Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment

Host: The night was heavy with mist, the city lights blurred into trembling halos on the wet asphalt. The sound of rain drummed softly against the glass of a dim café at the corner of a forgotten street. Inside, steam rose from untouched cups of coffee, curling like ghosts between two figures seated across from each other.
Jack leaned back in his chair, the smoke of his cigarette cutting through the faint light. His eyes, grey and unflinching, followed the drops running down the windowpane.
Jeeny sat opposite, her hands wrapped around her cup, as if trying to draw warmth from the world through it. Her hair clung slightly to her cheek, damp from the earlier rain. The tension between them hung like a thread — invisible but sharp.

Host: The world outside seemed distant, reduced to shadows and silhouettes, as if the universe itself paused to listen.

Jeeny: “Gandhi once said, ‘Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love. Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent than the one derived from fear.’”
Her voice was soft but steady. “Do you believe that, Jack? That love — not fear — holds the real power?”

Jack: exhales smoke slowly “Sounds beautiful on paper, Jeeny. But the world doesn’t run on love. It runs on control, discipline, and the fear of loss. Every government, every corporation, every army — they all know that.”

Host: The rain outside began to fall harder, a rhythmic symphony that filled the pauses between their words.

Jeeny: “You think fear keeps the world together? I think it’s what breaks it apart. Look at leaders like Gandhi himself — he moved millions without a gun, without threats. His strength came from love, not violence.”

Jack: leans forward “And yet he was killed, Jeeny. That’s the problem. The world doesn’t reward love — it destroys it. Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., even Jesus — all people who preached love ended up dead. The fearful win because they understand how power works.”

Host: A brief silence. The lights flickered, a faint hum filling the air. Jeeny’s eyes met his — deep, unwavering, full of something he hadn’t seen in years: belief.

Jeeny: “You’re wrong, Jack. They didn’t die because love failed. They died because fear couldn’t stand against it. Their deaths didn’t erase them — they made them immortal. Gandhi’s idea of satyagraha — the force of truth — still moves hearts a century later. Can fear do that?”

Jack: “Immortality in memory doesn’t change the world, Jeeny. It just makes people feel better about a story. In the real world, it’s the threat of punishment that keeps order. If the police didn’t exist, would you still obey the law out of love?”

Host: Her fingers tightened around the cup; the ceramic trembled slightly. The steam between them rose like a curtain, blurring the line between defiance and despair.

Jeeny: “Maybe I would — because love isn’t about laws, Jack. It’s about conscience. People follow laws out of fear, but they follow truth out of conviction. Gandhi proved that — when he walked to the sea in defiance of the British Salt Law, he wasn’t afraid of the punishment. He was guided by something stronger.”

Jack: “And what did it cost him, Jeeny? Years in prison, beatings, and eventually his life. You call that effective?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because it changed the soul of a nation. You talk about fear as if it brings stability — but it only brings obedience, not loyalty. The moment fear is gone, rebellion begins. Love, though — love binds even in absence.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked like a slow heartbeat. The rain softened, and the reflection of the streetlights danced on the table’s surface.

Jack: stares into the distance “You know, I worked in a factory once — strict rules, harsh management. The foreman ruled by fear. People followed every order, not out of respect, but because they needed their jobs. The day he got fired, the whole place turned to chaos. That’s how I learned — fear works. It gets results.”

Jeeny: “Short-term results, Jack. It breeds resentment, not respect. My father used to manage a school in our village. He never raised his voice. Never punished a student. But every one of them adored him — because he led with kindness. When he died, they came from miles away to carry his coffin. That’s love’s kind of power — the kind that doesn’t die with you.”

Host: The word ‘love’ hung in the air, fragile but glowing — like a candle resisting the wind.

Jack: “That’s sentimental, Jeeny. In a village, maybe it works. But in the real world — in politics, in war — love doesn’t stop bullets.”

Jeeny: “Neither does fear. It only multiplies them. Look at Hitler’s Germany — an empire built entirely on fear and obedience. It looked powerful once, didn’t it? But it crumbled faster than Gandhi’s barefoot revolution.”

Jack: pauses, jaw tightening “That’s... an easy comparison. But fear gave him power — absolute power.”

Jeeny: “For a moment, yes. But Gandhi’s power still lives in people’s hearts. Tell me, Jack — which is more permanent? The one that ends in fire, or the one that keeps burning quietly in a billion souls?”

Host: A low rumble of thunder rolled over the sky. The smell of wet earth drifted in through the slightly open window.

Jack: mutters “You talk as if love could run an army.”

Jeeny: “It has. Have you ever heard of the Khudai Khidmatgar — the Servants of God in India? Led by Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan. They wore no weapons. They faced violence with peace, bullets with silence. And the British, with all their guns, couldn’t break them.”

Host: Her words struck like lightning, sudden and blinding. Jack’s eyes flickered — not in defeat, but in thought.

Jack: softly “So you believe the world can be led without fear? Without punishment?”

Jeeny: “Not perfectly. But it can be healed by it. The fear of punishment can make a man obey the law — but the power of love can make him rewrite it.”

Host: The air thickened with emotion, the rain turning to a gentle drizzle. Jack’s cigarette burned low, its ash clinging stubbornly to the edge — like a last defense before surrender.

Jack: finally “Maybe you’re right. Maybe love builds what fear only guards. But what happens when people take advantage of love? When mercy is mistaken for weakness?”

Jeeny: leans closer “Then you teach them that love isn’t soft, Jack. It’s the hardest thing there is. Fear controls bodies — love transforms hearts. Which one do you think lasts longer?”

Jack: quietly “The heart always outlives the hand.”

Host: A faint smile crossed Jeeny’s face. Jack looked away, but there was something softer in his eyes — a flicker of what he once believed in.

Jeeny: “Then you already know what Gandhi meant. Power built on fear ends when fear fades. But power born of love — it grows, even in silence.”

Host: The clock struck midnight. The rain had stopped. Only the faint sound of dripping water echoed in the alleyway outside.

Jack: rises, pulling on his coat “Maybe the world isn’t ready for that kind of power yet.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But that’s why people like us have to remind it — again and again.”

Host: They stood in the doorway, the streetlights spilling gold onto the slick pavement. The rain had washed the city clean, at least for a while. Jeeny stepped into the night, her umbrella opening like a quiet act of grace. Jack followed a few steps behind, his shadow merging with hers under the same faint light.

Host: And for a brief moment, as the wind carried the last trace of rain, it was impossible to tell whether the world moved by fear — or by love.