The Vibhuti Effect: Why do India's chess prodigies swear by the sacred ash?

Why India's chess prodigies carry an ancient ritual into the world's most cerebral arena, and what it's doing to their game.

The silence in an elite chess hall is thick, almost tactile. Under the clinical hum of the air conditioning and the unforgiving glare of broadcast lights, the world's finest minds sit frozen in a state of hyper-focus. Their eyes dart across sixty-four squares of impending mayhem, calculating permutations that would leave even the most sophisticated computer grinding for time. Yet, amidst this landscape of cold logic and high-tech tension, a small, organic detail has begun to pull the gaze of the curious spectator: a smudge of white ash on the brow of a Grandmaster.

Whether it is a single, contemplative stroke or the traditional marking of the forehead, the presence of vibhuti is a subtle visual that has largely escaped deeper exploration. From the historic rise of Rameshbabu Praggnanandhaa and D Gukesh to the steady brilliance of R Vaishali, a generation of Indian prodigies, predominantly from the country's southern heartlands, is conquering the world while wearing their culture with an unselfconscious pride.

This is a sight that travels. When Bodhana Sivanandan, a British-Indian prodigy of just 11 years old, appeared at a tournament in North London bearing the mark, it served as a quiet reminder of how deeply ingrained this practice is — a visual bridge between the ancient traditions of an Indian household and the sharp, secular world of international chess.

EGO’S END GAME

For the players themselves, the practice is less about outward display and more about an internal grounding. In the stratospheric world of elite chess, where a single blunder can ruin months of preparation and shatter a carefully constructed reputation, the ego is a dangerous passenger.

Praggnanandhaa, who has become the face of a new generation of Indian chess — calm, collected, almost preternatural in his composure — once explained the philosophy plainly to podcaster Raj Shamani: "This is basically the ash. We come from ash and go back to it. So, this is basically [to remind us] that whatever we do is not something to be arrogant about. It's something that I have been doing from a young age, and I have been doing it ever since."

For Pragg, the vibhuti functions as a philosophical speed-governor, a tactile reminder of impermanence in a sport that has a habit of anointing its young stars as infallible geniuses, often before they are ready for the weight of that crown.

For D Gukesh, the youngest-ever Classical World Chess Champion, the connection is simpler.

"I have always worn it," Gukesh says. "My mum told me to wear it after prayer. I still do it."

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF HOPE

To understand why this practice is attracting attention beyond India's borders, one has to first reckon with the sheer vulnerability that defines professional sport.

"First, we need to understand that athletes go through a lot of uncertainty, stress, and vulnerability," says Dr Swaroop Savanur, a mental performance and sports psychology coach who works with international athletes.

"Even in life, why do we believe in God? Because it gives us a sense of control over things we cannot control. That is what we call hope."

Dr Swaroop notes that athletes across disciplines seek a connection to a source — whatever their belief system — to locate what he calls spiritual power.

"There is nothing wrong with that. Someone may wear a kada, someone may wear angara — everyone has their own ritual rooted in family and culture. Vibhuti is specific to South India, and many of the chess players performing at the highest level today happen to come from there. In their home culture, it is simply part of life. Naturally, in any important activity, they would want to wear it. For them, chess is the most important activity — so they do."

WHY IT WORKS, EVEN IF IT SHOULDN’T

Some proponents point to vibhuti's hygroscopic properties — its ability to absorb moisture — as a possible thermal regulator during long games, though no clinical evidence exists to support this.

Strip away the sacred geometry, and what remains is something that sports science has been quietly documenting for years: the profound power of ritual.

The practice aligns precisely with what sports science journals categorise as “Ritual Commitment” — the hypothesis that rigid, repetitive pre-performance acts function as a mediator of psychological tension. By carrying out a familiar, meaningful action, the athlete signals to their own nervous system that they are in a known, controlled environment. It is, in effect, a psychological hack — one that has been observed to measurably lower stress responses in high-pressure situations, even when the ritual itself has no direct physiological mechanism.

Dr Swaroop breaks the performance boost into two distinct forces.

"One, you always want to have belief in yourself through some physical connection. Vibhuti becomes that physical connection — a reminder that I am connected to my source or spiritual power, and that it will take care of me."

Beyond the physical sensation, however, lies what might be the most potent mechanism of all: the belief effect. The mind's conviction in a ritual begins, over time, to manifest as a tangible competitive edge — not through magic, but through the very real chemistry of confidence.

"Scientifically, we can relate this to the placebo effect," Dr Swaroop explains.

"When a doctor gives you something — whether it is actual medicine or not — the belief that you have received treatment gives you hope and relief. Similarly, these spiritual practices can create a placebo-like effect. They give a sense of calmness and control over things that are inherently out of your control, like results in a game. Once this becomes a practice, it turns into a habit. And you do not want to lose that habit."

ROUTINE VS SUPERSTITION

Is it superstition? Perhaps. But if so, it places the chess elite in rather distinguished company.

Sachin Tendulkar, perhaps the most technically precise batsman in cricket's history, famously insisted on always putting on his left pad before his right. Rafael Nadal must have his water bottle labels facing a specific direction before a point is played. These are not the eccentricities of the irrational; they are the carefully maintained systems of the supremely rational, who understand, instinctively, that the mind needs anchors.

"Every athlete draws from their own family and cultural background," Dr Swaroop observes.

"Since sport is inherently stressful — a constant cycle of winning and losing — these behaviours tend to intensify over time. We might call it superstition from the outside. But for the player, if it helps, there is no harm."

The vibhuti works much as Tendulkar's left pad did: it is a physical anchor that quietens the noise, lowers cortisol, and keeps the choking response at arm's length.

Dr Swaroop does, however, add one careful caveat: "The only concern is if they become so dependent on it that they feel they cannot perform without it. That should not happen."

THE CHENNAI OS

For those who grew up in the temple-dotted streets of Chennai, vibhuti is as unremarkable as the morning's first filter coffee. It is part of the system — a cultural operating system that has, for centuries, prioritised discipline, routine, and the quieting of the self.

This generation of players is fiercely modern — they use AI engines, opening databases, and supercomputers to dissect opponents move by move. Yet some of them remain deeply, almost defiantly traditional in their psychological grounding. They are not asking the ash to move the pieces for them. They are using it to stay still — to remain centred and unhurried — while the world around them moves at a million miles an hour.

As the clocks begin ticking and the opening moves are played, the mark on the brow remains: a silent, ashen sentinel against the twin demons of arrogance and anxiety. The power of vibhuti, it turns out, might not be in the ash itself. It was always in the quiet, unshakeable confidence of the person sitting behind it.

- Ends