Merit Morality and the Making of Viksit Bharat

 

“The destiny of India is now being shaped in her classrooms.” These memorable words of the Kothari Commission remain as relevant today as they were six decades ago. Classrooms, universities and examination halls are not merely places where knowledge is imparted and academic ability is assessed. They are spaces in which the future of the Republic is quietly shaped. The quality of education influences the quality of citizenship, while the credibility of examinations determines whether young citizens continue to believe in the fairness of public institutions.

India today stands at a historic juncture. As the nation moves towards the goal of Viksit Bharat by 2047, public discourse understandably focuses on economic growth, modern infrastructure, technological advancement, defence preparedness and India’s expanding global influence. These are indispensable dimensions of national development. Yet beneath these visible achievements lies another foundation that is less tangible but equally vital: the moral credibility of our institutions.

A nation does not become truly developed merely because its economy expands or its cities acquire impressive infrastructure. It becomes developed when ordinary citizens believe that honesty will be rewarded, merit will be respected and justice will be delivered without fear or favour. Institutional trust is among the most valuable forms of national capital. Once weakened, it cannot easily be restored.

 

The recurring controversies surrounding examination paper leaks and other irregularities must be understood in this wider context. For millions of young Indians, competitive examinations are not simply academic exercises. They represent hope, dignity, social mobility and the possibility of transforming the circumstances into which they were born. Across villages, tribal regions, small towns and cities, families sacrifice their limited resources to educate their children. Students devote some of the most productive years of their lives to preparation, believing that disciplined effort and ability will determine their future.

When an examination paper is leaked, therefore, it is not merely a confidential document that is compromised. The faith of students is violated. The sacrifices of parents are devalued, and the moral compact between the State and its young citizens is weakened.

Paper leaks should consequently not be treated as routine administrative lapses or ordinary criminal offences. They are organised assaults on merit. They allow manipulation to prevail over sincerity, influence over ability and dishonest privilege over perseverance. Their most damaging consequence may not be the cancellation of an examination or the postponement of recruitment. It is the message conveyed to honest students that integrity may not be sufficient for success.

Such a message is particularly dangerous for India, which rightly regards its youthful population as a demographic dividend. A large young population does not automatically become a national asset. It becomes an asset only when young people receive education, opportunities and a fair institutional environment in which their abilities can flourish. If they begin to believe that corruption and connections can routinely defeat merit, the demographic dividend can gradually turn into frustration, distrust and alienation.

The anxiety expressed by students must therefore be heard with seriousness and sensitivity. Today’s youth are more informed, connected and questioning than previous generations. They compare institutions, discuss public affairs on digital platforms and expect transparency from those exercising authority. Their impatience is sometimes criticised, but impatience is not always evidence of irresponsibility. It can also reflect the aspirations of a generation unwilling to accept institutional failures that earlier generations may have tolerated silently.

Young citizens who raise difficult questions are not necessarily hostile to the State. In a democracy, they often remind the State of its constitutional responsibilities. Governments do not become weaker by acknowledging deficiencies and correcting them. On the contrary, responsiveness enhances their legitimacy. The strength of a democratic institution lies not in its ability to avoid criticism but in its willingness to learn from it.

At the same time, democratic protest carries ethical responsibilities. The Constitution protects freedom of expression and peaceful assembly, but violence and the destruction of public property cannot be justified in the name of dissent. Buses, railway stations, educational institutions and government buildings do not belong to a political party or a particular government. They are national assets created through the contributions of ordinary citizens. Their destruction ultimately harms the society whose interests a protest claims to represent.

The State, too, bears a corresponding responsibility. Law-enforcement agencies must maintain public order with restraint, professionalism and constitutional sensitivity. A mature democracy requires citizens to protest peacefully, governments to listen patiently, opposition parties to act responsibly and the police to exercise authority proportionately. Democracy is strengthened when grievances lead to reform rather than confrontation.

Stronger laws against organised examination fraud and improved security arrangements are necessary. Those who leak papers, operate criminal networks or purchase unfair advantage must face swift and credible punishment. Yet legislation alone cannot solve what is ultimately also a moral and institutional problem. Laws can punish wrongdoing, but institutions must prevent it. Institutions, in turn, are shaped by the character of the individuals who lead them.

Technology can contribute substantially to examination security. Encrypted question papers, biometric verification, digital tracking, secure distribution systems and artificial intelligence may reduce opportunities for malpractice. But technology remains a tool; it cannot replace integrity. No software can manufacture moral courage, and no algorithm can create public trust. If those entrusted with safeguarding an examination are themselves compromised, even the most sophisticated system can be manipulated.

Appointments to examination authorities, recruitment agencies and regulatory institutions must therefore be based on competence, experience, impartiality and unimpeachable integrity. Public institutions cannot command confidence unless their leadership is considered worthy of confidence. India needs public servants whom neither the attraction of office nor the rewards of corruption can purchase.

This emphasis on character is deeply rooted in India’s civilisational understanding of education. The Indian tradition did not view education solely as a means of acquiring employment. Education was also a process of cultivating self-discipline, wisdom and social responsibility. The Taittiriya Upanishad exhorts students completing their education to speak the truth, practise righteousness and remain committed to learning. Knowledge was not separated from the ethical use of knowledge.

The Bhagavad Gita similarly assigns intrinsic value to sincere action rather than to success obtained by any means. Swami Vivekananda regarded education as the manifestation of the perfection already present within the human being and consistently placed character formation at its centre. Mahatma Gandhi insisted that noble ends could not justify impure means. Dr B. R. Ambedkar recognised education as an instrument of emancipation but also warned that constitutional democracy could not survive without constitutional morality. Pandit Deendayal Upadhyaya’s Integral Humanism likewise cautioned against reducing development to material prosperity alone. Although these thinkers emerged from different intellectual traditions, they converge on a fundamental truth: national progress cannot be sustained without character.

The responsibility for protecting merit does not rest with the government alone. Examination fraud survives through networks of willing participants: officials who betray confidentiality, intermediaries who organise transactions, coaching operators who seek unlawful advantage, candidates who purchase leaked papers and families that celebrate success without questioning the means through which it was obtained. If society condemns corruption only when others benefit from it but tolerates dishonesty when it serves personal interests, institutional reform will remain incomplete.

Educational institutions, teachers and parents must therefore help create a culture in which integrity is valued even when dishonesty appears profitable. The National Education Policy 2020 rightly emphasises holistic development, ethical reasoning, constitutional values and responsible citizenship. These goals should not remain confined to policy documents. Schools and universities must produce not merely successful professionals but citizens capable of strengthening the moral foundations of the Republic.

Political parties and the media also carry an important responsibility. Student anxieties should not be converted into instruments of political spectacle. The Opposition has a legitimate duty to expose institutional shortcomings and demand accountability. However, supporting students is different from inflaming their grievances for electoral gain. Similarly, governments must not dismiss every criticism as politically motivated. Responsible journalism must distinguish verified facts from allegations and illuminate public issues rather than deepen anger through sensationalism.

The vision of Viksit Bharat must ultimately be understood as more than an economic project. A developed India should be one in which the son of a farmer in Vidarbha, the daughter of a labourer in Bihar, a student from a tribal village in Bastar, an aspirant from Tamil Nadu and a young graduate from Uttarakhand all believe that their future depends upon their ability rather than their influence. It should be a nation in which honest effort carries greater value than dishonest advantage.

Roads, ports, airports and digital networks connect places, but ethical institutions connect citizens with the Republic. Character is the invisible infrastructure of a nation. Without character, institutions lose credibility; without credible institutions, democracy loses public trust; and without public trust, development loses its moral foundation.

India’s greatest strength is not merely its youth but the hope that resides within it. That hope persuades students to persevere, families to make sacrifices, researchers to innovate and citizens to participate in national life. A nation that protects this hope protects its future.

The choice before us is therefore profound. Will India become a country in which success can be purchased, or one in which success must be earned? Will influence continue to challenge integrity, or will character remain the highest qualification for public responsibility?

The answer will determine whether Viksit Bharat becomes merely an economic destination or a civilisational achievement. Only when every young Indian can confidently believe that honesty is not a disadvantage, merit is not negotiable and sincere hard work will never be rendered meaningless can India truly claim to have become a developed nation.

DUSU Elections: Let Our Universities Teach the Right Lessons in Democracy

Having taught at the University of Delhi for nearly a decade, I have witnessed the annual Delhi University Students’ Union (DUSU) elections from close quarters. Every year, as the election season approaches, campuses suddenly acquire a different energy. Students discuss candidates, organisations, issues and alliances; volunteers move from classroom to classroom; candidates introduce themselves to students whom they might otherwise never have met; and, for a few days, the university becomes an unusually vibrant political space.There is much about this that deserves to be celebrated.

Universities should not produce merely degree-holders. They should produce citizens capable of thinking, questioning, disagreeing, organising and participating in public life. Student unions can provide an institutional platform through which concerns regarding academic facilities, examinations, hostels, transportation, safety, accessibility, infrastructure and numerous other aspects of university life can reach the administration. Elections provide legitimacy to those who claim to speak on behalf of students.

More importantly, for thousands of young men and women, a university election may be their first direct encounter with democracy beyond simply casting a vote in a national or state election. Here they observe candidates, listen to arguments, question representatives, campaign for causes and sometimes contest elections themselves. They learn that leadership requires persuasion and that public office ultimately depends upon the consent of those one seeks to represent. In this sense, student politics can become a nursery of democratic leadership.

Many individuals who enter public life receive their earliest lessons in organisation, public speaking, negotiation and political mobilisation during their university years. There is nothing inherently objectionable about this. Indeed, a healthy democracy requires successive generations of politically conscious young citizens. The question, therefore, is not whether universities should have student elections. I believe they should. The more troubling question is: What kind of politics are we teaching through these elections?

When the Democratic Classroom Teaches the Wrong Lessons

If university elections are a student's first practical encounter with democracy, the methods through which these elections are fought become extraordinarily important. When young people discover that an election requires enormous expenditure, fleets of vehicles, extravagant displays of strength, thousands of printed materials, intimidation, defacement of public property, or the mobilisation of resources inaccessible to an ordinary student, we must ask ourselves what lesson they are taking from democracy. Are we teaching them that an election is a contest of ideas—or a demonstration of financial capacity? Are we teaching them that leadership means persuading fellow students—or displaying power? Are we teaching them that public property belongs to everybody—or that an election campaign gives one temporary licence to damage it? These questions go far beyond DUSU.

As a society, we frequently lament the influence of money and muscle in electoral politics. We speak of electoral reform, transparency, accountability and cleaner politics. Yet, if some of the very practices we criticise in national politics are reproduced in student elections, we risk normalising them at precisely the stage when young citizens are developing their understanding of political life. One cannot expect cleaner politics tomorrow while quietly accepting its opposite in the political education of today.

The Lyngdoh Committee: A Reform Agenda We Already Possess

These concerns are hardly new. Following directions of the Supreme Court, the Government of India constituted a committee under former Chief Election Commissioner J. M. Lyngdoh in 2006 to examine student union elections. Its recommendations subsequently acquired considerable importance in regulating university elections. The underlying philosophy of the recommendations remains remarkably relevant: student elections should remain democratic while also remaining genuinely student elections.

Among other safeguards, the framework places a ceiling of ₹5,000 on a candidate's election expenditure, requires submission of election accounts, places restrictions on printed campaign material and the use of vehicles, and lays down academic and attendance requirements for candidates. Delhi University's own election framework continues to incorporate these principles.

The Supreme Court has described the Lyngdoh Committee recommendations as “very salutary in nature” and reiterated that student elections should broadly be conducted in accordance with them.

The importance of the ₹5,000 expenditure ceiling lies not merely in the amount involved. Its underlying democratic principle is far more important: economic resources should not determine access to student leadership.

A university student from an ordinary family should be able to contest an election against a student from an affluent background without believing that the contest has already been decided by their respective financial capacities.

That is democratic equality in its most elementary form.

The Problem of Enforcement

Unfortunately, the existence of rules does not automatically create a democratic political culture.

The events surrounding DUSU elections in recent years have repeatedly brought this gap between rules and practice before the courts. During the 2024 elections, the Delhi High Court intervened over widespread allegations of defacement of public property. Counting of votes was delayed, and the Court subsequently required remedial action before permitting the process to proceed.

The issue has resurfaced dramatically during the 2026 DUSU elections. On September 18, the Delhi High Court expressed concern over reported violations involving vehicle cavalcades, weapons and other misconduct. The Court issued notices to 140 candidates, prohibited victory processions following the results and called upon the authorities to take action against violations. Delhi Police informed the Court that 49 vehicles had been impounded, more than 5,400 challans issued and four persons arrested in connection with election-related violations.

These developments should concern everyone associated with higher education, irrespective of which student organisation one supports.

The issue is not about one candidate, organisation or ideological persuasion. It is about the political culture our universities collectively permit.

Make Issues, Not Spectacle, the Centre of Elections

DUSU elections can become considerably more meaningful if we shift their centre of gravity from spectacle to debate.

Imagine an election in which candidates are primarily known for their positions on student issues: quality of teaching and learning, libraries, affordable accommodation, women's safety, accessibility for students with disabilities, mental well-being, sports facilities, public transportation, scholarships, examination reforms, digital infrastructure and opportunities for research and employment.

Why should the strength of a candidate be measured by the number of vehicles accompanying a procession? Why not by the strength of the manifesto?

Why should walls speak through posters when candidates themselves can speak through structured debates?

Delhi University possesses the intellectual resources to develop a much richer electoral culture. Colleges and departments could facilitate moderated candidate interactions. Manifestos could be placed on common digital platforms. Expenditure statements could be publicly accessible. Candidates could participate in issue-based debates. Students could question them directly about their promises.

Technology makes inexpensive campaigning easier today than it was when the Lyngdoh Committee submitted its report two decades ago. Social media, university portals, common digital noticeboards and officially organised debates can dramatically reduce the perceived need for expensive physical campaigning.

At the same time, enforcement must become credible. Rules that exist only on paper eventually undermine respect for rules themselves. Election authorities, university administrations, colleges, student organisations and candidates all have responsibilities. Violations should attract consequences that are predictable, timely and impartial.

Political Parties and Student Organisations Also Have a Responsibility

Student organisations, including those associated with larger ideological or political traditions, have contributed to political debate and mobilisation on Indian campuses for decades. The Delhi High Court recently reiterated that political parties themselves should not interfere in DUSU elections, while distinguishing such interference from a student's membership of a student organisation associated with a political tradition.

The larger responsibility, however, is cultural rather than merely legal.

Senior political organisations should resist the temptation to treat university elections as miniature versions of national electoral contests. Students require space to develop leadership organically. The purpose should be to identify articulate, socially sensitive and intellectually grounded young leaders—not merely those who can command the greatest resources or mobilise the largest spectacle.

Democracy Must Begin with Democratic Values

There is a larger paradox here.

We want our national politics to become cleaner, less dependent upon money and muscle, more transparent and more responsive to ordinary citizens. But such a political culture cannot suddenly emerge when a person reaches Parliament or a Legislative Assembly. Political habits are cultivated much earlier.

A university election is therefore not an insignificant annual campus event. It is an exercise in democratic socialisation.

The young student contesting an election today may become a legislator, minister, civil-society leader, academic, journalist, administrator or simply an engaged citizen tomorrow. The habits that we encourage at eighteen or twenty can shape attitudes towards public life for decades.

That is why I would never argue for the abolition of student elections merely because excesses occur during them. Doing so would amount to treating the symptom by eliminating an important democratic institution.

The answer to bad electoral practices is better electoral practices, not less democracy.

Let our students contest elections. Let them campaign passionately. Let them disagree. Let ideological traditions compete. Let them organise, debate and mobilise. Let them experience both victory and defeat.

But let them also learn that democracy has rules; that public property deserves respect; that political opponents are not enemies; that leadership does not require intimidation; and, above all, that an ordinary student without money or muscle possesses exactly the same democratic right to seek representation as someone backed by formidable resources.

If universities are indeed nurseries of democracy, the responsibility before us is greater than conducting elections successfully.

We must ensure that the democracy our students first encounter is the democracy we would eventually like India to become. 

Beyond the Religion Code : Tribal Traditions in the Civilizational Consciousness of Bharat

In recent years, the demand for a separate religion code for Bharatiya tribal communities has re-emerged in public discourse, particularly in the context of the national census. Its proponents argue that such a classification is necessary to preserve tribal identity and protect their belief systems. The arguments in favour of this demand, as they propose is that tribal communities deserve recognition, dignity, and the freedom to preserve their cultural heritage. However, the larger question is whether a separate religion code truly safeguards tribal traditions that are varied?  

The debate, therefore, extends far beyond a census column. It concerns the very manner in which Bharatiya experience understands religion, identity, and civilization. Unlike the Abrahamic traditions, the Bharatiya conception of dharma has never been confined to the authority of a single prophet, a single revealed scripture, or a centralized ecclesiastical institution. Bharatiya civilization evolved through countless streams of spiritual experience, local customs, sacred geographies, philosophical schools, and community traditions. Diversity was not merely tolerated; it was internalized as an intrinsic characteristic of Bharatiya civilizational life.

This distinctive civilizational framework explains why Bharat’s tribal traditions have never existed as isolated religious islands. Their worship of sacred groves, mountains, rivers, ancestral spirits, village deities, forests, and Mother Earth represents some of the oldest surviving expressions of the Bharatiya worldview. Nature reverence, ancestor worship, sacred landscapes, and community rituals are not alien to Bharatiya civilization. They constitute many of its earliest foundations. The attempt to construct an impermeable boundary between "tribal religion" and the broader Bhartiya civilizational tradition, therefore, deserves careful scrutiny.

A Civilizational, Rather Than a Colonial Lens

Much of the contemporary discourse on tribal identity continues to be influenced by colonial anthropology. Nineteenth-century European scholars attempted to classify societies into rigid evolutionary stages ranging from "primitive" to "civilized." Tribal communities across Asia, Africa, Australia, and Latin America were often viewed as relics of an earlier stage of human development, fundamentally separate from the so-called mainstream. These categories were subsequently applied to Bharat with little appreciation of its unique historical experience. The Bharatiya case, however, does not fit this colonial template.

In the case of North America, South America, or Australia, the indigenous peoples were physically segregated. They were forcefully pushed into separate reserved spaces and systematically excluded from the dominant social order. On the other hand, Bharat’s tribal communities have remained participants in an evolving civilizational ecosystem for millennia. They interacted continuously with neighbouring communities through trade, agriculture, pilgrimage, festivals, kinship networks, and cultural exchanges. While maintaining distinctive identities, they also contributed to a shared civilizational ethos.

It is precisely this historical experience that led eminent Bharatiya sociologists and anthropologists such as G. S. Ghurye, Nirmal Kumar Bose, S. C. Dube, and Surajit Sinha to challenge simplistic colonial binaries. Their scholarship demonstrated that the relationship between tribal and non-tribal communities in Bharat was shaped not merely by coexistence but by sustained cultural interaction, mutual accommodation, and gradual integration. Their work reminds us that Bharatiya anthropology cannot simply borrow categories developed elsewhere without considering Bharat’s own historical and cultural realities.

Diversity without Separation

One of the greatest strengths of Bharatiya civilization has been its remarkable ability to accommodate diversity without insisting upon uniformity. Across the country, tribal traditions illustrate this phenomenon. The Sarna traditions of Jharkhand, centred on the sacred sal grove, reflect an ancient reverence for nature that resonates with broader Bharatiya traditions of tree worship. The Donyi-Polo faith of Arunachal Pradesh venerates the Sun and the Moon, symbols that occupy an equally significant place in Vedic literature. Among the Bhils of western Bharat, forms of Shiva worship coexist naturally with local deities. Gond religious traditions seamlessly combine clan rituals, ancestor reverence, village deities, and wider Hindu practices.

These examples do not suggest homogeneity. Rather, they reveal a civilizational pattern where local traditions retain their uniqueness while participating in a larger cultural universe. Bharatiya civilization has never demanded theological uniformity as a condition for belonging.

Shared Sacred Geography

The cultural relationship between tribal and non-tribal communities is also reflected in Bharat’s shared sacred geography. Village deities, local guardian spirits, sacred forests, rivers, mountains, and seasonal festivals often transcend rigid social boundaries. Across central, eastern, and northeastern Bharat, numerous local shrines continue to be revered jointly by tribal and non-tribal communities.

Many tribal festivals are celebrated with neighboring rural communities, while several Hindu pilgrimage traditions preserve memories of tribal participation and guardianship. The Jagannath tradition of Odisha, for instance, remains one of the most visible illustrations of the historical interaction between tribal traditions and mainstream temple worship. Such examples remind us that Bharatiya civilization has grown not by replacing local cultures but by accepting and honouring them. This process of cultural synthesis has been among Bharat’s greatest civilizational strengths.

The Freedom Struggles of Tribal India

History further demonstrates that tribal communities were never detached from Bharat’s broader national consciousness. The Santhal Hul of 1855, the Kol uprising, the Bhil movements, and Bhagwan Birsa Munda's Ulgulan and many freedom movements against the British colonial rule were undoubtedly struggles against oppression, economic exploitation, and cultural humiliation.

At the same time, it’s equally important to remember that the tribal movements against colonial rule represented the broader resolve of the Bharatiya people to preserve their civilizational fabric. Their fights against the British Raj cannot merely be confined to defending their jal, jangal, and zameen. Instead, they desired their traditions and their dignity within the larger civilizational landscape of Bharat. These movements cannot be reduced to isolated ethnic revolts.

Does a Separate Religion Code Solve Real Problems?

Supporters of a separate religion code often present it as an instrument of cultural preservation. However, the practical and conceptual questions suggest otherwise. Can hundreds of distinct tribal traditions, each with its own rituals, deities, cosmologies, and social institutions, realistically be grouped under a single administrative category called "tribal religion"? Would such a classification preserve diversity, or inadvertently lead towards homogeneity? The irony is difficult to ignore. A proposal advanced in the name of protecting diversity may end up replacing numerous living traditions with a single bureaucratic label.

The demand also diverts attention from challenges that continue to affect tribal communities far more directly. The issues related to educational opportunities, healthcare, and livelihood security.  Equally important are the issues of preservation of indigenous languages. The documentation of oral traditions and the protection of sacred landscapes. The implementation of constitutional safeguards and meaningful participation in development. All these aspects, in fact, are the core in relation to protecting tribal identity, existence, and development.

Administrative categorisation alone cannot address these concerns. The demand for a separate religion code, at most, is a negotiating tool for power brokers rather than addressing the real issues concerning tribal communities of Bharat.

Constitutional and Judicial Perspectives

Bharat’s constitutional framework has consistently recognised the pluralistic character of its religious traditions. The framers of the Constitution understood that the term "Hindu" often carried a broader civilizational meaning extending beyond narrow theological definitions. During debates surrounding Hindu law reforms, numerous traditions and communities were accommodated within a broad legal framework while retaining their distinct customs.

Judicial pronouncements have similarly acknowledged the exceptional diversity of the Hindu tradition. In Shastri Yagnapurushdasji v. Muldas Bhudardas Vaishya (1966), the Supreme Court famously observed that Hinduism does not rest upon a single founder, a single dogma, or a single religious text. Subsequent judgments reiterated its pluralistic and inclusive character.

These observations do not erase tribal distinctiveness. Rather, they underline the unique capacity of Bharatiya civilization to embrace diversity without demanding uniformity.

Beyond Colonial Categories

The etymology of terms like "animism" and "tribal religion" traces their origin to the colonial rule in Bharat. They were deliberately developed to create differences among Bharatiya communities living in hills, forests, villages, and towns. They are absolutely insufficient to understand Bharat’s civilizational complexity.

Today’s Bharat must be cautious about reproducing inherited colonial categories without critically examining their underlying politics. A decolonised understanding of tribal communities requires acknowledging their civilizational connectedness with the neighboring communities living in villages and towns.

The Way Forward

The preservation of tribal heritage is unquestionably a national responsibility. But preservation should not be confused with separation. The real priorities lie elsewhere: strengthening indigenous languages, documenting oral traditions, protecting sacred ecological landscapes, supporting tribal educational institutions, promoting traditional knowledge systems, safeguarding customary practices, ensuring effective implementation of constitutional protections, and enabling tribal communities to shape their own developmental future.

Civilizational unity has never required cultural uniformity.  Genius lies precisely in its ability to allow multiple identities to flourish within a shared civilizational framework. The tribal communities of Bharat are not peripheral to this civilization; they are among its oldest custodians. Their traditions are not "other religions" in any civilizational sense. They are living expressions of an ancient worldview that has shaped Bharat’s cultural imagination for thousands of years.

The debate on a separate religion code should therefore move beyond administrative classifications and political symbolism. It should instead encourage a deeper reflection on Bharat’s civilizational character, a civilization that has historically united diverse communities not through exclusion or homogenisation, but through cultural dialogue, mutual respect, and spiritual plurality. In preserving tribal traditions, Bharat must ensure that it does not unintentionally weaken the very civilizational unity that has enabled those traditions to survive across the centuries.

Jagannath Rath Yatra: A Living Testament to Bharat’s Tribal-Civilizational Heritage

 

Jagannath Rath Yatra in Puri and elsewhere in Bharat and other parts of the world is one of the most magnificent religious festivals of Hindus. Millions of devotees participate in this festival across the world. As a result, the world's attention naturally turns to it. Yet beyond the grandeur of the towering chariots, the chants of devotees, and the spiritual fervour lies a profound civilizational message. This aspect is something that deserves recognition. The Jagannath tradition reminds us that Bharat’s tribal communities have never stood outside the broader Hindu civilizational framework. Moreover, they have been among its indispensable custodians.

In other parts of the world, indigenous and settler populations evolved in opposition to one another. Bharat’s historical experience, however, has largely been one of interaction, coexistence, and cultural exchange. Communities inhabiting forests, villages, and towns continuously borrowed from one another's beliefs, rituals, and ways of life. This exchange created a shared civilizational ethos while retaining their distinctive identities. The Jagannath tradition stands as one of the finest living examples of this historical process.

The origins of Bhagwan Jagannath are intimately connected with the Shabara tribal tradition. According to the Skanda Purana, the Daitapati community of the Bhagwan Jagannath Mandir traces its lineage to the legendary Shabara king Vishvavasu. He was the devoted worshipper of Bhagwan Nilamadhava. This association is not merely symbolic. It continues to shape the ritual life of the Mandir even today. The role of the Daitapatis becomes especially significant during the annual Rath Yatra. They occupy a significant importance in the sacred rituals surrounding it.

The Daitapati community performs some of the temple's most sacred responsibilities, from the Snana Purnima ceremonies to the Anasara period. Snana Purnima marks the ceremonial purification of the deities, Bhagwan Jagannath, Balabhadra, and Subhadra, with 108 pots of sacred well water. This ritual initiates the 15-day seclusion (Anasara) where the gods symbolically rest before embarking on their famous chariot. The Daitapatis ceremonially bathes the deities, cares for them during Anasara, carries them onto the chariots, accompanies them throughout the procession, and oversees several important rituals associated with the festival.

At yet another important ritual called Navakalevara, loosely translated as "New Body", is held approximately every twelve to nineteen years. The Daitapati community plays an important role in this ritual. In this, the wooden idols of Bhagwan Jagannath, Balabhadra, Subhadra, and Sudarshana are replaced. It symbolises death and rebirth, and the cyclical nature of life. The Daitapatis exclusively lead the search for the sacred neem trees, supervise the carving of the new idols, perform the sacred transfer of the divine essence, and ceremonially inter the old images. This ritual highlights the enduring role of the Shabara tribal tradition in the Jagannath cult.

Many features of the Jagannath tradition also reflect practices long associated with tribal communities. The wooden images of Bhagwan Jagannath, Balabhadra, Subhadra, and Sudarshana. Their distinctive pillar-like forms. The periodic renewal of the deities through Navakalevara. The intimate familial relationship maintained between the Daitapatis and the deities. All these practices resonate with ritual traditions found among several tribal communities of eastern and central Bharat. These are not signs of separation but of centuries of shared cultural evolution.

This understanding is supported by several distinguished Bharatiya sociologists and anthropologists. Scholars such as G. S. Ghurye, N. K. Bose, Surajit Sinha, S. C. Dube, L. P. Vidyarthi, and K. S. Singh demonstrated that the relationship between tribal and non-tribal communities in Bharat has historically been characterised by interaction rather than rigid isolation. Their studies show that tribal societies were active participants in the making of Bharatiya civilization. They immensely contributed to its religious traditions, regional cultures, and social institutions while simultaneously adapting ideas from neighbouring communities.

This historical experience also distinguishes Bharat from the colonial histories of North and South America or Australia. Indigenous peoples on these continents were often displaced, segregated, or marginalised by settler societies. In Bharat, despite undeniable social and economic inequalities in different regions and periods, tribal communities continued to remain integral to the country's religious and cultural life. The Jagannath tradition itself illustrates this enduring continuity.

The gravest disruption came during British colonial rule. British Raj exploited tribal communities through the means of forest legislation, revenue settlements, and administrative interventions. These policies fundamentally altered the relationship between tribal communities and their forests, land, and customary institutions. The resulting alienation of jal, jangal, and zameen fuelled many tribal uprisings across the subcontinent. Independent Bharat consciously chose a different path. The Constitution recognised the distinct identity and rights of Scheduled Tribes from the very beginning. Later legislations such as the Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act, 1996, and the Forest Rights Act, 2006, further strengthened constitutional safeguards and community rights.

The Jagannath Rath Yatra therefore offers a timely reminder that Bharat’s unity has never depended upon uniformity. It has been built upon dialogue, mutual respect, and the continuous enrichment of one tradition by another. The participation of the Daitapati community is not a ceremonial relic preserved for historical curiosity. It is a living affirmation that tribal communities have been co-creators and custodians of Bharat’s civilizational heritage.

As the chariots of Bhagwan Jagannath roll through the streets of Puri and in other parts of Bharat, they carry not only the Lord of the Universe but also a timeless message. Bharat’s civilization has flourished because its forests, villages, and towns have never been isolated worlds. They have journeyed together, enriching one another across centuries. In celebrating Bhagwan Jagannath, Bharat also celebrates the enduring contribution of its tribal communities to the making of its shared civilizational identity.

India Is Biding Its Time: Strategic Patience in a Changing World Order

 

"The greatest victory is that which requires no battle." — Sun Tzu

Every major international crisis involving India today is accompanied by a familiar question: Why is India not playing the role of a global mediator? Whether during the Russia-Ukraine conflict, the Israel-Hamas war, or the recent Iran-Israel-United States confrontation, commentators have repeatedly argued that a country aspiring to become a leading global power should exercise greater diplomatic influence in shaping outcomes.

Such criticism, however, rests upon an assumption that every rising power must immediately seek visibility in every international crisis. History suggests otherwise. Rising powers often choose strategic patience over strategic activism. Their primary objective is not to dominate every diplomatic conversation. It's about strengthening their own national foundations before assuming wider global responsibilities. It is in this broader historical context that India's foreign policy deserves to be understood.

India's cautious diplomacy should not automatically be interpreted as indecision or lack of ambition. Rather, it may represent a conscious long-term strategy. It is aimed at preparing India for a world whose centre of gravity is gradually shifting from the Atlantic to the Indo-Pacific.

A Changing International Order

International politics rarely remains static. Since the end of the Second World War, global leadership has largely remained concentrated in the United States and Western Europe. The Bretton Woods institutions, NATO, the United Nations Security Council, and the liberal international economic order reflected this distribution of power. Today, however, that order is undergoing gradual transformation.

Scholars such as Kishore Mahbubani argue that the twenty-first century marks the "Asian Century," characterised by the economic resurgence of Asian civilizations. Parag Khanna similarly speaks of the emergence of a multipolar world in which Asia becomes the principal engine of global growth. While such projections remain contested and the transition is neither linear nor guaranteed, there is broad agreement among many analysts that Asia's economic and strategic importance has increased substantially over the past three decades.

India itself has become one of the fastest-growing major economies. It has emerged as a leading digital economy, a significant defence market, a trusted pharmaceutical supplier, and a major space power. It is increasingly becoming an important participant in global supply chains. Simultaneously, institutions such as the Quad, BRICS, the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation, the G20, and the Indo-Pacific strategic architecture reflect an evolving international landscape in which power is becoming more diffuse. In such circumstances, India's greatest strategic advantage may lie not in rushing to lead every crisis but in steadily strengthening its own capabilities.

The Cost of Strategic Overreach

The experiences of several Western powers over the past three decades illustrate the enormous costs associated with sustained military interventions. The interventions in Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, and Syria were undertaken with different objectives and under different legal and political circumstances. Supporters argued that these interventions addressed terrorism, weapons proliferation, or humanitarian crises. Critics, however, contend that many of these operations produced prolonged instability, weakened state institutions, displaced millions of civilians, and generated unintended geopolitical consequences for US-Europe and the world.

The military interventions by the United States and several European powers in Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, and Syria contributed significantly to the refugee crisis that followed. In response, many European countries admitted large numbers of displaced people on humanitarian grounds. While many refugees integrated peacefully, the integration process has also posed serious challenges. In some cases, radicalisation, cultural incompatibility, and identity politics have fuelled concerns over law and order, national security, and social cohesion in countries such as the United Kingdom, Germany, France, and several Scandinavian nations. These developments are likely to have lasting economic, political, and demographic implications for Europe.

It's pertinent to note that these developments do not imply the West's decline. The United States continues to possess unmatched military capabilities, technological leadership, financial influence, and an extensive alliance network. Yet they do suggest that even the most powerful states must carefully balance global commitments with domestic resilience.

China's Long Preparation

Perhaps no country illustrates the value of strategic patience more effectively than China. Following the death of Mao Zedong, Deng Xiaoping fundamentally reoriented Chinese strategy. His famous dictum, often paraphrased as "hide your strength and bide your time," did not advocate passivity. Instead, it emphasised concentrating national energies on economic modernisation while avoiding unnecessary geopolitical confrontation or making noise in every international situation.

China invested massively in manufacturing, infrastructure, education, ports, technology, and export competitiveness. Market-oriented reforms were introduced without abandoning its communist policies politically. Hundreds of millions were lifted out of poverty. Within four decades, China transformed itself into the world's second-largest economy and one of the principal centres of global manufacturing. Only after achieving substantial economic strength did China begin asserting itself more visibly through initiatives such as the Belt and Road Initiative, expanded naval capabilities, technological competition, and greater diplomatic activism.

Whether one agrees with China's contemporary policies or not, its developmental trajectory demonstrates that sustained national capacity often precedes geopolitical influence.

India's Distinct Path

India's journey is necessarily different. Unlike China, India is a vibrant constitutional democracy with a plural social structure, federal governance, independent institutions, and an open political system. Its developmental choices must therefore reconcile economic growth with democratic accountability.

India's foreign policy since independence has consistently emphasised strategic autonomy. Earlier expressed through non-alignment, this philosophy has gradually evolved into what many scholars describe as multi-alignment. India today maintains close strategic partnerships simultaneously with the United States, Russia, France, Japan, Israel, the Gulf countries, ASEAN, and Africa. Such diplomatic flexibility allows India to maximise opportunities without becoming overly dependent upon any single power bloc.

Far from indicating indecisiveness, this reflects sophisticated balancing behaviour suited to an increasingly multipolar world. India purchases defence equipment from multiple sources, participates in the Quad while remaining active in BRICS, strengthens relations with Israel while maintaining engagement with the Arab world, and continues longstanding defence cooperation with Russia while expanding strategic convergence with Western democracies. This balancing act requires restraint, credibility, and consistency.

Preparing for Leadership Through National Strength

India's current priorities appear increasingly centred upon strengthening the foundations of national power. Economic growth remains essential because no country has sustained global influence without a strong productive economy. India has been emphasizing on infrastructure development through highways, ports, airports, dedicated freight corridors, logistics networks, and digital public infrastructure. Thorough such initiatives, it seeks to enhance long-term competitiveness.

Defence modernisation has accelerated significantly through indigenous manufacturing, missile development, naval expansion, aerospace capabilities, cyber preparedness, and defence reforms. Indigenous programmes under Atmanirbhar Bharat increasingly seek to reduce dependence on imported military equipment.

The experience of Operation Sindoor demonstrated improvements in India's military preparedness and technological capabilities while also highlighting the importance of continued modernisation. Although every military operation has its own unique context and should be evaluated carefully, India's growing emphasis on self-reliance in defence reflects broader strategic thinking. Simultaneously, India's diplomatic initiatives ranging from vaccine assistance during the COVID-19 pandemic to humanitarian relief operations and evacuation missions, have strengthened its reputation as a responsible stakeholder. These developments suggest that India is investing first in comprehensive national capability rather than symbolic global activism.

A Civilizational Foundation for Global Leadership

Unlike many modern states whose international identity emerged primarily from military expansion, India's civilizational imagination has historically emphasised coexistence, dialogue, and shared prosperity. The Rig Veda offers a profound expression of this worldview:

संगच्छध्वं संवदध्वं

सं वो मनांसि जानताम्।

देवा भागं यथा पूर्वे

सञ्जानाना उपासते॥

Meaning move together; speak together; let your minds be united, just as the ancient gods shared their sacred offerings in harmony. This verse represents more than spiritual philosophy. It reflects an enduring political ethic that values consensus over coercion. Similarly, the Mahā Upanishad's celebrated ideal, "वसुधैव कुटुम्बकम्," meaning the world is one family, has increasingly informed India's contemporary diplomatic messaging.

Sceptics may dismiss such concepts as rhetorical. Yet ideas matter in international politics. Harvard scholar Joseph Nye argues that soft power is the ability to shape preferences through attraction rather than coercion. This forms an increasingly significant component of national influence. India's democratic institutions, civilizational heritage, yoga, Ayurveda, cultural diversity, diaspora, technological achievements, and humanitarian diplomacy together constitute important elements of its growing soft power. If supported by sustained economic and military capabilities, these civilizational values could become an important source of India's global legitimacy.

The Challenges That Cannot Be Ignored

Strategic patience alone does not guarantee national success. India faces formidable internal challenges. Employment generation for its expanding youth population remains critical. Manufacturing competitiveness must improve significantly if India wishes to become a genuine alternative in global supply chains. Educational quality, research capacity, judicial efficiency, urban governance, agricultural productivity, and technological innovation require continuous improvement.

Income inequality also demands careful attention. Rapid economic growth must translate into broader social mobility. Development that excludes substantial sections of society cannot sustain long-term national power. Climate resilience, energy security, water management, and demographic transitions will further shape India's future. History repeatedly demonstrates that great powers rise not merely because of military strength but because they successfully address internal governance challenges.

Looking Towards Viksit Bharat@2047

India's aspiration of becoming a developed nation by 2047 represents more than an economic objective. It reflects an attempt to transform national capacity across multiple sectors that include economic, technological, military, institutional, and civilizational.

Whether India ultimately becomes one of the world's leading powers will depend less upon dramatic diplomatic interventions and more upon disciplined domestic transformation. There will undoubtedly be occasions when India must assume greater international leadership, mediate conflicts, shape regional security, and contribute more actively to global governance. As its capabilities expand, expectations from the international community are also likely to increase. But enduring leadership cannot be improvised during crises. It must be patiently constructed over decades. Perhaps, therefore, India's current foreign policy should not be interpreted as silence. It may instead represent preparation.

Like every great civilisation that has experienced renewal, India recognises that the strongest voice in international politics belongs not merely to the nation that speaks the loudest during every conflict. It belongs to the nation that patiently builds comprehensive national strength before seeking to shape the future of the international order.

If India continues to modernise its economy, deepen technological innovation, strengthen national security, reduce social inequalities, empower its young population, and remain anchored in its civilizational ethos of dialogue and coexistence, it will not merely participate in the emerging world order but it will help define it. The decades ahead may well reveal that India's greatest strategic decision in the early twenty-first century was not speaking on every global crisis, but quietly preparing itself for a larger historical role.

Punjab's Long War: Terrorism, National Security and the Triumph of the Republic

 

The recent controversy surrounding the film ‘Sutlej’ has revived public debate over one of the darkest chapters in independent India's history, the Punjab insurgency. Surfacing in the 1980s, it remains one of the most consequential internal security challenges in the history of independent India. Between the late 1970s and the mid-1990s, the state witnessed political instability, religious radicalization, targeted killings, terrorism, and sustained cross-border support for militant organizations. Thousands of civilians, police personnel, members of the armed forces, public officials, journalists, and militants lost their lives.

Although the Punjab insurgency has largely been brought under control within India, traces of its separatist ideology remain visible beyond the country’s borders, particularly in Canada and the United States. Within India, especially in Punjab, the threat presently appears to be contained. Nevertheless, certain external forces continue to sustain the separatist cause by providing it with ideological, financial, and organisational support. India must, therefore, remain vigilant.

It is in this contemporary context that a serious discussion of the grave national security crisis that emerged in Punjab during the 1970s and 1980s becomes both necessary and relevant. Revisiting that turbulent period is not merely an exercise in recalling the past; it is essential for understanding how political miscalculations, religious extremism and foreign interference can combine to threaten the unity, sovereignty and territorial integrity of a nation.

Punjab after Independence

The Partition of India in 1947 profoundly shaped Punjab's political and social landscape. The province suffered one of the largest and most violent population transfers in modern history. Millions who crossed the newly drawn borders were compelled to live in misery. Despite these traumatic beginnings, Indian Punjab emerged as one of the country's most dynamic states. Refugees rebuilt businesses, agriculture expanded rapidly, and educational institutions flourished. Sikhs played a distinguished role in the armed forces, agriculture, industry, public administration, and national politics. Punjab became an important symbol of India's resilience after Partition.

During the late 1960s and 1970s, Punjab became the centre of India's Green Revolution. High-yielding varieties of wheat and rice, irrigation expansion, improved agricultural practices and institutional support dramatically increased food production. Punjab became the nation's food bowl and contributed significantly to India's food security.

However, the linguistic reorganization of states also transformed Punjab. After prolonged political movements, the state was reorganized in 1966, resulting in the creation of the present-day Punjab, Haryana, and the transfer of certain hill areas to Himachal Pradesh. While the reorganization addressed some demands, issues relating to Chandigarh, river-water sharing and Centre-State relations remained contentious for decades.

The Anandpur Sahib Resolution

One of the most debated documents in modern Punjab politics is the Anandpur Sahib Resolution, adopted by the Shiromani Akali Dal in 1973. The Resolution combined religious, economic and political demands. It sought greater federal autonomy for states within India's constitutional framework, advocated protection of Sikh religious institutions, raised issues relating to Chandigarh and river waters, and emphasized the rights of Punjab.

Interpretations of the Resolution have varied considerably. Akali leaders maintained that it was fundamentally a federalist document seeking decentralization rather than secession. Some political commentators, however, viewed parts of its language with suspicion during a period of increasing political polarization. Whatever the interpretation, the Resolution became an important reference point in subsequent political mobilization.

Political Competition and the Rise of Religious Mobilization

The political rivalry between the Indian National Congress and the Shiromani Akali Dal intensified during the late 1970s. Punjab witnessed coalition politics, shifting alliances and frequent contests over the representation of Sikh political aspirations.

In an effort to weaken the growing political influence of the Akali Dal, sections of the Congress leadership began promoting more fanatic Sikh religious figures. The political calculation behind such an act was that this could divide the Akali support base and reduce the party’s political strength. The Akali Dal, in turn, responded by adopting an increasingly religious and confrontational posture. Thus, competing political forces, driven by short-term electoral interests, contributed to the intensification of religious radicalism in Punjab.

The Emergence of Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale

Against this backdrop emerged Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, head of the Damdami Taksal, an influential Sikh religious institution. Initially known as a preacher advocating a return to orthodox Sikh practices, Bhindranwale attracted considerable attention among sections of rural Sikh youth through his forceful oratory and emphasis on religious discipline. His appeal grew during a period of political uncertainty and increasing confrontation between competing political actors.

The turning point came after a series of violent incidents, including the clash between members of the Sant Nirankari Mission and orthodox Sikhs in Amritsar in 1978. These events intensified religious polarization and elevated Bhindranwale's public profile.

As violence increased in the early 1980s, Bhindranwale became associated with a militant movement that increasingly rejected constitutional politics. His supporters portrayed him as a defender of Sikh interests. But in reality, he was encouraging armed extremism and legitimizing violence among Sikh youth. His rhetoric and growing influence became central to the radicalization in Punjab.

From Political Agitation to Armed Insurgency

By the early 1980s, Punjab had entered a dangerous phase. Political negotiations repeatedly stalled, public trust declined, and targeted killings increased. Journalists, police officers, public officials and civilians became victims of violence. Fear spread across towns and villages. Moderate voices found themselves squeezed between militant intimidation and political confrontation. As institutions weakened, extremist organizations gained greater operational space.

The deterioration of law and order also attracted the attention of hostile external actors. Pakistan, still nursing the wounds of its 1971 war defeat, increasingly viewed instability in Punjab as an opportunity to weaken India through indirect means. Pakistan's Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) started providing training, funding, weapons, and sanctuary to several Khalistani militant organizations. This development became a serious challenge to India's internal security.

Punjab's Long War: Operation Blue Star, 1984 and the Internationalisation of the Insurgency

By 1983, Punjab had entered one of the gravest internal security crises in independent India's history. Targeted assassinations, extortion, intimidation of public officials and attacks on civilians had become increasingly frequent. Police stations, government offices and political workers were under sustained threat. Moderate Sikh leaders who rejected violence found themselves caught between militant coercion and an increasingly strained political environment.

During this period, Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale and several armed associates established themselves within the Golden Temple complex at Amritsar, particularly in and around the Akal Takht. Alongside Bhindranwale were former Major General Shabeg Singh and Amrik Singh, who significantly contributed to the fortification of the Golden Temple. Weapons, ammunition, fortified positions and communication systems, smuggled from Pakistan, had been assembled inside the complex. This presented an unprecedented challenge for the Indian state.

For the Government of India, the dilemma was profound. The Golden Temple is among Sikhism's holiest shrines, revered by millions across the world. Any security operation inside the complex risked causing deep religious hurt. At the same time, allowing armed militants to continue operating from within a sacred place undermined the authority of the state and complicated policing. Months of negotiations failed to produce a settlement. Against this backdrop, the Government led by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi ordered Operation Blue Star, which commenced in early June 1984.

The operation involved units of the Indian Army supported by other security agencies. After intense fighting, the security forces regained control of the complex. Bhindranwale, Shabeg Singh, and several leading militants were killed. The operation also resulted in the deaths of soldiers, pilgrims, and civilians. In this operation, significant damage was caused to the Akal Takht.

From a purely military standpoint, Operation Blue Star succeeded in removing armed militants from the Golden Temple complex. Politically and psychologically, however, its consequences were far-reaching. For many Sikhs, military action within such a sacred religious site caused profound anguish, regardless of their views on militancy. This emotional impact resonated not only within Punjab but also among Sikh communities abroad.

The situation deteriorated further on 31 October 1984, when Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was assassinated by two of her Sikh bodyguards, Beant Singh and Satwant Singh. It was followed by the horrific anti-Sikh riots in Delhi and several other cities. Thousands of innocent Sikhs were killed, homes and businesses were destroyed, and countless families were displaced. The failure of the administration to prevent the violence and the slow pace of accountability became one of the darkest episodes in the history of independent India. The riots represented a grave failure of the constitutional duty of the state to protect its citizens and left enduring scars on India's social fabric.

The insurgency that followed cannot be understood without recognising the impact of these events. Militant organisations exploited the trauma and anger generated by both Operation Blue Star and the anti-Sikh riots to recruit supporters and strengthen extremist narratives. Yet it is equally important to recognise that the overwhelming majority of Sikhs neither joined militant organisations nor supported secession. Sikh officers continued to serve with distinction in the Army, police, civil services and intelligence agencies, while countless Sikh citizens rejected violence despite immense social and political pressures.

As Punjab struggled with internal instability, Pakistan increasingly sought to exploit the situation. Following its defeat in the 1971 war and the emergence of Bangladesh, Pakistan's military establishment adopted a greater emphasis on indirect or proxy strategies against India. Pakistan's Inter-Services Intelligence played key role in supporting Khalistani militant organisations through training, funding, arms supply, forged documents, communications equipment and safe havens across the international border.

Militant organisations such as the Babbar Khalsa International, Khalistan Commando Force, Khalistan Liberation Force and others were among those that received varying forms of cross-border support during different phases of the insurgency. Arms trafficking networks expanded, infiltration routes became more sophisticated, and propaganda efforts increasingly reached out to sections of the Sikh diaspora.

Some retired Indian military and intelligence officials have referred to an alleged Pakistani strategic concept popularly described as "Operation Topac." According to these accounts, the strategy envisaged encouraging insurgencies in regions such as Punjab and Jammu & Kashmir in order to weaken India through prolonged proxy conflict. Pakistan's security establishment provided substantial support to militant groups seeking to destabilise Punjab.

By the mid-1980s, Punjab had effectively become the site of a complex internal security conflict shaped by both domestic and external factors. Political grievances, extremist mobilisation, traumatic communal violence and sustained foreign assistance combined to prolong the insurgency. Ordinary citizens bore the greatest burden. Farmers feared travelling after dark. Shopkeepers faced extortion. Teachers, journalists, judges, civil servants and police officers were routinely threatened. Democratic institutions struggled to function under conditions of fear.

The experience underscored a broader lesson in national security: when violent extremism acquires external support, the challenge extends beyond ordinary policing. It demands coordinated intelligence, effective law enforcement, political engagement, community cooperation and sustained constitutional governance.

By the late 1980s, the Indian state began adapting its strategy. Intelligence coordination improved, the Punjab Police was reorganised, and a more focused counter-insurgency campaign emerged. It was during this phase that officers such as Julio Ribeiro and later K. P. S. Gill assumed central roles in restoring the authority of the state. Their leadership, together with the courage of thousands of police personnel, soldiers, intelligence officers, and ordinary citizens, would become decisive in reversing the momentum of the insurgency.

Punjab's Long War and Restoring Peace: The Role of Supercop K. P. S. Gill

By the late 1980s, Punjab had reached a critical juncture. Years of assassinations, bombings, extortion, and intimidation had weakened public confidence in the state's ability to maintain law and order. Terrorist groups exercised influence over vast sections of rural Punjab, public officials worked under constant threat, and even moderate religious and political leaders who rejected violence found themselves targeted. The challenge before the Indian state was no longer merely to suppress terrorism but to restore citizens' faith in constitutional governance.

The response that gradually emerged marked a significant shift in India's counter-insurgency strategy. Instead of relying primarily on large-scale military deployments, greater emphasis was placed on intelligence-led policing, close coordination between central and state agencies, dismantling militant networks, protecting witnesses and rebuilding the confidence of ordinary citizens.

A key figure during this phase was Julio Ribeiro. Serving as Director General of Police during one of Punjab's most difficult periods, Ribeiro introduced an aggressive but intelligence-oriented approach to combating militancy. His emphasis on improving morale within the Punjab Police, strengthening intelligence gathering and encouraging officers to reclaim the initiative laid an important institutional foundation for the years that followed.

Building upon these efforts, K. P. S. Gill assumed leadership at a decisive moment in the conflict. Under his command, the Punjab Police intensified its campaign against militant organisations. Working in coordination with central security agencies and intelligence services, the police sought to identify leadership structures, disrupt financial and logistical networks, and reduce the operational capabilities of insurgent groups.

Gill's greatest contribution was restoring confidence within the police force itself. For years, police officers had operated under extraordinary pressure. Militants routinely targeted officers and their families, hoping to break morale and discourage enforcement. Rebuilding institutional confidence was therefore as important as conducting operations against insurgent groups.

One of the defining moments of this period was Operation Black Thunder under the ablest leadership of K.P.S. Gill, conducted in 1988. Unlike Operation Blue Star, which involved the deployment of the Army in a highly sensitive religious complex, Operation Black Thunder relied heavily on careful planning and intelligence coordination. K. P. S. Gill gradually isolated armed militants who had again occupied the Golden Temple complex.

The operation demonstrated important tactical lessons. Security forces surrounded the complex, controlled movement, restricted supplies, and applied sustained pressure rather than launching an immediate large-scale assault. Many militants eventually surrendered, and the operation resulted in comparatively less structural damage to the shrine than had occurred during Operation Blue Star.

Operation Black Thunder was significant not only because of its immediate outcome but because it demonstrated that patient, intelligence-driven operations. It could successfully isolate militant organisations while reducing the wider political and emotional consequences associated with military intervention at religious sites.

The campaign that followed was long, difficult, and costly. Hundreds of police personnel were killed in the line of duty. Many officers lived under assumed identities, changed residences frequently, or sent their families away for safety. Village defence committees, local informants, and ordinary citizens who cooperated with the authorities also faced grave risks. In certain cases Hindus in Punjab were selectively identified and killed mercilessly.

The eventual decline of militancy during the early and mid-1990s resulted from several interacting factors. Sustained police operations disrupted militant leadership. Improved intelligence reduced cross-border infiltration. Sections of the local population increasingly rejected violence as its human and economic costs became unbearable. Political institutions gradually resumed functioning, and normal civic life slowly returned.

The restoration of peace in Punjab also represented a setback to Pakistan that had hoped to sustain a prolonged proxy conflict. Numerous investigations and security assessments have documented attempts by Pakistan-based networks to continue supporting militant organisations through training, funding and propaganda. Nevertheless, as militant structures weakened within Punjab itself, the capacity of external actors to influence events diminished significantly.

The Punjab experience offers several enduring lessons for democratic states confronting violent extremism. The first lesson is that political competition must never legitimise or encourage extremist forces for short-term electoral advantage. Democratic rivalries are inevitable, but history demonstrates that movements built upon violence rarely remain under political control.

The second lesson concerns the relationship between national security and constitutional governance. A democratic state has an obligation to protect the lives and liberties of its citizens. Effective policing, intelligence coordination and counter-terrorism are therefore not contrary to democracy. Instead, they are among the conditions that enable democratic institutions to function.

The third lesson is the importance of community participation. Punjab did not recover solely because of government action. It recovered because ordinary Punjabis increasingly refused to allow terrorism to define their future. Farmers, teachers, traders, religious leaders, journalists, civil servants and countless unnamed citizens chose to cooperate with constitutional institutions rather than submit to intimidation.

Equally significant is the reminder that terrorism should never be conflated with an entire religious or social community. During the insurgency, Sikhs served with distinction throughout the Indian Army, the Punjab Police, the intelligence services and the civil administration. Thousands risked, and many lost, their lives defending fellow citizens irrespective of religion. The struggle against Khalistani militancy was therefore not a conflict between the Indian state and Sikhism. It was a struggle between constitutional democracy and those who sought to achieve political objectives through violence.

Today, Punjab stands transformed from the dark years of widespread terrorism. Its universities educate new generations, its farmers continue to contribute to national food security, its industries and entrepreneurs drive economic activity, and its youth participate in every sphere of Indian public life. However, as noted in the introductory part, the memory of violence has not disappeared, but neither has the resilience that enabled the state to recover.

The debates generated by films, books and public commentary on this period therefore carry an important responsibility. Historical memory should not romanticise terrorism. It should recognise the sacrifices of police personnel, soldiers, intelligence officers, public servants, and ordinary citizens. Demonizing the contributions of heroes like K. P. S. Gill is absolutely uncalled for.