By the Same Author

Narendra Modi: The Man, The Times

Sikhs: The Untold Agony of 1984
First published in Tranquebar by Westland Publications Private Limited
2019
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Chennai 600095

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trademarks of Westland Publications Private Limited, or its affiliates.

Copyright © Nilanjan Mukhopadhyay, 2019

ISBN: 9789387894914

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 For Varsha…
Often the peg where I hang my stuff.
 CONTENTS

AUTHOR’S NOTE
KESHAV BALIRAM HEDGEWAR
VINAYAK DAMODAR SAVARKAR
MADHAV SADASHIV GOLWALKAR
SYAMA PRASAD MOOKERJEE
DEENDAYAL UPADHYAYA
BALASAHEB DEORAS
VIJAYA RAJE SCINDIA
ATAL BIHARI VAJPAYEE
LAL KRISHNA ADVANI
ASHOK SINGHAL
BAL THACKERAY
ENDNOTES
 AUTHOR’S NOTE

T his book defines itself. The Indian Right-wing understandably evokes

extreme reactions. This is especially true of the Rashtriya
Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), its affiliates and individuals who have at
various times influenced its thought processes and actions. I was drawn to its
workings from the early 1980s, thanks to encouragement from my editors
who gave me the opportunity to report and analyse several episodes
involving communal conflict. Later, many proceeded to indulge me in what
they defined as my growing ‘obsession’ with the Ayodhya dispute.
Often their point being, and this group gradually included many
politicians and several close friends, about my interest in subjects involving
sectarian violence. There was of course scepticism about my premise and
many arguments would be put forth about the ‘inherent secular character of
Indians’. I was told ad nauseam that this was a ‘transitory phase’ in the
history of Indian politics and that the sangh parivar constituents had ‘peaked
a little too early’.
Yet, my apprehensions rang true even as India was overwhelmed by
several episodes, including the Babri demolition case in 1992, and the
Gujarat riots almost a decade later. Even on the eve of the 2019 elections, my
concern is that whichever way the final verdict goes, it will not alter the
trajectory the country is already on.
One of the most difficult things about writing on this subject was to
fundamentally disagree with the premise of Hindu nationalism, yet apply
reason while analysing it and its iconic leaders. Over the years, considerable
literature has been added to what was previously available. In my view, most
of them continue to exist in black or white, either as hagiographies or
denunciations. This book not only endeavours to examine the ideologies of
Right-wing leaders, but also explores the personas behind the personalities.
I am sure my readers will have several complaints, foremost being that
many who may have played decisive roles in bringing the Indian Right-wing
to the forefront are either absent in this book, or even if present, then not in
the manner many may have imagined them to be. The initial idea of limiting
these portraits to mere thumbnails, did not do justice to any of the
personalities listed in the book. The worry at times was that each personality
included in this edition necessitated a separate book and which may turn out
to be more than one. With time, and further expansion of the Indian Right-
wing, and with due indulgence from my family, readers and publishers, it
may be worth its while to return to the theme, but let me not worry about it at
this stage.
For a variety of reasons, this book has been a long time in the making.
A significant part of its form, content and style has altered over the years,
save a major part of the title. Relief often becomes the overarching emotion
at the end of a creative exercise and it is no different for me.
It was Gyanesh Kudaisya who had first suggested that I write this book.
This was way back in 1999–2000 when Atal Bihari Vajpayee was India’s
prime minister and the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh and its affiliates had
suddenly sprung from near obscurity to centre stage. I had even written a few
chapters, but made no headway as professional engagements took me on to
another path. Yet, he prodded me continuously, particularly after the 2014
elections, never once giving up hope in my ability, and patiently pointing out
what was lacking after he had read one of the chapters. I hope he notices that
his suggestions were taken seriously.
No words shall suffice in thanking Dilip Deodhar who held my hand
and guided me through what I think is an extremely complicated world
inhabited by the sangh parivar. He was aware of my basic disagreement with
its ideological premise, but he never shied away from sharing information,
often enlightening me, besides lavishing praise for my sense of what he
thought was, fairness. Dilip Deodhar introduced me to several members of
the Right-wing whose identities must remain secret, for many continue to be
in the RSS.
Thanks are also due to Sanjeev Kelkar for sharing his insights and
understanding of the RSS, its weaknesses and strengths.
A major part of this book was written during a professionally trying
period and my family stood like a rock behind me to lighten the burden. It
remains a joke amongst them that restraint is not one of my virtues, but they
also acknowledge that the courage to be truthful never weakened. Over the
years, Gyan Verma’s understanding of the Right-wing has sharpened
considerably, and every conversation with him helps me to reconsider
various premises. Varsha remains my first reader and critic, who constantly
debated with me and enabled me to sharpen certain arguments which helped
me to recast some of my views. It shall still be several years before my
granddaughters understand what I write, but now they grumble less for the
time not spent with them.
This has been my third book with Sudha Sadhanand as editor and we
have developed a capacity to be patient with each other. Often, it was her
enthusiasm for the book which prevented me from becoming cynical. I hope
that her passion for the book is shared by my readers.
I would also like to thank the several books and pamphlets and other
materials that I read and re-read which helped my narrative immensely.
A last word of gratitude for Sanjay Malapur who approached me in
2018 during the Bangalore Literature Festival with a request to take my
pictures. I asked him if he could also take some for this book. He agreed and
did a splendid job knowing well there was no other reward than seeing the
photograph in print. May success come in abundance to him.

Nilanjan Mukhopadhyay
New Delhi, February 2019
 KESHAV BALIRAM HEDGEWAR

I n the history of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), which is

known for the domineering presence of Konkanastha or Chitpavan
Brahmins, it is probably one of the biggest quirks of fate that its founder was
born into a family of migrants from a village in Telangana.
In the early decades of the nineteenth century, several landless Brahmin
families who made their living as priests in Nizamabad district, were forced
to flee their homes under the Mughal rule. Many chose to settle in Nagpur, a
city which was ruled by Maratha Bhonsle kings, mainly because the
dispensation supported Vedic learning. Keshav Baliram Hedgewar’s great-
great-grandfather was among those who had made the city his home.
Gradually, these immigrant families from Andhra Pradesh began to
assimilate, and not only did they adapt to Maharashtrian customs, but also
began looking up to local historical icons as their very own.
It is also paradoxical that the RSS, which was established by Keshav
Baliram Hedgewar along with a few associates (mainly Brahmins), with the
avowed aim of culturally and politically organising the Hindus, should have
laid great emphasis on the daily physical drill. According to several
accounts, amongst different Hindu caste groups in the nineteenth century, the
Brahmins were considered to be the least inclined towards martial traditions.
The fact that the RSS even today gives equal weightage to baudhik or the
intellectual capability, and sharirik or the physical attributes, with
designated chiefs in the organisation’s command structure stems from the
exposure that young Keshav had to daily exercise.
Even after five decades of shifting to Nagpur, the Hedgewar clan
followed the tradition of sending its male progenies to Vedic schools.
Keshav’s father had faced an awkward situation when he had discovered that
not only was his firstborn, Mahadev, naturally drawn towards gymnastics and
bodybuilding, but he had also succeeded in influencing his siblings. Keshav,
the youngest male child in the family was the first to do his bidding, and
willingly took to the vigorous routine suggested by his eldest brother. It was
a hectic daily schedule for the young chap, but he ran several miles, swam
many laps, and worked out in the makeshift gym at home. But Keshav was
also an industrious boy who regularly attended school and poured over
books to complete his lessons well into the night.
In school, besides religious and spiritual texts, stories eulogising
historical heroes inspired him to such an extent that very soon, the iconic
Maratha ruler, Shivaji Bhonsle became Keshav’s indisputable ideal. At a
very young age, the boy began perceiving Shivaji as the redeemer of Hindus
who had been wronged by the Mughals, and dreamt of securing ‘dignity’ for
Chhatrapati’s legacy.
In Keshav’s mind, the concept of classical heroism was substituted with
the idea of patriotism, and there is a telling incident of how the eight-year-
old boy had once expressed it by throwing away sweets that were distributed
on the occasion of Queen Victoria’s sixtieth anniversary in his native Nagpur.
‘Of course, I got the sweets,’ he told his elder brother when asked
about his empty hands, and proceeded to explain rather precociously that he
had thrown them away because the British had usurped power and
overthrown the Bhonsle dynasty. ‘How can we participate in these imperial
celebrations?’1 he is supposed to have remarked to his elder brother with
great indignation.
A few years later in 1901 after King Edward VII’s coronation, there
was yet another round of celebrations in Nagpur. The twelve-year-old
Keshav had not only kept away from the commemorative events, but had also
convinced his friends to replace the Union Jack with Shivaji’s standard atop
the local fort. The children had failed to achieve what was deemed to be an
act of sedition, but the event had made heroes out of Keshav and his band of
volunteers.
Despite his growing interest in the nascent anti-Colonial struggle and
local revolutionary movements, Keshav seldom lost sight of his goals. In his
early Twenties, he had enrolled to study Medicine at the indigenous,
National Medical College in Calcutta. Yet, physical exercise or vyayaam
remained essential to his daily routine. Soon, the young doctor-in-the-making
earned the epithet of a ‘man with muscles of iron and nerves of steel.’2 He
would routinely throw challenges to his classmates and fellow-
revolutionaries, but no one could ever manage to knock his hand down in
bouts of arm-wrestling. Keshav was also famous for his huge appetite: he ate
chappatis in the multiples of five, and drank several litres of milk. But
despite his physical prowess, his innate sobriety and commitment to activism
earned him the reputation of a significant influencer amongst the youth, but
more of which later…

Early Days
In 1902, the dreaded plague brought death and devastation to the city of
Nagpur. The good priest that he was, Keshav’s father considered it his duty
to stay put and perform obsequies for the dead. But a few weeks later, even
the Hedgewars were struck by a huge tragedy—first, Baliram and his wife
were consumed by the epidemic; second, their eldest son, Mahadev tired of
shouldering familial responsibilities, went to seed; Seetaram, who was next
to Mahadev, left Nagpur and moved to Indore, to become a priest. But
Keshav remained undeterred in his life’s mission and stayed on in Nagpur.
It was around this time when a young medical doctor called
Balakrishna Shivram (or, B.S.) Moonje was emerging as an inspirational
figure for the young radicals in Nagpur. Although the young medico had spent
several years as the King’s Commissioned Officer in South Africa during the
Boer War, he had become a great admirer of Bal Gangadhar Tilak and joined
the Indian National Congress upon his return to India. He soon took the
‘orphaned’ Keshav under his tutelage.
One year before the plague had hit Nagpur, Antaji Kale, a schoolteacher
in Nagpur had initiated a project called Paisa Fund which was aimed at
crowd-funding—considered to be the first ever in India—indigenous
industries in the region. Antaji Kale had somehow managed to convince
Tilak, which in turn had motivated his followers including the young Keshav,
to plunge into the fund-collection drive. The young boy began visiting his
neighbourhood and would seek out every person in religious congregations
and festivals to make a donation of just one paisa each. Unlike the time when
he had encouraged his friends to hoist Shivaji’s standard on top of the local
fort, Keshav’s Paisa Fund pitch was a larger initiative and was aimed at the
average householder to become part of India’s struggle for independence.
Even as Nagpur was buzzing with several local revolutionary
movements, the spirit of the swadeshi movement was spreading like a bush
fire beyond Bengal and soon reached the shores of western India. Keshav
became a regular at such public gatherings and was so riveted by the
electrifying speeches made by political leaders that he had resolved to learn
the art of public speaking.
In 1907, on a visit to his uncle’s house during the festival of Dussehra,
he along with some other youngsters decided to sing Vande Mataram on the
dais where the ritual destruction of Ravana, symbolising evil in the
Ramayana, was to be enacted. While the elders in the family had censured
him for the gross transgression, Keshav was noticed by the local Intelligence
officer who was stationed at the site to keep an eye out for any untoward
incident. But the young lad was nonplussed and was intent on defying the
establishment. For instance, in the very next year when the Inspector of
Schools visited his school, Keshav had orchestrated a plan to deride him
openly. The moment the Crown’s representative had stepped inside a
classroom, he was greeted with a loud roar of ‘Vande Mataram’. The
school’s principal launched an enquiry into the incident, but he was
stonewalled by the students who had refused to disclose the name of the
accused or the group which had planned the protest. Eventually, he was
forced to expel the entire batch.
However, as several schools in the region were consumed by the
patriotic fervour, the students boycotted classes for two months before a
compromise was worked out. The school authorities sought a written pardon
from the erring students, but when Keshav had refused to give any such
undertaking, his expulsion was deemed final, and he was forced to move to
Pune to pursue his studies.
It was because of this disruption that Keshav Baliram Hedgewar
cleared his Matriculation examination at the age of twenty. Later when he
moved to Pune to pursue his higher studies and took his school-leaving
examination conducted by the National Council of Education (Bengal), he
was debarred from studying in all British-affiliated institutions.
By now, the robust young man had already cemented deep relationships
with local revolutionary groups and had even assisted fugitives in locating to
safe havens, while raising funds for groups such as the Anushilan Samiti*. Dr
Moonje, who continued to play a significant role in shaping Keshav’s
political ideology, gave his protégé the most valuable advice: leave Nagpur,
and study Medicine at the National Medical College, Calcutta. Although
Keshav was severely constrained due to his poor financial condition, he
managed to raise enough money with local assistance and also from his own
savings that he had accumulated from fees as a private tutor. Ramlal
Vajpayee, an associate of Keshav, wrote in his autobiography that the
decision to send him to Calcutta was not just to train him as a doctor, but also
with the ‘object of receiving training for revolutionary work’3 under the
tutelage of Pulin Behari Das, the founder of the Dhaka chapter of Anushilan
Samiti.
In mid-1910, the year when Vinayak Damodar Savarkar was
imprisoned in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands’ Cellular Jail, Keshav
landed in Calcutta with a letter of introduction from Dr Moonje. He was on
his way to becoming a medical doctor and would later acquire the moniker
of ‘Doctor Saheb’ within the RSS.

Calcutta Days
By the time K.B. Hedgewar arrived in Calcutta, the swadeshi movement had
considerably ebbed in Bengal. Even though several revolutionary groups
remained active in the region, the nationalist movement was in a transitory
phase. As mentioned earlier, Dr Moonje eulogised Tilak, and it was only
natural that his protégé should also follow the same path and saw in Tilak a
hope for India’s multitudes. Furthermore, way back in 1889, Bal Gangadhar
Tilak had declared that the ‘common factor in Indian society is the feeling of
Hindutva.’ Therefore in 1908 after Tilak’s arrest, Dr Moonje and Keshav
Hedgewar had felt directionless and decided to forge closer ties with
Bengali revolutionaries who were from long using religious symbols to
further their protest movement.
Despite being drawn to local revolutionaries, K.B. Hedgewar remained
an unwavering ‘Tilakite’ and in deference to his jailed leader, observed a
monthly fast till he was released from Mandalay Jail (then Burma; now
Myanmar) in 1914. Although Keshav was originally a Brahmin from
Telangana, he had little trouble in securing entry into the subversive world of
Bengali radicals because groups like the Jugantar or Anushilan Samiti were
‘composed entirely of young Hindu men of the upper classes.’
As a student, Keshav struck a balance between academics and politics.
He familiarised himself with the region’s social mores, and not only did he
learn to speak Bengali, but he also began to dress like a local. But despite his
efforts to appear like a Bengali gent, he soon discovered that it wasn’t easy
to subsume his Marathi–Telugu identity—it was proven during a procession
when a British officer ‘approached him and began straightaway speaking to
him in Marathi.’4 Thereafter, Keshav Hedgewar remained under strict British
surveillance in Calcutta and even had an ‘agent’ for a roommate. He was
however undeterred and soon accepted to be formally initiated into the
Anushilan Samiti. As a rule, the undercover society followed a strict code of
conduct under which new entrants were first expected to pledge lifelong
loyalty to the organisation, and then assigned to specific dals or groups led
by team-leaders. It was here that Keshav Baliram Hedgewar learnt his first
lessons in organisation-building and delegation of work. Soon, Cocaine5, as
Keshav came to be known by his code-name in the group, was mighty
impressed with the organisation’s credo: to place the ‘right person in charge
of the right place and the right mission,’ and surged forward in what had
become his life’s avowed mission.
Keshav’s entry into the charmed circle of the Anushilan Samiti finally
established him as a young revolutionary. When he went home for vacation
that year, he carried books, pamphlets and most importantly, revolvers for
revolutionary groups in Nagpur. He was expected to maintain a low profile,
which he did rather successfully, and in fact, ‘did not acquire enough
importance in these activities to incur the wrath of the authorities.’6
Curiously, none of the RSS hagiographies nor other accounts make any
‘mention anywhere…of the revolutionary responsibilities which he carried
out in this period, with who and who he came in contact and what lessons he
drew from his experiences in this work.’7
Despite being a backroom boy for the Anushilan Samiti, Hedgewar had
first-hand knowledge of activities that enabled mass contact and
mobilisation, including assisting people during natural disasters, which later
stood him in good stead. The flooding of River Damodar, also known as the
‘Sorrow of Bengal’ was routine, but in 1913, the situation was particularly
grim in the Bardhaman district of Bengal. Initially, Keshav had joined a relief
team from the Ramkrishna Mission to rescue people from the ravaging
waters, and later helped victims of a cholera epidemic that had broken out in
the aftermath of the deluge. Subsequently, this became an annual ritual in his
life and he would join a team of medical volunteers at the Gangasagar fair
every winter at the confluence of River Ganga and the Bay of Bengal. It was
courtesy this exposure to the spirit of sewa or service towards humankind
that Hedgewar realised how it made for an excellent ‘entry point’ within any
community, as it helped engage with people on various socio-political
issues.
 Although the young man had promised to pursue Medicine seriously, for
which he had borrowed money and also relocated to Calcutta, his academic
performance wasn’t spectacular, given that a considerable part of his time
was spent in attending protest meetings. It was clear that his commitment to
the chosen path was taking precedence over everything else.
In 1913, Keshav somehow managed to secure a Licentiate in Medicine
and Surgery (LMS). Even as he had completed the mandatory practical
training for medics, the First World War had created havoc around the world.
Keshav Hedgewar had wanted to join the British Army’s Medical Corps to
gain experience during a war situation, but had failed to continue mainly due
to two reasons: first, he was blacklisted for his involvement with
revolutionary groups, and second, medical degrees from Indian institutions
were not recognised by the British administration.
As a young student-activist, Keshav decided to retaliate and conceived
of a unique ‘movement’ to secure recognition for Indian degrees. He first met
the Vice Chancellor of Calcutta University, Sir Ashutosh Mukherjee and
thereafter the editors of prominent newspapers and extracted promises of
adequate coverage for the ‘campaign’. The invincible Raj was taken aback at
the natives’ deviousness, but the movement created a benchmark of sorts and
is acknowledged as the first disinformation campaign in history—no protest
meetings were actually held, but false information was disseminated
successfully by creating a smokescreen with support from the media. After
causing considerable disquiet within the Colonial administration, Keshav
Hedgewar organised a public meeting in the presence of senior Congress
leader, Surendranath Banerjee, where a resolution was adopted demanding
that the British should either recognise Indian medical degrees, or conduct
another examination to certify doctors.
The government opted for the latter as a face-saving device and
scheduled an examination on 3 November 1915. Turning the tables on the
British yet again, Keshav refused to sit for it, arguing that he had already
cleared a test under an indigenous system—the ‘University has examined us
and awarded its degree. Where then is the question of government
recognition? It is precisely to avoid having to submit to alien dictation that
we boycotted government educational institutions!’8 Dr Keshav Baliram
Hedgewar had no desire of seeking government employment, and as far as
his people were concerned, no one doubted his capabilities as a medical
practitioner.
 In early 1916, Keshav returned to Nagpur armed with an Indian medical
degree in hand, and nationalist fervour brimming in his heart. He already had
a plan in place for utilising Britain’s preoccupation with the First World War
to further the Indian freedom struggle. Although the idea of India’s liberation
had taken firm root in his mind, there was something else which he wanted to
share with his mentor, Dr Moonje.

The Mainstream Nationalist

In Nagpur, several groups had expectations from the ‘Calcutta-returned’
young doctor. Foremost amongst them was his family who wanted him to get
married, set up medical practice, and provide financial stability to extricate
them from a piteous existence. The return of the dreaded plague to the city
had further added to their despondency. Nagpur had very few doctors those
days and in the face of an epidemic, they dreamt of a lucrative career for
their Keshav. But neither was the doctor in a hurry to set up practise, nor get
married.
On the other hand, his old comrades were exhorting him to re-join their
ranks and motivate them just as he had done earlier. After a few days,
Keshav Hedgewar re-connected with his old network of revolutionaries and
formed an organisation called the Kranti Dal with revolution as its main
objective, and armed rebellion as the means to its end.
He devised a unique plan to raise funds for the Dal and organised fund-
raising dinners and lunches, in attendance of the wealthy, albeit nationalist
landlords of Nagpur. A benevolent patron provided for a gymnasium which
became the recruiting ground for the Dal and also enabled Keshav to
continue with his mandatory physical drill. Soon, it was time for Keshav
Hedgewar to up the ante, and he decided to set up the military arm of the
Kranti Dal by recruiting special teams to acquire weapons from Bengal; his
past apprenticeship with the Anushilan Samiti bore fruit, for it had taught him
precision while planning an armed rebellion, and he proceeded by assigning
another trusted colleague with the task of servicing and repairing pistols.
Keshav Baliram Hedgewar had long sensed that the British’s
preoccupation with the First World War provided the nationalists with an
opportunity. He was hopeful of convincing all Indian nationalists to make a
simultaneous declaration: ‘From today onwards Hindusthan is an
independent country.’9
 His first port of call was to his mentor, Dr B.S. Moonje, but he was
quick to realise that his idea found little favour with the elderly man.
However, Moonje gave his protégé a letter of recommendation for Bal
Gangadhar Tilak and suggested he get an audience with him in Pune to
discuss the proposal. Although Tilak was extremely cordial to Hedgewar,
even he had felt that it was rather premature in the nation’s narrative to
initiate such a plan. Surprisingly, Hedgewar wasn’t in the least disheartened
by Tilak’s reluctance to endorse his plan and continued to motivate his band
of young revolutionaries to achieve what he considered was their ultimate
goal, often narrating inspiring stories about leaders such as Mazzini and Joan
of Arc to awaken their commitment to nationalism.
However, several years had now passed since a young boy had flung
away sweets for an occasion he thought was an insult to the soul of India.
Keshav was now in his mid-Twenties and after turning down a regular
profession and the prospect of a marriage, he suddenly felt the need for a
meaningful purpose, considering the revolutionary movement was also
somewhat petering out. He still looked up to Dr Moonje as his political guru
and the two remained dedicated Tilakites, mainly because of his firm belief
in anti-Colonialism being synonymous with the resurgence of Hinduism.
Therefore, when Tilak launched the Home Rule League in Belgaum in April
1916 with the dual aim of seizing the leadership of the Congress and
pressurising the British to grant India Home Rule, the medical doctor’s
flagging spirits found flight.
Initially, Bal Gangadhar Tilak’s campaign was limited to the Marathi-
speaking areas in Maharashtra, Karnataka, Berar, and the Central Provinces.
By 1918, he was completely focussed on the Home Rule movement and
covered a distance of 2,000 miles within a fortnight and delivered thirty-five
lectures which were attended by nearly three lakh people. The movement
was Tilak’s ‘first attempt to initiate a national campaign’10 and was a
progression from the revivalist campaigns of the 1890s.
The impact of Tilak’s pan-Indian movement was so overwhelming that
Keshav Hedgewar began to understand the limitations of smaller protest
movements spearheaded by an individual or a minuscule group. The actual
realisation however came after a failed attempt at securing ammunition for
the Kranti Dal. According to the plan, Hedgewar’s associates were to collect
the weapons from a ship in the Portuguese-controlled port of Goa. But the
British had seized the ship mid-sea and put paid to the carefully laid-out plan
of the young revolutionaries.
After the setback, Keshav Baliram Hedgewar decided to join a few
Congress functionaries in Nagpur and established the Rashtriya Mandal in
1918 to organise political campaigns in the city. In contrast to the
conservative opinion of most Congress leaders who had felt that as an
independent Dominion, India could only be part of the British Empire, K.B.
Hedgewar unequivocally demanded for complete independence from the Raj.
The Mandal launched a Hindi journal called Sankalp and Keshav embarked
on a tour to address the people of his region.
In the same year, Hedgewar also established the Rashtriya Utsav
Mandal with the purpose of holding religio-cultural functions, such as the
birth and coronation anniversary of Shivaji; Ganesh Chaturthi; Shastra
(weapons) puja; Dasanavami; and Sankranti. In a way, the Mandal
appropriated a tradition which had been introduced by Bal Gangadhar Tilak
with the Ganesh festival—introducing religion into the public space and
using it to hold large congregations for cultural assimilation. Such gatherings
were often addressed by Hindu revivalists, who would specifically stress on
the need for Hindu unity.
It is another matter that the Rashtriya Utsav Mandal later morphed into a
rabid communal outfit and was found guilty by the Justice D.P. Madon
Commission for instigating the Bhiwandi riots in 1970. During the course of
a visit to the city, the noted litterateur, Bhisham Sahni was so reminded of the
horrific Partition riots that he was prompted to write Tamas, which won him
the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1975.
In 1919, post the massacre of thousands of innocents in Jallianwala
Bagh, K.B. Hedgewar travelled to Amritsar for a special session of the
Indian National Congress. On his return to Nagpur in 1920, he began hectic
preparations to hold the next Congress session in the city and was at the
forefront of a campaign to have Bal Gangadhar Tilak preside over the
proceedings. The reason: his meeting with Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi,
whose suggestions had deeply unsettled the young Keshav.
At this juncture, Hedgewar’s discomfort with Gandhi was mainly due to
the latter’s open declaration at the All India Khilafat Conference of launching
a non-cooperation movement unless the demands of the Muslims were met
forthwith. Gandhi, along with several Indian Muslims, had rued over the
decline of the Ottoman Caliphate and was worried about the looming
uncertainties following the end of the First World War. The Khilafat
Manifesto, published at the end of the congregation in Delhi, demanded that
the British protect the Caliphate and urged the Muslims to unite for the cause.
Not only was Bal Gangadhar Tilak not in favour of Gandhi’s suggestion
because he believed that the Muslims must be drawn to the Congress on the
issue of self-rule or swaraj and not on the basis of religion, K.B. Hedgewar
had openly ‘disapproved of Gandhiji’s policy of launching the non-
cooperation movement with Khilafat as its major plank.’ He further added
that the Congress backing the Khilafat agitation would, ‘only breed extra-
territorial religious fanaticism among the Muslims.’11
Although the young man was insignificant in the Congress hierarchy, his
open disagreement with Gandhi was the first step towards his distancing
himself from the Indian National Congress. But more of which later.
One of the peculiarities of national politics at the time was the practise
of simultaneous membership in multiple organisations. For instance, both the
Indian National Congress and Hindu Mahasabha boasted of several common
members, including stalwarts such as, Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviya, and
K.B. Hedgewar’s mentor, Dr Moonje who was at ease in both parties. One of
the reasons for the dual membership practise was that prior to 1920, neither
the Congress nor the Hindu Mahasabha had a mass character and therefore,
Keshav Hedgewar, despite his disagreements with Gandhi, saw no
contradiction in organising the Nagpur Session of the Indian National
Congress.
He not only became part of the Reception Committee, but focussed all
his efforts in raising a 1,000–1,500-strong volunteer force to ensure that the
session was managed efficiently. Unfortunately, Bal Gangadhar Tilak’s
untimely demise in August 1920 threw a spanner in the works and also had
several other repercussions. Firstly, there was no one of eminence who
could’ve opposed Gandhi’s proposal to launch the non-cooperation
movement, and more importantly, Tilak’s supporters had to now identify
another Hindu revivalist leader to preside over the session. As part of the
effort, Dr Hedgewar accompanied by Dr Moonje proceeded to Pondicherry
to persuade Sri Aurobindo to preside over the session, but the revolutionary-
sage turned down the offer.
Often, the beauty of a well-written hagiography is in its ability to
successfully evolve a new paradigm of truth. In the case of K.B. Hedgewar,
there was a surfeit, and full of exaggerated accounts of his role in organising
the Congress’ Nagpur session. For instance, the way it was presented in B.V.
Deshpande and S.R. Ramaswamy’s book, Dr. Hedgewar, The Epoch Maker:
A Biography as follows:

Doctorji’s independence of thought and outlook expressed itself in the

Nagpur session of the Congress. At one of the meetings, Doctorji and his
friends framed a resolution to the effect, “complete Independence is our
aim.” They met Gandhiji and pleaded with him that Congress should endorse
this resolution. Gandhiji simply said, “that meaning is implied in the word
Swaraj” and dismissed the suggestion.12

The writers also asserted that a resolution submitted by the Reception

Committee at the Congress session was at variance with K.B. Hedgewar’s
ideology at the time: ‘It is the aim of the Congress to establish democracy in
India and to strive to liberate all nations from the grip of capitalist
countries.’
According to his biographer, C.P. Bhishikar, it was Keshav Hedgewar
who had first mooted the resolution, which was eventually rejected. But a
one-time member of the RSS, Des Raj Goyal had refuted the claim saying
that until then Hedgewar, ‘was not known to think either in terms of ending
capitalist exploitation or internationalism.’13 Similarly, there are no credible
accounts of Hedgewar’s plea to Gandhi about adopting the resolution for
complete independence.
Curiously, despite his sharp disagreements with Gandhi over the
intermeshing of the Khilafat and non-cooperation movements, Keshav
Hedgewar had ‘plunged into’14 the movement. He campaigned in the rural
areas of the Central Provinces and Bombay, along with Dr Moonje and
Narayanrao Savarkar, the younger brother of V.D. Savarkar. One of the
reasons for their commitment could have stemmed from the fact that the non-
cooperation movement had the overwhelming support of the people, and
keeping away from it could have been construed as reluctance to lend
support for the initiative. In 1921, K.B. Hedgewar was arrested on the charge
of sedition for participating in the movement. He decided to plead his own
case and levelled charges against the British government which the judge
found ‘even more seditious than his original speech!’
India belongs to Indians. We therefore demand Independence…. That the
British have been carrying on their despotic rule in our beloved country is
obvious to everyone. What law is there that gives one country the right to rule
over another? We demand nothing short of Complete Independence. Till we
achieve it we cannot be at peace.15

K.B. Hedgewar was found guilty and sentenced to one year’s rigorous
imprisonment. However, he was given the option of seeking pardon by
affirming to refrain from making such subversive statements in the future,
which he refused and was interned in Ajani Jail, Nagpur.
Why did he participate in the Khilafat and non-cooperation movements
despite sharp disagreements with Gandhi? Why did he deliberately provoke
the judge by making incendiary speeches in court? Why did he refuse to
commit that he would no longer make seditious speeches? Would it be
correct to surmise that despite his outward rejection of the idea, Keshav
Baliram Hedgewar also believed that mass-based politics and Hindu–
Muslim campaigns were the only way to vanquish the Imperial forces. G.M.
Huddar, who later went on to become the first general secretary of the RSS,
wrote in the Illustrated Weekly of India on 7 October 1979 that every
decision of K.B. Hedgewar was motivated by the desire to ‘demonstrate that
they (he and his supporters) were as unafraid of imprisonment as any other
patriot having faith in a mass movement.’
Another sympathetic viewpoint was that Hedgewar didn’t seek pardon
because he would ‘have to hang his head in shame,’ when ‘thousands were
going to jail.’16
K.B. Hedgewar was given a hero’s welcome in Nagpur after his
release from jail. Despite heavy rains that day, prominent citizens of the city
had gathered to cheer a man who had made Nagpur proud and foremost
amongst them included, Dr Moonje, L.V. Paranjpe, and N.B. Khare. The
news of his incarceration, and his commitment to the cause of India’s
independence spread so far that Motilal Nehru felicitated him at a public
meeting for his contribution. Even as he was being feted and celebrated by
leaders across India, K.B. Hedgewar was planning his next crucial move and
that was to sharpen his criticism against Gandhi, which eventually resulted in
his severing all links with mainstream nationalism. It was only a question of
time before he would do that.
The Birth of the RSS
By the time K.B. Hedgewar was released from jail, Mahatma Gandhi had
suspended the non-cooperation movement in the wake of the Chauri Chaura
massacre in 1922. According to some accounts, K.B. Hedgewar had felt
somehow cheated at what he thought was Gandhi’s unilateral decision to end
a mass movement. As mentioned earlier, he was initially attracted to the idea
of individualistic and violent forms of protest against the Colonial regime.
In the years immediately after Gandhi’s return to India in 1915,
Hedgewar, much like the revivalists, had found Gandhi acceptable because
of his emphasis on tapasya and satyagraha, concepts which were part of
ancient Hindu precepts. But when Gandhi had insisted that every form of
protest must remain non-violent, Hedgewar along with several others had
vociferously disagreed. They had felt that non-violent action was inadequate
to counter the might of the British empire. Moreover, the adoption of ahimsa
or non-violence, they felt, would further weaken the Hindus and give
Muslims an opportunity to ride roughshod over the ‘original dwellers’ of
India. The denouncement of non-violence as a tool to counter the enemy
became a recurring theme of Hedgewar’s theory all through his life. In 1936,
more than a decade after he founded the RSS, the doctor said at a speech in
Nagpur, that Hindus must understand that,

ahimsa (non-injury) is not swa-himsa (self-injury) and that the former should
not result in the latter. Further, the precept ‘ahimsä paramo dharmah’ (the
highest code of morality is non-injury) is well rooted in the Hindu mind. It is
the duty of the Hindu society to teach the same sublime principle to other
communities as well. But if our well-meant teaching is not to be listened to
respectfully by others, we should have the necessary strength. Unfortunately,
our society today is weak and the predatory communities simply do not care
for the weak ones. Therefore, we have first to eradicate the weakness from
the Hindu society and make it invincibly strong. Strength, it should be
remembered, comes only through organization. It is therefore the duty of
every Hindu to do his best to consolidate the Hindu society.17

It may be recalled that Chhatrapati Shivaji was Hedgewar’s childhood hero

because he had valiantly resisted the Mughals; his deep-rooted resentment
against Muslims went back several years when his great-great grandfather
was forced to flee from his village in Telengana because the Mughals had
neglected the region. When Gandhi launched the non-cooperation movement
in support of the Khilafat and gave a call for Hindu–Muslim unity, Hedgewar
seemed to ratify it initially, but had finally made up his mind and chose his
original path to political salvation.
In the following account of a purported conversation between Keshav
Baliram Hedgewar and M.K. Gandhi (as there are no documents to prove its
veracity), the former’s views on Gandhi’s decision to make the anti-Colonial
struggle socially inclusive is clearly manifested:

He (Hedgewar) once met Gandhiji to explain his viewpoint. Without mincing

words, Doctorji questioned Gandhiji:

‘There are in India people of various religions like Hinduism, Islam,

Christianity, Zoroastrianism, Judaism, etc. Why then do you harp upon only
“Hindu-Muslim Unity” instead of promoting the unity of all the various
sects?’

Gandhiji replied, ‘This will secure the friendly attitude of Muslims towards
our country. As you are witnessing, they can be persuaded to side
wholeheartedly with us in the nationalist struggle.’

Doctorji said: ‘Long before this slogan of Hindu-Muslim Unity came into
vogue, many leading Muslims had identified themselves with our nation and
worked shoulder-to-shoulder with Hindus under the leadership of Lokmanya
Tilak—e.g., Barrister Jinnah, Dr. Ansari, Hakim Ajmal Khan and others. But
I am afraid that this new slogan, instead of helping unity, might further
aggravate the feeling of separateness among the Muslims.’

‘I have no such fear,’ said Gandhiji and closed the issue.18

It is important to mention at this juncture that communal tensions in Nagpur

predated Dr Hedgewar and Moonje’s emergence in public life, and there
existed a past history of serious clashes between Hindus and Muslims
particularly in 1903–04 and 1914. By the time Hedgewar was released from
jail, the Hindu–Muslim issue had occupied centre stage in the narrative of
India’s struggle for freedom. This was because of the worsening communal
situation in other parts of India, most severely in the Malabar region of
Kerala where Muslim leaseholders and cultivators had rebelled against
Hindu landholders who were backed by British forces. Called the Moplah
(Muslim peasantry from the Malabar region) rebellion, the peasant uprising
was termed by the followers of Tilak and other similar groups as proof of
weakness in the face of a growing aggression amongst Muslims in India.
Hedgewar had heard of it in jail and also learnt of Dr Moonje’s visit to the
Malabar region as head of a ‘Commission’ appointed by the ‘Nagpur
public.’19 Even before the official report was finalised in 1923, Hedgewar
was told by Moonje that the incident was nothing but a case of forced
conversion. As a consequence, he termed the Moplah Rebellion as ‘the
biggest Muslim attack on the Hindus after the Muslim rule.’20
In the wake of Dr Moonje’s report, the well-known Arya Samaj
missionary, Swami Shraddhananda had initiated a shuddhi or
purification/reconversion movement in the region. The Swami’s deposition
to the Moonje Commission, as we shall later see, helped Dr Hedgewar firm
up his viewpoint and he proclaimed that the ‘Hindus are not as well
organised as the Muslims, and are divided among themselves. The only
solution to the problem is for Hindu leaders to organise their own society.’21
But more than a year before the large-scale ‘reconversion’ of Muslims
(who were ‘originally’ Hindus) had begun, Dr Hedgewar had initiated a
campaign to reconvert orphans, who were sheltered in Christian missionary
homes, to Hinduism. In time, he refurbished the argument that re-admitting
Muslims and Christians into the Hindu order was just another form of
asserting their original Hindu identity. In any case, he believed that,

by changing religion, they (Hindus who converted to Islam and Christianity)

do not change their nationality. On the pedestal of Rashtra Dharma they are
bound to stand as one with other communities, though at the level of Vyakti-
dharma they are free to adopt any religion….They are as much sons of the
Motherland as are other communities or the Hindus are.22

It is precisely this idea, that all Indians irrespective of their religious faith
are originally Hindus, which forms the kernel of the controversial ghar wapsi
programme run by the affiliates of the RSS. This postulation also underscores
the nuanced differences between Hedgewar and Savarkar—the latter’s
reluctance in considering non-Hindus as dwellers of the Hindu Rashtra. But
more of which later.
As stated previously, Nagpur had a past history of sectarian violence—
there were disputes between Hindus and Muslims in 1903–04, also a decade
later in 1914 when the Muslims had protested against music being played
during religious processions of Hindus, particularly when they crossed a
mosque. The issue resurfaced in 1923 when K.B. Hedgewar declared that he
would take ‘a leading part in asserting that in Nagpur they would not go in
for any kind of peace pact as was being done elsewhere but would assert the
right of the Hindus by bringing out the processions with music ahead even
before the mosque.’23 For him the right to play music was not a trivial matter,
but a manifestation of ‘Hindu strength’. When the local administration had
clamped an embargo on playing music, Dr Hedgewar had convinced local
Hindu leaders to postpone the immersion of Ganesh idols that year. But a
month later, when a group of Hindus had contravened the administration’s
order and organised a procession through the same route and were stopped
by the police, several members of the community had joined in the march. In
the annals of the RSS, this agitation is called the Dindi Satyagraha, referring
to a group, or dindi, singing devotional songs.
According to a report published in an Urdu newspaper, the processions
would deliberately slow down while crossing mosques to, ‘give them a full
opportunity to play the music with the utmost noise.’24 The Dindi Satyagraha
was the handiwork of none other than Dr Moonje, while Hedgewar who was
still his protégé, ‘acted as the stormtrooper.’25
Incidents of such nature continued sporadically for a couple of months
and finally culminated in the setting up of the Hindu Mahasabha in Nagpur.
Dr Moonje was appointed its vice president, K.B. Hedgewar became its
secretary, while the appointment of the former ruler of Nagpur state, Raja
Lakshmanrao Bhonsle as the Mahasabha’s president, sent out a strong
message that the mission was spearheaded by a member of Hindu royalty. As
someone who had come to be revered as the guide and mentor for the Hindus,
Dr Hedgewar also took it upon himself to resolve private matters and once
reassured the father of a Hindu bridegroom who was terrified about his son’s
marriage procession crossing a mosque. In the lore surrounding Keshav
Hedgewar, the Dindi Satyagraha is hailed as his maiden ‘victory’; for
instance during a procession, whenever the musicians would demur,
‘Doctorji himself would take over the drums and rouse the dormant
manliness of the Hindus.’26
Clearly, ‘Hedgewar the bodybuilder’ was an appropriate foil for
someone who was entrusted with the task of resurrecting Hindu pride. The
city of Nagpur witnessed yet another clash between Hindus and Muslims in
July 1924, but by then the Hindus were not only ‘on the alert and prepared,’27
but Dr Hedgewar was at the forefront of evacuating Hindus from Muslim-
majority colonies.
Despite acquiring a near-cult status in his native Nagpur, Keshav
Baliram Hedgewar felt that the so-called initial ‘victory’ in the movement
needed several initiatives to reach its ultimate goal of ‘refurbishing’ Hindu
society. Flush from the success of 1924, he first established a gymnasium
called the Maharashtra Vyayamshala; a study circle called the Shiksha
Prasarak Mandal; and the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Mandal, a volunteer
force. He was also drawn to the Rifle Association which was formed some
years ago by Dr Moonje to train Hindus in the use of arms and ammunition.
By now, Dr Hedgewar had firmly concluded that unless the theory of a
Hindu Nation or Rashtra was actively propagated, the idea of Indianness or
Bharatiyata would not find acceptance amongst the people. But he somehow
felt alone in his mission because Dr Moonje, his mentor for years, was
reluctant in lending credence to the idea of a monolithic India. The reason for
the difference in opinion stemmed from the fact that while Moonje
considered the 1924 riots in Nagpur solely as an opportunity to reenergise
the Hindu Mahasabha, Dr Hedgewar’s focus was on the overt belligerence
displayed by local Muslims. In January 1925 at a public meeting in Pune, Dr
Moonje said that although the Muslims formed only 20,000 of Nagpur’s total
population of 1,50,000, they were a threat to the life, property and wealth of
the Hindus.28 But while he made this claim with an eye on increasing the
support base for the Mahasabha, Hedgewar was more occupied about finding
a way to counter the threat.
At this stage entered Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, but in absentia, and in
the form of a handwritten pre-publication copy of a pamphlet titled,
Hindutva—Who Is A Hindu? According to Narayan Hari Palkar (the author
of K.B. Hedgewar’s first biography in Marathi, which was later translated
into Hindi), the doctor had obtained Savarkar’s manuscript after it was
smuggled out of prison and delivered to one of his close friends. Hedgewar
was instantly attracted to Savarkar’s postulation of Hindus being a
monolithic, original, superior and an inherently tolerant race, and considered
his theory as an ‘extremely well argued, definitive and consistent advocacy
of Hindutva.’29
Meanwhile, V.D. Savarkar was already recognised as a national leader
of repute and several Congress leaders, including Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel
had demanded for his release in the Bombay Legislative Council. At a public
meeting organised by the Nagpur Congress on 14 October 1923, Keshav
Baliram Hedgewar had thundered in support of the leader as follows:

The government has murdered justice…if the government is interested in

washing off this blot let it forthwith release him…. If even now the
government does not care to release him, it will only be one more evidence
of its evil intentions towards our country.

Shortly thereafter, Hedgewar launched a daily newspaper called Swatantra

and fiercely advocated for complete independence from the British. One
would have imagined that by now, armed with the security of Savarkar’s
pamphlet, which was nothing short of a canon for many, K.B. Hedgewar
would have come full circle from the precocious child who was forever
looking for ways to unite his Hindu brethren. But far from it, for he continued
to be obsessed with the question of uniting the community.
‘From his youth, he had searched for a reason to explain India’s
inability to ward off foreign domination,’30 argue Walter K. Andersen and
Shridhar Damle in their book, The Brotherhood in Saffron, but he had
obviously found no answers. After what seemed like a lifetime of a struggle
involving quasi-philosophical and religio-cultural debates, stretches of
apprenticeships under various leaders, and home-grown revolutionary
movements, K.B. Hedgewar finally seemed to have identified the reason: a
psychological and inherent weakness amongst Hindus which could only be
overcome by creating a common emotional cause within the community; and
to build a disciplined and cadre-based organisation to achieve the ultimate
goal.
From early 1925 onwards, K.B. Hedgewar was firm in his decision to
set up an organisation, but had also resolved to not replicate either the Hindu
Mahasabha or the Congress party. In March 1925, after V.D. Savarkar was
released on parole, Hedgewar travelled to Ratnagiri to discuss the idea with
him. After all it was Savarkar’s ‘treatise’ which had helped him buttress his
argument in support of a pure Hindu sangathan or organisation. He began
touring different cities in Maharashtra and addressed meetings along with
like-minded leaders, including members of the Congress party.
Amongst other things, Hedgewar’s theory of a delineation between
Hindiwadi (not linguistically, but indicative of inclusive nationalism) and
Hinduwadi stood out sharply at these public gatherings. He argued that the
former was based on the policy of appeasing the minorities, while the
Hinduwadis ensured that the Hindus’ interests were protected. However
within the Indian National Congress, because of leaders such as Mahatma
Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru who were Hindiwadis, it was next to
impossible to expound against the Muslims**.31 It was also after his meeting
with Savarkar and in departure from his previous position that, ‘India was
the nation of all people living here,’ Hedgewar now insisted that, ‘Hindutva
was nation-ness (Rashtriyatva).’32 According to him, no person could be
defined as a true Indian or Bharatiya, unless he believed in this principle. In
Keshav Baliram Hedgewar’s mind, this was the point at which he made a
clear differentiation between cultural nationalism and territorial nationalism.
In the biography, Narayan Hari Palkar mentions how in the months
preceding the formation of the RSS, Hedgewar was convinced that the
Hindus were not only capable of undertaking the Herculean task of weaving
their landmass into a nation, but most importantly, had insisted that the
country was rightfully theirs. In what was one of his most astounding
theories, he was of the view that dishonour to the Hindu samaj or society
wasn’t so much because of the Muslims or the British, but was the result of
the erosion of national sentiment or pride from public discourse. According
to this polemic, very few Hindus considered themselves as units of the nation
and were not even willing to contribute their might to strengthen and
reorganise themselves as a nation. After having spent more than three
decades in the national movement, albeit in marginal capacities, Keshav
Baliram Hedgewar decided to dedicate his life by evoking a spirit of
nationalist sentiment in Hindus and to create a cohesive sangathan for the
purpose. Although he was yet to give it a name, but a basic structure of the
outfit had taken shape in his mind’s eye.
On 25 September 1925, when a few men had gathered in K.B.
Hedgewar’s house, he asked each one for their views about the nature of
programmes to be pursued by the ‘said’ outfit. This was at variance with the
accepted norm because the world over, organisations, political parties, and
institutions come into being only after they are given a name, and the core
principles, constitution and financial basis are firmed up. But in this case, not
only were each of these aspects absent, it had taken seven long months for the
men to even decide on a name for it.
Eventually in April 1926, the outfit had a name—the Rashtriya
Swayamsevak Sangh or RSS***, and a little later, a saffron-coloured flag
called the bhagwa dhwaj was chosen as one of the first symbols of Hindu
hegemony. But it would take a good two-and-a-half decades before the RSS
would adopt a constitution and only after the government had made it a
precondition to lift the ban which was imposed on it in the aftermath of
Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination in 1948.
However, on the day of its formation, K.B. Hedgewar had declared that
the sangh required its members to pledge themselves in the pursuit of
physical, military and political education, while simultaneously committing
to train others. There was immediate concurrence amongst the group on
fulfilling Hedgewar’s dream of resurrecting the Hindu Rashtra.
K.B. Hedgewar had chosen the tenth day of the Hindu festival of
Navratri to form the RSS—Dussehra, which marks the victory of good over
evil in the Ramayana. This was the same day when a young Keshav had
earned the wrath of the British administration for singing Vande Matram at a
site where Ravana was due to be ritualistically consigned to the flames. The
careful selection of that particular day not only underscored that ancient
Hindu values were at the core of the RSS, but also mythology which would
henceforth be integral to its functioning.
The three-year period beginning with his release from Ajani Jail had
immense significance in Keshav Baliram Hedgewar’s life. With the
formation of the RSS, he had discovered his life’s mission, and the challenge
hereafter was not only to ensure its expansion, but also to establish its
relevance in Indian polity.

The Growth of the RSS

Within a month, K.B. Hedgewar had succeeded in admitting more than 1,500
volunteers into the RSS and initiated a daily and mandatory ritual of an
assembly called the shakha. Soon thereafter, the swayamsevaks or volunteers
of the RSS became a discernible lot, easily identifiable from a distance by
their all-khakhi uniform—a pair of shorts, a full-sleeves shirt, and a cap. In
1930, the khakhi cap was replaced with a black one, but the first major
alteration in the official attire was made in 1940 when the British banned the
use of military colours and the white shirts were replaced with khakhi. The
most recent change in the RSS uniform was made in October 2016 when the
iconic shorts were dropped in favour of brown-coloured trousers.
After assigning the uniform, Hedgewar chose the lathi or stick as the
symbol of defence for the initiates. As part of the regimentation process, each
day would be heralded with a salutary ode to the bhagwa dhwaj and
concluded with a customised RSS prayer, which personified the nation as a
Goddess or the Motherland. The prayer had one stanza in Marathi, and
another in Hindi and ended with a salutation to the seventeenth-century saint-
poet Ramdas Swami, who was also the patron saint of Chhatrapati Shivaji.
This prayer was however replaced by a Sanskrit hymn in 1939.
In 1927, K.B. Hedgewar introduced the Officers’ Training Camps
(OTCs), which were made mandatory for pracharaks or preachers in order
to qualify for the post. Since then, the OTCs have continued to function as a
barometer to evaluate the leadership qualities amongst RSS trainees.
Although the annual training camps were later given the formal name of
Sangh Shiksha Varg, but even today they are referred to as OTCs, the word
‘officer’ reflecting the importance of hierarchical systems in the RSS.
As mentioned earlier, although Hedgewar laid great emphasis on the
physical drill, he also ensured that the RSS wasn’t relegated to just an
outdoor gymnasium facility, and introduced the concept of baudhik or
intellectual discourse in shakhas whose numbers were growing rapidly. It is
worthwhile mentioning here that when Hedgewar was at the forefront of the
Dindi Satyagraha, several people who ran akharas, gyms or other
bodybuilding clubs, were invited to participate in the campaign, despite no
prior experience in politics. When Hedgewar established the RSS, he invited
them yet again to steer the physical activities of the sangh. The doctor also
enlisted the assistance of a retired army officer, Martandrao Jog to conduct a
weekly parade for the swayamsevaks. The fact that Jog also headed the
Congress Sewa Dal, didn’t deter Hedgewar from involving him in the
sangh’s activities. It was clear that as long as the ideological control
remained in his hands, he saw no harm in utilising professional expertise
from elsewhere.
A major part of the RSS cadre comprised middle class youth—the
emphasis being on young, able-bodied, and upper caste boys. There came a
time when it was felt that the cadre needed to be classified into different age-
groups in order to ensure better interaction within peer groups, and they were
named after Hindu mythological characters to reflect the age of its clusters:
the one dedicated to the youngest lot was called Luv and Kush, after the sons
of Lord Rama, while the others were called Dhruv, Prahlad, Abhimanyu,
Bheem, and Bhishma—the last one reserved exclusively for the elderly
within the organisation. If there was anything that Hedgewar placed premium
on irrespective of age, it was strict obedience, and carried out a thorough
check on the loyalty and compliance quotient of each member. What
flummoxed several political scientists and observers routinely was RSS’
insistence on abstinence and a strict adherence to ancient principles, similar
to that of a religious commune. But despite a punishing regimen and a life of
a near-renunciate, one of the reasons for large number of youth joining the
RSS was because of a feeling of self-aggrandizement—first, that they were
the chosen ones in the service of the Motherland, and second, that they were
indispensable for the elders within the system.
As mentioned above, the RSS continued to attract a large number of
volunteers and required funds to run its various activities. Initially, several
members not only lived with Hedgewar in his home, but were also supported
by him. Although it is not known if the doctor made any money from his
practice, he had once taken strong objection after he had discovered that
some of his closest aides were handing over money to his sister-in-law for
the upkeep of his family home. Thereafter, in an effort to help Hedgewar’s
growing band of volunteers, a few friends had floated an insurance company
and arranged a retainership for him, but the plan had failed to take off.
Therefore, it once again fell upon Hedgewar to find a permanent solution to
keep the RSS running and he went back to the ancient concept of guru
dakshina or offering made to a guru in return for knowledge imparted in
ashrams of yore. But in place of a human being officiating as the guru,
Hedgewar decided that the bhagwa dhwaj would be the object of reverence
because it, ‘symbolizes that timeless principle…brings before our mind’s eye
the entire history, the glorious culture and tradition of our land; inspiration
wells up in our mind.’33
Even after four years of its formation, the RSS continued to function
without a formal command structure. Since it had no governing council or a
decision-making body, K.B. Hedgewar ‘called senior RSS figures to Nagpur
in November 1929, to evaluate its work and consider ways to link together
the expanding network of shakhas.’34 It was decided at the meeting that the
RSS should be presided over by one supreme leader with absolute powers,
and he who assumes the position should have an appropriate title to reflect
his pre-eminence. The nomenclature of sarsanghchalak was found suitable
for the position and Keshav Baliram Hedgewar was unanimously declared as
the first supreme leader of the RSS.
It was also firmed up that the principle of ek chalak anuvartitva or
follow one leader, would be the principal code for the RSS. This command
structure was similar to the Hindu joint family system where the karta or
patriarch is the undisputed head and expects life-long obedience and
adherence to an unwritten code within the family. In his book on the RSS,
Des Raj Goyal argues that this terminology is ‘rather difficult to distinguish’
from what is often called the ‘Fuehrer principle followed by the Fascists in
Italy and Nazis in Germany.’35
Meanwhile, Keshav Baliram Hedgewar also held a special fascination
for linguistic purity. He deliberately chose to ‘mystify’ the organisation’s
structure by choosing archaic titles for office-bearers: sarkaryavah for a
general secretary, sah sarkaryavah for a joint general secretary and
sarsenapati (originally, a military title used by the Maratha empire) for the
chief trainer. He opted for such epithets to not only delineate the RSS from
other organisations, but to also enhance its stature by creating a classical
aura around it.
The RSS was presented with its maiden opportunity for demonstrating
its commitment towards ‘protecting’ the interests of Hindus in September
1927 during the outbreak of communal riots in Nagpur. Hindu–Muslim
conflagrations had reared its ugly head across the country in the months
preceding the Nagpur riots, following the murder of the much-revered Arya
Samaj leader, Swami Shraddhanand in December 1926, who it may be
recalled had spearheaded the reconversion or shuddhi programme for Hindus
in Kerala.
By this time, the RSS had already imparted training to a few
swayamsevaks in the art of using sword, javelin and dagger36—obviously
weapons for fighting fellow-citizens, and not the Colonial regime, indicating
that the prime targets were Muslim groups. The Nagpur riots also gave
Hedgewar the opportunity to test if the organisation was capable of facing an
‘emergency’ situation, and asked one of his close aides to raise sixteen
squads of swayamsevaks to spread out to areas where the Hindus were in
small numbers. That the operation was a grand success became evident when
leaders of the Hindu Mahasabha asked Hedgewar to send a team of RSS
volunteers in full gear to its annual session in Ahmedabad in December
1927.While addressing the session, Dr Moonje had praised K.B. Hedgewar
publicly37:

I come from the province where the Hindus have fought back Muslim
aggression. This miracle of eradicating the lowly and submissive nature of
our society has been achieved by the organization which has been created
under the leadership of Dr. Keshav Baliram Hedgewar.

No Direct Politics
Keshav Baliram Hedgewar’s primary objective in establishing the RSS was
not only to awaken and harness the Hindu consciousness, but also to convert
the community into a cohesive group. His lengthy monologues were often
directed exclusively towards the Hindus, for he believed that public
engagement must be populist with adequate emphasis on the cultural aspects.
In his mind’s eye, the RSS was not a political ‘party’ in the tradition of either
the Congress or the Hindu Mahasabha.
As mentioned earlier in this chapter, dual membership in political
organisations was a norm in the 1920s and despite being the RSS chief,
Hedgewar had retained his membership of the Congress as well as the Hindu
Mahasabha (he was also its secretary between 1926–31). In 1928, as
member of the Congress Working Committee (Central Provinces), he had
travelled to Calcutta for the annual session and met with Subhash Chandra
Bose who was then Mayor of the city, to seek support for the RSS. Bose had
heard him out patiently, but had politely turned down his request citing other
commitments. Hedgewar’s choice to continue as member of the Indian
National Congress and seek an audience with a stalwart of a party that was
anathema to his nationalistic brand of politics, was somewhat duplicitous, as
he had precluded active politics from the ambit of the organisation he had
created—for instance, the participation of swayamsevaks in the annual
session of the Hindu Mahasabha in 1927 was merely symbolic, and their role
was restricted to being protectors of public order.
Three years after the birth of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh and
despite Hedgewar’s firm relsove to keep out of anti-Colonial agitations and
work exclusively for Hindu consolidation, the British administration kept a
vigil over it. This was not only because of Hedgewar’s past links with
revolutionary groups in Nagpur and Bengal, but the Home Department of
Central Provinces had a strong suspicion that the RSS had the potential of
transforming into a revolutionary outfit. However, the Imperial government’s
worries were rather unfounded, because Hedgewar’s decision to stay aloof
from the freedom struggle was not in the least appreciated amongst several of
his own peers and ‘brought consternation, criticism and disappointment from
many Hindu partisans.’38
There was no gainsaying the fact that K.B. Hedgewar insisted on
retaining the RSS’ basic character of a socio-cultural outfit which was
devoted to reinforcing Hindu society. But to define it as completely apolitical
was erroneous, because it actively promoted prejudice against religious
minorities (except the Sikhs, Jains and Buddhists). For Hedgewar politics at
the time was mainly defined by the stance taken by any organisation towards
the Colonial regime, and the RSS had chosen ambivalence on this issue.
Narayan Subbarao Hardikar, a member of the Congress Sewa Dal, who’d
worked with Hedgewar during the Nagpur session, denounced this very
aspect of the RSS in a scathing speech. Hedgewar however ignored every
criticism and was unwavering in his standpoint, until it drew the harshest
denouncement from a person who had inspired him to establish the RSS in
the first place.
In 1937, V.D. Savarkar almost rubbished Hedgewar’s obsession with
character-building and organising the Hindus: ‘The epitaph for the RSS
volunteer will be that he was born, he joined the RSS and died without
accomplishing anything.’ Although it was a different matter that Savarkar
himself displayed little interest in joining the national movement, his
disagreement with Hedgewar was about prioritising organisation-building as
against direct confrontation.
V.D. Savarkar’s severe indictment was obviously the final
denunciation, but as mentioned earlier, even Hedgewar’s closest associates
were critical of his stance. Anna Sohoni, who had conceived the routine of
physical exercises for the initiates quit after failing to convince Hedgewar to
be more aggressive and take the enemy head-on by marching in front of
mosques; Hedgewar insisted that offence was the last resort and for it to even
manifest after a provocation, required a paradigm shift in the Hindu mind-set
through a sustained campaign. Additionally, such acts could also draw the ire
of the British and was best avoided, he had submitted. Yet another leader of
significance, G.M. Huddar, the first sarkaryavah of the RSS also quit because
K.B. Hedgewar had disapproved of his involvement in an armed robbery in
1931 to raise funds for an anti-British agitation.

No Disobedience
Never before was the RSS’ carefully-constructed, albeit peripheral
relationship with the Congress more evident than at a watershed moment in
India’s pre-Independence history—the Lahore Resolution of 1929 seeking
purna swaraj or complete freedom from the British. Hedgewar’s duplicity
couldn’t have been more apparent in the way he responded to this significant
development, followed by symbolically observing India’s ‘independence’
day in January 1930, more than seventeen years before the actual Transfer of
Power.
As mentioned earlier, from 1920 onwards, Hedgewar had been
repeatedly pleading that complete independence should be the Congress’
objective and as reported by his band of admirers, he had even sparred with
Gandhi on the issue. However, when the Congress made a formal demand for
purna swaraj, the RSS found itself in a quandary. On the one hand, Hedgewar
had publicly refused to ratify the Lahore Resolution because he feared being
viewed as an appendage of the Congress. However, as there was a general
concurrence amongst the people over the issue, the RSS couldn’t have
afforded to remain aloof. Consequently, Hedgewar issued a press release,
expressing both his pleasure and predicament as follows:

That the Indian National Congress too has adopted ‘our goal’ (sic) of
Independence naturally gives us immense joy. It is our duty to cooperate with
any organisation working for the cause…on the evening of 26-1-1930 all the
shakhas of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh should hold rallies at their
respective places and worship the national flag, that is, the Bhagwa Jhanda.

The directive to worship the RSS flag on Purna Swaraj Day and not the
Tricolour as adopted by the Congress, established Hedgewar’s stand on the
Lahore Resolution. The press release indicated Keshav Hedgewar’s
innermost desire—that the ‘occasion was to be utilised for propagation of the
sangh ideology and not the ideas that inspired the Lahore Resolution.’39
 In the history of the freedom struggle, the grand hoisting of the Tricolour
on 26 January 1930 seemed like mere symbolism when compared to an event
which was to unify the entire country two months later. That the Dandi March
and later the Salt Satyagraha launched by Mahatma Gandhi in March 1930
would elevate the national movement to another level was not expected
initially, but when a seemingly innocuous act had succeeded in shaking the
foundations of the invincible British Raj, the RSS and its chief were caught
in a cleft stick, yet again:

Many workers of the Sangh sought permission to participate in the movement.

But Doctorji had undertaken the enduring and basic task of national
rejuvenation through the Sangh. That long-term work had to go on unhindered
and grow stronger whatever the external conditions. Doctorji wrote to all the
Shakha Pramukhs: “…The Sangh as such has so far not resolved to
participate in this movement. However, those who would like to participate
in their personal capacity are free to do so after obtaining permission from
their Sanghachalaks.”

Hedgewar’s raison d’être was that the Salt Satyagraha and other anti-British
stirs were irrelevant when seen through the prism of rearming Hindu society.
Yet, he felt that the RSS’ participation was mandatory for it to be in sync
with the short-term political aspirations of the people, and to also ensure that
they were viewed as patriots in the struggle for India’s independence. It may
be recalled that Hedgewar had displayed similar behaviour almost a decade
ago during the Khilafat and non-cooperation movements. The contradiction in
his claims is best evidenced in a statement attributed to him as follows:

I would undertake any means in order to achieve Independence…if need be,

take to polishing the boots of the English or take out his boot and crush his
head with the same…have no prejudice against any method…have only one
supreme goal before me—driving out the British.40

However, all the bombast about forcing the English out was a façade, as the
RSS’ activities remained centred on strengthening the Hindus against
Muslims. Hedgewar’s emphasis was on reinforcing the RSS, and marking its
participation by allowing the swayamsevaks to join the Civil Disobedience
movement in their individual capacities. But when it came to a formal
association, the doctor was careful about maintaining a degree of separation
between the two. For instance, ‘a contingent of swayamsevaks, trained in
providing medical care was instructed to attend to the injured salt satyagrahis
in their uniforms and (they) wore the Swastika symbol on their shoulder.’41
By allowing individual participation, Hedgewar had deftly stymied any
rumbles of a discord within the RSS; he was also well aware that in order to
protect his reputation as chief of the sangh, he shouldn’t be seen to be
distancing himself from the movement. Consequently, he planned his
participation meticulously—first, he chose not to break the salt law as it was
not only closely identified with the Congress, but with Gandhi’s epochal
protest movement which had shaken the British empire. Instead, he joined the
Jungle Satyagraha in the Central Provinces which was one of the sub-
regional protest movements. Second, he appointed L.V. Paranjpe as the
interim sarsanghchalak to manage RSS’ internal affairs during the period of
his anticipated detention.
Before joining the Jungle Satyagraha, Hedgewar addressed his
volunteers as follows:

Going to jail is today considered a sign of true patriotism. However, a

person who would willingly court a two-year prison term hesitates when he
is asked to come out of his house and work for organising the freedom
movement. Why should this be so? Is six months or a year enough to secure
the country’s Independence? However, the people are not yet prepared to
realize the simple truth that organised work for several years alone can take
us to our cherished goal. The present fate of the country cannot be changed
unless lakhs of young men dedicate their entire lifetime for that cause. To
mould the minds of our youth towards that end is the supreme aim of the
Sangh.42

Although Hedgewar had made every attempt to distance the RSS from
Gandhi’s Civil Disobedience movement, it did not dampen his cadre’s
enthusiasm. They joined the Salt Satyagraha in droves, but in their eagerness
to ensure that the action did not invite their chief’s ire, they turned out in RSS
uniform! K.B. Hedgewar was livid because satyagrahis in RSS uniform
denoted official participation, whereas the medical care squad which was
treating the injured was part of the RSS’ sewa programmes. He censured his
cadre severely, and said:
Have you realized the full implications of offering Satyagraha in uniform? It
will mean that Sangh itself has officially joined the agitation. But, as you are
aware, that is not our policy….43

Meanwhile on 21 July 1930, thousands of protestors had gathered in the

Yavatmal district of Maharashtra to raise their voice against British forest
laws. K.B. Hedgewar was arrested the moment he had stepped into the
prohibited area with other satyagrahis. In what was widely seen as his
commitment to the freedom struggle, resulting in a mild punishment of six
months of rigorous imprisonment and another three months of routine
incarceration, Keshav Baliram Hedgewar had ‘absolved’ himself in the eyes
of his cadre and the nation.
After his release from jail in February 1931, Hedgewar resumed charge
as sarsanghchalak and embarked on a series of tours to expand the RSS’
network. After a short visit to Bombay, he had proceeded to Varanasi in
March 1931, where he met with several important leaders including, Pandit
Madan Mohan Malaviya and established two shakhas in the city. But most
importantly, his first trip to a city considered to be the abode of Lord Shiva
gained immense significance for he met a future comrade-in-arms, a young
man who was counted amongst the brightest of RSS’ luminaries—Madhav
Sadashiv Golwalkar, popularly known as ‘Guruji’. However, it would take
another year before the two men would not only forge a close personal
relationship, but lend a decisive thrust to the RSS.
Amongst others who were impressed with the RSS’ reach and K.B.
Hedgewar’s unmatched dynamism, was a young man called Ganesh Damodar
Savarkar aka Babarao, the brother of V.D. Savarkar who had organised the
Hindu youth from 1922 onwards under the banner of Tarun Hindu Mahasabha
—the unofficial youth wing of the Hindu Mahasabha. From the 1920s,
several militant Hindu groups were established in the country, such as the
Mahavir Dal and Agni Dal in UP and the Punjab; the Hindu Rashtra Dal in
Pune; the Hindu Rashtra Sena in Bhopal; and the Mukteshwar Dal and
Rashtriya Swayamsevak Mandal in the Central Provinces. There was no
doubt that each of these outfits had mushroomed with great speed only in
response to the imagined fear of a Muslim domination.
In 1931, Babarao Savarkar merged the Tarun Hindu Mahasabha with
the RSS. Other organisations followed suit, most notably the Mukteshwar
Dal, headed by a well-known figure in militant Hindu circles, Swami
Pachlegaonkar. The Hindu Mahasabha, of which K.B. Hedgewar was still a
member, helped him set up shakhas and secure support at several strategic
locations. In time, several Mahasabha leaders began considering the RSS as
a youth wing of their organisation, which benefitted Hedgewar in
establishing his network in the Vidarbha and Chhattisgarh regions.
In May 1932, Bhai Parmanand, a leader of the reformist Arya Samaj
movement held an all-India Hindu Youth Conference in Karachi and used
Babarao Savarkar’s influence to invite Hedgewar. The Karachi Conference
was a great success for it had overtly endorsed RSS’ activities. On his
return, Babarao assisted Doctor Saheb in establishing shakhas in Delhi, and
invited him to travel to Bombay and other regions in Maharashtra. It was
during this leg of the journey that the doctor was accompanied by a young
man who was to earn severe notoriety more than a decade-and-a-half later.
His name was: Nathuram Godse.
Gradually, K.B. Hedgewar’s sustained campaigns resulted in a
significant growth for the RSS. According to several reports, between 1931
and 1933, the number of shakhas had doubled to 125 and the membership had
increased to an impressive 12,000. The rising trend continued through the
1930s and at the time of Hedgewar’s death in June 1940, the RSS had more
than 60,000 members. The British government took note of this burgeoning
trend and concluded that the RSS was ‘undoubtedly of a communal nature’
and that ‘its participation in political movements is increasing.’ But despite
all the objections, the government chose not to proscribe the RSS, and only
put an embargo on government employees joining the outfit. Hedgewar
countered the government’s step by launching a formal protest forcing the
British to quietly withdraw the order.
Meanwhile, even as the Indian National Congress had begun drawing
up plans to determine the future plan for the country after independence, some
of its leaders were worried about the RSS exerting influence over its
members. As a first step towards curtailing its growing impact, the Congress
deputed the industrialist-turned-philanthropist Jamnalal Bajaj to seek certain
clarifications from the RSS and Hindu Mahasabha. A detailed questionnaire
was sent to K.B. Hedgewar and Dr B.S. Moonje on a wide-ranging issues—
untouchability; Khadi; and the organisational links between the two outfits.
Hedgewar took this as an affront and refused to answer the questionnaire,
and asked Jamnalal Bajaj to meet him in person. When Bajaj met Hedgewar
in Nagpur in January 1934, he was told categorically that the RSS was not
involved in politics and that there was no question of a personal animosity
towards Gandhi or his campaigns to promote Khadi and denounce
untouchability. However, the meeting had failed to allay Congress’ fears and
in June 1934, it passed a resolution prohibiting its members from associating
themselves with the Hindu Mahasabha, RSS, and the Muslim League. Finally,
Hedgewar’s favourite child, the RSS had been deemed communal and
dangerous by both the British and the Congress party, although the former
later withdrew the charge.
For historians of different hues, Mahatma Gandhi’s December 1934
visit to a RSS camp in Wardha and his subsequent meeting with K.B.
Hedgewar continues to generate interest. By all accounts, it was a meeting
amongst equals and Gandhi’s ‘attitude towards the RSS in 1934 may have
been somewhat noncommittal.’44 However, more than a decade later, when
Mahatma Gandhi was asked about RSS’ role in the deteriorating communal
situation in 1946, he was unequivocal in his denunciation. When several
leaders within the Congress had praised the RSS for its discipline and
dedication in assisting refugees at transit camps during Partition, Gandhi had
reminded them of similar traits displayed by the Nazis and Mussolini’s
followers and remarked sarcastically that the way to independence did not
‘lie through akhadas.’45
The RSS considered Gandhi to be the fountainhead of pseudo-
secularism and even if we were to take his comments to be biased for a
moment, there is incontrovertible evidence that besides Hedgewar’s
reluctance in taking the British head-on, he displayed a keen interest in
European fascism as a significant ideological tool in countering liberal and
democratic thought. In this endeavour, it was once again his one-time mentor,
Dr Moonje who provided the lead; he was the first Hindu nationalist to
interact with Italian fascists, including Benito Mussolini. In 1931, en route to
the First Round Table Conference in England, Dr Moonje had made a long
stopover in Italy. In the Economic and Political Weekly dated 22 January
2000, Marzia Casolari mentions that amongst the various institutions that he
visited, two ‘were the keystone of the fascist system of indoctrination.’ For
instance, Dr Moonje was taken aback at the sight of Opera Nazionale Balilla
and Avanguardista, and one of the entries in his diary read as follows46:

India and particularly Hindu India need some such institution for the military
regeneration of the Hindus: so that the artificial distinction so much
emphasised by the British of martial and non-martial classes amongst the
Hindus may disappear. Our institution of Rashtriya Swayamsewak Sangh of
Nagpur under Dr Hedgewar is of this kind…

Dr Moonje’s return from Europe coincided with Dr Hedgewar’s massive

territorial expansion of the RSS’ network which included his renewed
campaigns for militarising Hindus. It may be recalled that this was amongst
the three objectives that he had set out for the RSS in 1925. Dr Moonje was
mighty impressed with his protégé’s zeal, and spearheaded a Hindu
Mahasabha resolution in September 1932 which openly praised Hedgewar
for his success in building a strong Hindu organisation. In late January 1934,
Hedgewar presided over a seminar on fascism, while Dr Moonje delivered
the concluding speech. In a private meeting a few months later, the two
further discussed the rearming of Hindus. Yet another jotting in Dr Moonje’s
diary reveals the duo’s thought process as follows, ‘This ideal (organising
Hindus) cannot be brought to effect unless we have our own swaraj with a
Hindu as a dictator like Shivaji of old or Mussolini or Hitler.’47
The British were alarmed at the sudden admiration among top Hindu
leaders for Mussolini and fascism, and an Intelligence report dated 1933
stated that ‘perhaps (it is) no exaggeration to assert that the Sangh hopes to be
in future India what the “Fascisti” are to Italy and the “Nazis” to Germany.’48
The two Maharashtrian medical doctors may have held their own when it
came to disagreeing on the nuanced differences between the RSS and the
Mahasabha, but they were united in their admiration for European fascists
and the need to militarise Hindus. Dr Moonje came up with a proposal to
establish a national militia to guard against the ‘enemy within’. Although this
plan had eventually fallen through, he did succeed in setting up the Bhonsala
Military School in Nashik under the aegis of the Central Hindu Military
Education Society, with Hedgewar as a board member.
Eventually, the school came to be recognised as the nursery of Hindu
terror in the early years of the twenty-first century after allegations of several
Hindu group’s involvement had surfaced in terror strikes. As it turned out
later, in more ways than one and despite the fact that he had depended on his
mentor for an insight into the workings of European fascism, K.B. Hedgewar
emerged as the true upholder of its tradition. It may be recalled that the
principle of ek chalak anuvartitva had strong similarities with the fascist idea
of ‘obedience to one leader’.
 But all was still not well between the guru and his pupil. For instance,
one of the most contentious issues between the two was Hedgewar’s
insistence to stay away from anti-Colonial protests. In 1938–39, he had
disappointed his mentor yet again by refusing to lend support to a Civil
Disobedience movement launched by the Mahasabha against the princely
state of Hyderabad. By this time, Savarkar was out of jail and had little
interest in strengthening the Hindu sangathan or the RSS. Instead he took
charge of the Mahasabha and along with Dr Moonje formed several military
wings and groups—the Hindu Swayam Sevak Dal and Hindu Women’s
Protection Corps were set up in 1937; while the Ram Sena was launched in
March 1940.
It is often said that a good player must play to his strength. Hedgewar
was aware of his limitations—while he may have reached out for assistance
in formulating his political theories, his skills in organisation-building and
networking was unchallenged even within his own fraternity. The only
instance when he had gone against his core beliefs for the benefit of the
organisation was in his decision to involve women in the RSS, but in a
roundabout way.
While M.S. Golwalkar (see chapter, Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar, p.
98) is credited with developing a network of allied organisations which gave
rise to the concept of the sangh parivar, it was in fact K.B. Hedgewar who
had initiated the process. But in order to do so, he had to go against his own
principles. Early in life, in a letter to his uncle explaining his resolve to stay
single, Hedgewar had said that since he had chosen to work for the country, it
won’t be ‘good to risk the life of any girl.’ On the one hand, if the statement
expresses his concern for a woman who may find herself neglected owing to
his preoccupation, it also indicates how Hedgewar precluded women from
playing a role in the service of the nation. This notion was mandated upon
pracharaks who were sworn to celibacy as Hedgewar did not want to risk
their ‘purity’ by admitting women into the RSS. However, following several
requests, Hedgewar finally agreed in 1936 to the setting up of the Rashtra
Sevika Samiti as a separate, albeit cohesive entity of the RSS.
The Samiti, which was also established on Dussehra, affirmed its
allegiance to all RSS principles and articles of faith. The choice of its
founder Laxmibai Kelkar, a widow and mother of a young swayamsevak, and
therefore presumed to be ‘asexual’, was apt. The women’s group was
allowed to draw up drills, which were symbolic of masculinity, only because
the leadership was in the hands of older women, mothers and sisters of
swayamsevaks, and not single women who could potentially ‘entice’ single
male volunteers.

The Last Years

Around 1937–38, Keshav Baliram Hedgewar’s health began deteriorating.
The quintessential organisational man that he was, he took it upon himself to
expand the RSS from a Maharashtra-centric outfit to one with a pan-Indian
entity—several shakhas came up in Lahore, Sialkot and Rawalpindi in the
Punjab; as also in Delhi, Lucknow, and Patna. In the east, he took the RSS to
Calcutta and in the south to Madras (now Chennai), and Karnataka.
Significantly, the RSS’ expansion was most notable in places where the
Hindu–Muslim equation had worsened and the swayamsevaks sensing an
opportunity had formed defence squads in violence-prone areas. In each of
these cities and towns, Hedgewar’s Nagpur plan was replicated and needless
to say, the benefits were impressively much the same.
Yet, Hedgewar’s refusal to convert the RSS into a political front and
contest elections after the 1935 constitutional reforms had left several of his
supporters disappointed. However even his detractors had acknowledged in
private that the RSS was indeed handicapped in the absence of a mass leader
to steer its future. Furthermore, V.D. Savarkar’s release from jail had
weakened Hedgewar’s authority over his cadre who were hugely drawn to
the former’s magnificent oratory.
In 1939, owing to his failing health, Hedgewar announced the first
chintan baithak or brainstorming session at Sindi, near Nagpur. Although the
grand old man was not suffering from a terminal disease, but his cadre was
worried about the sudden summons. Gradually, it became clear to them that
the meeting was to determine Hedgewar’s succession plan and identify
leaders who could take the RSS’ mission into the future. Amongst those
invited to the deliberations were, M.S. Golwalkar and Balasaheb Deoras,
and several others. The Sindi chintan baithak is recalled as a unique
phenomenon in the annals of the RSS, because it was the only instance when
three men who had presided over the RSS for almost seven decades (from
1925 to 1994) were huddled together for several days to deliberate on its
past, present, and the future.
 There was no doubt that the rapid expansion of the RSS (in 1938, there
were approximately 400 shakhas with nearly 40,000 swayamsevaks, and the
number rose to 76,000 in 1943) in the years preceding the Sindi baithak had
significantly boosted the RSS’ clout, but it had also created certain practical
problems for it. For instance, because the RSS at its inception happened to
be Maharashtra-centric, the Marathi language as a natural corollary became
its lingua franca. Not only was the language used for inter-personal
communication, but the part eulogising the Motherland in the RSS hymn was
also sung in Marathi. In contrast, the stanza in Hindi which was an invocation
to Ramdas Swami did not have as many followers in other parts of India; the
prayer sought refuge in the saint and pleaded recognition as a Rampanthi.
Most importantly, even instructions during the daily drill to the cadre were
given in Marathi.
When language became a barrier for reciting the prayer, the shakha
heads in different states requested that the first stanza be translated into the
local language. There were also questions about the relevance of Ramdas
Swami in regions where he was unknown and finally permission was granted
that every region invoke seers who had a following and commanded respect
in the area.
Historically in north India, the RSS had always piggybacked on the
Arya Samaj movement, as a result of which its tradition of adhering to
‘idolatrous rituals and rites’49 was opposed by reformists. For instance, Lord
Hanuman was invoked with great reverence in RSS ceremonies, but in
several parts of India, the Monkey God was not even part of the main
pantheon.
Finally, K.B. Hedgewar came up with a solution for tackling cultural
and linguistic differences and his proposal to change the prayer was
endorsed at the Sindi chintan baithak. Even today, the Sanskrit prayer,
Namaste sada vatsale is recited every day in shakhas across the country. It
however ends with a salutation to the nation—Bharat Mata Ki Jai.
The construct of a nation as Motherland or Fatherland is undoubtedly a
universal tradition, but in India the deification of the nation as a Hindu
goddess was a twentieth-century phenomenon. It is to the credit of the RSS
which lent it a political dimension by associating it to an image which was
first depicted by Abanindranath Tagore in 1905.
For fourteen long years since its inception, the RSS leadership had
braved frequent pressure from its cadre to join the anti-Colonial or anti-State
protests. The 1938 satyagraha against the despotic Nizam’s regime in
Hyderabad had acquired communal undertones and there was a growing
demand within the RSS to join the protest, especially since anti-Imperialism
had come to be synonymous with anti-Muslims. When Bhaiyaji Dani, a
trusted Hedgewar aide and general secretary of the RSS, had lent support to
the anti-Nizam movement, he was not only pulled up by the doctor, but
excluded from the crucial Sindi baithak. That was possibly the strongest
message Hedgewar had sent out to those who desired direct involvement in
both political movements and public protests.
Yet, in order to ensure that the decision of not extending an invite to
someone of Dani’s seniority wasn’t viewed as a personal whim, Hedgewar
had opened up the subject for discussion saying that after Savarkar had
donned the top mantle of the Hindu Mahasabha, several swayamsevaks had
been attracted to his programmes and electoral politics. He also anticipated a
growing support for electoral politics and spoke about how the RSS would
counter the influence of V.D. Savarkar, while keeping its core values intact.
Eventually, the RSS chose not to be part of electoral politics but allowed
swayamsevaks to engage with other affiliated organisations, including
political parties. However, several senior functionaries of the RSS were not
only barred from participating in such engagements, but were also asked to
encourage volunteers to continue attending the daily shakha. Although the
move had enabled the cadre to become members of other organisations, this
later became a matter of great controversy (for instance in 1977–80, when
the Janata Party split on the issue of ‘dual-membership’) as many saw this as
a tactic on the part of the RSS to influence decision-making in other parties.
The Sindi chintan baithak happened to be Hedgewar’s last engagement
with his cadre. On 21 June 1940, Keshav Baliram Hedgewar died in Nagpur
after a protracted illness. He was cremated in Reshimbagh, the twenty-one
acre plot that he had helped acquire to establish the RSS campus in Nagpur
where a memorial called the Smriti Mandir was built in his honour in 1962.
Unlike the memorial, which was left for later generations of RSS leaders to
complete, in life, K.B. Hedgewar was undoubtedly the architect who had not
only built the organisation, but had identified a team of custodians to take
charge of it in the coming decades. Just as every individual with frailties, he
too had many. But unlike many others, he played to his strengths. He built a
strong edifice for an organisation that continues to play a significant role in
Indian politics.
 After taking over as prime minister, Narendra Modi had strategically
chosen to widen the ‘soft component’ of India’s foreign policy by focusing on
yoga, ayurveda and Buddhism. He had personally lobbied with the United
Nations to recognise 21 June as International Yoga Day. The date and day has
great significance not only because it is summer solstice in the northern
hemisphere, but it is also Keshav Baliram Hedgewar’s birth anniversary. The
prime minister’s move may continue to draw flak for years to come, but by
linking the RSS founder’s birth anniversary with a UN celebration, it was
almost as if Narendra Modi had offered the most unusual guru dakshina to an
iconic leader.

* This group of revolutionary nationalists was set up in Bengal, but its key
members were often forced to hide in other provinces after committing
violent acts against the British.
** That this argument of Palkar is a latter day construct is evident, because in
the mid-1920s, Jawaharlal Nehru was not exactly a Congress stalwart that he
eventually went on to become. Palkar’s theory however highlights the genesis
of the argument put forth by leaders of the sangh parivar since the mid-1980s
that while they believed in genuine secularism, their adversaries were
‘pseudo-secularists’.
*** In the name, while the words Rashtriya and Sangh, meaning ‘national’
and ‘association’ probably selected themselves, the choice of
‘swayamsevaks’ or ‘self-helpers’, pointed towards Hedgewar’s belief that
there was no better strategy for Hindus than to take up their own cause.
 VINAYAK DAMODAR SAVARKAR

O n a cold October evening in 1906, a Maharashtrian Brahmin was

sautéing prawns in his room in India House, London. He was playing
host to a vegetarian Vaishya Gujarati, who was in town to lobby for the rights
of Indians living in South Africa. This odd setting for the meeting was
significant for two reasons. First, it was a perfect example of the dichotomy
which existed, and still does, between the personal lives and political
ideologies of Indian politicians. For example, Mohammed Ali Jinnah’s
political conviction was totally at odds with his fondness for Scotch and ham
sandwiches. Second, events of that evening indicated how the two men in the
room would strongly disagree on almost everything in the course of their
lives. Over time, there was little on which the two would ever agree.
The twenty-three-year-old Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, who was a
student of Law in England, cut short Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi mid-
sentence, the Indian lawyer who was readying to launch a satyagraha in
Johannesburg. He was explaining to Savarkar why his strategy against the
British was far too aggressive, almost bordering on militancy. Instead of
listening to the contention of his polite visitor, Savarkar asked him to join for
dinner. When Gandhi had declined, explaining he ate no meat or fish,
Savarkar had ridiculed him. How can anyone challenge the might of the
British without consuming animal protein, he is said to have asked Gandhi.1
Like their dietary choices, their political paths were at sharp variance
with each other. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, who was eventually revered
as the Mahatma, followed a non-violent or pacifist course which drew
strength from India’s diversity in fighting Imperialism. In contrast, Savarkar
chose aggression, also to target the ‘enemy within’. Both wanted to resurrect
India’s glorious past—Gandhi’s idea of a Ram Rajya was at the other end of
the spectrum when compared to Savarkar’s idea of a Hindu Rashtra. In
Gandhi’s construct of an ideal State, justice was ensured for the meek.
Savarkar believed that as concepts, nationality and citizenship were
determined on the basis of one’s religious identity, and not just by citizenry.
That cold evening, Gandhi left Savarkar’s apartment with an empty
stomach and without securing support for his impending satyagraha. That
apart, the meeting had disturbed him immensely, so much so that three years
later, he had written to Gopal Krishna Gokhale sharing his remorse; most
importantly, about Savarkar’s viewpoint of adopting violence as the
legitimate political tool to overthrow the British.
On 5 February 1948, the sixth day after Mahatma Gandhi’s
assassination, V.D. Savarkar was arrested in Bombay (as the city was then
known; now, Mumbai), on the charge of being a co-conspirator. Although he
was acquitted a year later in February 1949, the J.K. Kapur Commission of
Inquiry which had concluded its investigations two decades later stated that
the ‘facts (unearthed or established by the Commission) taken together were
destructive of any theory other than the conspiracy to murder by Savarkar and
his group.’2 But by then, V. D. Savarkar had passed on before the last word
was written about his involvement in murdering India’s apostle of peace.

Circa 2014: the 131th birth anniversary of Vinayak Damodar Savarkar was
being celebrated on 28 May. Within two days of assuming office after a
pyrrhic victory, Prime Minister Narendra Damodardas Modi paid obeisance
to the leader at an official function in parliament. Large number of Bharatiya
Janata Party (BJP) MPs and other allies had joined him in the dome-shaped
Central Hall. But, much like the past decades and more, the Congress party
and several others belonging to the Opposition boycotted the
commemoration. They had stayed away from this annual ceremony since
2003 when the late Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee had unveiled
Savarkar’s portrait in parliament*. Even after several decades of his death in
1966, V.D. Savarkar remained a polarising figure in Indian polity.
It is ironic that even though Savarkar was not a member of BJP’s
erstwhile political avatar, the Jana Sangh, or the Rashtriya Swayamsevak
Sangh (RSS), leaders of the sangh parivar, including Modi, have always held
him in great reverence. He was undeniably an iconic figure, because despite
his sharp ideological divergences with several leaders of the RSS, his legacy
was readily co-opted as part of BJP’s history and heritage. Several important
BJP leaders, including party president Amit Shah, prefer being photographed
with Savarkar’s portrait in the backdrop over pictures of other leaders. Many
in the saffron fraternity have openly admitted to being more influenced by
Savarkar, than either K.B. Hedgewar or even M.S. Golwalkar aka Guruji.3
The reason for V.D. Savarkar’s indisputable pre-eminence amongst
saffron icons is because of his ‘first full articulation’4 of a Hindu nationalist
manifesto in the form of his seminal ‘prison’ treatise, Hindutva! Who is a
Hindu? But more of which later….

Early Nationalism
Greatness was neither acquired nor bestowed upon him; it was bequeathed to
him by destiny, believed Vinayak’s followers. His biographer, Dhananjay
Keer, averred that Vinayak Damodar Savarkar who was born seventy-five
days after Karl Marx’s death, and sixty-two days after Benito Mussolini’s
birth, was in no way lesser than the two Europeans5, who were both greats
but in different ways. Providence may not have determined his life, but John
Milton’s famous words—‘The childhood shows the man, as morning shows
the day,’ rang true for him.
When Vinayak was a young boy of ten in 1893, Hindu–Muslim riots had
erupted in Azamgarh, United Provinces (Uttar Pradesh), and a few months
later, spread to Bombay as well. Even in the days when communication was
next to non-existent, several versions of the riots were widely circulated, and
in a tiny village of Nashik, little Vinayak began believing in the stories of
injustices that were perpetrated on Hindus.
The young boy decided to act and ‘led a batch of selected schoolmates
in a march upon the village mosque,’6 and after pelting stones and breaking a
few windowpanes in the building, the group claimed victory. The attack
however didn’t go unchallenged, and in retaliation, local Muslim schoolboys
‘gave battle to Vinayak, the Hindu Generalissimo.’7
That this wasn’t just a flash in the pan, or an act by a precocious child
was proven yet again when Vinayak had organised marching drills for his
classmates, involving callisthenic exercises and mock war games. This
childhood obsession to militarise and view Muslims as the devious ‘enemy
within’ later became the principal reason for his fervent opposition to
Gandhi’s choice of non-violence in combating anti-Imperialistic campaigns.
 One of the most important reasons for V.D. Savarkar’s early
indoctrination was his exposure to Hindu revivalism that had begun with a
reassertion of Hinduism in the 1890s. Bal Gangadhar Tilak was one of the
leading lights of the movement which was sweeping across western India
and was credited with bringing ritualistic religious practises into the public
domain. He began the practise of holding the Ganpati (another name for Lord
Ganesha) festival in civic venues which united Hindus across the spectrum
on a common religio-cultural platform. Community celebration of a religious
festival, hitherto performed at homes, also worked as a counter-balance to
Muharram during which a section of Muslims walk in procession.
The decision to pitchfork Lord Ganesha into the forefront of Hindu
religiosity in the form of an annual public festival was a well-calculated
move, as the elephant-headed god was neither part of the Holy Trinity—
Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva—nor the main deity of any particular community
in Maharashtra. The Ganesha festival was therefore one of the first attempts
to create a pan-Hindu identity to act as a counter against divergences
between different sects and philosophical schools within Hinduism, and
more importantly, among various castes. The open display of religious
fervour induced a sense of collectiveness, and became an occasion for
Hindus to not only pray, but also celebrate with gusto.
Buoyed by the success of the Ganesha festival, Tilak launched the
Shivaji festival thereafter to arouse nationalistic sentiment amongst Marathi
youth. On a lighter note, it wouldn’t be wrong to presume that the young
Savarkar was attracted to Tilak’s initiative perhaps because of his first name
—Vinayak, which is one of the many names for Lord Ganesha! But what was
certain was that the ten-year-old boy was a ready convert to Tilak’s initiative
of creating a Hindu collective around a benign god.
As mentioned earlier, Vinayak Savarkar had already earned the moniker
of a child ‘Generalissimo’, and it was only natural that in the late 1890s, he
became an active participant in Mitra Mela, a secret society for young
revolutionaries. Later, Savarkar initiated the transformation of this miniscule
initiative into the more expansive, Abhinava Bharat Society, or Young India
Society, a title inspired by Giuseppe Mazzini’s ‘Young Italy’. In early
twentieth century, Savarkar ‘officially’ became part of the Indian freedom
struggle and played a decisive role in dovetailing Abhinava Bharat Society
with Bengal’s most formidable revolutionary organisation of the time, the
Anushilan Samiti.
 Despite the latent anti-Muslim sentiment in Maharashtra during this
period, Hindus were coming out in large numbers mainly to fight the Colonial
rule and the firangee or the much-despised, white man. Amongst other things,
the Abhinava Bharat Society fanned aversion towards foreign rule, and
which later transmogrified into a sentiment against the ‘traitors within’, i.e.,
the Muslims and Christians, and eventually, Savarkar became the
organisation’s chief theoretician.
In 1902, at the age of nineteen, Vinayak enrolled in Fergusson College,
Pune, and continued with his revolutionary activities. The young man from
Nashik was fast achieving a doughty image and became cause célèbre—the
first Indian to be expelled from college for his radical views. Savarkar found
support in Bal Gangadhar Tilak who condemned the college administration
for its action against a promising student. While this did not force the college
administration to revoke the expulsion order, money and sympathy poured in
for Savarkar, enabling him to pursue higher studies in Bombay.
The young Vinayak had impressed Tilak to such an extent that the latter
recommended his case to a wealthy nationalist, Shyamji Krishna Varma, who
had founded the India House in London. In a letter, Tilak wrote that the
student was a ‘spirited young man very enthusiastic in the swadeshi cause.’
This powerful endorsement coupled with V.D. Savarkar’s opening sentence
in his application letter, which read: ‘Independence and Liberty I look upon
as the pulse and breath of the nation,’ clinched a scholarship for him (named
after the Maratha ruler, Shivaji), to study Law in England.
On 9 June 1906, Vinayak Damodar Savarkar set sail on S.S. Persia
after bidding goodbye to his wife, Yamunabai and their one-year-old son,
Prabhakar. Unfortunately, he never saw his son again as the baby died after
contracting smallpox in 1909, while Savarkar was studying in London.
At the time of Vinayak Damodar Savarkar’s arrival in London, the idea
of Hindu nationalism was yet to take root in its soil, and this despite a strong
sense of unity amongst resident Hindus, and a latent, but fierce anti-Muslim
sentiment. As academics wasn’t his sole motive to be in London, Savarkar
joined a group of revolutionaries in their mission to liberate India through an
armed rebellion. He set up the Abhinava Bharat Society in London, and also
began attending the Sunday meetings called by Free India Society, which was
founded by the feisty Madame Bhikhaiji Cama. Much like his mentor Tilak,
Savarkar introduced Hindu festivals in London, and began commemorating
heroic figures from India’s ancient history. Within months of his arrival, he
translated Mazzini’s biography into Marathi in 1908, and followed it up with
a book titled, Indian War of Independence 1857, to mark the golden jubilee
of the First War of Independence.
Alas, for the young revolutionary-turned-author, the book ran into
trouble when a few chapters of the Marathi manuscript had fallen into the
hands of the Scotland Yard. An English translation was eventually published
a year later in 1909 in Holland, but did not carry Savarkar’s name as author,
but in its place said: by an ‘An Indian Nationalist’. The book was banned in
India until 1946, and it was the Congress government in Bombay which had
finally rescinded the proscription. However, despite being unavailable in
India for almost four decades, several youngsters continued to read it
surreptitiously. For instance, L.K. Advani once wrote how as a schoolboy in
Sindh, he had bought a copy of the book at a princely sum of twenty-eight
rupees!8
Soon, India House became the centre of revolutionary activity in
London, and Savarkar came to play a significant role in furthering its cause.
He began writing newsletters for a Marathi paper, and took the lead in
publishing leaflets, including one in Gurmukhi prodding the Sikhs to revolt
against the British, and in 1908, even organised celebrations to mark the birth
anniversary of Guru Gobind Singh.
Meanwhile, the London branch of Abhinava Bharat Society produced
copies of a bomb manual for Indian revolutionaries back in India. Savarkar
also despatched pistols back home, one of which was used to assassinate a
British magistrate who had sentenced Vinayak’s eldest brother, Ganesha
(popularly known as Babarao), to six years’ imprisonment for writing
patriotic songs that were deemed seditious by the Imperial government. But
before this, there was yet another violent attack in London which had forced
Savarkar to move to Paris.
On 1 July 1909, Madan Lal Dhingra who was one of the regulars at
India House and a ‘young man inspired by Savarkar,’9 assassinated Curzon
Wyllie, aide-de-camp to the Secretary of State for India. Although the British
government had failed to establish Savarkar’s direct culpability in Wyllie’s
assassination, they were not only aware of his close friendship with Madan
Lal, but also that Dhingra’s ‘ringing defence of the killing had been drafted
by Savarkar.’10 Shortly thereafter, India House shut down and Savarkar was
forced to shift to a non-descript inn, strictly meant for Indians, in a London
borough. On 23 July 1909, on being produced in front of the magistrate at the
Old Bailey, Madan Lal Dhingra who had chosen to defend himself, was
debarred from reading out the statement, and it was V.D. Savarkar who had it
published in a London newspaper with assistance from an aspiring British
journalist. However, Madan Lal Dhingra was tried, sentenced and hanged,
all in quick succession on 17 August 1909.
Meanwhile, in the aftermath of the British officer’s assassination in
Nashik, life became tougher for Vinayak Savarkar. In a much-publicised
case, which came to be called the Nasik Conspiracy case, Babarao Savarkar
was exiled and sent to Cellular Jail in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. The
British knew of Vinayak’s association with the assassin, but they had little
evidence to establish his firm connection with the conspiracy. However, the
British administrators got lucky when the man who had couriered the pistols
to India changed sides and became the King’s witness.
In anticipation of an impending arrest, Savarkar’s associates advised
him to take refuge in Paris in the hope that the matter would soon die down.
But the lookout for Savarkar continued, and when he returned to London in
March 1910, he was arrested the moment he had stepped out of Victoria
Station. Initially, the British deliberated over whether Vinayak Savarkar
should be prosecuted in London or India, for the reason that while the actual
crime was committed in Nashik, Savarkar was at the time residing in
England. Moreover, the only charge he could be tried under was incitement
to murder, and if convicted, it would’ve attracted a maximum sentence of two
to three years.
Eventually, the Indian authorities pulled out his speeches which he had
delivered while in India to examine if they worked as evidence to prosecute
him. The British authorities finally concluded that although the speeches
were fairly innocuous at the time they were made, they could now be termed
subversive.
After being alerted of his imminent arrest, Savarkar hatched a plot to
escape from jail. However, after he learnt that the British had got wind of his
plans, particularly his pre-emptive escape bid, he told David Garnett, his
British ‘admirer’ who had helped him hatch the original plan that it, ‘does
not matter whether one wins or is defeated, whether one succeeds or fails.
Care nothing about the result so long as you fight. The only thing that matters
is the spirit.’
In July 1910, even as the ship which was bringing him back to India
docked in Marseilles, Vinayak slipped out through a porthole inside the
bathroom. The dramatic escape would have come to fruition, but for the
alertness of British police who spotted him swimming in the sea and
promptly brought him back. But a slight legal hitch had occurred in his arrest
because it was felt that he had actually reached the French waters and was
therefore out of bounds for the British. A dispute had ensued between the
British and French over jurisdiction, and reached The Hague, but by the time
it was adjudicated in his favour, V.D. Savarkar was sentenced to life
imprisonment and was on his way to the Cellular Jail in the Andaman and
Nicobar Islands.
Overnight, the twenty-seven-year-old V.D. Savarkar was feted as a
national hero. He became an international symbol of British repression—
several articles in the press condemned the British; the Italian parliament and
the Republican Party of Italy demanded his release; in August 1910, a
Savarkar Release Committee was established in England; many diplomatic
efforts were made to petition the Imperial government for securing his
release. At home, stories about his dramatic escape were embellished to the
level of a folk-lore and incidents eulogising his patriotic fervour became
stuff of legends.
The books he had authored, including those that were banned, came
back into circulation which readers and scholars began devouring with
renewed vigour. What merits mention here is that Vinayak Damodar Savarkar
was among those rare revolutionary nationalists who supplemented his
activism with propaganda literature. At that particular stage of his life,
Savarkar’s idea of nationalism wasn’t yet integrated with his childhood
ambition of restoring Hindu dignity by raising the spectre of ‘cultural’
Hindus. The codification of Hindu nationalism, which was truly Savarkar’s
contribution to Indian political thought, occurred at a later stage in his life.
However, a careful reading of Indian War of Independence, 1857 provides
enough indication of his future postulations because he had clearly focused
on Hindu and Maratha exclusivity, and didn’t celebrate ‘a unified and
composite past, present, and future Indian nation.’11
Significantly, Savarkar challenged contemporary historiography when it
came to the analyses of 1857 and questioned the propensity to emphasise
specific incidents as being the principal causes for the war. According to
him, the justification behind the First War of Independence was far more
serious than the innocuous argument of the use of tallow to grease cartridges,
or the poor administrative skills of the British.
 Although by no stretch was he advancing the compositeness of the
Indian nation-state, he highlighted the ‘revolutionary principles of
swadharma (acting according to one’s nature) and swaraj (self-rule) as being
shared by Hindus and Muslims, who fought as Hindi brethren against British
rule.’12 He was indisputably evolving as a political thinker and often lapsed
into ‘epic and magisterial explication of battles and strategies, alliances and
betrayals, victories and defeats’13 that had the capacity ‘of inciting passion
for revenge’. Moreover, he presented a manual-like document for organising
a revolution, particularly in a chapter titled, “Secret Organisation”,14 in
which he delineated the ‘strategies to prepare for and engage in revolutionary
warfare.’
On the one hand, Savarkar believed that Indians of different faiths
needed to unite against the Imperial forces. Yet, he also articulated that the
‘feeling of hatred against the Mahomedans was just and necessary in the
times of Shivaji.’ Suffice it to say that there were inconsistencies in his
postulations and was evident in his views towards the Muslims when he
wrote:

Though the ruling prince of Oudh was a Mahomedan, most of the big land-
owners under him were Hindus. Jahgirs and Talukdari rights had continued
from father to son in the families of these Zemindars for generations.
Hundreds of villages were administered under the single authority of each of
these proprietors. They possessed forts and had small armies under them to
protect these Jahgirs. No wonder, then, that these Zemindars very soon
incurred the displeasure of the Company.15

Such self-contradictory assertions came to the fore yet again in the book
when he analysed the reasons for installing the Mughal Emperor Bahadur
Shah Zafar for a brief period in May 1857. On the one hand, Savarkar
theorised that the ‘restoration of the deposed Emperor was apparently not a
retrograde action’; and on the other, he propounded that the act was,

no restoration at all. For, the Mogul dynasty of old was not chosen by the
people of the land. It was thrust upon India by sheer force, dignified by the
name of conquest, and upheld by a powerful pack of alien adventures and
native self-seekers…such thrones are conquered and not received…16
Savarkar’s limited acceptance of Bahadur Shah was because the ‘old
venerable Bahadur Shah was not the old Mogul succeeding to the throne of
Akbar or Aurangzeb—for that throne had already been smashed to pieces by
the hammer of the Mahrattas.’17

The Hindu Nationalist

Vinayak Damodar Savarkar’s political life can be neatly divided into three
phases—the first, when he struck a balance between revolutionary
nationalism and Hindu nationalism, which ended when he was sentenced to
life imprisonment. His acts of bravado coupled with the jail term earned him
the label of the ‘brave freedom fighter’ or ‘swatantra Veer Savarkar’. But
the heroism associated with the likes of Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru
and even Tilak wasn’t what he desired; Savarkar wanted to go down in
history as the ‘organiser’ of Hindus, in his worldview, to adopt a larger-
than-life mantle than merely a soldier sworn to the freedom of the country. In
his several articles, books and essays written during the first phase, the idea
of Hindu nationalism was still an ideology in the making.
The second phase of his life began in 1911 with his confinement in the
Cellular Jail, and continued till 1937. He spent the first decade of these
twenty-six years in the Andaman Islands, after which he was lodged in
Yerawada Jail, Pune, and finally in Ratnagiri. It was during this phase when
he wrote his seminal work—Hindutva! Who is a Hindu? and became a
revered ideologue for future generations of Hindutva votaries.
From January 1924 till May 1937, Savarkar was allowed to live with
his family, but within the periphery of his hometown, Rantagiri. During this
phase, he pretended to distance himself from all kinds of political activity,
and the British authorities took little notice of a campaign that this ex-convict
was planning in his village within two weeks of his arrival. Truth be told, it
was a seemingly noble, albeit innocuous social reform campaign to eliminate
untouchability, but was cleverly dovetailed into his ultimate political goal of
uniting Hindus across caste lines. The British were also hoodwinked because
campaigns to end social ostracisation had been repeatedly conducted in the
past by the votaries of Hindutva. It was also during this phase of his life
when Savarkar had guided Keshav Baliram Hedgewar in establishing an
organisation to ‘supply the Hindu society with power and pillars.’18
 The final and third phase, but the least significant in Savarkar’s life,
was after all the restrictions on him were lifted and he became the president
of the Hindu Mahasabha in 1937. He led the Mahasabha to its moment of
glory—recognition from British administrators as the sole representative of
India’s Hindus, as also a coalition partner in the Bengal government.
Yet, after the initial flourish, V.D. Savarkar was unable to stem the
Mahasabha’s decline which had commenced from the mid-Forties. He had
failed to comprehend that in the fast-changing political landscape of India,
the Mahasabha’s ideology was proving to be self-limiting. Eventually,
Savarkar and his organisation came to be viewed with distrust because it
remained suspect of having hatched the conspiracy to kill the Father of the
Nation, Mahatma Gandhi.

V.D. Savarkar was certainly not the first to expound the idea of Hindu
nationalism, but he was indeed the first to codify it and lent coherence to the
idea. In the last decades of the nineteenth century, a rudimentary form of
Hindu nationalism had emerged, mainly as a reaction to the British response
to home-grown social reform movements. As mentioned earlier, apart from
Tilak’s Hindu revivalist programmes, there were several others which were
aimed at ‘reforming’ the Hindus from ‘within’, and opposed the introduction
of certain laws which threatened to regulate Hindu society.
The All India Muslim League was formed in December 1906, and
catalysed the formation of the Hindu Mahasabha in the same year in
undivided Punjab. However, despite the involvement of senior Congress
leaders like, Lala Lajpat Rai, and the founder of the Banaras Hindu
University (BHU), Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviya who was its first
president, the Mahasabha conclave was restricted to an annual jamboree, and
lacked the political raison d’être. It was to the credit of Vinayak Damodar
Savarkar that he eventually provided its framework, and established the
process of creating a separate and structured channel for Hindu nationalism.
Instead of the token alternative presented by revivalists within the Indian
National Congress, Savarkar helped the creation of an alternate outfit to the
existing nationalist mainstream, in idea as well as structure. The best
example of this phenomenon was represented by none other than Keshav
Baliram Hedgewar who abandoned the Congress and founded the Rashtriya
Swayamsevak Sangh which in time evolved as one of the most ideologically-
driven organisations in India.
Meanwhile, Savarkar had an epiphany during his solitary confinement
in Cellular Jail—something which had been churning in his mind since
childhood, all through his rebellious youth, and finally as a young
revolutionary nationalist, it began taking shape. It was in jail that Savarkar
was convinced that the Hindus were being outnumbered by Muslims.19 He
noticed how large number of untouchables were converting to Islam because
Hindu prisoners were prone to ostracise their low caste brethren. Once when
Savarkar had learnt that an untouchable boy was being converted, he decided
to engage with him and earned the terrible epithet of ‘Savarkar Bhangi Babu’
(meaning, someone who took the low castes under his wing). This was
obviously a slur, but Savarkar soldiered on and prevented the boy’s
conversion.
Emboldened by his first success, Savarkar began the process of
‘reverse conversion’ by performing the shuddhi ceremony on several others,
and although this move was initially met with stiff resistance, he
demonstrated that Hindus who had converted to either Islam or Christianity
could be brought back into the Hindu fold. Soon it was time for census
enumeration in the country, and Savarkar campaigned vigorously amongst
Arya Samajis and Sikhs in jail to register their religion as ‘at least Hindu,
with the words Arya and Sikh in the bracket.’20
The idea for his best known book, Hindutva! Who is a Hindu? also
germinated in the island jail, in which he defined a Hindu as ‘a person who
regards this land of Bharatvarsh from the Indus to the Seas as his Fatherland
as well as his Holy Land, that is the cradle of his religion.’ Savarkar
distinguished between punyabhoomi (holy land) and pitribhoomi or
matribhoomi (fatherland or motherland), which when extrapolated meant that
‘non-Hindus’ couldn’t call India their nation. Yet, as we shall see
subsequently, Savarkar contradicted his postulation on several occasions.
It must be mentioned here that the concept of punyabhoomi was first
posited by Swami Vivekananda in 1897, as a land where, ‘all souls aspiring
towards a spiritual quest must attain their last home.’21 Much like
Vivekananda, Savarkar also saw India as a seamless and ‘eternal
civilisation’, but his concept of a nation was different, in that he saw it as
being far more exclusive, because he considered that people whose sacred
lands were in other countries, meaning Muslims, Christians, Jews and
Zoroastrians, were not entitled to refer to India or Bharatvarsh as their own
nation.22 Savarkar’s efforts in linking religion and culture with national
identity was the genesis of cultural nationalism which eventually became the
cornerstone of the virulent phase of Hindutva from the late 1980s. In
Savarkar’s understanding, Hinduism was not just a religion, but a culture or a
way of life—the word Hindutva, as a political construct, did not predate
Savarkar’s dissertation, and in the early 1920s, the idea blazed like a meteor
across the nationalistic horizon. For the first time, a new hypothesis or
political theory was presented to unravel the Indian social jigsaw. Episodes
of conflict and confrontation that occurred between various religious
communities were theorised and Savarkar provided a framework to Hindu
communalists to justify their actions.23 Several Hindu nationalists who had
hitherto been unable to articulate their thoughts and were forced to withdraw
from the public sphere, found reasons to step beyond the nationalistic
mainstream after Savarkar’s treatise.
On his part, Savarkar was often self-contradictory, as we have seen
earlier. After his argument on who could consider Bharatvarsh as his or her
own land, his formal definition of Hindutva was conspicuous for its
exclusivity:

Hindutva is not a word but a history. Not only the spiritual or religious
history of our people as at times it is mistaken to be by being confounded
with the other cognate term Hinduism, but a history in full. Hinduism is only
a derivative, a fraction, a part of Hindutva. Unless it is made clear what is
meant by the latter, the first remains unintelligible and vague. Failure to
distinguish between these two terms has given rise to much misunderstanding
and mutual suspicion between some of those sister communities that have
inherited this inestimable and common treasure of our Hindu civilization…
Hindutva is not identical with what is vaguely indicated by the term
Hinduism…Had not linguistic usage stood in our way then ‘Hinduness’
(elsewhere, he also used the word Hindudom; italics mine) would have
certainly been a better word…Hindutva embraces all the departments of
thought and activity of the whole Being of our Hindu race. Therefore, to
understand the significance of this term Hindutva, we must first understand
the essential meaning of the word Hindu…
Savarkar elaborated on his basic premise about other religionists, most
importantly, the followers of Islam. His postulation clearly indicated that he
precluded them, and the other three from his idea of who can claim to be
Indian:

…although the root-meaning of the word Hindu like the sister epithet Hindi,
may mean only an Indian, yet as it is, we would be straining the usage of
words too much—we fear, to the point of breaking, if we were to call a
Mohammedan a Hindu because of his being a resident of India. It may be that
at some future time the word Hindu may come to indicate a citizen of
Hindusthan and nothing else; that day can only rise when all cultural and
religious bigotry has disbanded its forces pledged to aggressive egoism…

Savarkar further elaborated on that thought as follows:

An American may become a citizen of India. He would certainly be entitled,

if bona fide, to be treated as our Bharatiya or Hindi, a countryman and a
fellow citizen of ours. But as long as in addition to our country, he has not
adopted our culture and our history, inherited our blood and has come to look
upon our land not only as the land of his love but even of his worship, he
cannot get himself incorporated into the Hindu fold….Hindus are not merely
the citizens of the Indian state because they are united not only by the bonds
of the love they bear to a common motherland but also by the bonds of a
common blood. They are not only a Nation but also a race—jati….All
Hindus claim to have in their veins the blood of the mighty race incorporated
with and descended from the Vedic fathers, the Sindhus.

He left no room for ambiguity on what, according to him, should be the future
of Muslims, even those who accepted that their forefathers had converted to
Islam from Hinduism:

The majority of the Indian Mohammedans may, if free from the prejudices
born of ignorance, come to love our land as their fatherland, as the patriotic
and noble-minded amongst them have always been doing. The story of their
conversions, forcible in millions of cases, is too recent to make them forget,
even if they like to do so, that they inherit Hindu blood in their veins. But can
we, who here are concerned with investigating into facts as they are and not
as they should be, recognize these Mohammedans as Hindus?

Savarkar’s book not only romanticised the idea of being a Hindu, but also
instilled a sense of victimhood among Hindus. There was also this
accompanying awe-inspiring story about the method of his writing.
According to his biographer, because he was in solitary confinement with no
access to either pen or paper, Savarkar had scribbled his initial thoughts on
the bare walls of his cell with pebbles. Thereafter, he learnt every word on
the walls by rote, and when he was discharged from Cellular Jail and sent to
Yerawada in Pune, he continued writing on loose sheets which were either
smuggled out, or memorised by his followers who went out and recorded it
for him. Eventually, Hindutva: Who is a Hindu? was first published in 1923
under the pseudonym of ‘A Maratha’ (as prisoners were not allowed to
publish any work), and immediately became a manual on Hindutva and Hindu
nationalism. The book created a sensation and most importantly because
Savarkar steered clear of the ‘chaos and confusion created by nearly fifty
definitions of the word Hindu including the one made by Tilak.’24 His choice
of words left no scope for any doubt:

(You), who by race, by blood, by culture, by nationality possess almost all

the essentials of Hindutva and had been forcibly snatched out of our ancestral
home by the hand of violence—ye, have only to render wholehearted love to
our common Mother and recognize her not only as Fatherland (Pitribhu) but
even as a Holy Land (Punyabhu); and ye would be most welcome to the
Hindu fold. This is a choice which our countrymen and our old kith and kin
(sic), the Bohras, Khojas, Memons and other Mohammedan and Christian
communities are free to make—a choice again which must be a choice of
love. But as long as they are not minded thus, so long they cannot be
recognized as Hindus.25

Yet, the above definition does little but confuse when juxtaposed with
Savarkar’s contradictory views on the same subject, cited previously.
However, Hindu nationalists of different hues who emerged in the post-
Savarkar era continued to revere him despite the fact that he was never part
of any organisation. They readily identified with him not only because he
represented a similar socio-religious conundrum, but they found several
aspects of his argument closest to their beliefs.

V.D. Savarkar would have remained one amongst thousands of freedom

fighters, had he not written Hindutva: Who is a Hindu? What also made its
publication possible was the benevolence shown by the British; his constant
assurances to them that he would abide by strictures, and not participate in
any anti-Colonial protests. Within months of his deportation to the Andaman
and Nicobar Islands in July 1911, Savarkar submitted a mercy petition to the
government which mysteriously vanished from the official records, but its
reference was later found in another plea submitted in November 1913. In the
letter, Savarkar had pledged to serve the ‘Government in any capacity’ and
asked with utmost seriousness—‘where else can the prodigal son return but
to the parental doors of the Government?’26 The Home Member of Bombay,
Sir Reginald Craddock recorded in an official note that he had met Savarkar
in October 1913 during which the ‘swatantra veer’ (sic) had submitted a
mercy plea.27
In retrospect, these clemency petitions puts Savarkar’s commitment to
nationalism under a cloud. He made two other pleas in 1914 and 1917, in
which he offered his ‘services to Government during the war in any
capacity.’ A Savarkarite member of the Imperial Legislative Council, G.S.
Khorpade, had raised a question if it was not true that the jailed leader had
pledged that once the proposed administrative reforms (later called
Montagu–Chelmsford reforms or the Government of India Act, 1919) were
enacted, he would ‘try to make the Act a success and would stand by law and
order.’ This was neither the first nor the last time when Savarkar had
attempted to secure his liberty by offering his loyalty to the Imperial
government, and which he continued to do even after independence.
Curiously, Savarkar’s repeated efforts to play supplicant to the
Colonial regime was accompanied by his criticism of Mahatma Gandhi and
his methods. He once dismissed the Mahatma rather unflatteringly and
commented about his ‘queer definitions of non-violence and truth,’28 while
denouncing the non-cooperation and Khilafat movements, claiming that the
latter ‘would prove to be an aafat—a calamity.’ His disagreements with the
Congress and Gandhi on administrative reforms were also out in the open:
while Gandhi wanted to boycott the Imperial Council, Savarkar was ‘sure
that many a revolutionist would, like me, cry halt under the circumstances
and try to meet England under an honourable truce, even in a half-way
house.’ Despite the bitter criticism, Gandhi however made a distinction
between Savarkar’s detention and his political stance. As evidence of fair
play, Gandhi wrote in Young India in 1920 protesting against the
imprisonment of both Savarkar and his younger brother, asking that as the
charges of violence were not proved against either of them, why the two
were still in detention.
Ironically, Savarkar’s anti-Gandhi posturing stood him in good stead.
When his jail term came up for a review, the British government’s leniency
combined with a campaign by non-Congress members of the Central
Legislative Assembly, resulted in Savarkar being shifted in 1921 from
Cellular Jail to Yerawada Jail for two years and eight months. Finally, he
was released from prison in January 1924 and permitted to stay with his
family within the boundaries of Ratnagiri district. The clincher for the British
was when Savarkar promised to ‘not engage publicly or privately in any
manner of political activities without the consent (sic) of Government for a
period of five years.’
Vinayak Damodar Savarkar’s release was mainly due to the unwavering
support of a man called Jamnadas Mehta who was a Tilakite and member of
the Interim government of Bombay. It was Mehta who had campaigned
relentlessly for his release and formed the Savarkar Release Committee. He
had also supported his campaign by writing a pamphlet titled, ‘Why Savarkar
Should Be Released’ and had organised a meeting in Bombay with
Vithalbhai Patel in the chair. What may come as a surprise to many within the
Hindu Right-wing today, Savarkar’s release was also courtesy the Indian
National Congress which had adopted a resolution for his release in its
Coconada (now Kakinada) session in 1923.29
Over the years, Savarkar’s hostility towards Muslims was amplified
while he was in Cellular Jail, but it started to be overtly visible and acquired
a virulent dimension after he shifted to Ratnagiri, and Yerawada jail. (The
Moplah uprising of 1921 was one of main reasons for his antagonism.) His
antipathy towards Muslims was at par with his loathing for the weak Hindu
prototype. Once out of jail, and at home in Ratnagiri, Savarkar wrote his next
book in 1925 titled, Hindu Pad-Padashahi, in which he presented the
Maratha empire as the eventual avenger of Hindu honour. He wrote that the
‘successful struggle of a military race against the powerful Moghul Empire’
was ‘a noble and inspiring ideal… (for) the establishment of an independent
Hindu Empire.’ In the Foreword of the book, Savarkar warned the Hindus as
follows:

Before you make out a case for unity (between Hindus and Muslims), you
must make out a case for survival as a national or a social human unit. It was
this fierce test that the Hindus were called upon to pass in their deadly
struggle with the Muhammadan power. There could not be an honourable
unity between a slave and his master.30

He was often subsumed by the thought of Indians’ proclivity to be dominated

by foreigners, and by the time he was released from jail, he concluded that
the primary reason for Hindus’ repeated subjugation was a deep-seated
psychological shortcoming. He believed that this anomaly could only be
rectified by unifying Hindus under the aegis of a sangathan or organisation.
Over time, this opinion reflected in his writings and played a decisive role in
K.B. Hedgewar’s eventual decision to establish the RSS.
At the core of Savarkar’s argument was the postulation that Aryan
settlers chose India and organically adapted to the superior Hindu religion,
while the other communities who retained their original religion, or agreed to
be converted to Islam or Christianity, remained foreigners.31 Even while
campaigning amongst Sikhs in the Cellular Jail to enlist as Hindus, he had
submitted that Hindutva was not identical to Hinduism and that followers of
other faiths could also be termed as Hindus (later named as Indian
Religionists or IRs). He further convinced his fellow-inmates that Sikhism,
Jainism and Buddhism could be treated as IRs because their sacred places
(punyabhoomi) lay within the geographical boundaries of India.
Interestingly, as Savarkar was debarred from participating in any kind
of political activity during his stay in Ratnagiri, he opted to write fiction—a
kind of veneer to conceal its political content from law enforcers. His
readers lost no time in inferring the real intent of their favourite author, but
the British authorities took the book at its face value and did little else. In
January 1927, he also launched a weekly called Shraddhanand and began
writing about socio-political issues. The following extract from an article
that he wrote on 27 January 1927 was cited in the judgement in the case filed
in Bombay High Court by Gopal Godse, the brother of Gandhi’s assassin,
Nathuram Godse, against an order of forfeiture of his book titled Gandhi
Hatya Ani Mee (Gandhi’s Assassination And I):

The truth is that the majority of Muslims do not consider India as their own
country and the existence of Hindus therein pricks them like a thorn. This
feeling is at the root of the conflict. Except for some sensible Muslims, the
others appear to be anxious that like Turkey, Iran and Afghanistan, Hindustan
should also become an Islam nation and if that happens, they would love the
country as their own.32

The British did not act despite the obvious incendiary content of the piece.
His 1926 novel titled, What Do I Care, or The Revolt of the Moplahs gave
graphic details of Muslims attacking Hindus, including the ‘defilement of
Hindu women.’33 Savarkar also took a shot at writing plays—for instance,
Sangeet Unshraap (1927) which was a sharp critical social commentary
around the issues of untouchability, conversion, and sexual violence against
Hindu women. In one particular scene, a character called Bangash Khan
delivers a monologue as follows:

The more I abduct Hindu girls and include them in my zenana, the more my
respect among Muslims enhances…enjoyment of temporal pleasures clears
the way to other worldly benefits. I have corrupted so many Hindu girls and
made them my mistresses that hundreds of Muslims consider me a true
missionary and preacher of Islam; this is because I have produced progeny
through these women who are Muslims….34

On closer inspection, it becomes evident that most of Savarkar’s fictional

work was focussed on examining three kinds of relationships: between Hindu
men and Muslim men; Hindu women and Muslim men; and finally, between
Muslim men and Muslim women. He also alluded to the relationship between
Hindu men and Hindu women, presented as equal, but with women being
progenitors and carers of men. In Savarkar’s representation, the relationship
between Muslim men and Hindu women was based on sexual violence
against the latter, represented as ‘fields’ to wage a demographic battle.
Finally, the relationship between Muslim men and Muslim women was seen
as one where men were polygamous and exerted unquestionable authority
over their women.
Savarkar’s use of sexual violence in his fictional works displayed a
deep-seated misogyny coupled with communal hatred. It may be recalled that
projecting Muslim men as sexual marauders with the objective of siring
Muslim children from Hindu wombs and reverse the population ratio, was
the motivating spirit behind sangh parivar’s ‘love jihad’ campaign in 2013–
2014. The theory that Muslim men are polygamous and treat women unfairly
is also the basis of the campaign against triple talaaq and nikah halala**.
For a man who was viewed as the votary of reinstating Hindu dignity,
his long confinement within a district was a matter of great concern for his
followers. For them, his seclusion from political activity was no better than a
jail term and they therefore began yet another campaign to end his
confinement which was extended periodically by the British. In January
1935, when a review date had loomed ahead, Savarkar was advised to not
protest, and appeal for release. In November 1934, this one-time
revolutionary who was sworn to his Motherland promised that ‘he would be
on the right side of law and constitution even if he took to politics.’35
However, the government concluded that allowing Savarkar to travel and
speak publicly was inadvisable, and his internment was extended for two
more years.
At the end of the stipulated period, Savarkar petitioned the British yet
again and this time, he was advised to route his application through the local
administration. By then, a new Savarkar Restrictions Removal Committee
had been formed and included former acolytes of Tilak and other social
reformers. A signature campaign was initiated which pleaded for removing
restrictions on Savarkar. Mahatma Gandhi was also approached to sign the
petition, which he refused while contending that it would be below his
dignity to plead with the British while fighting for India’s independence.
‘You do not beseech adversaries,’ the Mahatma is said to have stated
emphatically. Jamnadas Mehta played a vital role in Savarkar’s release yet
again, who it may be recalled had lobbied for his release from prison in
1924. Mehta bargained with the British over the issue when they had
approached him to help convince the Congress party to join the provincial
governments which had to be mandatorily formed after elections following
the agreement on the Government of India Act, 1935. Mehta agreed to plead
for the British, but set a precondition: release V.D. Savarkar.
Release And Thereafter
On 10 May 1937, all restrictions on V.D. Savarkar were finally lifted and he
was free after twenty-seven years of confinement. The town of Ratnagiri had
erupted with several celebratory functions—Savarkar was invited for each
as the guest of honour—which was also attended by local Congress leaders.
His various speeches and statements during this phase elucidate what he had
set to do all his life, but not necessarily in any chronological order; it was
more like the pages from his book of life.
For instance, at one of the functions, Savarkar had turned emotional and
recalled his agitation against untouchability which he said, pitted one Hindu
against the other. He explained that although the movement was met with stiff
resistance, he had focussed on it considering it to be in the ‘best interest of
the Country, God, and Man.’36
At another public gathering, Savarkar declared that his ultimate goal
was the independence of India, and spelt out a three-pronged strategy to
achieve it: resistance, alliance, and pressure. However, unlike Mahatma
Gandhi or other leaders of the freedom movement, he dwelt little on how to
go about achieving these. During the early days of his life out of jail,
Savarkar spoke at length about a democratic India which should follow ‘one
man, one vote,’ which was interpreted by some Muslims (when separate
electorates existed for the community), as a ploy to establish a government
for and by the Hindus.
A few months after settling into life, Vinayak Damodar Savarkar
embarked on an extensive tour of Maharashtra and went to Pandharpur,
Kolhapur, Pune, and eventually, Bombay. In Pune, Savarkar reached out to a
group of untouchables who were considering conversion to Islam or
Christianity as an escape route from caste-based discrimination. He
counselled them against converting to other religions, and suggested that they
should join forces with social reformers and fight the malaise within. Even
as he went about participating in inter-caste dinners, a long tradition in
western India, Savarkar urged the youth to learn to use guns arguing that
drama and poetry were fine hobbies, but not when the ‘mother was on her
death bed,’ a clear allegorical reference to the nation or Motherland. In one
public meeting after another, Savarkar kept reiterating about his ultimate
political mission, which was to establish a free nation ‘on the bedrock of the
Hindus, the national majority.’ His objective, he said, was to ensure that this
‘paper majority’ realised its capacity, and ‘the fact that they were the
bedrock and mainspring of the national life and the State.’37
By 1937, V.D. Savarkar had undoubtedly emerged as the greatest icon
of the Indian Right-wing, or Hindu nationalist politics. The period of his
imprisonment had made him doughtier; this despite the fact of his cosying up
to the British and relegating the cause of India’s freedom to the backburner in
the face of his campaign to build a strong and unified Hindu India, which was
viewed by many of his followers as an act of great sacrifice. Two months
after restrictions on his free movement were lifted, Vinayak Damodar
Savarkar joined the Democratic Swaraj Party (formed in 1933) to propagate
the political ideals of Bal Gangadhar Tilak. Yet, within a short period, he
concluded that it did not have the potential to evolve into a pan-Indian party,
and left.
The next logical step for him would have been to join the RSS, and he
did visit a branch in Wardha at the request of K.B. Hedgewar, but
surprisingly engaged no further with it. There were two reasons for his
reluctance—first, despite its subsequent significance in Indian politics, the
RSS was a minor organisation when compared with the larger-than-life
image of V.D. Savarkar. In fact, the RSS would have benefitted greatly from
its association with the man, and not vice-versa. Second, after years of his
confinement, Savarkar desired a larger political role for himself and mainly
as a counter to the Congress party and its politics of social inclusion.
On the other hand, both Hedgewar and M.S. Golwalkar harboured no
such ambitions and were solely devoted to the RSS for which, they felt,
falling foul of either the British or Congress, would be counter-productive.
The dissonance between Savarkar and senior RSS leaders came as a surprise
to many because the RSS owed its genesis to Savarkar, albeit in absentia as
an inspirational figure. Despite Savarkar’s publicly stated reservations about
the RSS, K.B. Hedgewar remained the archetypal dyed-in-the-wool Hindu
leader, someone who believed that it was enjoined in the ancient Hindu
precepts to show respect towards an elder, and that it was also politically
prudent to keep a track open with Savarkar. Consequently, although he treated
Savarkar with utmost reverence while remaining conscious of RSS’
independent identity, Hedgewar feared that the young cadre may be swept
away by Savarkar’s political romanticism and his charismatic personality.
Interestingly, an attempt was made from an unusual quarter to plead for
RSS’ case with Savarkar, to convince him that its trajectory was promising
and he should extend his full support and join it forthwith. The said man was
none other than Nathuram Godse, who in a letter to Savarkar dated July 1938
wrote:

The only organisation in Maharashtra as well as in all Hindustan that is

capable of uniting the Hindus is the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh….There
is only one leader who is your equal and peer, and that is Dr. Hedgewar.38

But Savarkar paid no heed to such entreaties and seven months after being
allowed to travel freely and speak without restrictions, he accepted to be
president of the Hindu Mahasabha in December 1937 at its nineteenth annual
session, and remained at its helm for seven years. As president of the
Mahasabha from 1937–1942, Vinayak Damodar Savarkar delivered six
presidential lectures which form part of what is considered to be a major
repository of his political thought and ideology. Titled, Hindu-Rashtra
Darshan, the Savarkar lectures examine the twin ideas of the Hindu nation,
and swaraj (self-governance), a term which was used extensively by
nationalists such as Gandhi, Tilak and Sri Aurobindo. But Savarkar’s
definition of swaraj was different from the others, in that it did not imply
freedom from Colonial rule; independence for him meant, ‘as far as the
Hindu Nation is concerned, the political independence of the Hindus, the
freedom which would enable them to grow to their full height.’39
He argued that the Hindus would be denied freedom if they were
governed by non-Hindus, whether from within or without, and therefore, both
political and territorial control must rest in their hands. He further
recommended ‘Sanskritized Hindi’ as the lingua franca for the natural
inhabitants of such a land and exhorted them to eschew the usage of ‘spoken
Hindustani’, an amalgamation of Hindi–Urdu or what is called in north
Indian literature as the Ganga–Jamuni tehzeeb, which he termed as a
‘linguistic monstrosity’.
In his lectures, the use of armed violence gained more credence than
before, and a rejection of the Gandhian principle of non-violence which he
termed as a futile weapon in India’s struggle for independence. During the
Second World War, Savarkar demanded that Hindus enlist in the war effort
and viewed it as an opportunity to militarise them for future conflicts with
other communities.40
 By now, it was evident that Savarkar viewed an able-bodied and armed
Hindu as the answer to the ‘growing danger from the designs of the awakened
Muslim mind.’41 Post the rise of fascism in Germany, during a session of the
Hindu Mahasabha in 1938, Savarkar argued that, ‘if (we) Hindus in India
grow stronger in time, these Moslem friends of the League type will have to
play the part of German-Jews.’42 A year after this declaration, Savarkar was
approached by the British Viceroy for assistance in the war effort of the
Allied powers. Savarkar launched an intensive Mahasabha campaign to
militarise Hindus and suggested that Sikh and Gorkha battalions be deployed
on the north-western borders of British India. He addressed several public
meetings and visited schools, colleges and literary conferences to convince
young Hindu men to enlist in the British army. He further argued that in order
to defend India from the Muslims, there was a need to curtail the presence of
‘Muslims in military, police, and public service and to exclude Muslims
from owning or working in munitions factories.’43
Besides expanding the political framework of the Mahasabha, Savarkar
also travelled far and wide in India to get more people to sign up as
members. There was no doubt that at many places, he was treated like a cult
figure, but the high point of his tour was when he had met and convinced the
iconic Syama Prasad Mookerjee to join the Hindu Mahasabha.
After his release from detention, Savarkar may have been every bit a
demagogue while addressing public meetings to draw people into the Hindu
Mahasabha, but he quietly put the spirit of revolutionary nationalism behind
him. This obvious change in his strategy was quite simply the result of the
loss of freedom he had faced over two and a half decades, and at no cost did
he wish to repeat it. Moreover, his political stance had altered dramatically
over the years, and anti-Colonialism was no longer central to it. Although he
did not state it categorically, but it nevertheless became evident in the most
unusual fashion.
After Gandhi’s Quit India movement call in 1942 when the Congress
had asked its ministers to resign from the provincial government, Mohammed
Ali Jinnah saw this as an opportunity to form coalition governments in the
Muslim-majority provinces. Meanwhile, Savarkar had already instructed his
ministers in the provincial government to remain in office, claiming that if
they quit, then Muslim ministers and the British bureaucracy would ride
roughshod over them.
 In the summer of 1943, Jinnah invited Savarkar to explore the
possibility of forming a government in Muslim-majority provinces, obviously
with assistance from the Hindu Mahasabha. Savarkar responded that he was
willing to discuss any plan, provided it had nothing to do with the idea of
Pakistan. He also declined to visit Jinnah’s residence for the meeting, stating
that any interaction on the matter should only happen at a venue of his choice.
This was unacceptable to Jinnah, and after several deliberations, the two
decided to break the stalemate and met at a neutral venue. Unfortunately, even
that plan had fizzled out because Savarkar had initially dilly-dallied, and
subsequently, as the news of the proposed meeting made it to the press,
Savarkar ‘outdid Jinnah in resorting to delaying tactics and egoistic
gestures.’44
The extremists within Muslim organisations were severely critical of
Jinnah’s plan to collaborate with the Mahasabha, and in accepting Savarkar’s
demand that his party be allowed to voice its criticism about the idea of
Pakistan. In a shocking retaliatory move, a member of the Khaksar
Movement, Rafiq Sabir had physically assaulted Jinnah. In his new avatar as
a pan-Indian political leader, Savarkar issued a statement which was
contrary to his past beliefs and actions: ‘Such internecine, unprovoked
murderous assault—even if the motive be political (sic) or fanatical—
constituted a stain on public and civic life and should be strongly
condemned.’45

No Great Leader
Despite his unrelenting resolve and fabulous oratorical skills in mobilising
large numbers of Hindus across India, V.D. Savarkar was unable to convert
the Mahasabha into a mass organisation. The reasons: his antipathy towards
Muslims, which was considered by people as a narrow sectarian agenda in
the face of the larger goal of India’s independence; his pledge of support to
the British in the Second World War; the Mahasabha’s decision to not vacate
office in Bengal after the Quit India call in 1942; and finally, Savarkar’s
deteriorating health. A year prior to India’s independence, Savarkar had
suffered a massive heart attack in January 1946.
After convincing Syama Prasad Mookerjee to join the Hindu
Mahasabha, Savarkar also persuaded him to join the coalition government in
Bengal in 1940. But unfortunately for Syama Prasad, the Hindu Mahasabha
was floundering, even as India was inching closer towards freedom. In the
provincial elections of 1946, the Muslim League won several seats in its
constituencies, while the Congress won the majority of Hindu seats, leaving
the Mahasabha holding little beyond a rump. It may be safe to presume that
the political narrative had moved beyond the discourse of the late 1930s and
early 1940s. Although a feeling of religious bigotry was on the rise amongst
Muslims because of Jinnah’s tenacity and the Congress’ failure in preventing
them from flocking to the Muslim League, large number of Hindus were
opposed to communalism, because the Congress had retained its following
amongst them.
The Mahasabha was seen to be practising negative politics and
contributing little to the cause of Indian independence at the time it had
appeared imminent. When patriotic fervour was peaking across the country,
the Mahasabha was found canvassing for a divisive cause and this eroded its
credibility amongst people. That alone was instrumental for its poor
electoral performance in the 1946 elections, as also its eventual decline.
As president of the Hindu Mahasabha, Savarkar displayed poor
temperament not befitting a leader of his stature—he came across as
autocratic, erratic, given to mood swings and often failed to conduct
negotiations either with his party colleagues, or other parties. Stricken by a
heart ailment, he used it as an emotional ploy and threatened to quit thrice in
the 1940s, mainly as a strategy to have his way. Eventually, his resignation
was accepted and Syama Prasad Mookerjee took over as president of the
Mahasabha.
Curiously though, Savarkar had thrown a spanner in Mookerjee’s
presidency on an earlier occasion. In December 1944, the ‘Lion of Bengal’,
as Syama Prasad was referred to by his followers, was to chair his first
Mahasabha session in Bilaspur (then in Central India). Without consulting his
party colleagues, Savarkar had convened a gathering at the same venue to
demand a rollback on the ban (ordered by the Sindh government) of a book
called, Satyarth Prakash by the founder of the Arya Samaj, Dayanand
Saraswati. It was strange that Savarkar should have chosen to address the
meeting just outside where Mookerjee was still presiding over the
Mahasabha session. While the crowds were drawn to hear the mesmerising
Savarkar speak, Mookerjee’s show had ended on a whimper. Yet, throughout
his presidency not once did the Bengali leader show any disrespect towards
his colleague, although the incident revealed Savarkar’s eagerness to attain
personal glory. Although he had stepped down as president of the
Mahasabha, V.D. Savarkar remained its de facto chief and every crucial
decision was run past him. This included Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s
decision to accept Nehru’s offer to join his ministry after independence.
Nathuram Godse was one amongst several individuals whose path had
crossed Savarkar’s at crucial junctures of his life. Beginning from the time
when a young Godse would spend several evenings at Savarkar’s home in
Ratnagiri after his release, the two kept meeting thereafter. In 1944, after
Savarkar’s resignation as president of the Mahasabha, Godse started a
newspaper with Savarkar’s picture on the masthead. Although the broadsheet
was launched as an in-house journal of the Mahasabha, it remained a
‘Savarkarite’ pamphlet. Savarkar lost no time in assigning one of his
favourite disciples some crucial tasks—in the agitation against the Nizam’s
rule in Hyderabad, Godse was put at the head of the first brigade of
protestors.
The extent of information that Savarkar had regarding Godse’s plan to
assassinate Gandhi, and his involvement in the conspiracy, remains opens to
speculation, but it is noteworthy that unlike Nathuram Godse, Savarkar had
pleaded not guilty. He clearly had no intention of being in the dock, and did
not want his image of an intellectual and political thinker sullied. Preaching
or acquiescing to violence was one matter, but being seen as a violent person
—that too in the said incident—was another. That he did not wish to be
identified alongside the other accused, was evident from the protest he had
once lodged for being photographed with them. Yet, so great was the
reverence for him that at the Red Fort trial when the judge had acquitted him,
and pronounced Godse and Narayan Apte guilty to be hanged to death, some
of the other co-conspirators had fallen at Savarkar’s feet in the dock and
‘raised shouts of “Akhand Hindustan Amar Rahe; Hindu-Hindi-Hindustan,
Kabhi Na Hoga Pakistan.”’46
On his release in February 1949, Savarkar remained the votary of
Hindu Rashtra, as he always was. This was evidenced in one of his
statements made to a Marathi journal, prior to his arrest, in which he had
said:

Muslims in India should be given the same kind of treatment as Pakistan gave
to the Hindus in Pakistan. Frankly, the Indian Union was a Hindu State as
every nation was called after the name of its national majority. However, the
Hindu Raj was not to be a theocratic state; it was not to be based on religious
tenets. If the Muslims in India gave up hating the Hindus and were
emotionally and loyally prepared for national integration, a state without
distinctions of caste and creed could be established. In such a state, society
would be reconstructed on economic basis and Hindu socialism would do
the work. The tenets of Hindutva were consistent with democracy….47

A few months after his release, Savarkar sent a cable to Rajendra Prasad
who was then president of the Constituent Assembly. It read: ‘I am voicing
the sense and sentiment of millions of our countrymen when I beseech the
Constituent Assembly to adopt Bharat as the name of our nation, Hindi as
national language and Nagari as the national script***.
The Hindu Mahasabha was in a disarray after Mahatma Gandhi’s
assassination, and the death of two senior leaders, Bhai Parmanand and B.S.
Moonje. Syama Prasad Mookerjee had even suggested that the Mahasabha be
converted into a religio-cultural organisation, but it was obviously
overturned and after being revived in November 1949, V.D. Savarkar
presided over its session. Yet again, it became evident that he wasn’t sure
where he belonged—he was in politics, but made a distinction by saying that
it wasn’t ‘active politics’.
In April 1950, two years after Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination, the
government placed Savarkar under detention. This was done as a
precautionary measure to maintain peace in the run-up to the visit of the then
Pakistani Premier, Liaquat Ali, who was scheduled to meet Prime Minister
Nehru. A campaign for Savarkar’s release was mounted yet again, but the
government stated categorically that he would only be discharged from
prison if he took a pledge to not participate in any kind of politics till the first
general elections. Despite all the histrionics surrounding the order, Savarkar
acquiesced, as he had done on previous occasions in his political life.
During this period, Savarkar busied himself with lecturing on social
issues, and campaigned on the need to end the social scourge of
untouchability. But he also spoke in favour of what were obviously
retrograde ideas—how women must not look at household chores and
motherhood as a curse, which clearly reflected his patriarchal outlook.
Eventually, the government allowed him to participate in politics
shortly before the first general elections in 1952, and he began seeking votes
for the Mahasabha. It however did little in influencing voters and the Hindu
Mahasabha performed poorly, winning just three seats in parliament. After
the elections, S.P. Mookerjee, who was now the leader of the Bharatiya Jana
Sangh, met Savarkar and requested him to join the new party. Not only did
Savarkar refuse, but also forewarned Mookerjee that his party was following
in the Congress’ footsteps, ‘The tragedy of the Congress would overcome the
Jan Sangh also, for Muslims would remain Muslims first and Indians
never.’48 On his part, Mookerjee pointed out to his comrade that in his state
of West Bengal, the two communities lived in perfect harmony even after the
brutalities of the Partition, as they had in the preceding years. Savarkar
rejected Mookerjee’s claims, and nearly shamed him for forgetting the
Calcutta killings.
It was clear that Savarkar was now disillusioned with politics, and
after failing to find many who would give him their ear, he went back to
delivering public lectures on history, and culture. But that was only for a
short duration, because soon thereafter, he was back to focusing on issues
that were part of his larger mission.
As part of his campaign to propagate the idea of Hindu Rashtra,
Savarkar mounted a public and scathing criticism of Christian missionaries
in November 1953, accusing them of converting Hindus. He repeated what he
had been saying for years—the ultimate objective of proselytisation was to
undermine Hindu nationality. In October 1956, Hindu society was faced with
a major challenge when Dr B.R. Ambedkar had led thousands of his
supporters for converting to Buddhism. Savarkar’s response to the act was
guarded, and he commented that the decision did not symbolise a desertion
on their part from Hindu ranks, but merely reflected the tardy pace of reforms
within Hindu society. Savarkar claimed that despite his ‘conversion’, Dr
Ambedkar remained a Hindu because he had ‘embraced a non-Vedic but
Indian religious system within the orbit of Hindutva,’ and this was not a
‘change of faith.’ Savarkar’s response was indeed consistent with his life-
long definition of nationalism–whose pitribhoomi and punyabhoomi were
within the territorial boundaries of India, they were Hindus.
Meanwhile in 1956, preparations were also afoot to celebrate the
centenary year of India’s First War of Independence. An organising
committee was established to steer the celebrations, and V.D. Savarkar was
asked to be a speaker at the event, because of his book. Prime Minister
Nehru was requested to participate as well, but he had turned down the
request after learning that Savarkar had been extended an invitation. Nehru
made his objections on the issue rather clear, when he said:

Savarkar is a brave man, a hero, a great man. When I was a student in

England we were inspired by his book on 1857. It is a great book which has
inspired many Indians. But it is hardly history. We have differed on several
problems and it would be embarrassing to him if I were to speak in a
different tone…speaking on the same platform would be unjust for both of
us.49

As he neared his Eighties, Savarkar was grappling with ill-health, and

progressive senility. In many ways, Savarkar’s increasing political isolation
after he stepped down from the presidentship of the Mahasabha, stemmed
from his seclusion during his incarceration in the Cellular Jail. For thirteen
long years, he was used to being companionless, and after independence
when he realised that his brand of politics had no place in Indian polity, he
was yet again reconciled to his own company.
He lived a quiet life with his wife and son. Ironically, for all his
frugality, Savarkar was known to have fine taste and savoured chocolates,
and an occasional shot of his favourite brand of whiskey, Jintan. His tirade
against Christian missionaries notwithstanding, the Bible was one of his
constant companions in jail; the other two being the Sedition Committee
Report of 1918, and Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra. He was known to be very
particular about his physical appearance, and a black umbrella was an
indispensable accoutrement of his persona.
On 27 May 1962, on the eve of entering the eightieth year of his life,
Savarkar issued a statement requesting his admirers and well-wishers to not
visit him for extending birthday greetings. The next morning, on his eightieth
birthday, Savarkar fractured his thigh bone, and was bedridden for a few
months. Even as he managed to barely walk around, his wife Yamunabai fell
critically ill, and was moved to a hospital. From her hospital bed, when
Yamunabai pleaded to bid goodbye to her husband fearing her imminent
death, Savarkar had turned down her request and never visited her thereafter.
When she died in November 1963, he issued instructions to cremate her at an
electric crematorium without performing the necessary obsequies as
mandated in Hinduism. Despite several pleas from other members of the
family, Savarkar refused to relent and disallowed the body to be brought
home. L.G. Thatte, a young, emotional Hindu Mahasabha member at the time
(who later became a general secretary of the party), was among those who
protested against Savarkar’s decision. He offered satyagraha at Savarkar’s
house and was subsequently arrested for the offence. In his book, Dhananjay
Keer referred to a ‘poor widow’50 who had also attempted to persuade
Savarkar to perform his wife’s last rites, but to no avail. Eventually his son,
Vishwas performed his mother’s funeral rights, and it is still contested
whether he had his father’s permission to do so.
It can be speculated that for a man like Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, it
was imperative that he be recognised as a modernist, for whom religion did
not mean adhering to rituals, yet be considered an aspect which defined his
nationality, politics, and his culture.
For the significant part of the forty years that Vinayak and Yamunabai
lived together after his jail term, the man spent most of his time fulfilling his
life’s mission. He had little time for his wife, and hardly made any effort to
help her come into her own. For all practical purposes, Yamunabai was the
mother of Savarkar’s three children and at best, his care-giver. Here was a
woman who was just eleven when she had married the eighteen-year-old
Vinayak and after an undertaking that her father would pay for his son-in-
law’s university education.
After his release from detention, Savarkar completely ‘excluded his
wife from public life,’ but ‘attracted women followers to the cause of
militant Hindu nationalism.’51 In his role as a social reformer, Savarkar had
campaigned relentlessly to secure the right for women to participate in
religious ceremonies publicly, but once the right was granted, his wife never
had the chance to visit a temple.
There is no doubt that Savarkar fought for women’s rights, but he also
believed that they should have limited rights. He supported women’s
education, but not the kind that men pursued in universities. He was clear that
women’s education must be restricted to spheres that enabled them to
perform their role as carers of the home and hearth, and of course, their man.
He placed restrictions on their behaviour, although he remained silent about
their adulation for him. According to him, beauty was an important element
of feminine charm, but the possession of this attribute should enforce a
responsibility upon the women to remain within the boundaries of morality.
During India’s struggle for independence, Savarkar had campaigned for
women to propagate the swadeshi spirit, but emphasised that public action
shouldn’t be the ultimate goal for them. They had to be adept in cooking, and
rearing children was among their main duties. ‘A woman’s greatest pleasure
did not lie in material, political or social accomplishment but in suckling a
child.’52
He wanted women to tell their young sons stories eulogising Hindu
warriors, so that they grew up with the desire to annihilate the enemies of the
sacred motherland. On the one hand, he praised women like Rani
Lakshmibai, because of her valour and indomitable spirit. Yet, he blamed her
and other women who participated in the First War of Independence for
acting prematurely in Meerut, resulting in the failure of 1857.
At the ripe old age of eighty, it was far too late for Savarkar to come to
terms with such deep contradictions between his public posturing and
personal life, even if he had felt the need to do so. Till his death in February
1966, Savarkar often remained confined to bed. The last two decades of
Savarkar’s life were years of political isolation and public dishonour. The
Hindu Mahasabha failed to resurrect itself as a credible political force,
while the RSS emerged as the principal organisation advocating Hindu
nationalism.
In conclusion, V.D. Savarkar was certainly an ideologue, but lacked in
giving his organisation a clear direction; there was no doubt that he could
create and bring ideas to fruition, but in so far as managing people, devising
political strategies and delegating responsibilities was concerned, he was
found severely wanting. According to some accounts, his long stretches in
solitary confinement spanning a decade-and-a-half had made Savarkar
withdraw into a shell and thus less socially amiable.
Till his death, Vinayak Damodar Savarkar believed that India would
eventually embrace a party that reflected his version of nationalism—
exclusively Hindu, while making space for others who were willing to
genuflect to its ancient precepts and philosophies; a nation whose natural
inhabitants were Hindus and whose dignity could only be restored by
relegating the dangerous ‘enemy’ within to the backburner. Only time will
determine whether Narendra Damodardas Modi, who paid obeisance to the
great Veer Savarkar in parliament after his fabulous victory in 2014, has
begun the process of such a clinch.
* The portrait unveiling ceremony by President A.P.J. Abdul Kalam on 26
February 2003 was particularly controversial. The Opposition, with the
exception of the former Prime Minister, Chandrashekhar, had boycotted the
function. The Deputy Speaker of Lok Sabha, P.M. Sayeed, too was a notable
absentee. In 2000, Vajpayee had proposed to the then President K.R.
Narayanan to bestow India’s highest civilian award, the Bharat Ratna on V.D.
Savarkar. But it wasn’t approved.
** In the aftermath of the Muzaffarnagar riots in 2013–14, a propaganda was
started claiming that Muslims were waging a systemic campaign under which
young Muslim males were befriending Hindu girls and marrying them after
converting them to Islam. The campaign added to the prevailing stereotypes
of the typical Muslim youth as someone who marries more than one woman
and discriminates against them. For additional background, read:
https://scroll.in/article/877483/
*** As a practise those days, the Persian script was often used for Hindi
alongside Urdu.
 MADHAV SADASHIV GOLWALKAR

O n 9 September 1947, around 3:00 p.m., two Sindhi men were blown
to smithereens while making crude bombs in a house in Shikarpur
Colony, Karachi. They were later identified as members of the Rashtriya
Swayamsevak Sangh.
From early 1946 onwards, a constant refrain amongst the RSS cadre in
Karachi was: ‘Pakistan will definitely happen. Then, we will take over
Sindh’s police stations, airports, railway stations.’ Pribhdas Butani did not
live to see if his bluster bore fruit, as he was amongst the two who had died
in the mishap.*
The previous day, on 8 September, a bomb had exploded in a crowded
Karachi market killing five Muslims. The attack pointed towards a macabre
plot in a series of counter-offensives across the newly-created Indo–Pak
border. If Muslims were targeted in Delhi, Hindus were attacked in Karachi
and other cities of Pakistan.
However, what stood out in the Karachi market bombing case was that
it seemed carefully orchestrated, and wasn’t the usual spontaneous venting of
anger in a communal tinder box. The killing of Muslims added fuel to the
prevailing anti-Hindu sentiment. Most locals believed that the attack was the
handiwork of militant Hindu groups. Although it was said to be in retaliation
for the attack on Hindus1 by mohajirs (refugees) near the Drigh Road railway
station in Karachi, the Muslims were persuaded to cool off mainly because
of lack of evidence.
However a day later, a firm connection was established between the
attack in the market and the explosion inside the Shikarpur Colony house.2 It
turned out that the house, or rather bungalow, where the two men were killed
while manufacturing a bomb, belonged to a Hindu businessman who had
packed off his family to India amidst winding up his businesses in Karachi.
Before leaving, he had handed over the house keys to a twenty-two-year-old
RSS worker, who was not only his friend’s son, but the personal aide of its
chief, Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar, popularly known as ‘Guruji’.
Fortunately, the young man, Nand Badlani was not in the makeshift factory
that day, but was arrested later when the police had discovered a ‘list’ of
RSS activists from the site.3 While the list included the name of Khanchand
Gopaldas (or K.G.) Mansukhani, the regional sanghchalak of RSS who was
sent to jail, several others fearing arrest, planned their escape to India.
Four days later, on 12 September 1947, a twenty-year-old man had
boarded a British Overseas Airways Corporation (BOAC) plane in Karachi.
It was Lal Krishna Advani’s maiden flight, obviously not under pleasant
circumstances, for he was a fugitive; not only was his name listed as an
accused, he was identified as a front-ranking member of the RSS’ youth
brigade. His recent activities included organising a swayamsevaks’ march in
Karachi, prior to a public meeting by M.S. Golwalkar, barely ten days before
Partition.4 In the rally, which was the last public gathering of Hindus in
Pakistan, Golwalkar had said, ‘Sindh, through which flows the sacred Sindhu
River, is being severed from India.’5
After the police investigation, thirty-odd RSS activists were rounded up
and charged with conspiracy for waging a war against the ‘state of Pakistan’.
K.G. Mansukhani and Nand Badlani were sentenced to life which included
ten years of rigorous punishment. However, three months later in November
1947, Mansukhani and several other RSS workers were exchanged for
Muslim prisoners in Indian prisons under an informal pact between the two
governments.
Despite a vehement opposition for the move, the ‘exchange of
prisoners’ pointed towards the RSS’ political clout in India. Such was M.S.
Golwalkar’s influence that he could directly reach out to Deputy Prime
Minister Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel when some RSS workers were found
missing from a batch of prisoners from Sindh.6 In fact after the Partition, even
the Mahatma had met Golwalkar to discuss RSS’ role in running refugee
camps.
The occasion for the dialogue had come up during Gandhi’s address to
a gathering of RSS volunteers a few days after the Shikarpur Colony blast, in
a Delhi colony. He later spoke with Golwalkar who said that the organisation
had no intention of fomenting trouble and added that ‘the policy of the Sangh
was purely service of the Hindus and Hinduism and that too not at the cost of
anyone else. The Sangh did not believe in aggression. It did not believe in
ahimsa. It taught the art of self-defence. It never taught retaliation.’7 It
remains unsubstantiated if Gandhi ‘believed these assertions,’8 a fact borne
out by the not-so-subtle messages that he sent out to the RSS regarding its
worldview. In his address to the swayamsevaks, Gandhi affirmed that:

Hinduism had absorbed the best of all the faiths… (consequently) could have
no quarrel with Islam or its followers as unfortunately was the case today…
if the Hindus felt that in India there was no place for anyone else except the
Hindus and if non-Hindus, especially Muslims, wished to live here, they had
to live as the slaves of the Hindus, they would kill Hinduism.9

Significantly, and particularly for those who continued to argue that Gandhi
was soft towards the Muslims, he had said in the same speech,

if Pakistan believed that in Pakistan only the Muslims had a rightful place
and the non-Muslims had to live there on sufferance and as their slaves, it
would be the death-knell of Islam in India.

Gandhi’s views drew criticism from Karachi’s leading newspaper, Dawn

which while reporting on his interaction with the swayamsevaks emphasised
on his assertion about a possible conflict between India and Pakistan. The
report was grossly inaccurate, for it had omitted to mention that Gandhi had
preached the same lesson to both countries—to be accommodative towards
religious minorities. But the newspaper had selectively picked and
extrapolated on his statement, ‘if Pakistan persisted in wrongdoing, there was
bound to be a war between India and Pakistan.’ In fact Gandhi had
questioned the leaders of the newly-created Pakistan as to why they did not
‘plead with the Hindus and the Sikhs and ask them not to leave their homes
and ensure their safety in every way?’10 In no way was Gandhi alluding to a
possible Indo–Pak conflict, but was merely hinting at how the two countries
should provide space for religious minorities.11
Meanwhile, M.S. Golwalkar’s timely intervention with the Indian
government yielded results and nineteen RSS volunteers were released from
prison and arrived in India. The transfer was carried out across the border in
Ferozepur (Punjab), and a welcome reception was held in Delhi in the
presence of several leading lights, including L K. Advani, despite his
fugitive status in Pakistan. In February 2002, when India and Pakistan were
locked in an eyeball to eyeball conflict, Islamabad had reopened the
Shikarpur Colony case and labelled Advani ‘an absconder.’12
In the final analysis, it seemed as if the chief of the RSS had achieved
the near impossible—his ability to influence the government, particularly a
few months prior to his imprisonment on the charge of conspiring to
assassinate the Father of the Nation.
At the time of his arrest in February 1948, M.S. Golwalkar had held the
top post in the RSS for eight long years, and he held on to it for another
quarter of a century.
In the pantheon of RSS sarsanghchalaks, Golwalkar continues to be a
revered figure—his long hair, a flowing beard, and the moniker of Guruji
worked as perfect symbols in projecting him as the true inheritor of Swami
Vivekananda’s spiritual legacy. Yet, initially, this wasn’t what he had
wanted….

The Growing Up Years

Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar was born in 1906 in Ramtek near Nagpur in
Maharashtra. Much like V.D. Savarkar, K.B. Hedgewar, and later, Nathuram
Godse, he was also born into a Brahmin family. However, unlike
Hedgewar’s ancestors who were priests, his father, Sadashivrao Golwalkar
was a civil servant in the Post and Telegraph department. The family was
poor, but what was more unfortunate was that it was struck by a string of
tragedies–in what seemed like a mysterious and incurable disease, the
Golwalkar family lost three infant boys and five girls in quick succession.
In 1909, when Madhav was three years old, his father quit the civil
services and took up a schoolteacher’s job in Chhattisgarh. Subsequently, his
job took him to different parts of Central India, and Madhav went to different
schools in Raipur, Durg, and Khandwa.
Sadashivrao Golwalkar wished his son to take up Medicine, and in
1922, Madhav enrolled in Fergusson College, Pune. Unfortunately, owing to
certain regulations which forbade the migration of students to institutions
away from their place of domicile, he was forced to return to Nagpur from
where he earned a degree in Science in his Intermediate. In 1926, he secured
a BSc from the Banares Hindu University (BHU), and continued in the same
university to pursue his MSc in Zoology.
 In college, although the young man displayed little interest in active
politics, he had a deep understanding of the subject. For instance, in a letter
of January 1929 to a close friend, Baburao Telang, Madhav made a reference
to Bhagat Singh and his comrades who had carried out the assassination of
John Saunders, and wrote that the incident was a ‘matter of satisfaction’
because the ‘insult meted out to the nation by the power-crazy foreign rulers
was avenged.’13 Yet, this was in contrast to his previous stance when he had
‘denounced violence, hatred, the attitude of revenge etc…’14
It wasn’t as if he was deliberately glossing over his principles vis-a-
vis the use of violence for a political end. In the same letter, he had
confessed that he was facing inner turmoil: ‘On the one side there is the
desire to take revenge and the impulse of youth, and on the other the serene
but immutable Vedic thought.’15 Although he was yet to manifest his mission
of propagating Hinduism as a means to a political end, his inclination
towards spiritualism was propelling him to become a ‘social,’ and
subsequently, a ‘political Hindu’. At this juncture of his life, Golwalkar saw
no dispute between the conflicting viewpoints, and said that the ‘real
relationship between Hindus and Muslims will have to be made known to
all,’ and further added that the ‘Brahmin-non Brahmin controversy will have
to be ended.’16
Golwalkar’s observations regarding caste during the early years of his
life establishes what Hindu nationalists have always held as a social reality
—the schism between upper and lower caste Hindus as the primary
impediment in the final consolidation of the community. Even prior to his
formal indoctrination, Golwalkar had firmly concluded that the so-called
unequal relationship between Muslims and Hindus, wherein the latter were
purportedly subjugated by the invading Muslims, could not be successfully
contested until the inner contradictions within Hindu society were
eradicated. His biographer, C.P. Bhishikar made an illuminating comment in
this regard as follows:

Golwalkar had thus, independently, decided about his direction even before
he came into contact with the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh. It is really
God’s grace that such a clear realisation of his duty had dawned on a young
man who was selfless, scholarly, pure of mind, spiritually inclined,
possessed of a comparative knowledge of modern and ancient learning
absorbed from hundreds of books, and had just crossed the threshold of the
university. No wonder, nearly eleven years later this young man accepted the
responsibility of the mission of national awakening launched by Dr.
Hedgewar and guided it with exceptional ability for 33 long years.17

In the decade or more since his letter to the friend, and before he had
assumed the leadership of the RSS, his life’s trajectory was anything but
linear, and at one point, he had almost veered away from the path he had
chalked out in Banaras. But before his mid-career ‘blues’ hit, and a few
years after earning his Masters, Golwalkar had headed towards Madras
(now Chennai) for pursuing a doctorate in marine life, which he had to
unfortunately abandon, because by then his father had retired, and was unable
to fund his doctoral thesis.
Consequently, Madhav returned to Banaras and took up a job as a
lecturer in 1930. He taught there for three years after which he returned to
Nagpur where among other things, he also studied Law and soon began his
legal practise.
In was during his three-year stay in Banaras when he first met with his
mentor, K.B. Hedgewar. In the year 1931, the two men knew of each other’s
existence, but it would take another year before they actually met in person. It
may be recalled that Keshav Baliram Hedgewar had embarked on a
nationwide tour and travelled to Banaras to widen his cadre base in the holy
city, and it was here that he was instantly struck and ‘attracted to the ascetic
twenty-five-year-old teacher.’18 Although the two men were seventeen years
apart in age, they developed an abiding relationship, which at one point
became so contentious that it almost threatened to split the organisation that
the two had so carefully built.

An Internal Conflict
As mentioned earlier, unlike other RSS leaders, M.S. Golwalkar had no
formal initiation into politics. As a young man, he was naturally drawn
towards spiritualism and it would be rather simplistic to attribute this solely
to his Brahminical upbringing. At the young age of twenty-three, Golwalkar
had said that he had ‘no desire to attune (myself) to a mundane human life.’19
Like most young men, although he may have wrestled with several
existentialist questions, he was certain that the life of a grihast or
householder, was not for him. According to him, happiness was attainable if
one followed the path of Shuka (the son of Vyasa, also the compiler and
narrator of the Vedas) who was said to have triumphed over Rambha’s (the
celestial nymph) advances to ‘attain Brahmapad (the ultimate abode of the
Supreme) while a Vishwamitra, treading the same path, succumbs to Menaka
and bites the dust.’20
In his resolve to remain celibate, Golwalkar considered ‘breaking all
its (mundane matters) bonds and straight away go to the Himalayas.’21 Yet, an
inexplicable force had restrained him, and he’d held back because, as he
asked, ‘how can you leave everybody to his fate and go away seeking your
own happiness?’22 Eventually, he overcame the conundrum and confessed to
his friend, Baburao Telang that he has,

already accepted initiation into Sanyas, but it is not yet complete. Perhaps my
original idea of going to the Himalayas was faulty….Now I shall not go to
the Himalayas, rather Himalayas shall come to me—its serene silence will
dwell within me.

Along with a deep and abiding faith in spirituality, M.S. Golwalkar was a
master in mallakhambh (gymnastics performed on an upright pole); an ‘expert
in war; had used his hands in the Nagpur Hindu-Muslim riots.’23; and a
‘votary of Hindu pride.’ The contrasting aspects in his personality, of a
hermit-warrior, made him an ideal candidate for an organisation which laid
great emphasis on both the physical and spiritual aspects of its cadre, and by
the late 1920s, Madhav was enlisted as a teacher in the RSS and was soon
considered the ‘patron and chief of the University Shakha.’24
During the course of his teaching assignment in Banares, Madhav
Sadashiv developed a close relationship with Prabhakar Balwant Dani aka
Bhaiyaji Dani (a swayamsevak from Nagpur, who was appointed the
organiser of the local shakha by K.B. Hedgewar), and while Golwalkar
helped Dani to complete his education, the latter reciprocated by
‘popularising Madhavrao’s name as Guruji in the Sangh.’25 Even before his
formal ascent in the sangh hierarchy, the honorific lent a hallowed image to
the young teacher who had begun shaping the minds of young RSS volunteers.
It was also during this phase when he had met with one of Congress
party’s tallest leaders in Banaras, Dr Madan Mohan Malaviya who provided
space for the RSS to open a small office in the precincts of the BHU.
Sometime later, K.B. Hedgewar invited the young man to Nagpur for the
annual Vijaydashami (also the RSS’ foundation day) function. The visit to his
hometown was a turning point in Golwalkar’s life. On his return to Banaras,
he discovered that his lectureship had come to an end, and he returned to
Nagpur to seek another job.

Engagement with the RSS

After setting up legal practise in Nagpur, M.S. Golwalkar began teaching on
the side in his uncle’s college to manage the upkeep of his family which
included his ageing parents. However, even as his engagement with the RSS
continued alongside, it was his inclination towards spiritualism which
became a cause for an ‘extraordinary tussle’26 between him and his mentor—
two men who steered the RSS for almost five decades. The fact of the matter
was that despite all his industriousness, Golwalkar was the quintessential
maverick, who didn’t give in easily to blind obedience.
For instance, although he was sent to Bombay to widen the RSS’
network and was appointed the sarvadhikari (chief) of the training camp in
Akola in 1935, his inner calling distracted him from work. It wasn’t as if he
had abandoned the RSS, but he was beginning to spend more time at the
Ramakrishna Mission Ashram in Nagpur. This worried Hedgewar no end
who said that,

while on the one hand the nation was faced with the challenge of achieving
freedom and deliver it from the degradation of slavery, on the other a gifted
young man…was merely striving for liberation for himself.27

He was also cautioned by his mentor about the dangers of intolerance as an

impediment in organisation-building.
In the 1930s therefore, M.S. Golwalkar was an inward-looking, reticent
young man, when compared to the outgoing and extroverted, Hedgewar. He
came across as a reluctant initiate, and Hedgewar feared that he would
eventually take flight and become a sanyasi.28
Three years later, it actually happened when M.S. Golwalkar
perfunctorily abandoned his legal practise, left the RSS, his home, and
headed for Murshidabad district in undivided Bengal to join the Sargachhi
Ashram of Swami Akhandananda who was a disciple of Ramkrishna
Paramahansa, and a guru bhai of Swami Vivekananda. He had learnt about
the ashram from another sanyasi called Swami Amoortananda aka Amitabh
Maharaj, who later played an important role in retaining him in the sangh’s
fold.
Golwalkar had also left a letter with a friend requesting that it be
delivered to his mother after his departure. What was strange was that while
Madhav had walked away from his mother towards monkhood, after her
death in 1962, he had desired complete severance from all worldly pursuits
as if in penance for his absence during his mother’s last moments. This was
when he had been RSS sarsanghchalak for twenty-two years.
Meanwhile after his sojourn in the ashram, it was Amitabh Maharaj
who had advised him that the, ‘Sangh’s work is still incomplete. For its sake
you will have to go back….Your sadhana should take place not in the lap of
the Himalayas but in that room29’ (meaning the RSS office; emphasis mine).
But in 1936 when he had headed for the Sargachhi Ashram, Golwalkar
had no intentions of retracing his steps. One major reason for his resolve to
become a monk was Swami Akhandananda, whose deep influence on his
pupil is evident from an apocryphal story.
As was the practise in most monastic Orders, the disciples of Swami
Akhandananda took complete care of him, including performing ‘chores like
washing his clothes, bathing him, serving him tea, looking after his meals,
making his bed and so on.’30 Golwalkar also followed the strictures of the
ashram and soon formed a strong bond with his master. Swami
Akhandananda was not only old, but also ailing and the young, devoted
Madhav would often spend nights sitting next to his bedside. At the time of
joining the ashram, Golwalkar already had long hair, but it was here that he
began growing a beard as well. One day, the master stroked his disciple’s
head in an avuncular fashion and said, ‘Looks good for (sic) you. Don’t ever
cut it.’31 And henceforth, Madhav, who was already sworn to a life of
sanyas, actually began looking like one.
Despite a lifelong ambition of abstaining from the routine life of a
householder, destiny had other plans for Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar. His
guru died within a month of his initiation and thereafter, Madhav found little
peace at the ashram. Meanwhile, Amitabh Maharaj had got wind of
Madhav’s inner turmoil and took him to Belur Math, the headquarters of the
Ramakrishna Order, on the outskirts of Calcutta. At long last, Madhav
seemed to have found equanimity and was perhaps sufficiently distanced
from a past that had been one of the most turbulent phases of his life. He
immediately expressed his desire to permanently stay at the ashram, when he
was informed by Amitabh Maharaj that prior to his death, Swami
Akhandananda had wished Golwalkar to return to Nagpur.
Finally in March 1937, the two returned to Nagpur where after
spending a few days at the local Ramakrishna Mission, Golwalkar went to
meet Keshav Baliram Hedgewar.

Going Up the Ladder

Although there are several accounts of the master’s happiness at the return of
the prodigal son, there are also a few references of the discomfort that the
former had felt over the latter’s self-confession of being ‘a rather blunt and
short-tempered young man.’32 In Narayan Hari Palkar’s biography of K.B.
Hedgewar, M.S. Golwalkar is quoted as saying that, ‘there developed around
me a thick intellectual sheath through which the Doctor’s words could not
penetrate.’33
Golwalkar had a seemingly brusque manner, which not only worked
against him, but also impacted the RSS when it was banned in the aftermath
of Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination. The mediator who was engaged by the
government to strike a bargain with the RSS for rescinding the ban, had
commented that Golwalkar was a ‘blunt man innocent of the etiquette
required in a correspondence with Government. The soft word that turneth
away wrath is not among his gifts.’34
On his part, K.B. Hedgewar continued guiding his young pupil and
advised him yet again that, ‘a person should not lose himself in the pursuit of
personal happiness but should pledge all his powers to the cause of national
regeneration.’35 But Golwalkar was still undecided and vacillated between
the RSS, Ramakrishna Mission, his large circle of friends, and even playing
the flute.
In a surprise move, despite Golwalkar’s obvious shortcomings,
Hedgewar placed him in charge of the annual Officers’ Training Camp
(OTC) for three consecutive years. One of the reasons for giving the young
man an important assignment could have been because of Hedgewar’s failing
health, and the need to have someone as sharp and young as Madhav to
manage the camp. All this was clearly pointing in a particular direction and
finally in 1939, Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar was appointed general
secretary of the RSS, the second most important position in the organisation’s
pecking order.
One of the reasons that Golwalkar’s elevation was accepted without
any demur was because of his image of an ideologue-thinker. Apart from his
ascetic-like appearance and various sojourns to ashrams, Golwalkar had
taken upon himself to translate G.D. (aka Babarao) Savarkar’s book in
Marathi titled, Rashtra Mimansa into English, which was published in
March 1939 as We or Our Nationhood Defined.
Although this proved to be a significant milestone in his career, for
some strange reason, Golwalkar denied the authorship to Savarkar and
instead claimed the book to be his ‘maiden attempt’ in the Preface of the first
edition. He however did acknowledge Rashtra Mimansa as amongst his
‘chief sources of inspiration and help’ and further explained in the Preface
that he wrote it, despite it being ‘superfluous.’36
The original Marathi version was published in 1934, but when
Golwalkar began translating it, copies of the book were withdrawn and
hence unavailable to readers. For a period spanning quarter of a century,
Golwalkar had supposedly concealed the fact that the book was not his
original work.37 Yet another observation was that the book often lapsed ‘into
intemperate language here and there,’ and when a second edition was
published a few years later, it had been ‘somewhat cleansed of these
excesses of language.’38
The book went into three reprints, the last in 1947, but it took more than
a decade and a half before a public statement was made in 1963 attributing
the original authorship of We or Our Nationhood Defined to G.D. Savarkar.
Finally, Golwalkar declared that his was an abridged version of Rashtra
Mimansa and that he had handed over the Hindi translation to someone, and
put to rest the mystery surrounding the book.
Despite Golwalkar’s proclamation, the story of two authors claiming
authorship of the same book did not create any ripples in the local press.
Amongst other reasons, it was because the RSS was still a marginal political
force at the time; second, as the declaration was made during the eightieth
birthday celebrations of V.D. Savarkar, who was still suspected to be
involved in Gandhi’s assassination, the controversy was given short shrift
and continued to be under wraps for the next four decades. For the people at
large, Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar was the author of We or Our Nationhood
Defined and the book is still regarded as a seminal work by the RSS.
Eventually, a booklet titled, Sri Guruji and Indian Muslims released
by the RSS in February 2006 (written by Prof. Rakesh Sinha, an RSS-leaning
academic who was nominated to the Rajya Sabha in 2018) made two critical
points in this regard: first, that the book ‘neither represents the views of the
Guruji nor of the RSS,’ and second, that this was an abridged version of G.D.
Savarkar’s work which was previously mentioned by Dhananjay Keer in his
autobiography of K.B. Hedgewar and was accepted by the RSS.
But what was most intriguing and given Golwalkar’s scholarship, was
that if he did take recourse to such a route, then why did he do so in the first
place? Was it to ride roughshod over the RSS leadership and gear up to
combat any opposition to his appointment as general secretary, and
eventually sarsanghchalak? Moreover, the basic premise of G.D. Savarkar’s
Rashtra Mimansa was already treated as a sacred principle by the entire
sangh:

I have throughout the work scrupulously stuck to one idea “Nation” and
except where it was unavoidable have given no consideration to the allied
concept, the “State.” “Nation” being a cultural unit, and “State” a political
one, the two concepts are clearly distinguishable, although there is certainly
a good deal of mutual overlapping….In applying the Nation Concept to our
present day conditions, there is a discussion of the relations of the various
communities to the Hindu Nation—but not from the political point of view…
All passing remarks to the relations between the “Nation” and the “Minority
Communities” as appearing in this work are to be understood in this light,
without confusing the question of the Minorities’ political status with that of
their inclusion or otherwise into the body of the Nation.

At no point did Golwalkar disagree with G.D. Savarkar’s postulations. Since

then, the RSS has somehow failed to ward off claims that as an organisation,
it ratifies Golwalkar’s version of the original book. This charge has been
repeatedly used by the Opposition and even as recently as November 2015
when at a special commemorative session of parliament, Sitaram Yechury,
the general secretary of the Communist Party of India (Marxist), quoted from
the book to argue that the RSS admired the way German ‘managed the Jews’.
Germany has also shown how well-nigh impossible it is for races and
cultures, having differences going to the root, to be assimilated into one
united whole, a good lesson for us in Hindustan to learn and profit by….39

This viewpoint was however not repudiated by Golwalkar, and remains the
‘official line’ of the RSS and its affiliated organisations.
In September 2018, there was a concerted effort by the RSS to debunk
parts of Golwalkar’s contentious political arguments. At a three-day lecture
series, the RSS’ sarsanghchalak, Mohan Bhagwat had asserted that many of
Golwalkar’s views had outlived their purpose, because they were made in a
particular historical context. This was however not the first time when
Golwalkar’s theories were rejected by the RSS. The organisation had
expressed its discomfort over Bunch of Thoughts, a compilation of
Golwalkar’s speeches and articles, published in 1966. The book contained a
chapter titled, “Internal Threats”, with sub-sections on Muslims, Christians,
and Communists. The section on Muslims argued that the community had
adopted a two-fold strategy after Partition—‘direct aggression’, and
‘swelling numbers’, and that the problem was a ‘time-bomb’ for they had
neither forgotten nor learnt anything and were working towards creating
‘miniature Pakistans.’
In the chapter, Golwalkar had claimed that not all ‘pro-Pakistan
elements’ had gone away and in fact the ‘Muslim menace has increased a
hundredfold.’ In 2004, the RSS released a twelve-volume compendium
titled, Sri Guruji Samagra or the Collected Works of Sri Guruji.
However, a year later, the organisation felt the need for a ‘diluted’
version of Golwalkar’s political views and published Sri Guruji: Drishti
aur Darshan (or, Sri Guruji: Vision and Mission). In his speech, Bhagwat
argued that the views contained in this particular book were more
representative of Golwalkar’s thoughts.
Although the RSS continues to grapple with certain aspects of its past,
in so far as Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar is concerned, the cadre continues to
revere him as he was projected in its annals.

Storm Over the Appointment

As witnessed in the history of the RSS, M.S. Golwalkar was the only one to
have made a lateral entry into the organisation and unlike others, he did not
rise through the ranks. In the 1920s when the core group had codified matters
relating to the functioning of the RSS, they hadn’t obviously specified any
procedures nor laid down any rules for a succession plan. As the RSS
expanded its base and came to occupy a significant position in post-
Independent India, this had led to considerable confusion in its ranks, lasting
several years.
In February 1939, Hedgewar had convened a meeting of his select
aides to discuss certain important issues as a result of his failing health. It
was a decade since the RSS had adopted the principle of ek chalak
anuvartitva—the supremacy of one leader—and therefore there was
complete concurrence when Hedgewar had nominated Golwalkar as the
organisation’s sarkaryavah or general secretary, the second most powerful
position in the RSS. Appaji Joshi, ‘considered Doctorji’s right hand man at
that time,’40 and thought to be among the chief’s most likely successors, had
also conceded in deference to the chief. When an ailing Hedgewar had asked
Joshi about his opinion of Golwalkar as ‘the future Sarsanghachalak,’ he had
replied promptly, ‘Excellent! A most proper choice.’41 It wasn’t only Joshi
who may have had the feeling of being superseded in preference to someone
who hadn’t risen from the ranks. Madhukar Dattatreya Deoras (see chapter,
Balasaheb Deoras, p. 247), popularly known as Balasaheb, was yet another
hopeful, for many considered him to be Hedgewar’s ‘heir apparent’42, but he
was sent to Bengal on work and there the matter had ended.
On 21 June 1940, K.B. Hedgewar died at the home of the Nagpur
sanghchalak, Babasaheb Ghatate, leaving the RSS in a quandary over the
succession issue. In his last days, besides his personal physician, he only
spoke with either Ghatate or Golwalkar43 and which meant that no one knew
what had transpired between the three men. His death put the RSS in an
unprecedented situation, because the only time Hedgewar had not been at the
helm of affairs was when he had courted arrest during the Civil
Disobedience movement, but even then he had formally handed over charge
to a loyal aide.
An unpublished dissertation submitted to the Agra University in 1959
claimed that a day before his death, Hedgewar had ‘handed over to him
(Golwalkar) a slip of paper on which was written: Before giving this body
finally in the hands of doctors, I wanted to tell you that hereafter you look
after the organization and shoulder the whole responsibility.’44
 Meanwhile after the mandatory thirteen-day mourning period was over,
the top brass of the RSS met in Nagpur on 3 July which included, Dr B.S.
Moonje, L.V. Paranjpe, Golwalkar and Balasaheb Deoras, to deliberate over
their collective future. At the end of the meeting when a formal announcement
was made about M.S. Golwalkar’s elevation, it ‘stunned many RSS
members, who had expected that Hedgewar would choose an older, more
experienced person.’45 The nomination issue had so impacted the cadre that
in a memorial issue of the Organiser published after Golwalkar’s death,
Balasaheb Deoras, who had succeeded him, was quoted as saying:

Possibly some of us may have thought at that time that Guruji Golwalkar was
new to the Sangh, and not experienced enough. So we might have been
doubtful about how he would discharge his responsibility. Those who were
outside the Sangh, but had love for it were also apprehensive about the Sangh
after Doctor Saheb.46

Amongst several other factors which may have tilted the balance in
Golwalkar’s favour, his knowledge of the English47 language was in all
likelihood one the reasons for his appointment. But the scepticism over his
elevation, as also mentioned by Deoras, was partly because of his lack of
experience and also due to a lack of transparency in the entire nomination
process. Although Hedgewar had discussed Golwalkar’s nomination in a
private conversation with Appaji Joshi, it wasn’t taken to be his final
decision. There was ‘considerable speculation both within and outside the
RSS over whether Golwalkar was, in fact, Hedgewar’s choice for the
position.’48 Moreover, Ghatate’s role in the entire process was also
questioned as many in the RSS had felt that he,

might well have fabricated Hedgewar’s choice or planted the idea in the
dying man’s mind. It is impossible to verify the rumour…Joshi did not
believe the announcement; moreover, he did not think Golwalkar had the
requisite political sophistication to lead the RSS.49

Yet, the loyal soldier of the sangh that he was, Joshi ‘defended Golwalkar
against those who charged that Golwalkar had abandoned the objectives laid
out by Hedgewar.’50
The Initial Success
After the controversy over his nomination had died down, Madhav Sadashiv
Golwalkar’s elevation helped the RSS to retain its distinct identity, and not
be subsumed by the Hindu Mahasabha which was led by none other than the
charismatic V.D. Savarkar, whose firm hold over the cadre was legendary.
After his release from the Cellular Jail, Savarkar had frequent run-ins
with K.B. Hedgewar over the latter’s refusal to engage with politics. As
mentioned in many accounts, the Hindu Mahasabha leader was often
exasperated with the RSS for limiting its role to either character-building of
its cadre or fortifying the edifice of their Hindu brethren. With Golwalkar at
the helm of affairs, it became doubly difficult for Savarkar to influence the
RSS, because he was now faced with a man who was not only loathe to
engaging in active politics, but was known to be inclined towards
spiritualism.
With the formation of the provincial governments in 1937 and the
outbreak of the Second World War in 1939, while V.D. Savarkar initiated the
idea of militarising Hindus and recommended that the country’s youth enlist
in the British army for tactical reasons, Golwalkar not only ordered the
closure of the RSS’ military wing, but ensured that it ‘refused to assist the
various militarization and paramilitary schemes advocated by other Hindu
nationalists.’51
Golwalkar’s attempts at deviating from the trodden path was strongly
resisted by several members of the Mahasabha, the most prominent being the
founder of the Hindu Rashtra Dal, Nathuram Godse.52 Yet, Golwalkar stood
his ground and the imminent threat to his leadership passed without any
‘large scale defections’53 owing to Balasaheb Deoras’ intervention who ‘did
everything to establish the leadership of Golwalkar in the RSS.’54
Much like K.B. Hedgewar, who had opted for political conservatism
during the Civil Disobedience movement, Golwalkar also kept his cadre
insulated from activities that had the potential of inviting the wrath of the
British and kept out of the Quit India movement (more of which later).
As the sarsanghchalak, Golwalkar’s first major step in firming up the
RSS’ ideology was to establish a pathological dislike for Communism—‘Not
socialism but Hinduism’55 was a slogan he popularised which was a
progression from Hedgewar’s catchphrase, ‘Hinduism is Nationalism.’ This
was viewed as a significant expansion of the RSS’ basic ideology: from an
organisation which’d raised the spectre of being subsumed by minorities, it
was now positioning itself as staunchly anti-Marxist. In time, this evolved
into a theory within the sangh parivar and other Hindu nationalist groups that
pandering to Muslims, Christians, and communist ideology were major
impediments in consolidating the Hindu community.
In post-Independent India, the theory of secularism being synonymous
with Marxism became one of the most significant maxims for the sangh
parivar. This was strongly manifest in the Eighties after the Ram
Janmabhoomi agitation had gathered storm. It may be recalled that in 1989,
even as the Bharatiya Janata Party was readying itself to launch the famous
Ayodhya to Somnath rath yatra with L.K. Advani at the forefront, senior
functionaries of the RSS had recommended that the ultimate path in gaining
credence across India lay in waging an ideological struggle, and not just a
programmatic agitation to secure its place in Indian politics. Consequently,
both Leftist and liberal thought became the BJP’s primary targets—mainly
intellectuals ranging from artists, filmmakers, writers, activists, and
academicians. A most telling instance of this selective targeting was the
hounding out of one of India’s best known artists, Maqbool Fida Hussain,
who was forced to spend his last years in exile.
In the recent past, one of the most aggressive campaigns by Hindu
groups has been to ‘reinstate’ India’s history, which it believes was taken
over by Leftist historians who had deliberately eclipsed relevant portions
eulogising Hindus’ achievements in the past. It was none other than M. S.
Golwalkar who had influenced subsequent generations of the RSS and its
affiliated organisations to adopt this thought as its core principle.56

A Difficult Leader
In 1939 when M.S. Golwalkar had assumed office, the RSS’ founding
sarsanghchalak was dead and the cadre needed a leader who would continue
to inspire them. Golwalkar straightaway decided to assert his authority and
declared that he was a legitimate appointee and anyone who had objections
should tell him ‘now. If someone does it tomorrow, I will throw him out of
(the) RSS like a stone in rice, just as Mahatma Gandhi did to N.B. Khare.’57
Besides the feeling of insecurity under a new leader, many found
Golwalkar’s aversion to politics extremely problematic. While Golwalkar
believed that his primary duty was to keep the RSS ‘pure’, reinforce the
strength of Hindus through his cadre who needed to be kept away from the
corrupting influence of ‘immoral’ politics, several felt that in order to alter
the nature of the political discourse, it was imperative to participate in
India’s struggle for independence.
Curiously, even as Golwalkar and his core group were opposed to
assuming political power, they also wanted credit for it. For instance, he
wished that the ‘assets from the political work’ carried out by members of
the RSS accrue to the organisation, but wanted to avoid the ‘liabilities of the
hard work to deliver the goods.’58 However, both privately and publicly, he
made it known that active politics was not central to the life of a nation.
This resulted in a dichotomy—after the formation of the Rashtra Sevika
Samiti, other affiliated organisations that were set up from the 1940s
onwards, like the Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP), Bharatiya
Mazdoor Sangh (BMS), Jana Sangh, and the publications division, Bharat
Prakashan Trust, had a greater political orientation. In July 1949, the Trust
began publishing a weekly newspaper in English called Organiser, and a
few months later, Panchjanya and Rashtra Dharma in Hindi. Although all
such efforts enabled the RSS to retain its influence and were ably managed
by swayamsevaks, Golwalkar neither ‘recognised’ any ‘good’ work done by
them nor ‘own up’ to the work. In fact, it has been pointed out that despite the
growth of a significantly large network of similar organisations during his
tenure, Golwalkar personally maintained that,

the only work that needs to be done is to unite and organize fragmented Hindu
society into a large corporate entity through the daily work of the RSS. He
had no interest in any other type of work, except for that of the Vishwa Hindu
Parishad.59

Yet another peculiarity in Golwalkar’s character was that while he didn’t

encourage frequent interactions with the Hindu Mahasabha, he routinely had
regional Congress leaders preside over RSS’ programmes.60 The reason for
this stark contradiction in a man who was known for his bitter criticism of
the Congress party, could have stemmed from the fact that he wanted the RSS,
and not the Hindu Mahasabha, to appropriate the space for shepherding the
Hindus and moreover, his antipathy towards the Congress had not yet
developed into an ideological hatred.
As mentioned elsewhere in the book, during the early 1940s when Golwalkar
was the RSS sarsanghchalak, a great debate had ensued amongst political
parties regarding India’s role in the Second World War. On the one hand, if
the Indian National Congress and the Communists considered it to be an
‘Imperialistic’ war, Golwalkar remained neutral over the issue. He was also
anxious that people may turn against the RSS if it supported the war effort
like its doppelganger, the Mahasabha.61
Amongst other things, the early 1940s witnessed three significant
developments in the history of national politics—the first was led by the
Congress post the Quit India movement, finally culminating in independence;
the second was led by leaders like Subhash Chandra Bose, who were even
willing to collaborate with the Axis powers to secure freedom; and thirdly,
forces like the Hindu Mahasabha and the Muslim League, who were pushing
their own agendas.
While the first two political forces had opted out of political
negotiations except on how and when independence was to be granted (Bose
in any case, never entered into parleys with the British and his followers,
barring naval mutineers, had had no interactions with the Colonialists); the
Mahasabha and Muslim League had petitioned the British in return for
favours. As a matter of fact, the RSS was largely absent from the national
discourse during this period62, barring the Muslim League’s Direct Action
Call of 1946 and its aftermath, and made little efforts to influence it, focussed
as it was on expanding its network across the country. Jawaharlal Nehru had
in fact made a mention apropos the contradictory stance of not only the
Congress party, but also that of ‘religious-communal organisations.’63
In the first four years of Golwalkar’s tenure as sarsanghchalak, the RSS
grew at a sluggish pace and according to official estimates, only 76,000
swayamsevaks attended the daily shakhas. While fifty per cent of the shakhas
were located in the Central Provinces, in close proximity to Nagpur, the
others were evenly distributed in Bombay and Punjab. However, in 1945–
1948 while the Hindu Mahasabha, which was committed to active politics,
failed to benefit electorally, the RSS grew exponentially in north India—
Punjab, Sindh, Delhi and the United Provinces—regions which were also
facing intense communal strife.
 By now it was safe to surmise that the RSS had a pan-Indian presence,
although its leadership continued to be predominantly Maharashtrian
Brahmins. Unlike Maharashtra, where the majority of its members were
middle class working professionals, in other regions like north India, they
were mainly from the mercantile community, which later made the RSS
appear like the protector of Hindu business interests, as the group was one of
the primary targets during post-Partition riots. Yet, Golwalkar did little to
either alter the RSS’ image or its leadership.
In what is viewed as a contentious claim, Sanjeev Kelkar mentions in
his book that Golwalkar was intrinsically anti-intellectual and that ‘his
popular outward image was that he did not even read newspapers.’64 As a
result, both knowledge and information trickled down from the top, strictly in
the form of instructions or regulations. The leaders provided the ‘light of
eternal principles65’ and the cadre was instructed to ‘work out the details.’66
Although there were similar issues regarding strictures even during
Hedgewar’s tenure, under Golwalkar, ‘there was no discussion, no spark of
scholarship on any problem that beset the nation at the ground level…RSS
was enshrined in converse of scholarship—it upheld and praised
mediocrity.’67
As mentioned earlier in the chapter and a trait that was noticed by many
of his peers, the added impediment to Golwalkar’s acceptance within the
sangh was his abrasive personality—‘His words used to be sharp and
cutting. Sometimes it would even hurt. He could not suffer incompetence or
laxity…’68 Gradually, once he realised that it had become incumbent upon
him to project a more pliable self, Golwalkar chose to widen the shakha
network which despite growing steadily to about 500 shakhas with
approximately 60,000 swayamsevaks at the time of Hedgewar’s death, was
mainly concentrated in Maharashtra. As a result, intense efforts were made in
establishing the RSS in distant provinces like Sindh and the Madras
Presidency. Consequently, by early 1940s, the number of swayamsevaks had
gone up to one lakh despite the RSS’ ‘apparent retreat from activism.’69
According to the Intelligence Bureau, the number of volunteers who joined
the RSS every day had doubled in five years between 1938 and 194370 and
this was primarily due to Golwalkar who had succeeded in retaining the
principal core of the RSS network. He was aware that the pull to be a part of
the RSS among youth, an age-group ‘favourable for the enrolment into a
movement of this kind,’ worked best when it was dovetailed to the image of
an ‘ideal man’, or rather the ‘model man, that is the pracharak.’ An account
by a former swayamsevak from Punjab, as quoted by Christophe Jaffrelot,
highlights how his devotion to the RSS was mainly due to his ‘deep
attachment,’ to the pracharak who had inducted him. Furthermore, between
1945–48, a period which had witnessed sharp polarisation between Hindus
and Muslims, ‘the RSS membership (had) surged.’ In the context of the
growth of the RSS, the correlation between the two arguments cannot be
perhaps negated.
This was also the period when Golwalkar had decided to ‘Indianise the
external format of the Shakha,’ by replacing its instructions in English with
Sanskrit, and had also changed the names of its units to Gana, Vahini,
Anikini, while renaming the RSS band as, Ghosh.
As part of an effort to build a strong network of loyal, state-level
leaders, Golwalkar would travel twice a year to every corner of the country
to evaluate the progress of the organisation. Although Gowalkar was ably
assisted by his lieutenant, Balasaheb Deoras in consolidating his hold over
the RSS machinery, it came back to haunt him after he became the
sarsanghchalak. The men who were promoted by Golwalkar ‘did not always
accept him (Deoras) and his thoughts the way they did Golwalkar.’71

Political Choices
With the Congress launching the Quit India movement in August 1942, M.S.
Golwalkar was forced to make a strategic choice—whether to join or stay
away, like his mentor had done during the Civil Disobedience movement in
the 1930s. He is supposed to have weighed in his options against the
backdrop of,

the meagre strength of the Sangh, the lack of planning by those conducting the
movement, the lack of a clear direction, and the possibility of a national
struggle not continuing for long for lack of a single command for the
movement.72

Finally, the RSS chief stayed away from the movement but did not prevent his
swayamsevaks from participating in their personal capacities. Dattopant
Thengadi, who later established the trade union for the RSS, explained the
predicament of the swayamsevaks as follows:

The 1942 movement had created turmoil in the minds of many Swayamsevaks
and even Pracharaks. The question troubling them was—if the Sangh was to
do nothing even at such a crucial juncture what was the use of all its strength
built up so far?

M.S. Golwalkar had expected Mahatma Gandhi to invite him for

consultations, but when no such thing had happened, he had fulminated over
the fact that,

the leaders of the agitation have not consulted any of the other organisations
who strive for the nation’s freedom. There is no effort to distribute work and
responsibility to each other according to their capacity and liking.73

Golwalkar’s decision to dissociate from the Quit India movement was also
to avoid any confrontation with the Imperial government. In the wake of a
British crackdown on leaders of the national movement, Golwalkar
discontinued the RSS’ military drills and directed swayamsevaks,
pracharaks, and senior functionaries to stop wearing the uniform. He
explained in an internal circular dated 29 April 194374 that he desired to
‘keep our work clearly within the bounds of law.’75
The British reciprocated to this gesture when the Home Department
noted in an official report that the RSS could not be construed to be posing a
threat to the law and order situation in the country. It also observed that the
RSS had kept itself completely distanced from anti-government agitations in
the wake of the Quit India movement.
But internally, there were differences—between Golwalkar’s pacifist
line and the viewpoint of others like Deoras who recommended plunging
headlong into the agitation and use it as a political launch pad. However, the
RSS chief tided over such irritants and directed his energy towards
strengthening the organisation which soon proved to be beneficial as the
‘Sangh Shakhas spread out rapidly from province to province. Workers were
mobilised to move from place to place. Swayamsevaks could be seen
flooding in Shakhas all over.’76
 By 1945, 10,000 swayamsevaks had registered their presence at the
Officers’ Training Camp in various parts of India.
This was also the year when Golwalkar had decided to build the RSS
headquarters in Nagpur. The foundation stone for Hedgewar Bhawan was
laid formally and work on it began in all earnest. For Golwalkar, the
impressive growth rate of the RSS may have been a victory of sorts, but his
distance from the Quit India movement, became the proverbial albatross
around his neck.
This was mainly due to Golwalkar’s view that all politics was
immoral, which included every form of protest. According to him, agitations
impeded constructive work. He labelled agitational activity as rajasik or
valorous which inherently attracted people, but if the RSS adopted this path,
Golwalkar feared that it would ‘deviate from the satvik, the “saintly” path it
had chosen for itself.’77 Furthermore, the sarsanghchalak was of the view that
since the RSS’ principal objectives were ‘man-making and the achievement
of the goal of Hindu Rashtra’78, this could be achieved without any ‘external
stimuli.’79
Golwalkar justified the decision to stay away from the Quit India
movement by citing Hedgewar’s stance during the Civil Disobedience and
used the term ‘certain constraints’80 which the founder chose to impose on
the sangh. But Golwalkar was silent on why he had not followed in his
predecessor’s footsteps in joining the movement after temporarily handing
over charge to a loyal aide. Moreover, while Golwalkar was of the opinion
that self-imposed limitations that Hedgewar had talked about ‘can be kept
aside at a critical time like this if by doing so it would help the attainment of
freedom,’81 he was also resentful of the fact that neither the Congress, nor
Gandhi had consulted him before starting the agitation. Golwalkar paid little
heed to the fact that compared to the Congress, the RSS had a marginal
presence in India.

Preparing for Partition

With the possibility of Partition looming large, Golwalkar took the lead in
campaigning against it. Starting from the mid-Forties, the RSS chief
beseeched the Indians to stay united and repeatedly evoked the popular
symbols of Hindu valour and sacrifice. The leitmotif was none other than the
iconic, Chattrapati Shivaji, whose ‘supreme devotion to our Hindu way of
life coupled with his unparalleled organisational acumen which gave it a
practical dynamic form, that made him a force which changed the entire
course of our history.’ In speeches after speeches, Golwalkar’s constant
refrain was that ‘only the idea of Akhand Bharat would solve the problems of
Muslims in this country.’82
The centrality of the idea of Akhand Bharat remained within the
parivar. It was based on the belief that ‘Bharatiya nationalism was based on
the concept of one people, one country, one culture.’83 After India became
independent, ‘all the local branches of the RSS, on August 14 every year,
began to hold a function called Akhand Bharat Sankalp Diwas for the
formation of a reunited India.’84
For the affiliates of the RSS, this was an article of faith as well. On 15
August 1953, the Jana Sangh had resolved that the party ‘will always keep
this ideal before itself and will work for Akhand Bharat.’ Yet another
resolution of the party in 1965 during the war with Pakistan had affirmed that
as ‘long as partition exists, there shall be no peace between India and
Pakistan.’85 As recently as December 2015, the general secretary of the BJP,
Ram Madhav had declared in the course of a television programme that the
‘RSS still believes that one day these parts (India, Pakistan and Bangladesh)
…will again, through popular goodwill, come together and Akhand Bharat
will be created.’86
In the 1940s, M.S. Golwalkar drew large crowds at meetings and
although he thundered against dividing the country, in its defence, he
presented an idea which created a further rift between Hindus and Muslims.
In August 1946, the Muslim League’s call for Direct Action in Calcutta
provided an ideal opportunity for the RSS to ‘finally prove, through
provocative as well as retaliatory actions, that Hindus and Muslims could
not live together.’87
Several prominent leaders of the RSS openly planted diabolical stories
of ‘Muslim plans to stage a coup and establish Muslim raj in India.’88 In his
collection of speeches titled, Bunch of Thoughts, Golwalkar made several
references to Partition. In one such exposition, he had asserted that:

If that spirit (fiery and heroic aspect of devotion to our motherland) had been
there in our leaders and in our common folk, could Partition have taken
place? Would they not have risen uncompromisingly, heroically as one man
against all such machinations of the British and the Muslim, prepared to shed
their last drop of blood for maintaining the sacred integrity of the
motherland? Alas, that did not happen. On the contrary, people, led by the
leaders, were busy in celebrations on the advent of so-called independence!

Even after independence, Golwalkar did not seek a political role for the RSS
and sat out of the Interim government, as well as during negotiations with the
British. The reason being that he believed that India would forever remain a
British colony. This was evident during an Officers’ Training Camp in
Phagwara, Punjab. When asked by a participant about the RSS’ role in free
India, Golwalkar had quipped:

Do you believe that the British will quit? The nincompoops in whose hands
they are giving the reins of government will not be able to hold on even for
two months. They will go crawling on their knees to the British and ask them
to kindly return. The RSS will have to continue its work as in the past.

Post Partition
Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar may have kept the RSS ‘pure’ by excluding it
from politics in a newly-created nation, but he ensured that it earned
goodwill for its humanitarian role—running relief camps for Hindu and Sikh
refugees from across the border; the setting up of Hindu paramilitary groups
to protect Hindus fleeing from Pakistan. In what was one of the most terrible
and largest forced migration of people in the world, there was unprecedented
violence, loot and rape witnessed on both sides of the border. The RSS
which is still recalled for its stellar work during the period, had however
come under fire because not every activity of it was directed at peacefully
providing relief to refugees. A former swayamsevak has been quoted as
saying that ‘swayamsevaks were assigned to guard Hindu homes; they
collected weapons to use during anticipated Muslim attacks; and they
manufactured hand grenades.’89 This was the reason why the RSS was
described by some as, ‘probably the best organised of the paramilitary
groups’ when ‘few hands were clean.’90
On 16 September 1947, Mahatma Gandhi requested swayamsevaks to
let the government manage the deteriorating law and order situation, and not
resort to retaliatory attacks on Muslim colonies or camps. In defense of his
cadre, Golwalkar had responded that ‘the RSS was purely defensive, though
he could not vouch for the actions of every swayamsevak.’91
Despite Gandhi’s open disagreement with Golwalkar, Sardar Patel had
sought his assistance in convincing the Hindu Maharaja of Kashmir to merge
his kingdom with India under the Instrument of Accession. Golwalkar met
Maharaja Hari Singh in October 1947 and Kashmir became a part of the
Indian Union.
In recognition for his contribution, when Indian troops were sent to
Kashmir, RSS volunteers and members of the National Conference led by
Sheikh Abdullah were provided arms by the government.
That Golwalkar and the RSS’ role in Kashmir was valued by Patel was
evident when the Iron Man had accepted92 recommendations to appoint the
RSS chief of Punjab, Rai Bahadur Dewan Badri Das, as the acting governor
of Eastern Punjab, and handing over the entire responsibility of managing
refugee camps to the Punjab Relief Committee ‘which was virtually a
signboard for the RSS.’93 In the same period, the military commander of the
Delhi region had enlisted the support of Golwalkar to depute swayamsevaks
for maintaining law and order in the capital.
At a time when people went around looking for the bodies of their
family members; when several women were raped or killed by lumpens on
both sides; when a nation had been cleaved into two bloody halves, the RSS’
relief work amongst Hindu refugees was widely acknowledged as exemplary
in the absence of a ‘working’ government in Delhi. There are several
accounts of how Hindu refugees had warmed up to the organisation; the RSS
had also started a drive to enlist members from the community. Gradually, as
these uprooted Hindus-turned-swayamsevaks began rebuilding their lives, a
majority of them took to trading and started small businesses and eventually
it was this class which became the primary support base for the RSS and its
affiliated organisations. This explains why first the Jana Sangh, and later the
BJP is referred to as a ‘traders’ party’.
On 12 January 1948, Mahatma Gandhi went on a fast protesting against
the attacks on Muslims in Delhi and demanded that the Indian government
releases the pending fifty-five crores to Pakistan without further delay. Five
days later, on 18 January 1948, the Mahatma ended his fast after Hindu and
Sikh representatives agreed to his six conditions, and Hans Raj Gupta, the
RSS sanghchalak had given him an assurance of securing Muslim properties
and shrines.
 That Gandhi was obdurate in his ways was a given, but for several
people, ‘his stand on Muslims and Pakistan had become a tipping point.’94
On 20 January 1948, Gandhi escaped a bomb attack, but the assassins got
their target ten days later on 30 January. Nathuram Godse had not only spent
several years in the RSS but also had a close association with Savarkar after
he had parted ways with his parent organisation. Given the past association
of the RSS with the assassin, on 1 February 1948, Golwalkar was arrested
along with leaders of the Hindu Mahasabha and on 4 February 1948, the RSS
was banned by the Indian government.
In the months following Golwalkar’s arrest, an estimated 20,000
swayamsevaks and leaders were also taken into custody. But the RSS was
kept alive, albeit stealthily by a few who had refused to give up.

Coping with the Ban

Prior to Gandhi’s assassination, the organisation had come under the scanner
during the Chief Ministers’ Conference in Delhi in November 1947. There
was a loud clamour to proscribe the RSS, but it was eventually decided to
initiate action on a case by case basis against certain swayamsevaks, in case
of complaints against them. Several people had spoken against the RSS at the
Meerut Congress session in November, including Pandit Nehru at a public
meeting in Amritsar even a day before Gandhi’s murder. He returned to the
Indian capital a couple of hours before Gandhi’s assassination and later
spoke to an estimated two lakh angry mourners who had assembled at the
Birla House, the place where their beloved Mahatma had fallen to the bullets
of Nathuram Godse. On 31 January 1948, The Hindu had reported that Godse
‘was beaten by the crowd and was slightly injured.’
Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar was in Madras when he received news of
the assassination. In a dramatic recap of the moment, C.P. Bhishikar mentions
in his book how Golwalkar was holding a cup of tea in his hands, when
someone had conveyed the news to him. After putting the cup down, the RSS
chief had lapsed into a long silence, before uttering: ‘What a misfortune for
the country!’
Thereafter, Golwalkar had cancelled the rest of his tour, and after
wiring condolence messages to Pandit Nehru and Vallabhbhai Patel, he flew
back to Nagpur. As is the practise amongst Hindus, he had immediately
issued instructions to suspend all shakha activities for thirteen days as a mark
of respect for the deceased.
On the morning of 31 January 1948, angry mobs began gathering outside
M.S. Golwalkar’s house. An equal number of swayamsevaks were
summoned to defend their chief, but they could do little in warding off stone
pelters from the opposite side. Golwalkar issued a press statement through
the Associated Press (AP) and while he appealed for peace and unity in the
country, he asked the swayamsevaks to,

keep calm under any kind of situation and behave with amity and affection,
and understand that the trouble, given by people who had fallen prey to
misunderstanding, was also an index of the great love and respect that our
countrymen felt for the great man who had brought glory to our motherland in
the eyes of the whole world.

On the midnight of 1 February 1948, the Nagpur police swooped down on

M.S. Golwalkar and arrested him for conspiring to murder Mahatma Gandhi.
While walking towards the police jeep, he told his supporters that the,
‘clouds of suspicion will soon be dispelled and we shall come out without a
blemish.’ Bhaiyaji Dani, the man who had rechristened Madhav as Guruji,
sent telegrams to all the shakhas—Guruji interned, be calm at all costs.
The next day, the government promulgated an ordinance banning the
Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh. The legislation stated that it ‘considered it
its duty to put down such a fanatic manifestation of violence, and so, as a first
step, the RSS was being declared illegal.’ The ordinance charged the RSS of
not adhering ‘to their professed ideals (fostering feelings of brotherhood,
love and service among Hindus)’, and said that there was evidence that the
organisation was ‘circulating leaflets exhorting people to resort to terrorist
methods, to collect firearms, to create disaffection against the government
and suborn the police and the military. These activities have been carried on
under a cloak of secrecy…’
The ruling was made public on 4 February 1948 and close to thirty
thousand swayamsevaks were thrown into jails. M.S. Golwalkar’s worst
fears had come true, but not one to give up, he had made yet another valiant
attempt to salvage the situation. On 5 February, when Dattopant Deshpande,
his lawyer and friend had come visiting him in jail, Golwalkar had handed
him a statement which read as follows:
It has always been the policy of the RSS to be law-abiding and carry on its
activities within the bounds of law. Therefore, since the Government has
declared the RSS an unlawful body it is thought advisable to disband the
RSS till the ban is there, at the same time denying all the charges levelled
against the organisation.

Dattopant’s visit brought good tidings for his comrade and within a day or
two, Golwalkar was rid of the serious charge of conspiring to assassinate
Mahatma Gandhi and was instead held under the National Security Act,
meaning preventive detention. Six months later, on 6 August 1948, Golwalkar
was released from prison, but with a caveat: to stay within the municipal
limits of Nagpur and not engage in any kind of political activity, including
addressing public meetings, writing articles or issuing statements. As there
was no embargo on writing letters, Golwalkar used the opportunity and
wrote to Prime Minister Nehru and Sardar Patel separately on 11 August
1948. In his letter to Nehru, he had raised a question about why he had been
denied a,

chance to clear my position and to convince you of my feelings and readiness

to cooperate with the Government in these crucial times. Even now I hope
our rapprochement is not afar.

With no reply forthcoming for six weeks, Golwalkar wrote to them yet again
on 24 September. In his missive, he had pleaded with both the prime minister
and deputy prime minister that the ban on the RSS be lifted, and offered
assistance in countering the threat of Communism in the country. He said that
as the Communists ‘considered the RSS as their main obstacle and had tried
to denounce and vilify it,’ the government should ‘help create an atmosphere
in which the RSS will be able to work honourably and help the Government
fight the menace, on its own cultural lines.’ The threat from the Communists,
argued Golwalkar, was because ‘intelligent youth are rapidly falling into the
snares of Communism. With the alarming happenings in Burma, Indo-China,
Java and other neighbouring states, we can envisage the nature of the
menace.’ While specifically addressing Sardar Patel, the chief of RSS
reminded him that, ‘I and all my co-workers have been striving from the very
start to cooperate with you to bring the situation under control and make our
Motherland invincible.’
 Both the men replied back, and although Vallabhbhai Patel in his letter
dated 11 September 1948 acknowledged the work done by the RSS in
protecting the women and children who had arrived as refugees from across
the border after Partition, he also sent out a strong message that the,

objectionable part arose when they, burning with revenge, began attacking
Mussalmans. Organising the Hindus and helping them is one thing but going
in for revenge for its sufferings on innocent and helpless men, women and
children is quite another thing.

In the same letter, Patel had touched upon a sensitive issue and said that he
was ‘convinced that the RSS men can carry on their patriotic endeavour only
by joining the Congress and not by keeping separate (identity) or by
opposing.’ Opening the doors for swayamsevaks barely a few days after
Gandhi’s assassination and without prior discussion with members of the
Congress, was not appreciated within certain sections of the party, including
the prime minister. In a way, Patel’s letter to Golwalkar had brought into
sharp focus the divergent views held by two Congress stalwarts with regard
to the RSS.
A few days later, an officer in the Prime Minister’s Office or PMO,
A.V. Pai, wrote to Golwalkar that the RSS, ‘was engaged in activities which
were anti-national, prejudicial from the point of view of public good.’95
Nehru also said that the objectives of the RSS were,

completely opposed to the decisions of the Indian Parliament and the

provisions of the proposed Constitution of India. The activities (of the RSS),
according to our information, are anti-national and often subversive and
violent.

One wonders if it was the beauty of democracy and therefore the respect
accorded to a stalwart of a leader like Patel, but in October 1948, Madhav
Sadashiv Golwalkar was allowed to travel to Delhi to discuss the lifting of
the ban. He first met Patel, after Nehru had declined to meet him as the prime
minister had felt that it would not ‘serve any useful purpose.’ Unfortunately,
Golwalkar’s meetings (he had had two by now) with Patel too came to
naught and the RSS remained on the proscribed list. Patel also asked his
office to issue instructions to Golwalkar to ‘make immediate arrangements to
return to Nagpur,’ as restrictions on his travel which had been kept in
abeyance, were now re-imposed.
The official order from the government of India stated that M.S.
Golwalkar had committed to the RSS’ agreement, ‘entirely in the conception
of a Secular State for India and that it accepts the National Flag of the
country,’ which however did not suffice to end the ban because Golwalkar’s
commitment was ‘inconsistent with the practice of his followers.’
Golwalkar was extremely disappointed with Sardar Patel’s response
and in a letter dated 5 November 1948, he openly expressed his bitterness as
follows:

I tried my utmost to see that between the Congress and the Rashtriya
Swayamsevak Sangh…there be no bad blood, there be only everlasting
mutual love, one supplementing and complementing the other, both meeting in
a sacred confluence. I extended my hand of cooperation. With utmost regrets I
have to say that you have chosen to ignore my best intentions. My heart’s
desire to see the converging of both the streams has remained unfulfilled.

However, his impassioned plea proved to be futile and after his subsequent
requests to meet Patel were turned down, Golwalkar decided to defy the
order, and stayed put in Delhi. There was a midnight knock on the door of a
RSS functionary for the second time that year, the difference being that this
time around, the posse of police had landed up at Delhi’s RSS chief and
industrialist, Lala Hansraj Gupta’s bungalow on Barakhamba Road.
Golwalkar was spared the ignominy of an arrest, but was put on the earliest
flight to Nagpur. It was obvious that the door had been slammed shut on the
RSS at Nehru’s insistence. Patel’s proposal of merging the RSS with the
Congress was not only rejected by the prime minister, but also by the
sarsanghchalak, who wanted the RSS to henceforth dedicate itself towards
establishing Hindu hegemony in the country. He was also doubtful about
Patel exerting his influence over the prime minister, and after virtually being
hounded out of Delhi, Golwalkar had little option but to revive the spirit of
his cadre.
He began by writing an open letter to the swayamsevaks contending that
the ban was ‘an insult to the honour of the citizens of free Bharat,’ and
suggested that shakhas be made operational despite the governmental order.
In many ways, the letter was symbolic of Golwalkar’s assertiveness in
independent India, and the stage was readied for a head-on confrontation
with the government.
It was rather ironical that in December 1948, eleven months after
Gandhi’s assassination, the RSS launched its first mass agitation using the
Mahatma’s principles of non-violence and non-cooperation, demanding the
lifting of the ban. A massive all-India signature campaign was launched for
the cause and amongst the nine lakh signatories, there were also several
Congress leaders like Acharya Kripalani who had been Gandhi’s inmate at
the Sabarmati Ashram.
Although M. S. Golwalkar was lodged in Seoni Jail (in what is now
Madhya Pradesh) where he was confined in anticipation of the agitation, the
protest was a great success—an estimated eighty to sixty thousand96
supporters were put into jail for violating prohibitory orders. The
‘satyagraha’ had succeeded in rejuvenating the sagging spirits of the
swayamsevaks and there was an all-round condemnation of police action
against hapless citizens in a newly independent India.
The government swung into action to quell the rebellion and decided to
resume its dialogue with the RSS. The process had already been initiated,
albeit secretly, during the RSS’ ‘satyagraha’, when the mediators had
convinced Golwalkar to withdraw the agitation.
As Golwalkar was in prison, D.P. Mishra, then Home minister of the
Central Provinces (father of the late Brajesh Mishra, who was National
Security Adviser under Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee) had acted as an
interlocutor between him and Sardar Patel in yet another effort to rescind the
ban after the failed bid made between August–November 1948.
While Sardar Patel acquiesced to Mishra’s suggestion about finding a
legitimate method to lift the ban on the RSS, Mishra convinced Golwalkar of
the need to suspend the satyagraha. Yet another man who had played a crucial
role in aiding Golwalkar to adopt a reconciliatory posture was G.V. Ketkar,
editor of the Marathi newspaper, Kesari which was started by his illustrious
grandfather, Bal Gangadhar Tilak. A few weeks after Golwalkar suspended
the ‘satyagraha’, a new interlocutor arrived on the scene—T.R. Venkatarama
Sastri, the former Advocate General of Madras and a leader of the Liberal
Party, who had past experience of mediating between Mahatma Gandhi and
the British.
On 13 February 1949, Sastri met Golwalkar at Seoni Jail and discussed
several issues, including steps to rescind the ban. Although the Tamil leader
had discharged his duties, he found Golwalkar ‘a blunt man, innocent of the
etiquette required in a correspondence with Government. The soft word that
turneth away wrath is not among his gifts,’ and that ‘Golwalkar’s reply is
said to have been such as to give offence to the Government of India. I can
well believe it.’97
According to a report by a member of the jail staff, Golwalkar had
given Sastri a ‘blank cheque to make any decision they like and assured them
that he would honour the decision they arrive at.’98 During the meeting, it
was also decided that the RSS adopts a draft constitution, and the task was
delegated to two experienced hands, Bhaiyaji Dani and Balasaheb Deoras.
Over the next few months, several letters were exchanged between
Golwalkar and representatives of the government (compiled later as Justice
on Trial: Historic Document of Guruji-Govt Correspondence). Despite
what was essentially seen to be an effort to accommodate the RSS to function
within the ambit of the Constitution, the dialogue had run into several
problems, First, Home Secretary, H.V.R. Iyengar informed Golwalkar that
despite all the pledges to abide by the rule of law, including being peaceful
and legitimate, this was ‘in practice been systematically violated by your
followers.’99 Second, the government sought a specific declaration of
allegiance from the RSS to both the Constitution of India and the Tricolour.
And finally, the government ordered a close scrutiny of RSS’ account books;
an end to the practise of functionaries being ‘nominated from above,’100; and
that the RSS should ‘unequivocally recognise and act upon the democratic
elective principle. The government was particularly wary of the functions of
the head (sarsanghchalak) which had not been defined with any degree of
precision and wanted that all vestiges of a dictatorial character should be
removed.’101
As was expected, the government reached an impasse; Golwalkar
accused the government of misinterpreting the clauses in the draft constitution
and applying different yardsticks to the RSS, in comparison to other
‘cultural’ organisations. The stalemate continued for a while before the
government sought the assistance of one Mauli Chandra Sharma, a former
Congress leader-turned-president of the Jana Sangh. He along with
Deendayal Upadhyaya reworked the draft and amongst several other things,
emphasised on two crucial points—the first was to acknowledge the
organisation as democratic, and second, that while Keshav Baliram
Hedgewar had nominated Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar as his successor, the
latter would choose the next chief with the consent of the kendriya
karyakarini mandal. On the other issue, which had been brought up during
Sastri’s intervention regarding the entry of minors into the fold, the reworked
draft mentioned that while admissions would remain open for fourteen-year-
old boys, but if the parents or guardians had any objections, the child could
leave the RSS at any given time. On 11 July 1949, Home Minister Sardar
Patel ordered the ban on the RSS to be lifted forthwith.
Despite the month-long negotiations that had necessitated several
compromises, Golwalkar claimed that the RSS had ‘given up nothing.’ In his
address to a gathering in Nagpur, he declared, ‘There was no compromise.
There was no undertaking of any kind given to the Government.’ At another
meeting in Madras, he clarified that he did not ‘want any of them (new
members) to bring politics into the Sangh,’ before he was asked the
inevitable question by a reporter: Was Nathuram Godse a member of the
RSS? Golwalkar accepted that the assassin was a member years ago, but had
since left, and even had major disagreements with the RSS. He was also
asked another pointed question—did the RSS subscribe to secularism?
Henceforth, it was this reply by the iconic chief of the RSS that would be
adopted by several Right-wing leaders to obfuscate the crucial question of
secularism vis-a-vis the organisation, which Golwalkar articulated as
follows, ‘To a Hindu, the state is always secular.’
Much like securing the safe passage for his comrades after Partition,
M.S. Golwalkar had not only succeeded in getting the ban lifted, but ensured
that the RSS retained its distinct identity in the rough and tumble of Indian
politics. Barring his commitment to a written constitution in which he had
agreed to be open about the conduct of the RSS—eschewing violence;
according respect to the symbols of the Indian State; adopting apolitical and
cultural role, Golwalkar had firmly established a new construct of a nation
and nationhood. For instance, he had fought tooth and nail against the
portrayal of RSS as a fascist organisation and in the battle of the nerves, the
government negotiators were forced to retreat because they had learnt of
Golwalkar’s plan to start another mass movement.102
In time, large number of Indians began viewing Golwalkar as a
victorious leader, and he embarked on a celebratory tour of India.

Political Activism
During its seventeen-month-long ban, some members of the RSS had
articulated the need to establish a political party in order to further their
cultural and ideological premise. As mentioned earlier (also mentioned in
the chapter, Syama Prasad Mookerjee, p. 164), M.S. Golwalkar hadn’t
warmed up to the idea and to quote the well-known author Christophe
Jafrrelot103, the man was perhaps content to be the king’s guru and not the
king.
Meanwhile during the ban, several swayamsevaks had ‘operated
largely on their own’ which gave them, ‘a relatively freehand to experiment’
because of the ‘unprecedented independence…during the eighteen months
ban.’104
Most importantly, they were faced with the emerging new political
realities in an independent India and found themselves in an ‘ideological
vacuum’ in a parliamentary democracy supported by a strong constitution.105
After the ban was lifted, M.S. Golwalkar became aware of the latent
disgruntlement amongst his cadre, and worried that there may soon be a coup
d’ etat, undermining the authority of senior members of the RSS. In order to
regain control, he made certain crucial changes in his team of office-bearers,
both at the national and provincial levels. Although Golwalkar was unable to
prevent some members of the RSS from getting involved in the formation of
the Bharatiya Jana Sangh in 1950, he made yet another attempt to rein in his
cadre at a conference of district organisers in March 1954, and mooted the
idea of ‘positive Hinduism’—emphasising on the spirit of service. It didn’t
require deep analysis to understand that by using the word ‘positive’
strategically, Golwalkar was pointing towards certain ‘western’ anomalies
that had crept into the sangh’s core principles.
While ‘positive Hinduism’ was presented as a truism, Golwalkar
argued that western philosophy emphasised on materialism. In contrast,
Hinduism according to him was based on the philosophy of vaisudhaiva
kutumbakam or the world is one family. While propounding that one could
reach God by service to other human beings, he initiated the setting up of
vastuhara sahayata samitis which began by assisting refugees from West
Punjab and survivors of the Assam earthquake in August 1950.
Character-building and being the moral custodian of the ‘king and his
aides’ was the sort of role Golwalkar had in mind when he had initiated a
series of parleys with Patel and other Congress leaders.106 RSS leaders had
been gripped with this sentiment from late 1947, well before Gandhi’s
assassination and the subsequent ban on the RSS. As part of this effort,
Golwalkar attempted to convince Nehru and met him on four occasions
between 1947–49. While the first meeting in 1947 was to inform him about
his visit to Kashmir, which was arranged by the government to meet
Maharaja Hari Singh, the second was held almost immediately after the ban
on the RSS was lifted. Two other meetings had also taken place in September
and November 1949 and while these were projected by the RSS and its
various mouthpieces as a successful breakthrough,107 Nehru did not appear to
have changed his position on the RSS. An account of these interactions
highlighted that while Golwalkar had expressed his views quite candidly on
subjects like culture and nationalism; the place of non-Hindus in the national
mainstream; the form and objective of Sangh work; religious tolerance, non-
violence etc., and had answered Nehru’s doubts and queries108, the prime
minister continued to denounce the RSS as ‘fascist and communal.’109
In fact, it was Nehru’s intervention which got the Congress to rollback
on a Congress Working Committee resolution passed in October 1949 when
Nehru had embarked on a tour of the United States of America. This
resolution, which had the blessings of Patel, allowed RSS members to be
part of the Congress.110 On his return, Nehru had not only ensured that the
resolution was rescinded within a month, but added a rider that members of
the RSS could be part of the Congress but only after ending their association
with the parent body. For writers who were sympathetic to both the RSS and
Golwalkar, the subsequent resolution essentially meant that although the
‘Sangh’s constitution might have given the Swayamsevaks the freedom to join
any political party, but the Congress insisted that if they wanted to join the
Congress they would have to give up their connections with the sangh. Thus
the doors of the Congress were closed for the Sangh.’111
Despite his intense dislike for power politics, and the pressing need to
be vigilant against accusations such as of having violated Article 4 (B) of the
RSS’ constitution which stated that the organisation ‘had no politics and is
devoted to social work,’ at times Golwalkar came precariously close to
striking a political posture. In early 1950, he issued a statement saying that
the government must ‘act fearlessly, without getting mired in a senseless
discussion of communalism etc. and to do the needful, whether it is police
action or exchange of Hindus and Muslims. A plan for a proportional
exchange of Hindus and Muslims left over in Bharat should be put into action
immediately…’
Golwalkar’s explicit statement regarding ‘Muslims left over in Bharat’,
was clearly against the principles enshrined in the Indian Constitution. The
Congress did not present a counter to this statement which reflected its
ambivalence regarding the RSS despite Nehru’s forceful rejection of the
Patel-backed proposal for allowing cooperation between the two
organisations.

The Birth of the Jana Sangh

In what was considered to be a gross violation in a disciplined, cadre-based
organisation, there came a time when the demand for political participation
was being articulated even on public platforms. In its first issue post the ban
in August 1949, the Organiser made a strong pitch for deeper political
engagement in an article headlined, “The RSS and Politics”. Yet another
piece articulating a similar viewpoint was written by Balraj Madhok, who
later became president of the Jana Sangh in the late 1960s, in which he had
argued that the RSS must ‘give lead to the country in regard to the political
and economic problems’ because ‘any organisation of the people which fails
to guide its component parts about vital questions influencing their lives is
bound to lose the force…’
It is interesting to note how Golwalkar dealt with the issue of RSS’
alignment with the Bharatiya Jana Sangh and its founding president, Dr
Syama Prasad Mookerjee, who was also the Minister for Industry and
Supplies in Prime Minister Nehru’s Cabinet. In 1949–50, M.S. Golwalkar
had met with Dr Mookerjee several times in Nagpur to seek assurances that
his views were not at variance with the RSS. Golwalkar made his intent
clear and stressed on two principal issues—first, that the Jana Sangh should
have no structural ties with the RSS, and second, that it should adhere to the
RSS’ idea of cultural nationalism, and its definition of nation and nationhood.
Dr Mookerjee readily agreed to both, yet Golwalkar vacillated when it came
to lending support to the Jana Sangh. On the other hand, when Dr
Mookerjee’s differences with Nehru became public, several senior RSS
leaders in Delhi drew him into a dialogue, offering support in case he chose
to leave the government.
 Eventually, when Dr Syama Prasad Mookerjee resigned from his
ministerial position in April 1950, he was accorded a public reception in
Delhi. However, throughout all the backroom discussions and parleys with
Mookerjee, Golwalkar kept a careful distance because he was wary of a
political party making his organisation irrelevant. He had already said on
record that people ‘have forgotten that politics is only a part and parcel of
comprehensive life. Life is higher and wider than politics,’ and to ‘regard
politics as all-comprehensive is to abandon the soul of Bharat.’ There was
no gainsaying the fact that Golwalkar had a solid narrative to back his
ideology of perpetuating a Hindu nation which would be governed by the
ancient principles enshrined in its scriptures and philosophical treatises, but
he was also undoubtedly naÏve to not recognise the dreams and aspirations of
a newly independent India which had a socialist-leaning prime minister at the
helm of affairs.
As mentioned earlier, after the ban on the RSS, M.S. Golwalkar had
hoped that the Indian National Congress would open its doors for
swayamsevaks. However, with Sardar Patel’s death in December 1950, any
semblance of hope was also cast aside and finally, Golwalkar deputed a few
of his associates to work with Dr Mookerjee for forming a new political
party. Purushottam Das Tandon’s election as Congress president three months
after Patel’s death may have given rise to Golwalkar’s aspiration of
associating with the party, but Nehru had established his dominance in the
Congress by resigning from the Working Committee in August 1951 as a
tactic to pressurise Tandon. In the event, Tandon had quit in a month and
Nehru became Congress president and with that the last flicker of a hope for
an association between the RSS and Congress was extinguished. But yet
again, what was missing was a sense of urgency amongst the RSS cadre and
with the impending elections post 26 January 1950, Dr Mookerjee wanted to
accelerate the process.
In early 1951, Golwalkar decided that as a prelude to the formation of a
pan-Indian political outfit, regional units should be established in Delhi and
Punjab. A draft constitution of the proposed party along with a note was
circulated which stated that because the RSS was ‘disinclined to contest in
the coming elections,’ Golwalkar must be ‘persuaded to lend support of the
organisation to the new party.’ Even as Dr Mookerjee went about setting up a
unit in Bengal, and later in Punjab, Golwalkar remained non-committal. But
it was only a matter of time before M.S. Golwalkar was presented with a fait
accompli and he had to face up to the reality of a political outfit affiliated to
the RSS.
On 21 October 1951, Dr Syama Prasad Mookerjee was formally
nominated as the president of the Jana Sangh at its inaugural convention. M.S.
Golwalkar initiated the process of ‘dual membership’, when he appointed an
important RSS functionary, Bhai Mahavir, as general secretary of Jana Sangh.
It may be recalled that Golwalkar had extracted a promise from Dr
Mookerjee that the political party would be a separate entity, yet by placing
important RSS functionaries in pivotal positions, Golwalkar ensured that he
kept a hold on the Jana Sangh, a tradition which continues till today in the
BJP.
Four days after the Jana Sangh’s first convention, came the historic
moment of the first general elections in the country.112 Golwalkar’s conduct
during this hectic electioneering period was rather peculiar—he suddenly
felt the need to awaken his inner spiritual core and proceeded on a twenty-
five-day-long retreat in December 1952 to Lokmanya Tilak’s residence at
Sinhagarh, a short distance away from Pune in Maharashtra. After staging an
escape of sorts from the electoral din, Golwalkar’s aide and general
secretary of the RSS, Bhaiyaji Dani issued an aseptic directive to the cadre:
‘Vote only for that party which works for the good of the country as a whole.’
Clearly, he along with Golwalkar feared Nehru’s wrath and avoided making
any statement that could have been construed as political.
However, in the next five years, all his anxiety about making political
comments in public were put to rest when on the eve of the second general
elections in 1957, the RSS chief issued the most political statement of his
entire career.
In a signed article, which sounded more like a lengthy sermon,
Golwalkar exhorted the people to ‘resolutely vote for men and parties
dedicated to the Hindu people and Hindu Cause.’ Soon, several viewpoints
articulated in the article began to resonate in the manifesto of the Jana Sangh,
and later even the BJP’s. For instance, Golwalkar pointed out that elections
did not provide the people with the right to recall representatives because,
‘everything is fair (in love and war), and elections are fought as “war”
against all other parties and candidates,’ and ‘the greatest genius for this
campaign of lies is likely to pool the greatest number of votes and seize
power.’ This reality, argued Golwalkar, placed a ‘heavy’ responsibility on
voters because once they cast their vote, they had ‘no means of remedying’
the decision.
Golwalkar also commented on the contradictory approaches of senior
leaders within the same political party. He argued in the article that while
Nehru was ‘calling upon the people to ignore the person, the character and
qualities of the individual candidates and pay attention only to the party,’ C.
Rajagopalachari was advocating a different view, which was to ‘ignore the
party and examine the individual candidate and study his character…which
in the last analysis is of utmost importance in the conduct of State business
within and without legislatures.’113
After years of emphasising on strengthening the character of any
organisation as the crucial instrument in nation-building, Golwalkar finally
conceded that a political party was also an integral part of the process. He
however postulated that to focus either on an individual or a party was
erroneous because, ‘Both these views …have to be taken together,’ and said
that a party without good people would be ‘like a body with paralysed limbs
useless and even harmful.’
In the same article, Golwalkar expressed his aversion towards the State
controlling the wealth and power of people, which he said made the life of
an ‘individual human being a lifeless, joyless existence.’ Golwalkar’s stance
obviously stemmed from his lifelong opposition to Socialism and
Communism, which according to him were, ‘perverse off springs of the same
reactionary process of thought seeking to concentrate all power of the state
and of wealth.’
He felt that the additional danger from both sets of ideologies was also
because the Communists and Socialists ‘pride themselves on being non-
Hindu.’ All political parties with Left-wing ideologies (including the
Congress), he felt, interfered with the ‘Hindu way of life’ and targeted
tradition by their ‘disinclination to respect the Hindu sentiments in relation to
the cow, and their partial treatment of Muslims, their pro-Muslim communal
outlook in reservation of seats out of their candidates by the Congress.’
Unless Hindu voters acted on the basis of their religious interests, ‘all they
cherish and hold in reverence stand in danger of being wholly obliterated if
the reins of power are entrusted in the hands of such un-Hindu-often anti-
Hindu-elements,’ declared the RSS chief and rounded it off by a clarion call:
vote as Hindus and for the Hindus.
Focus on Hindu Causes
Despite striking dramatically different postures in the first and second
general elections, M.S. Golwalkar failed to garner votes for the Jana Sangh.
In the first Lok Sabha polls, the Congress party won 364 of the 489 seats; the
Jana Sangh put up 94 candidates, but won only three of which two were from
West Bengal. The party had an alliance with the Hindu Mahasabha which
won four seats, out of which one was yet again from Bengal. Therefore, both
the parties had barely polled four per cent of the total votes. During the
second general elections, the Jana Sangh’s performance was unimpressive—
it won four seats, and even its vote share remained at a meagre six per cent.
The Hindu Mahasabha’s tally slipped to just one seat, but more importantly,
both parties also drew a blank in West Bengal.
After the failure of the Jana Sangh in the first general elections,
Golwalkar did not wish the RSS to stay confined to the social sphere, and
steered it to take up issues that required the support of Hindus in projecting
the nationalist orientation of the organisation. The Akhil Bharatiya Pratinidhi
Sabha met in September 1952 and evolved a two-pronged strategy—the first
was to revive the spirit of swadeshi. Golwalkar challenged the earlier and
original idea mooted by Mahatma Gandhi and declared that ‘Love for
Swadeshi did not have the positive content,’ as it was viewed only as a form
of protest against the British. Instead, he recommended that ‘love for
Swadeshi should be the constant, guiding spirit of the nation.’
The RSS exhorted people to adopt the swadeshi way of life; Golwalkar
went back to one of his earlier premises arguing that adapting Western
attitudes had become the norm in post-Independent India and must be
rejected. He strongly criticised ostentatious Hindu marriage ceremonies and
receptions, especially those where ‘the bride and the groom were dressed in
Western style.’ He also condemned beauty pageants, which began to be held
in the early 1950s, and remarked caustically, ‘We really miss India in this
whole affair.’114
While the swadeshi campaign provided the mandatory nationalistic
thrust to Golwalkar’s overall vision for the RSS in independent India, the
Hindu course was flagged off by a resolution seeking a complete ban on cow
slaughter as promised in the Directive Principles of the Constitution. A
nationwide signature campaign was launched in which more than 50,000
swayamsevaks fanned out to 85,000 cities, towns, and villages to collect
what the RSS claimed were two crore signatures. These petitions were
loaded on to bullock carts and presented to President Dr S. Radhakrishnan in
Delhi. The campaign succeeded in bringing the RSS closer to both Hindu
religious leaders and organisations and was an unambiguous attempt at
‘ethno-religious mobilisation.’115
Eventually, the movement recommending a Central law to ban cow
slaughter became a principal rallying point for the Hindutva cause. The
demand was clearly aimed at protecting the religious sentiments of a section
of Hindus, while denying the right of dietary choice to millions of Indians,
including several Hindus, and particularly, Muslims.
While discussing the impact of ‘reactionary Hinduism’, Golwalkar
wrote in Bunch of Thoughts as follows:

Some are Hindus, not out of conviction, but out of reaction. To give an
example, our workers once approached a prominent Hindu leader during the
signature collection campaign demanding ban on the slaughter of cows. But
they were greatly shocked to hear him saying, ‘What is the use of preventing
the slaughter of useless cattle? Let them die. What does it matter? After all,
one animal is as good as the other. But, since the Muslims are bent upon
cow-slaughter, we should make this an issue. And so, I give you my
signature.’ What does this show? We are to protect the cow not because the
cow has been for ages an emblem of Hindu devotion but because the
Muslims kill it! This is Hinduism born out of reaction, a kind of ‘negative
Hinduism’.

In so far as eating beef was concerned, Golwalkar was circumspect while

holding forth on the issue and justified this as a practise forced by ignorance
and necessity. He wrote about the Bhils (tribals inhabiting parts of central
India who were beef-eaters) and asserted that the Hindus should express
sympathy for the community. ‘Has anyone gone to them and taught them
devotion to cow?’ he asked, adding that the choice was forced,

out of sheer necessity, they have taken to beef eating. It is not out of flair or
fashion. Here too, the lapse is ours. It is up to us, the rest of the Hindus, to
make amends by going to them, educating them, and elevating their living
conditions and also their cultural standards (sic).
The issue of cow protection gave the RSS a major boost to harness greater
support even after the signature campaign of the 1950s had petered out. In
August 1964, Golwalkar inaugurated a RSS conference in Delhi called
Bharat Gosevak Samaj to revive the demand for a Central legislation to ban
cow slaughter. There was now an element of greater synergy between
different wings of the sangh parivar, as evidenced in Deendayal Upadhyaya’s
forceful advocacy of the demand in the conference.
After the Indo–Pak war in 1965, and the sudden and tragic death of
Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Shastri in January 1966, the cow protection
movement was revived yet again by establishing the Sarvadaliya Goraksha
Mahaabhiyaan Samiti (SGMS) in September 1966. The agitation was
initiated weeks before India’s fourth general elections, making it amply
evident that the RSS was focussed on reaping political mileage at a time
when the Congress was facing an inner-party upheaval. Golwalkar became a
member of the SGMS’ steering committee, proving that he had moved a
considerable distance away from the time when he abhorred political
activism.
A violent protest by the SGMS on 7 November 1966 at the gate of the
Parliament House resulted in the death of eight people, including a
policeman, and the then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi in a bid to demonstrate
her secular credentials had sacked Home Minister Gulzarilal Nanda, long
considered to be an advocate of soft Hindutva. In retaliation, Golwalkar
began a hunger strike accompanied by several well-known religious leaders
associated with the SGMS, including the Shankaracharya of Puri. Delhi was
simmering and came to the boil when a fasting sadhu had died on its streets.
Meanwhile, several other religious leaders decided to continue with the fast
and a few days later, a small group announced its intention of establishing a
political party with a single point manifesto on cow protection.
Alarmed at the new development and eager to ‘avoid the exploitation
by another party of this increasingly tense situation,’116 M.S. Golwalkar and
Deendayal Upadhyaya initiated back channel talks with the Hindu clergy and
averted the formation of a new party. Finally, the fast was called off after the
government agreed to form a committee to re-examine the various facets of
the cow protection issue. The Shankaracharya of Puri was nominated to the
committee as was Golwalkar who had immediately written to the government
expressing his inability to attend any meetings for the next three months. In
close succession came the Shankaracharya’s resignation, and the
government’s lofty plans to tackle the issue came to naught.
In the course of almost three years starting August 1964, Golwalkar had
undoubtedly succeeded in harnessing the political potential of Hindu seers,
but he had also realised that they could not be controlled at will. This made
him, and the RSS wary of allowing religious leaders to seize control of an
agitation and the lesson stood the organisation in good stead in the Eighties
during the Ram Janmabhoomi agitation, when the idea of cultural nationalism
became more acceptable than ever before.

Towards a Global Hindu Samaj

It was actually a meeting with Simboonath Capildeo, son of an immigrant
from Uttar Pradesh in Trinidad and Tobago, which gave birth to one of the
most potent RSS affiliates of the 1980s, catapulting the BJP to centre stage.
According to Daurius Figueira, Capildeo’s biographer, the Trinidadian
politician who went by the moniker of ‘Lion of the Legislative Council’, was
the ‘progenitor of Hindu nationalist discourse in Trinidad and Tobago.’
Capildeo was the maternal uncle of the renowned author, the late V.S.
Naipaul, and during one of his trips to India had rued over the fact that
‘Bhaaratvanshis living for over 150 years in his country and other countries
in West Indies were losing touch’ with their ancient culture. He later met
with Golwalkar and impressed the RSS chief to such an extent that the two
decided to set up a global Hindu organisation.
Golwalkar deputed a senior RSS functionary called Shankar Shivaram
(Dadasaheb) Apte to sound out religious leaders, scholars, social and
cultural activists, and finally but most importantly, industrialists and
businessmen for financial support.
In Golwalkar’s mind, the main intent of forming a global body for
Hindus was to reactivate the ‘majoritarian inferiority complex,’117 and he
was ably assisted in this endeavour by Swami Chinmayananda, a Keralite
journalist-turned-guru who was later touted to be the first ‘exporter’ of yoga
to the West. Finally, the idea of a global Hindu outfit came to fruition in
August 1964, two months after Nehru’s death, which had left the Congress
party and his political legacy in a state of uncertainty. In order to avoid any
unnecessary controversy, Golwalkar instructed Apte to exclude every
political party, including the Hindu Mahasabha and Jana Sangh from the
ambit of the proposed organisation.
As the chief of RSS, Golwalkar had a decisive say in the matter of
selecting a name for the organisation. While the word, Vishwa (world) was
considered most befitting, there were several suggestions that the word
dharma or righteousness be included in the name. It was once again
Golwalkar who settled the matter and said, ‘We have to promote
comprehensive thinking on all four Purusharthas—Dharma, Artha, Kama,
Moksha. Our desire is to strengthen Hindu Social life from all points of view
and infuse Hindu ideals of life in it. So let us not use Dharma in the name of
the organisation. Similarly the term Sammelan does not give a clear idea of
the work. I think Parishad would be proper.’
In an attempt to broaden the religio-cultural base of the proposed global
outfit, Golwalkar invited the senior Akali Dal leader, Master Tara Singh,
who declared, ‘Sikhs and Hindus are not two separate communities.
Prosperity of Sikhs is possible only so long as the Hindu Dharma is alive.’
Although Capildeo did not attend the meeting, he had sent a representative to
preside over the proceedings. It however took another two years before the
inaugural assembly of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) or World Hindu
Conference was held during the kumbh mela in Allahabad (now, Prayagraj).
In his speech, Golwalkar said that the VHP must not be reduced to an
assembly, but should have a programmatic orientation. However, what stood
out in his speech during the VHP convention was the way in which he had
highlighted the ‘lack of self-confidence’ amongst Hindus and proceeded to
define the premise as follows:

Sanatana Dharma implied principled human conduct, applicable to all human

beings of all claims and times. It embodies all the various persuasions like
Buddhism, Sikhism etc., born out of the same Dharmic traditions. An eminent
Jain Muni has truly said, “How can he who does not call himself a Hindu
also be a Jain?” All our different sects in fact, share the same holy traditions
and values of life. It is our duty to evolve harmonious accord among all of
them…

While the VHP was set up to rejuvenate and involve vast numbers of Indian
settlers abroad, it also precluded communities which were not viewed as the
original dwellers of a Hindu India. For instance, at one of the VHP meetings
in 1970 at Jorhat, Golwalkar said, ‘Muslims give inflated figures. We must
be on guard against this. Every Hindu should register himself as a Hindu.
Tribals, followers of any special sect, or hill tribes should register
themselves as Hindus only not by the name of their tribes.’ In the same year,
the VHP established a branch in London and continued to propagate the
superiority of Hinduism.
Golwalkar had felt the need for international outreach even earlier and
the opportunity came in September 1960 when Atal Bihari Vajpayee, then a
first term member of the Lok Sabha, was invited to visit the United States
when John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon were locked in a historic
presidential contest. When Vajpayee informed Golwalkar about his visit, the
latter asked him to carry a message to the American people. Vajpayee
delivered his speech in Washington on 28 September 1960, which not only
revealed his worldview, but also read out Golwalkar’s message which
highlighted the RSS chief’s ambition to be recognised internationally as a
modern political thinker:

The world is torn into two sections…conflict is not of Democracy versus

Communism as it appears to superficial observers. It is the age-old struggle
between gross materialism and Dharma. Communism stands for the former
and tries to manifest itself as a Universal ideology. It can be countered not by
sectarian religious dogmas but only by Universal Religion (Sanatana
Dharma)…

Golwalkar’s tirade against Communism was a modification of his assertion

eleven years ago during a lecture in Bangalore in November 1949 in which
he had reasoned that, ‘communism came up as a reaction against the new
tyranny of capitalism.’ For the Washington audience however, Golwalkar left
out his criticism of capitalism, suggesting he did not wish to target the
economic and political system of another country. It also revealed that in the
event of a clash between these two ‘isms’, he viewed Communism as a
greater threat to the Hindu political order because it undermined the religious
foundations of the society.

A Personal Tragedy
For a man as deeply involved as Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar in his life’s
mission of establishing a Hindu nation, he was also a devoted son and took
extremely good care of his parents. In July 1954, his father had passed away
at the age of eighty-two. Golwalkar was then travelling and left instructions
with his associates to go ahead with the cremation, while he had hurried
back. After fulfilling the mandatory funeral rites and spending a few days
with his mother, he resumed his duties in the RSS within a fortnight.
But eight years later, when his mother died in August 1962,
Golwalkar’s emotional distress was insurmountable. Tai, as Laxmibai was
fondly called by her son and other swayamsevaks, had suffered a paralytic
stroke, and was confined to bed for some time prior to her passing.
Golwalkar tended to her needs with utmost care and would dutifully seek her
permission before embarking on every tour, and in his absence, a senior RSS
leader, Krishnarao Mohrir kept Golwalkar informed about her health. There
were occasions when her condition would deteriorate suddenly and her son,
Madhu (as she lovingly called him), would stay put by her bedside.
It was therefore no wonder that Laxmibai’s death had left him
inconsolable, and his desire to escape the material world and retreat to the
mountains resurfaced. Swami Amoortananda, or Amitabh Maharaj who it
may be recalled, had played a crucial role in Golwalkar’s youth, ensured that
he overcame his grief and plunged into the activities of the RSS once again.
Golwalkar’s feeling of remorse at continuing with life after a period of
mourning was also alleviated by a letter that he had received from the
Shankaracharya of Kanchi Kamakoti Peetham. In his letter, the seer wrote
that although his mother was no more with him, he could continue to take care
of Bharat Mata or Mother India as the nation needed sons like him.
The 1960s was the most decisive decade in the history of the RSS.
Madhav Golwalkar had shed his reluctance for direct engagement with
politics, and consequently widened the canvas of the organisation to reach
out to new sections. He allowed the general secretary of the RSS, and his
successor, Balasaheb Deoras, the privilege of addressing the Jana Sangh’s
session in 1965, and personally advised party leaders against forming an
alliance with Communists for the 1967 general elections. He also travelled
abroad and addressed Hindus in Burma (now Myanmar) and Kathmandu,
where he met the King and invited him to a RSS function in Nagpur. When
Nepal’s monarch accepted the offer, it had created a bit of a diplomatic
embarrassment because for a Head of State—and that too of an avowedly
Hindu kingdom—to attend a RSS function would have been politically
sensitive for the government. Eventually, Mahendra Bikram Shah was
advised by New Delhi to stay away from the function and he had
communicated his inability to Golwalkar.
The strategies deployed by Golwalkar contributed greatly to the RSS
and its affiliates finding support from new sections of society and in the 1967
election, the Jana Sangh won 35 seats, which was its best performance so far.
It also partnered with non-Congress parties in several states to form
governments, albeit for a short duration. The growth of the sangh parivar in
the 1950s and 1960s required the grant of functional autonomy for affiliated
organisations and Golwalkar evolved the process of unstructured command
mechanism where consultations on a one-to-one level was the norm as
against any high command formally endorsing decisions made by the
affiliates.
In the late 1960s, the Jana Sangh was hit by internal squabbles with
Balraj Madhok and a few other conservative leaders contesting the decisions
taken by younger leaders led by Vajpayee and L.K. Advani. When Advani
had questioned Madhok’s actions and pushed for disciplinary action against
him, the latter had demanded that the dispute be referred to Golwalkar.
Advani had refused, displaying immense confidence because ‘on a matter as
important as this, Advani very likely had already conferred with Golwalkar
before writing to Madhok,’ pointing to his indiscipline.
Golwalkar was in complete control of his organisation and had the
quiet satisfaction of seeing its influence spread slowly, but steadily. He was
probably preparing for the next round of expansion but alas, he was
diagnosed with cancer in 1969 and he spent the next four years in
excruciating pain. Yet he did not leave the RSS in a state of uncertainty, and
passed on the baton to Deoras in a transparent manner unlike what was done
during his nomination by Hedgewar.
After Golwalkar’s death on 5 June 1973, his secretary, Pandurang
Kshirsagar opened three letters that the chief of RSS had written to him two
months earlier.
The first of these, read by the chief of the Maharashtra unit of RSS,
Babarao Bhide, over a microphone at the RSS headquarters in Nagpur,
mentioned the nomination of Balasaheb Deoras as the next sarsanghchalak.
Among those assembled at the RSS headquarters that day was also Advani,
who had recently been elected the president of the Jana Sangh and had
travelled 500 kilometres from Delhi to join thousands of mourners. The other
letters were read out by Deoras and one of them contained the instruction that
no memorial was to be built for him.
The gathering of mourners heard out the last words of a man who strode
over the RSS like a colossus for thirty-three long years.
Many of his followers found Golwalkar’s leadership oppressive at
times, and were often dismayed by his disinterest to evolve. But in the end,
Golwalkar could be credited for ‘knitting the organisation while also
expanding it.’118
Indira Gandhi had never met Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar, but it was
well known that much like her father, she was strongly opposed to the RSS.
Yet at his death, she accepted that he had ‘held a respected position in
national life by force of his personality and the intensity of his conviction,
even though many of us could not agree with him.’

* There is a discrepancy regarding the date of the blast in the Shikarpur

Colony house. In The Making Of Exile: Sindhi Hindus and The Partition Of
India, Nandita Bhavnani mentions the date as 10 September, while L.K.
Advani in My Country My Life, mentions it as 9 September. This chapter
follows dates mentioned by L.K. Advani as he was a key eyewitness to the
events.
 SYAMA PRASAD MOOKERJEE

O n 23 June 1953, Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru was in Geneva, en

route to Cairo, after attending the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II,
when he was brought the news of a bereavement from India. He had
immediately despatched a condolence letter through the diplomatic post to
Lady Jogmaya Mookerjee, in which he had stated: ‘Though we may have
differed in politics, I respected him and had great affection for him.’
However for the mother, who believed her son had died a mysterious death
in faraway Srinagar, the prime minister’s commiseration was inadequate. In
her reply, Lady Mookerjee demanded ‘justice’, and condemned the
condolence message as being of little value because ‘it comes from people
who themselves should stand a trial.’ She had further concluded:

A fearless son of free India has met his death while in detention without trial
under most tragic and mysterious circumstances. I…demand an absolutely
impartial and open enquiry…

The anguish of a mother notwithstanding, it was against contemporary

wisdom that the woman in question had ‘Lady’ prefixed to her name, while
her son—the fifty-two-year-old Syama Prasad Mookerjee—had died
defending the principles of a Hindu nation in the cold confines of a jail,
thousands of miles away from his native West Bengal.
By a strange quirk of fate, it was another prisoner lodged in the same
Srinagar jail, a separatist leader called Masarat Alam, who had brought back
the focus on the departed leader. On 9 March 2015, Prime Minister Narendra
Modi spoke in parliament in defence of his coalition partner* in Jammu &
Kashmir, the People’s Democratic Party (PDP), which had ordered the
release of Alam, the dreaded militant. The Opposition had accused the ruling
BJP government of giving militants safe passage, while the prime minister
had firmly reiterated that his party would ‘not compromise with the unity and
integrity’ of India. But the Opposition benches were relentless, and when the
prime minister was charged with obfuscation, he had responded firmly,
‘There is no reason for us to remain silent,’ and added after a pause, ‘We are
the ones who sacrificed Syama Prasad Mookerjee. We don’t need lessons in
patriotism….don’t teach us patriotism….’
Narendra Modi was well within his rights for having invoked Syama
Prasad Mookerjee, because the man had left an invaluable ‘Kashmir legacy’,
first for the Bharatiya Jana Sangh and later for the BJP. In the context of
Prime Minister Modi’s reference to ‘sacrifice’, an oft-repeated slogan which
was routinely raised by many in the memory of the iconic leader, would have
been more apt:

Jahan hue balidaan Mookerjee,

woh Kashmir hamara hai1

(The Kashmir where Mookerjee laid down his life, is ours)

Equally, whenever the perennially contentious and unresolved issue of

Kashmir’s special status was brought into focus, Mookerjee was recalled for
his famous slogan:

Ek desh mein do vidhan

Ek desh mein do nishan
Ek desh mein do pradhan
Nahin chalenge, nahin chalenge2

(In a nation which is one entity, there can be no room for two constitutions,
two heads, nor two flags)

A fortnight after his death, the Jana Sangh’s Central Working Committee had
passed a resolution stating how India was ‘stunned by the mysterious
circumstances’ of Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s passing, and alleged ‘criminal
medical negligence.’
Ever since its formation in 1951, first the Jana Sangh’s, and later the
BJP’s stand on Kashmir hinged on two basic premises: first, that the Hindu-
majority region of Jammu was neglected in preference for the Muslim-
majority Kashmir Valley; and second, the integration of the state with the rest
of India was impossible until Article 370 of the Constitution (which grants a
special autonomous status to the state) was not abrogated. It was none other
than Syama Prasad Mookerjee who had made significant contributions in
firming up the two postulations.
In 1998, when the BJP was at the helm of a coalition government at the
Centre, it could do little in solving the Kashmir conundrum, also as an
alliance partner with the PDP led by Mehbooba Mufti from 2015–2018. In
April 2017, Kashmir was burning yet again with students marching the streets
shouting azaadi (freedom) slogans eulogising the death of an alleged militant,
Burhan Wani. The nation had watched helplessly even as Chief Minister
Mehbooba Mufti had gone up and down the corridors of Delhi to meet Prime
Minister Modi to help resolve the crisis.
From the very onset however, it was more than evident that the
coalition partners would eventually part, the only speculation being on the
timing of the severance. Eventually, when one of BJP’s general secretaries
had announced that his party had chosen to go its way, no one was surprised.
Therefore, that day in parliament when Narendra Modi had reminded
the Opposition benches of his party’s commitment to Kashmir, it was the late
Syama Prasad Mookerjee who had come to his rescue, as he had done for
more than six decades since his death in 1953.
Meanwhile, after returning to India, Prime Minister Nehru rose up in
parliament to pay homage to the departed leader:

In any event, his passing away would have been sad and a great blow to this
House and the country, but in the peculiar circumstances in which it took
place, naturally this added to our sorrow.

In order to understand the ‘peculiar circumstances’ of Syama Prasad

Mookerjee’s death, one needs to go back to early twentieth century, when the
man in question lived in the lap of luxury, and no one could have imagined
that his death would become a subject of criminal scrutiny.

The Young Master: Choto Karta

The Chowringhee Road in Kolkata has different names for different stretches.
At one particular point, it metamorphoses into Ashutosh Mukherjee Road,
named after one of the legendary sons of the city. Further ahead, the road is
called S.P. Mukherjee Road. For first-time visitors to the city, it may appear
strange that two stretches of the same road are named after a father-son duo,
and both illustrious in their own way.
Ashutosh Mukherjee**, popularly known as Banglar Bagh or the Tiger
of Bengal, was born into an elite Brahmin family and as a young man,
followed the usual trajectory reserved for Bengali boys from genteel
backgrounds, which was to join the freedom movement.
The year was 1883 and students in Bengal were protesting against the
arrest of Rashtraguru Sir Surendranath Banerjee3. Much like his peers,
Ashutosh Mukherjee also came under the scanner, albeit for a different
reason: he was pronounced guilty for contempt of court for writing an
incendiary editorial in his paper, Bengalee, in which he had questioned the
wisdom of an English judge who had disputed the antiquity of a particular
Hindu idol, despite evidence to the contrary.
Soon, Ashutosh Mukherjee emerged as a man who stood out amongst
the band of young Bengali revolutionaries in twentieth century Calcutta.
Amongst several other things, he was a brilliant academician and pursued
simultaneous careers as a mathematician, lawyer, judge and educationist. In
his last avatar, he was Vice Chancellor of Calcutta University; presided over
the inaugural session of the Indian Science Congress; and was member of the
Sadler Commission, which was set up to conduct an inquiry into the state of
education in India. In 1911 at the age of forty-seven, Ashutosh Mukherjee
was knighted by the Imperial government in recognition for his stellar
achievements.
Although Sir Mukherjee had gradually drifted away from the national
movement, but when it came to sending his son to school, he had opted for
Mitra Institution which was well known for instilling Indian values amongst
its students. In July 1906, the five-year-old Syama Prasad started school and
rode in style in a horse-drawn carriage. One of his teachers later recalled
that the boy was markedly humble and did not ever belittle his fellow
students, some of whom were from far lesser affluent families.4
At sixteen years of age, Syama Prasad cleared his Matriculation
examination and in 1921, graduated with Honours in English from the
prestigious Presidency College, Calcutta. When it was time for him to pursue
his Masters, he chose Bengali instead of English, in deference to his father,
who as Vice Chancellor of Calcutta University had introduced the language
as a subject in 1906.
As a twenty-year-old man in 1921, Syama Prasad wasn’t even half as
politically aware as his father was at that age. According to Tathagata Roy in
the The Life and Times of Shyama Prasad Mookerjee,

very probably he had designs, following his father’s footsteps, to become an

educationist and a lawyer….His philosophy of life seemed to be contained in
the oft-quoted Sanskrit saying, Chattranam Adhyanam Tapah, for a student,
study is worship.5

Much like scions of renowned Bengali families of the time, Syama Prasad
was also expected to fulfil certain mandatory familial duties, and in 1922 he
was married off to Sudha Devi. However, when his father had died two
years later in May 1924, the twenty-four-year-old Syama Prasad had found
himself saddled with responsibilities and felt that his life had ‘changed its
course… all the mirth and joy disappeared from my life. A new chapter had
begun….’6
At the time of his death, the sixty-year-old Sir Ashutosh Mukherjee had
quit as Vice Chancellor of Calcutta University as a result of a ‘heated
controversy’ with the Governor of Bengal, Lord Lytton over the funding of
the institute.7 Prior to his stint with the University, he had retired as judge of
the Calcutta High Court and was regarded as one of the most deserving
candidates for a career in public life.
A few months after his father’s death, Syama Prasad Mookerjee was
nominated to the Senate and Syndicate of the university; in 1934, he was
appointed as Vice Chancellor of Calcutta University; and at thirty-three, he
became the youngest in the history of the institute to preside over its affairs.
Despite all the outstanding achievements at a young age, he decided in
the interim to firm up a career path that he felt was most suitable for him.
According to several accounts, he was initially disinclined to be a fulltime
career educationist, and consequently set sail for England in 1926 to mainly
study Law at Lincoln’s Inn, and also to represent Calcutta University at a
Conference of Universities. A year later, the young barrister returned home,
but instead of pursuing a legal career, he entered a field which was thought to
be tailor-made for his late father: politics. In 1929, Syama Prasad was
elected to the Bengal Legislative Council from the Calcutta University
constituency as a member of the Indian National Congress***.
Regardless of what was obviously a conscious political choice, Syama
Prasad was beginning to feel constrained in the Congress party, most
importantly, with what was its most potent weapon against the British:
Mahatma Gandhi’s mass mobilisation movements, particularly the Dandi or
Salt March which he had undertaken in 1930. Ironically, it was Gandhi who
had eventually come to his rescue when at his insistence, all the Indian
members of Legislative Councils were instructed to give up their seats
throughout British India, facilitating Syama Prasad Mookerjee to resign from
the Congress ‘because he was opposed to the (Civil Disobedience)
movement.’8
In retrospect, several writers have justified Mookerjee’s decision to
quit the Congress, propelled as he was, according to them, by a greater
political insight than even Gandhi. But the fact of the matter was that apart
from his discomfort with Gandhi, Syama Prasad strongly believed that mass
agitations and resignations gave space for ‘toadies, to play mischief. He felt
it necessary that the interests of the university be safeguarded in the
legislatures, particularly because education had become a transferred subject
under the Montagu-Chelmsford Reforms of 1921.’9
In the aftermath of the mass resignations, although the legislative bodies
were left with little or no credibility, Mookerjee decided to fight the
impending elections from the same university constituency, but as an
independent candidate. At a time when India was in ferment over the arrest
of top Congress leaders, Mookerjee consciously shunned political campaigns
and plunged head long into the job at hand by becoming an assistant to
Hassan Suhrawardy, the Vice Chancellor of Calcutta University.
There was no doubt that Syama Prasad was an efficient administrator,
but his vision for the university was no different from that of the British. On
the one hand, if his parting with the Congress party in 1930 had given rise to
his two decades-long opposition to its policies, it had also enabled his rise
in the pecking order of the university. In 1934, he became the youngest Vice
Chancellor of Calcutta University, a position which handed him ‘the right to
talk on just a little less than equal terms to the governor.’10
As a well known votary of Lord Macaulay, Vice Chancellor Syama
Prasad Mookerjee was insistent on producing a class of English-speaking
‘brown sahibs’ in the university. In his presidential address to the All India
Educational Conference in Nagpur in 1935, he said that educational
institutions should be geared towards producing ‘students who are capable of
providing leadership to our self-governing institutions, such as municipal
corporations, provincial and central legislatures.’ In other words, what he
meant was that the core purpose of a university education was to produce
officers and junior officials for serving the Colonial regime.
In 1937, the poet-litterateur Rabindranath Tagore arrived in Calcutta
University to deliver the annual convocation lecture and it was his
endorsement of the institution under Syama Prasad’s baton—introducing
Bengali medium for several subjects; compilation of technical terms in
Bengali; and most significantly, standardising Bengali spellings—which had
catapulted him from being the son of Banglar Bagh to an eminent educationist
in his own right. A year later in 1938, the thirty-seven-year-old Syama
Prasad Mookerjee retired as Vice Chancellor of Calcutta University and
three months later in recognition for his achievements, Viceroy Lord
Brabourne conferred an Honorary Doctorate of Law upon him. In his
address, the Viceroy said:

Nobody can say that Syama Prasad Mookerjee is being honoured by this
Honorary Degree because he is the son of a great father. It is because he is
himself. He has earned every bit of it.

Choto Karta or the young master, as he was respectfully addressed at home,

was now his own master and was raring to go in the next decade, and even
further.

Politics is My Destiny
Unlike Sir Ashutosh who did not cross the seven seas (considered taboo
amongst several Indian communities at the time), in deference to his mother,
Syama Prasad had set sail for England in 1926 to study for Bar-at-Law.
Although several students’ groups were politically active in London at the
time, Mookerjee steered clear of them. In the two years that he spent in
London, he ‘pursued his studies single-mindedly’ and had no time for
‘soapbox oratory at Hyde Park’11. a fine tradition in the city since the 1870s
when people gathered to hear speeches on religion, politics etc. The platform
was also used by young Indian Communists and Congress supporters to
protest against the British, but Mookerjee had little interest in such pursuits.
Instead, he pursued quaint hobbies, which included metaphysical exercises
and planchette with the likes of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and experimented
with ‘spirit photography’ with an Indian student.
It may be recalled that when he had set sail for England, Syama Prasad
Mookerjee was already a Senate member of the prestigious Calcutta
University and therefore, it seems logical to infer that his intention was less
to acquire ‘legal distinction’ than to obtain knowledge about the workings of
English and French universities. According to his roommate, Surendra Nath
Sen, Syama Prasad was ‘anxious to do the Bar Examination as quickly as
possible’ so that he could spend the rest of his time studying Western systems
of education.
Within a few weeks of his arrival, he had to sit for the preliminary Bar
exams in which his performance was anything but noteworthy. ‘Under
ordinary circumstances the result could be considered satisfactory if not
creditable,’ wrote Surendra Nath Sen and further added, ‘but the tongue of
calumny soon got busy.’ The news of his average performance eventually
travelled to India and was discussed at great length and with great delight by
his detractors, including the then Vice Chancellor of Calcutta University, the
renowned historian, Sir Jadunath Sarkar.
One of the other reasons for Syama Prasad’s deliberate distance from
politics in England was because of his father who had set predetermined
career paths for his children. Amongst his sons, Sir Ashutosh considered the
elder two, Rama Prasad and Syama Prasad as most suited for the British
system. While Rama Prasad was considered suitable for a role in the
judiciary, Syama Prasad was trained for ‘stepping into his shoes in Calcutta
University.’ He soon concluded that he had made the correct decision and
wrote to Pat Lovett, editor of the Capital that the young man had the ‘makings
of a man.’ By all accounts, it was a wizened man who had set sail for home
from England, resolute about giving a clear direction to Calcutta University
by overhauling the educational system in Bengal. Within a year, as an elected
member of the Bengal Legislative Council, Syama Prasad Mookerjee found
the perfect platform to realise his dreams.
From August 1932 onwards, there was a palpable change in Bengal
politics, and despite the anti-Imperialistic fervour across the region,
religious identities were slowly beginning to occupy centre stage. For
instance, the Colonial administration had introduced a separate electorate for
Muslims under the Morley–Minto Reforms in 1909; in Bengal there were
forty-six Hindu seats to thirty-nine Muslim seats and after the Communal
Award of 1932, the Bengal Council had eighty seats for Hindus, while the
number of Muslim seats had gone up to 117. Considering a large number of
Hindu seats were allocated to the Depressed Classes (as the Dalits were then
known) under the September1932 Poona Pact signed between Mahatma
Gandhi and Dr B. R. Ambedkar, this had further angered the upper caste
Bengali elite.
Syama Prasad Mookerjee as part of a ‘stunning array of Bengalis’12 or
bhadraloks (genteel, elite Bengalis), including Rabindranath Tagore, Sarat
Chandra Chattopadhyay, Brajendra Nath Seal, and Dr P.C. Ray, petitioned the
government claiming that the ‘Hindus of Bengal though numerically a
minority, are overwhelmingly superior culturally’ because of which they
were objecting to the ‘unfair and unprecedented provision to protect a
majority community.’ Although the group of erudite Bengali men exhorted
people to hold meetings and pass resolutions protesting against the Award,
the movement had failed to take off, because the arguments put forth by the
petitioners were deemed ‘too technical to draw the sympathy of newly
enfranchised individuals’ in rural Bengal.13
Although Syama Prasad Mookerjee cut his teeth in politics by opposing
the contentious Communal Award, albeit in a limited fashion, the kernel of
the protest stayed with him ever since and later shaped his brand of politics.

Times of Exploration
Following his protest against the Communal Award, Syama Prasad began
pursuing legislative activism, but soon realised the limitation of such
interventions. He therefore shifted focus and became an understudy to his
predecessor, Hassan Suhrawardy, who was the first Muslim Vice Chancellor
of Calcutta University.
In 1934, as Vice Chancellor of Calcutta University, Syama Prasad was
presented with his maiden opportunity to engage in student politics when a
few of his students began to involve themselves with European fascist
leaders. He encouraged the young academics and assured them of forging a
‘close relationship’ between the Italian Institute for the Middle and Far East
and Calcutta University.14 Benito Mussolini was already at the helm of
affairs in Italy and although Mookerjee did not have any direct links with him
(unlike several other Indian leaders like Subhash Chandra Bose, or even B.S.
Moonje), his reaching out to an Italian fascist institute established that he was
engaging with a political ideology which the Congress considered as
inimical to the interests of the nation.
For a major part of the 1930s, Mookerjee’s experiments with politics
revealed a deep-seated desire to involve with non-Congress political groups.
However, owing to his limited understanding of politics, save antagonism
towards the Congress party, Syama Prasad committed blunders that he would
come to regret later. For instance in August 1936, the students of Calcutta
University had invited Mohammed Ali Jinnah to address a meeting which
was presided over by the Vice Chancellor. While introducing Jinnah, Syama
Prasad had referred to him as ‘an Indian nationalist…one of those fighters
who knows how to fight stubbornly for the attainment of the ideal which they
have made their own.’ In response, Jinnah, who at the time was keen to
showcase his nationalist credentials, overtly pleased with the endorsement
had thanked Mookerjee profusely.15
The event at the university was held barely a few months prior to the
1936–37 elections to the Provincial Assemblies. Jinnah had arrived in
Calcutta after addressing a series of meetings in several cities as part of his
electoral campaign, and the captive students’ community was just what he
had needed to kick-start his campaign in Bengal.
In the impending elections to the Bengal Legislative Council, none of
the political parties secured an absolute majority, because of 113 members
who happened to be independents. The Congress was indeed the largest
party, but with an unimpressive tally of just fifty-four seats, followed by the
Muslim League with thirty-seven seats, and the Krishak Praja Party (KPP)
with one seat less at thirty-six. However, despite the lowest number of seats
in the Council, the fledgling KPP stood out amongst the rest because it was
headed by a distinguished lawyer and an extremely astute man called Abul
Kasem Fazlul Huq, popularly known as Sher-e-Bangla (Tiger of Bengal). It
may be recalled that Huq and Sir Ashutosh Mukherjee’s monikers were the
same, save that while Banglar Bagh was in Bengali, Sher-e-Bangla was more
Hindustani. This so-called ‘appropriate’ reference in the language was
however incongruous, given that Huq, or even his colleagues in his party,
were Bengalis first and Muslims later, but even this small detail was
indicative of the latent communal divide in Bengal where even languages
were segregated based on religious identities.
 Meanwhile the British were aware of Huq’s facility for politics. The
Governor of Bengal, Sir John Anderson wrote to Viceroy Lord Linlithgow
about the man most succinctly as, ‘the most certain quantity in Muslim
politics, completely devoid of principle and trust of nobody.’16
In April 1937, at the head of a fractious coalition, backed by the
Muslim League, a few Europeans and members from the Depressed Classes,
Fazlul Huq was sworn in as the Premier of Bengal. Despite the British’s
mistrust of him, the primary reason for his ascendance was the common
objective of keeping the Congress out of the government, and in their
collective pursuit, not only did they allow the Muslim League to become part
of the ruling coalition, but allotted four ministerial berths to its members.
With Huq becoming Bengal’s Premier, Syama Prasad Mookerjee began
exploring other political avenues, and was gradually drawn to the Hindu
Mahasabha. Surprisingly, he wasn’t the only one to politically realign with
another party, even Premier Huq was moving closer to joining the Muslim
League. In fact in 1940, Huq had moved the controversial Lahore or Pakistan
Resolution which demanded the creation of a separate state from the Muslim-
majority areas in India. Syama Prasad was quick to respond to what he
viewed as a major transgression and declared that the Premier was
essentially anti-Hindu. He quoted the Bengal Secondary Education Bill and
the University Bill in the context, which he felt had jeopardised the
‘existence of Hindus as equal and self-respecting sons of the soil,’17 because
it undermined an educational system which was designed by the Mookerjees
‘mainly with the cooperation and help of Hindu philanthropists.’ His
objections to the twin bills stemmed from the fact that they proposed to shift
secondary education from Calcutta University (which was dominated by
upper caste Bengali bhadraloks) to a Board of Secondary Education
comprising fifty members drawn from Hindus, Muslims, Europeans, as also
members of the government. In 1939, at the annual conference of All Bengal
Teachers Association, Syama Prasad Mookerjee declared that if such a
Board was ever established, ‘we shall sever all connections with such an
anti-educational board and shall, if necessary, seek affiliation for our schools
with an outside university.’ He found ready support from several Hindus for
what was perceived as a bold move and even as Huq was forced to relegate
the proposal to the back burner, it was Mookerjee’s first major political
victory against the Muslims.
 Additionally, Syama Prasad was also opposed to the Calcutta
Corporation Bill which proposed a separate electorate for Muslim in local
body polls; as also reservation in jobs for Muslim youth. During several
debates in the legislature, he argued that Muslims students were given
preference in secondary education over Hindus, which once resulted in a
barney between him and Huq. The former had declared, ‘If you fight, we will
also fight for our lives, our rights and our liberties.’ In response, Huq had
thundered that Mookerjee had ‘challenged to a mortal combat not merely the
Muslim members of the coalition party (Huq’s party; emphasis mine) but
practically the 30 million Muslims of Bengal…he has earned the reputation
of being one of the most communally-minded men in Bengal.’18
In August 1938, Syama Prasad’s resignation as Vice Chancellor of
Calcutta University coincided with a No-Confidence motion against Fazlul
Huq’s government, which was eventually overcome but not before eroding
the Bengal Premier’s reputation both inside and outside the legislature.

The Hindu Leader

In the midst of a severely polarised Bengal, made worse by a tottering
Legislative Council, Syama Prasad Mookerjee met Vinayak Damodar
Savarkar (see chapter, Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, p. 53) in early 1939. The
two men met in Calcutta in the course of Savarkar’s ‘whirlwind tour’19 of
India, which he had commenced in 1938 after his release from the Cellular
Jail in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. To borrow Balraj Madhok’s
phrase, V.D. Savarkar had ‘raised a hornet’s nest’20 by joining the Hindu
Mahasabha instead of the RSS.
During his conversation with several members of the Bengali elite,
Savarkar espoused ‘his gospel of unalloyed nationalism as the only effective
antidote to Muslim separatism and divide-and-rule policy of the alien
rulers.’21 Mookerjee was already a convert, considering he had raised the
anti-Hindu bogey against Fazlul Huq, and by the end of Savarkar’s visit, he
had become a devout loyalist. In his biography of V.D. Savarkar, Dhananjay
Keer wrote, ‘Indeed, Dr. Mookerjee was a discovery of Savarkar’s tour of
Bengal.’22
On 9 October 1939, Lord Linlithgow invited Savarkar and some of his
associates for a meeting to discuss Indians enlisting in the Second World War
as part of the Imperial army. Prior to the meeting, Savarkar had conferred
with Syama Prasad Mookerjee and informed the British that he was,
‘prepared to cooperate in the policy of militarisation.’23 In turn, Linlithgow
impressed upon Secretary of State for India, Lord Zetland that the British
‘must now turn to the Hindus and work with their support’ and although the
Colonial administration and Hindus had ‘had a good deal of difficulty with
one another in the past,’ their ‘interests were now the same and we must
therefore work together.’24
In December 1939, Savarkar’s ‘find’ played a stellar role in organising
the annual convention of the All India Hindu Mahasabha in Calcutta and was
rewarded with the post of Vice President. At the convention, the
Mahasabha’s main thrust was on addressing the insecurities faced by upper
caste Hindus and it even passed a resolution to this end which claimed that
the Hindus’ ‘situation as a community is deteriorating day by day,’ and how
‘Hindu women are oppressed, Hindu boys and girls are kidnapped…Hindu
temples are polluted and Hindu idols are destroyed.’
The Viceroy happened to be in Calcutta that day and in his report to the
government, he described the convention as a ‘monster meeting from which
has emerged a series of resolutions highly communal in character and
condemnatory of the Congress.’ Linlithgow further added that it wouldn’t
surprise him if the Mahasabha stole ‘a certain amount of the Congress
thunder.’25
Within a few months of the convention, Syama Prasad Mookerjee was
elevated as the Hindu Mahasabha’s acting president primarily because of
V.D. Savarkar’s failing health. Finally, three years later in 1944, Syama
Prasad became the president of the Hindu Mahasabha.
Apart from the common ideological plank that he shared with the Hindu
Mahasabha, Mookerjee’s decision to join the outfit in 1939 was clearly part
of a carefully-orchestrated plan. He had ably elicited the support of several
members of Calcutta society, including influential Marwari businessmen (the
list of donors for the Calcutta convention included the Birlas, Goenkas,
Jalans, Kanodias, and the Khaitans), and even members of the Congress
party.
It was more than evident that Syama Prasad had joined the Mahasabha
with a definite objective and which was to ‘make it an effective instrument
for checkmating the anti-national policies of the Muslim League and the
cowardly passivity of the Congress.’26 Within months, Mookerjee not only
began to target M.A. Jinnah, whom he had once described as a ‘nationalist’,
but also sharpened his criticism against Fazlul Huq’s regime.
The Premier of Bengal was already combating the sudden and large
exodus of ministers from his government, including his Finance Minister
Nalini Ranjan Sarkar who was one of the founding members of the Krishak
Praja Party. A prominent Hindu leader, Nalini Ranjan was inducted into the
Huq Cabinet with an aim to soften the anti-Hindu rhetoric, which obviously
came to naught after he quit the party. The impact of his resignation was such
that no Hindu legislator thereafter considered joining the Huq government
until the jinx was broken by Syama Prasad Mookerjee in 1941, but more of
which later.
In 1940, during the local body elections in Bengal, Syama Prasad
Mookerjee led the Hindu Mahasabha in forging an alliance with Subhash
Chandra Bose. Although the two men were bitterly opposed to each other’s
ideologies, Bose and Mookerjee decided that a three-way split between the
Congress, Hindu Mahasabha and Muslim League would ultimately benefit the
latter. The Muslim League on its part was clearly intent on playing the
communal card and shortly before the polls, passed the Lahore Resolution
demanding a separate country for Muslims. As a man who had mooted the
resolution in the first place, Fazlul Huq now unequivocally asserted that he
was a ‘Muslim first and Bengalee afterwards.’27
Despite gaining support amongst his community, Fazlul Huq was losing
his grip over Bengal with each passing day. In contrast, Syama Prasad
Mookerjee had succeeded in gaining credence and won the trust of upper
caste Hindus. In early 1940, he was invited by the RSS to attend a meeting in
Lahore and said that, ‘the one silver lining in the cloudy sky of India,’ was
none other than the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh.

Political Options
As was evident, Mookerjee and Huq had sharp public differences, but
Bengal’s political demography was such that it compelled them to work
together. The reason: since Hindus made up for almost forty-four per cent of
the total population of the province, ‘no Muslim ruler could feel secure
without some Hindu support.’28
The wily administrator that he was, Fazlul Huq was cognisant of the
fact that getting the Hindus to support his endeavours would become an
impossibility if he remained associated with the Muslim League, and he
therefore parted ways with M.A. Jinnah. On 17 December 1941, Syama
Prasad achieved the near-impossible and began a new phase in his political
career as Finance minister in the Fazlul Huq-led Progressive Coalition
government. This classic case of a politically convenient marriage required
no analysis—while Mookerjee’s political ambition took flight, Huq
described himself to be ‘the best defender of Hindu interests and Mookerjee
(of)…Muslim interests.’29
By 1941, Bengal had plunged deep into a communal abyss. Syama
Prasad was somehow completely oblivious of its portent and was guided by
the belief that by joining the Huq ministry, he would succeed in keeping the
‘Muslim League’s communalism, British’s divisive policies and the
Congress’s browbeating at bay.’30 In one of his interviews to a local
newspaper, Mookerjee had quoted the Secretary of State for India, Leo
Amery that despite several differences, Bengal could ‘combine for the good
of the country.’
With the passing of Rabindranath Tagore in August 1941, it was left to
the other cultural icon of Bengal, the poet Qazi Nazrul Islam to hail the Huq–
Mookerjee partnership as a big step in forging Hindu–Muslim unity. The
poet’s association with the warring duo-turned-allies rekindled hope in the
people of Bengal that together they would overcome the communal fault
lines. The endorsement by an eminence grise of the Bengali literary world
was based on the enthusiasm manifest in the initial days of the alliance when
not ‘a single instance of communal rioting’ was reported, and the generous
allocation of one lakh rupees by Finance Minister Mookerjee for promoting
communal harmony in the state.
It has been proven universally that a decline in communal
conflagrations in society cannot be taken as a parameter for evaluating either
the absence or presence of divisive elements in the community. In the Bengal
of the early Forties, while there was a dip in sectarian violence, at a
subaltern level, the Hindu-Muslim divide was deeply entrenched in certain
sections of the society. One of the reasons for this was due to the Muslim
League’s sustained campaign against Fazlul Huq for ‘betraying’ Muslim
interests. Finance Minister Syama Prasad had immediately sprung to
Premier’s Huq’s defense and voiced his protest against the ‘dirty calumny’
spread by leaders of the League, mainly M.A. Jinnah. But in actual terms,
despite the camaraderie, neither could Mookerjee aid Huq’s cause amongst
his Muslim brethren, nor secure support for himself amongst Hindus. In his
book, Rajmohan Gandhi argues how the experiment had failed in bridging the
gap between the Hindus and Muslims of Bengal:

Though apparently successful, the bud was four years too late. Hindu and
Muslim legislators should have been combined in 1937. The opportune
moment was missed by Bose and others in the Congress. The November
1941 exercise did not bring Hindus and Muslims together. Haq’s exercise
was seen by Bengal’s Muslims as a Hindu manoeuvre.

As mentioned earlier, after the initial euphoria of having joined hands with
Fazlul Huq, Finance Minister Mookerjee swiftly began losing support
amongst his constituency. His credibility was further eroded after the
Congress launched the Quit India movement in August 1942. Even as leaders
such as, Subhash Chandra Bose were escalating the anti-Imperialist struggle
in the face of repressive measures, the Hindu Mahasabha, Muslim League
and the Communists opposed the Quit India movement, albeit for different
reasons. In popular perception however, they were clubbed together as
‘British collaborators’.
In more ways than one, the Hindu Mahasabha and Muslim League were
different sides of the same coin. In their preoccupation with the ‘enemy
other’ community, their involvement in the freedom struggle took a major
beating. Gradually, the Hindu Mahasabha was perceived as an irrelevant
third force and a party which had lost support even amongst its core
constituency of Hindus. On the other hand, the Muslim League did marginally
better, as it had already espoused for a separate nation for Muslims.
Unlike Congress ministers in other provinces who had resigned in
protest against the oppressive measures of the British in the aftermath of the
Quit India movement, Syama Prasad Mookerjee was faced with a difficult
choice—‘to defend Congress’s rebellion during a war would invite
dismissal, but to defend the Raj’s repression when India’s freedom
movement was at its climax would invite the public’s censure.’31 At a time
when there existed no middle path, Mookerjee attempted to find one. The
Governor of Bengal asked Mookerjee and other ministers to either resign or
endorse British policies. In response, Mookerjee appealed to the Viceroy to
declare India independent and initiate steps to form a transitional
government. He further added that if the demand was overturned, and the
administration allowed the ‘present impasse to continue, I must regretfully
ask my governor to relieve me of my duties as a minister so that I may have
the full freedom to help mobilise public opinion.’32
The Viceroy deigned to not reply, and Syama Prasad bought time and
postponed his resignation. Yet, he was well aware of the rising tide of
opposition against the British, and in order to regain lost ground, he used the
ruse of inadequate relief measures in cyclone-struck Midnapore as the reason
for his quitting. His resignation letter of 16 November 1942 listed two main
reasons—first, in a classic instance of doublespeak, he expressed his
opposition to the coercive steps taken by the British administration after the
Quit India call, and secondly, the Governor’s bid to convert the principle of
‘provincial autonomy into a meaningless farce.’ Mookerjee and Huq parted,
but not as bitter rivals, for they remained cordial even after Partition when
the latter became a leader of some significance in East Pakistan.
The British government on its part suppressed Syama Prasad
Mookerjee’s resignation letter, as a result of which he paraphrased it in a
speech to the Bengal assembly in February 1943. This was indeed a clever
ploy, as the Defence of India rules were not applicable to disclosures in
legislatures! With that one single tactical act of defiance, Mookerjee had
succeeded in proving his patriotic credentials. He explained why he had
become part of Fazlul’s ministry in the first place and as mentioned earlier,
said that ‘this way he would be able to keep Muslim League’s communalism,
British divisive policies and Congress’s browbeating at bay.’33 But it was
indeed doubtful if he had managed to accomplish any of these objectives.

The Reinvention
After his resignation as Finance Minister, Syama Prasad Mookerjee set about
the task of re-positioning himself as an effectual Opposition leader in the
Bengal Council under the newly-installed Muslim League dispensation. It
may be recalled that he had also bolstered his image by playing a pivotal
role in the Bengal Relief Committee, which was set up in response to British
apathy towards the famine. During a debate in the Legislative Council in July
1943, Mookerjee said that the ‘government was fiddling while the villagers
in Bengal were crying for a morsel….They (British) want to first provide for
their troops…forgetting their responsibilities to the people.’34 Meanwhile, he
also campaigned against the Secondary Education Bill introduced by the
Muslim League government, terming it anti-Hindu. In response, the Muslim
League declared that the Bill was ‘for the Muslims, and that was why it was
being attacked by Hindus.’35 Finally in May 1944 when it was felt that there
shall not be any let-up in the barrage of provocative statements from both
sides, Mookerjee demanded the setting up of a non-communal and
autonomous board for secondary education.
The controversy over the secondary educational board had not even
subsided, when the Hindu Mahasabha picked up yet another issue to agitate
about: the revival of the Chakravarti Rajagopalachari Formula, popularly
known as the C.R. Formula. The idea was first mooted by the Congress
stalwart in 1941 and was widely denounced, for it had ratified the idea of
Pakistan. Three years later in September 1944, Mahatma Gandhi and Jinnah
met to discuss the issue yet again. The Mahasabha led by V.D. Savarkar
criticised the meeting in strong words and claimed that it was the beginning
of a ‘downward course of Gandhi’s monopoly of power as a leader.’36
However, Syama Prasad disagreed with Savarkar’s postulation, and
proceeded to meet Gandhi who reiterated that while there was no room for
abandoning a dialogue on the issue, he also gave Mookerjee an assurance
that he would reject the idea of Partition. Thereafter, Gandhi met Jinnah yet
again and turned down the proposal of partitioning the country. The second
meeting between Gandhi and Jinnah provided Mookerjee an opportunity to
raise the ‘irrelevant’ issue of Partition and he was catapulted to the centre
stage yet again.
As mentioned earlier, Savarkar was ailing by the time Syama Prasad
became president of the Hindu Mahasabha and more importantly,
Mookerjee’s perceived success in getting Gandhi to reject the idea of
partition had further weakened his grasp on the party. Finally in 1944, V.D.
Savarkar bowed out and made way for Syama Prasad to take complete
control of the Hindu Mahasabha.
Syama Prasad Mookerjee got down to work immediately and ‘initiated
a campaign to reorient the Hindu Mahasabha37, from a class-based
organisation to one for the masses.’ He further ensured that it maintained
sufficient distance from the Imperial government and forged closer ties with
the Indian National Congress ‘in the fight against the Raj and Pakistan.’
But all his strategies, mostly overtly political, to win back the support
of Hindus failed as was proven in the elections to the Bengal Legislative
Assembly in March 1946. The Hindu Mahasabha was decimated and while
Mookerjee won the party’s lone seat, it was only the non-elective special
seat in the University.
The setback notwithstanding, there was a pending political task which
required Syama Prasad’s attention after the British government sent the
Cabinet Mission in March 1946 to begin negotiations for the setting up of an
Interim government. As head of the Mahasabha delegation, he demanded that
‘the integrity and indivisibility of the country should be maintained…and that
Partition would be economically unsound, disastrous, politically unwise and
suicidal.’38 He also refused to ‘agree to any suggestion that Hindus and
Muslims should be represented in the central government on the basis of
equality.’ In his deliberations with the Cabinet Mission, Mookerjee
reiterated what he had once discussed with Jinnah—that Hindu and Muslim
representatives should meet to discuss issues on which they required
protection from each other. In so far as granting complete protection to
minorities in respect of language, religion and customs was concerned,
Mookerjee was willing to acquiesce, but he was unwilling to grant them
equal rights.
In June 1946, the Cabinet Mission returned to England after failing to
make any headway in the negotiations. Within a span of two months, Jinnah
called for Direct Action Day (also known as the Great Calcutta Killings) on
16 August 1946 and with that, the partition of the subcontinent became an
inevitable reality. The initial leg-work on cleaving parts of the nation had
begun, except Bengal, for it was still undecided whether it would go the
Punjab way and be partitioned, or merge with Pakistan, because of its
Muslim-majority population.
After the horrific killings in his native city, Syama Prasad Mookerjee
proclaimed during a debate in the Legislative Assembly that the deliberations
were essentially over a ‘no-confidence motion against the Ministry under
circumstances, which perhaps, has no parallel in the deliberations of any
legislature in any part of the civilised world. What happened in Calcutta was
without a parallel in modern history.’ In the aftermath of the Great Calcutta
Killings and the riots in Noakhali in October–November 1946, the Hindu
Mahasabha witnessed an exponential growth in its base numbers. In 1943–44
for instance, the Mahasabha had just about ten branches in Noakhali district,
but in a period of three years, this number rose dramatically to one hundred
and forty-three. The deteriorating communal situation in the country had
‘brought the Mahasabha, which went into political hibernation after its
electoral defeat, back on the political scene.’39
On 20 October 1946, precisely twenty days after the Noakhali riots,
Mookerjee formed the Hindu National Guards; in order to forge unity
amongst Hindus, irrespective of caste, he also set up the Hindu Society
Board; in addition, he also established the Hindu Sangathan Society. From
here on, he was not only ‘heard’ in the Bengal legislature, but was seen to be
acting with great alacrity in restoring the dignity of his Hindu brethren.

Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s stance on Partition has undoubtedly been one of

the most significant aspects of his political career. It is interesting to note that
he disagreed with most of the Mahasabha leaders on the issue, especially his
mentor, V.D. Savarkar.
According to Dhananjay Keer, ‘On the eve of the Viceroy’s departure
(to London on 18 May 1947), Dr. Mookerjee had put his demand for a
separate Hindu Province in the West of Bengal.’40 However in less than a
year, political pragmatism had forced a change in Mookerjee’s standpoint on
this vital issue. Yet, within days of Mookerjee’s volte-face, Savarkar
launched a fresh campaign for India’s unity. On 27 May 1947, he made a
‘fervent and forlorn appeal’ to Congress leaders ‘not to betray the electorates
and India by agreeing to a scheme involving vivisection of the Motherland.’41
This stark divergence in thought between the two Mahasabha stalwarts
indicated that while Syama Prasad Mookerjee had come to terms with the
inevitability of Partition, V.D. Savarkar was relentless in his pursuit of
keeping the nation united.
Several academics, including the ex-President of India, Pranab
Mukherjee has maintained that Syama Prasad Mookerjee had indeed
supported India’s partition.42 Then there were others like the writer, Subrata
Mukherjee who argued that his ‘most important achievement was the creation
of West Bengal.’43 According to Subrata, the Hindu Mahasabha leader had
come to the realisation that a united Bengal would limit the role of the Hindu
community, and hence proposed that the state be partitioned into a Hindu-
majority West Bengal, and a Muslim-dominated East Bengal (later East
Pakistan). The ex-President however was more forthright—in August 2009
when Pranab Mukherjee was Finance minister, he was reported to have
stated that the man with whom he shared a surname but little else, was ‘one
of the main architects of the Partition of India’ who ‘not only supported
Partition of the country, but insisted on Partition of Bengal and Punjab on the
basis of Hindu-Muslim and Hindu-Sikh-Muslim majority districts.’44
Even Prime Minister Nehru didn’t spare Syama Prasad for endorsing
the division of the country and said as much during a debate in the Lok
Sabha. In response to the prime minister, Syama Prasad had retorted as
follows: ‘You have divided India, I have divided Pakistan.’45

Minister Mookerjee
Despite strong ideological differences between the two men, Prime Minister
Nehru invited Syama Prasad Mookerjee to join independent India’s first
Cabinet. In retrospect, it would be safe to surmise that his government, which
was formed after the terrible Partition, was most ideologically balanced—on
the one side were conservatives like Morarji Desai, K.M. Munshi and S.K.
Patil who clearly did not share Nehru’s enthusiasm for Socialism. On the
other was an assorted group of non-Congress leaders—Syama Prasad
Mookerjee, B.R. Ambedkar, John Mathai, and C.D. Deshmukh.46
One of the primary reasons for Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s inclusion in
Nehru’s Cabinet over several other leaders from Bengal was because he was
backed by none other than Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel who had proposed his
name after he had demanded ‘Bengal’s partition in March 1947 and (refused)
to join an abortive bid for a united and independent Bengal that Sarat Bose
and Suhrawardy made in April and May (1947).’47 Several academics have
argued that Mookerjee’s decision was a strategic ploy and back it with the
theory that he as well as other Mahasabha leaders were ‘unsure about what
their role should be. In particular, they were uncertain how to react to the
Congress at the centre…some of them. Dr Mookerjee prominent among them,
thought they would do best by joining the national government as partners of
the Congress,’ but hadn’t risked initiating the process.48 Although they had
differed with each other on the issue of Partition barely three months ago in
August 1947 when Jawaharlal Nehru had requested Syama Prasad
Mookerjee to join his Cabinet, V.D. Savarkar had endorsed the proposal.
In his book, Balraj Madhok provides a wonderful insight into the
Mahasabha leaders’ duplicity—how they launched a public broadside
against the Congress in public, yet remained sympathetic in private.
According to him, Mookerjee’s colleagues ‘had always stood for responsive
cooperation…and, wanted to give the Congress leaders a fair chance to show
their worth (and) advised him to accept the invitation.’49 Despite the oath of
secrecy, there was no corroboration of the fact if Mookerjee had discussed
the issues relating to Nehru’s policies with Savarkar.
In September 1947, Prime Minister Nehru forwarded an internal report
to his Cabinet colleagues which said that his Minister of Industry and
Supplies, Syama Prasad flew the Mahasabha flag at his official residence
instead of the Tricolour. Mookerjee responded to the prime minister saying
that although he hoisted the Indian flag regularly, he also flew the
Mahasabha’s flag on a few occasions. In another instance, in response to a
letter which criticised some of Mahasabha’s policies, Mookerjee asked his
party’s General Secretary, Ashutosh Lahiry to write back demanding the
expulsion of Muslims from India because ‘now that they have got their long-
cherished dream, the Muslims now staying in Hindusthan must be made to
leave….(for they) will certainly prove to be traitors, saboteurs and fifth-
columnists…’50
Evidently, even after becoming a Central minister, Mookerjee continued
to confer with the Mahasabha leaders on several political and policy matters.
Mahatma Gandhi’s secretary, Pyarelal reported one such instance as follows
—shortly before his assassination, Gandhi had sent his secretary to meet with
Syama Prasad to register his protest against the virulent rhetoric adopted by
some his party associates, including incitement to assassinate a few Congress
leaders. According to British author, Keith Meadowcroft ‘when informed on
Mookerjee’s “halting and unsatisfactory” reply, the Mahatma’s brow
darkened.’51
It was clear that Syama Prasad was caught in a cleft stick between his
commitment to the Hindu Mahasabha, and his duties as a minister in Nehru’s
Cabinet. As he had accepted to Nehru, while he hoisted the Mahasabha flag
reiterating his allegiance to the party, he also tried convincing his mentor,
V.D. Savarkar that the Mahasabha must restrict its political character and
metamorphose into a social, cultural and religious organisation.
In so far as the Congress party was concerned, despite the inclusion of
a Hindu Mahasabha member as a minister in the government, the antagonistic
views apropos Hindu nationalists persisted amongst most of its members.
However one group led by Sardar Patel in the Congress wished closer ties
with the Mahasabha, even suggesting a merger with the party for it felt that it
was Syama Prasad Mookerjee who was instrumental in making the
Mahasabha ‘less aggressive than the (Muslim) League and less
irresponsible.’52 But Jawaharlal Nehru, much like several times before,
opposed the move and in a letter to Mookerjee dated 28 January 1948
(exactly two days prior to Gandhi’s assassination) wrote that the Mahasabha
was the ‘main opposition’ to both the Congress and his government. The
prime minister also wrote to the Director of Intelligence Bureau (IB) and
drew his attention to the ‘increasingly aggressive and offensive activities’ of
the Mahasabha.
Considering Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s stature, which preceded even
his Hindu Mahasabha phase, there was speculation over why Prime Minister
Nehru had allocated the ministry of Industry and Supplies to him, which of
course came with his Home Minister’s strong recommendation of his
candidature. It was rather well known that if he had had his way, Mookerjee
would have ‘personally preferred education which had been his special field
since his early youth,’ for he could have then ‘laid a sound foundation for a
truly national education policy.’53 However, Nehru was well aware of the
fact that a man who led an organisation like the Hindu Mahasabha, should be
precluded from any decision-making involving social policies and hence put
him in charge of a suitable portfolio.
The brouhaha over his portfolio notwithstanding, it must be mentioned
that Syama Prasad Mookerjee was an efficient minister. Nearly five decades
later, President R. Venkataraman while unveiling Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s
bust at a function in Kolkata on 23 February 2001 had remarked how he had
‘handled the portfolio of Industries with a rare felicity,’ and laid the
foundation for a mixed economy in the country. ‘Despite being an ardent
believer in the private sector,’ the former President added that Mookerjee
had ‘established outstanding public sector undertakings…. Pragmatism and
not dogmatism informed his industrial policy.’

Saving Savarkar
As Industry and Supplies Minister, although Syama Prasad had few
disagreements with Prime Minister Nehru, there were several other issues
apart from ideological principles that the two bitterly disagreed on. For
instance, in the aftermath of the Partition, the extent to which India could
exert pressure on Pakistan to protect the rights of Hindus in East Pakistan
which was, diplomatically speaking, an internal matter of India’s new
neighbour.
While Prime Minister Nehru was committed to running his government
based on constitutional propriety and not succumb to majoritarianism,
Mookerjee was of the view that India must intervene in Pakistan and provide
succour to Hindus who were seeking refuge in the country. The prime
minister refused to budge and repeatedly insisted that ‘protection in Pakistan
can be given only by Pakistan. We cannot give protection in Pakistan.’54
The other contentious issue between the men was Kashmir, and
Mookerjee was severely critical of Nehru’s handling of the state’s integration
with the Union of India. If viewed from the prism of contemporary politics,
and particularly in the Seventies when Indira Gandhi ran her Cabinet with an
iron fist, such impertinence from a minister would have meant the end of his
political career.
Meanwhile, in the aftermath of Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination on 30
January 1948, the RSS was banned and some of its top leaders were
arrested. Although the Hindu Mahasabha wasn’t proscribed, V.D. Savarkar
was taken into custody days after the murder. As a senior member of the
Hindu Mahasabha, Syama Prasad could have on a matter of principle
resigned from Nehru’s Cabinet, but he chose to stay on and cleverly
strategised to secure a reprieve for his party. At an extraordinary meeting of
the Mahasabha convened a day after Savarkar’s arrest, Mookerjee reasoned
with its members that the party either ceases ‘its political activities and
limits itself to social, cultural and religious problem,’ or abandons ‘its
communalist composition (…) and opens its doors to every citizen,
regardless of religion.’55
On 15 February 1948, the proposal was discussed in Hindu
Mahasabha’s Working Committee and it was decided to go with the first
option in order to avoid censure from the government. Even in a moment of
great crisis, when their iconic leader was thrown into jail, the traditionalists
within the Mahasabha had stuck to their stand of not admitting non-Hindus
into their fold. In the first place, the reason for Mookerjee’s suggestion
stemmed from his strong conviction that the ‘Muslim problem…could be
solved in free India’ permanently, provided ‘their outlook on cultural, social
and political problems of the country was Hinduised or nationalised while
leaving them free, in keeping with the Hindu tradition of absolute tolerance,
to carry on their religion and way of worship as they pleased.’56 His position
on this issue was similar to the RSS’ theory that the Muslims were originally
Hindus and could be brought back into the ‘nationalist’ mainstream.
Meanwhile, the traditionalists within the Mahasabha had no intentions
of ceasing political activism. Three months after agreeing to put a halt on
every kind of political activity, the Mahasabha conservatives succeeded in
convincing the Working Committee to reverse its decision. Syama Prasad did
not take well to this rebellion and on 23 November 1948, he resigned from
the Hindu Mahasabha. For a man who was at the forefront of consolidating
its position and had worked tirelessly for its expansion even as a Cabinet
minister, his resignation from the Hindu Mahasabha had raised several
questions and foremost being if it would survive thereafter.
But Syama Prasad Mookerjee was resolute in his belief that the
Mahasabha had run its course, and needed an overhauling as an expansive
Hindu nationalist party. While recommending that Muslims be made part of
the organisation, Mookerjee had not only encouraged a form of assimilation,
but had also taken cognisance of the fact that after Partition, barring the state
of Jammu & Kashmir, their numbers had come down drastically across the
country. As expected, the Mahasabha thought otherwise, which gave rise to
questions about the political path that he would henceforth follow and those
he would eventually partner with.
Mookerjee’s so-called political conundrum was not impossible to
comprehend because as a national leader, he lacked both party and a cause,
and there seemed little chance of his finding a place in West Bengal. For
instance, after his move to Delhi in the late Forties, he was also quick to
recognise that Dr. B.C. Roy was well ensconced as chief minister of West
Bengal and would brook no threat to his political pre-eminence either within
the Congress or from the Right.

Differences with Nehru

Unlike the norm in contemporary politics, when seldom does a leader of
repute sit out of the system for long, Syama Prasad Mookerjee kept his
counsel after resigning from the Hindu Mahasabha and did not jump into any
other Right-wing bandwagon. It should be mentioned here that this was also a
time when the nation had been spliced into two, and as a votary of Hindutva,
he could have used his political clout to push the Muslims deep into the
abyss.
 There is no gainsaying the fact that it was also him who had mooted the
idea of assimilating them by offering them membership in the Mahasabha—
but according to several critics, that was more of a political ploy to detract
attention from the accusation that his party faced of being the nurturer of
conspirators who had killed the Father of the Nation. Be that as it may, it may
also be recalled that his animosity towards the Muslims was a reality and
was overtly manifest even before he had joined the Hindu Mahasabha in
1939.
This was a belief that he typically shared with several bhadralok
Bengalis, that as a community they were superior to the Muslims. The
‘privilege’ of their caste notwithstanding, this feeling was mainly a result of
the viewpoint that the ‘Bengali Muslims were, by and large, “a set of
converts” from the dregs of Hindu society.’57 Even as Union minister,
however much he tried couching it, considering he was part of a Congress
government, Syama Prasad was primarily guided by this very premise which
later became the basis of his irreconcilable differences with the prime
minister.
As mentioned earlier, Mookerjee and Nehru had severe differences
over the extent of India’s intervention in Pakistan to protect the rights of
Hindus. The differences were not only limited to the magnitude and form of
exerting pressure on Pakistan, but on adherence to the basic principles of
democracy. Syama Prasad Mookerjee considered his standpoint as more
logical, according to which, it was obligatory on India’s part to intervene and
rescue Hindus from being persecuted in East Pakistan.58
Gradually, the growing dissent between the two spilled over to two
Inter-Dominion Agreements signed with Pakistan in 1948 which addressed
the problems faced by Hindus in West and East Pakistan. Despite
Mookerjee’s relentless campaign, and the steady stream of Hindu refugees
into West Bengal, Nehru refused to go past the diplomatic route.
In April 1950, the Liaquat–Nehru Pact (also known as the Delhi Pact)
to secure the safety of life and property of minorities was readied to be
inked. Exactly a week before the Pact was to be formalised, Syama Prasad
Mookerjee resigned from the government on 1 April 1950. A few days later,
on 19 April 1950, he delivered what many consider to be ‘one of the greatest
political speeches in the annals of independent India.’59 While highlighting
the attacks on Hindus in Pakistan, he said:
We saw the gradual extermination of Hindus from North Western Frontier
Province and Baluchistan and latterly from Sind as well. In East Bengal
about 13 million of Hindus were squeezed out of East Bengal. There were no
major incidents as such; but circumstance so shaped themselves that they got
no protection from the Government of Pakistan and were forced to come
away to West Bengal for shelter…In the course of 1949 we witnessed a
further deterioration of conditions in East Bengal and an exodus of a far
larger number of helpless people…When about 15,000 refugees came to
West Bengal in January 1950, stories of brutal atrocities and persecutions
came to light…

Just a year before he quit the government, Syama Prasad had also raised the
issue of police atrocities on Hindus in Khulna district of East Pakistan.
However, it also needs to be highlighted that there was yet another significant
issue involving the rights of Hindus about which Syama Prasad Mookerjee
had vacillated for a considerable period of time. Since 1941, the question of
codifying and modernising Hindu legal tradition would surface periodically
and eventually, the Constituent Assembly formulated a Draft Code Bill in
1944. However, the deliberations on the Bill had led to a virtual split in the
Congress party between the conservatives, led by India’s first President
Rajendra Prasad, and the modernists or reformists led by Jawaharlal Nehru.
During the period when the Bill was being evaluated by both groups,
Syama Prasad Mookerjee had chosen to be on the side of the conservatives
in the Congress and had opposed the codification of Hindu laws. But after
joining Nehru’s Cabinet, he had preferred to remain silent during debates.
The veteran journalist, Inder Malhotra had commented about Mookerjee’s
studied silence in The Indian Express dated 1 May 2009, and wrote that the
Industries Minister,

hadn’t said a word against the Hindu Code while he was a member of
Jawaharlal Nehru’s cabinet, (he) thundered in 1951 that the Bill would
‘shatter the magnificent architecture of the Hindu culture’.

…we should never tolerate any criticism from any quarter, especially from a
foreign quarter when they say that Hindu civilisation or Hindu culture has
been of a static nature or of stagnant nature or of decadent nature.
This was also the same speech during which Mookerjee was at his
vituperative best in criticising Nehru’s government and said how the
‘government did not dare to touch the Muslim community.’

A New Innings
After breaking all ties with the Hindu Mahasabha, and virtually stepping out
of V.D. Savarkar’s shadow, Syama Prasad was now on the lookout for a
credible platform to further his political mission.
Meanwhile, the ban on the RSS was lifted in July 1949 and its leaders
felt an ‘urgent need for a political organisation which could reflect the
ideology and ideas of the RSS in the political sphere.’60 In the December
1949 issue of the Organiser, its then editor, K.R. Malkani wrote that the RSS
must have a political presence,

not only to protect itself…but to stop the un-Bharatiya and anti-Bharatiya

policies of the government and to advance and expedite the cause of
Bharatiya through state machinery.

Syama Prasad Mookerjee was well ‘aware of this stream of thought in the
RSS circles,’61 and made several trips to Nagpur between November 1949
and early 1950 to meet the RSS sarsanghchalak, Madhav Sadashiv
Golwalkar (also known as Guruji). The RSS chief ‘made sure that
Mookerjee was in full agreement with the ideals of the Hindu Rashtra,’
before agreeing to collaborate with him.62 Although Syama Prasad had in the
past endorsed RSS for its commitment to nationalism, he knew little about its
internal dynamics, but after giving the idea some thought, he was somehow
convinced that he could be its potential leader in the absence of a ‘logical
political mentor,’ as the organisation was in need of ‘an ideological
shepherd.’63
While exploring the prospect of joining the RSS, Mookerjee had firmed
up his mind that his engagement with it should have political ramifications in
the history of Indian politics. Meanwhile, even as he held his final plan close
to his chest, he decided to reach out to his former Mahasabha colleagues. In
early 1949, he met its then president, N.B. Khare and invited him to be part
of the plan, but to no avail. However, a few well-known businessmen who
had in the past backed the Hindu Mahasabha chose to support Mookerjee,
which proved that despite the ignominy faced in the aftermath of the
Mahatma’s assassination, his brand of politics still held good amongst
certain sections of society.
However, it would be grossly erroneous in presuming that Syama
Prasad Mookerjee was the only leader to have recommended that the RSS
assumes a political avatar. As mentioned earlier, on 7 October 1949, in a
shocking development, the Congress Working Committee had given
permission to RSS workers to join the party as primary members. What was
even more shocking was that the decision was taken in the absence of Prime
Minister Nehru who was travelling at the time. Although on his return, the
move was reversed forthwith, it pointed towards the fact that the RSS was
not a pariah even for the Congress party, and this was just one year after the
killing of Mahatma Gandhi.
Even as Syama Prasad went about finalising his plans,

the RSS found an ally in him (Mookerjee), and over the next few months, the
details of the Jana Sangh were worked out between Mookerjee and the RSS
leadership. The decision of the RSS to allow Mookerjee to be the leader of
the new political formation was an extension of Golwalkar’s well-known
view that the interests of the RSS would be best served if it could utilise
either existing organisations, or well known leaders to propagate their
views.64

The arrangement suited both parties: the RSS had a cause and an
organisational network, but no leader, whereas Mookerjee was looking for a
cause and a base to bring his plans to fruition. Despite a common ideological
plank, both sides treaded with utmost caution—Mookerjee kept an eye on the
ongoing power struggle within the Congress party, while the top brass of the
RSS was busy evaluating the pros and cons of the arrangement. After Sardar
Patel’s death in December 1950, Mookerjee realised that the doors of the
Congress party were permanently shut for him, as it was for any other Right-
wing leader.
In what was construed as presenting Messrs Golwalkar and company
with a fait accompli, while on a tour to Punjab, Syama Prasad announced the
birth of a new party called the Bharatiya Jana Sangh, which was way in
advance of its formal launch in October 1951. The move to hasten the
decision was a direct fall out of the first general elections which had kicked
off on 25 October 1951 in the Chini and Pangi assembly constituencies in
Himachal Pradesh where voting had to be mandatorily completed before
snowfall. In his book, Balraj Madhok wrote:

The RSS leadership with its greater stress on organisational working and its
keen desire to have the real control of the new party in its own hands wanted
to take its time to usher it into existence. The delay irritated Dr. Mookerjee
who, at one stage, even thought of going alone****. His impatience was
understandable.65

It soon became apparent that the marriage between the RSS and Jana Sangh
was fraught with trouble. Syama Prasad was aware that Deendayal
Upadhyaya (then an RSS pracharak who is considered iconic in the annals of
the RSS) who was deputed as general secretary of the Jana Sangh was part of
Nagpur’s strategy to keep a close eye on the functioning of the newly-
established party. Although Upadhyaya had been ‘loaned’ as a temporary
source to the new party, this soon became a routine practise over a period of
time, and many pracharaks were regularly sent on deputation to the Jana
Sangh. This resulted in periodic conflicts, and according to Mauli Chandra
Sharma, Mookerjee was,

often seriously perturbed by the demands of the RSS leaders for a decisive
say in matters like appointment of office-bearers, nomination of candidates
for elections and matters of policy.66

For all his talk about establishing a Right-wing party with a difference, at the
time of the first general elections in 1952, Mookerjee informed the campaign
committee that the party should be projected as being ‘open to all citizens
who owed unalloyed allegiance to India and her great culture and heritage
which is essentially Hindu in character.’67 However, not only had his strategy
backfired, even his projections were grossly exaggerated. The Jana Sangh
managed to win only three seats, although Mookerjee himself did well and
was elected from Calcutta, while the Congress had performed spectacularly
by winning 364 of the 489 seats. It wasn’t as if there was a strong Opposition
in parliament either; the Communists with sixteen members were the largest
‘non-Congress’ party.
 Despite the poor show of numbers, Syama Prasad converted the
moment of adversity into an opportunity and cobbled together a
parliamentary forum called the National Democratic Front comprising thirty-
two Lok Sabha members. The real intent behind the initiative was already
manifest in Mookerjee’s speech at the Jana Sangh’s inaugural convention in
Delhi on 21 October 1951, in which he had said, ‘One of the chief reasons
for the manifestation of dictatorship in Congress rule is the absence of well-
organised opposition parties which alone can act as a healthy check.’68 He
had succeeded in convincing other political parties that in the absence of
requisite numbers, they could act as a united front against the Congress party
in the Lok Sabha.
Although he was not accorded the formal status of Leader of
Opposition, Mookerjee strode the floor like a colossus, obviously because of
his stature and knowledge of parliamentary affairs. He soon earned the
epithet of ‘Lion of Parliament’ and was respected across party lines for his
speeches and informed interventions.
The seasoned parliamentarian that he was, Mookerjee used every
opportunity to attack Nehru’s government and went back to the same issues
that had driven a wedge between him and the prime minister in the past—the
government’s policy on Hindu settlers from Pakistan; the Kashmir issue; and
the Hindu Code Bills. But Mookerjee was at his acerbic best when it came to
trading personal charges with Nehru. In 1953, he alleged that he ‘saw with
my own eyes how government resources can be made to operate for the
purpose of winning the elections. I can tell the Prime Minister some time
later. He does not know that money and wine played their part in many a
sphere.’ Nehru was furious at the allegation, because he had heard
Mookerjee declare openly that the Congress party had used ‘wine and
women’ to win elections.
Yet, getting the better of Nehru in parliament was no solace for
Mookerjee for he wished for a greater and deeper political involvement at
the juncture. During the campaign for the first general elections, Mookerjee
had claimed that he could ‘set this man (Nehru) right if I can take even ten
members of Parliament with me.’ But this was easier said than done.
However, the wheel of fortune soon turned in his favour and the Jana
Sangh bagged four seats in the by-elections to the Delhi assembly. The
reason: his party’s campaign in the capital, which was then swarming with
refugees, had cleverly highlighted the government’s alleged indecision on
Kashmir’s integration with the Union.

The Kashmir Conundrum

Syama Prasad Mookerjee was a member of the Nehru Cabinet when on 17
October 1949, the Constituent Assembly had adopted the resolution to
provide special status to the state of Jammu & Kashmir. When N.
Gopalaswami Ayyangar, a ministerial colleague and member of the drafting
committee, in a reply to a query from Maulana Hasrat Mohani, the Urdu poet
and member of the House, had stated that Article 370 in the Constitution was
being inserted ‘due to the special conditions of Kashmir. That particular
State is not yet ripe for this kind of integration. It is the hope of everybody
here that in due course even Jammu and Kashmir will become ripe for the
same sort of integration as has taken place in the case of other States,’ Syama
Prasad Mookerjee had acquiesced to the formulation.
Yet, within a year, his party’s election manifesto had proclaimed
ambitiously that it would ‘end the uncertainty about Kashmir’s future, it
should be integrated with Bharat like other acceding states and not be given
special position.’69
It was hereafter crystal-clear that Kashmir, especially ‘the problem of
(its) relationship70’ with the ‘rest of India,’ and the Hindus of Jammu, had
come to occupy central space in Mookerjee’s politics. This was indeed
paradoxical because Mookerjee’s interest in the Kashmir problem only
‘grew casually71’, and although he was consulted by the state leaders on the
issue from the time of India’s independence, Kashmir was hitherto not the
kernel of his larger political mission. In February 1952, Mookerjee criticised
the government for having mismanaged the state’s integration under the
Instrument of Accession and committing India to plebiscite. He had also
protested against the state’s Constituent Assembly’s decision to adopt a
separate flag, and it is in this context that he had raised the iconic slogan
which later became a clarion call for several Right-wing parties in the
country:

Ek desh mein do vidhan

Ek desh mein do nishan
Ek desh mein do pradhan
Nahin chalenge, nahin chalenge

In his maiden speech in Lok Sabha as President of the Jana Sangh in

May1952, Syama Prasad Mookerjee had posed a sharp question to Prime
Minister Nehru: ‘Are Kashmiris Indians first and Kashmiris next, or are they
Kashmiris first and Indian next, or are they Kashmiris first, second, and third
and not Indians at all?’72 As a veteran and respected parliamentarian, he was
well aware that parliamentary decorum did not require the prime minister to
give an immediate reply, but Syama Prasad was relentless in his assertion
and resorted to a barb that underscored his deep dislike for the prime
minister, ‘Nehru claims to have discovered India. But he has yet to discover
his mind.’73
Meanwhile in the Hindu-majority Jammu, the RSS had discovered a
great opportunity for mobilising the community, and at the behest of Balraj
Madhok, they chose to back a well-known local leader called Prem Nath
Dogra to form a party called the Jammu Praja Parishad in November 1947.
When a few members of the fledgling party were subjected to police
atrocities during a protest march, it was Syama Prasad Mookerjee who had
come to their rescue and suggested that they storm their way into the
Constituent Assembly of Jammu and Kashmir.
Mookerjee’s continuing pursuit of Hindu-centric politics raised the
hackles of the prime minister yet again and he accused both the Jana Sangh
and the Praja Parishad of pursuing communal politics. In response,
Mookerjee said that he was, ‘getting quite sick of this charge which is
unfounded, if we want to consider whether communalism exists in the country
or whether it is openly advocated as a plank by any political organisation, let
us fix a date for debate and let us discuss the matter. Let government bring
forward its charges. Let us have a chance of replying.’
Despite such rhetoric and overt posturing, by the end of 1952,
Mookerjee decided to firm up his party’s position on Kashmir and adopted a
resolution to this effect. At its All India Session in Kanpur in December
1952, the Jana Sangh demanded a round table conference between the
representatives of Praja Parishad, the Sheikh Abdullah government, and a
few ‘recognised leaders of India’. Mookerjee was also instrumental in the
Jana Sangh’s decison to partner with other Hindu organisations like the
Hindu Mahasabha, RSS and the Jammu Praja Parishad in launching an
‘agitation from Jammu into the Punjab and up to Delhi and beyond, on the
three issues of Kashmir, refugees from East Bengal and the banning of cow-
slaughter.’74 The resolution authorised the party’s Working Committee
(Mookerjee was re-elected as president at the first plenary session) to
‘prepare whatever is necessary for an all-India agitation for the complete
integration of the State of Jammu and Kashmir.’75
After the drubbing that the Jana Sangh received in the first general
elections, Mookerjee set his eyes on the next which was scheduled in 1957
and after planning to calibrate mass agitations, he arrived in Kashmir in
1952–53. He ‘took up cudgels. Insisting on his right to travel anywhere in
India, he strode across the state border without a permit—and was promptly
jailed.’76 Unlike Mahatma Gandhi, Mookerjee had little or no expertise in
launching and managing mass movements and felt severely hamstrung.
On 8 May 1953, a passenger train steamed out of Delhi station en route
to Punjab. Syama Prasad Mookerjee was on board along with several young
party colleagues, including the late Atal Bihari Vajpayee and Balraj Madhok.
Like most trains of that era, and some even today, it proceeded slowly and
stopped at almost every big and small junction. On 11 May, Mookerjee
reached Pathankot—the border town between Punjab and Jammu, after
having undertaken part of the journey by road. The Chief Minister of Jammu
& Kashmir, Sheikh Abdullah had already let Mookerjee know that he was
unwelcome in the state. The moment Mookerjee entered Jammu, he was
detained and taken to Srinagar.
In the annals of the Indian Right, the last forty-odd days of Mookerjee’s
life are eulogised—reminiscent of tragic stories of leaders who faced grave
injustices at the hands of a cruel dispensation, and ended up as martyrs. But
often the other view is also of failed manoeuvres by a politically naÏve man.
Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s death at fifty-two, along with a cause
leading up to his end hung like the proverbial albatross around the BJP’s
neck, preceded by the discomfort felt by the Jana Sangh. It required the
political gumption of a man, whose credentials within the party remains
unchallenged, to take a step which appeared as if he wanted to emerge out of
Syama Prasad’s shadows. This leader, Narendra Modi, began by
compromising with Mookerjee’s memory by forming a coalition with the
PDP. Several eyebrows had gone up in utter disbelief because the state
government stood for everything that the founder of Jana Sangh had
denounced during his life-time. But in 2018, Modi had returned to
Mookerjee’s Kashmir plan by stepping out of the partnership and eventually
dissolving the state assembly.
There is no doubt that Syama Prasad Mookerjee is a martyr for the BJP
and its affiliated organisations. In Prime Minister Modi’s mind, Lady
Jogmaya’s demand for justice wasn’t just in honour of her dead son’s soul;
justice for Syama Prasad Mookerjee will be done only when Kashmir’s
‘complete integration’ is achieved with the rest of India. Implausible as that
may sound, this is what the BJP’s intends as its final salute to one of its
icons.

* The Bharatiya Janata Party withdrew from the coalition in June 2018
bringing the curtain down on an uneasy political partnership.
** The father and son spelt their surnames differently. Syama Prasad’s
second name was registered as Mookerjee when he went to study at
Lincoln’s Inn, London.
*** Indians were granted limited franchise under Colonial rule and
constituencies were divided—at the first level—between nominated and
elective seats. The latter were split between general seats—reserved
separately for Muslims and non-Muslims—and special constituencies,
divided between Europeans, Bengal Chamber of Commerce, big landowners,
Indian Jute Mills Association, Indian Tea Association, Indian Mining
Association, the Marwari Association, Calcutta Traders Association, and
Calcutta University.
**** In fact, in West Bengal the party was called People’s Party of India and
it had later merged with the Jana Sangh.
 DEENDAYAL UPADHYAYA

H is life was a short octave, each key announcing death’s premature

arrival time and time again. He had lost his father at the age of three;
when he turned eight, his mother bade him goodbye. The maternal
grandfather, in whose care he was left after being orphaned, was gone too,
when he turned ten. At fifteen, the aunt who cared for him decided that the
boy needed to find another guardian. Life was just about stabilising at
eighteen, when his younger brother had succumbed to the dreaded smallpox.
As a young man of twenty-four, it was the turn of a female cousin, who was
almost like a soulmate, to die.
Finally, the last key had sounded the harshest timbre—he died at fifty-
two in 1968. Although his various trysts with death were undoubtedly
premature, his own was by far the worst—violent, cruel, and mysterious.

That Wednesday was no ordinary day in the life of Narendra Modi. On 25

September 2013, he had been declared the Bharatiya Janata Party’s (BJP’s)
prime ministerial candidate, after tiding over his differences with party
veteran, Lal Krishna Advani. Eventually, the one-time strongman and senior
leader of the party was persuaded to join Narendra Modi in Bhopal to
address a public rally at noon. After the trio of Advani, Rajnath Singh
(Minister of Home Affairs), and Shivraj Singh Chouhan (former chief
minister of Madhya Pradesh) had finished with their speeches, Modi took
centre stage to address a delirious audience.
After going past a major part of his speech, Modi reminded people of
what Syama Prasad Mookerjee, the founding president of the Bharatiya Jana
Sangh had once said about his colleague, ‘Give me two Deendayals, and I
will completely change the face of the nation.’1 Modi had then added
prophetically, ‘When the country shall celebrate Deendayal Upadhyaya ji’s
birth centenary in 2015–16, the BJP will rule in most states in the country.’
Modi’s assertion was indeed prophetic—in the first round of assembly
elections in November–December 2014, the BJP won in Maharashtra,
Haryana, Jharkhand, and Jammu. By the autumn of 2018, and just before the
assembly elections in five states, the BJP was in office, either on its own or
as coalition partners, in more than two-third states, home to approximately
seventy per cent of Indians.
On 20 May 2014, the day BJP had formalised Narendra Modi’s
elevation as prime minister, he had once again invoked Deendayal
Upadhyaya, and said, ‘Antyodaya, the service of the downtrodden, was
Pandit Deendayal Upadhyaya’s mission. That is why I say our government is
for the poor and the deprived. The coming year is important for us all. It will
be his centenary year…we have to strive to fulfil his dreams. The party and
government must decide how to celebrate the event.’
Even before assuming office as India’s prime minister, Narendra Modi
had made his intent clear—Deendayal Upadhyaya had to be restored to his
rightful place in the annals of Indian history.

Deendayal Upadhyaya was born in 1916 in a lower middle class family in

north India. His father worked as an assistant station master in the Indian
Railways and was posted in Jalesar, the United Provinces (now Uttar
Pradesh). The frequent occurrences of tragedies in young Deendayal’s life
had impacted his academic life to such an extent that he was forced to change
several schools, from Gangapur to Kota in Rajasthan; attend different
colleges in Pilani, Agra, Kanpur and Allahabad, from where the twenty-five-
year-old had finally earned a degree in Bachelor of Education, and later took
a Masters in English literature. Although he was expected to sit for the civil
services considering he was a promising student, he had rejected the idea.
It was in college that he was first exposed to politics, motivated by
some of his peers, including, Nanaji Deshmukh, Sundar Singh Bhandari, and
Babasaheb Apte, who had convinced him to attend the Officers Training
Camp (OTC) in 1939 and 1942, respectively.
It is significant to note here that even as Deendayal was beginning to get
involved in politics, the Muslim League had espoused the idea of Two-
Nation Theory; the country was witnessing one of the worst episodes of
Hindu–Muslim riots; and the Hindu Mahasabha was given an overhaul under
the able leadership of none other than V.D. Savarkar.
Deendayal was convinced of his future, and even though his extended
family wanted to see him married, it was relegated to the backburner,
particularly after his meeting with K.B. Hedgewar in Kanpur.
By now, it was abundantly clear that Deendayal had chosen politics
over the life of a householder. In his reply to a letter from a cousin who had
requested him to return to the family fold, the young pracharak had written
sensitively:

I am torn between affection (for you and the family) and duty (towards the
nation)….I have been assigned to work in a district to awaken the slumbering
Hindu society and raise a volunteer corps…I will (not) be allowed to take up
a stable job. The society and the country are the first priority for an RSS
worker. His individual duties come later…You are apprehensive because
you do not know much about the Sangh. It is no way associated with the
Congress (Gandhi had already announced the Quit India movement leading to
its repression; emphasis mine). Nor is it part of any political organisation. It
is not involved in politics. RSS does not resort to satyagraha, or going to
jail…2

Gradually, his political views began to take firm shape and were sharpened
over the next few years. It was evidenced in a letter he wrote to the same
cousin as follows:

The Muslim hooligans can insult (any great man) in a matter of minutes. They
can themselves become great, but they are members of a society that is weak
and degenerated, devoid of all strength…That is why the Muslims often
kidnap and abduct our mothers and sisters…Why is it so? Do Hindus lack
strong men…?3

The Initiation
Although Deendayal Upadhyaya was a contemporary of Balasaheb Deoras,
he joined the RSS more than a decade after his colleague, because it was yet
to be established in the United Provinces. It finally happened a little after
1937 when the then sarsanghchalak, K.B. Hedgewar had deputed ten
associates, students, and pracharaks, to work in Punjab, Delhi, Uttar Pradesh,
and Central India.
In 1940, Deendayal Upadhyaya began his stint as an RSS pracharak in
Lakhimpur under the guidance of prant pracharak Bhaurao Deoras, who was
the younger brother of Balasaheb Deoras. In 1945, Upadhyaya was promoted
and took over as his mentor’s deputy, or sah-prant pracharak. Bhaurao
Deoras was so impressed with his apprentice’s performance that he wrote
him a letter of appreciation lauding his perseverance despite the fact that his
‘path was strewn with thorns,’ and when ‘no one was familiar with the Sangh
activities,’ how he willingly ‘took over the onerous responsibility.’
Deendayal was particularly praised because the RSS’ presence, according to
Bhaurao Deoras, ‘in the province is the result of your hard work and sense of
duty. Many of our swayamsevaks have been inspired by the example you
set.’4 It was during this period spanning 1945–1951 when Deendayal was
recognised by the leadership as a man with extraordinary organisational
prowess coupled with intellectual competence who could be vested with
important responsibilities in the future.
It may be recalled that in the aftermath of Mahatma Gandhi’s
assassination in 1948, the government had banned the RSS alleging that
contrary to its avowed principles, it was not only indulging in violent
activities, but also exhorting people to violence. Deendayal was entrusted
with certain special tasks during this turbulent phase in RSS’ history;
although he was recognised for his stellar work in the United Provinces, he
was yet to be recognised as someone high up in the organisation’s pecking
order.
Interestingly, Upadhyaya’s trajectory was very similar to the RSS’ at
the time—the organisation was yet to plunge into mass-based politics either
like the Congress or the Hindu Mahasabha, or even the Muslim League.
Neither was Deendayal aiming to be a people’s leader, as he was more
inclined towards understanding the ideological underpinning of the outfit. He
was often seen in the company of students and scholars in universities, and
later began indoctrinating them into the sangh’s philosophy.
Once he had settled into his job as sah-prant pracharak in 1945,
Upadhyaya took the lead in establishing the education cell for the RSS in UP,
which was a crucial arm for the organisation for communicating its ideology
and programmes amongst families of its volunteers. In time, Deendayal’s
initiative on education was taken forward and the activities by these multiple
cells were consolidated by Balasaheb Deoras under the umbrella of a new
affiliate, Vidya Bharti5 (see chapter, Balasaheb Deoras, p. 247).
He also set up a publishing house in Lucknow called the Rashtra
Dharam Prakashan which brought out books and other literature to propagate
the RSS’ ideology. But of all his endeavours, Deendayal’s most significant
contribution was the setting up of the Panchjanya magazine in 1945, which is
since acknowledged as the official mouthpiece of the RSS, and a platform for
furthering its ideology. (It must be mentioned here that the magazine was later
re-launched with much fanfare on 14 January 1948, with the late Atal Bihari
Vajpayee as its first editor.)
Meanwhile, it was Deendayal Upadhyaya’s engagement with the written
word which came in handy in 1949 during the drafting of the RSS’
constitution. As was obvious, Deendayal’s initial years in the RSS were
spent more on intellectual pursuits than furthering his career prospects, and it
was his proclivity towards academics and pedagogy which later made it
difficult for him to be a hard-nosed political animal, but more of which later.
Meanwhile in April 1946, Bhaurao Deoras decided to put Deendayal’s
literary talent to better use and requested him to write historical fiction for
children. The larger intent of the project was based on the premise that not
only was there a dearth of suitable literature for the young minds, but a
version of history that was biased when viewed from the prism of ancient
Indian precepts. In 1946, Deendayal wrote a novella titled, Samrat
Chandragupta on the life of a king who was said to have unified the country.
In what was ostensibly a children’s book, Deendayal inserted a bit of
polemic in its Preface, acknowledging that the events in the book ‘are true
despite the concerted efforts of European scholars and their blind followers
among Indian historians (sic), to distort them to serve their own purpose and
vested interests.’6
The sangh parivar’s objections to the distortion of Indian history,
particularly by Left-leaning historians is well documented. However, the first
red flag in the context was raised by Deendayal Upadhyaya who had
perceptively blurred the lines between folklore and history, and wrote in
Samrat Chandragupta that the, ‘readers of this book need not (sic) be told
everything about the maze of historical facts.’7
After the great success of his maiden book, Deendayal Upadhyaya took
on a more challenging subject in 1947 and began writing about Adi
Shankaracharya, the saint-philosopher from Kerala who is revered amongst
other things for lending a definitive form to Hinduism. Titled eponymously as
Jagat Guru: Adi Shankaracharya, Deendayal perhaps intended his readers
to go beyond the philosophical contents of the book and said that his
‘objective was to inspire the youth to look back to the country’s glorious
past, take pride in it and dedicate their lives to the revival of the ancient
glory.’8 This idea of invoking India’s ‘glorious’ past and exhorting the youth
to ‘revive’ it as part of their duty to the nation is what the RSS and its
political affiliates have held on to for years.
That Upadhyaya idolised Adi Shankaracharya was not in doubt, and it
was manifest in the book that the author drew inspiration from the saint-
philosopher’s attempt at countering the spread of Buddhism. It was therefore
not surprising when it was argued that the ‘methodology adopted by
Shankaracharya to counter the Buddhist threat resembled to a large extent the
methodology of the RSS and its thinking.’9
Although Jagat Guru was a novel in Hindi, it’s still considered
authentic ‘history’ within the sangh parivar and treated as an important
treatise on one of Hinduism’s greatest thinkers. Meanwhile, the book had had
such an impact on its author that Deendayal was guided by the belief that
‘action does not lie in mere sermonising, but in truly inspiring and motivating
one’s emotions; it must appeal to the heart and not to the barren intellect.’10 It
was perhaps from here on that he began rejecting everything which had an
association with the materialistic world, and was drawn more towards
character-building of the RSS and its cadre.

Widening the Horizons

In the mid-Forties, the idea of independence and with it the partition of the
subcontinent, was fast becoming a reality. Despite its apolitical
underpinning, the RSS was bitterly opposed to the cleaving of the nation,
which was best explained by Deendayal Upadhyaya who said that an,

undivided India is not only a symbol of geographical oneness, but it

manifests the oneness of Indian life….Undivided India is not just a political
slogan…it is the basis of our life.11

The premise formed part of a booklet that he wrote five years after Partition,
titled Akhand Bharat Kyon? or ‘Why Undivided India?’ His essential
argument being that India was more a cultural entity than a geo-political unit,
and that Muslims and Christians were essentially part of this ‘oneness’ that
was unequivocally Hindu in nature. Most importantly, Upadhyaya analysed
the very idea of India’s freedom that was obtained after a long struggle on 15
August 1947, and bemoaned the fact that,

independence was announced by unfurling the tricolour from the ramparts of

Red Fort, but Ravi (the river), at whose banks we had adopted a resolution
of complete freedom, had been snatched away from us.12

In a bitter indictment of the Two-Nation theory, which had unfolded at the

time of his political initiation, Upadhyaya wrote in the booklet that,

by calling the Khilafat movement a nationalist movement, we not only put a

blot on our nationalism, we also generated a feeling in the Muslims that they
need not give up (sic) following the external forces for continuing to remain
Indian nationals.13

Akhand Bharat Kyon? is considered to be the first comprehensive analysis

of inter-community relations by the sangh in post-Independent India. ‘Hindu–
Muslim problem remains what it was,’ wrote Upadhyaya in the booklet, and
how,

political parties have adopted the mixed culture and heritage as the basis of
their operations and separatism and secessionism are on the rise, providing
justification for the creation of Pakistan.

Upadhyaya was of the view that adherence to a unitary concept of the nation
could have prevented Partition, and ‘if the Congress leaders had stood their
ground and helped the awakening among the rank and file of Indians.’ He
criticised the Indian National Congress for its lack of resolve when
presented with the partition plan, ‘British could have been forced to leave
behind an undivided India by handing power to the Congress.’14
He was also unsparing in his denunciation of the Muslims in their
insistence of maintaining a distinct identity:
War (with Pakistan) is not a means to bring about an undivided India. War
can only bring about geographic oneness, not national integration….We have
to work for an undivided India…Muslims who are backward as compared to
our national parameters will associate themselves with us (sic) if we give up
this policy of compromise and appeasement…If we want unity, we must
adopt the yardstick of Indian nationalism, which is Hindu nationalism, and
Indian culture, which is Hindu culture. Let us allow all other streams to
merge with this mainstream Bhagirathi. Yamuna will merge with it. So will
Ganga, shedding all its pollution. And one continuous Bhagirathi will flow
throughout India.

What is particularly telling in the above passage is the usage of the ‘rivers’
analogy as a tool for cultural integration, and how ‘Ganga’, invoked as the
holiest river in India, shall shed ‘all its pollution’ to transform into a single
national stream.
The overt politicisation of the sangh ideology as evidenced in his
writings had occurred after the RSS was proscribed following Mahatma
Gandhi’s assassination in January 1948. As mentioned previously, Deendayal
was Bhaurao Deoras’ ‘discovery’, and after setting up a unit in the United
Provinces, he had become part of a group of pracharaks which advocated
mass contact programmes to ensure that the RSS remained relevant even
during the ban. Yet, unlike Balasaheb Deoras, Upadhyaya didn’t conform to
the view that the RSS needed to formally set up a political wing. He along
with several others agreed with M.S. Golwalkar’s view of keeping a close
watch on the developments within the Congress, which was in the midst of a
churn.

As mentioned earlier, in November 1949, the Congress Working Committee

had adopted a resolution, backed by Deputy Prime Minister Sardar
Vallabhbhai Patel, proposing the entry of RSS members into the party. This
was recommended not only after the ban on the RSS for its alleged role in the
murder of Gandhi, but also in the absence of Prime Minister Nehru who was
away on an official tour to the US.
On his return from America, Jawaharlal had promptly reversed the
proposal and said that the Congress could only admit members who were
part of its volunteer bodies like the Sewa Dal. With the hope of the so-called
grand alliance dissipating, Syama Prasad Mookerjee, leader of the Hindu
Mahasabha and part of Nehru’s interim Cabinet as Minister of Industry and
Supplies (who resigned in April 1950), urged the RSS’ sarsanghchalak
Golwalkar to grant him permission to establish a political party forthwith,
which was turned down. Eventually, after Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel’s death in
December 1950, and with the impending general elections, Mookerjee took
the plunge and established in early May 1951 what he called a ‘People’s
Party’ in West Bengal.
Despite Golwalkar’s scepticism towards mainstream politics, the move
by Mookerjee was like a shot in the arm for the cadre, and it was planned
that prior to launching the party at a national level, the state units be first
established. Subsequently by September 1951, the Bharatiya Jana Sangh’s
state units were set up in UP, Punjab, PEPSU, Karnataka, Bihar, Rajasthan,
Orissa (now Odisha), Madhya Bharat (now Madhya Pradesh), and Delhi.
Deendayal Upadhyaya was sent on deputation to the Jana Sangh in UP, where
he had begun his career as an RSS pracharak.
In less than a year, he became one of the most trusted lieutenants of
Syama Prasad Mookerjee, and by the time of the Jana Sangh’s first plenary
session in Kanpur in December 1952, he was elevated as the general
secretary of the party with the additional responsibility of piloting seven of
its fifteen resolutions.
One of the first and most significant resolutions drafted by Deendayal
was on the ‘cultural revival’, which redefined the RSS’ philosophy while
emphasising on the following: education must be based on national (read
Hindu; emphasis mine) culture; the revival of Sanskrit and the acceptance of
Devanagari script ‘for all languages of the country15’; rewriting of history on
the ‘right lines, so that it is the history of the people of India and not of those
who committed aggression on her16’; and launching a campaign amongst
Hindus to ‘take up the noble task of Indianisation of general life and of those
sections of the Indian national being which were shaken out of national
moorings and were made to look outside the country for inspiration.’17
In a way, the resolution was a precursor to his booklet, Akhand Bharat
Kyon? and was viewed by many as a counter to the Congress’ emphasis on
India’s compositeness. In his introduction to the resolution, Upadhyaya
proclaimed that in the recent centuries, India’s unity was often tested because
of the constant reiteration of its diversity which prevented its citizens from
being knitted into one nation on the basis of a single or homogenous cultural
tradition. Unlike the Hindu Mahasabha which rejected Muslims as part of the
Indian mainstream, Upadhyaya referred to them and the Christians as
‘different parts of the same body.’
Yet another resolution which bore Deendayal’s unmistakable stamp at
the Kanpur plenary was one which laid greater emphasis on organisation-
building and social issues, as opposed to political activism. As mentioned
earlier, unlike Syama Prasad Mookerjee who was insistent that the Jana
Sangh plunges into electoral politics, Upadhyaya took a long-term view and
pressed for building a robust network of cadre.
The first plenary session of the Jana Sangh was a great success as
evidenced by the thunderous applause for Dr Mookerjee’s proclamation:
‘Give me two Deendayals, and I will completely change the face of this
nation.’
The public endorsement by the Jana Sangh chief guaranteed Deendayal
Upadhyaya’s unhindered rise in the party thereafter. He remained in office as
general secretary for fifteen years until December 1967 when he was
elevated as Jana Sangh president which was at variance with RSS’
philosophy that pracharaks should remain as general secretaries with overall
responsibility of the organisation, and not take up the role of a titular head.
However, Upadhyaya who had prior experience of setting up the organisation
in UP, managed to circumvent every objection that may have come in his way
and discharged the twin duties of pracharak and president of the Jana Sangh.
In his memoirs, L.K. Advani wrote that although there were several party
presidents from 1953 (after Syama Prasad’s death) to 1967, everybody knew
that ‘Deendayalji, its General Secretary in charge of the organisation, was
the mind, heart and soul of the party. As a matter of fact, he was more than the
organisational head of the party. He was its philosopher, guide and motivator
all rolled into one.’18
However, if it wasn’t for certain extraneous reasons, and most
importantly, if history hadn’t been unkind to certain men, then Deendayal
Upadhyaya may not have become the president of the Jana Sangh. Almost a
decade after Deendayal became the axis of the Jana Sangh, the one-time
Congress President Purushottam Das Tandon who’d locked horns with Nehru
over the 1949 resolution to admit members of the RSS into the Congress
party, died in 1962, almost a forgotten man. Deendayal wrote an evocative
obituary in the Organiser, mentioning that if Tandon had not resigned as
Congress president in 1951 (under pressure from Prime Minister Nehru),
‘probably the Bharatiya Jana Sangh would not have come into existence.’19 It
was ironical that the internecine squabbles within the Congress over the
proposed role of the RSS in the party, and Nehru’s striking down of any such
suggestion, had indirectly resulted in the birth of the Jana Sangh.
Similarly, but for Deendayal Upadhyaya, the Jana Sangh would have
either folded up, or lurched from one crisis to another post Mookerjee’s
tragic death in June 1953. As per its constitution, not only did the Jana Sangh
restrict the tenure of its president to one year, there was no succession plan
for any eventuality in case the founder-president either left the party, or as
was proven later, died. Although there were several claimants to the post of
president, including N.C. Chatterjee who was one of the founders of the
Hindu Mahasabha, nobody came close to S.P. Mookerjee either in stature or
erudition. After a few months of his death, the proposal to merge the Jana
Sangh with the Hindu Mahasabha was revived yet again, but Deendayal
Upadhyaya had rejected it outright. His ideological commitment to the RSS
notwithstanding, there were three other reasons which had made the merger
impossible—first, there were major differences, albeit nuanced in their
definitions of what constituted Hindu nationalism; second, certain influential
RSS leaders, especially M.S. Golwalkar, were sceptical about V.D.
Savarkar’s overt opposition to RSS’ continuous efforts in organisation-
building; third and most importantly, despite Savarkar’s acquittal in Mahatma
Gandhi’s assassination case, the incident was not only fresh in public
memory, but had resulted in a national outrage. It was precisely for these
reasons that Upadhyaya had openly declared his opposition to the viewpoint
that, ‘since the Hindu Mahasbha has a galaxy of leaders and the Jana Sangh
none, the two organisations should merge (into one).’20
Finally, a couple of months after Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s death,
Mauli Chandra Sharma, a one-time Congress leader-turned-RSS supporter,
was appointed the acting president of the Jana Sangh. The new president was
familiar with the internal dynamics of the Jana Sangh which was largely
dominated by RSS pracharaks with whom he had once worked closely in
Delhi after Partition. Yet, in what was deemed to be unwise, he attempted to
seize control of the party—for instance, his open defiance of Deendayal’s
move to nominate an executive council which was to function as an
independent authority of the party. The power struggle between the two
continued for most of 1954, until Sharma was shown the door, and Deendayal
inducted the low-profile S.A. Sohoni, who was the sanghchalak of Bihar, as
president of the Jana Sangh. With this unusual or rather out-of-turn
appointment, Deendayal had ensured the end to the last vestiges of an
external influence over the Jana Sangh. In retaliation, several members of the
Jana Sangh had decided to quit, but Upadhyaya had paid no heed and
remained resolute in ensuring the continuance of RSS’ influence over the
party.
However, this wasn’t the only instance of Upadhyaya forcing his hand
on the party. In the decade and a half of managing party affairs, he had
handpicked a team of new generation pracharaks. In 1965, at the Jana
Sangh’s landmark plenary session in Vijayawada—as it was here that
Upadhyaya had unveiled his philosophy of Integral Humanism, which has
since then been the official doctrine of the BJP—he’d ensured Bachhraj
Vyas’ elevation as party president. Two of Jana Sangh’s senior leaders at the
time, Atal Bihari Vajpayee and Balraj Madhok had vehemently opposed the
decision and boycotted the session. Yet Deendayal was undeterred, because
it was a matter of principle for him which carried more weight than an
individual’s brilliance, clout, and capacity to sway the public.
Upadhyaya’s insistence on retaining Jana Sangh’s distinct identity had
resurfaced in 1962 when yet another proposal for its merger with the
Swatantra Party and Ram Rajya Party (both Right-wing entities) was
suggested, and obviously rejected. It may be recalled that in the late 1980s,
L.K. Advani had used the phrase ‘splendid isolation’ while describing BJP’s
loneliness in Indian politics. In a way, the genesis of this long period of
isolation could be attributed to Deendayal who had ensured that every
external voice was silenced to protect the distinct ideological base of his
party.
It wasn’t just the ideas which he had rejected, but Upadhyaya was
strongly against forging political alliances for electoral gains. In an article in
the Seminar magazine, he had written that all such arrangements ‘degenerate
into a struggle for power by opportunist elements coming together in the
interest of expediency.’21 From the time he had taken charge of the Jana
Sangh, Deendayal was guided by the principle of building a ‘party with a
difference’—another phrase which was resurrected by L.K. Advani in the
1990s. As an aside, it may be worthwhile to mention that when Advani was
elected Jana Sangh president in 1973, the Organiser had headlined its report
on the Kanpur plenary session as: ‘Second Deendayal at Helm of BJS.’22
 Upadhyaya was loathe to the idea of fighting elections and grabbing
political power as the means to an end of a political party’s existence—
social transformation was the kernel of Deendayal’s political philosophy,
which he viewed as the ultimate objective. He was not only exacting towards
party colleagues who were obsessed with the pursuance of power, but
curiously, even ordinary voters. In 1955, he wrote in the Organiser:

We do not have to amass popular support but only of those who can follow
our ideals…we do not simply want popular support, it must be an idealistic
popular support.

His obduracy towards accepting the realities of electoral politics

notwithstanding, Deendayal considered even political movements or
agitations as deterrents for coercing the State into accepting sundry demands,
however unfair. He recommended that dissent of such nature should act as
tools for furthering a party’s ideology and for securing greater support, than
merely as issue-based endorsements. His recommendation of avoiding
confrontational politics also extended to Opposition parties who he felt were
perennially in conflict with the government of the day. This was strange,
considering the Congress was in power at the Centre, and was bitterly
opposed to everything that the Jana Sangh stood for. Deendayal attributed the
genesis of agitational politics to the Indian freedom struggle which he felt
had encouraged ‘negative’ patriotism, and which needed to be replaced with
constructive nation-building in which the government and people could forge
a partnership. Amongst all his postulations, what was most significant was
his curious belief that a democracy should function in a somewhat
‘controlled’ manner:

State suppression may benefit political parties that play the role of political
mediator for a short while between the State and the People, but it does not
bode good for the nation.23

As is obvious, this above-mentioned viewpoint was contradictory to his

proposal for a collaboration between the people and State.
But ultimately, it was left to his senior colleagues in the sangh to
convince him to view the situation pragmatically in the ongoing tussle
between politics and ideology. In the May 1963 by-elections for the four Lok
Sabha seats, three in Uttar Pradesh and one in Gujarat, Deendayal finally
agreed to contest his maiden election from Jaunpur (UP) after the seat had
fallen vacant following the sudden death of a Jana Sangh leader, Thakur
Bhramjeet Singh.
Meanwhile, Deendayal found a perfect ally in M.S. Golwalkar whose
antipathy towards conventional politics was well known. He was also of the
view that pracharaks should ‘organise the organisation,’ and maintain a
distance from power politics which may result in any form of gain. On the
other hand was Balasaheb Deoras, who not only patronised Upadhyaya but
was also known to challenge Golwalkar openly, who had stepped in at this
crucial juncture to forge an understanding between several non-Congress
parties to jointly put up consensus candidates in the elections.
Deendayal Upadhyaya lost the by-election by a substantial margin and
for two reasons—first, Deoras had ‘not counted on an uncharacteristic
pulling together of the factionalized Uttar Pradesh Congress Party24’; and
second, the Jana Sangh had omitted to notice that all the previous winners
from his constituency were local Rajputs, while Deendayal was a Brahmin
and had therefore failed to muster votes. The third and possibly the most
important reason was that the combined-Opposition candidates from UP
were stalwarts in their own right including, Acharya J.B. Kripalani from
Amroha, and the Socialist leader, Dr Ram Manohar Lohia, who had
contested from Farrukhabad. The fourth seat from Gujarat was also being
fought by a leader of considerable repute, the Swatantra Party general
secretary, Minoo Masani.
When viewed from the surface, it was a failure for the Jana Sangh, but
it also revealed that sixteen years after independence and a year before his
death in 1964, Pandit Nehru was perhaps losing his grip over politics.
However, Upadhyaya’s candidature was the crucial first step in forming an
anti-Congress alliance in post-Independent India, which later crystallised
into the Janata Party in 1977. But despite the coalition (of which Jana Sangh
was a part) which had become a necessity post the Emergency, Deendayal
resisted the inevitability of alliances or even if he had acquiesced, as he had
done in 1967–68 to the Jana Sangh joining coalition governments in several
states, he viewed it as a transitory phenomenon, whereas active practitioners
of parliamentary politics like his colleague, Atal Bihari Vajpayee viewed
them as essential agents of change.
 A year after his failed bid to enter the Lok Sabha, Deendayal
Upadhyaya, unbeknownst to himself, realised the advantage of political
alliances. In April 1964, ironically just six weeks prior to Nehru’s demise on
27 May, he had issued a joint statement with the iconic Socialist leader, Dr
Ram Manohar Lohia. This revolutionary, albeit unimaginable coming
together of two leaders who represented opposing ideological spectrums,
was not only the result of their concurrence on a significant issue, but their
joint opposition to the ruling Congress party’s stand on nuclear disarmament.
The sworn nationalist that Deendayal Upadhyaya was, he strongly
demanded that India seeks US’ assistance in developing a nuclear bomb, and
obtained Dr Lohia’s endorsement. In 1964, the two issued a joint statement in
favour of the ‘formation of some sort of Indo-Pak Confederation.’ Even
today, the joint declaration is cited as one of Upadhyaya’s major political
successes after he had secured Lohia’s backing on what was till then two
extremely contentious arguments put out by the sangh. First, ‘guaranteeing the
protection of life and property of Hindus in Pakistan is the responsibility of
the government of India,’; second, the assertion that ‘the existence of India
and Pakistan as two separate entities is an artificial situation.’
While the second point in the declaration was a de facto ratification of
the idea of Akhand Bharat, because it questioned the reality of Partition
which had happened a decade-and-a-half earlier, the first statement was a
geo-political disaster.

A Political Theorist
As an RSS ideologue, Deendayal Upadhyaya continuously stressed on the
need to Indianise ‘western concepts of the nation, western secularism,
western democracy.’25 For instance, he was sceptical about ushering in adult
franchise prior to increasing literacy levels—curiously, a typical elitist
argument that links political judgement with formal education, thereby
serving as a tool for exclusion. Deendayal viewed Indian democracy as a
system which made it imperative for a ‘government to be run through mutual
discussion,’26 as enshrined in ancient Indian traditions, but reasoned
thereafter that, ‘if we carry it to the other extreme, it could prove
troublesome.’
Although he had studied European governance systems in detail, his
overall hypothesis demonstrated little understanding of the delineation
between totalitarian regimes, dictatorships, or even democracies—it
stemmed from what was obviously simplistic, that everything western was
alien, and therefore unacceptable. His famous argument that ‘even dictators
like Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin did not go against democratic principles,’
was not only self-contradictory, but left a lot to be desired in comprehending
political theory.
His open endorsement of the ‘controlled democracy’ concept also led
to his distinctive approach towards public awareness programmes.
According to Upadhyaya, building of public opinion ‘is a cultural process. In
dictatorial communist regimes it is called brainwashing or depriving the
dissidents of their rights…in so-called democracies, it leads to chaos…’27
His unusual views on mass awareness programmes were however in perfect
sync with the division of labour that he proposed—that the government must
be entrusted with building democracy; campaigns for moulding public
opinion should be the preserve of ‘selfless’ ascetics; and governance was the
prerogative of an elected government. Of the lot, the suggestion to entrust
renunciates with the responsibility of creating mass awareness programmes
was most telling, because that in turn minimised the onus on a particular
government in case its policies didn’t find favour with the group and vice-
versa. The principle of integrating ascetics or sadhus in official programmes
was clearly driven by the intent to provide official sanctity to pursuits of
faith and evolved from the idea of creating a system based on the ‘fusion of
both materialism and spiritualism’28 in contrast to ‘Western culture (which)
is materialistic.’29
Therefore, public opinion which was orchestrated by spiritual or
religious leaders was to be honoured by a government after a ‘controlled’
dialogue. He further hypothesised that such an interaction or relationship was
to be governed by three main principles: tolerance and discipline;
selflessness; and respect for the rule of law. On the face of it, the ideas seem
simply righteous, but on a deeper analysis, flawed and impractical as well.
For instance, what Upadhyaya said in reference to the first principle, ‘A
disciplined person stands between a vocal person and a dumb person…
democracy can be successful only (sic) when a citizen understands his
responsibilities and discharges them to the best of his abilities.’30 Upadhyaya
clearly disapproved of vocalising protest, reflecting his discomfort with
democracy and the right to dissent. According to him, for a democratic State
to be successful, it wasn’t incumbent upon a government to ensure that the
rights of its citizens weren’t violated in any manner. But he was however
silent about the options in case the government did not act according to its
brief.
While pontificating about the electoral system, Deendayal argued that
for it to succeed, good candidates, good parties, and finally good voters were
mandatory. While political parties must be principled, and shun casteism,
Upadhyaya held an odd viewpoint about ex-royals as electoral candidates in
a democracy, who he said, ‘must be active in the country’s politics,’31 but he
contradicted it by saying that political parties should avoid nominating them
solely for their princely status and wealth.
For voters, Deendayal had a long list of suggestions as follows: do not
vote for a party, but for its ideals; don’t support an individual, but opt for the
party; and opt for an individual, and not for his or her money power, or be
‘misled by hype.’32 In retrospect, these seemingly ‘good to do’ list seems
ironical because much like M.S. Golwalkar, Deendayal didn’t consider
democracy to be an ideal system of governance in the first place, but was of
the view that it was the ‘least evil’ way of running a government.
Of all his theories, what stood out prominently was his rejection of
India’s federal system and as a natural corollary, its administrative and
governance structure. His recommendation was for a centralised system, and
he objected to India being defined as a Union of States, and protested against
the enactment of Reorganisation of States on linguistic principles. (He
demanded the setting up of a commission to reorganise states, which was
eventually established by the Nehru government in 1954.)
While he was in favour of centralisation, Upadhyaya also opposed a
‘unitary constitution’ and suggested that we should ‘decentralise our fiscal
and other resources.’ It must be mentioned here that the idea of cooperative
federalism, which forms a significant part of Prime Minister Narendra
Modi’s governance module, is an expansion of the premise.

Deendayal Upadhyaya shall be best remembered in history for the two

seminal texts that he wrote within a span of seven years—The Two Plans:
Promises, Performance and Prospects (1958), and Integral Humanism
(1965). However of the two, the latter which is essentially a detailed
hypotheses on philosophical issues with a bearing on the larger economic
vision, merits greater attention because it has survived for more than half a
century as the ‘official’ philosophy of the Jana Sangh, and later, the BJP.
At one level, the theory of Integral Humanism which was adopted as the
‘Principles and Policies of the Jana Sangh’ at the plenary session in
Vijayawada in February 1965, was considered by the party to be self-
sufficient in terms of a well-argued political thought. But according to
Deendayal’s detractors, one of the biggest shortcomings of the theory was in
its assumption that India is a civilisational concept, and not an idea which
had evolved over centuries. It was felt that the text reflected Deendayal’s
very own idea of his party’s raison d’être vis-à-vis his position in it. While
at a personal level, there was often an overlap and confusion over what he
was first and foremost, a swayamsevak or general secretary, there was a
complete lack of clarity over whether the party’s primary objective was to be
part of active politics, or consolidate Hindu society.
As mentioned earlier, Golwalkar had a pathological distaste for
politics and considered it an immoral influence on his cadre. Similarly, the
RSS was unequivocal in its opinion that a society or nation had greater value
than the State, but it was paradoxical for a political party like Jana Sangh to
have endorsed such a view. Just as the other affiliates of the RSS—the
Bharatiya Mazdoor Sangh (BMS) or Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP)—are
primarily committed to their respective agendas which are dovetailed into
the overall framework of the sangh, the Jana Sangh needed to be more
independent than what a pracharak as organising secretary-driven
organisation desired it to be. There is enough empirical evidence to prove
that since its inception in the mid-Eighties, whenever senior leaders of the
BJP have acquiesced to diktats issued from Nagpur, the party has tended to
veer off from its primary goals.
As the largest cadre-based party in the world with more than a dozen
ideological arms, initially the RSS wasn’t known to micro-manage the affairs
of its affiliates. However, since the mid-Forties, it began a trend of holding
annual meetings with its agencies to ensure adherence to a broad code of
conduct. Deendayal attended these meetings regularly, but if one analyses the
events of the period, it does appear that there was far greater concurrence
between him and Jana Sangh’s ‘handlers’ in the RSS. Upadhyaya also
required clarity regarding his twin roles, and was gradually found wanting in
his ability to balance between ideology and active politics.
 There is no doubt that it was the theory of Integral Humanism which
established the theory of Hindu political philosophy in post-Independent
India. Upadhyaya began work on it in 1964–65 and after presenting it at the
Jana Sangh’s Vijayawada plenary session where it was accepted as the
party’s core philosophy, he elaborated on it in a series of four lectures in
Bombay in April 1965.
According to L.K. Advani, Upadhyaya’s choice of the title was with the
intent of contrasting his party’s ideological premise with that of M.N. Roy’s
philosophical theory of Radical Humanism. For instance, Integral Humanism
rejected the class theory primarily because it was espoused by the
Communists. Instead, Upadhyaya’s theory recommended that different
sections of society should work together, and in this context he referred to a
peculiar analogy to elucidate the relationship between the oppressor and the
oppressed: ‘A flower is what it is because of its petals, and the worth of the
petals lies in remaining with the flower and adding to its beauty.’33 In
Upadhyaya’s political construct, associations or loyalties were either
civilisational, cultural or religious. People were inter-connected not because
of class interests, but because of a common religious and cultural heritage. In
effect, this meant that a Hindu factory worker would have greater
commonalities with his Hindu owner, than his non-Hindu colleagues on a
shop floor.
In Anand Gandhi’s much acclaimed film, Ship of Theseus (2103), the
theme explores the notion of whether an object whose parts have been
replaced bit by bit can be considered to be the original entity. This was
indeed a philosophical poser, and had perhaps left many viewers pondering
over a definite answer. In Integral Humanism, Deendayal provides a definite
answer to such a conundrum which was fundamental to his concept of what
constituted nationhood and the culture of a State. In the text, he narrates a
story about a barber who is shaving a customer’s beard and boasting about
his razor, which he says is sixty years old. The customer stops the barber and
asks him how old was the handle of the razor, which was still shining?
‘Three months,’ says the barber.
‘And, the steel?’ he asks again.
‘Three years old,’ he says.
Upadhyaya then argues that although both components of the razor were
replaced, ‘its identity was intact. Similarly a nation too has a soul,’ which he
defined as chiti. In fact he introduced this concept by first expanding on the
concept of dharma or righteousness. According to him, dharma was neither a
religion nor sect and also not an entirely personal matter as his detractors
had contended. Dharma for him was a ‘much wider term with extensive
connotation.’34 Deendayal argued that dharma was ‘our chiti, the inner spirit
that pervades all of us.’35 He further introduced the idea of virat (shakti)
which according to him was the power that energises a nation. While chiti
which is ‘fundamental and is central to the nation from its very beginning…
the soul determines the direction in which the nation is to advance culturally.
Whatever is in accordance with chiti, is included in culture.’
When viewed against pluralism and the diverse cultures of India,
Deendayal Upadhyaya’s thesis seems inadequate, except in endorsing the
majoritarian view in the country. His argument is further reinforced by his
claim that only a strong virat (shakti) can ensure the success of a democracy,
and once it’s awakened, then every kind of conflict ceases to exist. Yet, in a
country which not only boasts of diversity, but a large workforce, it is a trifle
strange why Deendayal had excluded the promise of a collective power.
In conclusion, the core objective of Integral Humanism was to ‘create a
Bharat which will excel…to achieve through a sense of unity with the entire
creation, a state even higher than that of a complete human being; to become
Narayan (god) from nar (man).’ The theory is therefore primarily addressed
to a Hindu faithful, and as a result of which it remains an exclusionist
philosophy which may not appeal to the adherents of cultural and religious
pluralism.

The Economist
In contrast to the philosophical nature of Integral Humanism, The Two Plans:
Promises, Performance and Prospects was a general critique of Nehruvian
economics, focussing on the First (1951–56) and Second (1956–61) Five
Year Plans of the erstwhile Planning Commission, respectively. Interestingly,
the assessment while intrinsically economic in nature, was an amalgamation
of the four ancient Indian principles or purusharthas—artha or wealth, kama
or bodily desire, dharma which is righteousness, and finally, moksha,
denoting a release from all worldly pleasures or the attainment of salvation.
Although the meanings of these four goals have by and large remained
constant through centuries, its interpretation and significance in a human
being’s life have often depended on varying philosophical schools.
 Deendayal Upadhyaya placed ‘Artha and Kama bracketed between
Dharma on the left and Moksha on the right side of the axis. That raised the
thesis that the limits of creating and enjoying Artha and Kama should be
governed by Dharma and aimed at Moksha.’36 Therefore, he didn’t think that
the pursuit of wealth was in anyway unethical, although he did elaborate that
both the paucity or excess of it had a negative impact on society. While
Deendayal’s economic theory was heavily protectionist and had similarities
with some of Gandhi’s principles, especially his emphasis on encouraging
cottage industries to help rural Indian achieve self-sufficiency, his rejection
of what he envisaged as the principles governing a ‘modern world’ were at
variance with the Mahatma. Upadhyaya had fundamental disagreements with
Nehru’s idea of development and in all likelihood wouldn’t have seen large
dams as the ‘temples of modern India’. He argued that it was ‘wrong to
accept industrialisation as our ultimate objective.’ Contrary to his political
vision of centralisation of authority in a non-federal set up, the two mainstays
of Upadhyaya’s economic theory were, decentralisation and the use of
technology, which were principally dichotomous in nature.
On the one hand, if he encouraged the use of technology for production,
he was against mechanisation and not in favour of using it as a mere tool for
speeding up economic progress, which was yet again at variance with
Nehru’s vision of stepping up growth and infrastructure. His Two Plans had a
romantic idealism about it, evoking India of the yore in which progress
unfolded organically.
As someone who hailed the indigenous sector as a significant element
in furthering India’s economy, Upadhyaya was not a great votary of the public
sector, and criticised the government for constraining the growth of the
private sector. His argument being that social justice shall continue to elude
India till ‘the private sector is encouraged to develop along with the
expansion of the public sector and there should be a mechanism to effectively
bring this about.’37 As he was bitterly opposed to Socialism, he
recommended the system to encourage individual initiative and enterprise,
and wrote that just as ‘dictatorship destroys man’s creativity in politics,
large-scale industrialisation destroys individual enterprise.’ Clearly,
Upadhyaya did not take into account the factor of individual enterprise in
massive industrial projects, and appeared myopically focussed on small-
scale enterprises.
 As mentioned earlier, as a firm believer in indigenous systems for
wealth generation, Deendayal continuously opposed Foreign Direct
Investment (FDI) and equally disapproved of Joint Ventures. As one of the
earliest votaries of the constitutionally granted, Right to Work, Upadhyaya
was of the view that under-employment was bad for society besides of
course being detrimental to economic security of an individual; artha as
essential for dharma, being his primary belief.
The centrality of village as the engine for economic growth was evident
in the first election manifesto of the Jana Sangh in 1951. A short document
compared to a long list of promises as is the norm now, it mentioned how
villages have been the ‘centre of Bharat’s life in all times,’ and that the ‘ideal
of Sarvodaya cannot be achieved until and unless the village is restored to
its original position as the basic economic unit.’ The manifesto promised that
the Jana Sangh if voted to power, shall usher in gramtantra or the hegemony
of villages over urban India, which alas didn’t come to fruition. Upadhyaya’s
opposition to Nehruvian economic policies were also evident in his criticism
of the Planning Commission, which he said was trying to ‘build a pyramid
from top.’38
Towards the end of his political career, Deendayal Upadhyaya who had
made his criticism of public agitations more than evident (yet again) in his
seminal Integral Humanism theory, did a volte-face in his maiden
presidential speech in 1967. He made a direct reference to ‘those who are
trying to preserve the status quo in the economic and social spheres, are
unnerved by popular movement.’ Compared to his earlier stance in the early
1950s, Deendayal had now cast his lot with his mentor, Balasaheb Deoras
who had a more egalitarian approach to public life in comparison to M.S.
Golwalkar. This in effect was the beginning of the ‘Leftward turn’ that the
Jana Sangh was seen to have taken, but the major part of it unfolded after
Deendayal’s unfortunate death.

The Tragedy
In December 1967, Deendayal Upadhyaya became the president of the Jana
Sangh. However, as mentioned earlier, his elevation was fraught with
controversy as his colleague and senior member of the party, Balraj Madhok
had also thrown his hat in the ring. But the RSS pressed on and besides
elevating Deendayal, it also nominated Sunder Singh Bhandari, the lawyer-
turned-RSS worker from Rajasthan as vice president of Jana Sangh.
Upadhyaya’s presidentship coincided with the 1967 general elections in
which the Jana Sangh won thirty-five Lok Sabha seats, and 257 seats in the
state assemblies. This was up from fourteen and 119 in 1962, and the credit
for this was largely attributed to the Deoras–Upadhyaya combine who had
eventually chosen the path of political pragmatism as against ideological
purity. It would be safe to surmise that much like the personal battle that he
had waged throughout the initial years of his career, Deendayal Upadhyaya
was once again at the crossroads.
The encouraging results during the elections had forced a debate within
the Jana Sangh whether it should join the coalition governments in some
states of north India, like Haryana. Finally, Deendayal had sided with the
likes of Atal Bihari Vajpayee who was in favour of becoming part of the
coalition, but certain voices within the RSS made their protestations loud and
clear. As mentioned earlier, Deendayal had past experience of having
worked in the United Provinces and had instilled the ideal of bolstering and
transforming Hindu society as the sangh’s primary objective amongst its
members. For most of his fifteen-year-long tenure as a revered member of the
Jana Sangh, Deendayal Upadhyaya continued to be viewed as an avowed
pracharak, but post 1967 when he had become non-theoretical, his devoted
followers who had been nurtured by him on a diet of ideological puritanism,
raised objections against his quest for political power.
His presidential address in Calicut (now, Kozhikode) in December
1967 was a clinching evidence of how he was torn between running a party,
keeping his core ideological beliefs intact, and facing up to the emerging
challenges in Indian politics. Upadhyaya confessed that although with the
1967 general elections, ‘the process has started for Congress’s gradual
withering away,’ the ‘results left much to be desired.’ His reasoning was that
it had led to several post-election problems which he classified into three
broad categories. First, the ‘problems pertaining to the politics of the
transition, inter-party relations, instability of coalition ministries and floor-
crossing.’ Second, how the emerging situation was testing the Indian
‘constitutional set-up’ as such scenarios were hitherto unknown. Third, how
the resultant instability was aiding the ‘problems relating to economic,
defence, home and foreign affairs,’39 which he attributed to mishandling by
the Congress party. Upadhyaya was of the view that although the first set of
concerns were immediate and ‘evoke the maximum of public comment and
debate,’ the other two also required immediate attention.
Despite the absence of political morality which had willy-nilly become
incumbent on ensuring political stability, Upadhyaya took no initiative in
diluting his party’s idealism. It merits mentioning that in 1960 he had ensured
the passing of a resolution at the party’s annual session that acted as a code
of conduct for parliamentarians and legislators. Sadly in recent years, the
BJP has also abandoned certain set of rules like, ‘walking out of the House
and a tendency to create chaos through shouting or sloganeering.’
Deendayal’s most innovative and lasting contribution to the Indian
political discourse was his proposal to confront the problem of political
defection or ‘floor-crossing’ as he had termed it. The issue had merited focus
as a result of the fragmented verdicts in 1967 in Punjab, Bihar, West Bengal,
Kerala, Madhya Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan. The respective state
governments were dismissed by the Governors because of the number of
defections from a clutch of non-Congress parties. Meanwhile, the
Constitution was silent on how Governors should conduct themselves in
order to be seen as non-partisan while dismissing a government.
In 1967 during his presidential address, Upadhyaya had drawn attention
to the ‘arbitrary conduct’ of Governors and had demanded that the process of
their appointment be made transparent.
He had also added that although India had opted for the Westminster
model,

we should try to mould this to suit our changing politics. A convention can be
accepted that no government would resign except on the adoption of a no-
confidence vote against it by the legislature. Another convention which may
be evolved…is that if a majority of members of a legislature request the
Speaker that the House be convened, a meeting of the legislature would be
invariably summoned.40

Preceding the famous S.R. Bommai judgement by almost three decades,

Deendayal’s suggestions were brilliantly prescient. Even as recently as May
2018 in Karnataka, the absence of transparent guidelines for Governors over
crucial issues following a hung verdict had resulted in questions being raised
about the sanctity of such a constitutional position.
 Meanwhile in 1967, Deendayal was faced with a challenge of dealing
with members who had joined the Jana Sangh from other political parties and
were therefore alien to the culture of the RSS. In order to keep them under
check, and confined to the acceptable ideological framework, Upadhyaya
came up with a two-pronged strategy: first, he inducted large number of
pracharaks into the party and second, he decided to ‘place the legislative
members more closely under the direct support of the organisation.’41
He also entrusted the ‘party cadre’ with the task of taking forward the
‘programmes of the party or government to people, translate them into
realities for the people. These programmes…become the vehicle to continue
to build and take the organisation from strength to strength.’42 This was in
continuation of the process that he had initiated in 1960 when he had spelt out
his goal of appointing one pracharak for every district unit of the party.
Although it happened after he was long gone, it was one of Deendayal’s
initiatives which was at the root of the dual membership controversy in the
Janata Party in 1978–79. The dispute which had triggered the collapse of
India’s first non-Congress government at the Centre, was chiefly due to
Upadhyaya mandating that the ‘party cadre’ be entrusted with the task of
taking the ‘programmes of the party or government to people, translate them
into realities for the people.’
After the bitter experience of the Janata Party experiment, the BJP
remained circumspect for many years about its association with the RSS,
especially when it was at the helm of the National Democratic Alliance
(NDA) from 1998–2004. It was only post-2014 after its spectacular victory
led by Narendra Modi that the party leadership stopped being diffident about
displaying its association with the RSS.
Ironical though it may sound for a man who lived abstemiously,
Deendayal’s end was perhaps precipitated by the sudden luxury of comfort
which was bestowed upon him by members of his party. All through his life,
he had only travelled in a third class train compartment, until he became
president in December 1967 when it was decreed that he should now travel
only first class.
On 10 February 1968, Deendayal Upadhyaya was in Lucknow when he
received news that he was to urgently attend the party’s Working Committee
meeting in Patna. That same night, his party workers saw him off at the
station as he got into the Sealdah–Pathankot Express. However, the train’s
schedule underwent a last minute change and wasn’t any longer bound for
Patna. The first class compartment that Deendayal was travelling in was
detached from the Sealdah–Pathankot Express, and was instead fastened to
the Delhi–Howrah Express at Mughalsarai, the big junction in UP which now
bears his name. As scheduled, the train arrived in Patna the next morning, but
Deendayal Upadhyaya did not alight from it.
A big commotion had ensued at the Patna station even as party leaders
began making frantic enquiries about the missing leader. Meanwhile in
Mughalsarai, a body was discovered next to the railway tracks, a short
distance away from the platform. A huge crowd had surrounded the
unclaimed body when suddenly one voice, belonging incidentally to a Jana
Sangh worker, was heard, ‘That is Deendayal Upadhyaya ji, the Jana Sangh
president.’
He was murdered and the case remains unsolved till date. On 12
February 1968, Deendayal Upadhyaya was cremated in Delhi’s Nigambodh
Ghat.
In his condolence message, the RSS sarsanghchalak M.S. Golwalkar
had likened Deendayal to Yudhishthir’s character in the Mahabharata, a man
‘who was devoid of any bitterness in word, action and thought.’ The
comparison was indeed apt because much like the iconic warrior who was
torn between righteousness and the horrors of war, Deendayal Upadhyaya
was for most part of his life, divided between his commitment to ideology
and duty as the head of a political party. However, as one of the most
illustrious RSS workers, he had fulfilled what was mandated upon him by his
leadership and which was to create a robust space for the organisation in the
history of Indian politics. Deendayal Upadhyaya’s short octave may have
reached an early and macabre end, but with a flourish which remains
unmatched in the annals of the RSS.
 BALASAHEB DEORAS

I n June 1973, at the age of fifty-eight, when he was appointed as

sarsanghchalak of the RSS, he had already spent thirty-three years in-
waiting. Madhukar Dattatreya Deoras, popularly known as Balasaheb
Deoras, was insulin-dependent, which had made him diffident about taking
on responsibilities within the sangh.
But as was the norm in the RSS, which espouses strict adherence to
authority, when Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar or Guruji (as he was popularly
called) named Balasaheb as his successor, he had accepted it with utmost
humility. Despite his initial reluctance, it had turned out to be a wise decision
—he presided over the RSS for more than two decades thereafter, and made
significant changes to its inherent character and structure. Amongst several
other things, his reputation as the quintessential pracharak-activist, the one
who is perennially in service of the nation and its people, finally became the
reason for his unquestionable supremacy within the RSS.
But that wasn’t how it had all begun. Balasaheb Deoras’ growth during
his initial years in the RSS was limited, and testimony to the internecine
squabbles within an organisation which was, as mentioned above, ironically
built around the principle of strict adherence to authority*.
The decade-and-a-half beginning the late 1930s was tumultuous for
India because in the aftermath of the Second World War, there was no
uniformity about its involvement in the effort. Besides, the Muslim League’s
infamous Lahore Resolution, although conspicuous for its ‘glaring absence of
details,’1 had called for a separate country from the Muslim majority parts of
undivided India. This was also an equally stormy period for the RSS, marked
as it was ‘by strong differences between the two most crucial people in the
RSS: Golwalkar and Deoras. This is a period that is most guarded in RSS’s
history.’2
Although he was nine years younger than Golwalkar (who was born in
1906), Deoras had reasons for viewing the ascetic-looking Guruji as a
usurper. The reason: by the time Golwalkar had entered Hedgewar’s
charmed circle in the late 1930s, Deoras was already its leading member and
was seen by most as a potential successor to his chief (see chapter, Madhav
Sadashiv Golwalkar, p. 98).
But it was Golwalkar who had assumed charge of the RSS, about which
Balasaheb was openly resentful. In order to subdue his colleague’s criticism,
Golwalkar often spoke in favour of Deoras and referred to him as
Hedgewar’s ‘alter ego’. But even that didn’t cut ice with Deoras who
decided to register his protest by staying away from the first meeting called
by the newly-anointed chief. His ruse being rather weak—that he was to
supervise the official mess in Nagpur to ensure that food was served in time
to swayamsevaks. Golwalkar had seen through Deoras’ excuse and had
responded with a snide remark, ‘Real Sarsanghchalak is in the mess. I am the
Sarsanghchalak only in name, so call him first.’3 It is however still a mystery
if Balasaheb had turned up for the meeting despite the chief’s summons.
According to a one-time RSS member-turned-critic, ‘Absence from the first
meeting of the Sarsanghchalak cannot be explained away by innocent anxiety
to supervise the kitchen; it is a breach of discipline in an outfit like the
RSS.’4
The aloofness between the two men continued for a considerable
period of time. The veteran RSS leader, M.K. Chauthaiwale, who had a
ringside view of the rivalry, gave details of an interesting incident that had
occurred between them sometime in 1944–45. Apparently, Golwalkar was
once returning to the RSS headquarters—also the dwelling quarters for the
top brass—in a tonga with some of his associates, when they had overtaken a
group led by Deoras. ‘Sacche sarsanghchalak paidal chalte hain,’ (Genuine
sarsanghchalaks walk), Balasaheb had said loudly. In return, Golwalkar had
responded, ‘Aur naqli taange mein’ (And imposters ride in a tonga).5
This may sound like light-hearted banter between colleagues, but
highlighted the negative undercurrents that existed between two stalwarts of
the RSS.

The Beginning
Madhukar Dattatreya Deoras was born in 1915 in Nagpur, and was initiated
into the RSS at the young age of eleven. His father, Dattatreya Krishnarao
Deoras worked as a junior revenue official and owned a small piece of
agricultural land in the district of Balaghat (then part of the Central
Provinces, now Madhya Pradesh), adjoining Maharashtra. The large family
of eleven (which included nine children) managed within their modest
means, and laid a heavy premium on education.
Therefore, the first three children—Diwakar, Bhaskar and Dinkar—
followed the traditional career paths and pursued Medicine, Police service,
and Law respectively. As a natural corollary, it was expected of Balasaheb
to join the civil services, but as mentioned earlier, the young lad had in a way
made his intentions clear by joining the RSS. Moreover, he had also initiated
his younger brother, Murlidhar aka Bhaurao, to follow him and there came a
time when the two were referred to as the ‘Deoras brothers’ of the RSS, even
by serious academicians and scholars. Until his death in 1992, Bhaurao
played a significant role in Balasaheb’s political career and acted as the
‘link man’ between the RSS and BJP.6 It needs to be mentioned here that
Balasaheb’s entry into the RSS in 1926 as an eleven-year-old was followed
by one of the worst episodes of Hindu-Muslim riots in Nagpur in September
1927, when the sangh had trained swayamsevaks in wielding swords,
javelins and daggers.7
Meanwhile, alongside his political apprenticeship, Balasaheb had
continued with his studies and went to the New English High School in
Nagpur, and later took a degree in Law.
In 1935, at the young age of Twenty, he was appointed the nagar
karyavah or city secretary of the RSS. One of the main reasons for his
appointment was his popularity amongst peers—his home would often be
abuzz with several swayamsevaks who would spend long hours, and even
stay over for dinner.
Balasaheb’s father had never forgiven him for opting out of the civil
service examination, and his son’s large group of political associates
bothered him even more. Moreover the family was Brahmin, and the
partaking of meals from the kitchen by a motley group of swayamsevaks was
a contentious issue, which created a rift between Balasaheb and his mother,
Parvathibai.
It must have taken the young man immense courage, but he once
confronted his mother and told her firmly that many of his colleagues were
not only from the lower castes, but some were even ‘untouchables’, and
added that she shouldn’t expect them to either wash the utensils in which they
ate, or be served in separate ones. Balasaheb further said that, ‘he would
never invite his friends home if her treatment of “untouchables” was
different. She ultimately gave in, even washing their plates, as the young
Deoras would often dine with them.’8
In 1937, Balasaheb Deoras obtained his Law degree which coincided
with Madhav Golwalkar’s rise in the RSS. Two years later in 1939, K.B.
Hedgewar sent Balasaheb to Bengal in an effort to widen the organisation’s
footprint beyond Central India. But within a few months of Balasaheb’s
arrival, the RSS was struck by a massive tragedy with the passing away of
the much-revered K.B. Hedgewar on 21 June 1940. An organisation which
had been steered by the grand old sarsanghchalak suddenly felt orphaned, and
particularly because he hadn’t resolved the issue of succession during his
lifetime.
In that seering summer month of June 1940, large number of pracharaks
and swayamsevaks had arrived in Nagpur to pay their respects to the
patriarch. Balasaheb was also present that day amongst the large gathering of
mourners who were also nervous about the future of the RSS which their
deceased leader had nurtured with utmost dedication for several years.
On 3 July 1940, the thirteenth day after Hedgewar’s passing, the RSS
top brass which included the quartet of Dr B.S. Moonje, L.V. Paranjpe,
Madhav Golwalkar and Balasaheb Deoras gathered to deliberate about the
future**. Dr Moonje’s presence in the meeting underscored the fact that the
RSS and Hindu Mahasabha had not yet become totally distinct entities, and
dual membership in different, particularly rival, organisations was the norm
at the time. Secondly, what was also significant was that despite Moonje’s
disagreements with his one-time protégé, he was present at a crucial meeting
and established the fact that amongst Hindu Right-wing groups, political
decisions were often influenced by personal relationships.
As mentioned earlier, for many years prior to Hedgewar’s death, it was
presumed that Balasaheb Deoras would take over the RSS chief’s mantle.
His early initiation into the organisation was however not the only reason;
the other and more significant issue was the reluctance on the part of the
other contender, ‘Guruji’ who was known to be inclined towards eschewing
all worldly pursuits. However, when Hedgewar had deputed Balasaheb to
proceed to Bengal two months after Golwalkar’s appointment as general
secretary or sarkaryavah, it seemed like the original plan had been reversed.
Even after eight decades post his death, the mystery of Hedgewar’s so-
called reneging on his promise to Balasaheb remains unresolved. However,
according to some accounts by people within the RSS9, shortly before
Deoras was sent off to Bengal, Hedgewar had summoned him and Golwalkar
to his quarters. Thereafter, the ailing sarsanghchalak had told Deoras that
although he had wanted to nominate him, he had changed his mind because he
had felt that he was still a shade ‘immature’, and had therefore decided to
pass on the baton to Golwalkar. But Hedgewar had also instructed
Golwalkar that whenever he wished to pass on the baton, he would have to
nominate Deoras as his successor.
As was the norm in the RSS, ‘Guruji’ had accepted his chief’s diktat,
albeit reluctantly, laying down two conditions before acquiescing completely
—Balasaheb would have to abide by all his decisions, and never refuse a
task that was entrusted upon him. The man who was to be sarsanghchalak
needed such an reassurance because ‘the levers of control had come to his
(Deoras’) hand during the lifetime of Hedgewar itself,’10 and it was
speculated that Hedgewar had despatched Deoras to Bengal precisely for
this reason.
Once Hedgewar had agreed to Golwalkar’s conditions, the latter had
assumed the mantle of leading the RSS. After this was made public amongst
the cadre, a few old associates of Hedgewar had revolted against
Golwalkar’s nomination, and had even left the RSS in protest.
Meanwhile, the tension between the two men continued unabated.
Balasaheb Deoras took occasional barbs at ‘Guruji’, often displaying his
animus publicly, but eventually acknowledged him as the new chief, aided as
he was by two men—Appaji Joshi, a key leader from the Vidharbha district
in Maharashtra, and the RSS Treasurer, Babasaheb Ghatate. Soon thereafter,
Deoras returned to Nagpur from Bengal and decided to ‘strengthen his grip
over the expanding organisation.’11
According to K.N. Govindacharya12, the former general secretary of the
BJP, it had taken several years for Golwalkar to leverage his position in the
RSS. His individual efforts notwithstanding, in an attempt to consolidate his
position, a posse of pracharaks was sent from Nagpur to establish several
units of the RSS in different parts of the country.

The Next Phase

There was no gainsaying the fact that compared to his chief, Balasaheb’s
popularity index was on the ascendant, and it was primarily because he had
succeeded in endearing himself to the rank and file of the organisation. He
had joined the RSS in his pre-teens, and understood the workings of it better
than ‘Guruji’, who had had a spiritual tryst with life before finally making up
his mind to join the ranks.
Furthermore, Deoras had started his political journey in the Itwari
Shakha, an area in Nagpur which not only accounted for almost half the city’s
population, but was acknowledged as an ‘elite’ branch of the RSS because it
functioned as the training base for prant pracharaks or regional chiefs. Such
was its influence that in the early 1940s, three out of four instructors during
the annual OTCs in Pune happened to be from the Itwari branch.
In 1937, Balasaheb became the karyavah of the Itwari Shakha, but even
before his formal appointment, he had taken the tarun or young
swayamsevaks under his charge and initiated them into the daily routine of
shakha. His efforts in this endeavour are recalled with great reverence, for
here was a man who would steer a young bunch of volunteers every evening
in a dilapidated house that was routinely used as a public toilet by people
living in adjoining houses. The swayamsevaks would gather at the venue in
the evening and along with their teacher, begin cleaning the courtyard.
Balasaheb’s success was also in breaking barriers in an otherwise
regimental outfit; he was an equal for his young brigade of volunteers and
quite enjoyed being addressed simply as, Bala.13
Interestingly, there was a healthy competition amongst the various
shakhas in Nagpur, particularly during the annual parade when every branch
would vie for the first position. For instance, the Dhantoli-Dharampeth
Shakha, which was in focus as it attracted affluent members, and therefore
had well-dressed swayamsevaks in crisply-starched shorts and shirts,
wearing a clean pair of shoes and socks. On the other hand, the Itwari branch
which was recognised as first amongst equals, particularly when it came to
adhering to ideology, was ordinary in comparison and had lost the
competition a year before Balasaheb had taken over as karyavah. Once he
came on board, he set a target for the swayamsevaks, after taking the setback
rather seriously, and had said, ‘without making any changes in our clothes or
footwear (meaning buying fresh pairs), we have to win the contest this
time.’14 This obviously required rigour on the part of young swayamsevaks,
but such was Balasaheb’s hold over them that they would stay back every
evening to practise marching in perfect coordination.
 In his pursuit of excellence, Deoras believed in the age-old dictum of
(which is now rejected as outdated)—spare the rod and spoil the child.
‘While guiding practise sessions, besides giving the standard “left-right”
command for marchers, if Balasaheb noticed anyone making a mistake, then
he did not shy from using the small danda or stick that he brandished in his
hand. But no one protested at such punishment.’15
In 1937, Balasaheb Deoras’ efforts bore fruit and the Itwari Shakha
stood first in the annual marching competition.
Much like several political and quasi-political outfits in the decade
after independence, the RSS was also dependant on voluntary donations for
sustenance. One of the avenues for collecting money was during festivals,
camps and other social gatherings, where people would donate voluntarily
which the RSS later used for various activities.
The cadre was expected to not only organise such events, but also build
the venue from scratch, much like what is done by fabricators during the
annual Durga Puja festival in Bengal, and other parts of India, even today. It
was yet again Balasaheb who had stepped in to teach the swayamsevaks how
to erect tents and build temporary toilets for hosting events. In sum, it was not
only seniority, but also extraordinary leadership qualities that had earned the
karyavah of Nagpur respect as a dedicated soldier of the RSS.
It was around this time when Madhav Golwalkar had returned to
Nagpur from his spiritual sojourn in the Sargachi ashram in Bengal (see
chapter, Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar, p. 98). According to several accounts,
oblivious as he was to RSS’ culture, it was a curious sight to witness the
future sarsanghchalak of the organisation to be guided by the one who was
not only nine years younger, but could also have been the chief.
At this juncture in the narrative, it is imperative to understand certain
unique internal practises in the RSS. For instance, the rotating hierarchical
structure is one of its most distinctive features, unlike other political outfits
which normally ‘demotes’ leading functionaries only for disciplinary
reasons. For example, the general secretary in a Left party retires as member
of the politburo or central committee, but is seldom relegated to a junior
position. Similarly, very rarely is the president of a party subsequently
‘appointed’ to a lower post—for instance, say a general secretary or vice
president of the Congress party. But in the RSS, reassignment of posts is
routine. There are examples of a sarkaryavah or general secretary being
appointed later as a sah sarkaryavah or joint general secretary. Further, a sah
sarkaryavah can even be shunted to a lower position. The only exception
being the sarsanghchalak, who as a rule and in principle is never pushed
down the organisational ladder.
Yet another unique feature within the ranks of the RSS is that the
position held by a leader is seldom reflective of his clout. For instance,
although Deoras functioned as the ‘critical eyes and ears’ of Madhav
Golwalkar, he was appointed an office-bearer or sah sarkaryavah only in
1946. (At the time Prabhakar Balwant Dani aka Bhaiyaji Dani was the
sarkaryavah. Eventually Deoras was made sarkaryavah but only after Dani’s
passing in 1965.)
Meanwhile, the conflicting views within the RSS post Hedgewar’s
death were out in the open, but as mentioned earlier, it had its genesis during
his lifetime when there was a growing restlessness within the organisation.
One of the main reasons for this was the sangh’s contrarian views vis-a-vis
the prevailing mood in the nation (see chapter, Keshav Baliram Hedgewar, p.
1). After the passing of the Government of India Act 1935, and the
subsequent provincial elections, the RSS found itself split between playing
the nationalistic card and focussing on the widening gulf between the Hindus
and Muslims in pre-Independent India.
By this time, V.D. Savarkar had also been released from jail and he
gave a fresh impetus to the Hindu Mahasabha in mid-1937, even as
Hedgewar insisted on staying away from electoral politics. His focus was on
reinforcing Hindu society and he believed that any kind of political
participation would harm the sangh’s long-term objectives.

A Sarsanghchalak with a Difference

While Hindu consolidation was Hedgewar’s primary objective, the sanyasin-
like Golwalkar was focussed on the spiritual orientation of the RSS. At the
time of Hedgewar’s death, the RSS was an outfit with limited influence, and
this despite a well-oiled and advanced mechanism for the efficient working
of its internal processes. For the first ten years of his tenure, Golwalkar
maintained status quo and made no changes in its functioning, primarily to
tide over the controversy over his appointment. Although it was said that ‘the
policies and postures of the RSS are contingent upon the personality and
predilection of its chief,’16 Golwalkar was finally able to come into his own
only after 1949, i.e., post his release from jail on the charges of complicity in
Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination.
Although both K.B. Hedgewar and Madhav Golwalkar were essentially
adherents of Savarkar’s brand of Hindutva, each one approached it
differently—Savarkar was clearly in favour of militarisation; Hedgewar
wished to channelise the idea through the organisational structure; while
Golwalkar was prone to a spiritual interpretation of the idea. Balasaheb
Deoras on the other hand, wanted the RSS to plunge headlong into politics.
He believed that the ‘Hindus did not have an institutional mind. They
revelled in destroying this.’17 In 1965 (seven years prior to his taking over as
sarsanghchalak), Balasaheb supported affiliates such as the Bharatiya
Mazdoor Sangh (BMS), and the Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP)
because it was his belief that these organisations had the wherewithal of
pursuing grassroots work which could later transform into political
activism.18
When compared to his predecessor, one of the most important reasons
for Balasaheb’s contrasting views and pragmatism stemmed from the fact that
he was agnostic, and proclaimed it openly. He often referred to himself as a
‘Communist’ within the RSS, and had a strong dislike for religious rituals.
Several insiders have argued that ‘it is highly debatable if he (Deoras)
believed in God, or if in anyway needed Him. For him, the thread
ceremony*** was outdated and he disliked attending them.’19 In fact, it was
only after he became the sarsanghchalak that some of his associates had
convinced him to follow basic Hindu prayer rituals like lighting incense
sticks, or visiting temples.
It may be recalled that as a young man, he had convinced his mother to
give up on outdated caste obligations and admitted swayamsevaks of other
castes into his home, and also served them food from the kitchen. Finally, it
was this conviction of viewing all Hindus from a common prism which had
made Deoras steer the RSS away from the path pursued by Golwalkar.
According to the well-known political scientist and author, Christophe
Jaffrelot, Balasaheb Deoras’ success in reversing the process had trapped
the RSS between what should’ve been its avowed position or policy on an
issue, and what was the ‘general will of the Hindu community.’
Consequently, from the time he became the sarkaryavah in 1965, Deoras
supported ‘this strategic change of direction’ because he was ‘committed to a
more egalitarian social order than Golwalkar.’20
 Interestingly, Deoras also held a modern view of the world and
recognised the significance of a post-industrial world, while Golwalkar
remained rooted in the world preceding pre-industrialisation. Apart from his
pronounced agnosticism, one of the other reasons for Deoras’ openness was
attributed to his eclectic reading habits; he read voraciously on politics,
history, and was especially fond of war memoirs, biographies, novels in
Marathi and English, besides of course devouring books by and on V.D.
Savarkar. In contrast, Golwalkar only read religious texts. Similarly while
Deoras’ preference for Hollywood cinema, especially war movies (which he
generally watched alone at Regent Theatre, Nagpur) was well known,
Golwalkar, in all likelihood, never went to the movies.
However, one cannot attribute Balasaheb’s firm hold over the RSS as
the only reason for his drifting away from the path chalked out by Golwalkar.
He had publicly articulated his discomfort with his chief’s position almost
three decades prior to becoming the RSS chief in 1945–46 when he had
declared, ‘organisation, mobilisation and action! Organisation phase does
not continue ad infinitum.’21 He had recommended that the organisation must
move ahead, or else, the ‘RSS will become a sect and loose its relevance to
the upliftment and building of society. It will become a ritual.’
This was exactly the issue he had raised during Hedgewar’s lifetime. In
the mid-1930s, when the national movement was gaining ground after a
period of lull post the Civil Disobedience movement, Balasaheb was quoted
as saying that when questions were raised about how the daily shakhas
would ‘fulfil the dream of liberating the Hindu Rashtra…we would disagree
with doctorji and expressed our doubts.’22 But at that time, Hedgewar was
unrelenting in keeping the RSS out of mainstream politics, and the matter had
ended.
In August 1942, when Gandhi gave the call for Quit India, Deoras had
approached Golwalkar and presented a very innovative argument as follows:

In 1931, Hedgewar participated in the Jungle Satyagraha after leaving

Paranjpe in charge of the Sangh. You have declared me to be the actual
sarsanghchalak and call yourself a mere proxy holder. Since you are already
at the helm of affairs, allow me to join the Quit India movement while you
remain in charge of RSS.23
But Golwalkar would have nothing of it; he had resolved to keep the RSS
apolitical, while Deoras had sworn not to transgress his chief’s diktat. The
incident was yet another example of how the two men had clashed over the
future trajectory of the RSS.
After the initial challenges to his leadership, Madhav Sadashiv
Golwalkar settled into his role, and continued to evoke respect mainly
because of the spiritual halo around his persona. Despite the routine and
strong protestations by ideologues that the RSS is principally opposed to
personality cult, the first three chiefs of the RSS were revered figures. While
Hedgewar’s charismatic grip on the organisation was because he had
founded it, Golwalkar was the symbol of a peace-loving and detached
ascetic, and Deoras in contrast, had not only fought against being elevated to
a pedestal, but had insisted on remaining a soldier in the service of the sangh.
The deification of the supreme leader had actually taken root during
Hedgewar’s tenure, when the sarsanghchalak was given the honorific of
Param Poojaniye or its acronym in Hindi, Pa Pu, to mean His Holiness.
After becoming the sarsanghchalak, Balasaheb gave strict instructions that he
shouldn’t be referred to as Pa Pu, or be addressed reverentially at all. He
also discontinued with the tradition of keeping sarsanghchalaks’ photographs
on the mantelpiece, or be hung prominently on the walls of the office. Deoras
was of the view that while Hedgewar and Golwalkar’s pictures could
remain, there should be no space for any more additions.
However, one of the most radical steps in ending the personality cult
was his wish that after his death, he be cremated without any fuss, and no
memorial ever be erected in his name. As a result, the memorial in Nagpur’s
Reshimbagh is primarily the resting place of Keshav Baliram Hedgewar,
called the Hedgewar Smriti Mandir, with a smaller one in the same
compound for Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar. After Balasaheb Deoras’ death
on 17 June 1996, his remains were brought from Pune to Nagpur and he was
cremated as an ordinary RSS worker and not assigned any special status.
It was obvious that Balasaheb Deoras had broken with convention, and
was often perceived as a ‘reluctant’ sarsanghchalak. It was however quite
the contrary, he had lost out once, and had waited for thirty-three long years
to assume the mantle. But one thing was certain—he didn’t want to follow in
his predecessors’ footsteps, particularly the one before him. Unlike
Golwalkar who believed in the supremacy of the sarsanghchalak, Balasaheb
‘believed in the paradigm of centrality of the RSS, not many in the RSS did
the same.’24
As the supreme leader, Golwalkar may have been cognisant of the fact
that following an extraordinary-looking individual, a cult, or dogma was
traditionally an inherent part of ancient ritualistic practise. Consequently, he
‘offered the RSS cadre that very opportunity, to become his devotees.’ He
also used his spiritual charisma to advantage by creating the post of prant
pracharak who reported directly to him and not to the sanghchalak.
In contrast to the centralisation of power recommended by Hedgewar
and later furthered by Golwalkar, wherein the principle of ek chalak
anuvartitva (follow one leader) was given great importance, Deoras
introduced the twin concepts of sah chalak anuvartitva (follow many
leaders), and sarva samaveshak, or inclusive leadership. Initially there were
no takers for Deoras’ avant-garde ideas, because ‘he didn’t offer them
(swayamsevaks) spirituality—instead, he criticised traditions and
unscientific accumulations in the culture and so on.’25
A particular incident mentioned by M.K. Chauthaiwale26 is reflective
of Balasaheb’s ingenuity and what conservative Hindus would’ve considered
‘amoral’. As was well known, most swayamsevaks at the time were from
lower middle class backgrounds and struggled to pay for their uniforms, or
even offer guru dakshina which was mandatory in the RSS. In addition to
such expenses, they were also expected to raise funds for the purchase of
musical instruments for the RSS band, which accompanied senior leaders
during their tours, and also performed during Hindu festivals.
As in the case of erecting tents and building toilets, Deoras came to the
swayamsevaks’ rescue yet again and encouraged them to ‘gate crash’ into the
Brahman bhojan (feast hosted for Brahmins) during the nine-day festival of
Janmashtami. Dressed in their best silk dhotis, the swayamsevaks, mainly
Brahmins, would arrive at such venues and not only gorge on good food, but
also collect the dakshina they received as part of the offering made to
Brahmins. The monies thus collected was deposited in the RSS office and
was either used to buy musical instruments, or pay for others costs.
Despite his ‘modern’ outlook to life, Balasaheb’s ideological core was
intact. Even in the late 1930s when he could have assigned the task to others,
he would be present as chief instructor at every OTC. Deoras viewed the
conclave as hubs to assimilate swayamsevaks into a single cohesive unit.
 In 1947, a few senior leaders had gathered one night at Golwalkar’s
house to debate on a contentious issue—whether there should be a uniform
syllabus for the OTCs, or should it be customised for every region? The
question was raised by a senior functionary, Eknath Ranade (the prant
pracharak of Central India), who had also suggested that the use of shool or
trident and khadag (the crescent-shaped sword) by the cadre, be made
optional for regions.
Even as Golwalkar seemed uneasy taking a stand on the issue, Ranade
had second-guessed what the sarsanghchalak was thinking, but stuck to his
position. The debate was fast heading towards a stalemate when Balasaheb
got up and said, ‘We must take a majority view,’ but added tactically, ‘I will
disclose my opinion on the matter and then seek the views of others.’
Balasaheb proceeded to announce what he thought of Ranade’s
suggestions, and then overturned them saying he was in favour of a combined
curriculum. In a single stroke, Deoras had managed to isolate a senior
functionary, although the two men had worked closely for many years. But
when viewed from the prism of bringing about structural changes in the RSS,
Balasaheb considered pluralism as dangerous and divisive. He wished
‘complete agreement on belief systems within the organisation.’27

Unity & Conflict

It is said that the RSS’ finest hour under the leadership of Madhav Golwalkar
was in 1946 ‘when Jinnah’s Direct Action gave them the opportunity of a
lifetime. Rather than joining hands with Gandhi and nationalist forces to
defeat the partition designs, the RSS came into action to finally prove,
through proactive as well as retaliatory actions, that Hindus and Muslims
could not live together.’28 Involved as it was in issues relating to the Hindu–
Muslim conflict, the Golwalkar-led RSS was oblivious of the fact that
independence had become imminent, particularly after the end of the Second
World War. The RSS’ inability to comprehend that even Partition was a
foregone conclusion was evident during an OTC in Punjab when Golwalkar
along with Deoras and other senior leaders visited cities like Peshawar,
Lahore, Karachi and Multan, which were soon to be part of another country.
Golwalkar was later asked to address an OTC in Phagwara on ‘this side’ of
Punjab, and to a question about how the RSS viewed its role in independent
India, the chief had retorted, ‘Do you think the British will ever leave India?’
 Balasaheb Deoras was however cognisant of the tectonic shift in the
nation’s history. After becoming sarsanghchalak, he was candid enough to
point out that Golwalkar was indeed unmindful of facts. This was in response
to a question by the Organiser magazine as to why the RSS had made no
efforts to resist Partition, despite a posse of young men at its disposal?
Deoras’ reply was unequivocal, and probably the most severe indictment of
Golwalkar:

It must be frankly admitted that senior workers of the Sangh had not given
thought to the possible undesirable effects of partition on the future of the
country. Nor had the Sangh prepared to stop it. We were taken by surprise.
We may even say that we fell short in comprehensive thinking.

On his part, Balasaheb was clear about the inevitability of Partition, and the
RSS’ role in it. He wanted to alter the raison d’être vis-a-vis the RSS, but it
would happen five years later when the Bharatiya Jana Sangh was formed in
1951 to act as the political vanguard of the sangh parivar. But before that, the
RSS was faced with serious challenges, the kind it had never experienced
previously, and nor would it ever in the future.

Gandhi’s Assassination & The Ban

As mentioned earlier, unlike Golwalkar, Deoras did not consider politics to
be morally repugnant. His resolve to give shape to a more action-oriented
RSS was reinforced after his four-month stint in jail for Mahatma’s Gandhi’s
assassination. By the time Deoras was released, the government had already
initiated negotiations to get the RSS to accept certain preconditions for the
ban to be rescinded.
But the meetings were making little progress and Deoras let the
government representative know that since Golwalkar was in jail, he and
Prabhakar Dani as senior leaders of the RSS would take charge of the
negotiations. During one of the meetings in the context of curtailing RSS’
activities, Balasaheb had almost issued a veiled threat by telling the official
that besides satyagraha, the RSS would also resort to more aggressive forms
of protest.
When the warning was conveyed to the then Home Minister Sardar
Vallabhbhai Patel, he was quick to realise the gravity of the situation and
concluded that it would be far safer for the RSS to be conducting the daily
shakhas and building Hindu character, than venturing into politics. Although
Balasaheb had acted alone without having consulted Golwalkar, Patel was
aware that there were chances that the chief may not reject any such plan or
project mooted by his deputy, despite his past opposition to such
confrontational programmes. The Home Minister was proven right when in
May 1949, the government intercepted a letter written by Golwalkar to
Deoras in which he had said that because of the tardy progress in the lifting
of the ban, the RSS should start another mass movement (see chapter,
Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar, p. 98).
As mentioned earlier in the book, Mauli Chandra Sharma, a former
Congress leader who later became president of the Jana Sangh, was enlisted
with the task of negotiating with the Deoras–Dani duo. He was later joined
by the then chief minister of Central India, D.P. Mishra, and they suggested to
Deoras that Golwalkar should write a letter to the government promising that
the RSS would keep out of active politics, if he wanted the ban revoked. But
Deoras had refused point-blank, knowing full well that a written
communication could later be misused by the government.
Eventually, the government was forced to scale down its demands and
was content with a letter which was written by Golwalkar to Mauli Chandra
Sharma. In time, the ban on the RSS was rescinded, partly with assistance
from a few RSS sympathisers within the government, and despite Prime
Minister Nehru’s objections.
Unfortunately, official records pertaining to the period are hard to find,
primarily because of the ban, and also because barring Golwalkar, not many
within the RSS were in the habit of writing letters or even recording details
of meetings, which forms a major part of any political party’s history. For
instance, despite his voracious reading habit, Balasaheb Deoras had a
peculiar abhorrence for putting pen to paper. In a span of twenty-one years
when he was sarsanghchalak, Deoras mustn’t have written more than ten
letters.29 For a man who had secured a First Class in college, this was
indeed an unusual trait, and also displayed his impatience with an RSS
tradition of the chief replying to letters personally. For instance, during
Golwalkar’s tenure, official communication would be exclusively handled by
two senior functionaries—Abbaji Thatte and Krishnarao Mohrir.
On the other hand, Deoras’ personal letters, especially during his
travels, were penned by Chauthaiwale who often acted as his aide. There is a
particular incident in Chauthaiwale’s book which provides a significant
insight into Deoras’ reluctance to deal with official communique, even as his
chief, Golwalkar continued to communicate with Sardar Patel discreetly. In
early 1950, when Golwalkar was hoping that Patel would part ways with
Nehru, he decided to ‘send’ him a letter (it wasn’t sent by regular post, but
was hand-delivered by a special representative to the Home Minister). It
was also firmed up that Balasaheb should write the letter and also affix his
signature on it. Although he had agreed to sign the letter, he had refused to
write it. Eventually, Golwalkar had instructed Chauthaiwale to get a
letterhead and Deoras agreed to dictate the contents of the missive. Once the
task was done, Golwalkar made an official announcement to his close
associates forbidding them from revealing the contents of the letter.
Balasaheb responded to what was deemed to be top secret as follows:
‘Today, I do not remember anything about the contents of the letter.’30
Balasaheb’s reluctance to write that letter came into focus not only
because he was a senior functionary, but also because he was next in line to
lead the RSS. Interestingly, not only did he not want to write official letters,
but even short messages to his cadre; respond to questionnaires; make
speeches during festivals; or even endorse books, etc.
During the Emergency in 1975, Deoras was jailed as were several of
his associates who later went on to write books on their experiences. An
ingenious method was adopted to tackle the bunch of letters that Balasaheb
would receive in prison—a team of swayamsevaks with best handwritings
were assigned to him, who would reply to letters and write out other
messages on which the chief would affix his signature.
Deoras’ disinclination to write and the fact that the Vijaydashami
speech by the sarsanghchalak is the most keenly anticipated event of the
year****, made him scout for a speech-writer. This was unprecedented in the
annals of the RSS, because both Hedgewar and Golwalkar would speak
extempore. But Balasaheb proceeded to enlist the help of M.G. Vaidya, the
then Managing Editor of Tarun Bharat, the Marathi newspaper attached to
the RSS. Every year, Deoras would summon Vaidya after Ganesh visarjan
(the immersion ceremony of Lord Ganesha, after the ten-day long festival of
Ganesh Chathurti) and speak at length about his thoughts on various subjects.
The arrangement worked rather well for the duo and even for the RSS, except
once.
 In 1992, the festival of Dussehra fell two months before the horrific
demolition of the Babri masjid in Ayodhya. That year, the RSS had invited
Arun Shourie, the journalist-turned-author and also, the ex-Disinvestment
Minister in Atal Bihari Vajpayee’s government, to be the chief guest at the
celebrations. Rajendra Singh aka Rajju Bhaiyya, who was the sarkaryavah
from 1977–1987, made a concerted effort to ensure that the sarsanghchalak
presents strong views on the Ayodhya issue, which was what the Uttar
Pradesh unit of the RSS had also wished.
He decided to travel to Nagpur to make sure that Balasaheb dovetails
the RSS’ aggressive pitch on the Ram Janmabhoomi issue in his speech.
Rajju Bhaiyya met with Deoras’ private assistant, Shrikant Joshi, and asked
for a copy of his Vijaydashami speech, which was as usual written by M.G.
Vaidya. Rajju Bhaiyya’s fears were confirmed: the section on Ram temple
was rather tepid and devoid of the strong pitch that the RSS had
recommended. When Vaidya learnt about Rajju Bhaiyya’s opinion, he
decided to make changes to the speech in deference to a senior functionary.
He later turned in the redrafted speech to Balasaheb.
The next morning, Balasaheb summoned Vaidya and told him, ‘Do you
think it is the tradition in the Sangh for the sarsanghchalak to use such harsh
words?’ Without taking any names, Vaidya gave his chief the reason for the
aggressive pitch, but to no avail. The speech was restored to its original
form.
The incident reflected Balasaheb Deoras’ insistence on maintaining the
dignity of his office, while keeping politics out of the sarsanghchalak’s
purview. In the context of the Ram Janmabhoomi issue, Deoras was of the
view that the RSS had already expressed its position in a series of
resolutions since the late 1980s—for instance in 1991, when it was
suggested that the Hindus must ‘brace themselves up for any amount of
sacrifice and hardship and take forward this agitation with all the earnestness
and dedication. Victory is assured.’ After such an affirmation, aided by the
election results in 1991 when the BJP had secured a majority in Uttar
Pradesh, Deoras had felt that the RSS had already endorsed the demand for
building the Ram temple in Ayodhya.
The demolition of the Babri masjid on 6 December 1992 marked a
watershed moment in the evolution of the RSS. In more ways than one, this
was the crowning glory of Deoras’ tenure, but more of which later.
The Activist in Trouble
After the ban on the RSS was lifted, Balasaheb Deoras felt that it was time it
evolves into a full-fledged political organisation. Throughout the mid-1940s,
he had displayed great resolve when faced with Golwalkar’s insistence on
not only remaining distant from politics, but also refusing to accept the
impending reality of the subcontinent’s partition. As mentioned earlier, he
had made his views clear in his interview to the Organiser after taking over
as sarsanghchalak.
But Balasaheb stuck to his ground and made an attempt to convince his
chief about the RSS’ relevance in mainstream politics. For instance, in the
early Fifties, coinciding with the setting up of the Bharatiya Jana Sangh,
Deoras had requested that he be sent on deputation to the party, but
Golwalkar had turned down his request. The second time around in the
aftermath of Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s death in 1953, Balasaheb had yet
again submitted that he be transferred to the Jana Sangh, but it was rejected
yet again.
It was inexplicable why Golwalkar had refused to depute Deoras to the
new party, knowing full well that his vast experience would have only aided
it to evolve better. However, the sarsanghchalak had later reasoned that it
was because he had pledged to Hedgewar that Balasaheb would eventually
be nominated his successor, and therefore his deputation to another
organisation, however ideologically similar, would have been a breach.
Balasaheb Deoras however found a way to be involved with the Jana
Sangh and assisted the party in raising funds for the first general elections in
1951–52. He was known for procuring monies and once earlier during the
ban on the RSS, when all its resources were seized, Deoras had managed to
raise loans from moneylenders after signing personal hundis (financial
agreements).31 The need for loans had also arisen because Golwalkar had
prohibited voluntary donations from patrons.
That Guruji had a spiritual bent of mind was a given, and therefore his
strict adherence to propriety even while running an outfit, was evidenced
several times. Once during K.B. Hedgewar’s tenure as sarsanghchalak, a
noted industrialist and philanthropist called Jugal Kishore Birla, who was
also an RSS supporter, had requested that he be allowed to buy land in
Nagpur. The sarsanghchalak had given him permission, but had died before
the deal could be finalised. When Golwalkar had taken over as the chief,
Birla had sent his secretary to discuss the matter with him. But the newly-
appointed sarsanghchalak made it clear to him that he was against receiving
donations, either in person or even when directly given to the institution. He
said that it was incumbent upon all patrons to place the gifts before the
bhagwa dhwaj on Vijaydashami day in full public glare. Birla’s emissary had
heard him out and promised to get back, which he never did.
Unfortunately for Balasaheb, the Jana Sangh performed abysmally in the
first general elections, even as the RSS was floundering in its endeavour to
emerge as a major force. The money-lenders were worried about making
little or no recoveries, and began chasing Deoras for repayment of loans.
Deoras reported the matter to his colleagues, including Appaji, the Treasurer
who had shirked all responsibility claiming that no one had asked him to take
loans in the first place.
Eventually, Deoras had taken up the matter with Golwalkar, but the
sarsanghchalak took the plea that since Deoras had acted of his own accord,
he would have to personally bear the burden of repaying loans. According to
several accounts in the RSS, a bitter clash had ensued between the two men
—Deoras had accused Golwalkar of duplicitousness. He argued that on the
one hand, the sarsanghchalak eulogised him by constantly comparing him to
Hedgewar, but was now leaving him to his own mercies.
It needs to be mentioned here that although Deoras was not charged
with corruption or in this case, embezzlement, his colleagues in the RSS had
refused to take issue with Golwalkar to bail him out. The incident had left a
bad taste in Deoras’ mouth and he was left with no option but to withdraw
from the RSS. He left Nagpur and set up a small business in his village, and
also began overseeing his farmlands. Balasaheb therefore stayed away from
the RSS for seven long years between 1953 and 1960.
Meanwhile, efforts were on within the RSS to bring him back into the
fold. In early 1956, Bhaiyaji Dani and Eknath Ranade came up with a unique
plan to raise donations—Golwalkar was turning fifty-one that year and the
duo approached him with a proposal that they would seek donations for the
celebratory functions. They further submitted that a portion of the funds be
presented to the sarsanghchalak and the remainder be used to pay off the
twenty-one lakh rupees that Deoras had loaned from moneylenders.
But as was expected, Golwalkar rejected the proposal, adding that as a
sanyasi, he didn’t believe in vibhooti puja or personal deification. He was
firm in his conviction that neither would he accept any donations in his name,
nor allow it to be utilised for clearing debts. Even his biographer, C.P.
Bhishikar had noted that he ‘was so averse to personal name, fame and
publicity that it was an onerous task to get his consent for such an idea.’ But
Dani and Ranade anticipating such a response had come ready with an
answer and told him, ‘Granted you are a sanyasi and do not believe in such
idolatry, but then if you are a true sanyasi then your aham or pride should not
be there. But your pride is at an all time high and you are not allowing the
sangh to use your persona for its cause and clear off loans. You have become
an obstacle for the further growth of RSS.’
The sarsanghchalak did not take well to what was obviously an open
revolt and retorted, ‘If you are so unhappy with my ways, why do you not
find another sarsanghchalak?’32
‘If the need be we will look for one. We are unable to find anyone at the
moment that’s why we are bearing with you,’ Ranade had said jocularly. The
reason Ranade could take such liberties was because Golwalkar would often
joke around with his senior colleagues and this kind of camaraderie wasn’t
viewed as insolence. But perhaps things had come to a head this time around
—the episode led to bad blood between Golwalkar and Ranade and the latter
was never pardoned for the transgression. In early 1960, Ranade was
despatched to Kanya Kumari to set up the Vivekananda Rock Memorial and
returned to Nagpur only after Deoras was appointed sarsanghchalak.
Eventually, it fell upon Dani to convince Golwalkar to agree to the
felicitation plan. As planned, a committee was established and donations
were raised for the event. The Akhil Bharatiya Pratinidhi Sabha or ABPS
also passed a resolution and expressed ‘deep sense of gratitude to all the
people for their association with and unreserved contribution to the
Samarpana Nidhi offered to Shri Guruji.’
Despite the successful conclusion of the felicitation ceremony and the
raising of funds, the loans were still outstanding in Deoras’ name. In due
course, Balasaheb had to pay off the creditors from his personal money and
eventually returned to the fold.
Curiously, whenever Balasaheb visited Nagpur during this phase, he
would stay at the RSS headquarters and even attend the Vijaydashami
celebrations dressed in full uniform, but would have no verbal
communication with Golwalkar. Instead, Deoras would send his chief written
questions through a close friend and an important functionary in the RSS,
Babasaheb Talatule. Golwalkar received the questions, but made no effort to
break the ice; he would send his replies ‘orally’ through Talatule, but not
before checking if his replies were reproduced verbatim.
Eventually, Golwalkar had his way and Deoras returned to the sangh
after being persuaded by his close associates, Dani and Ranade. Initially, he
was appointed the joint prant pracharak of the Nagpur division, and was later
promoted as the all-India sah sarkaryavah. After Dani’s death in 1965,
Deoras was appointed general secretary of the RSS.
Although Balasaheb’s return was a vindication of sorts, all wasn’t well
within the RSS. His departure from the fold for reasons which were seen to
be legitimate, had caused a tremendous upheaval amongst the cadre who
were confused and were at a loss to ‘understand if Deoras had left the RSS
altogether, or was still part of the organisation.’33 That he was a figure who
evoked respect from his colleagues was evident—when he was approached
by some of them to discuss the matter, he had firmly brushed them off, ‘Do
not be after me and bother me. It is a matter between me and Guruji.’ On
being pressurised further, he had once said, ‘Whatever it may be, but I will
not allow the sangh to split into a Guru Golwalkar sangh and a Deoras sangh;
this is not what Dr Hedgewar has taught me.’34
The fact was that neither had Deoras split the parent body, nor formed a
parallel front, but he had certainly carved out a niche for himself. Prior to his
return to the fold, Deoras had started working as the publisher for the pro-
RSS Marathi newspaper, Tarun Bharat. This was a well-thought-out strategy
because there was no better tool than a Marathi newspaper to propagate
RSS’ ideology. Although he wasn’t involved in the day-to-day running of the
paper, he kept a close watch on the content and would often tick off reporters
or even the editor if he found certain anomalies in the newspaper.35 I once
recall M.G. Vaidya telling me how Deoras preferred subtlety over the use of
negative or even offensive words, especially while writing about a political
adversary, and insisted on maintaining old-fashioned conventions.
In all likelihood, Balasaheb’s stint with Tarun Bharat had made him
aware of the ways of the Indian press. I remember it was he who had started
the practise of distributing cyclostyled copies of his Vijaydashami speech to
journalists, prior to his annual address in Nagpur.
While Deoras immersed himself in activities which furthered his
mission in the RSS, the conflict between him and his chief continued, albeit
indirectly. It was an open secret in the RSS that Golwalkar and Savarkar had
serious differences, and Balasaheb used every opportunity to display his
fondness for the latter, whom he considered several notches above the rest. In
1960, the government had enacted the Reorganisation of States Act, leading
to Bombay state being divided into Maharashtra and Gujarat. As a result, not
only was the Itwari Shakha in Nagpur impacted, but many swayamsevaks
who were attached to western Maharashtra and Mahakaushal (in Madhya
Pradesh), were forced to shift to new colonies. In 1961, a reunion was
planned for the volunteers at the Koradi Devi temple complex in Nagpur.
That evening, Balasaheb Deoras had mesmerised the cadre by reciting Majhe
Mrutyupatra or My Final Testament, which is still considered to a classic
Marathi poem by V.D. Savarkar. The poem, written in the form of a letter
from Savarkar to his sister-in-law, has twenty-five stanzas, of which Deoras
had recited a particular one with great emotion:

Oh Motherland! I have dedicated my intellect to you,

To you I have dedicated my oratory,
To you I have dedicated my new poem,
You have become the sole subject of my prose

Although there is no record of Golwalkar’s reaction to Deoras’ open

veneration of Savarkar, it was well established that while Golwalkar had
routinely questioned Savarkar’s writings, the Mahasabha leader had also
kept his distance from him. Deoras’ act of invoking Savarkar through his
poem at a time when the personality cult of Guruji within the RSS reigned
supreme was indication that he wanted to keep his individuality intact,
despite having returned to the fold.
Yet another instance of Deoras’ ratification of Savarkar’s viewpoint
was mentioned by Shreerang Godbole, a medical practitioner who was also
well known for his writings on the sangh parivar. ‘In an interview given to
the Marathi daily Sobat, Deoras was asked whether the Sangh accepted
Savarkar’s definition of a Hindu. After waiting for some time, Deoras
answered in the affirmative.’

Direct Intervention in Politics

In April 1962, Balasaheb Deoras was appointed the joint general secretary,
one day before what was considered to be auspicious by the RSS—the
inauguration of the Hedgewar Memorial in Reshimbagh, Nagpur. As
mentioned earlier, such events held little significance for Deoras, and
moreover, he was at the time singularly focussed on making the RSS
politically and ideologically relevant. In 1957 (even when he had withdrawn
from the RSS), Deoras had succeeded in creating pressure on Golwalkar to
support the Jana Sangh in the second general elections. Apparently, late one
evening, Deoras had addressed a closed door meeting in the RSS
headquarters in Nagpur to drive home the point that rallying behind the Jana
Sangh had become mandatory for the RSS.
This meeting was almost like a precursor to the 1962 Jana Sangh
plenary session in Bhopal, which Deoras had wanted to address, but
Golwalkar had denied him permission. Later, a compromise was struck
between the two—Deoras was allowed to deliver a RSS baudhik at a shakha
in an adjacent venue which was attended by Jana Sangh leaders. Thus began
the tradition of the RSS holding simultaneous sessions during Jana Sangh’s
plenary sessions. As a consequence, any degree of separation between the
RSS and Jana Sangh was consigned to the backburner by Deoras, and
Golwalkar could do nothing but acquiesce.
Meanwhile in April 1962, Deoras played an active role in assisting the
Jana Sangh during its campaign for the third general elections, which were
held in end-February that year. Chauthaiwale wrote that it was Balasaheb
who had finalised the list of candidates as a result of which, members of the
Jana Sangh who normally kept a distance from RSS leaders, would often be
seen in Nagpur.36
It was Deoras who was also instrumental in putting up Deendayal
Upadhyaya as the Jana Sangh candidate in 1963 for the by-election in
Jaunpur, Uttar Pradesh. Although Upadhyaya had never before contested
elections, Deoras had nominated him with an eye on sending him to the Lok
Sabha. (Deendayal’s nomination was over yet another stalwart of the RSS,
who was recognised for his exemplary oratorical skills and later became
India’s prime minister, Atal Bihari Vajpayee.)
The decision to nominate Deendayal Upadhyaya was deemed
controversial by traditionalists within the RSS mainly for two reasons. First,
his nomination over a talented and dedicated soldier of the sangh like Atal
Bihari Vajpayee, and second, the induction of a man who was supposed to
remain focussed on organisational and ideological matters. Deoras obviously
wanted to blur the lines between what was considered to be political and
apolitical principles in the RSS, but Golwalkar, as was well known, had
always been opposed to the premise for more than a decade or so. He was of
the view that pracharaks are only to ‘organise the organisation.’37 It was for
the same reason that the sarsanghchalak was also against Deendayal
Upadhyaya taking over as president of the Jana Sangh till 1967; he felt that
pracharaks should limit their role to running the party as general secretaries.
Be that as it may, Upadhyaya eventually lost the elections and wrote in his
diary that the reason for his defeat was because he was projected as ‘an
outsider by the Congress party.’38
In the aftermath of the third general elections, Deoras’ clout in the
political circles increased manifold, and a decade later in 1977 when the
Janata Party formed the government at the Centre, several ministers were
routinely sighted in RSS offices in Nagpur and Delhi.
Balasaheb Deoras revelled in the power that he exerted on political
leaders. According to the writer Sanjeev Kelkar, the well-known journalist
Dilip Deodhar had once told him in 2007–08 that Deoras would often
confide in his close associates that, ‘Wherever I go, I will be the number one,
and that would include being a General Secretary or a Prime Minister.’39 In
my conversations with Dilip Deodhar, it was evident that people within the
sangh were aware of Deoras’ feeling that Golwalkar should have acquiesced
to his request of deputation to Jana Sangh, particularly because several RSS
loyalists were of the opinion that it would have empowered the RSS in more
ways than one.
Thereafter, Balasaheb Deoras shifted his attention to certain significant
initiatives which were started at the behest of Golwalkar, but had so far not
yielded results. This included RSS’ interest in the labour movement and
trade unions in the country. In an effort to recover lost ground in the aftermath
of the ban, Golwalkar had chosen one of his close associates, Dattopant
Thengadi to work with the Congress-affiliated Indian National Trade Union
Congress (INTUC), in order to establish a labour body affiliated to the RSS.
In July 1955, the Bharatiya Mazdoor Sangh (BMS) came into existence, but it
was only in 1964 when Thengadi was elected to the Rajya Sabha, that it was
finally decided that the moribund network be revived. Deoras was at the
forefront of this initiative and as a consequence, the first all-India BMS
conference was held in Delhi in 1967. Nearly two decades later, in 1984, it
emerged as the second largest trade union and in 1996, it overtook every
other trade union in the country.
 Yet another crucial initiative undertaken by Balasaheb was the setting
up of the Bharatiya Shikshan Mandal (BSM), which later became one of the
most potent ideological platforms for furthering the sangh parivar’s cause.
This affiliate was set up in Bombay on the day of Ram Navami in August
1969, and Deoras continued to be its leading light even after he had taken
over as sarsanghchalak.

As the Sarsanghchalak
Within a month of Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar’s death on 5 June 1973,
Balasaheb Deoras made an important speech in Nagpur sharing his optimism
for the RSS, ‘not so much on its “sanatan philosophy” as was the wont of his
predecessor, but on the “army of workers which would be the envy of
gods”.’40 With that statement, not only had Deoras dropped a hint about the
impending changes in the RSS, but had also lent his final stamp on the
significance of human endeavour over the power of ideas and ideology.
Unlike his predecessors, Golwalkar and Hedgewar, Balasaheb had
succeeded in bringing the RSS firmly under his control. As mentioned
previously, this was possible because he had invested several years in the
organisation and had effected some of the most significant changes in its
structure.
Meanwhile, for the first time after independence, India was yet again on
the threshold of a massive crisis despite the two unprecedented victories—
the first, in a major war against Pakistan in 1971 resulting in the creation of
Bangladesh, and second, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s fabulous electoral
victory in March the same year. But there was a simmering anger amongst
people who felt that corruption and hubris had made her and her government
apathetic to their needs.
Sensing a great political opportunity, Balasaheb Deoras sent out
instructions to Jana Sangh leaders that they should ‘utilise the mass
discontent for discrediting the adversary Indira Gandhi and to win the
sympathy of the masses.’41 Within weeks, at its plenary session in Kanpur in
February 1973, the Jana Sangh under the leadership of its new president,
L.K. Advani resolved to ‘organise mass unrest and to lead the struggle on the
economic and social fronts for all aggrieved sections of society.’42
Never before in its history had the RSS witnessed such a situation.
More than the space that it intended to cede, this was the first time when it
was working this closely with an affiliate: the Jana Sangh. The opportunity
had literally fallen into its lap considering the ruling government at the
Centre was reeling under major crises, including price rise with inflation
exceeding twenty-three per cent; successive failure of the monsoons resulting
in food shortages; and a massive industrial unrest leading to strikes and
lockouts. Balasaheb moved with great alacrity to strike at the very roots of
Mrs Gandhi’s government and decided to take it beyond the realm of
activism. His entire approach was ‘tinged with populism, a tendency that
grew out of his wish to speed up RSS’ penetration of the whole body of
society by combining the Sangathanist method with the propaganda of a kind
that could rally whole sections of public opinion en bloc.’43
In the twenty-one years of his career as RSS sarsanghchalak, Balasaheb
Deoras shall be best remembered for three major achievements. The first
was the agitation launched against the misdemeanours of Mrs Gandhi’s
government which led her amongst other reasons, to impose the Emergency in
June 1975. The second was in bringing to power the first non-Congress
government at the Centre and thereby catapulting the sangh parivar to the
mainstream. Third and finally two decades later, his grandiose plan of
making the Ram Janmabhoomi agitation the kernel of India’s Right-wing
politics in the twenty-first century.
Although there was no doubt that the newly-appointed sarsanghchalak
had affected major changes, the cadre in far-flung areas had not only been
unable to come to terms with the death of Golwalkar, but had failed to fully
comprehend whether the transition ‘was to mean a complete change in the
style, functioning and thinking of Golwalkar’s RSS.’44
Balasaheb was aware of the latent resentment amongst several of his
peers and in order to restore faith, he brought back a few veterans who had
been forced to exist in the periphery of the sangh, including Eknath Ranade,
Vasantrao Oke, Madhukar Deval, and V.V. Pendsey. Of the lot, Deval’s return
to the fold was extremely significant as he withdrew from regular sangh
activities and proceeded to work amongst Dalits, a move which was not only
ratified by Balasaheb, but he also donated a princely sum of one lakh rupees
(that he had been awarded as prize money) to the project.
A few months later in December 1974, in a bitter indictment of the
Golwalkar era, Balasaheb spoke about a ‘crisis of character and credibility’
in the organisation. He went on to add that ‘the responsibility of what needs
to be done will come over to us and we will have to accept that.’ He
continued in the same vein, adding that, ‘We,’ had avoided taking
responsibility previously, but now ‘this will not do.’ Within six months of
taking charge, Deoras had infused his cadre with a renewed sense of
purpose, brought in loyalists, and eased out those who were reluctant to
accept his leadership.
This was manifest when the students’ affiliate of the RSS, the ABVP
had plunged into the Gujarat Navnirman agitation which soon galvanised into
a nationwide protest movement against the Congress, with Jayaprakash
Narayan or JP at its helm. In the same period, the ABPS passed a very
important resolution, portions of which read as follows:

The RSS believes that the present atmosphere of all-round corruption and
selfishness can be cleansed only by the generation of such a pure stream of
patriotism. Having directed all its energies towards that end, the Sangh
hereby extends its hearty co-operation to every such effort from any
direction.

This was an important resolution because the RSS was finally clear that there
was merit in engaging in active politics. It was now ready to shed the yoke of
being a mere socio-cultural outfit that it was made out to be. There were
three other extremely remarkable events witnessed in 1974–75 which had
unfolded against the backdrop of an unprecedented display of camaraderie
between JP and Balasaheb.
In March 1975, Jayaprakash Narayan consented to attend the Jana
Sangh’s plenary session in Delhi; he had already invited the party to
participate in the Opposition’s protest march to parliament, much to the
consternation of other anti-Congress leaders. At the meeting in Delhi, JP
gave the party, what decades later its leaders would term, a ‘clean chit’.
Jayaprakash had said to the RSS, ‘If you are fascist, then I too am a fascist.’
Thereafter it was the turn of the RSS chief to praise JP when he
compared him to Mahatma Gandhi, Acharya Vinoba Bhave, and Golwalkar.
‘He (JP) is like sanyasins of old who remained aloof and yet did not hesitate
to lead the people when the rulers went astray.’ By elevating JP to the
pedestal of the Mahatma, Deoras had with one stroke overturned the
Congress’ allegation that the leader from Bihar was destabilising India at the
behest of foreign powers. But by placing Golwalkar in the exalted gallery of
the greats, Deoras had deftly attempted to rid the RSS of its links with
Nathuram Godse. This shift in eulogising Gandhi, albeit indirectly, was a
significant step for the RSS. But before detailing how Deoras went about
building what The Economist once described as the ‘only non Left-wing
revolutionary force in the world,’ we shall turn our attention to the third most
important event of 1974—Deoras’ speech at an annual event in Pune.

A Watershed Lecture
The annual Vasant Vyakhanmala (or the Spring Lecture Series) was started by
the multi-faceted, Justice M.G. Ranade in 1875 along with Bal Gangadhar
Tilak. Amongst other things, the series which was held in the second half of
April in Pune, was aimed at reviving intellectual discourse in society, and
provided a platform for speakers to exchange ideas on various topics.
In 1974, Balasaheb Deoras was invited to deliver the lecture and his
topic for the series’ centenary year was, ‘Social Equality and Hindu
Consolidation’. It was no wonder that his lecture had evoked a lot of
curiosity amongst the intelligentsia, but most importantly, about how he
would address the issue of forging Hindu consolidation at a time when major
caste distinctions existed in the community, etc.
In his address of 8 May 1974, Deoras told his audience at the outset that
he had selected the topic because:

Hindu consolidation is a must for the welfare of the nation. Hence all aspects
of it are important. Even among them, the aspect of social equality being a
delicate and currently relevant one, appealed to me.45

He then proceeded to position himself more as a grassroots leader, and said:

I do not claim to be one among the thinkers and scholars of the society. But I
have moved much amongst our people. That has given me many experiences
and ideas and also a peep into the feelings of the people.

Thereafter Balasaheb threw a question to the audience: ‘Who is a Hindu?’

Although several hands had gone up and many definitions were put forward,
Deoras argued that none of them were perfect, since each one, however
carefully worded, ‘suffers from the defect of being either ”too short/brief”
(avyapti) or “too expansive” (ativyapti).’ In his explanation, Deoras
submitted that he first wished to detail which communities were excluded
from Hindu society. In order to expand on the premise, he referred to the
Hindu Code Bills which were passed in 1956 and argued that because they
were applicable to all, except Muslims, Christians and Jews, every citizen
whose personal matters were governed by them, were Hindus, including,
‘Sanatanis, Lingayats, Arya Samajists, Jains, Sikhs and Buddhists and even
others who did not come under any of these categories.’ Deoras was upfront
about his objective:

We want to organize or consolidate all the Hindus. Organization does not

merely mean a crowd, a front or a meeting. Organization implies bringing
and keeping the people together and making them realize the purpose for their
remaining together.

Deoras however accepted that this wasn’t an easy task, and how it had
become necessary to ‘furnish some basis for it. And some of those basic
factors of unity will have to be necessarily emotional in content.’ He then
added that there was no better way to enlist support from people than evoke
‘our motherland, we are its children and we have been living here for the
past thousands of years.’
After gauging the mood of his audience, Balasaheb became aware that
many may perhaps squirm at his attempts to deify the nation, and provided a
justification as follows:

Even Stalin had to remind his compatriots that they all belonged to a single,
great nation, when Russia faced a terrible ordeal during the Second World
War. He had to invoke the spirit of ‘nationalism’ and ‘fatherland.’ The
necessity of such an emotional inspiration is beyond controversy.

It may be recalled that right at the outset, Deoras had excluded Muslims,
Christians and Jews from his ‘project consolidation’. Yet, despite the Hindu
Code Bills which had created a de facto Hindu society, he highlighted how
the community was still divided on several lines. The sarsanghchalak argued
that there were enough instances in the history of India to show how,

just a handful of Muslims and even fewer Englishmen could rule over us and
could forcibly convert many of our brethren to their religions. They also
created controversies like ‘Brahmin and non-Brahmin’, ‘Savarna and
Asprishya’.

We have to admit that social inequality amongst us has been a reason for our
downfall. Fissiparous tendencies like caste and sub-caste rivalries and
untouchability have all been the manifestation of this social inequality.

Balasaheb acknowledged that although members of the sangh parivar were

‘immensely proud of our Dharma and our Sanskriti,’ it was sheer lip service
in the face of the larger problem of caste divisions in society. The RSS chief
acknowledged that not everything was sacrosanct anyway, and, ‘while
cherishing this pride (in heritage) it would not do to think that all that is old
is gold…Just because something is old, it need not necessarily be good or
eternal or the gospel truth.’ He was emphatic about the need to end caste
divisions and recommended introducing reforms within Hindu society.
As mentioned earlier, Deoras was a sworn agnostic from a young age,
and was severely critical of the tendency to blindly follow Hindu scriptures.
He elaborated on the point during the lecture, adding,

it has been said in the Puranas that the lunar and solar eclipses are a result of
“Raahu and Ketu swallowing the Moon and the Sun”. But should we, in
order to affirm our devotion to our old religious texts, incorporate this story
in the school text books to explain to the children why the eclipses take
place?

But what stood out in his lecture prominently was his focus on the caste
system and its effects on social stratification, which many felt had a larger
purpose. Although Balasaheb had cleverly sidestepped the reason for his
focus on the scourge of casteism, there was little doubt that much of what he
spoke in Pune was to eclipse the controversy which had erupted after
Golwalkar’s interview to the Marathi newspaper Nava Kal in which he had
expounded on the chaturvarna or the four-tiered caste system. In an article in
the Mainstream, Subhash Ghatade wrote that the then RSS chief, ‘had
extolled the virtues of Chaturvarnya (the division of the Hindus in four
Varnas) and had also glorified Manusmriti, the ancient edicts of the
Hindus.’46
 In what was an interesting reference, Balasaheb Deoras had mentioned
Milovan Djilas (the Vice President of Yugoslavia under Josip Broz Tito) and
his book titled, New Class and said that although ‘communism aimed at the
removal of all types of inequalities… a new class has come up in all
communist countries,’ demonstrating how Communism also encourages an
inequitable system. Varna vyavastha or the caste system, argued Deoras was
similar because it was,

no exception to this human weakness and as a result it became distorted and

it collapsed. But none can say that the originators of the system had any such
perverse intentions in their mind when they introduced it.

Drawing on the colloquial roti-beti-vyavahaar dictum, meaning eating and

marrying outside one’s caste, Deoras said that in the past this may have
invited severe social penalties, but with time, particularly with the Jhunka-
Bhakar Sangh in Maharashtra, this barrier was lowered.
In sharp contrast to Deoras’ view of removing caste discrimination in
Hindu society, his predecessor, M.S. Golwalkar had remained unconcerned
about it throughout his tenure as sarsanghchalak. In an interaction with
journalists in Bangalore (now, Bengaluru) in February 1973, he had spoken
about reservations for the Scheduled Castes and Tribes and said, ‘We are
opposed to continued special privileges on the basis of caste only, as it
would create vested interests in them in remaining as a separate entity. That
would harm their integration with the rest of the society.’ In yet another
interview in 1969 when Golwalkar was asked if ‘samskaars’ (values) could
be imparted to nomadic tribes, his reply was startling:

If we could domesticate even the wild animals roaming the jungles, can we
not persuade our own people to take to better and more stabilized ways of
life? Certainly we can, provided we display the human touch.47

The two contrasting approaches in alleviating social discrimination was

indicative of the serious ideological split in the sangh parivar. But Balasaheb
was undeterred and adhered to his core beliefs which was manifest at
various levels within the organisation. For instance, in the 1974 OTC, a
special session was devoted to the Vyakhanmala lecture series; at the ABPS
meeting, the issue of reservation was discussed at length and references were
made to the use of inappropriate language by Dalit leaders. Deoras had
intervened in the debate, and while accepting its relevance, he had added that
if members of the upper castes had been ostracised for centuries and
subjected to all kinds of humiliation and discrimination, they may have also
used objectionable language.
That Deoras had to continue waging a political battle against caste-
based inequalities a decade and a half after the Pune lecture demonstrated the
inherent prejudice within the RSS towards the lower castes. In 1974, the
reaction ‘in the dominant and majority psyche of the Sangh was at variance
with the way Deoras thought.’48 The new sarsanghchalak had to wait for
more than a decade before there was some semblance of a change in the
dominant sections of the RSS when a few Dalits of Meenakshipuram in Tamil
Nadu had converted to Islam and had thereby rejected the caste biases in
Hindu society.

Expanding the Horizons

In February 1967, when the Jana Sangh had notched its best electoral
performance in history by winning thirty-five of the 520 parliamentary seats
in Lok Sabha, and more than 250 seats in state assemblies, it was attributed
to Deoras’ far-sightedness in appointing Deendayal Upadhyaya as party
president. Going against conventional wisdom, the Jana Sangh had promptly
joined the coalition governments in Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan and Madhya
Pradesh. Balasaheb Deoras and Deendayal Upadhyaya saw these
governments as temporary arrangements, although many in the party,
including Atal Bihari Vajpayee, were euphoric that they had finally secured a
place in electoral politics. Although Deoras viewed Vajpayee as an
‘indulgent child,’49 he guided him into taking certain radical steps, for
example, extending support to Indira Gandhi’s move of nationalising banks,
and the abolition of privy purses.
This resulted in a ‘revolt on the Right’50 with the former president of
Jana Sangh, Balraj Madhok filing a petition in the Supreme Court against
what he thought was a reversal of the party’s official principles. A few
months before he became the RSS chief in 1973, Deoras saw logic in
Vajpayee’s and his close associate, L.K. Advani’s point of view and
supported their decision to expel Balraj Madhok from the Jana Sangh. For
more than a year after his expulsion, Madhok who was one of the founder
members of the Jana Sangh, continued his tirade against Deoras alleging that
he was instrumental for his eviction from the party. Initially, Deoras would
respond to every accusation made by Madhok, but when his broadside did
not subside, he quit acknowledging his letters.
While the core ideology and programmes of the Jana Sangh was at
variance with those of its coalition partners, this wasn’t the only reason for
the demise of India’s first major experiment with a confederation of parties.
Deoras had been closely observing the political developments in the run-up
to the coalition government and had deputed the then general secretary of
Jana Sangh, Nanaji Deshmukh to reach out to Jayaprakash Narayan.
In March 1974, K.N. Govindacharya and Sushil Modi (now Deputy
Chief Minister of Bihar) approached Jayaprakash Narayan. ‘JP finally
agreed to take charge of the entire movement, but on two conditions—the
movement will be entirely non-violent and his leadership will be absolute,’
reminisced Govindacharya in an article to mark the fortieth anniversary of
the Emergency.51
Balasaheb agreed to JP’s preconditions, but not before placing his on
the table tacitly and that being the validation for the RSS. Despite his own
stated objective of remaining clear of power politics, JP was aware that
without the massive RSS network, the sampoorna kranti or total revolution
movement that he had launched against Indira Gandhi would remain a non-
starter.
While JP appointed key members of the RSS in crucial committees,
Balasaheb began meeting influencers who had in the past been critical of the
RSS. His first stop was the Paunar Ashram in Wardha district to meet
Acharya Vinoba Bhave, who at the end of the meeting declared himself to be
‘an unofficial member of the Sangh.’
Meanwhile, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi who was hemmed-in from
all sides decided to mount an aggressive campaign to rein in her adversaries,
including JP, the RSS and other motley groups which had joined hands to
destabilise her government. Amongst several other charges, they were
accused of acting at the behest of Western imperialists, primarily America,
which led to violent agitations across the country. While the RSS vehemently
rejected the charges, the ABPS adopted a resolution saying that ‘the people
will not be carried away by such false and malicious propaganda.’52
On 1 December 1974, Balasaheb Deoras in his speech in Delhi’s
Ramlila Maidan criticised Indira Gandhi’s government for its reiteration of
‘hard days ahead, critical days ahead’ citing the global financial crisis,
repeated failure of the monsoons, and heavy spends during the 1971 war as
factors for the political crisis in the country. He ridiculed the Congress
government and commented that ‘nations make progress in spite of the
adversity of circumstances. It is no use giving explanations.’53 Even as Indira
Gandhi’s failures were at the centre of the political narrative, Deoras was
deftly moving the RSS away from its ideological core and creating the most
audacious political strategy ever witnessed in the history of the sangh.
On 12 June 1975, the Allahabad High Court charged Indira Gandhi with
electoral malpractices and set aside her 1971 election. By now, most of her
political adversaries, including Deoras knew that in the aftermath of the
judgement, preceded by the consolidation of Opposition forces, Mrs Gandhi
would take drastic steps to secure her position.
Balasaheb called a meeting of the RSS’ top brass in Firozabad, UP,
which was attended by Nanaji Deshmukh and Madhavrao Mule to discuss
pre-emptive measures in case the government swooped down to arrest any of
them. Meanwhile, there was hectic activity in JP’s camp as well, for he along
with his associates were readying themselves for a large gathering in the
capital on 25 June 1975. Prior to the public meeting, JP constituted a Lok
Sangharsh Samiti (LSS; or the People’s Struggle Committee) with Morarji
Desai as president and Nanaji Deshmukh as general secretary. Although
Ravindra Verma, a leader of the Madhya Pradesh Congress (O) was
appointed to the post, the RSS regained control over the LSS when Verma
was arrested and Dattopant Thengadi took over after his resignation from the
Bharatiya Mazdoor Sangh. Finally, Deoras’ strategy of backing JP had paid
him rich dividends.
On 25 June 1975, although a galaxy of leaders took turns in delivering
thundering speeches against Mrs Gandhi, it fell upon Nanaji Deshmukh to
announce the next phase of the agitation which included a satyagraha at the
prime minister’s residence, exhorting her to resign.
However, on the midnight of 26 June, Indira Gandhi imposed the
Emergency and the Opposition’s plans came to naught. Hundreds of senior
Opposition leaders, including Lal Krishna Advani and others were thrown
into jail. Balasaheb was arrested in the most dramatic fashion a few days
later at Nagpur railway station while he was on board the GT Express. On 4
July 1975, the RSS was proscribed for the second time in history. But unlike
the first time when it was banned in the aftermath of Mahatma Gandhi’s
assassination in 1948, in 1975, ‘the RSS was not isolated like in 1948, and
had formed a close working relationship with other opposition parties.’54
In the last week of July 1975, senior office-bearers of the RSS who had
either gone underground or had evaded arrest, met in Bombay to discuss the
future course of action. With Balasaheb in jail, Madhavrao Mule was
designated as the RSS chief, while a temporary zonal hierarchical structure
was set up as follows—Yadav Rao Joshi (south; he was later credited with
setting up the RSS in Karnataka); Moreshwar Moropant Pingle (west);
Bhaurao Deoras (east); and Rajju Bhaiyya (north). Besides these zonal
heads, Rambhau Godbole, the organising secretary for Bihar and West
Bengal was given the additional responsibility of coordinating with
Opposition parties; Moropant Pingle was made responsible for liaising with
the LSS; while Eknath Ranade was given the crucial task of handling
negotiations with the government.55 What seemed like a school roster was in
fact a significant step in RSS’ history as it heralded a complete break from
the past. In 1975–76, the RSS of the Fifties was not only a forgotten chapter,
but under Deoras was very much discarded as well.
The July meeting also devised a four-pronged plan to tackle the
Emergency: to keep the volunteers’ morale high; setting up an underground
network to print and distribute literature; planning for a nationwide
satyagraha; and establishing an overseas network. There was a fifth one,
which was not only treated as top priority but kept a closely guarded secret
and handed over to Eknath Ranade: to liaise with Indira Gandhi. It may be
recalled that even in 1948–49, it was Ranade, who along with Dani, had
negotiated with the government about rescinding the ban on the RSS.
However this time around, the RSS was faced with a woman prime
minister who was known to put her adversaries in place. The imposition of
Emergency notwithstanding, Indira Gandhi was known to be ruthless when
faced with any kind of opposition. On 5 August 1975, she imposed the
draconian Maintenance of Internal Security Act (MISA) and in a nationwide
swoop arrested more than twenty-three thousand swayamsevaks.
Balasaheb Deoras who was himself languishing in jail, was stunned by
her action and was forced to placate the prime minister in order to get the
RSS back on track. He wrote two letters to the prime minister—the first in
August, and the second in November. In his first missive, Deoras praised her
Independence Day speech, while in his second letter, he congratulated her
after the Supreme Court upheld her 1971 election from Raebareli.
 However, while researching for this book, I discovered that the impact
of these letters from the sarsanghchalak to Prime Minister Indira Gandhi is
seldom discussed in the RSS. There was a third letter which Balasaheb had
written in July 1976 enquiring about Mrs Gandhi’s efforts to improve
relations with Islamabad and Peking (now, Beijing).
In this entire letter-writing exercise, Eknath Ranade had acted as a
bridge between the two—while his chief reposed his trust in him, Indira
Gandhi was appreciative of his work at the Vivekananda Kendra in Kanya
Kumari. In early 1970s, she had even suggested to Ranade that instead of
propagating the sangh’s idea of Vivekananda as the symbol of Hindu India, he
should collaborate with the Centre to promote the seer-philosopher as an
Indian icon across the world.
Even as the pretence of civility was maintained by both Balasaheb and
Indira Gandhi, the RSS went ahead with their plan of launching a nationwide
satyagraha on 14 November, a date they chose carefully as it happened to be
Pandit Nehru’s birth anniversary, in which more than forty thousand
swayamsevaks courted arrested from different parts of the country. What was
interesting about the protest was that although the RSS was at the forefront of
the campaign and the majority of arrests were of its cadre, the LSS which had
also participated in the agitation, didn’t ask for the removal of the ban on the
RSS. This was so typical of Deoras who wanted to convey the impression
that the RSS was motivated by pure national interest, than by reasons of
opportunism.56
Balasaheb had also succeeded in bringing to fruition a rather dubious
game plan—the infiltration of RSS men into the Youth Congress, which was
helmed by Sanjay Gandhi. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had later admitted
that ‘there had been large-scale infiltration of RSS men into the Youth
Congress ranks.’57 Additionally and rather startlingly, ‘RSS leaders were of
the opinion that Sanjay, with his confirmed enmity towards communists and
opposition to measures like nationalisation, was nearer to their own ideology
and politics.’58 There were also reports that in order to forge an alliance
with the Congress party, the RSS had proposed making fundamental changes
to its structure which included appointing a president in place of a
sarsanghchalak, and even the ‘admission to non-Hindus was decided upon
and conveyed to Sanjay Gandhi.’59
It was probably a result of this so-called infiltration that the government
had hoped that it would succeed in neutralising the RSS after the Emergency
in January 1977 and hold fresh elections. In what was a blatant act of volte-
face, all the political prisoners were released, except those belonging to the
RSS. In the weeks before the poll process had picked up steam, Indira
Gandhi directed that meetings be held with underground RSS leaders. It was
clear that she had succeeded in creating panic amongst swayamsevaks by
extending their detention, and when a government representative met with
them she had fanned it further by saying that in the event of a Congress
victory, the RSS and its cadre could see worse days.
In return for the unconditional release of its members and rescinding the
ban, the RSS was advised to stay away from the poll process, and also exert
pressure on the Jana Sangh to stay out of the Janata alliance. But it was
rejected by the RSS negotiators who contended that the Congress had lost a
golden chance by not responding to Deoras’ missives to Indira Gandhi in
1975.60
Eventually, Balasaheb Deoras was released from jail on 21 March
1977 and the ban on the RSS was also lifted the same day. After spending
two days in Bombay, Deoras took a train to Nagpur and was given a hero’s
welcome at a huge gathering in the city. As sarsanghchalak, Deoras had
effected major changes in the RSS, and could have rested on his laurels. But
that was not to be.

Despite her conduct during the Emergency, Indira Gandhi had somehow
succeeded in endearing herself to the RSS. The reason: her unique talent of
resorting to jingoism. According to several political commentators, although
Balasaheb Deoras’ letters to the prime minister were cited as evidence of his
lack of political courage and conviction, it’s most likely that this was part of
a tactical ploy, much like what the RSS had planned vis-a-vis the Congress in
1948–50.
Initially, Deoras may have worked on the premise that a besieged Indira
Gandhi may respond favourably to his offer of a friendship and therefore
wrote her letters, particularly the one praising her for her Independence Day
speech. What was however most perplexing was not so much his extending
an olive branch to her, but that he was well aware of the LSS’ plan of
launching a nationwide stir against the Emergency. In the end, it was not so
much servility, but his duplicitousness in the entire incident which had come
to the forefront.
Truth be told, no one had any illusions about Deoras’ friendly overtures
towards Indira Gandhi—it wasn’t for any other reason, save the fact that she
carried the reputation of being a strong leader, which was given more
credence after the 1971 Indo-Pak war when Atal Bihari Vajpayee had
apparently described her as the very incarnate of goddess Durga. However,
Advani had later disputed this claim and argued that although Vajpayee had
supported her for the war effort in a Lok Sabha speech, the Durga
comparison was made by a member of the Jana Sangh Working Committee at
the Ghaziabad national session in 1971. Be that as it may, it only goes to
prove that sections of the sangh parivar held Indira Gandhi in high esteem.
The pop-nationalism rhetoric which Indira had mastered over the years, was
lapped up by the sangh—for instance, she had no qualms about lavishing
praise on the Rajput king Maharana Pratap during one of her visits to
Haldighati in Rajasthan, much like what a typical RSS member was wont to
do. Despite similarities such as this, there was no question of a truck
between the lady and the RSS, simply because both were at one level
indulging in power politics which had little or nothing to do with ideology.
Although Deoras was still in jail during the 1977 election campaign, he
kept abreast of every political development and was insistent that the Jana
Sangh be part of the coalition. In April 1977, when a group of MPs who had
won the elections held a reception for Deoras, he had said in his speech that
the, ‘ban and imprisonment has been regarded by the Sangh as a blessing in
disguise as this sojourn (in jail) has helped in dispelling many misgivings
about the RSS which has provided beneficial to national unity of the new
party.’ It was clear that Deoras wanted others to recognise that the RSS was
not unacceptable any longer and was in fact a preferred partner in the
coalition. It had taken Deoras an entire decade to end the sangh parivar’s
ostracisation which had begun with Gandhi’s assassination, and he had
resolved not to thwart it for anything in the world.
However, Deoras was forced to begin his new sojourn with a
compromise. The Janata Party had firmed up on its prime ministerial
candidate prior to the elections, and while Morarji Desai and Charan Singh
were the front-runners for the post, Deoras had personally rooted for
Jagjivan Ram because he had felt that his departure from the Congress, along
with Hemvati Nandan Bahuguna, had given a fillip to the anti-Indira
campaign. This claim was however disputed by Madhu Limaye who wrote in
1979 that the RSS ‘simultaneously dangled the carrot of the prime minister’s
chair before several Janata Party leaders. On the one hand, they went on
assuring Morarji Desai to the end that he was their choice for prime minister.
Every now and then they would promise Chaudhary Charan Singh that they
would support his claim to be prime minister. Concurrently, they kept giving
similar assurances to Chandra Shekhar, Jagjivan Ram and George
Fernandes.’
There is no record to prove if Deoras was playing a devious game. But
according to M.K. Chauthaiwale, Deoras had had a tough time convincing his
core team that it was expedient to put the politics of Hindu consolidation on
the back-burner and allow the Jana Sangh to become part of the political
mainstream. Besides what was obviously an ideological compromise, the
Jana Sangh had to settle for a lesser role in the Cabinet, and Deoras had
attributed that to the sacrifice made by the sangh in providing stability to the
Janata government.61 According to some members of the RSS, Morarji Desai
had offered a Cabinet berth to Nanaji Deshmukh, but it was politely turned
down because Deoras did not wish the organising secretary of the Jana Sangh
to accept a ministerial berth. For a man who had once pushed Deendayal
Upadhyaya into mainstream politics, the decision to keep Deshmukh out of
the government was most puzzling.
Meanwhile, the Janata Party experiment was turning out to be a
disaster. The ‘Socialist’ group within the coalition had begun to rear its head
and demanded to know why the RSS must not throw open its membership to
non-Hindus; abandon Hindu consolidation as one of its objectives; jettison
the bhagwa dhwaj; and introduce intra-organisation polls to elect office-
bearers, including the sarsanghchalak. The sangh viewed it as typical Muslim
appeasement politics practised by some of the groups within the coalition
who were seeking to consolidate the Muslim vote bank which had shifted
from the Congress after the forced sterilisation drive led by Sanjay Gandhi
during the Emergency. Balasaheb was obviously in a bind because he had
encouraged his cadre for months to rise above their ideological moorings to
assimilate with the new government at the Centre. But there was little he
could have done to salvage the situation.

Main Challenges
Balasaheb was faced with three main challenges during the Janata years.
First, to formulate the RSS’ response to demands for altering its core
principle of Hindu consolidation. According to several accounts, this was
manifest prominently in two ways—the RSS’ refusal in allowing non-Hindus
(read Muslims) to become members, and second, the Jana Sangh’s hot pursuit
for introducing legislations banning cow slaughter; prohibition of religious
conversions; and championing other Hindu revivalist agendas like the
revision of school textbooks on Social Sciences.
The second challenge that Deoras faced was actually a conundrum—
over the relationship dynamics with members of the Jana Sangh after it was
dissolved in 1977—whether to maintain a status quo or detach completely.
Critics of the RSS within the Janata government gave this dilemma a name
—‘dual membership’ and demanded that members of the erstwhile Jana
Sangh sever all links with the RSS.
The final obstacle for Deoras was about orchestrating the RSS’ future
trajectory in Indian politics. In the past, whenever his advise was sought on
the subject, he would say in Hindi, ‘Dason dishaon mein jao’ (Go in every
direction; the word, dason denotes the numerical ten in Hindi, but also the
multiple hands of certain Hindu gods). The crucial question for any ordinary
pracharak at the time was which direction should the beleaguered RSS be
now taking, considering it was hemmed-in from all sides.
After the Socialists in the government, several others followed and
demanded that the RSS must allow Muslims (also Christians and Parsis) to
become members. Apart from what they felt went against the grain of a
secular democratic republic, they were also apprehensive that the Muslims
may go back to the Congress’ fold. The RSS had deliberated over this issue
during the Emergency, and Madahvrao Mule had even announced that such a
proposal was under consideration. After his release from jail, although
Deoras had made a passing mention of it, he was quoted as saying that he
hadn’t given it much thought.62 During the anti-Emergency struggle, a few
RSS and Jamaat-e-Islami leaders were forced to share space in prisons, and
the criticism of the Congress’ forced sterilisation campaign by the former had
interestingly secured the support of even the Imam Bukhari of Delhi’s Jama
Masjid. Once the Muslims’ membership issue was made public, the Imam
obviously expected Deoras to deliver on the promise.
Similarly, in so far as JP was concerned, it wasn’t as if he was unaware
that the RSS had succeeded in getting political legitimacy by partnering with
him. In return, he expected them to make his task of managing a fractious
coalition easier. As a result, he also wrote a letter in September 1977
demanding that the RSS must throw open its doors to Muslims. Eventually,
before the year was over, Deoras made a startling announcement that the RSS
was now open to non-Hindus. But this so-called declaration was obviously a
smokescreen because the ‘RSS did not change its traditional Hindu revivalist
goals.’63 Moreover in a speech that he later made, Deoras worded his intent
rather smartly by saying that the ‘doors (of RSS) were open’ for them ‘if
Muslims believed that India (read Bharatvarsha—emphasis mine) was their
country, that their past was in this land and they were ready to comply with
the minimum demands of the rituals of the shakha.’64
Even today, the RSS maintains that:

Christians and Muslims who live in Bharat have not come from an alien land,
rather they are all children of this nation. All our forefathers and ancestors
are from this country. If for any reason, a person changes his religion then that
does not mean that they should change their values and vision towards life.
So Christians, Muslims or people following any other religion who live in
Bharat and who subscribe to the world view of Bharat are all ‘Hindus’. They
are welcome to be in the RSS.65

Meanwhile, the clamour for the RSS to abandon its objective of Hindu
consolidation was getting louder by the day. The government then decided to
assign the Janata Party president, Chandrashekhar to open talks with Deoras
on the issue. The ‘Young Turk’ who later became prime minister of India,
was travelling to Chennai en route Nagpur and met Deoras in the VIP lounge
of the airport where the two held a brief one-on-one session. It was made
known to the press that certain key decisions were arrived at during the
meeting, but neither leader was willing to reveal the details.
But in the next eighteen months or so, Deoras was seen to be making
several concessions, of which some were as follows:

while insisting that there would be no dilution in RSS’ ideology, he agreed to

imposing no conditions on swayamsevaks who wished to be associated with
other organisations.
former members of the Jana Sangh should conform to the code of conduct of
the Janata Party, and that the RSS shall not interfere in the matter.

there was no necessity for swayamsevaks in politics to retain close contact

with the RSS.

they must avoid advocating the idea of Hindutva in the government.

dilution of the RSS ideology and its programmes—OTCs, winter camps,

speeches etc.

On witnessing that Deoras had yielded appreciably, the critics upped their
ante, suggesting that ex-Jana Sangh lawmakers must secure a declaration
from the RSS that they would not be bound by any directions or expectations
from the sangh. In order to ensure the continued presence of RSS in the ruling
party, albeit obliquely, Deoras accepted even this demand stating that all
legislators at the Central and state levels would henceforth be free from all
obligations of the RSS. Yet, he refused to direct any swayamsevak to stay
away from either the shakhas or any other activity associated with the RSS, if
done voluntarily. He also declared with confidence that despite the
declaration, none of the elected representatives would ‘ever give up their
loyalty to the RSS.’66
Two decades after the collapse of the Janata Party government, while
on a state visit to the US, Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee had famously
said, ‘Once a swayamsevak, always a swayamsevak.’ There couldn’t have
been a more apt description of what Balasaheb Deoras had said, and really
meant.
However, Balasaheb’s long list of concessions to the Janata Party
government was severely resented by many of his peers. It was noticed how
during his public speeches, Deoras would take extra precaution to steer clear
of three key words, which still form the kernel of the RSS—Hindu, Hindutva
and Hindu Rashtra.
Finally, it took a senior leader and sanghchalak of Maharashtra,
Kakasaheb Limaye to caution Deoras. In a letter to him, Kakasaheb wrote
that the chief should stick to his brief of running the sangh on the guidelines
laid down by K.B. Hedgewar. ‘Do not alter that sangh,’ Limaye chastised
Balasaheb and added for good measure, ‘if you still wish to make alterations,
then kindly go and develop an alternate sangh.’ Following Limaye’s stern
letter, other voices of protests also joined in and it was recommended that the
matter be cleared before things got out of hand. It finally fell upon Rajju
Bhaiyya to clarify that there was no change in the RSS’ ideology, but for the
nation’s good, it was decided to take a temporary break from advocating its
core principles.67
Deoras’ tactical retreat paid rich dividends—the government began to
involve the RSS in crucial sectors like External Affairs, Education and
media. A large international conference backed by the foreign ministry was
held in New Delhi under the aegis of the Friends of India Society
International, headed by north India sanghchalak, Hans Raj Gupta. The
ministry of External Affairs even acceded to ‘polite suggestions for taking the
sangh men on foreign trips.’68 Those criticising the RSS were blocked out;
the history curriculum and related research bodies were specifically
targeted. An anonymous memorandum began making the rounds alleging that
the Communists had ‘colonised’ autonomous educational bodies like the
Indian Council of Historical Research (ICHR), Indian Council of Social
Science Research (ICSSR), the National Council Of Educational Research
And Training (NCERT), and the University Grants Commission or UGC.
Several history text books for school children were put under the scanner,
and although efforts to proscribe them had failed, there were only a few
copies available in the market. An organisation parallel to the Indian History
Congress, backed by the Deendayal Research Institute was promoted by the
government as a rival to ICHR.
The RSS was mighty impressed with the government’s efforts. The
ABPS had even passed a resolution appreciating the fact that the Ministry of
Education had invited RSS’ representatives for a meeting to discuss an adult
education programme. Bhaurao Deoras and Rajju Bhaiyya pledged to ‘extend
their active and whole hearted co-operation’ for it which included the ‘use of
the fabulous funds meant for adult education to promote the “national
cause”.’
From late 1978 onwards, Balasaheb Deoras had reconciled to the end
of the Janata Party rule. Apart from internecine skirmishes made worse by
personality clashes, the issue of ‘dual membership’ had severely impacted
the party. The RSS baiters within Janata Party were hell bent on alienating
the RSS, little realising that it would also sound the death knell for the
government. Balasaheb decided to move on from this setback and decided to
revive the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) which was established by M.S.
Golwalkar amidst great enthusiasm in 1964, but had since languished. After
the First World Hindu Conference in 1966, Deoras organised its second
chapter after more than a decade in January 1979 in Allahabad.
The conference turned out to be a roaring success insofar as it had
included representatives from sections which were listed as ‘Hindus’ by the
RSS—the inaugural session was addressed by the Dalai Lama, and was
attended by almost all the important Hindu seers of India. The three-day
conclave adopted what it called the ‘Minimum Code of Religious Conduct’
listing six tenets.69 Foremost among them was the pledge to accord the sun
the status of an ‘eternal god’, and a commitment to do ‘vandana’ (prayers) to
it every day; the ‘Om’ syllable was accepted as the ‘universal symbol of
divinity’; and the holy Gita was declared as the ‘non-sectarian scripture of
Hindu society’. Unless proven otherwise, the genesis of the curious term,
‘political Hindu’ could easily be attributed to this very conference. As
Deoras had said without mincing his words:

Hindus must now awaken themselves to such an extent that even from the
election point of view the politicians will have to respect the Hindu
sentiments and change their policies accordingly…If others put up their
demands, they were accepted, but, even genuine demands by Hindus are
ignored. This is because Muslims and other minorities usually vote en bloc
while Hindus are divided. Once Hindus get united, the government would
start caring for them also.

However, the decision to reactivate the VHP was not taken overnight, and it
becomes imperative here to understand what had made Deoras shift his
focus. As mentioned above, the VHP was set up by M.S. Golwalkar along
with S.S. Apte, and the global yoga guru, Chinmayananda to primarily carry
out the RSS’ tribal outreach programme. However in 1977, it had handed
over the baton to the Bharatiya Vanvasi Kalyan Ashram (BVKA), which was
also established by Golwalkar in 1952 in Chhattisgarh (then part of the
Central Provinces). Thereafter, although the BVKA had spread out to a few
other states, its performance was laggard, and it was for this reason that
Deoras had stepped in revive it in order to ensure that the affiliates stayed
focussed on one area of work. Gradually, the BVKA became well known for
propagating the belief that Christian missionaries in India were focussed on
converting Hindu-tribals and other lower castes to Christianity.
As mentioned in the beginning of this chapter, Balasaheb Deoras’ long
stint in the RSS notwithstanding, his image of a dedicated soldier in the
service of the nation and its people was the reason which had made him
synonymous with the sangh. It may be recalled that in its commitment to sewa
or service, when thousands of displaced people had arrived from across the
border during Partition, it was the RSS which had set up relief camps for
refugees in Delhi and other parts of India. Several accounts of the period
have chronicled the extraordinary work done by the RSS, but the camps also
doubled up as sites for indoctrination which had led to the increase in the
number of shakhas in the late Forties. Balasaheb wanted the sangh’s service-
oriented activities to continue unabated, but with greater involvement in
politics.
He set the ball rolling in April 1978 when he told a large gathering of
swayamsevaks to ‘start service activities among the neglected sections of the
society,’ and this had led to the setting up of the Sewa Bharati on
Vijaydashami day in 1979.70 What Balasaheb had meant by service amongst
weaker sections was that the activities be initially targeted towards the
Scheduled Castes. As was its wont, the RSS likened the Delhi initiative to
being,

no different from the River Ganga which after originating from the Gaumukh
assumes a gigantic form before joining the Yamuna and the Saraswati in
Prayag. Who had thought that a tiny project started way back in 1979 with 4-
5 kids would become the flagship of entire Sewa Bharati work and stand as
the talking monument of social reforms and development?71

Over time, Sewa Bharati expanded its activities to other areas such as
running hostels and residential schools, matrichhaya or orphanages, helping
street children, setting up tailoring centres, computer literacy programmes,
adult education, mass marriages, supporting children from terror-affected
regions and finally, to the setting up of bhajan mandalis (groups which sang
religious songs) in order to bring all the initiatives under the common
umbrella of religion.
Even before the RSS had overtly begun to focus on the sphere of
education during the Janata period, Balasaheb had initiated steps in this
direction several decades ago. The background was Golwalkar’s decision to
establish a school in Gorakhpur way back in 1952. Prior to his assuming the
mantle of sarsanghchalak, Deoras had given a fillip to his chief’s initiative
by expanding the single-school project into a statewide network of schools.
Called the Saraswati Shishu Mandir, or the temple of learning, named after
the goddess of learning, Saraswati, these schools worked as perfect
alternatives for parents who desired quality education for their children, but
did not have the financial means to afford expensive schools. The Saraswati
Shishu Mandir schools were steeped in Hindu ethos which mandated that the
students chant the Saraswati Vandana, Shanti path and the Gayatri Mantra. By
1977, there were almost 700 Shishu Mandirs in India, at which point, Deoras
decided to bring them all under a common programme called, Vidya Bharti.
Gradually, Vidya Bharti became an important vehicle to carry the RSS’
ideology to Hindu families. Currently, Vidya Bharti runs more than twelve
thousand schools in India, an equal number of sewa kendras, and employs
almost one and a half lakh teachers who teach nearly thirty-five lakh students.
It is the largest educational institution in the non-governmental sector and
unambiguously carries the stamp of Balasaheb Deoras’ efforts.
The setting up of the Shishu Shiksha Samiti in Assam in 1979 could be
held out as the perfect example of what Deoras had intended to do—the
assimilation of socially-driven activities with politics. The Samiti later ran
several schools called the Sankardev (one of Assam’s most revered saints)
Shishu Kunja and by early 2016, its number had increased to 490.72 The
clutch of schools had come up at a crucial period in the state’s history when
the All Assam Students’ Union (AASU) had started a movement against non-
Assamese settlers, a sizeable number of whom were both Hindus and
Muslims from Bangladesh. Gradually, with the tacit support of the RSS, what
had originally begun purely as an ethnicity issue had transformed into a
communal conflict. While addressing the issue of illegal migrants from
Bangladesh, Balasaheb had argued that ‘infiltrators and refugees can’t be put
on par,’ and elaborated that the case of Hindus coming from Bangladesh was
different, because they were ‘refugees’ who had fled their homes after being
persecuted by an Islamic dispensation. While addressing the Assamese
Hindus in the state, Deoras had exhorted them to accommodate Hindus from
Bangladesh and forewarned that the traffic of Bangladeshi Muslims could
lead to the gradual alteration of their demographic profile.73 This argument
made in 1979 found resonance twenty-seven years later during the assembly
elections in the state in 2016 when the agitation for ethnicity had developed
overt anti-Muslim overtones.74
Within two years of its formation, the RSS had begun to exert undue
influence over the Janata Party, acting as a kind of ‘supra-party’ with extra-
constitutional powers. With their backs against the wall, both Balasaheb
Deoras and Atal Bihari Vajpayee had made several concerted bids to salvage
the Jana Sangh and its status within the Janata government. However, such
were the pressures from both within the Janata Party and the RSS that in
March 1979, Deoras was finally forced to direct former Jana Sangh members
to attend a meeting of the RSS’ Delhi unit.
Vajpayee had turned up for the meeting, but had chosen not to sit in the
front row indicating that all wasn’t well between him and Deoras. In a
further embarrassment to the RSS chief a few months later, Vajpayee had
stated in a speech that the former Jana Sangh members had ‘left the politics
of the Jana Sangh forever. We should forget these things now and participate
in the only nationalist stream of the Janata Party based upon the four
principles of nationalism, democracy, religious equality and social equality.’
On 2 August 1979, by which time the Janata Party had split and Charan
Singh had become prime minister at the head of a breakaway Janata faction,
Vajpayee wrote a signed article in The Indian Express and amongst other
things, made three assertions. First, that the RSS-sponsored publications must
stop taking sides in political power games; second, the RSS should sever all
links with youth organisations which worked with political parties. Finally,
that the RSS should clarify that Hindu Rashtra actually meant, ‘Bharatiya
Rashtra’. Within weeks, Deoras also retaliated and in no small measure
during his annual Vijaydashami speech in Nagpur. He accepted that
organisations must change, but that it ‘should not take place by cutting itself
from the arteries of life-sap.’
Exactly eight months later on 6 April 1980, Atal Bihari Vajpayee along
with his most trusted lieutenant, Lal Krishna Advani, founded the Bharatiya
Janata Party or BJP. At the BJP’s first conference on 5–6 April 1980,
Vajpayee in his maiden presidential speech refuted rumours of the Jana Sangh
being revived under a new name. ‘We will make use of our experience in the
Janata Party. We are proud to have been associated with it.’ Even the party’s
credo—Gandhian Socialism, which was coined by Vajpayee, was far
removed from what the RSS stood for. It was clear that the BJP had willy-
nilly abandoned the principle of Integral Humanism propounded by the RSS
stalwart, Deendayal Upadhyaya. Although Balasaheb had showed
considerable restraint in the matter, it hadn’t gone down well with his cadre
who urged him to rein in the BJP. While Deoras was still chairman of Tarun
Bharat, its editor wrote signed pieces accusing the BJP of abandoning
Upadhyaya’s principles. Finally, the sarsanghchalak made his opinion known
to his colleagues as follows:

BJP leaders like Vajpayee and Advani are experienced with sufficient years
in politics behind them and have the requisite understanding to decide for
themselves. Politics is a tricky game and it is not wise to offer explanation at
every step. Instead of being concerned about BJP’s deviation, focus on
strengthening the sangh and try to reach a situation where you can influence
more than one party. Eventually the BJP will have to face consequences of its
own leaders. It is best to follow a wait and watch approach for the moment.75

It was apparent that although Deoras had maintained that Vajpayee and
Advani were well within their rights to start a new party, but deep within, he
was sceptical about their move to disassociate themselves from the RSS.
Eventually however, he was left with no option but to agree that ex-Jana
Sangh members must be allowed to chart their own political destinies. After
going past the problem, Deoras decided to, ‘turn his energies back towards
sangathanism by calling on the activist network to explain—and to establish
—the organisation in as many places as possible.’76
Within the next three months, members of the RSS hit the road,
traversing through more than ten thousand villages to give their version of the
sequence of events. It had been a tumultuous three years for Deoras when he
had attempted to take the RSS closer to power than what his predecessors
could have ever imagined. After the passing of three years however, the RSS
was back to where it had begun—an insular entity, but with a difference. It
had come to be acknowledged as a force which was capable of influencing
electoral politics, mainly because of a proactive sarchangchalak who was
even then preparing for the next round.

Beyond the Janata Debris

It was in the Eighties when religion had first begun to make its mark as a
mandatory tool for mobilising Indian electoral politics. Although political
parties had resorted to selecting candidates on the basis of religious and
caste identities even during the first general elections in 1951–52, but the
assimilation of religion to appropriate political space was first witnessed
after Indira Gandhi had returned to power in 1980.
Punjab, once acknowledged as the most prosperous state in north India,
was in the grip of militancy with separatist Sikhs demanding to secede from
the Indian Union to form their own homeland called, Khalistan. It is rather
well documented how Indira Gandhi had mismanaged Punjab, mainly by
playing into the hands of Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale who was at the head of
a separatist movement in order to push back the Akalis in the state. She
repeated this during the 1983 elections in Jammu & Kashmir which was
already struggling with a contentious history since independence.
In contrast, the RSS held a different viewpoint on Punjab and Deoras
articulated it by saying that the Sikhs were part of Hindu society as they had
waged wars against Muslim rulers in the past. In any case, as Article 25 of
the Indian Constitution classifies Sikhs, Jains and Buddhists as Hindus, it
was therefore rather puzzling for the RSS chief to have made the reference to
context. In all probability, Deoras may have intended to educate the Hindus
and Sikhs of Punjab that regardless of anything, Muslim deception is
universal and has been a recurring theme since the medieval period.
By the time Indira Gandhi stormed back into office in January 1980, it
was almost three years since Balasaheb had taken charge of the VHP which
had 300 units spread over 437 of the 534 Indian districts at the time (this
number went up to more than 700 in 2018). More significantly, the VHP was
being managed by 150 full-time pracharaks and had witnessed a marked
improvement from the time Balasaheb’s younger brother, Bhaurao was given
charge. In his time, much like the RSS, the VHP also fell outside the purview
of politics and was therefore limited to activities such as, ‘running hostels,
orphanages, medical centres, and publishing journals that raised fears of
Hindus being swamped by “non-Hindu foreigners”.’
It is noteworthy that the VHP is the only affiliate of the RSS in which
the sarsanghchalak is a trustee of a board (called the Nyasi Mandal) and
therefore has a say in its decision-making. After Golwalkar’s death,
Balasaheb had joined the board, but towards the latter part of his tenure
when his health had begun deteriorating, he had inducted Moropant Pingle
into the Mandal.
 By late 1980, the VHP had evolved into a well-oiled machinery, but it
still lacked a central emotive issue that could mobilise Hindus at a mass
level. Deoras was of the view that the RSS narrative should become part of
the day-to-day social discourse amongst Hindus in order for them to have a
stake in the sangh’s attempt to establish Hindu hegemony across the nation. In
early 1981, the RSS and its subsidiaries were handed over an issue on a
platter for them to occupy centre stage and work towards harnessing their
goal of Hindu consolidation.
On 9 February, an obscure village called Meenakshipuram in
Tirunelveli district, Tamil Nadu had shot into prominence for a reason most
unpleasant when nearly 800 Hindus belonging to the untouchable Pallas caste
had converted to Islam because of continued harassment from the upper
castes in their village.
Deoras saw the Meenakshipuram incident as the perfect opportunity for
fortifying the Hindu community, and considering he was familiar with the
ways of the VHP, he decided that it should plunge into the mass conversion
episode without any further delay.
He had at the outset acknowledged the fact that the mass conversions in
Meenakshipuram were the result of upper caste discrimination which he had
mentioned at length in his Vasant Vyakhanmala lecture in Pune. He had felt
strongly that such incidents obstructed the RSS’ objective of Hindu
consolidation, and historically, the Dalits had therefore stayed away from the
sangh’s purview. Balasaheb instructed the VHP to work among the lower
castes, and it consequently launched a fund-raising campaign in January 1983
and collected fifty million rupees in donations. Additionally in the winter of
1983, the VHP made its maiden attempt at mass mobilisation by organising a
nationwide Ekatmata Yagna Yatra during which the holy water of the Ganga
was carried in giant urns to different parts of the country. The yatra was
conducted on cow-driven carts which were decorated with giant maps of
India and the image of Bharat Mata to drive home the significance of three
matas or mother goddesses for every Hindu—Ganga, Bharat, and Gau Mata.
K.S. Sudarshan, who later went on to become the sarsaghchalak of the RSS
in 2000, commented about the yatra as follows:

When people were told that Ganga Mata is coming, thousands of people
came there. It was a thing to be seen to be believed…Even in Kerala which
is Leftist ideology…even if they could get just a few drops on their body,
they thought, ‘we shall definitely go to heaven’…All these things evoke a
nationalist sentiment.

Such was the popular appeal of the yatra that even Prime Minister Indira
Gandhi had considered attending a public meeting when the procession had
reached Delhi on 17 November 1983, but had backed out at the last minute.
By the time the programme had concluded one month later on 16 December,
Deoras must have felt vindicated in the way the VHP had shaped up under his
supervision.
It wasn’t only the RSS and its affiliates that had expressed shock at
Hindus embracing Islam in Meenakshipuram, but even leaders such as Dr
Karan Singh (described as the ‘on-and-off’ Congressman and a confidant of
Indira Gandhi), who was extremely agitated over the incident. In September
1981, the erstwhile king of Jammu, and an erudite scholar of Sanskrit,
established the Virat Hindu Samaj (VHS) and became its founding president,
while the then VHP president, Ashok Singhal was nominated as its general
secretary. Within a month of its formation, the VHS organised several public
meetings in north India, the most significant of these being in Delhi in
October. While Karan Singh was the star of the moment, Singhal was among
the nepathya nayaks or backstage heroes.77 When asked for his reason for
setting up the VHS and his association with the VHP, Dr Singh had said:

The real, proximate cause (for establishing VHS) was the conversions in
Meenakshipuram…The Hindu opinion was divided, even before
independence, into two streams, one is the RSS Parivar, the other may be
called Congress Parivar….the Virat Hindu Samaj was a sort of an attempt to
bridge. I, having been in the Congress all my life, felt that there were people
who may be turned off, who may not go to the RSS Parivar, but would come
here.78

Alas, the RSS was unwilling to work with an organisation whose antecedents
were doubtful, and Dr Karan Singh had to subsequently wind up the VHS.

On Track
The Ram Janmabhoomi agitation for constructing a Ram temple in Ayodhya is
acknowledged as one of the largest religio-political mass movements in
Independent India. As is well known, it was after L.K. Advani’s rath yatra
from Somnath to Ayodhya in 1991 that the BJP was catapulted from the
margins of Indian politics to the centre stage. Since the agitation was
spearheaded by the VHP, Balasaheb Deoras had insisted that its controls
remain firmly in the hands of the top brass of the RSS and its nominees.
There is no doubt that the Indian Right-wing has a natural proclivity
towards godmen and renunciates, evidenced as it was in one of the icons of
the RSS, M.S. Golwalkar. The reason for this has less to do with
enlightenment or knowledge, and more with including men of god who can
influence the electorate. While many such men were part of the VHP, it was
felt that parallel bodies be set up to ensure that religious leaders joined the
political campaign without being part of decision-making bodies. In March
1981, the VHP set up the Kendriya Margdarshak Mandal and a few months
later a larger organisation had come up called the Dharam Sansad which was
described as the ‘supreme deliberative body to decide on issues pertaining to
the interests of the Hindus.’ Yet, and on this point Deoras had insisted even
when the issue was debated by the core handlers, that ‘the VHP made it clear
from the beginning, that while it would allow itself to be “guided” by the
Mandal and the Sansad, the decisions of the VHP would be taken by its
office bearers alone.’ (Even today, barring the ‘notional’ advisors and
patrons, all the office-bearers of the VHP are RSS functionaries who are
handpicked by the top brass. Both the Mandal and the Sansad remain active
currently and function as the VHP’s representative arms among religious
leaders, reaffirming the fact that the structures created during Deoras’ tenure
have indeed stood the test of time.)
Ironically, although the construction of the Ram temple was the leitmotif
of the RSS, VHP, and later the BJP, it was first brought into focus by a former
Congress leader. In the early 1980s, Gulzarilal Nanda who had stewarded
India twice after the demise of Nehru and Shastri, joined the VHP. In May
1983, he wrote a letter to Indira Gandhi demanding the restoration of temples
in Ayodhya, Mathura and Varanasi. When there was no response from her
office, the Organiser ‘took up the theme,’79 but fearing the charge of
fomenting communal violence, it had treaded cautiously and said, ‘according
to hearsay’, such a structure had existed in the past etc. What this proved was
that the agitation around the Ram temple wasn’t even part of the RSS’
narrative either during Hedgewar’s tenure, or when Golwalkar was the
sarsanghchalak.
 Later, when the building of the temple became the lynchpin of the Indian
Right-wing, Balasaheb Deoras had recommended that an attempt be made to
secure the support of the Congress party, much like his predecessor
Golwalkar had done by seeking help from Sardar Patel and his group for
rebuilding the Somnath temple. Both Deoras, and before him, Golwalkar
knew well that despite the Congress’ secular credentials, a particular section
in the party had always acknowledged that the idea of Hindu vulnerability
was real, and could only be reversed by restoring temples which had been
destroyed by ‘outsiders’. Therefore, Deoras’ concern that the Congress party
may hijack the temple movement was somewhat genuine.
In the late 1980s as a young reporter on the Ayodhya beat, I would
spend time at the VHP’s Lucknow office. During one such visit in July 1989,
I recall asking Onkar Bhave who was the organising secretary of Central
Zone, how the Ram temple agitation had come to occupy such an important
place in the sangh’s programmes. He told me that in early January 1984, an
important meeting of the RSS was held in Lucknow after which a few senior
leaders had come visiting the temple town. Unfortunately, I hadn’t stopped
him midway to ask who these leaders were and he continued with his
narrative adding that when the leaders had witnessed the state of Ram Lalla
(the idol of Lord Ram as a child), they had cried copious tears. It was post
that visit, said Bhave, that the issue of constructing a brand new temple on the
same site was discussed internally and became part of the RSS’ agenda. It
goes without saying that a decision of such import could not have been made
without consulting Deoras.
Thereafter, things had moved at a lightning speed—a two-day meeting
of the Dharam Sansad was held in Delhi’s Vigyan Bhavan in April 1984 in
which a large number of saints demanded the ‘restoration’ of temples in
Ayodhya, Mathura and Kashi. Yet another organisation called the Ram
Janmabhoomi Mukti Yagna Samiti was formed with the sole purpose of
‘liberating’ Lord Ram’s ‘birthplace’, with Mahant Avaidyanath (a former
member of the Hindu Mahasabha from Gorakhpur and chief of the powerful
Gorakhnath Mutt) as its president. Deoras had succeeded in achieving his
primary objective—the Hindu bandwagon was set rolling, even as he had
succeeded in drawing religious leaders and several others belonging to other
political parties like the Congress. It was only a matter of time before the
temple in Ayodhya became the tool for Hindu consolidation.
 For Deoras and the RSS, 1984 was a bitter-sweet year. On the one
hand, if the Ekatmata Yagna Yatra had demonstrated how such processions
could successfully convert devotees into political supporters, the next one
ended almost in a disaster although for no fault of the organisers.
In September 1984, the VHP launched yet another yatra called the Ram-
Janaki Rath Yatra, named after Lord Ram and Sita (Janaki being another
name for her). It was flagged off from Sitamarhi in Bihar and arrived on the
outskirts of Delhi on 30 October after traversing through Ayodhya and
Lucknow, in UP. Earlier in the year, a youth wing of the VHP was established
called the Bajrang Dal, named after Lord Hanuman, which was at the
forefront of attracting support for the Ram-Janaki Rath Yatra. According to
H.V Seshadri the yatra had resulted in an ‘unprecedented Hindu upsurge’.
However, the procession had to be rolled back as Indira Gandhi was
assassinated a day later, and the country was besieged by murderous assaults
on Sikhs in Delhi, and elsewhere.
The festival of Vijaydashami was celebrated a week into the Ram-
Janaki Rath Yatra. What had begun as a routine speech on the occasion, later
turned out be a ‘bombshell’ because never before in his entire career had
Deoras made such shocking assertions. Amongst other things, which included
his observations about the threat of terrorism, the Centre-state relations, and
highlighting the contributions made by leaders such as Nehru, Patel and
Rajendra Prasad, it was his comments on Indira Gandhi which became the
focus of the speech.
He accused Indira Gandhi of many things—labelling her as ‘self-
centred’; a prime minister who owed no ‘allegiance to principles and
ideology. The only objective was to be in power forever’; presiding over a
party which was ‘disorganised with internal conflicts’; and on the ‘brink of
destruction.’ Yet, the RSS chief saw the Congress party as irreplaceable:
‘We do not see any other party which can capably take the place of
Congress,’80 he had said. For the Opposition parties, and also the BJP, there
was worse to come because he accused them of infighting: ‘They cannot
come together and work. Nor can they project a strong alternative to the
Congress. And such a possibility does not seem apparent in the near future.’
Deoras’ speech had had a rippling effect because it was interpreted as
his tacit support for the Congress, and an attempt to coerce Indira Gandhi into
forming a political association with the RSS. There was recent history to this
entire premise as a large chunk of the RSS believed, albeit erroneously, that
it was Deoras who had helped Mrs Gandhi win the 1980 elections.
Immediately thereafter, the RSS chief toured the country and further
sharpened his rhetoric and eventually cast the die by openly asking Hindus to
vote for those who upheld their interests.
The Vijaydashami address of Balasaheb was controversial because of
three main points—first, there was genuinely no real alternative to the
Congress at that point of time. Second, and also linked to the first point, the
Opposition parties were not only at loggerheads, but were also unlikely to
resolve their differences in the immediate future to evolve a mechanism of
cooperating with each other. Third and finally, was his advice to Hindus to
vote as a block and keep their religious interest uppermost immediately after
his address to the Congress, which political experts felt was an invitation to
the ruling party to form an alliance with the RSS.
Even before the dust could settle on Deoras’ speech, the polls were
announced and the campaigning by political parties came into sharp focus.
The Rajiv Gandhi-led Congress party launched its massive juggernaut, but it
was obvious that their narrative had undergone a major change after Indira
Gandhi’s assassination—it was upfront and divisive in nature. Even as many
saw it as a negative portent for the future of Indian politics, it found
resonance with the RSS. For instance, Nanaji Deshmukh, who for all
practical purposes had withdrawn from active politics, declared that Rajiv
Gandhi needed the support of patriotic forces. Deoras’ stoic silence
throughout the campaign, and the complete rout of the BJP in the polls (the
party managed to win only two seats, and even Vajpayee had faced defeat)
gave rise to the speculation that several members of the RSS had voted for
Congress candidates and had contributed to the party’s landslide victory.

The End of Expectations

On several occasions in its history spanning six decades, the RSS had made
several attempts to form an alliance with the Congress, or even with a
section of it. Sample this: since its inception in 1925, the RSS was with the
Congress until 1937; a decade later in 1949–50, M.S. Golwalkar had
approached Sardar Patel and his loyalists within the Congress party for
rescinding the ban on RSS. In the 1970s, Balasaheb Deoras had openly
praised Mrs Gandhi’s contribution in liberating Bangladesh; the RSS had
initiated back channel negotiations with the government during the
Emergency, and finally, Deoras’ speech of 1984 which had sent out a signal
that the Congress and RSS could explore to partner by focussing on the Hindu
vote.
After Rajiv Gandhi assumed the mantle of prime minister in the
aftermath of his mother’s killing, Deoras presented him with a list of
demands—scrap Article 370 of the Constitution; evict infiltrators in Assam;
deport foreign missions and missionaries engaged in religious conversions;
establish a Human Rights Commission in place of the proposed Minority
Rights Commission (which was under consideration after the Gopal Singh
Committee’s recommendation in June 1983). Eventually, none of these
demands were met. To add to Deoras’ disenchantment, Rajiv Gandhi had
succumbed to pressure from the Muslim orthodoxy and obtained
parliamentary approval for the Muslim Women (Protection of Rights on
Divorce) Bill to quash the Supreme Court’s verdict in the Shah Bano
case*****. On the one hand, if the Congress was riding roughshod over the
RSS, and which was expected given the history, even the BJP seemed to pay
less and less attention to the men in Nagpur.
Such was the atmosphere of hopelessness in the RSS circles that
several swayamsevaks had approached Balasaheb suggesting they form
another party. But the sarsangchalak had instead given them an assurance that
he shall solve the impasse by holding a dialogue with BJP leaders warning
them to not deviate from the core principles of the sangh.
Meanwhile, as a consequence of the apex court’s verdict in April 1985,
Rajiv Gandhi was caught in a dilemma—whether he should side with
progressive Muslims (ironically backed by the RSS for obvious reasons), or
go with the conservatives who controlled the Muslim vote bank. The RSS
was watching the developments keenly, and when it was reasonably certain
that the Centre would catapult to Muslim obscurantism, it decided to revive
the campaign for the Ram temple in Ayodhya. But not before it accused Rajiv
Gandhi of succumbing to the ‘planned anti-national manoeuvre,’ of the
‘fanatic Muslim leadership’.81
In May 1986—three months after the disputed shrine was unlocked at
the instruction of Rajiv Gandhi—L.K. Advani was appointed BJP president
and he revived his party’s ties with the RSS. The samanvaya samitis, which
were established by Deoras after the Emergency, were brought back into the
reckoning, and RSS pracharaks were loaned to work for the BJP, including
K.N. Govindacharya and Narendra Modi. In 1987, Advani and Vajpayee met
Deoras to draw out a strategy for the Ram temple. Deoras advised them to
play it smartly—first, hijack the Congress’ plan which had initiated the
opening up of the disputed site, and second, instruct party workers to adopt
guerrilla tactics while accomplishing the task. Ironically, his advise was
completely ignored when the kar sevaks had clambered on to the dome of the
disputed mosque and were seen demolishing it, and finally razing it to the
ground on 6 December 1992.
Throughout the late 1980s, the VHP was majorly focussed on the
Ayodhya agitation, while Balasaheb had moved on to other pressing issues,
like the grand celebrations to mark Hedgewar’s birth centenary in 1988.
Deoras ‘undertook a whirlwind tour of the country in failing health,’82 and
ensured that every detail for the event was ‘imaginatively and meticulously
planned.’ The level at which it had panned out, made the intent clear—it
wasn’t just a grandiose plan to celebrate the founder’s birth anniversary, but
to establish him as the fountainhead of a movement that had come into its
own. The iconic status of Hedgewar even found mention in Narendra Modi’s
book, Jyotipunj, in a chapter in which he was compared with Swami
Vivekananda: ‘Right since childhood, both Vivekananda and Doctor Saheb
continuously struggled for their respective goals…’83
In India, 50,000 committees were formed for the anniversary
celebrations, while 80,000 public meetings were held between November
1988 and April 1989, targeting 1.5 crore families drawn from 2.16 lakh
villages. The RSS also took the programme abroad—a gathering at Milton
Keynes in the UK was held for two days in August 1989, and was attended
by almost 80,000 people.
The other, but long-term objective of the campaign was to firm up the
unification of Hindus, and it happened without eulogising either the RSS or
any of its icons. It was a slogan which has since then become synonymous
with the Hindu Right, but at the time all it had intended to do was to lend a
sense of pride to every member of the community: Garv se kaho hum Hindu
hain (Say it with pride that I am a Hindu).
Apart from the fact that Deoras had wanted Hedgewar to get his due in
the pantheon of the greats, it was also a period in Indian politics when the
RSS was on the upsurge, primarily because of the Ram temple agitation. As
mentioned earlier, the VHP had its game plan chalked out, and was drawing
people to its fold; the Bharatiya Mazdoor Sangh had become the second
largest trade union in the country and was poised to overtake rivals; and the
Bharatiya Vanvasi Kalyan Ashram had developed into an impressive outfit
across India. But alas, there was no coordination amongst the affiliates, and
they often worked at cross purposes, locked as they were in personal
rivalries.
An internal document written by Bapurao Varadpande, an important
RSS functionary of the time, claimed that Deoras had decided to remedy the
situation after veering around to the viewpoint that the sangh parivar’s
collective consciousness had been diluted and the organisation was facing
the threat of fragmentation, afflicted as it was by ‘institutional egoism’.84
According to Varadpande, the sarsanghchalak had suggested that the only way
to rectify the anomalies was by offering the allurement of political power, but
before that all the affiliates would have to work in tandem with each other.
The only way that was achievable in 1988 was to bring them to jointly
celebrate Hedgewar’s birth centenary.
In order to bring Deoras’ suggestion of cohesiveness to fruition, it had
become incumbent upon the BJP to make a clean break from its past when it
had joined the Janata Party government. In 1987, it delivered on its promise
and refused to join Devi Lal’s party, the Lok Dal in Haryana. Later, at the
BJP’s National Executive meeting in Ahmedabad in October 1988, party
president L.K. Advani sounded a warning to his colleagues when he said that
the ‘mere aggregation of disparate groups without a coherent set of policies’
to bind them shall fail to inspire people. He stressed on the importance of
Opposition unity, than mere ‘Opposition credibility’.85 At long last,
Balasaheb Deoras was somewhat reassured and the headline in the RSS’
mouthpiece, Organiser, put it rather succinctly: ‘RSS Chief Backs BJP’.86

The Final Years

In the early 1990s, when L.K Advani was Leader of the Opposition, he had
once remarked to a group of journalists, including me, that the post-Bofors
period in Indian politics was on a perpetual fast-forward mode. In the
context of the BJP, this was proven true because from a party which had just
two members in the Lok Sabha between 1984–1989, it went on to win 85
seats in 1989, and 120 in 1991. However to solely attribute this rise to the
Bofors kickback scandal was a bit of a stretch—its ascent between 1989–
1991 was also because of the Ram temple issue. As mentioned earlier, it was
to the credit of Balasaheb that he had accelerated the Ram temple movement
by not only mobilising the VHP, but also by prudently advising his flock to
snatch it away from the Congress’ mouth.
Meanwhile in 1989, there were indications that Rajiv Gandhi’s
political graph was on a decline. As a result, all the anti-Congress parties
had come together to form a united front called the Janata Dal in the month of
October that year. Apart from their common cause of defeating the Congress,
they were also united by the fact that they were inimical to the sangh’s
ideology, and there were doubts if they would even consider accommodating
the BJP in the alliance.
In order to resolve the problem which had seemed impossible at the
time, a meeting was arranged by the media baron and owner of the Indian
Express Group, Ramnath Goenka at his Nariman Point office in Bombay.
Amongst others, in attendance was V.P. Singh, and three senior members of
the RSS, Bhaurao Deoras, Rajju Bhaiyya and Nanaji Deshmukh. But the most
distinguished guest at the gathering was a sworn RSS supporter and a multi-
faceted man—a chartered accountant-turned-editor-turned-crusader, S.
Gurumurthy, who had played a crucial role in investigating the Bofors scam,
a story which was broken by The Indian Express. The presence of the RSS’
top brass in the meeting was a clear departure from the past, because not only
was the RSS deemed to be an apolitical outfit, its direct participation in
political negotiations was hitherto unknown. It was therefore clear that the
three leaders would have obtained the prior permission of their
sarsanghchalak, Balasaheb to be part of this backroom parley. Unlike the
past, when all the RSS did was to advise the BJP during the Janata Party
years, it was now part of a crucial meeting to strategise for the impending
elections that year.
It was partly as a consequence of this meeting that the BJP came to be
recognised as part of the anti-Congress front, especially in the Hindi
heartland and western India. The strategy however reaped rich dividends for
the BJP and it announced its dramatic arrival with a tally of 85 seats in the
Lok Sabha—up from the mere two in the previous year. In comparison to his
predecessor, Deoras’ strategy of being an activist-sarsanghchalak had proven
to be a success. Although the BJP had chosen not to become part of the
unwieldy coalition, its influence was overtly noticeable because of its
support to the minority government ‘from the outside’.
 Even as the RSS had chosen not to comment on the BJP’s election
results officially, it did make its stand clear on certain pressing issues at its
Akhil Bharatiya Pratinidhi Sabha meeting when it had passed a resolution on
the events pertaining to Ayodhya after the fall of the V.P. Singh government
and the state government’s action against the VHP on 30 October 1990, in
which a few activists were killed in police firing. In one of the minutes of the
meeting, it was stated that the ‘offering of karseva for the renovation (sic) of
the Sri Ram temple is the dharmic and national right of the Hindu society.’
By the time this meeting was held, the BJP had parted ways with every
significant political party, barring the Shiv Sena, that it had allied with in
1989, and decided to contest the mid-term elections on its own steam and
performed credibly than ever before. More significantly, the BJP secured a
majority in Uttar Pradesh, and formed its maiden government in the state. As
against 1989 when it had fought on 225 seats, it contested on 477 seats in
1991, raising its tally from 85 to 120. Even its vote share rose from 18.11
per cent to 31.45 per cent, while the number of seats in the 425-strong state
assembly rose from 57 to 221.
A few months later, Deoras was once again at the helm of the RSS’
Karyakarini Mandal meeting which passed a resolution stating that the
success of the BJP in the polls was an ‘unambiguous verdict’ on Ayodhya,
and was a firm message to the Centre and the state of Uttar Pradesh to
remove every hurdle in the way of constructing a temple. The resolution also
sent out a message to the ‘Muslim brothers opposed to the temple renovation
to appreciate the national mood and desist from the path of confrontation.’87
Once it was acknowledged that the RSS had delivered on its promise of
bringing the BJP to mainstream politics, there was no way that its leaders
could be kept out of future negotiations on Ayodhya. On 30 October 1992, the
Dharam Sansad made an important announcement—the kar seva for the
construction of the Ram temple was to be undertaken on 6 December 1992, a
date which had been ratified by the VHP. Within three days of the
announcement, the RSS was invited for talks by the government. Rajju
Bhaiyya and Moropant Pingle arrived, along with yet another colleague,
Bhairon Singh Shekhawat who was then the chief minister of Rajasthan, and
who later became the Vice President of India. Even Prime Minister
Narasimha Rao had held negotiations with Rajju Bhaiyya on at least two
occasions in November and early December 1992.
 In his memoirs, My Country My Life, L.K. Advani recounted what had
transpired at that meeting between Rao and Rajju Bhaiyya. The RSS leader
had told the prime minister:

Lakhs of people will be assembling at Ayodhya. We have made elaborate

arrangements to see that they conduct kar sewa within the parameters of the
court order. But what if the court order (allowing the programme) does not
come and something untoward happens? I hope this does not happen. It is,
therefore I am impressing upon the government the need to secure a verdict
before December 6.

In response, Narasimha Rao is supposed to have said, ‘I am confident that

with you in control, nothing untoward will happen.’88

The Demolition: Planned to Perfection

For almost a quarter of a century, there has been speculation whether the
demolition of the Babri masjid was a planned operation, or a spontaneous
outburst. It had taken the Justice Liberhan Commission seventeen years and
forty-eight extensions before presenting a report to the Manmohan Singh
government in June 2009, in which it ruled out the demolition as being a
spontaneous act by a frenzied mob. The Commission stated that because all
the men at the site that day were seen sporting ‘distinctive coloured
headbands identifying them as RSS Bajrang Dal cadres, it cannot be inferred
or concluded that it was without the knowledge of K.S. Sudarshan.’ The
Commission named several other RSS leaders, including H.V. Sheshadri, and
K.N. Govindacharya as culpable, and concluded that even the trio of
Vajpayee, Advani and Dr Murli Manohar Joshi would have to bear the
responsibility for the demolition of the mosque. The report described the
sangh parivar as ‘a highly successful and corporatized model of a political
party and the Ayodhya campaign demonstrates, has developed a highly
efficient organisational structure.’89 Although the Liberhan Commission
report had several factual inaccuracies and was submitted thirteen years after
Balasaheb Deoras’ demise, it nevertheless acknowledged his role in
transforming the sangh parivar from a politically pretentious club into one of
the most well-oiled and politically-savvy outfits in the country.
 My conclusions of what had transpired on that crucial morning of 6
December 1992 in Ayodhya, as also the decisions taken in the preceding
weeks, are based on a series of taped conversations with several important
people within the sangh, who shall remain unnamed here. These
conversations have altered many of my earlier views on the Babri masjid
demolition—including some conclusions in my book, Demolition: India at
the Crossroads—and they can be further altered in the eventuality of fresh
evidence in the case.
The government archives would undoubtedly have records of the
negotiations that were conducted with representatives of the RSS, VHP and
BJP, but they are currently not in public domain. But quite like the Gandhi
assassination, aspects of which are still in the realm of speculation, the
demolition of the Babri masjid is still obscured by several conflicting
theories. It may be recalled that K.R. Narayanan, who was the Vice President
at the time of the demolition, had said that the demolition of the sixteenth-
century mosque was the greatest political tragedy in India after Gandhi’s
assassination.
There is no gainsaying the fact that the Babri masjid demolition was a
planned operation, and was known to a select group of people in the RSS,
VHP and BJP, including of course the sarsanghchalak, Balasaheb Deoras. A
senior leader of the RSS who as I said earlier, shall remain unnamed, told me
that the entire demolition issue needed to be understood from Deoras’ point
of view. In November 1989, when the volunteers had proceeded to Ayodhya
for the first time, as also on two other occasions, in October–November
1990 and July 1992, there was little progress made. If this had repeated on 6
December, a day which was carefully chosen by the VHP, and ratified by the
RSS, it would have meant a terrible loss of face for the leadership in Nagpur.
Something had to be done, and nothing would have been acceptable save the
razing of the mosque to the ground.
Not only was the execution of the plan kept top secret, but it was
handed over to men who had earned the trust of the RSS. On 6 December,
Moropant Pingle, the ‘chief operational commander’ was comfortably
ensconced in one of the numerous bhawans or ashrams close to the Babri
masjid. Although he hadn’t stepped out even once to oversee the goings-on,
he was surrounded by a band of loyalists who were keeping a close track on
the events. Once the first group of fifty-odd volunteers began chipping at the
mosque, thousands who had surrounded the precincts began attacking it.
Thereafter, it was just a matter of time before the mosque was pulled down,
and turned into mounds of debris.
The first group of activists who lead the attack were personally picked
out by Pingle, and it was a given that Deoras was in the know of this brigade;
he was stationed at Nagpur when the decision was taken. Thereafter, the men
literally came out from the dark and disappeared into it once the task was
completed. These nameless people chose anonymity over recognition
because of the seriousness of their commitment and conviction to the cause of
Hindu consolidation, and were driven by a deep-seated sense of revenge for
what was perceived as injustice meted out to Hindus in the medieval era.
What was most astounding was that Pingle had created an
organisational chart for the operation for different parts of India. These
handpicked activists in turn identified local-level volunteers, who then
coordinated with functionaries belonging to the RSS, VHP, and the BJP.
Senior party leaders in various states were also drawn in, including Advani
and Dr Joshi. The Liberhan Commission said in its report that it ‘cannot be
assumed even for a moment that Advani, Vajpayee or Joshi did not know
about the designs of the Sangh Parivar.’90
In the aftermath of the demolition, Balasaheb had also expressed his
disappointment, but had added that at least, the ‘Muslims will know how it
feels when a place of worship and faith gets demolished at the hands of
others.’91

The Legacy
In an organisation which was based on the principle of ek chalak anuvartitva,
Balasaheb Deoras had created a paradigm of change when he had made his
displeasure known after being superseded by Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar.
In due course, by accepting the sarsanghchalak as his supreme leader, Deoras
had proved that he was first and foremost, a dedicated worker in the cadre-
based outfit. Later, by affecting major alterations to the RSS’ functioning,
most importantly, by giving it a political purpose, Deoras had managed the
impossible.
At the end of his career, he had yet again resorted to a major deviation
from tradition on an issue that had been at the centre of several debates since
the RSS’ inception: succession. In March 1994, suffering as he was from
acute diabetes, he decided to nominate his successor and did what was
unprecedented in RSS’ history by stepping down for Rajju Bhaiyya to
assume charge. This tradition was later carried forward by Rajju Bhaiyya
and his successor, K.S. Sudarshan. There was another very important
directive which he had issued—that no memorial be constructed for him and
he should be cremated like an ordinary man without much fanfare. Barring
the odd photo of Deoras in RSS offices, the organisation therefore remains
focused on two icons—K.B. Hedgewar, the founder, and Madhav Sadashiv
Golwalkar or ‘Guruji’.
As is universally proven, ushering in change is always fraught with
dangers. In the context of the RSS, the biggest challenge was in transiting
from a cadre-based outfit to a mass-based party. For instance, even today, the
RSS adheres to the policy of restricting entries, unlike its other affiliates
which are overtly political and hence accept members easily. However, even
the limited expansion that Deoras had initiated, meant maintaining the
integrity and commitment of swayamsevaks in the Hedgewar-Golwalkar era.
Over the decades this has resulted in a situation where many of them have
become leaders simply because they followed a routine—attending the daily
shakha, going to camps and OTCs, lobbying with those outside the fold to
attract them etc. Therefore, the standard routine of the RSS became
detrimental to Hedgewar’s objective of strengthening its inner core.
Till the end, Balasaheb insisted on maintaining the ordinariness that he
felt was the greatest attribute of an RSS pracharak. As mentioned earlier, in
what was viewed as a shocking divergence from the core of the RSS, his
agnosticism was a topic of discussion, as he had not only rejected the kernel
of Brahminism by refusing to attend the sundry sacred thread ceremony
celebrations, but he had also categorically stated that his death be treated as
ordinary and no memorial be erected in his name.
It was only later when his associates had pressed upon him that he had
started to follow the basics in Hindu prayers by lighting incense sticks etc.
But over the years, the RSS culture overtook his personal choices and he
began to inch closer to symbols of organised religion and even ended his
letters with, ‘I pray to the Almighty for a long illness-free healthy life for
you.’92 He also began attending religious congregations like kirtans and
yagnas etc. This became a regular feature particularly at the dawn of the
Eighties after he realised the electoral potential of religion in politics.
Balasaheb was in regular attendance at the ashrams and mathas of several
gurus, and also began accepting invitations for quasi-religious functions at
swayamsevaks’ homes. There also came a time during his tenure when vedic
prayers began to be recited in RSS offices, including the headquarters in
Nagpur. In conclusion, despite his attempts and several of his own volition
and however revolutionary, Balasaheb Deoras was as Atal Bihari Vajpayee
had said, albeit in a different context: once a sarsanghchalak, always a
sarsanghchalak.

* See chapter on Keshav Baliram Hedgewar, p. 1, for the principle of ek

chalak anuvartitva or follow one leader.
** The succession issue within the RSS is detailed in the chapter, Madhav
Sadashiv Golwalkar, p. 98.
*** The wearing of the sacred thread is a religious ritual which is followed
by the Brahmin community for teenage boys in India. Also called Upanayan,
it is also performed for Kshatriyas and Vaishya boys. It is primarily because
of this ceremony that the idea of dvijas, or twice-born gained currency.
**** This speech is significant for several reasons. First, it is an anniversary
lecture, as the RSS was established on Dussehra in 1925. Second, over the
years, the speech is considered to be the most significant public lecture by a
sarsanghchalak.
***** The Supreme Court had delivered the Shah Bano judgement on 23
April 1985 and triggered protests from the Muslim clergy and conservatives
in the community. The government had legislated the new law to address this,
but the move had antagonised Hindu groups.
 VIJAYA RAJE SCINDIA

O n 25 January 2001, death proved that it was indeed a great leveller. A

senior leader of the Congress party, a former Union minister for Civil
Aviation, and an ex-maharaja-turned politician, had stood in front of a
funeral pyre with his tonsured head bowed in reverence, with tears in his
eyes. It was his mother who lay in front of him, a woman he was estranged
from for almost quarter of a century.
The dead woman lying on the pyre, draped in a rust-and-gold sari was
Vijaya Raje Scindia, the erstwhile Queen Mother or Rajmata of Gwalior.
The man who was about to light the funeral pyre was her son, the late
Madhavrao Scindia.
A few days after her death, her personal secretary and close confidant,
Sardar Sambhajirao Angre, had likened her to Ahilyabai Holkar, the
medieval queen of Indore. Legend has it that Ahilyabai had ordered her only
son to be trampled by elephants because he had tried to poison the recipients
of her munificence. Amongst other things, Angre drew the comparison to
suggest that Vijaya Raje hadn’t parted ways with her son because of the
property dispute which was in focus after her death, but on issues of
morality.
If by some divine intervention had she had her way, she wouldn’t have
wanted Madhavrao to perform her last rites. In her will that was drawn in
1985, she had stated that her son had, ‘rendered himself unfit even to the right
to cremate his mother’s dead body and do the last rites (kriyas), which is the
religious duty of every son.’1 But alas, no one raised an objection when
Madhavrao had lit her pyre. Even the menagerie of gods which sat on her
bedside, and accompanied her everywhere, were a mute witness to the
spectacle that day. After all, she had succumbed to tradition and one she had
endorsed all her life as the queen regent of Gwalior.
Despite the Instrument of Accession promulgated by Sardar Patel in
1947, and the abolition of privy purses by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi in
1971, Vijaya Raje Scindia was the quintessential royal. Although she took to
politics in a democratic India, she always imagined herself to be the
‘benefactor’. Ironically, she was addressed as Rajmata even in her own party
which was in principle opposed to dynastic rule, empowering instead its
cadre who were instructed not to attach any importance to honorifics.

A descendent of Nepalese royalty, Vijaya Raje’s family was banished from

Nepal and later settled down in Sagar, Madhya Pradesh where she was born
in 1919. She was married at twenty-two to one of the most powerful and
richest Maratha rulers of the time, Maharaja Jivajirao Scindia of Gwalior.
The newly-wed divided their time between Gwalior and Bombay, where the
Maharaja was a regular in the horse-racing circuit, and owned some of the
best breeds in his personal stable.
With India’s independence, much like other Indian royals, Jivajirao
began feeling the heat of joining the Republic of India at the cost of giving up
on the luxuries of monarchy. As the Indian National Congress was at the helm
of affairs, Jivajirao turned deeply antagonistic towards the party and viewed
it as an exploitative force which was coercing him and other royals to
acquiesce to its demands. As a result, the Maharaja was naturally drawn
towards the other emerging political force in Gwalior, the Hindu Mahasabha,
but he was careful not to formalise it in any fashion out of fear of a political
reprisal from the Congress.
A decade after independence, when the Central provinces (CP) or
Madhya Bharat was reorganised as Madhya Pradesh in 1956, the Congress
party which was aware of the erstwhile Maharaja’s proclivity towards the
Hindu Mahasabha, convinced him to contest for the second general elections
in 1957. It needs to be mentioned here that despite the Congress’
unquestionable dominance across India, the party was unsure about winning
elections in Gwalior because it was home to Dr Dattatraya Parchure who had
set up the Hindu Mahasabha in the state, and was later acquitted in the
Mahatma Gandhi assassination case. The second and more important reason
for getting the Maharaja on its side was the sheer size of Gwalior state,
which was spread over eight parliamentary and sixty assembly seats and
would have substantially added to the Congress party’s victory margin.
 Meanwhile, Jivajirao was least inclined to fight elections, to the manor
born as he was. The Congress party however kept up its pressure on the
erstwhile king, but to no avail as he was ‘immersed in the racing season.’2
As was expected, his wife came to his rescue and informed the Congress
party that the Scindias wanted to keep away from electoral politics.
Vijaya Raje had even travelled to Delhi to meet with Prime Minister
Nehru to convince him of her husband’s reluctance to fight elections.
However, Jawaharlal Nehru was in no mood to listen to her reasoning and
promptly sent her off to see Indira Gandhi, who in turn took her to meet the
then Minister for Railways, Lal Bahadur Shastri, and the Union Minister for
Home Affairs, Pandit Govind Ballabh Pant.
As the conversation proceeded, Vijaya Raje Scindia tried convincing
the group yet again that neither had she come to fight her husband’s case, nor
was she seeking a ticket for herself in his place. But the men in Nehru’s
Cabinet dismissed her pleas and told her firmly, ‘Either your husband or
you.’
Finally, a phone call and several parleys between Shastri and Pant
made the Maharaja see reason and he agreed to fight the elections, but with
the rider that the Congress’ candidate would be his wife, Vijaya Raje
Scindia.
The Maharani was thus thrown into the deep end of politics and was
fielded from Guna (part of the erstwhile state of Gwalior) in 1957. That the
royals still commanded respect and a near-cult following was proven when
she trounced her opponent, V.G. Deshpande of the Hindu Mahasabha by
60,000 votes, winning 67 per cent of the vote share. Although her political
career had begun with a fabulous victory, she somehow felt ‘responsible for
throttling a party (Hindu Mahasabha) with which I and my husband had much
in common.’3 Thereafter, her political career extended for more than four
decades of which a major part was spent to ‘undo the consequences of my
impulsive mission to Delhi.’4 It was therefore more than evident from the
very beginning that Vijaya Raje Scindia was never inclined towards the
Congress.
Her first few years in parliament were lacklustre as she was
constrained by her husband’s deteriorating health. Four years after her
victory in the 1957 elections, Jivajirao Scindia died due to diabetes-related
complications at the age of forty-five in July 1961. Vijaya Raje retreated into
a shell with little or no interest in politics. Despite a prolonged period of
mourning and adhering to the ritual of not appearing in public, as was the
custom for widows in certain Hindu families, the Congress leadership
convinced her to contest the general elections in 1962, and she won yet again
with an impressive margin of 1,48,820 votes.
Within a few months, the dowager queen was disgruntled with the
Congress yet again. The disagreement began with the then Finance Minister,
Morarji Desai introducing the Gold Control Act in 1963 which put an
embargo on the possession of gold with individuals and families* up to four
kilograms, and permitted the manufacture and sale of only fourteen-carat gold
jewellery (as against the prevailing twenty-two carats). The Rajmata thought
the measure to be a ‘venomous sister of prohibition,’5 and finally, the 11.7
kilograms of gold that she was forced to surrender, became the reason for her
decision to abandon the Congress party in 1967. There were of course other
mitigating factors, for instance her conflict with the then chief minister of the
state, D.P. Mishra, but the principal trigger was what she felt was a
draconian step.
Therefore, during the 1967 general elections, Vijaya Raje was still
ambivalent about her political future, and decided to sail in two boats—for
the Lok Sabha, she chose to fight from Guna on behalf of the Right-wing
Swatantra Party, while choosing the Jana Sangh for the assembly elections
from Karera in Shivpuri district. In the decade post her initiation into
politics, Vijaya Raje had gone from being a reluctant royal to a seasoned
politician managing two parties. In her autobiography, she had stated
candidly how she ‘looked upon all parties with suspicion,’ and was therefore
unable to decide ‘between Jana Sangh and the Swatantra, the two parties
with those programmes I was broadly in agreement.’
It later turned out that her decision to engage with two parties was part
of a strategy devised by her trusted loyalist, Sardar Angre who’d apparently
advised her that owing to her royal status, she should demand for seat
adjustments from both parties. The Jana Sangh readily agreed to Angre’s
proposal because the Scindias’ support meant a sure-shot victory for its
candidates. In exchange, Vijaya Raje secured their support for her
candidates, including the owner of the Indian Express Group, Ramnath
Goenka (who addressed her as Rajmata, despite being older), who was sent
to the Lok Sabha from Vidisha.
It needs to be mentioned here that despite her discontentment with the
Congress party, Vijaya Raje had initially made an offer to the party’s leaders
in the state that ‘she would select candidates from her riyasat,’6 and that they
‘should obtain Congress tickets for them.’ Apparently when she was
informed that the Congress followed a set procedure for selecting candidates,
she is supposed to have demanded that her nominees be ‘adopted by the
Congress.’7 However, her offer to the Congress was eventually turned down
and she fielded her own candidates from territories that were part of the
former ‘state’ of Gwalior, and also from other regions in Madhya Pradesh.
Whether it was the result of political pragmatism or rank opportunism,
Vijaya Raje vacated her parliamentary seat despite an impressive tally of
1,87,000 votes, while retaining her seat in the state assembly. The running
duel with D.P. Mishra was proving to be a thorn in her flesh and in a matter
of a few months, she played a pivotal role in propping up a rebel Congress
leader, Govind Narayan Singh against Mishra, which resulted in the
Congress’ split in the state. Under the leadership of Vijaya Raje, all the rebel
legislators were shepherded to Delhi and kept confined in a hotel. They were
later paraded in front of the then President, Dr Zakir Hussain, who after
ascertaining their numbers decreed that the Congress party had ceased to be
in majority and had therefore lost the moral and legal right to rule Madhya
Pradesh.
In the aftermath of the Congress’ ouster, the rebel leaders swiftly
cobbled up a coalition of anti-Congress parties and named it the Samyukta
Vidhayak Dal with Govind Narayan Singh as president, and Rajmata Vijaya
Raje Scindia as the leader of the House. Although the experiment had failed
to sustain beyond March 1969, it had helped Vijaya Raje to finally firm up
her mind to remain in mainstream politics.

It was ten years since her husband had passed away, and Vijaya Raje had
already spent a decade in the thick of politics with Sardar Angre as her able
advisor. In the 1971 snap-polls, the mother and son were given tickets by the
Jana Sangh—Madhavrao was to fight from where his mother had started her
political career, Guna, while she was fielded from Bhind.
If the Gold Control Act had triggered her decision to forsake the
Congress, Indira Gandhi’s move to abolish the privy purses had made Vijaya
Raje go towards the Jana Sangh. There was of course an ideological affinity,
as was manifest right at the beginning of her political life, but it was also
because of Jana Sangh’s stated, albeit strategic ambiguity on the issue. While
one group of Jana Sanghis had appealed to the ex-royals to voluntarily
forsake their purses, another section had canvassed to secure their support to
counter Indira Gandhi and her party.
But as mentioned earlier, it was mainly her ideological commitment to
Right-wing politics which was of greater significance, and which after her
husband’s death was further sharpened by her secretary, Sardar Angre. After
her formal initiation into the Vishwa Hindu Parishad in May 1968, she began
to take an active interest in its activities and presided over a conference of
its units from MP, Gujarat, and Rajasthan. In one of her speeches, Vijaya
Raje slammed the Congress for its ‘sham secularism’ and declared that the
need of the hour was to accept the ‘true meaning of Hindutva.’ While in the
1971 mid-term polls, the Jana Sangh had used her influence to campaign in
seats other than where her family’s writ ran large, in a matter of four years,
she was being considered for the post of party president. The two most
powerful leaders in the party at the time, Atal Bihari Vajpayee and L.K.
Advani visited her in Gwalior and had even succeeded in getting her to
accept the offer. However, she had made it clear to them that her final
acquiescence depended on the advise of her spiritual guru who lived in the
small town of Datia, some distance away in Gwalior. The next day, she
informed them that she was refused permission, and L.K. Advani was made
president of the Jana Sangh.
There was no doubt that in a span of a decade and a half in politics,
Vijaya Raje had succeeded in carving out a niche for herself in the pantheon
of eminent anti-Congress leaders. Yet, her erstwhile royal status came to the
forefront in all her future choices and decisions in public life. During the
Emergency, unlike other Opposition leaders and activists, Vijaya Raje had
kept away from protests with the sole intent of avoiding arrest. In order to
avoid detection, she had even discarded wearing the customary widow’s
white sari and began wearing not only other colours, but also clothes other
than the sari.
Much like many of her peers, she was often forced to change her
location and during one such sojourn, she’d arrived at the doorstep of senior
journalist, Tavleen Singh, who was at that time working with The Statesman
and whose father, a former Brigadier in the Indian Army, was a close friend
of Jaswant Singh. Ironically, on the same day, unware that Vijaya Raje was
hiding in her house, Tavleen Singh was waiting in Old Delhi’s Chandni
Chowk area after a tip-off that the dowager queen would make an
appearance.
After playing hide-and-seek with the police who were in hot pursuit of
every Opposition leader, Vijaya Raje Scindia had escaped to the country of
her origin, Nepal, before her ‘inner voice’ suddenly made her return to India
and face Indira Gandhi. Her original plan was not to escape like her son,
Madhavrao had, but surrender to authorities in her native country. Be that as
it may, in what was a political master stroke, she returned to India and went
to Gwalior to surrender to the police and was hailed as a true and fearless
worker of the Jana Sangh. Meanwhile, Madhavrao Scindia had not only
crossed over to Nepal, but had also stepped out of the Jana Sangh and his
mother’s life permanently.
Vijaya Raje Scindia had a tough time in jail—the ex-Queen Mother was
obviously not used to the mental, physical, and emotional stress of a prison
life, after having spent years in the fabulous Jai Mahal palace in Gwalior.
Meanwhile her daughters, Vasundhara Raje Scindia (ex-chief minister
of Rajasthan), and Yashodhara (also a member of the BJP and an ex-minister
in Madhya Pradesh) were working frenetically to secure their mother’s
release. Unlike other prisoners, the Rajmata had an expansive network of
influencers who had volunteered to agitate for her release. Finally, after
submitting an application to grant her temporary reprieve on health grounds,
Vijaya Raje Scindia was released from Delhi’s Tihar Jail.

Two years after her release, Vijaya Raje Scindia was somewhat vindicated
when her bete noire, Indira Gandhi was defeated in the 1977 elections. It
was the dawn of a new era in the history of Indian politics with a coalition of
anti-Congress forces at the Centre, with Morarji Desai as prime minister. But
during this phase, Vijaya Raje was also preoccupied with her son’s open
defiance, as he had not only abandoned the Jana Sangh and severed all ties
with her, but was now looking to join the Congress party. In 1977,
Madhavrao Scindia contested as an independent candidate (backed by the
Congress) from Guna and retained the seat despite his estrangement from his
mother. Three years later in 1980, Madhavrao formally joined the Congress
party after winning from Guna yet again and in a way, made his distance from
Vijaya Raje permanent. The mother and son would often cross paths in
parliament, as the Rajmata was nominated to the Rajya Sabha by the Janata
Party in 1978, but they would refuse to acknowledge each other. The
estrangement was complete after Madhavrao Scindia filed a legal suit and
seized control of some portions of the Jai Mahal palace in 1983.
Vijaya Raje Scindia spent the post-Emergency years in a hiatus,
carefully gauging the political developments in the country. Her nomination
to the Rajya Sabha gave her the necessary respite from the rough and tumble
of active politics, but she was a woman-in-waiting for the right opportunity
to knock on her door.
In 1980, the spotlight was turned on her yet again, although much
against her wishes, when she was fielded from Raebareli against Indira
Gandhi. As was expected, she lost the election with a huge margin—
garnering a mere 13 per cent vote share—and faced a temporary setback in
her career which was accentuated by the collapse of the Janata Party and a
virtual decimation of the faction that once comprised the Jana Sangh. But a
few months thereafter when the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) was founded in
April 1980, Vijaya Raje Scindia was appointed the vice president of the new
outfit; a position which was bereft of any decision-making, while all the
powers were vested in Vajpayee and Advani, as president and general
secretary of the party, respectively.
At the party’s first plenary session in Mumbai, Rajmata’s discomfort
with Gandhian Socialism** as the primary tenet of the party came to the fore.
It was well known that she was more aligned to the concept of Hindutva, and
exhibited a distinct unease with the idea of Socialism as the core principle of
the newly-established party.
When the BJP had inducted leaders from outside its fold, including
Sikander Bhakt, Ram Jethmalani, Shanti Bhushan, and K.S. Hegde, Vijaya
Raje had made her displeasure known to party elders. In December 1980,
coinciding with the party’s maiden plenary, she circulated a note expressing
her disappointment with the BJP for having abandoned Deendayal
Upadhyaya’s idea of Integral Humanism. Her primary objection being that the
BJP was following in the footsteps of the Congress and appeared to be a
mere ‘photocopy’ of the party. She argued that Atal Bihari Vajpayee was
erroneously aligning the BJP with Gandhian symbols and Marxist concepts
which was based on the theories of class conflict, while Upadhyaya’s
philosophy was sworn to greater social harmony and viewed Indian society
as an extended family based on ancient Indian precepts. Gandhian philosophy
and Socialism, she further elaborated, were conflicting principles because
while Gandhi’s focus was on decentralistion (euphemistically referred to as
Ram Rajya or an ideal State; associating it with the god as the king of
Ayodhya) and self-sufficiency, Socialism made the involvement of State
mandatory for the socio-economic upliftment of its people.
Vijaya Raje’s impassioned speech was impactful and received strong
support from certain sections of the BJP who suggested that the party must
revisit its core philosophy and adopt the concept of Ram Rajya as its central
article of faith. However, after hectic backroom parleys, and as mentioned by
L.K. Advani in his book, after ‘an elaborate inner-party discussion re-
emphasised the “Indian content” of (our) economic Philosophy” she
withdrew the note.’8
Post the objections raised by Vijaya Raje Scindia, although Atal Bihari
Vajpayee’s presidential address did attempt to allay the fears amongst
members of the BJP, he remained steadfast in creating a distinct identity for
the newly-established party. Vajpayee claimed that the concept of Gandhian
Socialism was far removed from Marxism and made three important points
in its support: first, that the BJP did not believe that materialism shaped all
ideas; second, that the party did not accept violence as a tool to further its
political strategy; and finally, that the BJP was against the concentration of
political and economic power in the hands of a particular group.
Even as thousands at the Mumbai plenary had applauded Vajpayee’s
speech, it had failed to convince Vijaya Raje who felt that the BJP had
strayed from the path of Hindutva. It was at this juncture that she began to
inch closer towards the VHP, which had launched the agitation for the Ram
temple in Ayodhya. As mentioned earlier, her association with the
organisation dated back to May 1968 when she was initiated into the
organisation and invited to preside over the conference of VHP units from
MP, Gujarat and Rajasthan. With its resurgence in the Eighties after adopting
the Ram temple as its core agenda, the Rajmata found the VHP the perfect
avenue for realising her political ambitions.
However, in her three-and-a-half decades-long association with the
VHP, not once had she held any official position of significance, except as
Trustee, which entailed raising funds for the organisation. But the presence of
an ex-royal and a matronly figure certainly added heft to the VHP, and the
various programmes that were launched as part of the Ram temple movement.
 Vijaya Raje also played a crucial role in identifying and grooming new
talent for the VHP, and one of them was none other than the child prodigy-
turned-fiery sanyasin who later went on to become the chief minister of
Madhya Pradesh, Uma Bharti. It was Vijaya Raje who had first spotted the
exceptional talent in Uma who as a child could recite several verses from the
Bhagavad Gita which she had learnt by rote. Vijaya Raje took a young Uma
under her wings and later helped her get a ticket from the temple town of
Khajuraho during the 1984 general elections. Uma Bharti lost her maiden
election but won the next time in 1989, and as a woman-renunciate dressed in
saffron robes, she made the agenda of her party a visual reality, which till
then was merely ideological and therefore eclipsed from the people.
Meanwhile, Vijaya Raje Scindia who was an office-bearer of the BJP,
was openly seen participating in several programmes of the VHP. In
September 1990, she was present in Somnath, Gujarat, to flag off L.K.
Advani’s rath yatra, which had changed the political landscape of India by
catapulting the BJP to the centre stage, while 6 December 1992 presented her
with the opportunity to go down in Right-wing politics as a major player in
bringing its core ideology to fruition.
After having made a pledge on behalf of the VHP that the disputed
Babri masjid would be secured on all counts, and only a symbolic kar seva
would be conducted at the site, she was present in the ‘viewing gallery’
cheering the mob who were inching towards the structure ‘as if she was a
football fan watching her team win the World Cup.’9 Later, when she was
asked how she had felt when the three domes of the mosque were pulled
down, all she had said was that, ‘this is what God wanted. It was His will.’10
Ironically, with the demolition of the Babri masjid, Vijaya Raje Scindia
also became politically irrelevant. While she was still revered as the
Rajmata of Gwalior, her son, Madhavrao was much sought after in the
Congress party, particularly after Rajiv Gandhi’s gruesome assassination in
May 1991.
Vijaya Raje continued in the Lok Sabha till ill-health prevented her
from being re-nominated for the thirteenth general elections in 1999.
Although she was an eight-time member of the Lok Sabha, and was even
nominated to the Rajya Sabha for a single term, Vijaya Raje Scindia never
made it as Union minister in the BJP. One of the main reasons for her limited
rise in the party and its affiliate, the VHP, was because of her reluctance to
alter her political vision. Despite her political engagement, she never ceased
to be the Rajmata of Gwalior, a leader whose top-down approach to politics
was rooted in the 1950s and Sixties, and most importantly, out of step in the
post-Mandal phase of Indian politics. As a strong votary of Hindutva,
eventually her strength became her primary weakness as the BJP under Atal
Bihari Vajpayee was seeking to expand its base beyond the Ram temple.
When the Jana Sangh was a fledgling outfit and nervous of merging with
the Janata Party in 1977, Vijaya Raje had supported it and lent it enough
gravitas to be part of the national narrative; her presence on the day of the
Babri masjid demolition will always be recalled by many as culpability in
an incident which had shaken the foundations of a secular India. But if there
is one thing for which she may not be recalled often, but which was indeed
an achievement, it was that Rajmata Vijaya Raje Scindia was the only
woman in the sangh parivar, which is inherently patriarchal, and it seems
impossible for any other woman leader in the future to match up to her
charisma.

* Hindu United Families, the legal name for joint families, were permitted to
hold up to four kgs of gold, while individuals could possess up to two kgs.
** As a new philosophy, Gandhian Socialism was coined to delineate the
BJP from Jana Sangh, and was rejected by the traditionalists. The BJP at its
inception wanted to position itself as the inheritor of Jayaprakash Narayan’s
legacy, but had eventually reverted to its core ideology and has now declared
Deendayal Upadhyaya’s Integral Humanism as its core philosophy.
 ATAL BIHARI VAJPAYEE

B efore he had faded away from public life in 2007, the late Atal Bihari
Vajpayee was perceived as different things by different people—
mukhauta, a mask, one of BJP’s general secretaries, K.N. Govindacharya
had said way back in 1997. He is the ‘right man in a wrong party,’ said many
of his peers, especially those in the Opposition. Then there were others who
were convinced that he was the ‘wrong man in the right party’, but chose not
to announce it in deference to a leader who was mourned by the nation on 16
August 2018. What was remarkable was that most of the analyses was
seldom trite; even his worst detractors meant what they had said on the
passing of Atal Bihari Vajpayee.
In June 2018, when the ninety-four-year-old Vajpayee was admitted to
AIIMS in Delhi, several senior leaders had come enquiring after his health,
including Congress president, Rahul Gandhi. The vicious political barbs
notwithstanding, his visit, as also of others, had little to do with politics.
Simply put, Atal Bihari Vajpayee deserved the attention because he was one
of the few left from a bygone era of Indian politics when personal vendettas
were deemed irrelevant in the face of an individual’s contribution to national
politics.
The best way to recall Atal Bihari Vajpayee would be to say that here
was a man who was a moderate amongst Hindutva hardliners; also a leader
who was but of course a Right-winger amongst liberals. However, it would
be unfair not to mention that even though he had friends in the Opposition
benches, there was an element of mistrust which followed him, because
despite his staunch pragmatism vis-à-vis his party’s ideology, he remained
the quintessential RSS apparatchik all his working life.
In a way, Atal Bihari Vajpayee was no one’s man, but his own. Yet, the
sangh owned him, not only because he belonged to it, but he had lent an
intellectual heft to the organisation which until then existed on the fringes of
Indian politics. An instance of how only Vajpayee could take liberties with
the unyielding RSS was manifest when he was Foreign minister in 1977. On
his first day in office, he had noticed that a portrait of Jawaharlal Nehru
which for many years had occupied prime space on the wall, had been
removed by his office staff in anticipation of his so-called antipathy for a
man at the other end of the ideological spectrum.
‘This is where Panditji’s portrait used to be,’ he had promptly told his
secretary. ‘I remember it from my earlier visits to the room. Where has it
gone? I want it back.’1
As a young man, Atal Bihari Vajpayee’s decision to plunge into India’s
struggle for independence was influenced by two main reasons—the first
was RSS’ indifference towards Mahatma Gandhi’s call for the Quit India
movement in 1942. Atal Bihari had joined the RSS as a fifteen-year-old in
1939 and was perhaps puzzled why the organisation had kept its distance
from a movement which was unifying India like never before; the second was
his family’s decision to shift him from Gwalior where he had finished school
and had joined Victoria College (now, Laxmi Bai College), as he was
displaying signs of joining the agitation at a very young age.
However, when the Quit India procession had arrived in his village,
Bateshwar (district Agra), a young Atal Bihari was enthused to join the
throng, but had slipped out immediately thereafter indicating no further
commitment in the agitation. But a police officer who was stationed at the
site had noticed the young man and put him in jail for twenty-three days. Atal
Bihari was released after he had signed a statement before a Class II
Magistrate in which he had stated that neither did he share the objectives of
the protest, nor had he participated in the ‘culpable act’. The police officer
released him forthwith after failing to produce ‘sufficient evidence or
reasonable ground of suspicion to justify the forwarding of the accused to a
magistrate.’
In retrospect, there is enough evidence to conclude that although his
release from custody was not due to any surety against future participation in
such protests, Vajpayee ‘did not participate in the Quit India movement as a
“freedom fighter” in his home village of Bateshwar. In his own
characterisation…he was “a part of the crowd” with no role to play in the
militant events…’2
After more than three decades of an illustrious career in the RSS, the
issue had resurfaced to haunt Vajpayee in 1974 when he was president of the
Bharatiya Jana Sangh. A news report in the Left-wing newspaper, Blitz, had
accused him of providing evidence against a freedom fighter by signing a
confessional statement in the presence of a magistrate. The report was
challenged by Vajpayee’s colleague, the revered Nanaji Deshmukh, who had
filed a defamation suit against the paper. It had taken another nine years
before it was finally established that Atal Bihari Vajpayee hadn’t betrayed
the nationalists, but also that he had not participated in India’s struggle for
independence.

Atal Bihari Vajpayee’s political career can be neatly divided into distinct
phases. The first was in 1946 when at the age of twenty-two, he was
appointed the editor of a Hindi monthly called, Rashtradharma. This was the
time when Bhaurao Deoras (Balasaheb’s younger brother), and Deendayal
Upadhyaya were setting up the RSS in the United Provinces and were
soliciting support to disseminate the organisation’s ideology amongst people.
The young Atal Bihari had relocated to Lucknow to pursue his Ph.D after
securing a First Class in Political Science from DAV College, Kanpur. But at
the call of his seniors in the RSS, Vajpayee decided to abandon his doctoral
thesis midway and plunged deep into writing and editing for the newspaper
which propagated the sangh’s ideology. It was perhaps then that he had
earned the sobriquet of a politician-poet, which was attributed to him even
after his death, with several books on poetry that he had subsequently written
in his life. This stint was later followed by his editorship of the Panchjanya,
which exists till date as the RSS’ official mouthpiece.
The second chapter of his political life unfolded in 1957 when he was
elected to the Lok Sabha from Balarampur (UP), which was preceded by his
losing the 1952 by-election in Lucknow. This period which lasted a decade,
included his five-year stint in the Rajya Sabha from 1962 onwards, after he
was defeated by B.K. Dhaon of the Congress party by 30,000 odd votes in
the election to the third Lok Sabha.
Meanwhile in 1957, the Bharatiya Jana Sangh (which was set up in
1951 as the political arm of the RSS) had only five members in the Lok
Sabha and as a consequence of which, the time allotted for it during
parliamentary debates was limited. L.K. Advani, who was working as a
pracharak in Rajasthan at the time, was asked by the then general secretary of
the Jana Sangh, Deendayal Upadhyaya to shift to Delhi and assist the
parliamentary party with research. Thus began a lifelong association between
Advani and Vajpayee which for most part was based on mutual respect for
each other. The thirty-year-old Advani was an apprentice to Vajpayee, and
his task was to purely assist him and not tread beyond the assigned brief.
Advani was in a way following tradition—in 1951, Vajpayee was assigned
as the political aide to Syama Prasad Mookerjee.
Years later, L.K. Advani wrote in his memoirs3 how Prime Minister
Jawaharlal Nehru had noticed Vajpayee in parliament not only for his
eloquence in Hindi, but also for his erudition on a range of subjects. Once
after Atal Bihari had finished speaking, Nehru had sought the Chair’s
permission to speak in Hindi and while acknowledging the points made by
Vajpayee, he had proceeded to clarify certain issues involving India’s foreign
policy.
The prime minister had ‘remarked to his colleagues that he saw in
Vajpayee signs of a man who might well step into the Prime Minister’s shoes
one day.’4 In 1958, Nehru had included Vajpayee in an official delegation to
the UN General Assembly and personally instructed M.K. Rasgotra, who
was then an officer in India’s Permanent Mission to the UN, to not only
chaperone Vajpayee, but also ensure that he was introduced to world leaders.
However Nehru’s fondness for the young man dissipated soon thereafter
when Vajpayee began questioning the government on the controversial issue
of the Tibetan uprising, or rather its repression by the Chinese. Although
Nehru was forced to speak on the matter by Opposition leaders on 17 March
1959, the same day when the Dalai Lama was forced to flee Lhasa, Atal
Bihari Vajpayee tabled an Adjournment Motion six days later. The Speaker
of the Rajya Sabha while disallowing the Foreign Minister, had allowed
Prime Minister Nehru to make yet another statement on the issue. Meanwhile,
the situation in Tibet had worsened, even as the Indian parliament routinely
erupted in impassioned debates led by Vajpayee. The poet-turned-politician
while presenting yet another Adjournment Motion spoke lucidly, demanding a
‘review of India China relations where Tibet could be revived into its past
Indian friendly form.’5 He also insisted that India must assist the Dalai Lama
in his fight for Tibet’s liberation and termed the Chinese persecution as an
example of ‘yellow imperialism’. In the same Motion, Vajpayee also
declared that ‘the agreement of Panchsheel between India and China was
meaningless as China had violated all its promises towards Tibet. He asked
the government to review its China policy and withdraw all diplomatic
relations with China.’
Vajpayee’s intervention drew criticism not only from the government,
but also from a stalwart of the Indian Left, S.A. Dange, who denounced his
theory and contended that the uprising against the Chinese government was a
class struggle led by vested groups in a feudal setting, and exhorted Nehru
not to acquiesce to any demands. In his reply on the debate, Prime Minister
Nehru had rebutted Vajpayee’s points arguing that his proposal of openly
backing the Tibetans would lead to an armed conflict with China.
However, the Jana Sangh and Vajpayee were relentless in their
campaign against the Chinese and in a few months moved another resolution
in parliament demanding that the Tibet issue be referred to the United
Nations. In initiating what had become an unending debate, Vajpayee
showcased his prodigious oratorical skills yet again. He had also proven his
deftness at evolving strategies, including moving amendments to resolutions
and using multiple instruments for interventions in parliament.
At this juncture, Lal Krishna Advani as Vajpayee’s able associate had
intervened and quoted the practise amongst members of the British House of
Commons of using their right to seek a White Paper, and demanded the same
from the government of India. After acknowledging the past precedent, Prime
Minister Nehru agreed to the request and on 7 September 1959, the first ever
White Paper in the history of Indian politics was presented in parliament.
The mutual respect and admiration between Nehru and Vajpayee
manifested itself on several occasions, and most importantly and rather
poignantly after the former’s death on 27 May 1964. Atal Bihari made one of
the most stirring speeches in parliament, while eschewing the normal
practise of resorting to trite statements at the death of a statesman. In his
tribute he said that in Nehru’s death:

Bharat Mata is stricken with grief today—she has lost her favourite prince.
Humanity is sad today—it has lost its devotee. Peace is restless today—its
protector is no more. The down-trodden have lost their refuge. The common
man has lost the light in his eyes. The curtain has come down. The leading
actor on the stage of the world displayed his final role and taken the bow….

Despite his strong criticism of Nehru’s foreign policy, particularly in the

context of China, Vajpayee recalled:
I once saw him very angry during the days of the Chinese aggression when
our Western friends were trying to prevail upon us to arrive at some
compromise with Pakistan on Kashmir. When he was told that we would
have to fight on two fronts if there was no compromise on the Kashmir
problem, he flared up and said we would fight on both fronts if necessary. He
was against negotiating under any pressure.

In reference to the 1962 war, Vajpayee said in his condolence speech that,

the freedom of which he (Nehru) was the general and protector is today in
danger. We have to protect it with all our might. The national unity and
integrity of which he was the apostle is also in danger today. We have to
preserve it at any cost. The Indian democracy he established, and of which he
made a success, is also faced with a doubtful future. With our unity,
discipline and self-confidence we have to make this democracy a success.
The leader is gone, the followers remain. The sun has set, now we have to
find our way by the light of the stars.

Vajpayee’s respect for a political adversary was not only limited to Prime
Minister Nehru, he had the unique ability to assess his colleagues strictly on
political points, without resorting to personal attacks. His criticism had
sarcasm, satire, harmless banter, but it was never disparaging. That was one
reason why his colleagues—Communists, Socialists, and even leaders of the
Congress party—were often seen sharing a light moment with him in the
Central Hall of parliament before trooping back into the House to continue
with the slanging matches.
As mentioned earlier, Atal Bihari was different while being the same
man. Therefore, despite the camaraderie, he was unwavering about his
political convictions. He seldom lost an opportunity in criticising the
Nehruvian viewpoint on both politics and policy; as a dyed-in-the wool
politician, he knew that the fledgling Jana Sangh would fail as an alternative
unless Nehru’s political theories were debunked.
That was the only reason why he and the party he headed attacked
India’s first prime minister relentlessly, both as a man, and his ideas. For
instance, the Jana Sangh’s campaign projecting Nehru as the ‘Brown sahib’
who had agreed to the subcontinent’s partition, which the Right-wing saw as
Bharat Mata, was according to them only to secure the political gaddi or
chair. To say that Vajpayee was also part of such scathing attacks on a man he
admired would be scurrilous, primarily because he kept his criticisms within
the boundaries of civility, and this was what gave rise to him being
perceived as a ‘right man in a wrong party’ and vice-versa.
By now, it was acknowledged across political parties that Atal Bihari
Vajpayee had a way with words and an unusual ability to sway people with
his riveting speeches. By the early 1960s when political parties did not have
designated spokespersons, he was tasked with explaining his party’s position
on various issues, and a practise which had stood him in good stead after he
became president of the Jana Sangh in 1968.
One of the first challenges he faced was from his colleague, also an ex-
president of the Jana Sangh, Balraj Madhok, which was a continuation from
what had unfolded during Upadhyaya’s era. It may be recalled that it was
Madhok who had raised a strong objection against Deendayal Upadhyaya’s
nomination as president of the Jana Sangh (see chapter, Deendayal
Upadhyaya, p. 211).
Later, Balraj Madhok had trained his guns on Atal Bihari Vajpayee and
accused him of lending the Jana Sangh a ‘Leftist’ push on issues such as the
government employees’ strike in 1968, and the nationalisation of banks a
year later, in July 1969.
The strike is recalled as a major milestone in Indian working class’
history because never before had forty lakh government employees
descended on the streets to protest against the government of the day.
Workers from different sectors, including, railways and defence demanded
need-based minimum wage; neutralisation of price rise; merger of DA with
Basic Pay; withdrawal of the proposal to retire employees at fifty or at the
completion of twenty-five years of service; and the abolition of contract and
casual labour system. Unfortunately, albeit expectedly, every attempt was
made to quell the strike and the striking leaders were victimised for many
months thereafter. A year later, the Indira Gandhi-led Congress government
nationalised fourteen commercial banks by first introducing an ordinance and
later seeking approval in parliament.
It was against this backdrop that Balraj Madhok along with Minoo
Masani of the Right-wing Swatantra Party had filed a petition challenging the
presidential ordinance. The two leaders had even secured a stay from the
Supreme Court, but Indira Gandhi had it deftly replaced with a Bill and had
also managed to secure the assent of the then acting President of India.
 In the ensuing debate between the two stalwarts, while Madhok was
clearly in favour of the Jana Sangh merging with the Swatantra Party,
Vajpayee wanted to retain its distinct identity with a marked populist thrust.
Eventually, when L.K. Advani took over as president of the Jana Sangh
in early 1973, he along with Vajpayee collaborated to expel Madhok and
remained firm on the path of economic and political populism. By the time
the Vajpayee–Advani duo had succeeded in silencing the internal dissensions
within the party, there was a change of guard in the RSS. The Jana Sangh’s
participation in the emerging anti-Congress coalition had become a reality,
and after the 1977 Lok Sabha polls, Atal Bihari Vajpayee became the Foreign
minister.
Atal Bihari Vajpayee’s foreign policy largely operated within the
Nehruvian framework. According to an insider account6, as Prime Minister
Morarji Desai ‘had carefully calibrated the normalisation of India’s relations
with China,’ Vajpayee was extended an invitation to visit China in October
1978. The Foreign minister had however cancelled the visit citing what was
thought to be an innocuous reason—a ‘stomach ache’, while it was an open
secret that the ‘real reason’ behind his reluctance was that ‘the Soviet Union
and the Soviet lobby within the Janata Party had opposed tooth and nail the
process of normalisation of Sino-Indian relations. Vajpayee was afraid of
annoying them.’ Eventually, Vajpayee did travel to Beijing in February 1979,
but he ‘had to come scurrying back home because China had—as Deng
Xiaoping had vowed to do—militarily intervened in Vietnam while Vajpayee
was in China. The whole world knew that China was going to take this action
and so did Vajpayee before he departed, but the howl in Parliament of the
now-defunct ‘Friends of the Soviet Union’ about ‘Chinese aggression’ made
him cut short his visit.’
Vajpayee’s excellent speech in Hindi at the United Nations General
Assembly (UNGA) in 1977 is now legendary. As India’s Foreign minister, he
took the lead in sending the jurist-economist and a free-market champion,
Nani Palkhivala as the Indian Ambassador to the US in 1977. A year later in
1978, Jimmy Carter became the first American President to visit Delhi since
Richard Nixon in 1969.
Atal Bihari later shifted his focus to India’s immediate neighbours and
was of the firm view that unless India mends its ties with them, its
geopolitical status would remain globally tenuous. In 1977, he travelled to
Bangladesh and met with President Zia-ur-Rahman and signed the Farakka
Accord to settle the contentious issue of Ganga river waters. A year later in
February 1978, even as Pakistan was struggling to come to terms with the
chief martial administrator, Zia-ul-Haq, Vajpayee went to Islamabad and was
invited by the unyielding General to his Colonial-style bungalow for talks.
As evidenced in later years, Vajpayee had made repeated efforts to normalise
India’s ties with Islamabad, first with his historic Lahore visit and later by
extending an impromptu invitation to General Pervez Musharraf for the Agra
summit. Vajpayee was eulogised by the BJP for long, including by the current
government headed by Narendra Modi. But as was observed, turning him
‘into a national icon does not necessarily mean the BJP and RSS appreciates
his diplomatic legacy, especially towards the neighbours.’7
With the collapse of the Janata government in mid-1979, Atal Bihari
Vajpayee’s stint as India’s Foreign minister came to an end. What had started
off as an ambitious, and a hitherto unknown phenomenon of forming a
coalition of disparate political forces with a singular mission to stand against
the monolithic Congress party, had also ended rather abysmally due to the
internecine skirmishes between stakeholders. Atal Bihari Vajpayee was
faced with severe ignominy as he along with his colleagues were seen as
suspect for their ideological commitment to the RSS while running a
government with the Socialists and others who questioned them on the dual
membership issue. It was indeed ironical when Vajpayee and his colleagues
were pilloried by a section of Socialists who were the former associates of
Ram Manohar Lohia. The reason: in the past, Vajpayee and some of his Jana
Sangh colleagues were at loggerheads with Balraj Madhok who had accused
him of being in cahoots with the Leftists. Finally, Atal Bihari Vajpayee and a
few others from the Jana Sangh chose to go alone and formed the Bharatiya
Janata Party in April 1980.
In his maiden speech at the BJP’s first plenary session in Delhi, he had
openly distanced the party from Jana Sangh’s ideological legacy. He
proposed that the newly-established party adopt Gandhian Socialism, which
was unacceptable to the RSS and amongst other reasons because it was, as
the name suggested, associated with the Mahatma and the Socialists.
But Vajpayee had stuck to his guns in lending the BJP a pan-Indian
appeal rather than restricting it to just being an offshoot of the Jana Sangh.
Sikander Bhakt, a one-time Congress (O) leader, was made vice president of
the party even though sections of the sangh parivar had launched a scurrilous
campaign against him in the late 1950s for having married a Hindu woman.
 However by the early Eighties, Vajpayee’s grand plans for the BJP
were eclipsed by the shadow of militancy in Punjab leading to the
assassination of Indira Gandhi in October 1984. In the elections held in the
aftermath of her murder, Atal Bihari Vajpayee was defeated in his home turf
by the erstwhile Maharaja of Gwalior, Madhavrao Scindia by a huge margin
of two lakh votes. The worse was yet to come—in May 1986, L.K Advani
replaced Atal Bihari Vajpayee as president. But while the change of guard
was justified as a ‘lesson for other parties’, what was apparent was the
party’s return to its core principles—Vajpayee’s ‘wishy-washy’ credo of
Gandhian Socialism was swiftly abandoned, and Deendayal Upadhyaya’s
Integral Humanism was back as the guiding philosophy of the Jana Sangh.
The RSS resumed the practise of deputing pracharaks; the stage was
readied for the party’s revival as a pro-Hindutva party; it was back to the
basics, the only difference being that Atal Bihari Vajpayee was absent from
the scheme of things.

Sometime in 1987, as a young freelance journalist, I was asked by the editor

of a magazine to interview Atal Bihari Vajpayee. I was briefed on all the
questions, including the one about him being sidelined in the BJP and his
future course of action.
Even as I was approaching the end of the interview, I had asked
Vajpayee with great trepidation about his so-called isolation. He had
immediately lapsed into one of his legendary pauses and while pointing
towards my tape recorder, he had said, ‘Switch that off.’ Once he was sure
that I had stopped recording, he had smiled at me and asked if I was fond of
Hindi film music. When I had nodded in the affirmative, Vajpayee asked me
another question. ‘Have you heard that song, Jayen toh jayen kahan?’
(Literally, where should one go, even if one wants to? This song is from the
1954 Dev Anand starrer, Taxi Driver). He had then burst into laughter and
ended the interview. I was struck by his brilliant response—the manner in
which he had almost said what was most controversial about his position in
the BJP and second, his ability to laugh at himself, which is still a rare trait
in politicians.
Even as the BJP was surging forward with its plans to build a grand
Ram temple in Ayodhya, Atal Bihari Vajpayee treaded with utmost caution on
the issue. L.K. Advani had already launched his famous Somnath to Ayodhya
rath yatra in 1990 and had traversed thousands of miles to mobilise support
for the temple, and clearly without the overt support of his one-time senior
and comrade-in-arms.
One would have thought that with the BJP’s focus on the temple under
the leadership of L.K. Advani, Atal Bihari may have as well walked into the
sunset, but that was not to be. In 1991, although he was a member of the
Rajya Sabha with one whole year to go, Atal Bihari Vajpayee returned to
Lucknow to contest the Lok Sabha polls after having ‘publicly declared that I
won’t stand for election to the Lok Sabha.’8 He also contested simultaneously
from Vidisha, but had eventually retained his Lucknow seat.
The BJP had opted to field both L.K. Advani and Vajpayee from two
seats (the former from Gandhinagar in Gujarat and New Delhi) to ‘give
momentum and acceleration to our election,’ and chose Lucknow for
Vajpayee because it was certain that his presence in UP would help the party
in securing a majority in the simultaneous assembly polls. The ploy worked,
for the BJP won fifty-one out of eight-five seats in UP, and 221 seats in a
425-member assembly. Although Vajpayee returned to the Lok Sabha after
seven long years, it was clear that it was Advani who was the man of the
moment and in charge of the party.
In 1992, when the Congress government gave Atal Bihari Vajpayee the
Padma Vibhushan, followed by the Best Parliamentarian Award in 1994, it
seemed as if his political career was virtually over. At the Padma awards
ceremony, Atal Bihari read from his poem titled, Oonchai (meaning, Height),
which almost reflected his state of mind:

Jo jitna ooncha,
Utna ekaki hota hai,
Har bhaar ko swayam dhota hai,
Chehre par muskan chipka,
Mann hee mann rota hai.

(He who reaches the acme,

Is the most lonely,
Burdened by his own weight,
Forced to keep a smile,
But his heart within weeps.)
The lines sounded like a lament, but it was certainly not a swansong from a
stalwart of Vajpayee’s stature. A year after receiving the awards, and what
many had presumed was his period of retirement, Atal Bihari Vajpayee was
back in the reckoning. In November 1995, the sangh parivar’s top brass
recommended his name for prime minister in order for the BJP to transit from
being the ‘government in waiting’ to becoming the ruling dispensation at the
Centre. It was felt that the ‘inclusive’ Vajpayee was a better option than L.K.
Advani, the unabashed hardliner who had catapulted the BJP to centre stage
with his rath yatra. But most importantly, Vajpayee’s candidature was
considered mandatory to secure the support of regional parties which were
more inclined to throw their weight behind him.
In My Country My Life, L.K. Advani mentions that it was he who had
announced Vajpayee’s candidature without consulting either his party
colleagues or the RSS, which seems implausible as it was they who had
wanted Vajpayee to be fielded as the incumbent prime minister in the first
place. Be that as it may, the BJP emerged as the single largest party in 1996
and Atal Bihari Vajpayee was sworn in as India’s tenth prime minister. At
long last, the sangh parivar’s long cherished dream of installing one of its
own as India’s prime minister had come to fruition, but it lasted a mere
thirteen days—Atal Bihari Vajpayee was forced to resign after failing to
muster a majority in parliament.
But from then to the 1998 elections, Vajpayee had come a long way and
after the BJP emerged as the single largest party yet again, its task of
cobbling together a coalition had become far easier because it had firmed up
fourteen alliances with parties (compared to 1996 when the party had fielded
471 candidates, and later went for a more realistic estimate by fielding only
388).
In December 1997, the party unleashed an advertisement blitzkrieg with
‘The Man India Awaits’ as its tagline. In the ensuing election, although the
magic figure of 272 had eluded the BJP one more time, Vajpayee’s charm
was firmly intact and he was sworn in as prime minister in March 1998. As
the head of the National Democratic Alliance (NDA), he had insisted on a
written programme for the coalition almost like a statement of intent called
the National Agenda for Governance (NAG). After the failure of the Janata
Party experiment, and his thirteen-day tenure in 1996, Vajpayee had become
alert to contrarian views within the coalition. He was also aware that a
certain hard line Hindutva faction within the sangh parivar would step up the
demand for the construction of the Ram temple, and hence as a pre-emptive
measure, the NAG had not only excluded the Ayodhya issue, but also two
other potentially polarising electoral promises—the Uniform Civil Code, and
the abrogation of Article 370 of the Constitution. In the 1999 NDA manifesto,
there was no reference made to the three contentious issues. In 2004, there
was a covert reference to the Ram temple issue while the other two issues
were omitted; but in 2009, by the time Vajpayee had retreated from political
life due to his illness, the BJP’s manifesto had stated its position most
unequivocally.
Much has been said and written about Vajpayee’s premiership which
lasted for six years from 1999–2004. If there was one issue on which he
invited the wrath of the sangh, it was in accelerating economic liberalisation
which Nagpur viewed as an extension of the steps initiated by P.V.
Narasimha Rao and Dr Manmohan Singh, and later pursued by the United
Progressive Alliance or UPA (I) government.
By weeding out the ‘Hindu nationalistic’ programmes from the list of
objectives in the NAG, Vajpayee had achieved his first major win as India’s
prime minister. It was however also true that Vajpayee had to literally
genuflect to the RSS when it came to the choice of appointing his council of
ministers. It was no secret that Jaswant Singh was his closest aide, and
Vajpayee was keen that he becomes the Finance minister. The RSS wanted
Yashwant Sinha to be entrusted with the portfolio because he had joined the
BJP after his stint with the Swadeshi Jagran Manch and was thus more in
tune with the sangh’s economic vision. The RSS was also of the view that the
choice of Jaswant Singh would also send out a wrong signal for the party as
he had lost the Lok Sabha elections.
The message was conveyed to Prime Minister Vajpayee at midnight by
the RSS sarsanghchalak, K.S. Sudarshan. Although Vajpayee was not pleased
with this unwarranted intervention, neither Jaswant Singh nor the late Pramod
Mahajan were sworn in as ministers for they had lost from Chittorgarh and
Mumbai respectively.
The choice of Yashwant Sinha came as a shot in the arm for the
champions of ‘economic nationalism’ within the NDA, like the Swadeshi
Jagran Manch and the RSS-affiliated trade union, Bharatiya Mazdoor Sangh
which had campaigned against multinationals; the privatisation of public
enterprises; mechanisation and automation in sectors which they felt had led
to job cuts; and the increased influence of international monetary agencies in
policy formulation.
In May 1998, Atal Bihari Vajpayee’s decision to conduct nuclear tests,
code-named Operation Shakti which was more popularly known as Pokhran-
II, was considered to be one of his finest moments because it had put to an
end what was perceived to be his so-called ‘political weakness’. However,
it had also marked the beginning of the idea of ‘ultra-nationalism’, which had
terrible consequences a decade later. Much like Atal Bihari Vajpayee’s first
stint in the ministry of External Affairs, his initiatives as prime minister had a
few hits, but many glaring misses as well. It was under him that India’s
foreign policy was given a fresh impetus in the post-cold war world. With
Bill Clinton’s India visit in early 2000, Vajpayee was feted for renewing ties
with the United States. Although his 1979 visit to China was a disaster, as
prime minister he had succeeded in transforming the contentious border
dispute with China by naming special representatives as interlocutors on both
sides.
However, Vajpayee’s two biggest initiatives with Pakistan had resulted
in terrible embarrassments—the historic Lahore bus journey in February
1999 which was launched with much hype of connecting people across
borders had ended in a ‘betrayal’ with the Kargil war in May 1999.
Similarly, two years later, the Agra Summit which was seen as a unique
initiative with Pakistan’s General Pervez Musharraf, had not only ended in a
terrible public spectacle, but the attack on the Indian parliament within a few
months had pushed the sub-continent to the brink of a nuclear war.
Atal Bihari Vajpayee continued to have a troubled relationship with the
Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) and other hard line elements within his
fraternity. Amongst several other things, the VHP was most unwilling to
accept his argument that the Ayodhya dispute should be left to the court’s
discretion. Despite his long years in the RSS, he remained distanced from
K.S. Sudarshan, who had succeeded Rajju Bhaiyya in 2000; but most
importantly, Vajpayee had failed to contain Narendra Modi after the 2002
Gujarat riots. As the patriarch of the BJP, he had nevertheless lectured Modi
on adhering to the principles of democracy, but it finally had had little or no
impact.
It is now well documented that the defeat of the BJP in the 2004
elections was mainly due to its unrealistic and over-ambitious India Shining
campaign, which in retrospect, is viewed as a disaster considering the poor
and the marginalised had voted against it and shifted to the Congress party.
However, there was yet another crucial reason which has always had a direct
bearing on BJP’s electoral gains—the disinterest of the RSS cadre in
securing a victory for the party. The man in the middle of it all was none
other than Atal Bihari Vajpayee. In 1980, after the collapse of the Janata
Party, Atal Bihari Vajpayee had written a poem titled, Sapna Toot Gaya (The
Dream is Shattered). Although it was seen as his response to the failure of
the Janata experiment, the following lines could very well have been the
swansong of the poet-prime minister:

Strange are the ways of the damsel called Destiny.

Always ready to spell ruin.
The caravan has marched two steps
And, the companion has fallen by the wayside.
The dream is shattered.
 LAL KRISHNA ADVANI

I t is trite, but nowhere is it more manifest than in politics. A man who had
driven thousands of miles on a rath to make his party relevant for the
people of India, and succeeded in catapulting it to the centre stage, was
uncharitably referred to as the ‘forever-in-waiting-PM’. In the years leading
to the emergence of Narendra Modi as the Bharatiya Janata Party’s invincible
leader, every attempt by the man to put off the inevitable generational change
had fallen by the wayside.
This failure to see the writing on the wall was one of the several
paradoxes which characterised Lal Kishinchand Advani (this is his original
name, but the middle name was later legally altered to, Krishna). Had his
first and only boss been alive today, he would have rued over how his
apprentice had turned out eventually. K.R. Malkani, the late journalist-
turned-senior leader of the BJP, who was editor of the Organiser, had spoken
to me years ago when I was working on a profile of L.K. Advani (who was
then Union Home Minister) for the now defunct Sunday magazine.
‘When I saw Lal for the first time, I was struck by his obvious
astuteness and clarity of thought.’1 And this was in 1942, in Hyderabad,
Sindh (now in Pakistan) when Advani was a young man and like Malkani had
put it, he ‘didn’t even have facial hair.’
It was his earnestness which had helped him move up the ladder, first in
the RSS, later in the Jana Sangh, and eventually in the BJP. His family
background however was very ‘un-swayamsevak like’. Son of a
businessman, Lal Krishna studied in St. Patrick High School, Karachi, hardly
the place for stentorian Hindutva arguments that he had so deftly adapted to
in his youth. Moreover, Sindh had a syncretic tradition, followed by both
Muslims and Hindus alike who revered the eighteenth-century Sufi poet, Sain
Sachal Sarmast. In a party which was built around ancient Hindu precepts,
Lal Krishna’s early years in Pakistan was often quoted to highlight the schism
between his childhood values, and what he eventually practised. Even in the
years when he reigned supreme in the BJP, there would be snide remarks on
his brand of Hindutva which some said, ‘begins with his kurta and ends with
his dhoti.’
In fact, at the time of his initiation into the Jana Sangh in Rajasthan,
where he had settled after Partition under somewhat ‘questionable’
circumstances (see, chapter, Madhav Sadashiv Golwalkar, p. 98), he was
perceived as extremely polished for the rough and tumble of politics, and
was therefore considered more suitable for organisational tasks, than the
chaos associated with mass politics. In fact, for a major part of his political
career, L.K. Advani was not the quintessential mass leader, a trait which was
best understood by Deendayal Upadhyaya who had successfully established
the RSS in Uttar Pradesh.
In 1957, Upadhyaya ordered that Lal Krishna be moved to Delhi and
perform the role of a parliamentary secretary (which wasn’t an official
appointment) for the four-member Jana Sangh team in the Lok Sabha. It was
during this phase when the legendary Atal–Advani friendship had taken root.
As mentioned elsewhere in the book, Lal Krishna was an industrious worker
of the party and although Vajpayee was only three years older, he held him in
great esteem.
Within a span of less than two decades and coinciding with a period
when he was elected as president of the Jana Sangh, L.K. Advani was
labelled the next Deendayal and mainly for his ability to stay out of
mainstream politics and focus on building the core ideology through clever
intellectuality. In the early years, along with acting as the de facto
parliamentary secretary, Advani also doubled up as a correspondent for the
Organiser, which helped Vajpayee bolster his arguments in parliament.
It was only four decades later after the BJP was formed in 1980 that the
first signs of a disagreement began to manifest between the two men and
particularly after Lal Krishna Advani made the construction of the Ram
temple in Ayodhya the core of his party’s politics.

In 1970, L.K. Advani was nominated to the Rajya Sabha and after nineteen
long years, he made an ‘uneasy’ transition into the Lok Sabha in November
1989. The reason: he was more at ease addressing small gatherings at party
meetings than facing thousands at public rallies. But behind the genteel image
of the man lay the archetypal organisational worker of the RSS and a trait
which stood him in good stead as president of the Jana Sangh. In 1973, it was
under his leadership that the revolt within the Jana Sangh was crushed most
successfully. The one-time Praja Parishad leader, also a former party
president, Balraj Madhok was evicted from the Jana Sangh without as much
as a chance to plead his case with RSS sarsanghchalak, Balasaheb Deoras.
Thirteen years later in 1986, after the BJP was routed in the 1984 elections,
L.K. Advani was not only given the charge to resurrect the party, but also to
firm up its core ideology.
In the next five years, he deftly created the leitmotif around which the
BJP built its politics. Even as the issue of building the Ram temple in
Ayodhya was under discussion prior to independence, it was in 1990 when
L.K. Advani had given his party a compelling reason to fight the Congress
party on an equal footing. Although he was equated with Deendayal
Upadhyaya owing to nostalgia and a deep emotional connect on the part of
the cadre, Advani had fulfilled what his mentor had recommended as early as
the early Forties: to strengthen the ideological core of the RSS. Despite his
so-called ‘unswayamsevak-like’ aptitude and his failure to connect with the
masses, L.K. Advani succeeded in securing the BJP firmly into the Sangh
fold and put an end to any discussion on adopting Gandhian Socialism, which
was strongly supported by his closest ally, Atal Bihari at one time.
If one were to analyse Advani’s role in giving the BJP a strong political
purpose in its fight against the monolithic Congress party, then it was the
loftiness that he had lent to an agitation which was till then appropriated by
lumpen foot-soldiers and bigoted leaders of the Right-wing who typically
resorted to ‘hate speeches’ and disparaging slogans such as, Mein Babur ka
damaad hoon (I am the son-in-law of Babur, denoting sexual domination
over single Muslim women). It may be recalled that the Ayodhya agitation
was spearheaded by the Vishwa Hindu Parishad under the guidance of the
RSS leadership (see chapter, Balasaheb Deoras, p. 247) in the mid-Sixties. It
had reared its head yet again in 1984, but was soon eclipsed in the aftermath
of Indira Gandhi’s assassination. Four years later in 1989, it had acquired a
pan-Indian character due to several innovative campaigns, the most virulent
being the Ram shila pujan accompanied by a yatra in which specially
consecrated bricks with ‘Jai Shri Ram’ inscribed on them were taken out in
processions through the hinterland and trunk routes to Ayodhya, resulting in
more than 700 communal riots in Gujarat, Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh, Uttar
Pradesh and Bihar which was the worst affected, with more than 1,700
people dead.
Despite one of the worst episodes of sectarian violence in post-
Independent India, and also the BJP’s dramatic rise in 1989 when its tally
had increased from an abysmal two in 1984 to 85, the building of the Ram
temple in Ayodhya was yet to become a significant electoral issue for the
party. In retrospect, the centrality that the Ram temple came to assume in
India’s political discourse during the following year was only due to
Advani’s Somnath to Ayodhya rath yatra which he had kick started between
September and October 1990.
The itinerary for the rath yatra was drawn up with the intention of
ensuring L.K. Advani’s grand entry into the temple town to coincide with the
VHP’s pre-planned programme to launch the construction at the disputed site.
Meanwhile, the VHP also supported this grand initiative by taking out Ram
Jyoti yatras during which devotees carried torches from the other two
disputed temple towns—Varanasi and Mathura. It was the season of Hindu
festivals where traditionally large crowds walk in processions, and the
VHP’s march succeeded in creating the right pitch for the religio-political
fervour across many cities in north India. In a matter of two years, Lord Ram,
the hero of the Ramayana, was transformed into a political icon and mainly
because of the efforts of Lal Krishna Advani.
There is no doubt that the rath yatra and its accompanying background
around one of the most revered gods of the Hindu pantheon had attracted
hordes to come out on the streets and pay obeisance, but it was L.K.
Advani’s presence which gave it a kind of legitimacy that was hitherto
unknown. I recall the spectacle so vividly when Advani wearing a large tika
(a vermillion mark on the forehead) would stand atop the LCV-turned-rath
which was painted with popular motifs from the Ramayana, almost like a
character from the mythological world who had descended from the heavens
to rescue the ‘lost’ temple and its devotees.
In the initial years of the VHP’s campaign, its leaders had argued that
the claim of a Ram temple at the disputed site would be eventually ‘proven’.
However, the findings by the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) as part of
its Archaeology of Ramayana Sites project, suggested that there was no
evidence of any human settlement in contemporary Ayodhya before eleventh
century BC. What this meant was that if events described in the epic did
occur as believed by several Hindus, they perhaps may have, but not
necessarily in the location that the VHP insisted they did. At a time when the
sangh parivar was in a conundrum over faith and fact, it was Advani who had
come to their rescue by proclaiming that Ram was a matter of faith.2 His
master stroke of a statement, which was in a way an assertion of belief over
rationality, gave the RSS and its affiliates instant nirvana from the burden of
confronting historical facts.
Much like phrases which have become part of the urban political
narrative today—’Libtard’ to mean someone who is an unyielding liberal and
therefore, biased, or ‘bhakt’ to mean a blind devotee of the current ruling
dispensation, it was Advani who was instrumental in coining a phrase which
not only became a significant part of the Indian political lexicon, but helped
the BJP to gain further acceptance amongst its supporters—pseudo-
secularism. His argument being that the sangh parivar and its subsidiaries
believed in genuine secularism which was built on the principle of ‘equality
for all, but appeasement of none’; while the rest of the parties appeased
religious minorities, especially Muslims, thereby being anti-Hindu and were
therefore deemed to be pseudo-secular.
At one point during the Ram temple agitation, and especially after the
demolition of the Babri masjid in 1992, Advani had layered his original
argument even further and said that their campaign wasn’t just limited to
building the Ram temple in Ayodhya, but was part of a larger plan to
propagate the idea of cultural nationalism. This wasn’t an original idea by
any standards. What Lal Krishna Advani had managed to do was astutely
repackage a core Hindutva ideal for modern India. He had turned the idea of
cultural nationalism on its head, while juxtaposing his idea of a nation with
territorial nationalism, and redefined ancient religious codes for Hindus to
take pride in their religious identity.
While the majority of VHP leaders spoke in a rhetorical fashion, L.K.
Advani loved a good argument and constantly emphasised on buttressing the
political thought behind Hindutva. He was perhaps the first RSS leader who
could hold his own with the intelligentsia and was therefore used by the
sangh parivar to address a section amongst Hindus which was distinctly
uncomfortable with the Congress’ approach towards the minorities, but also
found the sangh parivar either too coarse or incomprehensible because of
their insistence in speaking in highly Sanskritised Hindi. Advani succeeded
in creating a vocabulary that appeared coherent and logical. Even those who
disagreed with him found it difficult to dislike him, for such was his charm
which hid an extremely tough interior.
The year 1990 clearly belonged to L.K. Advani. The BJP was waiting
in the wings to act as per a pre-meditated plan. On 23 October, when Chief
Minister Lalu Prasad Yadav arrested Advani in Samastipur, Bihar (under
sub-section [2] of Section 3, National Security Act, 1980) to ‘prevent him
from acting in a manner prejudicial to the maintenance of public order,’
Vajpayee was tasked with informing the then President, R. Venkataraman that
his party was withdrawing support to V.P. Singh’s coalition government.
Meanwhile in end 1990, the British Broadcasting Corporation or BBC
had sought nominations for its annual Man of the Year award. Decades
before the existence of social media platforms, the BBC had discovered that
several supporters of L.K. Advani had made multiple nominations to ensure
his selection. His name was consequently struck off the list, but there was no
denying the fact that Advani was clearly the man of the moment for his cadre.
Two years later, when he was in ‘partial’ confinement in a government
guest house in Jhansi, Advani had written two signed articles in The Indian
Express stating that 6 December had been the ‘saddest day’ of his life. After
his release from detention when he was asked if it was correct to presume
that he had actually apologised to the nation for the demolition of the
sixteenth-century mosque, he had replied in the negative. However in his
memoirs, Advani wrote that his regret had stemmed from the inability of the
sangh parivar in controlling the mob, and how it had resulted in a personal
loss of face for him.3 The reason being that he had all along claimed that
some form of symbolic or even shambolic construction activity would be
undertaken at the site without incurring any damage to the structure. Advani
also wrote that he was not only criticised within the sangh parivar for having
expressed his sorrow, but also by secular groups who had heaped scorn on
him for his refusal to express regret. He had further explained that the
incident had hurt him the most because it had eroded his personal and
professional credibility within the organisation. It needs to be questioned and
owing to the personality that Lal Krishna Advani is—was Advani being
truthful when he had clarified about his controversial statement in the
newspaper articles? Was he actually showing remorse, and if so, then why?
It is my belief that memoirs of well-known political leaders, especially
when they are still active in public life, are more often written with the sole
intention of leveraging their last years. In retrospect, Advani’s statement
terming 6 December as the saddest day of his life has to be viewed
contextually and by juxtaposing it with the past and future events in his
career. For instance, he had proclaimed that the Ayodhya agitation was not so
much about constructing the temple, but for a larger political agenda.
Therefore, one wonders if the Babri demolition had actually taken the sangh
parivar closer to its objective? Thirty-five months after the demolition, why
did he cede space to Atal Bihari Vajpayee by resurrecting the party’s old
slogan – ‘Agli baari, Atal Bihari’ (The next time around, it shall be Atal
Bihari), clearly indicating that the BJP would contest the next elections under
Vajpayee’s leadership? However, this was in effect L.K. Advani’s
acceptance of the fact that despite the success of the Ram temple agitation in
Ayodhya, it was prudent to promote a comparatively liberal and more
acceptable face such as Atal Bihari Vajpayee.
In the years preceding the Ayodhya agitation, the Right-wing had
relentlessly presented the disputed mosque as a symbol of Hindu subjugation,
and avowed to build a grand temple almost as an act of penance towards the
community. Ironically, with the demolition of the disputed mosque, the object
for invoking hostility towards the minority community had suddenly
disappeared and impacted the sangh parivar and L.K Advani’s collective
cause. While introspecting in the guest house, Advani must have perhaps
realised that henceforth it would be nigh impossible to enthuse the Hindus
towards a cause that they were sworn to for decades. For some time, the
movement for building the Ram temple was de-escalated, but no one in the
sangh parivar had the gumption to declare that the Ayodhya agitation had
accomplished its mission once a makeshift temple was constructed, and
henceforth it would rest on the Indian courts to decide if a permanent
structure could be built at the site or not. But more importantly, the cause of
Hindutva had to now find a more relevant peg to consolidate the community
and there was concern over how this could be achieved.
It was therefore sheer political necessity which had made L.K. Advani
vacate the top spot for Atal Bihari Vajpayee in the run up to the elections.
According to several insiders of the time, he had hoped to influence his old
comrade with assistance from the sangh affiliates, which had worked but for
a short while before Vajpayee became his own master. In later years, L.K.
Advani had conceded that he was most definitely the second-in-command to
the late Vajpayee. After Vajpayee had lost the elections in 2004 and openly
attributed it to the 2002 Gujarat riots and the decision in allowing Modi to
remain in office, Advani’s assumption was further buttressed. Consequently,
with an eye on India’s secular consciousness, he had discovered the secular
credentials of Mohammed Ali Jinnah during a tour to Pakistan in June 2005.
But the ploy had backfired: for secularists, Advani remained the
quintessential driver of the rath, a man who had mobilised Hindus to pledge
their allegiance for the Ram temple in Ayodhya. On the other hand, he was
alienated by the RSS and the entire rank and file of the sangh parivar.
From early 2005 onwards, whether it was by design or naÏvete, but
L.K. Advani refused to read the signals from Nagpur—it was time for him to
call it a day, and which had eventually resulted in humiliation that a leader of
his stature did not deserve.
One afternoon in June 2013 at the party conclave in Goa when Advani
was all by himself after Modi was named the BJP’s prime ministerial
candidate, there was no one around to share his pain. From an entire
generation of leaders who had been virtually mentored by him, this was a
tragic payback. But politics is cruel and seldom leaves room for niceties,
even if it means disrespecting a party elder, and in a party which insists on
adhering to ancient Indian values. Today, when one sees him being ignored
by his associates in the BJP, one has to be reminded that this was the man
who had in a way contributed to the demolition of the Babri masjid.
 ASHOK SINGHAL

A ny political organisation which sustains for decades needs effective

leadership and vice-versa. One of the best examples of this well
known argument was Mahatma Gandhi’s decision to synergise the Non-
cooperation and Khilafat movements under the platform of the Indian
National Congress in 1919–20. In one single stroke, he had succeeded in
bringing the nation’s focus on to the Congress party as being in the vanguard
of fighting the British. The impact of Gandhi’s action was indicative of the
fact that there existed no other powerful tool for political agitations than an
effective mass movement.
In a completely different context, while juxtaposing it almost four
decades thereafter, was the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) which was set up
in 1964 at the initiative of the then RSS sarsanghchalak, M.S. Golwalkar, but
it was only in the late Seventies when it had begun to make an impact on
Indian politics. For close to two decades, the VHP had meandered around in
a rudderless fashion, until a man called Ashok Singhal had appeared and
changed its destiny.
In the early 1980s, India was on the threshold of a political churn—the
Janata Party experiment was over, and with it the opportunity to create an
alternative to challenge the Congress’ hegemony; the Jana Sangh, RSS’
political affiliate, had ceased to exist; and most importantly, RSS chief
Balasaheb Deoras had an extremely difficult task on hand. He had resolved
to reinvent the sangh parivar knowing full well that not only had the Jana
Sangh’s bid to merge with the Janata Party failed, but the RSS still carried
the stigma of being a communal organisation, perceived to be culpable in
Gandhi’s murder.
Deoras had therefore decided to proceed prudently and using his long
and illustrious record of working with pracharaks, he carefully handpicked a
few who had the special talent of mobilising Hindus. Ashok Singhal, who
joined the RSS as a sixteen-year-old in 1942, was one amongst the chosen
ones who became a full-time pracharak shortly after he had completed his
degree in Metallurgical Engineering from the Banaras Hindu University or
BHU.
However, the RSS wasn’t the only political force in the 1980s to use
religion to its political advantage. Even the Indira Gandhi-led Congress party
had willy-nilly accepted that in order to sustain in the political atmosphere, it
was imperative to dovetail religion with mainstream politics. As a result,
one of her key loyalists, the erstwhile ruler of Jammu & Kashmir, also an
erudite Sanskrit scholar, Dr Karan Singh had swung into action and in
September 1981 launched a ‘socio-religious’ outfit called the Virat Hindu
Samaj or VHS. Ashok Singhal who was then the RSS’ Delhi prant pracharak,
was appointed its general secretary; Lala Hans Raj Gupta, yet another
seasoned RSS member and publisher, became its vice president; and one of
India’s top industrialist, Vishnu Hari Dalmia (who later became president of
the VHP) was appointed its treasurer. The irony of this strange amalgamation
was that although Karan Singh belonged to the other end of politics, the RSS’
influence over the VHS was seen to be complete, especially with Singhal
occupying a key position in the hierarchy. The Samaj began by holding Virat
Hindu Sammelans, literally large Hindu conclaves, in several parts of north
and east India which were also addressed by senior Congress leaders,
including Dr Shankar Dayal Sharma who later went on to become the
President of India in 1987. It required no great political acumen to infer that
the arrangement was for the mutual benefit of both parties—Karan Singh
wanted to use the sangh’s network to widen the scope of his newly-
established organisation, while the RSS hoped for legitimacy with the
presence of Congress stalwarts on a shared platform.
By 1982, Ashok Singhal was relieved of his charge in the RSS and
deputed full-time to the VHP as joint general secretary. For two years
thereafter, he played an active role in both the VHP and VHS (see chapter,
Balasaheb Deoras, p. 247). However, according to several political accounts
of the time, by late 1983, he was keen to play a more decisive role in politics
than merely convening large Hindu congregations.
During his early years in the VHP, he had made a strong case for forging
Hindu solidarity by running two campaigns: first, the need for reforms in
Hindu society apropos the horrific Meenakshipuram conversion episode*;
and cow protection.
 In March 1983, when the demand for the building of the Ram temple in
Ayodhya was made openly at a public meeting in Muzaffarnagar (Uttar
Pradesh), and which was attended by several Congress leaders including,
Gulzarilal Nanda who had served as the acting prime minister twice (after
the demise of Nehru in 1964, and Lal Bahadur Shastri in 1966), Ashok
Singhal had found the right cause for his rebellion and decided to give it a
formal structure by co-opting religious leaders into the movement. He set up
a committee to celebrate the festival of Ram Navami in the same year, and in
1984, established the Ram Janmabhoomi Mukti Yagna Samiti (in an attempt
to ‘liberate’ the site of Lord Ram’s birth) at a two-day long Dharam Sansad
(religious conference) in Delhi.
What had begun as an offshoot of the mighty RSS, the VHP gradually
came to occupy centre stage in the nation’s narrative by making Lord Ram
central to its movement.

If one were to apply the archetypal profile of an RSS pracharak to Ashok

Singhal, then he might as well have failed the test. A gold medallist in
Metallurgical Engineering from the renowned Banaras Hindu University, he
belonged to an affluent business family in Allahabad. It was perhaps his
conviction of dedicating his life to the unification of the Hindus that one of
his brothers, Bharatendu Prakash Singhal, an ex-Indian Police Service
officer, also followed in his footsteps and led several VHP campaigns
including one against decriminalising gay sex.
If his degree in Engineering made him an odd candidate for the rigour
associated with a cadre-based party such as the RSS, then it was his political
avatar of a monk-warrior which made him stand out amongst his peers. In
comparison to an average pracharak or swayamsevak, Ashok Singhal
displayed an enhanced sense of religiosity, but he was neither a Hindu seer
nor a religious leader; he was a mix between a political activist and a self-
appointed messenger of god. When Singhal appealed to various religious
leaders to become part of the VHP, he succeeded in convincing them by
donning the avatar of a man who didn’t carry the amoral baggage of politics;
when he met political leaders, he insisted that he was in no way swayed by
the impracticality of religious leaders.
 When the RSS launched a nationwide anti-cow slaughter campaign in
the 1960s, the young Ashok Singhal mobilised support from vast number of
saints who were until then never counted as part of any mainstream political
agitation. As men of god, they were often part of religious congregations held
by political organisations, but the anti-cow slaughter campaign, and the Ram
Janmabhoomi agitation had all of a sudden given them the feeling of being an
integral part of the country’s political discourse.
Ashok Singhal drew them out in droves by reposing his trust in them for
raising the pitch for the temple in Ayodhya. In September 1984, the VHP
flagged the Ram-Janaki Rath Yatra (which began its journey from Sitamarhi
in Bihar and arrived in Delhi on 30 October) to muster support for the Ram
temple. However a day later, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s assassination
by her Sikh bodyguards had thrown the yatra off-kilter. According to
insiders, not for a moment was Ashok Singhal disheartened with the setback,
because he believed that the Ram temple issue had gained a unique
momentum of its own, which was now tough to curtail.
He was proven right two years later—in 1985, Prime Minister Rajiv
Gandhi overturned a Supreme Court ruling which had recommended that the
sixty-two-year-old divorced Muslim woman, Shah Bano be given
maintenance by her husband. While this was clearly a move to appease the
conservatives amongst the Muslim community, Rajiv Gandhi later
‘facilitated’ the opening of the locks at the disputed Babri mosque for
worship, in order to consolidate his position amongst the Hindus. Until then,
Rajiv Gandhi was viewed as a reluctant politician who relied on the advice
of his clique who had little or no experience in realpolitik, but with these
two controversial steps, it was clear that the Congress party had erroneously
played into the hands of communal elements in the country.
Ashok Singhal accelerated the agitation by commandeering the VHP to
‘rescue’ Lord Ram from ‘captivity’—he negotiated with the government to
ensure that mass mobilisation programmes like shilanyas or the foundation-
laying ceremony be allowed on the eve of the 1989 Lok Sabha elections; he
solicited support from prominent Jain, Buddhist and Sikh religious leaders
and their respective communities for the movement.
From 1986 onwards, when he was appointed general secretary of the
VHP, until his death in 2015, Ashok Singhal was undoubtedly the face of the
Ayodhya agitation. Although it was L.K. Advani who had kick started the
famous Somnath to Ayodhya rath yatra in 1990, and propelled the BJP from
near-oblivion to prominence, it was Ashok Singhal who had worked
tirelessly to ready the ground which eventually resulted in the Ram temple
agitation evolving into a political launch pad for the BJP and its principal
Hindutva ideology.
In terms of conceptualising programmes, Ashok Singhal had some of the
most ingenious ideas. I remember one day in early 1989 when the news
ticker at work had made me particularly anxious—the VHP had made an
announcement that it shall proceed with the shilanyas for the Ram temple on
9 November that year. Even as the ticker moved, I read that this was part of
Ashok Singhal’s statement during the kumbh mela in Allahabad, in which he
had exhorted people to head towards Ayodhya for the foundation-laying
ceremony. However as a precursor to the shilanyas was yet another event
called the shila pujan in which customised and consecrated bricks with ‘Jai
Shri Ram’ inscribed on them were to be taken out in processions throughout
India—almost like ‘awakening’ the consciousness of every citizen to
participate in the building of a grand temple for Lord Ram.
That same afternoon, I had trooped into Syed Shahabuddin’s (an ex-IFS
officer-turned-politician, who had spearheaded the movement to protect the
Babri masjid) home and sought his opinion about the shilanyas and shila
pujan. I remember how shaken he was and had said to me after a long pause:
‘With these programmes, the VHP has ensured that it shall never have to look
backwards on the road to Ayodhya.’
As part of the Ashok Singhal-led twin programmes of shilanyas and
shila pujan, the brick consecration ceremonies were held in more than half a
million locations—mostly local temples—and then carried in processions
for people to pay their obeisance. As a next step, the VHP devised plans to
raise funds for the additional manufacture of customised bricks and decided
to approach industrialists who were perceived to be supportive of the
endeavour. But Ashok Singhal was not in favour of restricting the fund
collection to a select group and had said that ‘every Hindu should feel that he
or she has built it and not one businessman.’1
As a result, at a public rally in Delhi’s Boat Club, coupons valued at
Rs. 1.25, five and ten rupees were sold to large numbers. This was not only a
well thought out plan to raise extra funds for the religio-political movement,
but also provided a sense of participation for those who were unable to
travel to Ayodhya, and were enabled to perform their ‘duties’ from other
locations.
 Once he had concluded his public rallies, Ashok Singhal began inching
towards the event with great precision. On the morning of 9 November 1989,
he’d sent his aide to request the VHP joint general secretary in-charge of the
tribal-dominated districts in Bihar, Kameshwar Chaupal who happened to be
a Dalit, to accompany him to the site. When the prayers for laying the
foundation stone for the Ram temple had begun amidst the chanting of
mantras, Chaupal was asked to place the first brick and thereby initiate the
building of a grand temple for Lord Ram.
With that one master stroke, Ashok Singhal had ensured that the Ram
temple agitation transcends the scourge of caste discrimination which since
time immemorial has been a limiting factor for the sangh parivar’s efforts at
Hindu consolidation. At long last, it was felt in the RSS and VHP that their
ultimate goal of uniting Hindus across caste barriers had been successfully
conveyed to the people by not only laying the foundation stone for the Ram
temple, but at the hands of a Dalit worker.
The impact of the shilanyas movement was such that Rajiv Gandhi who
was battling corruption charges in the Bofors gun deal, decided to most
unwisely kickstart his 1989 electoral campaign from Ayodhya. As expected,
the VHP had succeeded in making the Ram temple the focal point of their
campaign, and targeted the Congress, even as the multi-million Bofors
howitzer deal was weighing it down.
For all his aggression during the movement, Ashok Singhal was a polite
and soft-spoken man. His hostile demeanour was strictly reserved for
achieving his political goals and which was undoubtedly the building of the
Ram temple in Ayodhya. Behind the veneer of a master puppeteer, Singhal is
ironically remembered for his ‘soft-spoken manner and his strong conviction
about the organisation’s goals. Boisterous, loud, hostile, aggressive, short-
tempered—he was none of these. On the contrary, he gently and calmly
answered the most incisive or unsympathetic of questions. Never once did he
raise his voice.’2
Yet, this was a convenient veneer. It was indeed true, and I recall how
he displayed a great sense of equanimity each time I met him, but the portent
of his statements revealed the ideology he represented. For instance in
January 1990, a month after the V.P. Singh government assumed office, he had
asked the Muslim community to find an ‘alternative site’ for the Babri
masjid.3
 As a VHP leader who had achieved a near-cult status post the shilanyas
ceremony in 1989, Ashok Singhal was prone to ignore parliamentary
procedures, and had once even violated the Model Code of Conduct. In
1995, he had declared in Badaun, Uttar Pradesh that there shall come a time
when not a single non-Hindu convert shall be found in India, once they were
reconverted by the VHP. He had also added that if the Christians were well
within their rights to give up everything for religion and culture, so could the
Hindus. Amongst other things, these and several other statements thereafter
made two things clear—first, he wasn’t so much the self-effacing character
that he was made out to be, and second, he had failed to exorcise the ghost of
the 1981 Meenakshipuram conversions despite his success with the shilanyas
ceremony in Ayodhya.
This trait was evident in an interview that he had granted to one of
India’s front-ranking television news channels, Aaj Tak, a few days after
BJP’s fabulous victory in 2014. While heaping praise on Narendra Modi,
Singhal had compared the prime minister to the Maratha king, Chhatrapati
Shivaji. He reiterated about BJP’s ability to secure a victory with support
from sections which were allied to its principles, which is how elections are
won, but there was an insinuation that the party was self-sufficient and didn’t
require to solicit help from any other section.4

As mentioned earlier, there was no doubt that Ashok Singhal had indeed
given the VHP a mission to build the Ram temple in Ayodhya, but it had
paled in comparison to L.K Advani who had given the issue a pan-Indian
dimension. For Advani, the temple was an agency for electoral gains; for
Ashok Singhal it was about delivering on a promise made to scores of
Hindus and as such, bereft of any politics.
This clear divergence in approaches between the party and VHP often
led to clashes, the sharpest in 2002 when the VHP had initiated yet another
programme for the symbolic construction of the temple in Ayodhya.
It had been a decade since the disputed Babri masjid had been razed to
the ground by those who were motivated by the spirit of reinstating Lord Ram
to His rightful place; the Liberhan Commission was also in the midst of
bringing the guilty to book; the syncretic culture of India had taken a blow by
the demolition, and there was all-round condemnation of such an act; and
most importantly, the late Atal Bihari Vajpayee was disturbed by the VHP’s
move and had taken up the matter with the RSS leadership.
But the temple agenda was nevertheless taken forward, and on 27
February 2002, a jatha (religious group) owing allegiance to the VHP was
returning to Ahmedabad after participating in the symbolic temple-building
ritual in Ayodhya. At 8 a.m., even as the train pulled out from a non-descript
station called Godhra, a mob of approximately 2,000 people had surrounded
the coach carrying VHP activists and set it on fire, killing fifty-nine people.
Thereafter, what came to be known as the ‘Gujarat riots’, in which
Narendra Modi was eventually exonerated by the courts, the Ram temple
rhetoric had somehow lost steam. As prime minister, Modi was extremely
focussed on development, the building of Ram temple was not top priority.
By the end of 2018 however, the focus on Ram temple was back with the
obvious intent of consolidating Hindus in the run up to the 2019 elections.
Like several others in the sangh parivar, Ashok Singhal was prescient
enough to realise that the potential of the Ayodhya issue to mobilise crowds
would dwindle after the demolition of the disputed mosque.
Consequently, from mid-1990s, Ashok Singhal began broadening the
VHP’s area of engagement. It was in 1995 when he had declared that the
VHP would ‘reconvert those who had by fraud or force were being made
non-Hindus.’5 He called the initiative, Paravartan (in 2014, Paravartan
metamorphosed into the ghar wapsi programme), which was a step beyond
the shuddhi programme run by the Arya Samaj since the late nineteenth
century, and not aimed at just reconverting (sic) Muslims and Christians, but
was especially directed at tribals. Although Ashok Singhal had pushed for
Paravartan to be a time-bound mission, he had however remained fixated on
the Ram temple and this more than any other reason had prevented him from
reinventing the VHP.
This was also the reason why since the middle of the millennium, the
number of pracharaks from the RSS who were sent on deputation to the VHP
had declined progressively. Further, the VHP’s ‘demotion’ within the sangh
parivar was also linked to the rise of Modi’s old bête noire, Pravin Togadia.
Consequently, the focus had shifted to other organisations like the Hindu
Jagran Manch and on agendas such as, ‘love jihad’.
However, by the end of 2018, the Ram temple agitation in Ayodhya
made a comeback—the sarsanghchalak, Mohan Bhagwat openly expressed
his exasperation about the Supreme Court declaring that the issue was not a
priority. In the run up to 2019 elections, the BJP has enough issues to sway
the electorate to vote for the party, but its dependence on the revival of
building the Ram temple was testimony to the fact that had it not been for
Ashok Singhal’s single-mindedness, the BJP in all probability, would have
been a different party than what it is today.

* In February 1981, Meenakshipuram, a small village in Tamil Nadu’s

Tirunelveli district, was witness to a large number of Hindu Dalits
converting to Islam. The incident had forced Hindu organisations like the
RSS to campaign for the social inclusion of Dalits, which in more ways than
one had also sharpened the latent communal divide within society.
 BAL THACKERAY

C hances are that each time someone mispronounced his name, it

wouldn’t have been to his liking. The reason: the first half of the
surname, ‘Thack’ should be pronounced as ‘back’, and not as ‘Thaak’, which
is the more Indian way. For a man whose politics was rooted in the ‘son of
the soil’ principle, his preference for the Anglicised version was one of the
several incongruities associated with Bal Keshav Thackeray.
However, the spelling and pronunciation of his surname wasn’t his
doing. It was ‘bequeathed’ to him by this father1, Keshav Sitaram Thackeray,
who had discarded his Indian-sounding family name, Thakre, and borrowed
the last name from the author of Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray.
There were other anomalies in Bal Thackeray’s persona which require
mentioning, considering he had a four-and-a-half decades-long career in
public life. His preferred drink was a glass of warm beer; he smoked only
Cuban cigars; idolised Adolf Hitler2; and played host to Michael Jackson—
all of which would still be construed as most inappropriate, particularly for
an Indian politician. Very much the anti-hero, and of course, ‘unpolitician
like’, Bal Thackeray was conspicuous amongst his peers because despite his
long and deep engagement with mainstream politics, not only did he ever
assume any official position, he was upfront and honest to the point of being
brusque.
For a man who grew up with books around him (his father, who was
better known by his nom de plume, Prabodhankar Thackeray, was a well-
known editor and political activist), Bal Thackeray was street-smart, and had
no pretentions about being sophisticated. His eldest daughter-in-law (wife of
Bindumadhav Thackeray) had once mentioned how her sons had picked up
profanities from their grandfather. In an attempt to impress a large group of
hangers-on at Matoshree, the Thackerays’ residence in Mumbai, the children
would repeat those words, but instead of checking them, the men would burst
into loud laughter.3
 Strangely, Bal Thackeray was a school drop-out and this despite the
fact that he was not only financially well off, but had a writer for a father. It
was quite likely that the young Bal had already made up his mind to make a
profession out of his talent for drawing, and therefore took up a job as a
cartoonist with the Free Press Journal (or FPJ, as it was popularly known)
when he had just turned twenty, before he ventured out on his own first as an
owner-editor, and later as a political leader. At work, Thackeray made
friends with a fellow-cartoonist, who later went on to become one of the
icons in the field—R.K. Laxman. Apart from their love for political satire,
the two shared a strong dislike for Communists, whom the FPJ back then
promoted.
His initiation into politics was no surprise for he belonged to a
political family. His father, Keshav Thackeray was an active participant in
the linguistic agitation launched by the Marathi-speaking people of Bombay
presidency who thought of themselves as the original inhabitants of the state
and demanded that it be rightfully restored to them. As a member of
Maharashtra Navnirman Samiti, Keshav Thackeray had fought alongside his
peers and as a result of which on 1 May 1960, the Bombay presidency was
cleaved into two halves—Maharashtra and Gujarat.
Bal Thackeray (who was born in 1926) had turned thirty-four at the
time of the formation of Bombay state. He had witnessed his father’s close
involvement with the Samiti’s movement, and started a Marathi magazine
called Marmik (meaning, poignant) in 1960 in collaboration with his younger
brother, Shrikant Thackeray.
After dropping out from school and a short stint with the Free Press
Journal, Bal Thackeray discovered a cause which subsequently formed the
core of his politics—the furthering of Maratha nationalism by restoring the
pride of the ‘Marathi manoos’ (or a Marathi-speaking person from
Maharashtra).
Week after week, the magazine would rail against one group or the
other—first the south Indians, then the Communists, and eventually, the
Muslims. The revulsion for the minority community was something Bal
Thackeray shared with the RSS, but his campaign against ‘Madrasis’ (a
disparaging term used to denote anyone belonging to the four states of south
India) was virulent, for he saw them as a monolithic block who had
undeservingly taken away jobs from the Marathi manoos in Bombay.
 As was expected, the magazine was a huge success, mainly because it
was viewed as an extension of the Navnirman Samiti movement, and most
significantly, as a potent tool for reinstating Maharashtrian dignity. Six years
later in June 1966, Marmik metamorphosed into a full-fledged political party
which was named after the Maratha warrior king, Chhatrapati Shivaji
Bhonsle. Finally on 30 October 1966, the Shiv Sena held its first public rally
on Dussehra day, much like the RSS which had also made its debut on the
same day forty-one years ago.
The estimated half a million people who had gathered in Shivaji Park
that morning was proof that Bal Thackeray had successfully preyed upon the
insecurities of the Marathi-speaking people. Thereafter, it was just a matter
of time and soon the Sena’s mascot, the snarling tiger ‘began to stalk
Bombay,’4 and Marmik became the Sena’s mouthpiece. In its issue dated 12
June 1966 titled, ‘Prolegomena to the Birth of Shiv Sena’, the magazine
reported that,

…in the city of Mumbai, in Maharashtra, people of other provinces (para-

prantiya), ‘non-locals’ or ‘outsiders’ have managed to establish themselves
everywhere, in the name of ‘cosmopolitanism’. As a result, the Marathi
(speaking) people are being deprived of job opportunities and housing. Both
the State Government and the Marathi people themselves have so far been
rather generously accommodative and foolhardy not to have taken note of the
situation. The Marathi people earned their claim to the city of Mumbai as the
capital of their states only after a long-drawn struggle and the martyrdom of
many. Was this all for living a life of the unprivileged and of the deprived in
the city?

Like most demagogues, Thackeray used falsehoods to prey upon the

insecurities of Maharashtrians.5 While Keshav Thackeray had mobilised the
Marathi-speaking people as a political community, his son used them as an
‘anti-immigrant’ force. In 1965, when the anti-Hindi agitation had raged on in
Madras (as the city was then known; now, Chennai), and cinema theatres had
stopped screening Hindi films in protest, Shiv Sena activists had picked up
the gauntlet for the Hindi film industry and coerced Bombay theatre-owners
to boycott Tamil films. Thackeray’s new-found love for Hindi was early
evidence of a trait that was so typically part of his persona—he always found
reasons to hate ever so easily, but his admiration or support for an issue or a
person was solely determined by opportunity. Over time, Thackeray’s
objects of hate altered with great alacrity—after the Madrasis had outlived
their purpose, the next on the list were north Indians—first the ‘bhaiyyas’ (an
objectionable term to describe men from Uttar Pradesh) and then the Biharis.
He also spewed venom against the Communists because apart from the
obvious ideological clash, he saw them as a serious impediment to his
growth in Bombay where the trade union movement was strong and people
were organised mainly on class lines and not on caste, community or creed.
In 1967, an opportunity had fallen into his lap to target both south Indians and
Communists in one go—V.K. Krishna Menon, the one-time Defence minister
in Jawaharlal Nehru’s Cabinet, was denied a Congress party nomination
from Bombay and opted to contest elections as an independent candidate
backed by the Communists. Bal Thackeray deployed his band of sainiks to
secure a victory for the Congress (a party he was strongly opposed to)
candidate and ensured that his city rejected the ‘Madrasi’ Menon.
After the 1967 Lok Sabha polls, Bal Thackeray shifted the focus of his
narrative and deftly replaced the anti-south Indian campaign with an anti-
Muslim tirade. Through a sustained and offensive campaign, he had
succeeded in labelling Bhiwandi, a suburb in Bombay which was the site of
a major communal conflagration in 1970, as ‘mini-Pakistan’ by collaborating
with groups affiliated to the sangh parivar. However, not once did he lose
sight of his original game plan and launched a simultaneous campaign against
the Centre on the issue of securing Marathi-speaking districts of Karnataka
state.
By the early 1970s, the Shiv Sena had emerged as a significant political
force in and around Maharashtra. As a result of which, not only political
parties, but even business groups began using its influence as a counter to
crush trade union agitations in the state. It was clear that the Sena was
viewed as a coercive force in the state, but Bal Thackeray cleverly nipped
the perception in the bud, and instead used the party’s patron status to gain a
pan-Indian acceptance. He was slowly emerging as a cult figure in the
pantheon of local Maharashtrian leaders, and several years before Amitabh
Bachchan came to be synonymous with the ‘Angry Young Man’ of Hindi
cinema, representing the angst of lakhs of youth in the country through films
like Deewar (1971), Bal Thackeray beat him to it.6
But many felt that behind the image of the snarling tiger lay a curled-up
cat which mewed harmlessly. As quoted by the bestselling author, Suketu
Mehta in Maximum City: Bombay Lost And Found, the tiger roared only
from its safe confines—for instance, a posse of 179 policemen had guarded
Bal Thackeray’s home in the aftermath of the 1993 riots. Yet, every word he
uttered from behind the walls of his fortress-like home was treated like the
gospel truth by his followers.
Gradually, it became clear that Bal Thackeray was different from the
quintessential Indian politician—he was someone who had a firm grip over
his people, albeit in absentia, primarily because of the mysterious and
fearsome aura which was far removed from reality. The more one got to
know him, the better one understood his insecurities—he covered up for his
weaknesses by staying away from public glare, and constantly shifted goal
posts so that barring his band of loyal sainiks, his constituency of supporters
lived in perennial fear of the man.

By the mid-1980s, Bal Thackeray had friends in both the BJP as well as the
Congress party. As mentioned earlier, he was bitterly opposed to India’s
oldest party, but his friendship with the late and ex-Maharashtra chief
minister A.R. Antulay was an open secret, as was his admiration for Prime
Minister Indira Gandhi. After her assassination in October 1984, Bal had
exhorted the Sikh community in Bombay to pressurise local religious leaders
to issue strong diktats against militants.
Thackeray’s bonhomie with the sangh parivar requires no particular
elaboration. In terms of personal ties, few could boast of better access
amongst its top leadership, but in the context of sheer political mileage, much
of it came to naught because of his focus on his state and its people—the
Marathi manoos.
In the decade of the Eighties however, Bal Thackeray had decided to
expand his base and joined the BJP in what was to become its political
leitmotif—the building of the Ram temple at the disputed site in Ayodhya. He
participated in the Ram shila pujan ceremonies and plunged headlong into the
agitation hoping to widen his influence outside his state. His efforts bore fruit
in September 1989 when he was asked by the BJP to address its National
Executive meeting in Bombay as a ‘special guest’. Exactly a year later, in
what was to become a watershed moment in BJP’s history, when L.K.
Advani had embarked on his Somnath to Ayodhya rath yatra, Thackeray
played host to him in Bombay. Even as the BJP president, a man who had
sworn to alter his party’s image, addressed nine meetings in the city, he had
Bal Thackeray by his side to indicate that the Sena–BJP alliance was final
and poised to be a long standing one.
The sewing up of the alliance was undoubtedly Bal Thackeray’s biggest
political achievement: never before had any regional leader succeeded in
making his provincial, and most importantly, a parochial party, acceptable to
a political outfit which professed a ‘national vision’. In every which way
thereafter, he was ahead of those who had appropriated the Hindutva space
in the first place. For instance, not only did the Shiv Sena join the ABVP and
Bajrang Dal’s campaigns against celebrating Valentine’s Day, which they felt
went against the grain of ‘Indian values’, but it outdid the two outfits by
driving terror amongst the local youth by attacking greeting card shops and
sundry restaurants, while swooping down on the city’s parks in search of
‘lovers’. Thackeray’s soldiers, much like their other counterparts in different
parts of the country, argued that their war was against Western culture which
was being forcibly injected into the impressionable minds of the youth in
post-liberalisation India. Their mission of restoring Indian culture
notwithstanding, they were blatantly seen to be playing politics when they
had omitted a chain of restaurants run by one of Bal Thackeray’s close
relatives. But no one dared question either the leader or the workers of the
Shiv Sena, for it would have invited unprecedented wrath.
In October 1991, when the champions of Hindutva were in the midst of
the Ram Janmabhoomi controversy, Thackeray had ordered his sainiks to dig
up the Wankhede Stadium in Mumbai in protest against the impending Indo–
Pak cricket series. The Shiv Sainiks had not only vandalised the stadium but
also lit parts of it with engine oil to register their leader’s pathological
hatred towards the neighbouring country. Shishir Shinde7 who had led the
gang of pitch-diggers was subsequently elected to the Brihanmumbai
Municipal Corporation (BMS), and later became a member of the
Maharashtra Legislative Council.
However, the sainiks’ campaign against Valentine’s Day celebrations
wasn’t just a show of ideological camaraderie, but had a more potent
precedent and that being their role in orchestrating the post-Babri masjid
demolition riots in 1993. Bal Thackeray had allowed his vicious imagination
to run riot by arguing that if the Muslims could offer Friday prayers or
namaaz on the streets, then nothing should stop the Hindus from offering
aartis in public places. If one were to go by different interpretations of
Hinduism, it has no set tradition of offering prayers in a congregation, but the
sainiks in deference to their leader had organised them with the objective of
giving the issue a communal tinge, and to mobilise large number of Hindus at
one place. In the backdrop of Thackeray’s claim that the Sena was
responsible for the demolition of the Babri masjid, these maha aartis became
flash points in a city which was already simmering with communal tension.
Soon, the venues for the aartis or maha aartis became theatres for
launching attacks on Muslims.8 Thackeray’s deft coordination with the
marauding brigades had the makings of a thriller. The Justice B.N. Srikrishna
Commission which had probed the 1993 riots commented as follows:

From 8th January 1993 at least there is no doubt that the Shiv Sena and Shiv
Sainiks took the lead in organising attacks on Muslims and their properties
under the guidance of several leaders of the Shiv Sena from the level of
Shakha Pramukh to the Shiv Sena Pramukh Bal Thackeray who, like a veteran
General, commanded his loyal Shiv Sainiks to retaliate by organising attacks
against Muslims. The communal violence and rioting triggered off by the
Shiv Sena was hijacked by local criminal elements who saw in it an
opportunity to make quick gains. By the time the Shiv Sena realised that
enough had been done by way of ‘retaliation’, the violence and rioting was
beyond the control of its leaders…

Despite the Sena’s culpability in the gruesome string of tragedies, there were
only three convictions in the 1992–93 Bombay riots case. In contrast, in the
1993 Mumbai bomb blasts case, ‘as many as 100 people have been
convicted for the 1993 Bombay serial blasts which took 257 lives. However,
in the 1992-93 Mumbai riots, an act of mass violence that killed 900 people,
just three convictions have been achieved.’9
This blatant anomaly underscored the preferential treatment given by
the investigating agencies to Bal Thackeray and his sainiks.
In 1995, the Sena–BJP alliance came to power in Maharashtra. Bal
Thackeray proclaimed unapologetically that he was India’s first ‘remote
control’ chief minister10, meaning the one who ran the government by proxy,
headed as it was by a member of his party, Manohar Joshi.
However, it was another matter that the four-year-long BJP–Shiv Sena
alliance also marked the beginning of Bal Thackeray’s decline. Like several
other past experiments (for instance, the Janata coalition in the aftermath of
the Emergency in 1977), the Shiv Sena neither had the rigour nor the
discipline for running a government. Secondly, and more importantly, Bal
Thackeray was suddenly faced with several internecine power struggles
within his own family and the famous Matoshree at the time was witness to
several disputes. Finally, a man whose word was taken as final in Bombay
failed to manage the affairs within his own family. In December 2005, his
nephew Raj Thackeray resigned from the Shiv Sena and was quoted as
saying, ‘What I suffered should not be inflicted even on my enemies. I was
caught between the party on the one side and my family, on the other.’11 He
later formed the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena and in a way carried forward
his uncle’s legacy. Raj’s disgruntlement against his paternal uncle stemmed
from the fact that his cousin, Uddhav (Bal Thackeray’s youngest son) was
appointed as working president of the Shiv Sena in January 2003.
On 17 November 2012, Bal Keshav Thackeray died in Mumbai at the
age of eighty-six. Even in his death and particularly after a bitter family feud
over succession, he continued to be the invincible and undisputed leader for
lakhs of followers—a sea of over 5,000 Shiv sainiks openly crying outside
Matoshree was evidence of his unprecedented influence. Furthermore,
although Bal Thackeray was neither a member of either Houses of parliament
nor held any official position in his life, yet he was remembered in obituary
references in both the Houses. His cremation in Shivaji Park, the first public
funeral in Mumbai after Bal Gangadhar Tilak’s death in 1920, was attended
amongst others by the then chief minister of Gujarat and a man who had
assumed the mantle of the new age Hindu Hriday Samrat, Narendra Modi.
Thackeray had once declared that Modi and he complemented each other:
Gujarat’s lion and Maharashtra’s tiger. He also claimed to have stood by
Modi when he was under attack by his own party men after the 2002 Godhra
riots.
Yet, three years after Thackeray’s death, Modi gave the go-ahead to
party president Amit Shah to end BJP’s alliance with the Shiv Sena and
contest the assembly election on its own mettle. However, the two most
important leaders in the BJP would not have in all probability taken such a
step, had Bal Thackeray been alive and ‘roaring’ from Matoshree. Be that as
it may, despite the BJP’s tenuous relationship with the Shiv Sena after
Thackeray’s death, the party may still find it difficult to exorcise the ghost of
a man who was undoubtedly the original ‘Samrat’, pugnacious and
grandiloquent till his last day.
 ENDNOTES

KESHAV BALIRAM HEDGEWAR

1. Dr. Hedgewar, the Epoch Maker: A Biography, B.V. Deshpande & S.R.
Ramaswamy, Sahitya Sindhu, Bengaluru, 1981, p.3. Accessed online from
the official site—
www.rss.org/Encyc/2015/8/8/334_12_29_25_Dr.Hedgewar_The_Epoch_M
aker.pdf
2. op.cit., p.10. Accessed online from the official site
www.rss.org/Encyc/2015/8/8/334_12_29_25_Dr.Hedgewar_The_Epoch_M
aker.pdf
3. op. cit., p. 9.
4. op. cit., p. 12.
5. Builders of Modern India, Dr. Keshav Baliram Hedgewar, Rakesh Sinha,
Publications Division, Government of India, 2016. Accessed online:
https://books.google.co.in/books?
id=LSHiDQAAQBAJ&pg=PT30&dq=hedgewar+cocaine&hl=en&sa=X&ve
d=0ahUKEwjC0ZWx0obgAhVIk3AKHcsxB9UQuwUIMDAA#v=onepage&
q=hedgewar%20cocaine&f=false or (for short) https://goo.gl/ZwzFJC
6. Militant Hinduism in Indian Politics: A Study of the RSS, J.A. Curran,
International Secretariat, Institute of Pacific Relations, New York, p. 13.
Cited by D.R. Goyal in Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, Radha Krishna,
1979; revised edition, 2000. He claimed that Curran was once a ‘senior
official of the CIA’ and his study was sponsored by the Institute of Pacific
Relations. It remained a mimeographed document till its publication in 1979
by the All India Quami Ekta Sammelan which was led by Raj Narain.
7. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D.R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 54.
8. Dr. Hedgewar, the Epoch Maker: A Biography, B.V. Deshpande & S.R.
Ramaswamy, Sahitya Sindhu, Bengaluru, 1981, p. 18.
9. op. cit., p. 20.
10. The Myth of the Lokamanya: Tilak and Mass Politics in Maharashtra,
Richard I. Cashman, University of California Press, 1975, pp.198-99.
11. Dr. Hedgewar, the Epoch Maker: A Biography, B.V. Deshpande & S.R.
Ramaswamy, Sahitya Sindhu, Bengaluru, 1981, p. 24.
12. op. cit., p. 26.
13. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D.R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 57.
14. ibid.
15. Hedgewar’s original written statement was reproduced in Dr. Hedgewar,
the Epoch Maker: A Biography, B.V. Deshpande & S.R. Ramaswamy,
Sahitya Sindhu, Bengaluru, 1981, p. 29.
16. Sangh Nirmata, C. P. Bhishikar, Suruchi Prakashna, p. 30, cited by D. R.
Goyal, Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, Radha Krishna, 1979; revised
edition, 2000, p. 57.
17. Dr. Hedgewar, the Epoch Maker: A Biography, B.V. Deshpande & S.R.
Ramaswamy, Sahitya Sindhu, Bengaluru, 1981, p. 66.
18. op. cit., p. 29.
19. Emergence of Hindu Nationalism in India, John Zavos, Oxford
University Press (OUP), 2000, p. 148.
20. Dr. Hedgewar, the Epoch Maker: A Biography, B.V. Deshpande & S.R.
Ramaswamy, Sahitya Sindhu, Bengaluru, 1981, p. 29.
21. op. cit., p. 30.
22. Encyclopedia of Eminent Thinker: The Political Thought of K.B.
Hedgewar, Jai Narain Sharma, Concept, 2008, pp. 33-34 &117.
23. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D.R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 58.
24. Emergence of Hindu Nationalism in India, John Zavos, Oxford
University Press, 2000, p. 152.
25. ibid.
26. Dr. Hedgewar, the Epoch Maker: A Biography, B.V. Deshpande & S.R.
Ramaswamy, Sahitya Sindhu, Bengaluru, 1981, p. 33.
27. op. cit., p. 34.
28. Dr Hedgewar Charitra, N.H. Palkar, Bharatiya Vichar Sadhana, p. 129,
cited by Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle in The Brotherhood in
Saffron, Vistaar, 1987.
29. op. cit., p. 154.
30. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 34.
31. Dr Hedgewar Charitra, N.H. Palkar, Bharatiya Vichar Sadhana p. 168.
32. ibid.
33. Dr. Hedgewar, the Epoch Maker: A Biography, B.V. Deshpande & S.R.
Ramaswamy, Sahitya Sindhu, Bengaluru, 1981, p. 45.
34. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 37.
35. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D.R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 78.
36. Khaki Shorts and Saffron Flags: A Critique of the Hindu Right, Tapan
Basu, Pradip Datta, Sumit Sarkar, Tanika Sarkar, Sambuddha Sen, Orient
Longman (now, Orient Blackswan), 1993, p. 18.
37. Dr. Hedgewar, the Epoch Maker: A Biography, B.V. Deshpande & S.R.
Ramaswamy, Sahitya Sindhu, Bengaluru, 1981, p. 41.
38. Fundamentalisms and the State: Remaking Polities, Economies, and
Militance, eds. Martin E. Marty & R. Scott Appleby, University of Chicago
Press, 1993, pp. 241-42.
39. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 80.
40. Dr. Hedgewar, the Epoch Maker: A Biography, B.V. Deshpande & S.R.
Ramaswamy, Sahitya Sindhu, Bengaluru, 1981, p. 52.
41. op.cit., p. 50.
42. op.cit., p. 51.
43. Op.cit., p. 52.
44. Khaki Shorts and Saffron Flags: A Critique of the Hindu Right, Tapan
Basu, Pradip Datta, Sumit Sarkar, Tanika Sarkar, Sambuddha Sen, Orient
Longman, 1993, p. 22.
45. op. cit., pp. 22-23.
46. ‘Hindutva’s Foreign Tie-up in the 1930s: Archival Evidence’, Marzia
Casolari, Economic and Political Weekly, 22 January 2000.
47. ibid.
48. ibid.
49. Khaki Shorts and Saffron Flags: A Critique of the Hindu Right, Tapan
Basu, Pradip Datta, Sumit Sarkar, Tanika Sarkar, Sambuddha Sen, Orient
Longman, 1993, p. 24.
VINAYAK DAMODAR SAVARKAR
1. https://www.economist.com/news/christmas-specials/21636599-
controversial-mentor-hindu-right-man-who-thought-gandhi-sissy. See also,
Jyotirmaya Sharma, Imagining Incommensurables: The Hindu Rashtra and
the Indian Nation; Grounding Morality: Freedom, Knowledge and the
Plurality of Cultures, eds., Jyotirmaya Sharma & A. Raghuramaraju,
Routledge, 2010, p. 298.
2. Report of Commission of Inquiry Into Conspiracy To Murder Mahatma
Gandhi, Part II, p. 303.
3. Divine Enterprise: Gurus and the Hindu Nationalist Movement, Lise
McKean, University of Chicago Press, p. 72.
4. Emergence of Hindu Nationalism in India, John Zavos, Oxford University
Press, 2000, p. 177.
5. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, p. 2.
6. op. cit., p. 4.
7. ibid.
8. ‘150 years of heroism, via Kala Pani’, The Indian Express, 10 May 2007;
http://archive.indianexpress.com/news/150-yrs-of-heroism-via-kala-
pani/30503/0
9. Rajmohan Gandhi in The Hindu, 8 July 2003;
http://www.thehindu.com/2003/07/08/stories/2003070801391000.htm
10. ibid.
http://www.thehindu.com/2003/07/08/stories/2003070801391000.htm
11. ‘V.D. Savarkar and the Indian War of Independence: Contrasting
Perspectives of an Emergent Composite State’, John Pincince, Department of
History, Loyola University, Chicago;
http://www.csas.ed.ac.uk/mutiny/confpapers/Pincince-Paper.pdf
12. Divine Enterprise: Gurus and the Hindu Nationalist Movement, Lise
McKean, University of Chicago Press, p. 77.
13. ibid.
14. ibid.
15. Indian War of Independence: 1857, V.D. Savarkar, Abhishek
Publications, 2012, p. 52; this extract can also be found in www.savarkar.org
16. op.cit., pp. 216-17.
17. ibid.
18. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, p. 171.
19. op. cit., p. 139.
20. op. cit., p. 143.
21. Hindutva: Exploring the Idea of Hindu Nationalism, Jyotirmaya
Sharma, Penguin Books India, 2003 & 2011, p. 94.
22. Hindutva! Who is a Hindu? V. D. Savarkar, Veer Savarkar Publications,
1989, sixth edition, pp. 91-92. ‘It is clear that though their (Muslims and
Christians) original Hindu blood is thus almost unaffected by an alien
adulteration, yet they cannot be called Hindus in the sense in which that term
is actually understood, because, we Hindus are bound together not only by
the tie of the love we bear to a common fatherland and by the common blood
that courses through our veins and keeps our hearts throbbing and our
affections warm, but also by the tie of the common homage we pay to our
great civilization—our Hindu culture, which could not be better rendered
than by the word Sanskriti, suggestive as it is of that language, Sanskrit,
which has been the chosen means of expression and preservation of that
culture, of all that was best and worth-preserving in the history of our race.
We are one because we are a nation a race and own a common Sanskriti
(civilization).’
23. op.cit., p.70. ‘India alone had to face Arabs, Persians, Pathans, Baluchis,
Tartars, Turks, Moguls—a veritable human Sahara whirling and columning
up bodily in a furious world storm! Religion is a mighty motive force. So is
rapine. But where religion is goaded on by rapine and rapine serves as a
handmaid to religion, the propelling force that is generated by these together
is only equaled by the profundity of human misery and devastation they leave
behind them in their march. Heaven and hell making a common cause–such
were the forces, overwhelmingly furious, that took India by surprise the day
Mohammad crossed the Indus and invaded her. Day after day, decade after
decade, century after century, the ghastly conflict continued and India single-
handed kept up the fight morally and militarily.’
24. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, p. 143.
25. Hindutva! Who is a Hindu? V. D. Savarkar, Veer Savarkar Publications,
1989, sixth edition, p. 115.
26.
http://www.frontline.in/static/html/fl2207/stories/20050408001903700.htm
27. Frontline, 8 April 2013, http://www.frontline.in/books/savarkars-
unparalleled-record/article4328693.ece.
28. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, pp. 158-59.
29. op. cit., 163.
30. Hindu Pad-Padashahi (or A Review of the Hindu Empire of
Maharashtra), V.D. Savarkar, B.G.Paul & Co, Madras, 1925, p. xiii.
31. ‘Savarkar, Hinduness and the Aryan Homeland’, Koenraad Elst;
http://koenraadelst.bharatvani.org/articles/fascism/replytopv.html. According
to Elst, Savarkar claimed that, ‘When the foremost band of the intrepid
Aryans made it their home and lighted their first sacrificial fire on the banks
of the Sindhu, the Indus, yet certain it is that long before the ancient
Egyptians, and Babylonians had built their magnificent civilization, the holy
waters of the Indus were daily witnessing the lucid and curling columns of
the scented sacrificial smokes and the valleys resounding with the chants of
Vedic hymns– the spiritual fervor that animated their souls.’ However,
Savarkar’s views regarding Aryan settlers is considered flawed as the
‘Hindutva school, as we know it today, argues that the Aryans were the
natives of the country.’
32. Accessed from the judgement, https://indiankanoon.org/doc/726232/
33. Veer Savarkar: Father of Hindu Nationalism, Jaywant Joglekar, English
edition accessed from https://books.google.co.in/books?
id=1J3uk3x_k6sC&printsec=frontcover&dq=Jaywant+Joglekar&hl=en&sa=
X&ved=0ahUKEwiSlbnDxIngAhVHbysKHTS4BfcQ6AEIKDAA#v=onepag
e&q=Jaywant%20Joglekar&f=false, p. 113
34. Hindutva: Exploring the Idea of Hindu Nationalism, Jyotirmaya
Sharma, Penguin Books India, 2003 & 2011, p. 141.
35. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, p. 220.
36. op.cit., p. 222.
37. op.cit., p. 227.
38. http://www.thehindu.com/2004/09/21/stories/2004092109381100.htm
39. Hindu Rashtra-Darshan, V.D. Savarkar; sourced online from the
Maharashtra Prantik Hindu Sabha, Pune, p. 9.
40. ibid. V.D. Savarkar in his presidential speech, in Madurai 1940, ‘…then
the war broke out and the British Government, to serve their own interests,
were compelled to raise new military forces in India on a large scale.
Naturally, the Hindu Mahasabha with a true insight into practical politics
decided to participate in all war efforts of the British Government in so far
as they concerned directly with the question of the Indian defence and raising
new military forces in India. I emphatically maintain that the results of that
policy even within a year of its trial are positively encouraging…..’ see p.
86. Also see, p. 87, ‘While in the old army the proportion of the Moslems
had risen in some parts even to 75% we find amongst these new recruits,
there are nearly sixty thousand Hindus and thirty thousand Moslems. The
strength of the air force also is terribly increased and is being daily
increased. It is very encouraging a fact that the Hindus are evincing a special
interest and ability in the aircraft and are getting themselves enlisted in large
numbers in the air forces.’
41. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, p. 246.
42. Hindu Rashtra-Darshan, V.D. Savarkar, his presidential speech, Nagpur,
1938, p. 15.
43. Divine Enterprise: Gurus and the Hindu Nationalist Movement, Lise
McKean, University of Chicago Press, p. 89.
44. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, p. 341.
45. ibid.
46. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, p. 416.
47. op.cit., p. 420.
48. op. cit., p. 448.
49. op. cit., p. 500.
50. op. cit., p. 530.
51. Divine Enterprise: Gurus and the Hindu Nationalist Movement, Lise
McKean, University of Chicago Press, pp. 86-87.
52. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, p. 230.

MADHAV SADASHIV GOLWALKAR

1. The Making of Exile: Sindhi Hindus and The Partition Of India, Nandita
Bhavnani, Tranquebar Press, 2014, pp. 47-50.
2. ibid.
3. ibid., this incident is also referred to in My Country My Life, L.K.
Advani, Rupa & Co, Delhi, 2008, p. 51, and also in The Telegraph, ‘Pak
Digs Into Advani Case’, 1 February 2002,
https://www.telegraphindia.com/india/pak-digs-into-advani-
case/cid/902729
4. L. K. Advani refers to this rally of 5 August as a ‘morale booster’ in My
Country My Life, Rupa & Co, Delhi, 2008, p. 51.
5. L.K. Advani’s speech on the release of the Marathi edition of My Country
My Life, 19 July 2009, in which he had said that he had joined the RSS at
fourteen and quoted M.S. Golwalkar; http://www.bjp.org/en/media-
resources/speeches/shri-l-k-advaniji-s-speech-on-the-release-of-the-
marathi-edition-of-my-country-my-life
6. Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, C. P. Bhishikar, translated into the
English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru; accessed
online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, pp. 56-57.
7. Cited by A.G. Noorani, The RSS and the BJP: A Division of Labour,
Leftword, 2000, p. 55.
8. The Making of Exile: Sindhi Hindus and The Partition Of India, Nandita
Bhavnani, Tranquebar Press, 2014, p. 50.
9. Multiple sources, but this is accessed from
https://www.mkgandhi.org/journalist/rssmember.htm
10. Full text of Mahatma: Life of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, vol. 8,
D.G. Tendulkar, p. 154, accessed from
https://archive.org/stream/mahatmalifeofmoh08tend/mahatmalifeofmoh08ten
d_djvu.txt
11. C.P. Bhishikar wrote in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated
into the English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru,
accessed online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, that Gandhi was
misrepresented, p. 56.
12. https://www.dawn.com/news/17522 &
https://www.telegraphindia.com/1020202/front_pa.htm
13. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into the
English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru, India,
accessed online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 20.
14. ibid.
15. ibid.
16. ibid.
17. ibid.
18. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 41.
19. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into the
English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru, India,
accessed online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 21.
20. ibid.
21. ibid.
22. ibid.
23. Terrifying Vision: M.S. Golwalkar, The RSS, and India, Jyotirmaya
Sharma, Penguin Books India, 2007, p. xiv.
24. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into the
English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru, India,
accessed online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 16.
25. op.cit., p. 22.
26. op. cit., p. 24.
27. op. cit., p. 25.
28. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 42.
29. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into the
English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru, India,
accessed online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 131.
30. op. cit., p. 27.
31. ibid.
32. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 42.
33. Dr Hedgewar Charitra, N.H. Palkar, Bharatiya Vichar Sadhna, pp. 360-
61, cited by Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle, The Brotherhood in
Saffron, Vistaar, 1987, p. 42, and note 90, p. 64.
34. The RSS pamphlet, Justice on Trial, p. 96.
35. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into the
English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru, India,
accessed online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 34.
36. The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994,
Christophe Jaffrelot, C. Hurst & Co., 1996, note 194, p. 55.
37. ‘RSS officially disowns Golwalkar’s book’, The Times of India, 9
March 2006. https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/RSS-officially-
disowns-Golwalkars-book/articleshow/1443606.cms and A.G. Noorani in
Frontline, vol. 15, no. 26, 19 December 1998-1 January 1999,
https://www.frontline.in/static/html/fl1526/15261230.htm
38. Koenraad Elst,
http://koenraadelst.bharatvani.org/articles/fascism/Nazi6GurujiWithdrawn.ht
ml
39. Quoted by Christophe Jaffrelot from the (original) Rashtra Mimasa, The
Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994, C. Hurst &
Co., 1996, note 197, p. 55 and Martha Nussbaum, The Clash Within:
Democracy, Religious Violence, and India’s Future, Harvard University
Press, 2007, p. 161.
40. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into the
English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru, accessed
online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 36.
41. op. cit., p. 37.
42. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 11.
43. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 63.
44. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D.R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 89. He cited an unpublished dissertation by
Surendra Bahadur Saxena, ‘A Study of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh’,
submitted to Agra University, 1959.
45. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 41.
46. Organiser, 14 July 1973.
47. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 41.
48. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 63.
49. op. cit., p. 64.
50. ibid.
51. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 43.
52. Divine Enterprise: Gurus and the Hindu Nationalist Movement, Lise
McKean, University of Chicago Press, p. 92.
53. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 44.
54. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 41.
55. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D.R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 95.
56. See Bunch of Thoughts, chapter on ‘Territorial Nationalism’; sub-
section, ‘Its Roots’, p. 118. Also in the Introduction to the same volume, M.
A. Venkata Rao writes – ‘The national history of the Muslim period should
be re-written giving the truth without varnish,’ p. 9. Additionally read, Aakar
Patel, https://scroll.in/article/669178/modis-biography-of-golwalkar-
suggests-rss-leader-was-vital-influence. Also read, Danish Raza,
‘Saffronising textbooks: Where Myth and Dogma Replace History’,
Hindustan Times, 8 December 2014, accessed online:
https://www.hindustantimes.com/india/saffronising-textbooks-where-myth-
and-dogma-replace-history/story-CauM4dmmsPGrjZ3APAvNxO.html
57. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 42.
58. op. cit., p. 44.
59. op.cit., footnote 2, p. 95.
60. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 44.
61. Rakesh Sinha in The Times of India, 9 August 2017, ‘Hindu Mahasabha
and many other Hindu organisations—which included Nathuram Godse’s
Hindu Rashtra Sena—viewed this as an opportunity to militarily train their
cadres for waging war against the British at an opportune time…RSS,
however, rejected this outlook outright.’
https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/blogs/toi-edit-page/this-day-75-years-
ago-contrary-to-dogma-rss-did-take-part-in-the-freedom-movement-
including-quit-india-movement/
62. Pavan Kulkarni, ‘History Shows How Patriotic the RSS Really Is’, The
Wire, 17 April 2017. https://thewire.in/history/rss-hindutva-nationalism
63. The Discovery of India, Jawaharlal Nehru, Penguin Books, 2008, pp.
595-99.
64. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
footnote 2, p. 67.
65. ibid.
66. ibid.
67. ibid.
68. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into the
English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru, accessed
online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 43.
69. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 45 & 65, note 101.
70. The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994,
Christophe Jaffrelot, C. Hurst & Co., 1996, note 259, p. 68.
71. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 42, footnote 2, p. 71.
72. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into the
English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru, accessed
online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 47.
73. K. S. Sudarshan, quoted by Sanjeev Kelkar, Lost Years of the RSS, Sage
Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011, p. 69.
74. http://www.milligazette.com/Archives/15-12-2000/Art6.htm
75. Mani Shanker Aiyar, NDTV Blog, 22 September 2015.
https://www.ndtv.com/opinion/ram-madhav-gives-the-game-away-1220232.
Also quoted by A.G. Noorani, Frontline, 1 December 1995.
76. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into the
English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru, accessed
online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 50.
77. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 69.
78. ibid.
79. ibid.
80. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into the
English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru, accessed
online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 48.
81. ibid.
82. Terrifying Vision: M.S. Golwalkar, The RSS, and India, Jyotirmaya
Sharma, Penguin Books India, 2007, p. 87.
83. Pt. Deendayal Upadhyay Ideology & Perception – Part 3: Political
Thought, B. K. Kelkar, Suruchi Prakashan, 2nd edition, 2014, p. 124.
84. Christophe Jaffrelot, The Indian Express, 12 January 2016.
85. Resolution dated 17 August 1965, Delhi AIGC, Bharatiya Jana Sangh,
party documents, 1951-1972, vol. 4, pp. 78-79.
86. The Hindu, 26 December 2015;
http://www.thehindu.com/news/national/akhand-bharat-india-pakistan-
bangladesh-will-reunite-one-day-says-ram-madhav/article8031920.ece
87. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 108.
88. op.cit., p. 109.
89. K. B. Jhari, ‘I Was a Swayamsevak: Creating The Urge to Kill’ in
Secular Democracy, 3 July 1970, quoted in The Brotherhood in Saffron, by
Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle, Vistaar, 1987, note 114, p. 67.
90. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 48.
91. The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi, vol. 96, pp. 380-81. He
specifically also stated that ‘it was for the Sangh to show by their uniform
behaviour that the allegations were baseless’ to establish that Gandhi
actually said this; also see, The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter Andersen &
Sridhar Damle, Vistaar, 1987, p. 49 for Golwalkar distancing himself from
the individual actions of his cadre.
92. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 111
93. ibid.
94. Gopal Godse, the brother of Nathuram Godse, said that Gandhi’s last fast
had led the assassins and other accomplices to conclude that he was
‘someone who had done and was doing great harm,’ in an interview on 13
May 1969: http://www.sabrang.com/cc/comold/feb98/cover.htm
95. Cited by A.G. Noorani, The RSS and the BJP: A Division of Labour,
Leftword, 2000, p. 27.
96. This has been taken from D.R. Goyal, Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh,
Radha Krishna, p. 116 and Sanjeev Kelkar, Lost Years of the RSS, Sage,
2011, p. 79.
97. Statement of T. R. V. Sastri, Justice On Trial, A Collection of the
Historic Letters between Sri Guruji and the Government (1948-49),
Prakashan Vibhag, Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, Karnataka, first edition,
December 1958; second edition, April 1959; third edition, December 1962;
fourth edition, June 1968. Accessed online from the website of Hindu Vivek
Kendra; url: http://www.hvk.org/specialarticles/justice/justice.html
98. Rakesh Ankit, Economic & Political Weekly, 21 April 2012.
99. Letter no. 28/23/48 POL. dated 3 May 1949 from H.V.R. Iyengar, I.C.S.,
Secretary to the Government of India to M.S. Golwalkar.
100. ibid.
101. Rakesh Ankit, Economic & Political Weekly, 21 April 2012.
102. Golwalkar’s letter to Balasaheb Deoras. On 28 May 1949, he tried
sending it through a prisoner deputed as his attendant, but it fell into the
hands of the government of Madhya Pradesh.
103. The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994,
Christophe Jaffrelot, C. Hurst & Co., 1996, p. 115.
104. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 104; quotes in the preceding paragraph also from the same
source.
105. Khaki Shorts and Saffron Flags: A Critique of the Hindu Right, Tapan
Basu, Pradip Datta, Sumit Sarkar, Tanika Sarkar, Sambuddha Sen, Orient
Longman, 1993, p. 32.
106. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 56. ‘Golwalkar, at the beginning of these negotiations, was
ready to accept some kind of relationship between the RSS and the Congress
in which the RSS would be entrusted with character building and the
Congress with politics.’
107. Dr Ramachandra Guha in Hindustan Times, 17 June 2018. He referred
to a headline in Organiser about the 30 August meeting – ‘Two Men of
Destiny Meet: A Happy Augury for the Future of Bharat’.
108. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into
the English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru,
accessed online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 82.
109. ibid.
110. A.G. Noorani, Frontline, vol. 27, issue 1, 2-15 January 2010; url:
https://www.frontline.in/static/html/fl2701/stories/19930326052.htm
111. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into
the English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru,
accessed online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 82.
112. The elections were held in phases and the process was kicked off in two
assembly seats—Chini and Pangi, Himachal Pradesh—which were soon to
be snow-bound.
113. C. P. Bhishikar in Shri Guruji: Pioneer of A New Era, translated into
the English by Sudhakar Raje, Sahitya Sindhu Prakashana, Bengaluru,
accessed online from www.golwalkarguruji.org, p. 92.
114. op.cit., p. 96.
115. The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994,
Christophe Jaffrelot, C. Hurst & Co., 1996, p. 113.
116. op.cit., p. 211.
117. op.cit., p. 196.
118. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt Ltd.,
2011, p. 94.

SYAMA PRASAD MOOKERJI

1. Nilanjan Mukhopadhyay, The Economic Times, 2 March 2015,
https://blogs.economictimes.indiatimes.com/et-commentary/bjp-has-made-
big-departure-from-shyama-prasad-mookerjee-and-modis-past-visions/.
Additionally, the Akhil Bharatiya Hindu Mahasabha’s all-India president,
Chander Prakash Kaushik, argued in an interview that ‘the BJP used Syama
Prasad Mookerji as the party’s slogan’ although he doubted ‘how many in the
party know him or recognise his contribution.’
https://www.firstpost.com/politics/hindu-mahasabha-head-speaks-to-
firstpost-godse-was-a-martyr-and-patriot-1977649.html
2. Political Mysteries, K.R. Malkani, Ocean Books, 2006, p. 52. He wrote
that the slogan was first coined by J&K Praja Parishad in 1953 to demand the
state’s ‘complete integration’ with the rest of India. Additionally, Kiren
Rijiju, the current Union minister of State for Home, said in an interview,
‘Our slogan has been “Ek desh mein do vidhan, do Pradhan, aur do nishan,
nahi challenge, nahi chalenge” (In one country, there cannot be two
constitutions, two heads and two flags). That was Shyama Prasad
Mukherjee’s slogan and its spirit is being maintained by us.’
https://www.outlookindia.com/magazine/story/we-cant-have-two-pms-two-
constitutions-but-talks-with-the-nagas-are-still-going-/297431
3. India’s Struggle for Independence, Bipan Chandra, Mridula Mukherjee,
Aditya Mukherjee, Sucheta Mahajan, Penguin Books India, 1988, p. 107.
4. The Life and Times of Shyama Prasad Mookerjee, Tathagata Roy, Ocean
Books, 2012, pp. 24-25.
5. op.cit., p. 29.
6. ibid. http://www.shyamaprasad.org/biography.htm—
http://bit.ly/1OH7Qqp
7. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, pp. 16-17.
8. Land of Two Rivers: A History of Bengal from the Mahabharata to
Mujib, Nitish Sengupta, Penguin Books, 2011, p. 393.
9. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, p. 20.
10. The Life and Times of Shyama Prasad Mookerjee, Tathagata Roy, Ocean
Books, 2012, p. 51.
11. op.cit., p. 39.
12. Shoaib Daniyal, Scroll.in, 28 June 2015; url:
http://scroll.in/article/736610/revisiting-syama-prasad-mookerjee-the-
trinamools-latest-hero
13. The Partition of Bengal and Assam, 1932-1947, Bidyut Chakrabarty,
Routledge, 2004; url: https://books.google.co.in/books?
id=in1_AgAAQBAJ&pg=PT123&lpg=PT123&dq=too+technical+to+draw+
the+sympathy+of+newly+enfranchised+individuals&source=bl&ots=9TQqlI
R-
A6&sig=ACfU3U1fiXc2ic1vcz01b3a33BkLK31ZjA&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2a
hUKEwj-
1OvP_JDgAhWI6Y8KHbWPC5AQ6AEwBXoECAgQAQ#v=onepage&q=to
o%20technical%20to%20draw%20the%20sympathy%20of%20newly%20e
nfranchised%20individuals&f=false or use the shorter url:
https://bit.ly/2Rp4sHk
14. Italian Fascist Regime and Nationalist India, 1921-45, Mario Prayer,
International Studies, 1991. Attention to this has been drawn by Christophe
Jaffrelot and a few other academics.
15. Road to Pakistan: The Life and Times of Mohammad Ali Jinnah, B.R.
Nanda, Routledge, 2010, p. 185. Also read, A.G. Noorani, Frontline, 23
August 2013.
16. Eight Lives: A Study of the Hindu-Muslim Encounter, Rajmohan
Gandhi, Suny Press, 1986, p. 189.
17. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, p. 27.
18. Eight Lives: A Study of the Hindu-Muslim Encounter, Rajmohan
Gandhi, Suny Press, 1986, p. 201.
19. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, pp. 241-243.
20. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, p. 30.
21. op. cit., p. 31.
22. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, p. 241.
23. op. cit., p. 249.
24. Marzia Casolari, Economic and Political Weekly, 22 January 2000.
25. Bengal Divided: Hindu Communalism and Partition, 1932-1947, Joya
Chatterji, Cambridge University Press, 2002, p. 136.
26. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, p. 31.
27. Understanding the Muslim Mind, Rajmohan Gandhi, Penguin Books
India, 2000, pp. 201-202.
28. Eight Lives: A Study of the Hindu-Muslim Encounter, Rajmohan
Gandhi, Suny Press, 1986, p. 202.
29. Understanding the Muslim Mind, Rajmohan Gandhi, Penguin Books
India, 2000, p. 205.
30. Land of Two Rivers: A History of Bengal from the Mahabharata to
Mujib, Nitish Sengupta, Penguin Books, 2011, p. 408.
31. Understanding the Muslim Mind, Rajmohan Gandhi, Penguin Books
India, 2000, p. 206.
32. Letter from Syama Prasad Mookerjee quoted by Balraj Madhok, Portrait
of a Martyr, Rupa Publications, 2003, pp. 52-53.
33. Land of Two Rivers: A History of Bengal from the Mahabharata to
Mujib, Nitish Sengupta, Penguin, 2011, p. 408.
34. Speeches of Syama Prasad Mookerjee cited in Hindustan Standard,
Calcutta and quoted by several writers: Nitesh Sengupta, Land of Two
Rivers: A History of Bengal from the Mahabharata to Mujib, Penguin
Books, 2011, p. 422; S.C. Das, Bharat Kesri Dr. Syama Prasad Mookerjee
with Modern Implications, Abhinav Publications, 2000, p. 65.
35. Communalism in Bengal: From Famine to Noakhali 1943-47, Rakesh
Batabyal, Sage Publications, 2005, p. 145.
36. op. cit., Batabyal cites Ashutosh Lahiry, a prominent Hindu Mahasabha
leader, p. 150.
37. Keith Meadowcroft, unpublished PhD thesis, Concordia University,
Canada, p. 250.
38. The Transfer of Power in India, V.P. Menon, Orient Blackswan, 1957, p.
245.
39. Communalism in Bengal: From Famine to Noakhali 1943-47, Rakesh
Batabyal, Sage Publications, 2005, p. 329.
40. Veer Savarkar, Dhananjay Keer, Popular Prakashan (first published in
May 1950 as Savarkar and His Times); this taken from the third edition,
2012, p. 381.
41. ibid.
42.
http://www.deccanherald.com/content/21777/content/215577/archives.php
43. Subrata Mukherjee, The Statesman, 26 September 2009.
44.
https://www.livemint.com/Politics/xp1abW27kc6YJXWg9B6XVN/Pranab-
slams-attempts-to-vilify-Nehru-on-Partition.html
45. Subrata Mukherjee, The Statesman, 26 September 2009.
46. Jawaharlal Nehru, A Biography, Sankar Ghose, Allied Publishers,
1993, p. 196.
47. Patel a Life, Rajmohan Gandhi, Navjivan Publishing House, 2011, p.
418.
48. The Spoils of Partition: Bengal and India, Joya Chatterji, Cambridge
University Press, 2007, pp. 261-67.
49. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, p. 87.
50. Letter written to Ramlakhan Prasad Sinha, 15 December 1947, cited by
Keith Meadowcroft, unpublished PhD thesis, Concordia University, p. 354.
51. op. cit., p. 380.
52. Party pamphlet, 1948.
53. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, p. 87.
54. Cited by B.D. Graham, Soundings in Modern South Asian History,
University of California Press, 1968, ed. Donald Anthony Low, p. 345.
55. The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994,
Christophe Jaffrelot, C. Hurst & Co., 1996, p. 91.
56. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, p. 116.
57. Bengal Divided: Hindu Communalism and Partition, 1932-1947, Joya
Chatterji, Cambridge University Press, 2002, p. 189.
58. Soundings in Modern South Asian History, B.D. Graham, University of
California Press, 1968, ed. Donald Anthony Low, p. 345.
59. My Country My Life, L. K. Advani, Rupa & Co, Delhi, 2008, p. 85.
60. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, p. 60.
61. op. cit., p. 61.
62. The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994,
Christophe Jaffrelot, C. Hurst & Co., 1996, p. 117.
63. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 125.
64. The Demolition: India at the Crossroads, Nilanjan Mukhopadhyay,
HarperCollins, 1994, New Delhi, p. 163.
65. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, p. 123.
66. Quoted in The Times of India and The Statesman (various editions)
November 1954.
67. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, p. 29.
68. http://www.kamalsandesh.org/why-jansangh/
69. Bharatiya Jana Sangh, party documents, 1951-1972, vol. I, pp. 55-56.
70. Portrait of a Martyr, Balraj Madhok, Rupa Publications, 2003, p. 70.
71. ibid.
72. Cited by Jagmohan in My Frozen Turbulence in Kashmir, Allied
Publishers Pvt. Ltd., 2017 (revised and updated edition), p. 830.
73. ibid.
74. Jawaharlal Nehru: A Biography 1947-1956, vol.2, Sarvepalli Gopal,
OUP India, 2003, p. 122.
75. Bharatiya Jana Sangh, party documents, 1951-1972, vol. IV, pp. 55-56.
76. In Search of a Future: The Story of Kashmir, David Devdas, Viking,
Penguin Books, 2007, p. 85.

DEENDAYAL UPADHYAYA
1. Quoted by V.V. Nene, Pt. Deendayal Upadhyaya: Ideology and
Perception, Part 2, Integral Humanism, p. 1.
2. Pandit Deendayal Upadhyaya, Mahesh Chandra Sharma, Prabhat
Prakashan, 2016, pp. 11-12.
3. Pandit Deendayal Upadhyaya, Mahesh Chandra Sharma, Prabhat
Prakashan, 2016, p. 12.
4. op. cit., p. 13.
5. Political adversaries and the media often accused Vidya Bharti of an
ideological bias. For instance, in India Today, 3 January 2013, it was stated
that the ‘subversion of the educational system by the RSS has the state BJP
Government’s backing. To give education a saffron hue, entire textbooks from
nursery to the postgraduate level are being rewritten with a Hindu emphasis.’
url:https://www.indiatoday.in/magazine/education/story/19920815-learning-
acquires-saffron-hue-in-rss-run-schools-in-madhya-pradesh-766697-2013-
01-03. Such examples abound in other states too and over a long period.
6. Deendayal Upadhyaya’s words in the Manogat (Preface) of his book, cited
by Mahesh Chandra Sharma, Builders of Modern India, Pandit Deendayal
Upadhyaya, Publications Division, 2014, pp. 14-15
7. ibid.
8. op. cit., p. 16.
9. ibid.
10. op. cit., p. 21.
11. Akhand Bharat Kyon? 1952, cited by Mahesh Chandra Sharma Sharma,
op. cit., p. 24.
12. ibid.
13. ibid.
14. Akhand Bharat Kyon? 1952, cited by Sharma, op. cit., p. 17.
15. Resolutions on Internal Affairs, party documents, Bharatiya Jana Sangh,
vol. IV, pp. 24-25.
16. ibid.
17. ibid.
18. My Country My Life, L. K. Advani, Rupa & Co, Delhi, 2008, pp. 137-
154. Also, http://lkadvani.in/excerpts-3.php
19. Organiser, July 1962.
20. Builders of Modern India, Pandit Deendayal Upadhyaya, Mahesh
Chandra Sharma, Publications Division, 2014, quotes Upadhyaya’s
statement, p. 31.
21. Seminar, No. 29, January 1962.
22. Organiser, 17 February 1973.
23. Pandit Deendayal Upadhyaya, Mahesh Chandra Sharma, Publications
Division, 2014, p. 138.
24. The Jana Sangh: A Biography of an Indian Political Party, Craig
Baxter, Oxford University Press, 1971, p. 247.
25. Builders of Modern India, Pandit Deendayal Upadhyaya, Mahesh
Chandra Sharma, Publications Division, 2014, p. 66.
26. http://deendayalupadhyay.org/democracy.html. The portal has been
created by the Dr. Syama Prasad Mookerjee Research Foundation.
27. ibid.
28. Builders of Modern India, Pandit Deendayal Upadhyaya, Mahesh
Chandra Sharma, Publications Division, 2014, pg. 91.
29. ibid.
30. http://deendayalupadhyay.org/democracy1.html
31. Builders of Modern India, Pandit Deendayal Upadhyaya, Mahesh
Chandra Sharma, Publications Division, 2014, p. 74.
32. http://deendayalupadhyay.org/democracy2.html
33. The speech is available at multiple sources, including
http://www.bjp.org/about-the-party/philosophy
34. Pt. Deendayal Upadhyaya Ideology & Perception – Part 5: Concept of
The Rashtra, Suruchi Prakashna, C.P. Bhishikar, 1991, pp. 93-102.
35. ibid.
36. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt Ltd., 2011,
p. 90.
37. Builders of Modern India, Pandit Deendayal Upadhyaya, Mahesh
Chandra Sharma, Publications Division, 2014, p. 86.
38. Bharatiya Jana Sangh, party documents, 1951-1972, vol. I, pp. 47-60.
39. The presidential speech, Calicut;
https://deendayalupadhyay.org/leacture5.html
40. http://deendayalupadhyay.org/lecture5.html
41. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 180, citing a report in Northern Indian Patrika, 1 March
1967.
42. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt Ltd., 2011,
p. 207.
BALASAHEB DEORAS
1. The Aftermath of Partition in South Asia, Tan Tai Yong and Gyanesh
Kudaisya Routledge, 2000, p. 100.
2. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt Ltd., 2011,
p. 98.
3. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 128.
4. op. cit., p.129.
5. M.K. Chauthaiwale, Maine Dekhe Hue Balasaheb Deoras, Shri Bharti
Prakashan (an RSS Publication), 2014, p. 3.
6. Swapan Dasgupta, India Today, March 1999; url:
http://indiatoday.intoday.in/story/positioning-for-life-after-vajpayee-and-
advani/1/253104.html).
7. Khaki Shorts and Saffron Flags: A Critique of the Hindu Right, Tapan
Basu, Pradip Datta, Sumit Sarkar, Tanika Sarkar, Sambuddha Sen, Orient
Longman (now Orient Blackswan), 1993, p. 18.
8. Outlook, July 1996, url: http://www.outlookindia.com/magazine/story/a-
seamless-hindu-vision/201628
9. Conversations with Dilip Deodhar and Rambhau Tupkari, April 2016.
10. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 125.
11. ibid.
12. Interview with K. N. Govindacharya, March 2016.
13. Maine Dekhe Hue Balasaheb Deoras, M.K. Chauthaiwale, Shri Bharti
Prakashan (an RSS Publication), 2014, pp. 11-12.
14. ibid.
15. ibid.
16. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 127.
17. Conversations with Rambhau Tupkary, June 2016.
18. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, pp. 209-10.
19. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 110.
20. The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994,
Christophe Jaffrelot, C. Hurst & Co., 1996, p. 235.
21. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 103.
22. Maine Dekhe Hue Balasaheb Deoras, M.K. Chauthaiwale, Shri Bharti
Prakashan (an RSS Publication), 2014, p. 6.
23. Conversations with Dilip Deodhar, a well-known RSS thinker and author
of several valuable tracts on the RSS, April 2016.
24. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 106.
25. ibid, p. 109.
26. Maine Dekhe Hue Balasaheb Deoras, M.K. Chauthaiwale, Shri Bharti
Prakashan (an RSS Publication), 2014, p. 18.
27. op.cit., p. 22.
28. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 108.
29. Maine Dekhe Hue Balasaheb Deoras, M.K. Chauthaiwale, Shri Bharti
Prakashan (an RSS Publication), 2014, p. 26.
30. ibid, pp. 50-51. This instruction was also meant for Chauthaiwale who
wrote the letter, but even in his memoirs, he mentions that he did not
remember the contents of the letter.
31. Information on this entire episode is based on conversations with several
RSS insiders including K.N. Govindacharya, Dilip Deodhar, Ravi
Deshpande, and also from Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage
Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011, pp. 99-100 & 102.
32. ibid.
33. op. cit., p. 102
34. op. cit., p. 103. Sanjeev Kelkar cites V.N. Deodhar, Hindutva Rajkiya
Vyaspeeth Denera Drashta, Tarun Bharat, Nagpur, 5 July 1997.
35. Maine Dekhe Hue Balasaheb Deoras, M.K. Chauthaiwale, Shri Bharti
Prakashan (an RSS Publication), 2014, pp. 24-25.
36. Ibid., pp. 25-16.
37. Conversations with Rambhau Tupkary, April 2016.
38. Deendayal Upadhyaya, Political Diary, 3 June 1963; url:
http://deendayalupadhyay.org/lost.html
39. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt Ltd., 2011,
p. 101.
40. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 128.
41. op.cit., p. 134.
42. Organiser, vol. 26, p. 38, 17 February 1973.
43. The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994,
Christophe Jaffrelot, C. Hurst & Co., 1996, p. 257.
44. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 110.
45. Published by Suruchi Prakashan, the speeches are available in multiple
sources. This is taken from
https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/rssdelhi/conversations/messages/4071
after verifying from other sources.
46. Subhash Gatade, Mainstream, vol. LII, No. 12, 15 March 2014; url:
http://www.mainstreamweekly.net/article4794.html)
47. http://www.golwalkarguruji.org/shri-guruji/interviews/shri-gurujis-
interviews/social-problems. Also in Spotlights, Guruji Answers, Sahitya
Sindhu, Rashtrotthana Sahitya, 1974, p. 22.
48. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 126.
49. Conversations with Rambhau Tupkary, April 2016.
50. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen and Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 186.
51. (http://www.livemint.com/Politics/dtQymwkmkAEaOOrDUJ6ASI/The-
Emergency-started-long-before-25-June-1975.html).
52. ‘RSS Resolves’, Suruchi Prakashna, 2nd Edition, 2007, p. 74.
53. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 136.
54. Nilanjan Mukhopadhyay, The Demolition: India at the Crossroads,
HarperCollins, 1994, p. 181.
55. Drishta Sanghatak: Balasaheb Deoras, ed. Shrirang Godbole, p. 23.
56. Maine Dekhe Hue Balasaheb Deoras, M.K. Chauthaiwale, Shri Bharti
Prakashan (an RSS Publication), 2014, p. 37.
57. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 138.
58. ibid.
59. Baba Adhav (socialist leader from Maharashtra), Secular Democracy,
August 1977.
60. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 38.
61. ibid.
62. The Brotherhood in Saffron, Walter K. Andersen & Sridhar Damle,
Vistaar, 1987, p. 222.
63. op.cit., p. 223.
64. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 141. He cites Rambhau Bondale’s compilation of (unpublished) speeches
by Deoras, 1977-1990, found in Dr Hedgewar Bhawan, Nagpur.
65. From the official RSS website; url:
http://rss.org//Encyc/2017/5/20/Basic-FAQ-on-RSS.html.
66. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 155.
67. Maine Dekhe Hue Balasaheb Deoras, M.K. Chauthaiwale, Shri Bharti
Prakashan (an RSS Publication), 2014, pp. 43-44.
68. Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, D. R. Goyal, Radha Krishna, 1979;
revised edition, 2000, p. 156.
69. http://vhp.org/conferences/world-hindu-conference/world-hindu-
conference-2-whc-ii/
70. http://www.sevabharathitvm.com/about.php
71. https://positivebunch.wordpress.com/2014/05/22/sewa-bharati-delhi-35-
years-of-social-change/
72. Malini Bhattacharjee, Economic and Political Weekly, 16 April 2016,
vol. LI, Number 16.
73. Ajaz Ashraf, Scroll.in, 20 May 2016; url:
https://scroll.in/article/808463/why-assam-is-likely-to-become-hindtuvas-
new-laboratory
74. Malini Bhattacharjee, Economic and Political Weekly, 16 April 2016,
vol. LI, Number 16; Shekhar Gupta, Business Standard, 8 April 2016.
75. Maine Dekhe Hue Balasaheb Deoras, M.K. Chauthaiwale, Shri Bharti
Prakashan (an RSS Publication), 2014, p. 45.
76. The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994,
Christophe Jaffrelot, C. Hurst & Co., 1996, p. 313.
77. http://vhp.org/featured-article/ashok-singhal-architect-of-hindu-
awakening/
78. The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994,
Christophe Jaffrelot, C. Hurst & Co., 1996, pp. 364-65.
79. ibid.
80. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 185.
81. ‘RSS Resolves’, p. 77.
82. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 191.
83. Jyotipunj, Narendra Modi, Prabhat Prakashan, 2008, translated from the
Gujarati by A.K. Gandhi, p. 32.
84. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 192.
85. The Demolition: India at the Crossroads, Nilanjan Mukhopadhyay,
HarperCollins, 1994, pp. 207-208, quoted from the BJP pamphlet for the
media.
86. Organiser, 16 October 1988.
87. ‘RSS Resolves’, p. 200.
88. My Country My Life, L.K. Advani, Rupa & Co, Delhi, 2008, p. 397.
89. The Liberhan Commission Report, ‘Conclusions’, p. 939.
90. op. cit., p. 942. A few months after his report created a furore for naming
the former and late Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee, Justice M.S.
Liberhan told a journalist that there was nothing ‘illegal’ or ‘improper’ in the
act of naming him, The Hindu, 29 November 2009. URL:
https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/Liberhan-nothing-illegal-in-
naming-Vajpayee-in-my-report/article16894837.ece
91. Lost Years of the RSS, Sanjeev Kelkar, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd., 2011,
p. 198
92. M.K. Chauthaiwale, Maine Dekhe Hue Balasaheb Deoras, Shri Bharti
Prakashan (an RSS Publication), 2014, p. 32.

VIJAYA RAJE SCINDIA

1. The Telegraph, 7 February 2001; url:
https://www.telegraphindia.com/india/rajmata-s-last-testament-portrays-a-
palace-at-war-with-itself/cid/936233
2. Princess: The Autobiography of the Dowager Maharani of Gwalior,
Manohar Malgonkar with Vijayaraje Scindia, Times Book International,
1988, p. 172.
3. op. cit., p. 174.
4. ibid.
5. op. cit., p. 184.
6. The Post-Nehru Era: Political Memoirs, Dwarka Prasad Mishra, Har
Anand Publications, 1993, p. 63.
7. ibid.
8. My Country My Life, L. K. Advani, Rupa & Co, Delhi, 2008, p. 314.
9. The Age of Kali: Indian Travels and Encounters, William Dalrymple,
Penguin Books India, 2004, p. 75.
10. op. cit., p. 77.

ATAL BIHARI VAJPAYEE

1. Dr Ramachandra Guha, The Hindu, 10 November 2002;
url:https://www.thehindu.com/thehindu/mag/2002/11/10/stories/2002111000
630300.htm
2. For a detailed reading about the controversy on the allegations of Vajpayee
not having participated in the freedom movement, read Manini Chatterjee &
V.K. Ramachandran, Frontline, vol. 15, No. 3, 7-20 February 1998;
url:https://www.frontline.in/static/html/fl1503/15031150.htm
3. My Country My Life, L.K. Advani, Rupa & Co., Delhi, 2008, p.102.
4. Mani Shankar Aiyar, NDTV Blogs, 23 July 2018.
https://www.ndtv.com/opinion/why-rahuls-hug-is-lost-on-modi-by-mani-
shankar-aiyar-1887899
5. Lok Sabha Debates, vol. 28, col. 8511. Cited in ‘Parliament and Foreign
Policy Decision Making in India A Study on India’s China Policy: 1959 to
75’, Sibaram Badatya, Ph.D Thesis, Pondicherry University,
url:http://shodhganga.inflibnet.ac.in/handle/10603/175801
6. Subramanian Swamy, Frontline, vol. 15, No. 22, 24 October-06
November, 1998.
7. C. Raja Mohan, The Indian Express, 30 December 2014.
8. Poet Politician: Atal Bihari Vajpayee, ed., Chandrika Prasad Sharma,
Vikas Paperbacks, 2015, pp. 81-183.

LAL KRISHNA ADVANI

1. Available online: http://ia.rediff.com/news/1998/oct/02advani.htm
2. A Time of Transition: Rajiv Gandhi to the 21st Century, Mani Shankar
Aiyar, Viking, Penguin Books India, 2009, p. 153. Accessed online:
https://bit.ly/2BiM0ec.
3. My Country My Life, L.K. Advani, Rupa & Co., Delhi, 2008, pp. 406-
409.

ASHOK SINGHAL
1. Rahul Pandita, Open, 1 December 2017,
http://www.openthemagazine.com/article/ayodhya-25-years-
later/kameshwar-chaupal-the-first-kar-sevak
2. Manjari Katju, Scroll.in, 22 November 2015,
http://scroll.in/article/770912/soft-spoken-vhp-leader-ashok-singhal-
created-indias-most-blistering-anti-minority-campaign
3. The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics: 1925-1994,
Christophe Jaffrelot, C. Hurst & Co., 1996, pp. 412-13. He cited a report
published in The Times of India, 27 January 1990.
4. ‘Modi, Shivaji ki tarah ajeya hain’ (Modi is invincible like Shivaji). He
added that the ‘authority of Hindutva that had ended with Prithviraj
(Chauhan) has been reinstated with this victory (apropos Modi’s win in
2014).’ Later, the interviewer pointed out that there is a section within the
religious minorities who resisted the construction of the Ram temple;
abrogation of Article 370; and introduction of the Uniform Civil Code.
Singhal responded to this question by asking, ‘Kaun hai yeh tabka? Kahan
hai yeh tabka and kitni taaqat hai iss tabke mein? Is tabke mein koi taaqat
nahin rah gayi hai ab’ (Which section? Where is this section, and how much
power do they wield? This section no longer has any power whatsoever).
Interview with Rahul Kanwal 25 May 2014,
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQCWgUqih9Q
5. Vishva Hindu Parishad and Indian Politics, Manjari Katju, Orient
Blackswan, 2003, pp. 127-29.

BAL THACKERAY
1. Maximum City: Bombay Lost & Found, Suketu Mehta, Penguin Random
House India, Delhi, p. 64;
https://www.npr.org/2012/11/19/165507971/indian-politician-was-popular-
and-polarizing; and Soutik Biswas, BBC, 19 November 2012,
https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-india-20389849
2. Jayadev Calamur, http://www.dnaindia.com/blogs/post-the-indian-who-
admires-adolf-hitler-1766547; ibid., Soutik Biswas; Fragile Democracies:
Contested Power in the Era of Constitutional Courts, Samuel Issacharoff,
Cambridge University Press, 2015, p. 84, cites Larissa MacFarquhar, ‘The
Strongman: Where Is This Hindu-Nationalist Violence Leading?’ New
Yorker, 26 May 2003.
3. Sujata Anandan, http://blogs.hindustantimes.com/singly-
political/2011/03/11/as-you-sow-so-you-reap/
4. Mumbai Fables, Gyan Prakash, Princeton University Press, 2010, p. 231.
5. ibid.
6. op. cit., p. 250.
7. The Sena Story, Vaibhav Purandare, Business Publications, 1999, p. 351.
Shinde remained a Shiv Sena loyalist throughout his career except for
crossing over to the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena for some years before
joining back Shiv Sena in August 2018.
8. Wages of Violence: Naming and Identity in Postcolonial Bombay,
Thomas Blom Hansen, Princeton University Press, 2001, pp. 121-122.
9. Shoaib Daniyal, Scroll.in, 27 July 2015; url:
http://scroll.in/article/743554/yakub-memon-case-one-chart-that-shows-just-
how-partisan-indias-criminal-justice-system-can-be
10. M. Rahman, India Today, 15 December 1995; url:
https://www.indiatoday.in/magazine/special-report/story/19951215-remote-
control-must-be-there-because-it-is-a-shiv-sena-and-bjp-government-bal-
thackeray-808098-1995-12-15
11. The Hindu, 19 December 2005; url:
https://www.thehindu.com/2005/12/19/stories/2005121906651200.htm