From the quiet corner of a room overlooking the beautiful city, the Senior Director often found himself reflecting not on numbers, but on human nature.
Markets fluctuated, regulations evolved, and strategies pivoted, yet one ancient truth seemed stubbornly unchanged. जिसकी लाठी उसकी भैंस “Jiski lathi uski bhains”. Translated, it means, “he who wields the stick claims to own the buffalo”.
He had seen this truth unfold not only in corporate corridors but echoed across centuries of stories, myths, and civilizations.
In Hindu mythology, he recalled the tale of Ravana, the mighty king of Lanka. Ravana possessed immense power, knowledge, and devotion, yet it was his belief in entitlement, his assumption that strength granted ownership, that led him to abduct Sita. For a time, his “lathi” gave him control, but it was fleeting. Dharma, embodied by Rama, eventually dismantled that illusion. Ravana’s downfall was not due to lack of capability, but due to a failure in stewardship. Power without restraint had rewritten his moral compass.
Across the seas, Greek mythology offered a similar cautionary tale. King Midas, granted the golden touch, initially saw it as the ultimate assertion of control, the ability to turn everything he touched into wealth. Yet, the same power soon stripped life of its essence. Food, family, and warmth turned into lifeless gold. Unchecked authority, like Midas’s gift, could silently transform value into void. Control, when exercised without foresight, becomes self-destructive.
From Arabic folklore, the Director pondered upon the story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. The thieves believed their secret power, “Open Sesame”, gave them unquestionable ownership over stolen wealth. Yet it was not brute force but cleverness and integrity, embodied by Morgiana, that ultimately restored balance. Morgiana was the clever slave-girl who repeatedly saved Ali Baba and his family. Power had been usurped, but wisdom corrected it. The Director saw in this a critical governance lesson. Systems built on exploitation inevitably collapse when confronted with ethical intelligence.
In the corporate world, the phrase manifested in subtler yet equally potent ways. He recalled a large multinational where a dominant CEO, also a friend, operated with near-absolute authority. Decisions were unilateral, dissent was discouraged, and the board, though aware, remained passive. For a while, performance metrics masked the cracks. But eventually, ethical oversights exposed misreported earnings, suppressed risks, and a culture of fear. When regulatory scrutiny arrived, the same “lathi, or stick” that had consolidated power became evidence of its abuse. The company’s reputation suffered, not because it lacked strategy, but because it lacked stewardship.
There was, however, a more nuanced and often overlooked variant of this truth that the Director had observed with equal concern. On many occasions, the “lathi” was not held directly, but exercised through proximity to power. He recalled an influential senior aide in one organization, someone who had earned the deep trust of the founder. Instead of being an ethical bridge between the founder and the other company employees, this individual quietly shaped decisions, influenced appointments, and steered contracts toward personal networks even though he did not have formal power. The power did not come from position, but from access. In many ways, this was a more insidious form of control, as it operated without visibility or accountability.
Governance frameworks must not only address formal authority but also the shadow influence that thrives in relationships. When influence is used for personal gain rather than institutional good, it distorts decision-making just as much as overt dominance.
In contrast, he had also witnessed another firm, where leadership consciously distributed authority. The board insisted on transparency, encouraged contrarian views, and embedded accountability into its culture. There, power was not a stick to dominate, but a responsibility to safeguard. The Director often cited this as a living example that governance was not about restricting power, but about refining its purpose.
Yet beyond boardrooms and mythology, the phrase played out in the life of the common individual. A small shop owner in a crowded market might bully competitors simply because he held political influence. A landlord might exploit tenants knowing legal recourse was slow.
At the same time, the Director acknowledged a more nuanced reality. Power, when exercised with fairness, could also protect. A firm manager standing up for her team against unreasonable demands, a head preventing too many undue sackings, or enforcing compliance to safeguard public interest, or a parent guiding a child with firm yet compassionate discipline. These were also instances of the “lathi,” but wielded with responsibility rather than dominance. The phrase, he believed, was not inherently cynical. It was a mirror reflecting how power chose to express itself.
From a governance and stewardship perspective, the lessons were profound. Power must always be accompanied by accountability, or it risks becoming tyranny. Ownership is not validated by control alone, but by legitimacy and fairness. Boards must remain vigilant not just against external risks, but against internal concentrations of unchecked authority. Silence, in such contexts, is often complicity. Strong governance is the antidote to this age-old instinct. It institutionalizes checks and balances, separates power from personality, and ensures decisions are documented, debated, and justified. Independent oversight, transparent reporting structures, and a culture that protects whistleblowers together create an environment where no single “lathi” can dominate unchecked. When systems are stronger than individuals, the buffalo no longer belongs to the powerful. It belongs to what is right.
Equally important were the lessons to be avoided. The normalization of dominance, the quiet acceptance of “this is how things work,” and the temptation to prioritize short-term gains over ethical consistency were traps that even seasoned leaders could fall into. The Director often discussed with his peers and friends that governance was less about rules and more about courage. The courage to question, to challenge, and to uphold principles when it was inconvenient to do so.
As he looked out over the city, this Director recognized that the phrase “Jiski lathi uski bhains” would likely endure for generations. But its meaning did not have to remain static. It could evolve from a justification of power to a reflection on responsibility.
In the end, true leadership is not about holding the stick. It is about also knowing when not to use it.