Basava Jayanti: Message for a Fractured Indian Polity.

On Basava Jayanti, a call to move beyond caste arithmetic to rediscover the egalitarian traditions professed and practised by Basavanna

In India, we often celebrate our social reformers in ritualistic fashion, but rarely contemplate practicing the transformative ideas they championed. One such social reformer who we remember on his Jayanti (birthday) is Basaveshvara. 

Today, 20 April, we commemorate Basava Jayanti, the birth of the 12th-century philosopher, social reformer, thinker, poet, philosopher and a saint, Bhagwan, Basaveshwara, also referred to as Basavanna. He was born on Vaishaka Shudda Tritiya, Rohini Nakshatra in 1931 CE, in the present-day state of Karnataka. Basava Jayanti, celebrated across Karnataka, and in the bordering states and so also across the nation and internationally by the followers of Basavanna, demands more than ceremonial homage. It calls for a deeper reflection on how his revolutionary vision of an egalitarian society stands in stark contrast to the increasingly caste-fragmented political discourse of contemporary, “secular India”.

Basava Jayanti, this year comes amid developments that once again highlight the fissures within our polity. The Parliament witnessed the defeat of a proposed Constitution Amendment Bill on the Women’s Reservation, post an acrimonious and sharp political exchanges in the Parliament. The Prime Minister addressed the nation through Doordarshan, offering apologies for the failure to pass the legislation, even as the opposition accused him of misusing a public broadcaster for political messaging in the midst of elections. This episode, irrespective of partisan interpretations, underlines a deeper truth: the secular democracy in India often operates more in letter than in spirit. 

It is precisely in such moments that the philosophical legacy of Basavanna and the deliberative model of the “Anubhava Mantapa” acquire renewed relevance. Basavanna emerged in an era when rigid caste hierarchies dominated social and religious life. His response was a transformative egalitarian social movement rooted in equality, dignity of labour, and universal humanism. The Anubhava Mantapa, an assembly of mystics, philosophers, and social thinkers drawn from all sections of society—women and men, Brahmins and Dalits, artisans and scholars, cutting across caste, creed, gender and religion — was used as a Parliament like platform to deliberate freely on spiritual, social, and economic issues. Anubhava Mantapa therefore, has rightly been described as one of the earliest forums of participatory democracy, where individuals transcended caste identity to engage as equals and its existence was brought to international notice by PM Modi, who talked about it extensively including during the opening of the New Parliament.

Today, when we see a highly fractured polity in India with each accusing the other of divisive politics, antagonistic to the secular ethos of our country - cultivating a social ethos that transcend divisions of caste, creed, and community - Basavanna’s 12th-century experiment become remarkable.  In essence, Basavanna created a participatory forum rooted in equality and dialogue, a democratic tradition far ahead of its time.

Yet, centuries later, India’s public discourse appears to move in the opposite direction. Elections - whether parliamentary, state, or even local - are increasingly analysed by all concerned stakeholders of our democracy through the prism of religion and caste arithmetic. The 24×7 media ecosystem, with its endless panels and so called “data-driven” commentary, routinely dissects the electorate into caste blocs. Citizens are treated not as individuals with aspirations but as homogeneous groups presumed to vote according to inherited identities. Analysts confidently predict which caste will support which party, how sub-castes will shift loyalties, and what numerical combinations might secure victory. Who gets to sit on the CM Chair and how is that decision influenced by the caste and many more. Such discourse does not merely interpret society; it shapes it leading to the fissures in the society.

Through the 24x7 news coverage of politics in India, by innumerable news channels, the citizens are repeatedly told that their primary identity is caste. This messaging egged by its hyper-amplification by the political class and such other vested interest groups, democracy risks being reduced to demographic bookkeeping.

The language itself betrays the distortion: instead of citizens casting their vote, commentary implies that castes “vote” collectively, perhaps a harsh reality. But then this subtle but significant shift transforms individuals into categories. In the guise of sophisticated analysis, society is encouraged to view itself through narrow lenses, reinforcing divisions that reformers like Basavanna perspired to dismantle.

The consequences are far-reaching. A polity that constantly emphasises caste divisions risks creating ghettos of identity. Communities begin to see themselves as competing blocs rather than participants in a shared democratic project. Political actors, in turn, find incentives to mobilise along these lines, deepening the fractures. The result is a cycle where social divisions feed political strategies, and political strategies further entrench social divisions.

History offers a sobering lesson. India’s long experience of foreign rule—particularly under colonial powers—was facilitated by internal divisions. The British, with relatively small numbers, governed a vast and diverse population partly by exploiting differences of caste, religion, and region. Communities were pitted against one another, weakening collective resistance. While contemporary India is vastly different, the persistent emphasis on identity-based divisions raises uncomfortable echoes. A society fractured along narrow lines becomes vulnerable—not necessarily to external rule, but to internal discord and weakened democratic cohesion, which shows up if we see it dispassionately.

It is in this context that Basavanna’s message becomes extraordinarily relevant. He rejected caste hierarchy outright, asserting that human worth cannot be determined by birth. His concept of “Kayaka” emphasised dignity of labour, dissolving occupational hierarchies. “Dasoha” promoted sharing and social responsibility, fostering solidarity. Most importantly, the Anubhava Mantapa created a lived experience of equality, where dialogue replaced division. Basavanna did not merely preach unity; he institutionalised it.

Today as we celebrate Basava Jayanti while navigating the West Asia crisis, let us draw inspiration from Basavanna’s vision of a just and equitable society. As we honour Basavanna, may I request those who are interested in a deeper understanding of the life and works of Basavanna, to read my blog post from 2021, which delves deeper into Basavanna’s life and legacy:

https://khened.blogspot.com/2020/04/basava-jayanti-birth-anniversary-of.html

Happy Basava Jayanti

A Jayanti Tribute to Dr. Ambedkar – Reminiscing Cricket and Politics

 

A Jayanti Tribute to Dr. Ambedkar – Reminiscing Cricket and Politics

Every year on 14 April, we commemorate and remember two legends – both Bharat Ratna awardees – Dr. B. R. Ambedkar and Sir M Visvesvaraya. The former, chief architect of our Constitution and one of the most transformative social reformers in modern Indian history, was born on this day in 1891 and the later, a legendary engineer and nation builder, passed away in this day in 1962 in Bangalore.

In a tribute I had written earlier on my blog (https://khened.blogspot.com/2023/04/tribute-to-dr-bhimrao-ramji-ambedkar.html) I had recalled how Ambedkar’s journey began amid severe social discrimination. Born on 14 April 1891 in Mhow into a family considered “untouchable,” Dr Ambedkar encountered exclusion from childhood — segregated seating in classrooms, denial of water, and social humiliation. These experiences, as I had noted in my blog, forged in him a “steely grit” that shaped his lifelong struggle against caste discrimination and for equal rights.

Despite these adversities, Ambedkar rose through education — from Elphinstone College to Columbia University and the London School of Economics — eventually becoming a scholar, lawyer, and reformer who reshaped India’s social and constitutional landscape. His intellectual contributions culminated in drafting a Constitution that promised equality, dignity, and justice to all citizens.

Today as we celebrate Dr Ambedkar’s Jayanti during a season when elections dominate headlines and the Indian Premier League captures national imagination, it is worth reflecting on a lesser-discussed irony: the architect of India’s democratic framework himself faced back to back electoral defeats, often shaped by the rough and tumble of political rivalries and the politicking that gets played out in politics.

Beneath the grand statues and floral tributes that are offered to Dr Ambedkar on his Jayanti, all across the nation, lies a narrative of profound irony—a story of a man who could craft the foundational document of the world’s largest democracy but ironically, could not secure a seat in its inaugural Parliament. The story becomes particularly interesting when viewed through the lens of cricket.

Pre-independence Bombay cricket, especially the Quadrangular and Pentangular tournaments, produced legendary figures like Palwankar Baloo. A Dalit cricketer who rose to prominence in an era of entrenched caste divisions, Baloo became a symbol of social mobility and excellence. His exploits were not merely sporting achievements; they challenged caste hierarchies in public life. The celebrated book by Ramachandra Guha, A Corner of a Foreign Field, recounts how Baloo and his brothers transformed cricket into a stage for social assertion.

Ambedkar admired such figures. He believed that showcasing role models from marginalized communities could inspire collective upliftment. It is said that Dr Ambedkar prepared Marathi booklets highlighting contributions of prominent Dalit achievers — including Baloo — to create awareness and pride within the community. However, politics often turns admiration into rivalry.

During the 1937 provincial elections under the Government of India Act 1935, Palvankar Baloo was pitted against Dr Ambedkar in the Bombay Presidency. The contest symbolised more than an electoral battle; it reflected ideological divisions and strategic calculations. Fortunately, Ambedkar won, but narrowly — a result that revealed how even icons belonging to the same community, could be drawn into competitive political narratives. This electoral contest between Baloo - a Gandhian and also the man who supported Gandhi on his Pune pact against Ambedkar who was its staunch opponent -  and Ambedkar, has often been interpreted as an attempt by Congress leaders, including those aligned with Mahatma Gandhi, to counter Ambedkar’s influence by supporting another respected Dalit leader. Whether this was direct intervention or broader party strategy remains debated, but the bitterness of politicking was unmistakable.

It must be recalled that the Poona Pact of 1932, forced by Gandhi's fast-to-the-death, had denied Dalit’s separate electorate, ensuring they would always be dependent on the majority (often Congress-leaning) vote to win. Incidentally Baloo, besides Nehru and others in the Congress had convinced a reluctant Ambedkar to give in to accept the Pune Pact. Independent India did not soften these realities and political rivalries.

The irony reached its zenith during the first General Elections in 1952. Ambedkar, having resigned from Nehru’s cabinet over the stalling of the Hindu Code Bill, contested from the Bombay North Central constituency (reserved). It should have been a walkover for a man of his stature. However, the political machinery of the Congress, led by Jawaharlal Nehru and steered locally by the formidable S.K. Patil, had other plans. Their main aim was to defeat Ambedkar to reduce his stature.

The Congress, therefore, deployed a two-pronged strategy that leveraged both personal loyalty and community sentiment. They fielded Narayan Sadoba Kajrolkar - Ambedkar’s former personal assistant - as their primary candidate. But the masterstroke (or the "cruellest decision”, depending on your perspective) was the involvement of Palwankar Baloo. By then, the legendary cricketer had joined the Congress. While Kajrolkar was the official opponent, Baloo’s presence in the Congress camp and his campaigning against Ambedkar created a fractured mandate within the very Dalit vote bank Ambedkar had painstakingly built. The man Ambedkar had once championed as a role model was now a “tool” in the hands of the establishment used to ensure his electoral defeat.  

Despite his towering stature, Ambedkar lost to his former assistant. Many political analysts have suggested that the Congress organisation, led by Jawaharlal Nehru, mobilised strongly against him after ideological differences emerged following his resignation from the Cabinet. The defeat was symbolic — a reminder that electoral success often depends as much on organisational strength as on intellectual authority.

Ambedkar tried again in the 1954 Bhandara by-election, but was defeated once more, finishing third. These setbacks highlight a paradox: the man who empowered millions politically struggled within electoral arithmetic himself. It underscores an enduring truth — politics, like cricket, is a game of strategy, alliances, and sometimes unpredictable pitches.

The cricketing analogy is compelling. Even the greatest batsman can be undone by a difficult wicket or a clever field placement. This was seen in yesterday’s IPL match where the dashing youngster – Vaibhav Suryavanshi - was out for a duck. Similarly, Ambedkar’s political innings unfolded on a pitch shaped by ideological divisions, organisational rivalries, and shifting loyalties. The rivalry of Dr Ambedkar with Baloo in 1937, the contest against Congress candidates in 1952, and the defeat in 1954 all reveal how democratic competition can be intensely personal and strategically driven.

Yet, Ambedkar’s legacy transcends electoral wins and losses. As I had emphasized in my earlier tribute, his greatest contribution was the Constitution — framed after nearly three years of deliberation, providing equal rights and opportunities to all citizens. Ambedkar ensured that democracy would not merely be a political arrangement but a social revolution. Reservations, fundamental rights, and constitutional safeguards for marginalized communities all bear his imprint.

In cricket, players are ultimately remembered not for a single innings but for their overall contribution to the game. Similarly, Ambedkar’s stature lies not in electoral outcomes but in institutional transformation. His defeats did not diminish his achievements; rather, they humanized him, showing that even giants must navigate the rough edges of democratic politics.

Today, as election campaigns intensify and IPL matches dominate conversations, Ambedkar’s life offers a timely reminder. Rivalries may emerge even among admirers. Political strategies may override shared goals. But the true measure of leadership lies in enduring ideas and societal impact.

Ambedkar’s innings, unlike many political careers, was not defined by the scoreboard. He changed the rules of the game itself. If politics occasionally dealt him a difficult pitch, he responded by building institutions that ensured fairness for generations.

That is why, on his Jayanti, the most fitting tribute is not merely to recall his victories but to acknowledge the challenges he faced — including the bitterness of politicking — and to recognize that his legacy rose above them. Like a legendary cricketer who transforms the sport, Ambedkar transformed Indian democracy. 

The match may have seen setbacks, but the series belongs to him — and to the nation he helped reshape.

Long Live Dr BR Ambedkar.

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