02-08-2025
S Y Quraishi writes: In referring to elections under the Cholas, PM Modi invoked a historical truth
When Prime Minister Narendra Modi stood in the ancient temple town of Gangaikonda Cholapuram on July 27 and declared that Indian democracy predated the Magna Carta, he was not engaging in rhetoric — he was invoking a historical truth that has too often been forgotten.
The Indian Express the next day carried a striking headline: 'Long before Magna Carta, Cholas had 'ballot pots': What is the ancient voting system PM Modi lauded?' The story detailed the astonishing sophistication of local elections held over 1,000 years ago in Tamil Nadu under the Chola dynasty, particularly in the village of Uthiramerur in Kancheepuram district. But the deeper message was one of reclaiming pride in a democratic legacy that is indigenous, ancient, and rigorously codified.
A decade ago, I had written about this in my book, An Undocumented Wonder – The Making of the Great Indian Election (2014). India was not entirely new to the concept of democracy as there is credible evidence that it existed in the country in various forms as early as the fifth century BCE. In small communities, villages and tribal societies, participation in decision-making through discussions was the normal practice.
Kautilya also describes, in his Arthashastra, the role of samghas or local unions and how the state can rule more efficiently through these structures. It is interesting to note that property and education were considered essential qualifications for a candidate. There was a maximum age limit of 70 years for contesting elections. Those deemed corrupt, tainted or guilty of moral turpitude were disqualified, as were their close relatives.
An inscription in Vaikuntaperumal temple in Uthiramerur, dated around 920 AD, during the reign of Parantaka Chola, gives astonishing details about the constitution of wards, the qualification of candidates standing for elections, of disqualification norms, the mode of election, the constitution of committees with elected members, the functions of these committees, the power to remove the wrongdoers etc. The villagers even had the right to recall the elected representatives if they failed in their duty. There were not just consultations of elders or feudal councils — they were genuine self-governing village republics, electing representatives through a system that is uncannily reminiscent of modern democratic principles.
The electoral process used in Uthiramerur was called the kudavolai system, or 'ballot pot'. Names of eligible candidates were inscribed on palm leaves and placed into an earthen pot. A young, impartial boy — untainted by local politics — was chosen to draw the slips in public view. This ensured both transparency and neutrality. The selected members served for fixed one-year terms, after which the process was repeated.
But the real marvel was not just in the voting method. It was in the comprehensive model code of conduct that governed who could contest, how they could be removed, and what moral standards were expected. To stand for election, a candidate had to be between 35 and 70 years of age, own tax-paying land, reside in a house built on that land and be well-versed in sacred texts or administrative procedures.
Those who had defaulted on debts, consumed alcohol, committed moral transgressions, or failed to present accounts from earlier office were automatically disqualified. What's more, even close relatives of such individuals were ineligible. The idea was to purify public life — to ensure that those in power were beyond reproach.
There were also strict provisions for removal and disqualification. Anyone found guilty of embezzlement or dereliction of duty was not only removed from office but also barred from standing for re-election — sometimes for up to seven generations. Compare that to today's politics, where convicted politicians return to the electoral fray with impunity, and the contrast is striking.
These ancient village republics represent a remarkably advanced model of participatory democracy. The elections were not just rituals; they were mechanisms of civic accountability backed by enforceable codes. The resonance with the Chola code is more than symbolic. It affirms that India's democratic ethos has been shaped not only by its Constitution but by its civilisational DNA.
This is not to deny the contributions of British parliamentary traditions or the American Bill of Rights. But India's democratic spirit did not begin in 1947, 1935, or even 1919. It stretches back to Vaishali, one of the world's first known republics, and flourishes in the inscriptions of Uthiramerur, where the ideals of transparency, eligibility, accountability, and citizen participation were inscribed in stone — literally.
The Prime Minister's invocation of this legacy is both timely and necessary. At a moment when democracy across the world is under pressure — from authoritarian populism, money power, disinformation, and shrinking civic space — it is vital to remind ourselves that India's democracy is not a borrowed robe. It is rooted in indigenous traditions of collective decision-making, anchored in values of ethics, equity, and participation.
As the custodian of the world's largest electoral exercise, the Election Commission of India must draw confidence not just from contemporary jurisprudence but from our own history.
Far from being a borrowed idea, democracy was homegrown, deeply institutionalised, and ethically bound, I had written in my book. It would be foolhardy to deny that India is the mother of democracy worldwide.
The writer is former Chief Election Commissioner of India and the author of An Undocumented Wonder — The Making of the Great Indian Election
