The Indian Constitution’s Preamble begins with ‘We, The People of India’ and ends with, ‘Give To Ourselves This Constitution’. In between these sentences is an oath to secure for ourselves Justice, Equality, Liberty, Fraternity ‘assuring the dignity of the individual and the unity and integrity of the Nation’.
Meeting the standards of the Constitution is challenging. This land has been ruled by kings and their dynasties. Their rule legitimised by creating lineages linking them to primordial divine ancestries like Sūryavaṃśa and Candravaṃśa. This emphasised and justified a king’s superiority over the ruled.
Life in those times resembled a pyramid scheme. The higher one was on the pyramid the richer and more powerful the person was. The lower one was on the pyramid the more numbers they were subservient to and dominated by. Thus, the king was highest in the pecking order when it came to administering the Kingdom. However, socially it was Brahmin priests who ruled the roost. Being learned of the divine they were intermediaries for the gods, providing celestial support for the king, and spiritual succour for his subjects. This social and administrative stratification eventually became part of this subcontinent’s DNA.
In democratic India, many use Democracy to establish personal fiefdoms and become maharajas. Simultaneously, those historically accustomed to being at the pinnacle of the social food chain have new ways to re-establish if not retain their, unwilling to share space at the table which the Indian Constitution provides for.
In the guise of preserving ancient culture, citizens tracing back their ancestries to dynasties perform passed down traditions. For example, in 2015 an elaborate ‘private’ coronation ceremony was conducted to crown a young member of the Wadiyar family as King. Though it was private, the event was reported by national and international media who used prefixes like ‘maharaja’, ‘king’ to report the event.
The process of maintaining links to the past perpetuates age-old chasms. The Honorable Supreme Court in 1995 observed ‘Hereditary titles of nobility conflict with the principle of equality insofar as they create a separate, identifiable class of people who are distinct from the rest of society and have access to special privileges. Recently, the Rajasthan High Court ruled that under Articles 14, 18 and 363A use of such salutations is prohibited, including in public domain.
Breathing life into this legally dead past requires the willing collusion of others.
Modern Indian history lessons, comics and movies about kings and dynasties create an aura about them, descendants benefit from this. The term ‘royal family’ remains part of vocabulary to identify and place individuals in this primitive social hierarchy. Sashi Tharoor tweeted in March 2019 ‘Called on Princesses Gouri Parvathi Bayi & Gouri Lakshmi Bayi of the Travancore Royal family this morning.’ While PM Narendra Modi, the CM and governor of Karnataka recently enjoyed a sumptuous breakfast hosted by the ‘Mysuru royal family’ at the Mysuru palace which is their ‘house’. Symbols of royalty continue to be used. On January 26, 2021, PM Narendra Modi took the Republic Day salute wearing a ‘Halari pagh’ (royal head turban) gifted to him by the Jamnagar ‘royal family’.
Citizens at the receiving end of such titles are pleased because an out-of-date differentiator has been given life. Those verbalising and acknowledging the defunct difference with deference are probably doing so because of ingrained servility and ingratiation.
Using such redundant titles normalises an unconstitutional distinction. This is the commonest way the concept of royalty is maintained in a secular democracy. Repeating abolished titular titles gives it credence and makes it socially acceptable. Such titles are understandable in a constitutional monarchy – like the UK – which India is not.
This unrequited love for the past is used by political parties who view erstwhile royalty as an easy means to capture votes. Being part of a political party gives these defunct aristocrats an opportunity to rule, albeit a constituency.
Given this hangover, who wouldn’t want to create personal fiefdoms and reign as monarch? Crudely put, who wouldn’t want to be shown ubiquitous deference in public.
It is apparent that those who swear to protect and work as per the Constitution behave like little maharajas.
Appointments of government servants, end up becoming coronations where lower-rung officers come to pay their respects and the public attend with their petitions or with the idea of sucking up to this untenured king.
These behaviours are not considered problematic, Indians have grown up with the idea that power and authority must be displayed, because this is what kings did. Furthermore, such conduct is aspirational because it personifies haloed status. The prestige of not having to obey what others must, the dignity that comes with being served, the aggrandisation resulting from controlling others, the wealth that accumulates through this control, and the respect accrued from others as a response to them believing they may be recipients of future largesse.
Even clerks, junior government officers transform into other avatars of modern India’s little maharajas. The power and prestige of their post has less to do with their ability to do a job well and more to do with making money on the side by controlling the speed of decision-making processes.
This obeisance to a time and a self-appointed institution, long past its shelf life, undermines the ideal of equality and justice enshrined in the Constitution. In the Indian context, the axiom ‘uneasy lies the head that wears the crown’ changes to ‘uneasy should be the country where many wear the crown’. Our founding fathers realised this when they wrote the Constitution.
(Samir Nazareth writes on socio-economic and
environmental issues)
