ousted Iraqi regime. Media reports would suggest that former UN weapons inspectors, Butler and Blix -- both circumspect international civil servants -- would also fall in the category of war sceptics. But the moving finger has written and moved on and it would be infinitely more constructive and realistic for the focus and emphasis of all concerned to be on the future than on the past. The people of this oil-rich cradle of civilisation surely yearn for and deserve a stable polity, the freedom and opportunity to chart their own future, and their rightful place in the sun. Those in occupation of the country cannot -- and one hopes would not -- disavow responsibility in this regard. If meaningful strides are made toward these very legitimate objectives, Iraq may afford yet another example of something good coming from means that were seen by far too many people as dubious, arbitrary and high-handed.

The other scenario is if things go awry and not as envisaged. This would bring to mind the Biblical caveat, of which any born-again Christian would be aware: "They have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind". This is a contingency too disturbing to contemplate. It would be consistent though with the way Mahatma Gandhi -- to many a sage of modern times -- tended to look at things.