Latest news with #Sanskritised
The Wire
10-08-2025
- Politics
- The Wire
Rudra, Bhairav, Shaktibaan: Army's Mythology-Infused Brigades Revive an Old War Plan in New Garb
Security Rahul Bedi Unveiled with fanfare and Sanskritised names, the Army's new frontline formations promise speed, autonomy and high-tech punch. Yet beneath the political symbolism and mythological flourish lies a rebranding of the long-stalled Integrated Battle Group concept – with many of its old doctrinal and logistical hurdles still unresolved. In this image released by @adgpi on X on July 28, 2025, Chief of Army Staff General Upendra Dwivedi during a visit at headquarters of Fire and Fury Corps and Siachen Brigade to review the operational preparedness of the formation, in Leh, Ladakh. Photo: X/@adgpi/PTI. Chandigarh: The Indian Army's (IAs) proposed frontline formations – Rudra, Bhairav and Shaktibaan – recently unveiled by Chief of Staff General Upendra Dwivedi and named after Hindu mythological figures, reflect more continuity with earlier, abandoned schemes than with any meaningful doctrinal shift. For beyond their Indic monikers, these formations amount to little more than a conceptual reboot of the old Integrated Battle Group (IBG) idea, first floated in 2019 by former Army Chief General Bipin Rawat, who later became India's first Chief of Defence Staff . Wrapped in symbolism, the all-arms offensive Rudra ('destruction') brigades – two of which already exist – comprising infantry, armour, artillery, engineers, and signals units , for rapid thrusts into enemy territory, were announced by Gen. Dwivedi on Kargil Vijay Diwas in Drass on July 26. According to official sources, each of the proposed Rudra brigades of around 3,000-odd personnel were envisaged as self-sufficient units, capable of autonomously launching high-intensity, short-duration warfare, along India's northern and western unsettled borders. Evoking aggression and spiritual symbolism, these Rudra formations were thus named to blend Hindu mythology with modern day military intent. What's new? Unveiled some 10 weeks after hostilities with Pakistan were paused under Operation Sindoor, the Bhairav ('ferocious') light commando battalions were also introduced by Gen. Dwivedi as shock-and-awe units, likely tailored for urban warfare and close-quarter combat. Also announced were Shaktibaan ('divine power') artillery formations, augmented by Divyastra ('precision') surveillance UAVs, drone batteries, and loitering munitions to enhance hi-tech lethality. The Bhairav units appear to be scaled-up versions of Ghatak platoons – 20 to 30-man assault teams within regular infantry battalions – tasked with reconnaissance and behind-the-lines operations. Yet, beyond their fierce branding, little has been disclosed about the Bhairav formations, leaving their structure, role and doctrine somewhat opaque. The proposed Shaktibaan brigades, equipped with precision artillery and assorted ISR (Intelligence, Surveillance and Reconnaissance) unmanned aerial systems, were intended for rapid cross-border strikes. Significantly, they are expected to include cyber and electronic warfare units, marking a departure from legacy structures where artillery and ISR were traditionally considered 'support' elements. In Shaktibaan, these become the primary strike instruments in a digital-first battlespace. Also read: From 'Samudraraja' to 'Garuda Nayak', Imagining BJP's Vision of an 'Atmanirbhar', Sanskritised Military Furthermore, at Shaktibaan's core is the Divyastra unit – an integrated precision strike and drone warfare element, combining loitering munitions, swarm drones, and real-time targeting capability. Divyastra is designed for fast, disruptive attacks against enemy assets, including suppression of air defences and logistical hubs, all the while limiting troop exposure much like what transpired during Op Sindoor. IBGs Official sources said no fresh recruitments were planned for these aforementioned units. Instead, select units from the Army's existing pool of 250-odd single-arm brigades would be reorganised and repurposed into these broader, multi-arm structures, without expanding manpower. Gen. Dwivedi's unveiling of these 'Sanskritised' operational units marks a formal revival of the long-stalled IBGs originally conceived under the Army's 'Cold Start' doctrine. Designed for swift, limited offensives against Pakistan without triggering full-scale war, the doctrine gained traction after the 2001-2o02 Operation Parakram standoff, sparked by the terrorist attack on India's parliament building which New Delhi blamed on Pakistan's Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI). IBGs, led by major general-rank officers, were envisioned as agile formations of 5,000-6,000 troops each, combining infantry, armour, air defence, logistics, and attack helicopters. Their goal was to compress the lag time between political decision and military action, enabling rapid punitive strikes under a nuclear overhang before the adversary could respond or escalate. The Army's revised 2018 Land Warfare Doctrine further refined the IBG concept, with Gen. Rawat advocating their deployment across both the Pakistani and Chinese fronts, but the project remained mired in doctrinal disagreements and bureaucratic inertia. Also Read: No Takers for Modi's Plan to 'Decolonise' Navy by Introducing Kurta-Pyjama in Dress Code One of its most contentious proposals was the scrapping of the brigadier rank – an idea that faced stiff resistance from within the Army. Gen. Rawat also sidestepped a more pressing issue: the chronic lack of funding needed to operationalise these ambitious formations. Strategic agility, it turned out, was easier to theorise than to finance. Despite these limitations, the IBGs were formally validated in 2019 after multiple field exercises. But implementation soon stalled, due to defence ministry sluggishness, logistical ambiguity and doctrinal friction among various Army commands. The broader shift envisioned by Cold Start theorists never took root – until it was resurrected last week, rebranded in mythological garb as Rudra. What of Rawat's proposal? Tellingly, these new brigades are to be led by brigadier-rank officers, whose status remains intact, reversing Rawat's controversial proposal. Rudra's nomenclature – like the other associated 'Sanskritised' formations and systems – also echoes the BJP government's broader drive to 'decolonise' Indian military traditions and assert a Hindutva-inflected national identity upon it. And, while the political packaging has changed, the underlying military structure remains unmistakably IBG in design. What differentiates Rudra from its predecessor remains vague. Army brass describes it as an 'upgrade', while making no reference to the shelved IBG framework. They also maintain that over time, the Rudra brigades are expected to absorb advanced technologies – real-time ISR from drones, networked artillery, battlefield surveillance and high-speed communications – to speed-up the offensive kill chain and improve tactical autonomy. Strategically too, these innovations are eventually expected to align with the under-implementation vision of Integrated Theatre Commands under CDS Gen. Anil Chauhan. Yet, many of the challenges that scuttled the IBGs persist: doctrinal discord between commands, fractured logistics systems, patchy communication interoperability and unresolved air support coordination. Procurement delays – both indigenous and imported – of platforms and associated equipment only exacerbate these challenges. So the question remains: will the IA finally deliver on its promise of nimble, autonomous, integrated formations along its unresolved borders. Or will these mythologically named units – anointed with a tilak – become yet another repackaged slogan wrapped in political symbolism, to be unveiled once more with fanfare at a future Kargil Vijay Diwas by another Army chief with yet a new allegorical name? The Wire is now on WhatsApp. Follow our channel for sharp analysis and opinions on the latest developments.
The Hindu
28-05-2025
- Politics
- The Hindu
Hindi, English, and the Constitution: Examining language use in government communication
When India's Constituent Assembly debated the language question, they grappled with a challenge that would define our republic's character: how to unite a multilingual nation with the idea of equality without diminishing its diversity. The solution they crafted wasn't merely pragmatic; it was profound in its recognition that true national unity requires respect for difference. Today, as a homemaker in Salem or a small business owner in Nagaland confronts central government schemes wrapped in Sanskritised Hindi terminology, this carefully constructed constitutional balance appears increasingly fragile. The Union government's growing predilection for Hindi and Sanskrit-centric naming in official schemes and legislation isn't merely about nomenclature — it strikes at the heart of citizen-state communication. While Hindi is recognised as the official language of the Union government, the Constitution deliberately made English an associate official language with equal, and often more significant, importance. This was not a casual decision, but a carefully negotiated compromise born out of the fight for linguistic rights, demanded by the majority of States to protect their linguistic identities. Indeed, among India's 28 States and 8 Union Territories, only nine — Bihar, Chhattisgarh, Haryana, Himachal Pradesh, Jharkhand, Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, and Uttarakhand — recognise Hindi alongside their regional language(s). Several UTs, including Delhi, Jammu and Kashmir, and Ladakh, also list Hindi with English or other local tongues. Many States have multiple official languages, while English remains key for inter-state communication. The remaining States and UTs rely on their linguistic traditions or English. This underscores the linguistic plurality that shaped our constitutional framework and highlights the need for a truly inclusive language policy. A declaration by the Union Home Minister epitomises the deeper challenges of linguistic governance. The announcement that 70% of the cabinet agenda is now prepared exclusively in Hindi raises fundamental questions about administrative inclusivity and representation. Recently, Tamil Nadu Chief Minister M. K. Stalin raised the issue of central schemes and legislation being given Hindi names exclusively. Procedural obstacles This results in ministerial representation barriers — Home Minister from a non-Hindi-speaking region would face substantial functional challenges; preparing and comprehending 70% of critical government documents becomes inherently difficult; and effectively creates a linguistic filter that restricts full administrative participation. It also creates procedural comprehension obstacles; for instance, non-Hindi speaking cabinet members would require extensive translation support; real-time decision-making becomes complicated when primary documentation is not in a commonly understood language; creates an unequal information processing environment within the highest decision-making body. It also raises the question of constitutional integrity, as it contradicts the constitutional provision of ensuring equal official language status; systematically disadvantages representatives from linguistic regions outside the Hindi belt; and transforms an administrative tool (language) into a potential barrier to governance. Ultra vires to Constitutional provisions By suggesting Hindi should be an alternative to English, the approach becomes fundamentally ultra vires to the constitutional provision that grants both Hindi and English equal official status. How can a home minister from Tamil Nadu, Kerala, or the Northeast effectively lead when ministry communications are predominantly in Hindi? Does this not introduce a linguistic prerequisite never intended in our constitutional framework? The roles of an official language and a national language are fundamentally distinct. Sociolinguistic scholars like Eastman (2001) and Kelman have long recognised this distinction: an official language serves pragmatic administrative functions, facilitating governance and public service delivery. Conversely, a national language embodies cultural identity, connecting people to their heritage and fostering a shared sense of belonging. While the official language plays an instrumental role in navigating socioeconomic structures, the national language carries profound cultural and emotional weight. It is a symbol of shared history, traditions, and collective identity. Given this distinction, when more than half of India's population neither speaks nor follows Hindi regularly, how does an exclusively Hindi nomenclature serve these essential functions? The Department of Official Language has systematically blurred the critical constitutional distinction between an official and national language. When schemes or criminal law reforms are named exclusively in Sanskrit-influenced Hindi, the department fails its primary constitutional responsibility. This trend is evident in the naming of numerous central schemes: 'Swachh Bharat Abhiyan' instead of 'Clean India Mission,' 'Ayushman Bharat' rather than 'Healthy India,' and 'Pradhan Mantri Kisan Samman Nidhi' in place of 'Prime Minister's Farmer's Honour Fund.' Thrust on cultural significance of Sanskrit More critically, recent criminal law reforms have been particularly problematic. Laws like the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (replacing the Indian Penal Code), Bharatiya Nagrik Suraksha Sanhita (replacing the Criminal Procedure Code), and Bharatiya Sakshya Adhiniyam (replacing the Evidence Act) are named exclusively in Sanskritised Hindi, effectively creating linguistic barriers in accessing fundamental legal frameworks. The names of the Union government's schemes and laws are not designed to be easily understood by the public but instead aim to emphasise the cultural significance of Sanskrit. However, by its definition, the Department of Official Language is tasked with ensuring accessibility and clarity. In other words, government schemes and initiatives should prioritise the practical benefits for the people, addressing their needs rather than focusing on heritage, traditions, or emotional associations. While the Department of Official Language is expected to adhere to this guiding principle, it often deviates from its purpose by working to establish the cultural significance of Sanskrit or Hindi, without regard for its defined role. This is particularly evident in regions like Tamil Nadu, where the state, its citizens — like most of the non-Hindi regions —communicates with the Union exclusively in English — a practice explicitly reaffirmed by the Constitution. With an exceedingly small number of Sanskrit speakers in India, naming laws and schemes in Sanskrit provides no practical benefit to the population at large. The Prime Minister's practices sometimes acknowledge this reality — his English tweets commemorating Thiruvalluvar Day, for instance, demonstrate an awareness that reaching Tamil citizens requires linguistic accommodation. Yet, this sensitivity seems conspicuously absent when naming critical criminal laws and government schemes. This isn't about opposing Hindi, which rightfully holds pride of place among India's official languages, but about preserving a system that all States willingly embraced. Each Indian language carries centuries of cultural heritage worthy of celebration. Yet in our constitutionally plural society, cultural promotion cannot override administrative inclusivity. Undermines equality The recent incident of protests against Hindi signage on the Karnataka metro starkly illustrates how aggressive linguistic imposition triggers defensive reactions. When an official language becomes a symbol of cultural dominance, rather than serving as a neutral tool for administrative communication, it undermines the equality guaranteed to all languages and their speakers within the nation and risks disrupting the federal balance. The Department of Official Language must ensure that English official names are not just available, but actively disseminated and made accessible, particularly in non-Hindi regions. This is not about opposing Hindi, but about upholding the constitutional directive of ensuring communication reaches every citizen. The path forward requires recommitment to our constitutional wisdom. If the Centre wishes to use Hindi or Sanskrit titles for pan-Indian initiatives, it must simultaneously provide official English equivalents—not as a linguistic compromise inherited from the past, but as a carefully negotiated administrative framework that ensures nationwide communication accessibility. India's unity emerges not from linguistic uniformity but from mutual respect and accommodation. When non-Hindi speakers encounter Hindi-only scheme names and legislation, it creates not just practical barriers but emotional distance from central governance. This alienation threatens the constitutional principle of equality for all citizens, undermining the linguistic harmony it strives to uphold. As we navigate these challenges, we must remember that language policy reflects deeper questions about our democratic character. Will we uphold the constitutional vision that united diverse linguistic communities in common purpose? Or will we allow administrative practices to privilege one language at the expense of national unity? The answer lies in reclaiming the spirit of inclusive governance that our Constitution envisions—where every Indian, regardless of mother tongue, feels equally valued in their engagement with the state. For in a nation founded on 'We, the People of India,' the official language policy must reflect not just constitutional mandates but the wisdom of our founding compromise: that true national unity flourishes not through imposition but through respect for diversity, not through uniformity but through carefully crafted accommodations that bind us together as equal partners in our democratic journey.
