By Ashvini Ranjan
Our cruise ship set sail from Corsica, the rugged and beautiful island that gave the world Napoleon Bonaparte. As the coastline slowly receded, I sat on the balcony of my cabin, gazing at the vast expanse of the Mediterranean Sea. The rhythmic sound of waves brushing against the hull had a strangely meditative quality.
My thoughts drifted to the great naval battles that had once churned these very waters. Battles that decided the fate of empires. I also reflected on the extraordinary journey of a man who rose from a narrow, unremarkable lane in Corsica to become Emperor of the French.
Having just visited Corsica, my mind returned to the Battle of Trafalgar, a decisive turning point in European history. In 1805, off the coast of Spain, Admiral Lord Nelson confronted Napoleon’s combined French and Spanish fleets.
Against formidable odds, Nelson’s bold strategy and tactical brilliance secured a resounding victory for Britain. Trafalgar shattered Napoleon’s ambitions of invading England and established British naval dominance for generations, reshaping the course of world history.
Though Lord Nelson had won one of the greatest sea battles ever fought against Napoleon Bonaparte, he was shot dead by a sharp shooter. It is an irony that Nelson did not live to celebrate the famous victory.
As I looked out over the calm, shimmering sea, I could not help but marvel at its serenity. Beneath those tranquil blue depths lie the silent remnants of countless naval conflicts, sunken ships, rusted cannons and the bones of brave sailors, now mute witnesses to history.
Yet on the surface, there was no trace of the bloodshed or destruction that once took place. The sea, in its vastness, had absorbed the violence and healed its wounds.
Wars fought on land, by contrast, leave behind scars that endure. Battlefields become permanent memorials of suffering. Cities reduced to rubble take decades, sometimes generations, to rebuild. Even when reconstruction is complete, the emotional and psychological debris of war continues to haunt survivors and nations alike. Monuments erected with the solemn words “Lest We Forget” often keep wounds open, serving as constant reminders of division rather than bridges to reconciliation.
As I reflected, an intriguing thought crossed my mind: what if all wars in history had been fought on water? If the seas alone had borne the fury of mankind, the physical evidence of conflict would eventually have sunk to the ocean floor. ‘Out of sight and perhaps, gradually out of mind.’ There would be no bombed cities, no charred villages, no battlefields to stand upon and rekindle bitterness. Without visible symbols of victory and defeat, perhaps the human heart would have found it easier to forgive.
How fortunate we are that nature, in her wisdom, has veiled the depths of the oceans from easy human access. What lies beneath remains largely untouched, secrets well kept. Perhaps this is nature’s own way of ensuring that bygones remain bygones, that the wreckage of arrogance, pain and sorrow rests undisturbed in eternal silence. Beneath tranquil waters, history sleeps. The scars of war dissolve, unseen, on the ocean floor.
It was with a similar wisdom and foresight that Barack Obama, former President of the United States, chose to consign the body of Osama bin Laden to the sea. A man who had remained elusive for decades, and who orchestrated a devastating attack on the very heart of America, was denied a grave that could become a shrine.
The decision was deliberate: To let the waters absorb his memory, to prevent his burial place from becoming a symbol of hatred or a rallying point for revenge. In that moment, modern statesmanship aligned with ancient natural wisdom, entrusting to the sea what the world needed to forget.
The sea offers us an enduring lesson: Peace becomes possible only when we allow the past to sink beneath the surface of memory, instead of letting it rise again and again to trouble the present.
A graduate in Political Science and Law from University of Mysore (UoM), Ashvini Ranjan began his career teaching at UoM before moving into the business world. Realising the transformative power of education, he and his wife Shashi founded Pratham Mysore in 2002. He also enjoys photography and writing.
This post was published on February 9, 2026 6:05 pm