Questioning, criticism and reason are not threats to democracy. They are the very instruments through which democracy corrects itself.

Over the past week, two developments have attracted considerable attention across India’s media and political discourse: Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s use of the expression “Dimaagi Naxals” (Mentally Naxals), and the composition of the Bharatiya Janata Party’s new national team. There is no obvious organisational connection between the two. Yet, viewed through the wider political landscape, they raise a common and uncomfortable question: How much space does contemporary Indian politics leave for dissent, independent thought and legitimate questioning?

This question is particularly important because questioning is not alien to India’s intellectual or civilisational traditions. It is deeply embedded in them. The Upanishadic tradition did not treat knowledge as a one-way transmission from teacher to disciple. It evolved through dialogue, doubt, inquiry and reason. The very existence of the Prashna Upanishad reflects the importance accorded to questions. Knowledge was not merely to be received; it was to be examined.

The conversations between Gargi and Yajnavalkya are among the most powerful examples of this intellectual tradition. Gargi did not hesitate to challenge one of the most respected philosophers of her time with profound metaphysical questions. Nachiketa, a young boy in the Katha Upanishad, questioned Yama about death and what lies beyond it. He was not condemned for asking difficult questions. On the contrary, his persistence became the foundation of a profound philosophical dialogue.

The Yoga Vasistha offers another striking example. Rama’s doubts and questions provide the foundation for Vasistha’s philosophical instruction. The disciple’s doubt is not an insult to the teacher; it is an invitation to deeper understanding. A teacher knows whether his teaching has been understood only when the student asks questions, challenges assumptions and seeks clarification.

The Mahabharata presents perhaps the most celebrated example of all. The Bhagavad Gita itself emerges from Arjuna’s questions. At Kurukshetra, Arjuna does not simply accept Krishna’s words without hesitation. He doubts, challenges, asks again and seeks clarity. The resulting dialogue explores duty, ethics, action, knowledge, faith and the nature of human existence. Had Arjuna not questioned, the world might not have received the Gita in the form in which we know it today.

This is the paradox of our present moment. A civilisation that produced philosophical traditions through questioning sometimes appears increasingly uncomfortable with citizens who question authority.

Democracy, however, is founded on precisely that right.

Governments are not divine institutions. Elected leaders derive their authority from citizens and remain accountable to them. Questioning a government decision is not treason. Criticising a public policy is not an attack on the nation. Demanding transparency is not an act of political sabotage. A citizen who asks why a decision was taken is exercising one of the most fundamental democratic freedoms.

A strong government is not one that silences questions; it is one confident enough to answer them.

There is, of course, a legitimate distinction between democratic dissent and violent extremism. Left-Wing Extremism (LWE), including armed Maoist insurgency, has historically involved organised violence and an attempt to challenge the state through armed struggle. Violence against civilians and security personnel cannot be justified as democratic dissent. Supporting armed insurgency is fundamentally different from criticising a government.

That distinction must remain clear.

The problem begins when the vocabulary associated with violent extremism is broadened to encompass legitimate political criticism, independent journalism, academic dissent or demands for governmental accountability. Prime Minister Modi’s use of the expression “Dimaagi Naxals” has therefore generated debate precisely because of the potential breadth of the label. The government has subsequently indicated that the expression refers to people who support Maoist ideology, reject the Constitution or promote separatism—not ordinary critics of government policy.

That clarification is important. But political language matters. Labels acquire lives of their own, particularly in a polarised environment. Once a term associated with extremism is used loosely, it can blur the essential distinction between supporting violence and exercising dissent.

The government’s own assessment of the Left-Wing Extremism landscape also makes the distinction more significant. According to the material cited in the article, by August 2026 no district remained formally classified as LWE-affected, while 38 districts were placed under the “Legacy & Thrust” category—essentially areas requiring continued attention because of their historical exposure and residual challenges. The government has also reported a dramatic decline in LWE violence from its peak levels.

The security challenge and the challenge of independent thought are therefore not the same thing. Defeating armed extremism is a legitimate function of the state. Defeating criticism is not.

India has previously witnessed the political use of terms such as “Urban Naxal”. The emergence of “Dimaagi Naxal” has revived concerns among critics who fear that labels associated with extremism can become instruments for delegitimising dissent. The government, for its part, has argued that the expression is directed at those who support Maoist ideology rather than ordinary critics.

The democratic principle should therefore be straightforward: criticise the person’s argument, challenge the ideology, dismantle the claim with evidence—but do not reduce a citizen to a political label merely because he or she disagrees with those in power.

This principle applies to every political party.

During the Congress era too, civil-society organisations, activists, journalists and intellectuals frequently questioned governments. Public pressure and sustained criticism contributed to major transparency and accountability reforms, including the Right to Information framework. Public movements against corruption also demonstrated the ability of citizen activism to force political systems to confront uncomfortable questions. The right to praise a government must necessarily coexist with the right to criticise it.

That is why the BJP’s recently announced national organisational team also deserves to be viewed not merely as a list of appointments, but as part of a broader discussion about the future direction of Indian politics. The new team includes experienced leaders as well as new faces. Yet it would be unjustified to draw a direct organisational connection between that restructuring and the Prime Minister’s “Dimaagi Naxal” remark. The more legitimate question is broader: What space will Indian political institutions provide for internal debate, independent thought and ideological diversity?

Discipline is essential to any political organisation. But discipline is not synonymous with silence. Ideological commitment does not require the abandonment of reason. A healthy organisation can maintain its core principles while allowing internal debate. Intellectual diversity is not necessarily a weakness; it can be a source of institutional resilience.

The history of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh and the Hindu Mahasabha also deserves to be discussed with historical accuracy rather than political caricature. The RSS’s institutional role in the major mass movements of the freedom struggle, including the Quit India movement, remains a subject of historical debate, while claims about individual volunteers should be distinguished from the institutional position of the organisation. Similarly, the political alliances involving the Hindu Mahasabha and the Muslim League in some provinces during the 1940s form part of a complicated history that cannot be reduced to contemporary political slogans.

History should not be used as a weapon of perpetual political revenge. Its purpose should be to understand the past, including our own mistakes, rather than to manufacture permanent enemies.

Congress has its failures. The RSS has a contested history. The Hindu Mahasabha has controversial chapters. Left-wing movements have their own record of ideological violence. No political organisation possesses an immaculate history.

The more important question is not: Whose history is worse?

It is: Who is willing to uphold democratic values today? Indian civilisation offers another important lesson here. Krishna did not treat Arjuna’s doubts as an insult. Yajnavalkya engaged with Gargi. Yama answered Nachiketa. Vasistha responded to Rama through dialogue. The greatness of the teacher lay not in silencing the disciple but in being capable of responding to the disciple’s questions.

The lesson for modern political leadership should be equally simple: Questions directed at those in power do not necessarily indicate a weakening of democracy. They may be evidence that democracy is still alive.

Criticism should not automatically be treated as conspiracy. Dissent should not automatically be equated with disloyalty. A journalist, academic, student or activist who questions government policy should not be casually placed in a category associated with extremism. If the argument is wrong, defeat it with evidence. If information is false, correct it. If a law has been violated, invoke the law.

But do not criminalise thought merely because it is inconvenient.

Suppress thought and fear grows. Suppress questions and intellectual stagnation follows. Suppress criticism and the risk of unchecked power increases. Ultimately, the damage is not confined to an opposition party or a particular group. The entire democratic system suffers.

If India genuinely wishes to honour its civilisational heritage, it must preserve not merely its symbols and slogans but its tradition of dialogue. Love, compassion, truth, tolerance and introspection cannot be displaced by hatred, humiliation and political vengeance in the name of culture or nationalism.

The story of Shishupala is often invoked as an example of the consequences of relentless abuse. But it can also be read as a reminder that speech carries responsibility. Likewise, the Gita can be understood not merely as a religious text but as one of history’s great dialogues—moving from doubt to understanding, confusion to clarity, and questioning to knowledge.

Gandhi’s political philosophy offers another enduring lesson: defeating an opponent is not the same as winning over a human being. A political victory founded on hatred rarely produces lasting reconciliation. Winning an argument is one thing; winning the trust of another human being is quite another. India needs the latter.

No Prime Minister, Chief Minister, opposition leader, activist, intellectual or journalist should be beyond scrutiny. At the same time, the right to question carries responsibilities. Questions should be based on facts. Evidence must matter. Personal hatred should not be disguised as public criticism. Falsehood should not be protected merely by invoking freedom of expression. 

Freedom of thought must be accompanied by responsibility; political power must be accompanied by accountability. 

That is how democracy remains healthy.

If India takes pride in being the world’s largest democracy, it must also take pride in protecting the right to question within that democracy. A citizen who questions the government is not necessarily its enemy. A person who criticises a government decision is not necessarily anti-national. A journalist who holds power to account is not weakening the country. 

He or she may be helping make the country more accountable.

History ultimately teaches one uncomfortable truth: political power is temporary; ideas can endure. Those in power today may be in opposition tomorrow. Those being questioned today may themselves be questioning authority tomorrow. That is why India must build not a democracy designed to protect particular individuals or parties, but a democracy in which every citizen retains the right to question.

• A government that does not fear questions is a strong government.
• A society that can tolerate criticism is mature.
• A nation that respects dissent is confident.
• And a civilisation that honours dialogue is one that remains intellectually alive.

The true respect for India’s cultural heritage lies not in silencing those who disagree, but in creating a society where even those who challenge us can speak, question and reason freely.

That is the essence of democracy. And that is perhaps the most enduring legacy of India’s intellectual tradition.