India has given the world many great philosophies. It engraved "Satyameva Jayate" (Truth Alone Triumphs) on its national emblem. It taught generations that "Dharmo Rakshati Rakshitah" (Dharma Protects Those Who Protect It)." It proclaimed "Ahimsa Paramo Dharma" (Non-violence is the Highest Virtue) as a moral principle for civilization.

Yet, quietly, this country has also created another great doctrine. It is not found in the Constitution. It is not written in the Vedas. It is absent from every law book. And yet, in practice, it is enforced more powerfully than all of them.

"Do not question those in power or the system... Just be a devotee."

This is no longer merely a sentence. It has become a way of life. It has evolved into a new political culture. Gradually, it has turned into a social habit. Today, it reflects a state of mind.

If someone raises a question about anything, that person immediately becomes suspicious. If someone asks for evidence, they are treated as a source of inconvenience. If someone demands accountability, they are seen as an enemy of the system. But the one who silently endures everything is celebrated as a true patriot. He is projected as the ideal citizen. He is considered the true devotee of God. He is hailed as the genuine lover of peace.

Let us turn the pages of history for a moment.

Potti Sriramulu fasted for fifty-six days demanding a separate Andhra State. His body weakened with each passing day. Yet the government remained unmoved. Only after his death, followed by widespread public anger and violence, did history change its course.

That episode continues to ask an uncomfortable question even today. In this country, the voice of a living citizen often receives little attention. But when that citizen dies while raising a demand, society suddenly begins to glorify the sacrifice.

Today, as part of the Jan-Z Movement, young members of the Cockroach Janata Party have repeatedly demanded the resignation of Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan over the examination paper leak controversy. Alternatively, they have urged Prime Minister Narendra Modi to dismiss a minister they consider ineffective. Supporting what they describe as a just demand, Sonam Wangchuk has been on a hunger strike for the past nineteen days. Instead of allowing the situation to reach a breaking point, the Central Government would do well to seek the resignation of the Education Minister as a practical solution.

The Telangana movement raises a similar question. For decades there were petitions, resolutions, discussions, and peaceful protests. Yet what finally shook the establishment were years of unrest, tragic sacrifices, loss of lives, and dramatic social upheavals.

History can certainly be interpreted from many different perspectives. Yet one perception repeatedly emerges: do those in power respond more quickly to intense public pressure, social unrest, violence, and mass agitations than to peaceful appeals?

The Telangana Armed Struggle claimed thousands of lives. During the first phase of the Telangana movement, around 365 people were killed in police firing. In the later phase, many young people sacrificed their lives. Only after these painful chapters did the State of Telangana finally come into existence.

This is one of the strange contradictions of our democracy.

When someone goes on a hunger strike, the response is, "We are examining the matter." When a memorandum is submitted, the reply is, "It has been forwarded to the concerned department." When people protest peacefully, the official response becomes, "The law will take its own course."

But when an issue turns into a nationwide debate, suddenly there are emergency meetings, special committees, government announcements, and a series of assurances.

The irony forces us to ask an uncomfortable question: does the government hear peaceful dialogue less clearly than sensational incidents, violent protests, or widespread unrest?

Now let us step into another world—the world of devotion.

Devotion is a noble virtue. It gives people courage. It gives them hope. It provides moral strength. But what happens when devotion is used to bury questions? Then faith is not strengthened; accountability is weakened.

Over the years, questions, investigations, and allegations have repeatedly emerged regarding the management of temple properties, disputes over temple lands, the utilization of donations, and the transparency of religious trusts and spiritual institutions.

Every case is different. Every allegation is not necessarily true. Yet after every controversy, one question inevitably returns:

Who is accountable for the wealth offered by devotees?

In our country, merely asking this question is often treated as an insult to God. Holding temple administrators or those managing religious institutions accountable is somehow viewed as offensive.

Yet there is a curious contradiction.

If a thousand rupees disappear from your pocket, you immediately go to the police. If there is an error in your bank account, you file a complaint without hesitation.

But when it comes to asking how crores of rupees donated to religious institutions are being used, many people hesitate.

Why?

Because in our society, devotion has often come to mean "Do not ask questions."

During the past few decades, several self-proclaimed spiritual leaders, yogis, swamijis, and heads of religious institutions have faced allegations involving vast financial empires, luxurious palace-like ashrams, and even sexual assault against women disciples and devotees. In a few of these cases, courts have convicted and punished the accused.

Yet many of their followers continue to believe that they are completely innocent.

This is not merely about a few individuals. It reflects the psychology of blind obedience.

Visible evidence tells one story.

Personality cults and excessive idol worship tell another.

Courts, after examining evidence, may declare someone guilty. Yet devoted followers continue to insist that their spiritual leader is beyond sin.

Then where does the truth stand?

The irony reaches its sharpest point here.

Perhaps the safest investment in this country is faith. For it is often far easier to worship institutions built on faith than to question them.

Faith sustains individuals. But only questions sustain institutions.

A society that fails to recognize the difference between the two may one day become a prisoner of its own silence.

Our democracy has another remarkable feature.

During elections, the people are treated as masters once every five years. Once the elections are over, they become ordinary spectators again.

When politicians seek votes, every citizen is a king. After the votes are cast, the same citizen often feels reduced to a subject.

If you ask questions about development, you are not first asked about the problem—you are asked about your intentions.

If you question those in power, the concern is often not your evidence but your loyalty.

Instead of examining the facts you present regarding public issues, attention shifts to examining your background.

This is not merely satire. These are social experiences frequently discussed in democratic societies.

Now let us turn to the judiciary.

We have all been taught that everyone is equal before the law. That is also a constitutional ideal.

Yet legal experts, former judges, and civil rights organizations have for years debated issues such as delays in trials, the enormous backlog of pending cases, bail procedures, and prolonged detention before the completion of trials.

These discussions raise an uncomfortable question.

Even if justice is ultimately delivered, what happens when it arrives too late? Who bears the cost of that delay? Who accepts responsibility?

This is not true of every case. But such perceptions do exist among sections of the public.

That perception itself becomes dangerous in a democracy. Once public confidence in justice begins to weaken, respect for the rule of law gradually weakens as well.

Now let us look at the media.

Much of the mainstream media today is owned by powerful corporate interests.

One day there is one sensational headline.

The next day, another.

On the third day, yet another.

By the fourth day, yesterday's sensation has already been forgotten.

The problems remain the same. Only the headlines change.

Social media is even more fascinating.

A revolution in the morning.

Patriotism in the afternoon.

Religious fervour by evening.

Entertainment at night.

The next morning, a fresh wave of outrage.

A society that constantly moves from one hashtag to another naturally finds it difficult to sustain long-term civic movements.

Now let us stand before the mirror.

Most of us genuinely want people to pay taxes honestly. We want governments to function transparently. We want corruption to decline.

But when questions are raised about an institution we admire, a leader we support, or a religious platform we revere, do we apply the same standards?

That is the real test.

Transparency should not be demanded only from our opponents.

Accountability should not apply only to others.

The same standards must also apply to institutions and individuals we personally admire.

Otherwise, it is not justice.

It is merely selective morality.

It almost seems as though a new civic education textbook is being written for this country.

• Lesson One: Never ask questions.
• Lesson Two: Suspect those who ask for evidence.
• Lesson Three: Consider individuals greater than institutions.
• Lesson Four: Treat criticism as hostility.
• Lesson Five: Finally, say, "Time will answer everything," and move on.

What a remarkably simple model of civic education!

History, however, has never awarded passing marks to such lessons.

Whenever people stopped asking questions, power became more comfortable.

Whenever people remained silent, corruption became more confident.

Whenever individuals were elevated above institutions, democratic institutions grew weaker.

That is why we must understand the difference between devotion and citizenship.

Devotion is personal.

Citizenship is social.

Devotion concerns one's relationship with God.

Citizenship concerns one's relationship with the Constitution and the rule of law.

The two can coexist.

Neither needs to consume the other.

Loving one's country does not merely mean saluting the national flag.

Loving a temple does not merely mean making donations into its offering box.

Respecting a government does not mean never questioning it.

True respect lies in having the courage to ask for accountability—whether it concerns public money, temple property, or governmental authority—and in ensuring that every citizen has both the opportunity to ask questions and the confidence that responsible answers will be given.

This article is not written to criticize faith.

It is written to question blind obedience.

It is not meant to insult religion.

It is meant to challenge the tendency to evade accountability in the name of religion.

It is not intended to portray the government as an enemy.

It is meant to remind us that, in a democracy, whoever holds power must be held to the same standards of public accountability.

And finally, only one question remains.

Does this country need another saviour?

Or does it simply need more citizens with the courage to ask questions?

For every great transformation in history began with a question.

Every authoritarian system grew stronger because of silence.

So, by all means,

Be a devotee—but never forget to be a citizen.

For devotion without questions may not always protect faith.

But a questioning citizen will always help protect democracy.