The RSS: Icons of the Indian Right

by Nilanjan Mukhopadhyay

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 e...

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

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 Mo...

‘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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.’

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

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.

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.

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 ...

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

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.’

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.

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.

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.

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.’

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.’

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.

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.

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.’

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.’

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.

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.

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

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.

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 princip...

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.)

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.’

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.’