At a moment of insult from Washington, New Delhi faces a choice: defend itself with reflexive rhetoric, or turn the keys of remorse and reconciliation toward a more principled kind of power.
In Dante’s Purgatorio, the angel at Peter’s Gate keeps two keys: one silver, one gold. The silver key is remorse — the recognition of fault. The gold key is reconciliation — the deliberate act of aligning oneself with what is right. The gate opens only when both turn together.
This, in its way, is where Indian foreign policy stands today. The gatekeeper is not an angel but the president of the United States of America, Donald J. Trump, in his second term, his language shorn of grace but not of impact. In recent weeks, he has dismissed India as a “tariff king” and a “dead economy,” and accused it of enabling Russia’s war in Ukraine by buying its oil. For a country that prides itself on dignity in the world, such epithets carry more than a sting; they threaten to congeal into a narrative, one that could follow us long after Trump has left the stage.
There is an easy path and there is a hard one. The easy path is the familiar one: meet rhetoric with rhetoric, point to American protectionism, cite Western purchases of Russian crude through middlemen, and carry on. The hard path is to take the moment seriously — to see in it not insult alone but opportunity. A Road to Damascus moment — the Biblical story of Saul as metaphor for a sudden, profound life-changing experience that often completely alters a person’s beliefs, direction or perspective — does not arrive dressed as an invitation; it often comes disguised as a rebuke.
For three years, India has managed two of the world’s most searing crises — Ukraine and Gaza — without rupturing its web of relationships. It has spoken carefully, abstained often, traded freely where it could, and kept strategic autonomy intact. It has also shown, to those watching closely, a willingness to let its principles bend to the demands of expedience. In Ukraine, we refused to name Russia as the aggressor even as we lamented the war; in Gaza, we condemned Hamas’s brutality but skirted around the scale of civilian loss in Israel’s response.
That, too, is a kind of purgatory: not the punishment of hell, but the suspended state of the unfinished. We have the stature to lead, the history to speak with moral weight — yet we remain on the plateau, neither ascendant nor fallen. The keys have not turned.
The silver key, remorse, would mean acknowledging — at least to ourselves — that this caution has cost us something essential. We have defended sovereignty in principle but not in every case; we have spoken for civilian protection, but not with equal force in all directions. The gold key, reconciliation, would mean committing to do so consistently, even when it chafes against convenience, even when the violator is an ally or a supplier we cannot easily replace.
Could such a shift be made without surrendering the independence that has been the hallmark of our diplomacy since Jawaharlal Nehru? It could — if we declared our terms openly. Imagine a concise doctrine, stated for the world to hear: that India will condemn breaches of sovereignty and humanitarian law wherever they occur; that it will place humanitarian relief at the forefront of any crisis response, with aid deployed inside a week; and that its economic and energy choices will be bound by transparent diversification, so no trade partner can credibly accuse us of underwriting aggression. Such a doctrine would not force us into an American alliance or lockstep with sanctions regimes we did not design. It would give our autonomy a visible moral shape — a set of commitments others could understand and, in time, rely on.
Even on trade, where Trump’s “tariff king” barb finds some purchase, there is room to act without yielding the field. We could offer targeted tariff reductions on politically sensitive American goods — almonds, apples, certain medical devices — in exchange for hard guarantees: no new blanket tariffs on Indian exports, expedited visas for high-skill workers. A modest economic pact on pharmaceuticals, clean energy procurement, and secure data could follow. These are not concessions; they are trades of equal value.
The oil question demands more than rebuttal. To answer the charge of “funding Putin”, India could set a clear cap: Russian crude to make up no more than 30% of imports over the next year, declining in steady, declared increments each quarter. Pair that with a pledge never to pay above the G7 price cap, publish the figures monthly, and invest a visible portion of the savings into Ukraine’s civilian reconstruction — power lines, housing, digital infrastructure. That is not appeasement; it is repositioning, on our
own terms.
On Gaza, where our defence and technology partnerships with Israel are real, the shift would be one of proportion. We could continue to denounce the October 7 massacres while stating plainly that collective punishment is incompatible with the laws of war. We could send field hospitals to the Egyptian border, ship wheat through the World Food Programme, and use our channels with both sides to keep aid corridors open.
Such changes would ripple outward. Europe would find in India a partner in both principle and post-war recovery. The Gulf states would see a reliable energy and food-security ally that remains sensitive to Arab opinion. The Global South would witness an emerging power willing to apply its standards evenly and be more willing to
follow its lead.
The discipline lies in consistency. India’s foreign policy has often been managed moment to moment, adjusting for the pressures of the hour. But in an era where perception moves faster than policy, that approach leaves the story of India to be written elsewhere. A doctrine, stated and kept, is not a leash; it is armour.
This is not about sparring with a president’s turn of phrase. It is about deciding whether India will be known in the next decade as merely indispensable, or as indispensable and trusted. The former wins respect for its usefulness; the latter commands allegiance for its constancy.
Dante’s souls in purgatory “go in search of freedom, which is so dear, as he knows who gives his life for it.” For India, that freedom is the liberty to act in its own interest,
uncoerced — yet bound by a compass the world can read and believe. The climb will be steep. But the view from the summit — influence joined to legitimacy, autonomy joined to trust — is worth it. The gate stands before us. The keys are in our hands. The choice, as ever, is ours.
Nirupama Rao is a former foreign secretary and ambassador. She is the author of The Fractured Himalaya: India Tibet China 1949-1962