The Constitution as a Visual Republic: How Art Illuminates India’s Democratic Soul

 

The Constitution as a Visual Republic: How Art Illuminates India’s Democratic Soul

On 26 January, every year, as dawn breaks over Kartavya Path in Delhi—once the Rajpath—the Republic Day Parade unfolds as a living tapestry of India’s civilisational soul. Regimented columns of marching troops, gleaming armoured formations, and airborne salutes of the armed forces stand shoulder to shoulder with vibrant tableaux that celebrate India’s astounding socio-cultural diversity. From snow-clad Himalayas in the north to sun-kissed coasts on the east and west, from ancient tribal traditions to classical and folk art forms, the parade mirrors a nation that is at once ancient and ever-renewing. The synchrony of military precision with cultural exuberance is no mere spectacle; it is a quiet assertion that India’s strength lies as much in its unity of purpose as in its plurality of expression. In this ceremonial march, our Republic reaffirms that its defence is not only guarded by weapons and valour, but also by the shared inheritance of our diversity in languages, faiths, customs, and traditions that bind its people together into an indestructible democratic whole.

26 January 2026, we mark the 77^th Republic Day. It was on this day, 26th January, 1950, that post ‘our tryst with destiny’, we gave ourselves an extraordinary gift - the Constitution of India. While wishing you all a very happy Republic Day in advance, I wish to take this momentous occasion to write about the beauty of our artistically elegant Indian Constitution, the only one of its kind with such an artistic elegance, which has served us very well for all these years and will continue to do so for eons, notwithstanding our vastly diverse and quite complex nature of our country and its citizens. It is therefore no wonder that the Indian constitution not only continues to intrigue and impress people across the world but also inspires national and international constitutional experts.

However, in recent months, the Indian Constitution has re-entered public consciousness in a curious way.

Images of leaders brandishing pocket-sized copies of the Constitution - both inside and outside the Parliament - have become visual shorthand for political protest, invoking alleged constitutional abuse and democratic erosion. The word Constitution is being spoken, waved, and weaponised more than it has ever been. And yet, there is a deep irony at play. Even as the Constitution is repeatedly invoked in the heat of political contestation, very few—perhaps even among those who most visibly wield it—seem aware of what makes the Indian Constitution truly exceptional. Beyond its length, beyond its clauses and amendments, it stands apart as a rare civilisational artefact: a handwritten, hand-illustrated manuscript where law is inseparable from art, and governance is consciously woven into India’s vast historical, philosophical, and cultural continuum.

As India marks this year’s Republic Day, there is likelihood of the public discourse around the Constitution often gravitating toward its amendments, interpretations, and political contestations. Rarely do we pause to reflect on one of its most remarkable and least discussed dimensions – the Constitution of India is also a carefully conceived work of art - a visual and aesthetic republic—which deserves to be brought back into public memory, for it tells a story far deeper and more enduring than the slogans of the moment.

Unlike any other constitution in the world, India’s founding document is handwritten, hand-illustrated, and visually narrated. Every one of the 22 Parts of the original Indian Constitution begins with an image—an artwork that anchors constitutional provisions within India’s long civilisational memory. This was not an ornamental indulgence. It was a deliberate act of nation-building. Each of these images with brief description of the parts and italics words for the artistic images, is given at the end of the essay.

A Constitution That Speaks Through Images

When the Constituent Assembly completed the drafting of the Constitution, it was decided that the document should not merely govern India but also represent India—its civilisational ethos, cultural depth, moral inheritance, and historical journey. The task of visually shaping this idea was entrusted to Nandalal Bose, one of India’s foremost artists and a leading figure of the Shantiniketan school.

Bose, assisted by a carefully chosen team of artists from Kala Bhavana—including Biswarup, Gouri, Jamuna, Perumal, Kripal Singh Shekhawat, and others—crafted 22 images, one for each Part of the Constitution. Together, these images form a chronological and symbolic narrative of India, from the Indus Valley Civilisation to the freedom struggle, and from ethical philosophy to geography itself. Each of these 22 images are appended at the end of this article.

Part I: Civilisation and Territory

The first Part of the Constitution, dealing with The Union and Its Territory, is adorned with decorative motifs derived from Mohenjodaro seals, including the Zebu Bull. This image reaches back over four millennia to the Indus Valley Civilisation, asserting continuity rather than rupture. The bull, symbolising strength, leadership, fertility, and sacrifice, subtly mirrors the idea of a Union that protects and sustains its people.

Part II: Citizenship as Inheritance

Citizenship, dealt with in Part II, is illustrated through a Vedic Gurukul scene. Knowledge in ancient India was transmitted orally, through close teacher–student relationships. By choosing this image, the artists conveyed citizenship not merely as legal status but as belonging, learning, and shared values, passed down through generations. The Constitution, like the Gurukul, becomes the medium through which society remains connected to its foundational principles.

Part III: Fundamental Rights and the Triumph of Dharma

Part III, on Fundamental Rights, is illustrated with a powerful scene from the Ramayana—Rama’s victory over Ravana and the recovery of Sita from Lanka. This is not a religious assertion but an ethical metaphor. The celebration of Vijayadashami symbolises the triumph of dharma over adharma, justice over tyranny. By placing this image at the threshold of Fundamental Rights, Nandalal Bose visually underscored the purpose of these rights: to eliminate social evils and protect human dignity.

Part IV: Directive Principles and Moral Governance

The Mahabharata scene of Krishna propounding the Gita to Arjuna appears at the beginning of Part IV, the Directive Principles of State Policy. The choice is deeply philosophical. The Directive Principles are not enforceable laws but moral guidelines for governance. Krishna’s counsel to Arjuna—about duty, responsibility, and righteous action—mirrors the constitutional expectation that the State must actively uphold justice, welfare, and ethical governance.

Parts V & VI: Enlightenment and Authority

Scenes from the life of Gautama Buddha, including his first sermon at Sarnath, are placed in sections dealing with the Union and executive authority. Enlightenment here is not merely spiritual but civilisational—symbolising awakening, compassion, restraint, and diplomacy. Buddhism’s historical role in India’s international relations further reinforces the appropriateness of this imagery.

Similarly, scenes from Mahavira’s life acknowledge Jain philosophy and its emphasis on non-violence and ethical conduct, reinforcing the plural foundations of Indian thought.

Parts VII to XI: Empires, Art, and Knowledge

The spread of Buddhism by Emperor Ashoka, scenes from Gupta art, Vikramaditya’s court, and the depiction of Nalanda University collectively celebrate India’s classical age—when governance, art, science, and education flourished together. These images remind the reader that India’s constitutional vision is rooted in a long tradition of statecraft combined with intellectual pursuit.

Parts XII & XIII: Rhythm, Balance, and Prosperity

Part XII, dealing with finance and property, is illustrated with the iconic Chola Bronze Nataraja. Shiva as Nataraja embodies cosmic rhythm, balance, and order. The symbolism is profound: economic systems, like the cosmic dance, require equilibrium. Excess, imbalance, or chaos can destroy harmony. The choice of this image reflects an advanced understanding of governance as a dynamic, balanced process.

Parts XIV to XVI: Diversity and Resistance

Sculptural traditions from Mahabalipuram, followed by portraits of Akbar against Mughal architecture, and then Shivaji and Guru Gobind Singh, visually narrate India’s plural political history. These images celebrate administrative innovation, cultural synthesis, and resistance to injustice.

The portrayal of Tipu Sultan and Rani Lakshmibai marks the early organised resistance against British colonial expansion, reminding readers that freedom was neither sudden nor inevitable—it was earned through sacrifice.

Parts XVII to XIX: Freedom, Sacrifice, and Conscience

Mahatma Gandhi’s Dandi March and his Noakhali peace mission appear in Parts XVII and XVIII. These images represent two sides of freedom—defiance against unjust laws and moral courage in moments of communal strife.

Part XIX features Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose and other revolutionaries who fought from outside India. The border inscription seeking Gandhiji’s blessings acknowledges the diversity of strategies within the freedom struggle and honours Netaji’s decisive role in weakening British resolve.

Parts XX to XXII: Geography as Identity

The final parts of the Constitution are illustrated not with figures but with landscapes—the Himalayas, deserts, and oceans. These images quietly assert that the Republic belongs not just to its people but also to its land. Geography here becomes destiny, unity, and responsibility.

Finished Manuscript signed for posterity

The finished manuscript of the Constitution was signed by 284 members of the Constituent Assembly and adopted on 26 November 1949, which came into existence from 26 January 1950. While India has amended the Constitution many times, its artistic core remains untouched—a reminder that while laws may evolve, foundational values endure.

In viewing the Constitution through its art, one realises that India’s founders imagined democracy not merely as governance, but as a civilisational conversation across time. The illustrated Constitution asks us not only to obey the law, but to understand it—to see ourselves as inheritors of a long ethical, cultural, and historical continuum.

That, perhaps, is its most enduring lesson.

Happy Republic Day

Images : Courtesy Wikipedia

Part I – The Union and its Territory (Decoration with Mohenjo-Daro seals)

Part II – Citizenship (Scene from Vedic Asram (Gurukul))

Part III – Fundamental Rights Scene from Ramayana (Conquest of Lanka and recovery of Giya by Rama)

Part IV – Directive Principles of State Policy Scene from the Mahabharata (Srikrishna propounding Gita to Arjuna)

Part V – The Union (Scene from Buddha’s life)

Part VI – The States (Scene from Mahavir’s life)

Part VII – The States in Part B of the First Schedule (later repealed) (Scene depicting the spread of Buddhism by Emperor Asoka in India and abroad)

Part VIII – The Union Territories (Scene from Gupta Art. It’s development in different phases).

Part IX – No Part in original 1950 Constitution (Scene from Vikramaditya’s Court)

Part X – Scheduled and Tribal Areas (Scene depicting one of the ancient universities -(Nalanda))

Part XI – Relations between the Union and the States (Scene from Orissan Scupltures)

Part XII – Finance, Property, Contracts and Suits (Image of Nataraja)

Part XIII – Trade, Commerce and Intercourse within the Territory of India (Scene from Mahabalipuram Sculptures)

Part XIV – Services under the Union and the States (Portrait of Akbar with Mughal Architecture)

Part XV – Elections  (Portraits of Shivaji and Guru Gobind Singh)

Part XVI – Special Provisions relating to Certain Classes (Portraits of Tipu Sultan and Lakshmi Bai (Rise against the British Conquest))

Part XVII – Official Language (Portrait of the Father of the Nation (Gandhiji’s Dandi March))

Part XVIII – Emergency Provisions (Bapuji the Peace-Maker – his tour in the riot-affected areas of Nokhali).

Part XIX – Miscellaneous (Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose and other patriots trying to liberate Mother India from outside India)

Part XX – Amendment of the Constitution (Scene of the Himalayas)

Part XXI – Temporary, Transitional and Special Provisions (Scene of the Desert)

Part XXII – Short Title, Commencement, Authoritative Text in Hindi and Repeals (Scene of the Ocean)

Long live our Constitution and our great nation.

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From Dynamite to Diplomatic Travesty: The Nobel Peace Prize in Our Times.

Alfred Nobel, in whose honour the world's – understandably - most recognised prizes have been instituted, would definitely have appreciated this irony. After all, he made his fortune perfecting nitroglycerine (Dynamite)—an invention that could blast tunnels through mountains and, with equal eagerness, through human bodies. When a newspaper mistakenly published his obituary, calling him the “merchant of death,” Nobel reacted to the legacy he seemed destined for. His will, creating the Nobel Prizes, was an act of moral course correction: let the profits of destruction underwrite the celebration of human progress and peace. 

More than a century later, the Nobel Peace Prize still carries that original moral weight—though in recent times it has also begun carrying a rather heavy burden of theatre and theatrics. 

A Legacy of Merit and Omission 

Speaking of Nobel Prizes, I am reminded of the year 2001, which happened to be the 100th year of the Nobel Prizes, and to mark this important historical event, Mr I K Mukherjee, DG, NCSM, my parent organisation, decided to develop a traveling exhibition. I was accordingly tasked, in early 2001, immediately on my transfer from NSC Delhi to NSC Mumbai, to curate this exhibition. While it was a great honour to curate this exhibition “100 Years of Nobel Prizes” and take it across science centres in India, including IUCAA, I somehow was somehow able to present the Peace Prize, one of the most controversial, as an aspirational ideal. 

Incidentally, the massive success of this exhibition, including the exhibition venue in the National Science Centre, Delhi, chosen to release the special publication by the Encyclopedia Britannica, resulted in successfully attracting the hosting of an exhibition from the Nobel Museum, Sweden, a decade later at the National Science Centre, Delhi, when I was its Director in 2010. This was an exhibition titled "Network of Innovation" from the Nobel Museum. This exhibition presented the genesis, the secrecy, and even the occasional missteps that were taken by Alfred Nobel, which were part of a grand human effort to reward those who had conferred the “greatest benefit to humankind”, the Nobel Prizes. 

India knows the weight of this Peace Prize legacy poignantly. Mahatma Gandhi—the most influential apostle of non-violence—never received the Nobel Peace prize. That omission remains the Prize’s most eloquent silence. In contrast, another Indian, Mother Teresa, accepted this honour with a quiet moral authority that turned the world's gaze toward the poorest of the poor rather than the podium. 

The Davos Circus and the Greenland "Quest" 

Which brings us, inevitably, to the present—and the 2026 World Economic Forum at Davos. What used to be a summit for economic sobriety – a venue which christened and coined the term Industrial Revolution 4.0 (IR4.0) that now governs us all, including the AI - has transformed into a stage for the surreal. Amidst the snow-capped peaks, the inimitable President, Donald Trump, dominated the halls not with trade or economic deals, but with a persistent, almost medieval quest to "acquire" Greenland.

In a speech that left not just the European leaders, but the world leaders stunned, Trump described the world’s largest island as a "piece of ice" that the U.S. "should have kept" after World War II. "How stupid were we to give it back?" he asked a silent audience, while Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney warned that the world was facing a "rupture" where superpowers use coercion over cooperation. The sight of a U.S. President demanding "right, title, and ownership" of a sovereign territory felt less like 21st-century diplomacy and more like a property developer eyeing a distressed asset. 

The Nobel as a "Gift" 

The farce reached its zenith when the media conversation turned to the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize. Awarded to María Corina Machado for her democratic struggle in Venezuela, the prize was intended as a beacon of hope. Instead, it became a bargaining chip. In a move that sent shockwaves through the Nobel Foundation in Oslo, Machado symbolically "gifted" her medal to Trump. 

The irony was thick enough to choke on. Trump, who had just orchestrated the daring abduction of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and declared that the U.S. would now "run" the country and its oil, accepted the medal as validation. He claimed it was a "wonderful gesture" for a man who—by his own count—had "ended eight wars"- including Operation Sindhoor. 

At Davos, the pushback was visceral. French President Emmanuel Macron noted that Europe’s tolerance had been exhausted, while European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen spoke of building a "new, independent Europe" free from such "bullying." They saw the contradiction clearly: a leader who initiates a regime-change kidnapping and eyes foreign lands for annexation cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, be the "fittest" for a prize founded on the abolition of standing armies and the promotion of peace congresses. 

 Ownership Divorced from Meaning 

The Nobel Foundation was forced to issue a crisp, dignified reminder: a Nobel Prize cannot be transferred, gifted, or shared. The laureate and the Prize are inseparable. One may hold the gold disc, but the honour does not travel like a visiting card. 

It was a necessary clarification—and an unintentionally comic one. For here was a President in possession of the medal but not the honour; and a laureate in possession of the honour but not the medal. The Prize had become a metaphor for our times: ownership divorced from meaning. 

The Enduring Ideal 

And yet, for all this satire, the Nobel Peace Prize endures. It endures because Mandela received it. Because Martin Luther King Jr. received it. The controversies sting precisely because the Prize still matters. Alfred Nobel’s original paradox remains: Dynamite could be controlled; human ambition cannot. 

As for those who yearn for the medal through theatre rather than toil, history offers a gentle lesson: peace pursued for glory rarely earns either. And the Mahatma – MK Gandhi, unencumbered by gold discs, continues to remind us that the most enduring honours are the ones that can never be "gifted" away. 

Long live notwithstanding the controversy that may come its way.

Images: Courtesy Nehru Science Centre, Mumbai and National Science Centre, Delhi

When Allegations Replace Evidence: Defending Scientific Integrity and National Interest

 

In recent days, sections of the Indian media  have carried reports (links given at the end of the essay) that insinuate so called wrongdoing by one of India’s respected nuclear scientists synonymous with integrity, institutional leadership, and national service. The reports, drawing tenuous links between a US-based thorium start-up company – Clean Core Thorium Energy (CCTE) - and an Indian scientist with a long public association with India’s thorium programme, suggest impropriety without producing any substantive evidence. This is deeply disturbing, not merely because of the individual involved, but because of what such reportage does to the ecosystem of science, public trust, and national interest.

I write this note not as a distant observer, but as someone who has known and observed the concerned scientist very closely and has experienced first-hand the intellectual rigour, transparency, and personal modesty with which he has conducted himself over decades. Those who know him—across governments, scientific institutions, and political divides—will attest that his reputation for honesty is not constructed by public relations, but earned through a lifetime of principled work, unparalleled.

Thorium, Long-Term Vision, and Misplaced Suspicion

India’s interest in thorium is neither new nor accidental. It is embedded in Homi Bhabhi’s – founding father of Indian Nuclear Programme - three-stage nuclear programme and has been pursued patiently and persistently over seven decades by many scientists at BARC and DAE, precisely because thorium-based energy is complex, long-gestation, and capital intensive. That CCTE claims a technological breakthrough in thorium utilisation does not automatically translate into Indian failure, nor does it imply that Indian scientists have been negligent, compromised, or deceitful.

History reveals in abundance that any scientific progress does not follow nationalist timelines or media cycles. It evolves through cumulative global knowledge, incremental breakthroughs, and cross-border intellectual exchange—much of which is openly published. Therefore, to insinuate that CCTE named their product “ANEEL” by their founder - who has publicly expressed his admiration for an Indian scientist in whose honour the name has been given - points to ethical lapses is to stretch conjecture into accusation, perhaps aimed at something sinister.

Anyone who is in the business of science will know that admiration is not appropriation. Association is not complicity. And innovation elsewhere is not evidence of betrayal at home.

Due Process, Not Trial by Headline

If there exists even any evidence that any public figure—scientist, bureaucrat, or industrialist—has compromised national interest, then the law must take its course. No individual, howsoever eminent, should be above scrutiny. But scrutiny must be grounded in facts, not framed through ill-conceived insinuation.

What is troubling about these reports is not inquiry per se, but their tone and timing—suggesting guilt while outsourcing proof to implication. This is not investigative journalism; it is narrative construction. Such “trial by headline” damages reputations built over lifetimes and discourages precisely the kind of public-spirited scientific expertise India needs in strategic sectors, more so in the current times.

It also risks chilling effects: why would accomplished scientists advise governments, mentor start-ups, or participate in international knowledge forums if every engagement can later be retrofitted into suspicion?

A Pattern Worth Noticing

This episode also brings to mind recent insinuations against Sridhar Vembu, founder of Zoho - another individual who has built global excellence from Indian soil, invested deeply in domestic capability.  In his case, personal matters and perceived political sympathies were dragged into public discourse to cast aspersions on professional credibility.

The common thread in both cases is not ideology, but independence. Individuals who do not neatly align with pre conceived narratives—corporate, political, or media—often become soft targets. When success cannot be ignored, motives are questioned. When integrity stands firm, insinuation is deployed.

This is not healthy dissent. It is reputational sabotage.

On Timing and National Interest

It is also impossible to ignore the timing of these insinuations. At a moment when India’s nuclear and clean-energy sector is poised for significant expansion—potentially involving billions of dollars in long-term investment, global partnerships, and strategic technology collaboration—the casual sensationalisation of unproven accusations risks doing collateral damage to national credibility. Reckless narratives in sensitive sectors do not merely tarnish reputations; they can deter investment, adversely impact collaboration, and inadvertently undermine the very national interests they claim to defend.

Who Benefits from these Narratives?

It is legitimate to ask: who gains when India’s most credible scientific voices are undermined? Who benefits when long-term, strategic technologies like thorium are portrayed as national “failures” just as global interest in them accelerates? And why do such stories surface without parallel examination of India’s institutional constraints, international regulatory regimes, or the deliberate choices made to prioritise safety and sovereignty over speed?

If there are vested interests—commercial, geopolitical, or ideological—hostile to India’s strategic autonomy in energy and technology, then weakening public confidence in its scientific leadership is an effective tactic. Therefore, it is necessary that, journalism which carries power must be responsible in its writings. It is essential to remember that power without responsibility corrodes democracy. Freedom of the press does not necessarily include freedom from facts. India needs fearless journalism—but also fair journalism.

Besides, it is also crucial to remember that parallel innovations must never be misread as failure.

Science does not progress in a vacuum. Nor does it move at the pace of headlines. Breakthroughs emerge through decades of cumulative effort, often followed by faster applied developments that draw upon earlier foundational research – I could see   further by standing on the shoulders of giants, a statement of Isaac Newton, paraphrased. To misunderstand this is to misunderstand science itself.

Parallel Progress is Not Proof of Failure

The central argument -  falsely assumed conclusion - advanced in the report of the media in subject is that ANEEL, thorium-based nuclear fuel somehow exposes India’s decades-long thorium effort is a “flop”. This conclusion is logically flawed and historically ignorant.

A powerful counter example lies in the Human Genome Project (HGP). Launched in 1986 as a publicly funded programme under the US Department of Energy and the National Institutes of Health, the HGP was deliberately methodical, transparent, and slow by design. Led by Francis Collins, it took nearly 17 years to sequence the human genome, ensuring accuracy, reproducibility, and open access.

Contrarily, in the late 1990s, Celera Genomics, a private company founded by Craig Venter, entered the field, using faster technologies (whole genome shot gun sequencing method), advanced computation, and—crucially—the vast body of publicly available data, and completed the genome sequencing in quick time. In April 2003, both, Human Genome Project and Celera published their results simultaneously—one in Nature on 14 April 2003, the other in Science, 15 April 2003.

What followed is instructive. No one accused the US, DOE HGP project of failure. No one alleged that scientists from the HGP had secretly colluded with Celera. Instead, the scientific community acknowledged an obvious truth: private innovation had climbed on the shoulders of a massive public scientific foundation. The two efforts were seen as complementary, not conspiratorial.

The story of thorium is perhaps no different.

India’s interest in thorium was never a short-term commercial gamble, like the HGP. It was conceived as a strategic, sovereign, and long-horizon programme, rooted in Homi Bhabha’s three-stage nuclear vision, tailored to India’s resource constraints and energy security needs. Thorium fuel cycles are scientifically complex, regulator-intensive, and unforgiving of haste.The programme prioritised safety, non-proliferation, and indigenous capability over speed. Much of its output—reactor physics, materials science, fuel behaviour—has been openly published and has contributed to global knowledge. This is precisely how foundational science is meant to function.

That a foreign start up today claims progress in thorium-based fuel does not invalidate decades of Indian research. It validates it.

To portray ANEEL has somehow “beaten” India’s nuclear programme is misleading. Nuclear fuel development unfolds over decades, not funding cycles. If anything, the current progress reflects the maturity of global thorium knowledge—much of it generated by public programmes like India’s.

India’s nuclear decisions are not shaped by individuals acting alone; they are an outcome of layered oversight, regulatory scrutiny, and collective scientific judgment. Reducing such a programme to a morality tale centred on one individual does not illuminate truth—it distorts it.

There is nothing wrong with asking hard questions. But there is a world of difference between inquiry and insinuation. Science journalism demands knowledge, especially in domains such as nuclear energy, where timelines are long, risks are real, and trade-offs are unavoidable.

India’s thorium programme is not a failure because others are building upon it. The scientist’s integrity is not diminished because he is admired globally. And science does not stand discredited because it advances through parallel paths.

The Human Genome Project was not a failure because Celera arrived later and moved faster. Bell Labs did not fail because the integrated circuit blossomed elsewhere. Nor did the Digital Camera fail because the company which invented it could not to recognise its potential. Similarly, India’s thorium journey does not collapse because applied innovation has entered a new phase.

What fails, instead, is journalism when it mistakes the rhythm of science for scandal.

Links to the two media reports cited in the article:

Image : Courtesy Wikicommons

(https://www.businessworld.in/article/india-s-big-nuclear-flop-how-a-crown-jewel-slipped-away-585953

and 

https://www.dnaindia.com/india/report-70-years-of-india-s-thorium-research-breakthrough-comes-from-us-startup-what-role-did-barc-s-anil-kakodkar-play-at-private-firm-3196067/amp)

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Somnath at 1000: From Ruin (1026) to Remembrance (2026)

 

A thousand years before, on 8 January 1026 CE, the temple of Somnath, home to the famous Jyotirlinga, in Saurashtra, was attacked, plundered, and desecrated by Mahmud of Ghazni. Exactly one thousand years later, Somnath once again occupied the national gaze —this time as the site of a Shaurya Yatra (11 January 2026). The ‘Shaurya Yatra’ - a ceremonial procession organised in memory and honour of innumerable warriors who laid down their lives defending the Somnath Temple - was led by the Prime Minister, Shri Narendra Modi. This procession was a culmination of a three-day event, organised in a festive-like spirit, in the presence of a massive crowd. The procession was marked by the symbolic presence of 108 Kathia wadi and Marwari horses - belonging to the Gujrat mountain Unit, and the event was broadcast live across the country. The event reminded the citizens that it carries with it millennia of civilisational ethos to preserve the religious and cultural traditions and ethos of the nation.

Few places in India so starkly embody the long arc of history as Somnath—an arc that began a thousand years before and runs across centuries of repeated loot and destruction to regeneration, from trauma to resilience.

The history of Somnath begins with that infamous day, 8 January 1026 CE, when the loot, destruction, and desecration of the revered Shivalinga unfolded at the Somnath Temple. This destruction was led by the invading marauder from Afghanistan, Mahmud of Ghazni, who undertook around fifteen major expeditions into the Indian subcontinent, many aimed at prosperous cities and religious centres. This history now completes its millennium with the grand Shaurya Yatra, which must serve the nation as an act of collective remembrance—honouring the trials endured by generations of Indians who withstood repeated onslaughts, only to rise again—and as a celebration of civilisational continuity, affirming that what was once sought to be erased has instead endured, renewed and remained resolute.

A telling anecdote from India’s diplomatic history further illuminates the asymmetry of historical memory surrounding Somnath. When Atal Bihari Vajpayee served as India’s External Affairs Minister and visited Afghanistan in 1978, he requested that his counterpart take him to Ghazni—the seat of power from which Mahmud of Ghazni launched repeated raids into India, including the devastating attack on Somnath. The Afghanistan minister reportedly responded with surprise, noting that Ghazni no longer occupied any special place in Afghanistan’s historical consciousness, nor did Mahmud figure prominently in popular memory there. Vajpayee later reflected on this exchange to observe that while conquerors may fade from the lands they once ruled, the wounds they inflict often remain etched in the memory of those who endured them—certain scars, he remarked, endure for a lifetime. The episode captures, with quiet poignancy, how Somnath lives not as a footnote of conquest elsewhere, but as a lasting chapter in India’s civilisational experience.

Some of my friends may find this post of mine out of place, since my posts are normally confined to science and history of science, the subject in which I spent my 35 years of service with NCSM - working as a curator and science communicator with different the science museums and centres. However, for the past four years, following my retirement from science museums, I have been working as a Senior Advisor at the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya (CSMVS), formerly the Prince of Wales Museum, which engages deeply with art, culture, history, sociology, and religious traditions of India’s extraordinarily rich civilisational past. This transition—from a science museum ecosystem to an art and cultural institution—has been intellectually enriching and has motivated me in attempting this post.

In January 1026, Mahmud of Ghazni led a brutal expedition from Afghanistan, marching through harsh deserts to reach Prabhas Patan in Gujarat. It took three days for the ruthless Ghazni army armed to their teeth to overcome the resistance raised by the common men who resisted the conquest even as their king had retreated to a safer place. Ghazni’s forces attacked the temple, shattering the sacred jyotirlinga (Shiva lingam), slaughtering thousands of defenders, and looting treasures —gold, jewels, and even the temple's famed sandalwood gates, which were carted back to Ghazni. Contemporary sources describe the Shivalinga being broken into pieces, with fragments embedded in mosque steps as a symbol of Islamic conquest. Yet, this was no isolated tragedy; Somnath, one of Hinduism's holiest Jyotirlingas, became a target for invaders seeking to assert dominance over India's spiritual heart.

The temple's brief history of destruction continued across centuries:

• In 725 CE, Arab governor Junayd ibn Abd ar-Rahman al-Murri first ravaged it during early Islamic expansions into Sindh and Gujarat.
• In 1299 CE, Alauddin Khilji's general Ulugh Khan demolished it again, reportedly taking the lingam to Delhi to be trampled underfoot—though Rajput legends in texts like Kanhadade Prabandha speak of heroic recoveries by warriors like Kanhadadeva.
• 1395 CE saw Muzaffar Shah I (Zafar Khan) destroy it and establish a mosque on site.
• In 1451 CE, Sultan Mahmud Begada desecrated it during his Gujarat campaigns.
• The Mughal emperor Aurangzeb ordered its obliteration in 1665 and again in 1706, converting the ruins into a mosque and forbidding repairs "beyond possibility."

What lends particular historical weight to the episode is its documentation by Al-Biruni, the 11th-century scholar, who was associated with the Ghaznavid court who chronicled the conquest stories of Ghazni. In his description of the site of Somnath, Biruni writes “The location of the Somnath temple was a little less than three miles west of the mouth of the river Sarasvati. The temple stood on the coast of the Indian Ocean so that at the time of high tide the idol was bathed by the sea’s water.”

Al-Biruni confirms the destruction of the temple and attributes Mahmud’s raids to both plunder and what was presented as religious iconoclasm. Significantly, he also reflects on the broader consequences of these campaigns, observing that they ruined the prosperity of India, deepened hostility toward foreigners, and caused scholars of Indian sciences to flee regions “conquered by us.” This acknowledgement of cultural and intellectual loss sets Al-Biruni apart from more triumphalist chroniclers.

Later Persian narratives embellished the story further—claiming that fragments of the shattered Shivalinga were carried to Ghazni and placed at a mosque entrance as a symbol of victory. While some modern historians debate the literal accuracy of such details, there is little doubt that Somnath became a powerful symbol in medieval imagination. As historian Jamal Malik has argued, the destruction of Somnath played a crucial role in constructing Mahmud as an “icon of Islam” in Persianate histories.

Somnath did not vanish after 1026. It was attacked and rebuilt multiple times over the centuries. Each reconstruction was more than architectural; it was cultural defiance. Reflecting on this recurring cycle, Swami Vivekananda observed in 1897: “Somnath of Gujarat and temples like it will teach you volumes of wisdom… continually destroyed and continually springing up out of the ruins, rejuvenated.”

Each time, the temple rose from the ashes through the devotion of Hindu rulers and communities. After Ghazni's raid, Chaulukya king Bhimdev I began repairs, with full reconstruction under Kumarapala in 1169 CE using exquisite stone and jewels. Post-Khilji, Chudasama king Mahipala I rebuilt the temple in 1308. Legends abound of the idol's salvation: priests hiding fragments in secret underground shrines (as in the 1783 era under Ahilyabai Holkar), or even casting it into the sea to evade desecration. In one account from the 1299 invasion, the lingam was spirited away and reinstated, symbolising faith's defiance. By 1783, Maratha queen Ahilyabai Holkar constructed a new shrine nearby to preserve worship, ensuring the sacred flame never extinguished.

This cycle of destruction and rebirth culminated in independent India's era. In 1947, just months after Partition, Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel visited the site and vowed reconstruction of the Somnath temple as a symbol of national unity. With Mahatma Gandhi's blessing (who insisted on public funding over government money), the Somnath Trust—led by K.M. Munshi—raised funds from devotees nationwide to construct a grand Somnath temple. The new temple, built in the traditional Chalukya style, was completed by 1951 referring to the archaeological excavations and using skilled craftsmanship.

On May 11, 1951, President Dr. Rajendra Prasad consecrated and inaugurated the new temple, installing the jyotirlinga amid Vedic chants. It is said that, in his inaugural speech (unfortunately blacked out by All India Radio), President Rajendra Prasad hailed Somnath as a beacon of India's enduring faith and prosperity. He called the Somnath temple the "Temple of Human Welfare." This did not please the Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, who opposed the project as "Hindu revivalism" and had written multiple letters advising Prasad against attending, fearing it would undermine secularism. Yet, Prasad stood firm, declaring that true secularism embraces all faiths without erasing heritage.

Today, as we commemorate the Shaurya Yatra, we must remind ourselves that Somnath isn't just another temple—it's a testament to Bharat's resilience. Over 1,000 years, invaders shattered it six major times, but devotion rebuilt it again and again, seven times. Today, as we reflect on this millennium, let's celebrate that unyielding spirit. The spirit of Somnath, which inspire the nation as a symbol of cultural endurance.