Why Kannada writer UR Ananthamurthy did not want to live in Modi-ruled India

In 2014, when the looming possibility of a Narendra Modi-led government in India was becoming increasingly imminent, eminent Kannada writer and Jnanpith Award recipient Udupi Rajagopalacharya Ananthamurthy made a bold and unequivocal declaration. At 82 years old and in failing health, Ananthamurthy stated that he would not live in a country ruled by Modi.

Known for never mincing his words, his vociferous outburst symbolised the determination that had defined the entire life of one of Karnataka’s best-known writers, affectionately called URA by his circle of admirers: he was always unafraid when it came to expressing his views. It was an assertion of his values and principles, and carried the weight of a lifetime of writing, speaking out.

“When I was young, I used to criticise Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru. But his supporters never attacked us. They always respected our views. Modi supporters are now behaving like Fascists. They are behaving like the Fascists in Germany during Hitler. I don’t want to see a man like Modi in the chair, where once a man like Nehru sat and ruled. I am too old and unwell. If Modi becomes the PM, it will be a big shock to me. I won’t live,” he said in an interview.

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It was a statement that revealed Ananthamurthy’s depth of convictions and his unwavering commitment to fighting against authoritarianism. His words — powerful, evocative, and uttered (as he later explained) when he was overcome with emotion — conveyed a sense of urgency and concern for the future of his beloved country. In his view, Modi’s victory would represent a dangerous shift towards a narrow and divisive political agenda, one that threatened to erode the very fabric of Indian society.

The swift and vicious backlash

Ananthamurthy was critical of the exclusionary nature of the Hindutva ideology, which he saw as antithetical to the pluralistic and inclusive ethos of the country. Irked by the opposition to Modi’s ascension, BJP leader and rabid rabble-rouser Giriraj Kishore brazenly suggested that Ananthamurthy should leave for Pakistan. When the election results came in and the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) registered landslide victory, the backlash against Ananthamurthy was swift and vicious.

A Hindu hardline group called the NaMo Brigade sent him a one-way ticket to Karachi (Pakistan) and called for him to leave the country. Ananthamurthy denied receiving the ticket, but said he had received threatening calls from people telling him to leave India. “It’s very mean of them,” he said. “I am a very serious writer of this country. I am now 82. I have written novels which are known all over the world. I am not an elitist writer. I cannot be made fun of like that. I am a very proud man.”

As the political landscape became increasingly fraught with tension, the witch hunt launched by loyal supporters of the Modi regime against Ananthamurthy became a stark indication of the state of men of letters in the country. His vilification served as a warning to others in the intellectual community and showed that even the most respected and celebrated figures were not safe from attack if they dared to speak out; they’d be punished for their opinions. It also highlighted the dangers of the growing intolerance and the disregard for dissent in the country.

As we all saw in the years that followed, it was just the beginning. The silencing of writers and intellectuals became a disturbing trend in 2015, a year after Modi came to power, when M.M. Kalburgi and Govind Pansare, both outspoken critics of religious fundamentalism, were murdered in their homes by unknown assailants. And, in 2017, Gauri Lankesh, another journalist and critic of the Hindu right-wing, was assassinated outside her residence in Bengaluru.

Ananthamurthy’s response: A manifesto

As the dust settled on Modi’s win, the words of Ananthamurthy’s detractors echoed back at him like a mocking refrain. Although ailing and debilitated, URA’s pride and spirit remained unbroken. Despite being targeted and receiving threats from extremist groups, he refused to be silenced or intimidated. To their crude attacks, he responded with a literary text, a manifesto of sorts.

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In 2016, the English translation of Ananthamurthy’s swan song, Hindutva or Hind Swaraj (HarperCollins), published posthumously in Kannada, was released. The book, translated into English by his son-in-law Vivek Shanbhag and translator Keerti Ramachandra, is a reflection of his Gandhian perspective; he advocates for Mahatma Gandhi’s Hind Swaraj (1909) as the counter to Veer Savarkar’s divisive ‘Hindutva’.

URA’s rejection of Modi is not the blanket rejection of the person or the persona, writes Shiv Visvanathan in his Foreword. “His is a rejection of Modi’s categories, the grids of thinking, the classificatory exclusions practised by the regime. URA becomes a tuning fork of the ethical possibilities of the Modi era… He reads Modi as a symptom of a deeper malaise. One has to answer Modi in terms of the longue durée, of civilizational logic, as part of the challenges India faces in the future,” Visvanathan writes.

The book is URA’s ‘civilizational response’ to Modi. Comparing Gandhi’s Hind Swaraj with Savarkar’s writings, he argues that Modi is simply following the logic of Savarkar’s script, emphasizing that majoritarianism cannot be the basis of a rule of law or reason, as it can be brutal towards differences and lead to a demonic nation state. He confronts the majoritarian regime’s hegemonic propensities with an aesthetic of layers, moving from topical to philosophical and ethical perspectives.

Modi: An effigy — half Shivaji, half Patel

“URA argues that the external Modi is a pure figure, a sleepless toiler, an attractive, designed politician, liberated from past and caste. He is an effigy, half Shivaji, half (Sardar) Patel. In Modi, the religion of Savarkar has triumphed in an inflated form,” writes Visvanathan.

URA argues that Gandhi’s Hind Swaraj and Tagore’s Gora, the longest of Tagore’s 12 novels which presents a complex and nuanced exploration of the intersections between politics and religion, are the only works that can counter Modi’s militaristic arrogance. Both works demonstrate that the solution to this problem is not moral cowardice, but compassion. Modi’s attempt to appropriate Gandhi’s legacy while engaging in acts of violence is a mockery, just as justifying the Gujarat riots as an act of bravery is a distortion of morality.

URA’s manifesto is a canvas on which he paints a vivid picture of a world we might lose, a world of inclusivity and diversity, of rich cultural heritage and vibrant traditions. His argument is that Gandhi’s vision of Hind Swaraj presented a counter to figures like Napoleon Bonaparte and Modi, who embody an inflated and aggressive form of Savarkar’s ideology. If Gandhi’s vision is ignored and the majoritarian agenda of figures like Modi is allowed to prevail, then Savarkar’s vision of history and politics will triumph.

He calls for a rejection of communal politics and a return to the values of Gandhi, whose vision of Swaraj (or self-rule) emphasized the importance of individual freedom, equality, and social justice. Ananthamurthy also speaks of the need for an honest and critical examination of India’s history and the role of colonialism, casteism, and communalism in shaping it.

Modi’s raj dharma based on erasure

The book is a passionate defense of the India URA believed in, one that valued diversity, secularism, and democratic principles — a bold and uncompromising statement in the face of political polarisation and communalism that began to plague the country as Modi took the reins of power.

“Every time the leaders of the Modi government open their mouths, they utter the words ‘in the national interest’. That is to say, in the ‘national interest’, one can do anything. Like God. We have a saying: He who gives up pride and shame is like God,” URA writes early in the book.

Drawing a comparison between Godse’s assassination of Gandhi and Modi’s rise to power, he suggests that the Congress, in its pursuit of development and nuclear friendship with the United States, allowed the space vacated by Gandhi to be occupied by Savarkar and Modi. He underlines that Modi has become the true voice of the Congress’ innate desire for development, and has successfully fuelled the middle class’s obsessive greed. At some point, he contrasts Modi’s imperious ‘rajasik’ face with the gentle ‘satvik’ face of former Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, and suggests that this change is reflective of Modi’s kshatra traits.

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Recognizing the evil within ourselves and striving to overcome it, URA writes, is the Gandhian path, whereas believing that the evil is outside us is the Godse path. Godse’s non-religious belief in Hindutva led him to assassinate Gandhi, and this has resulted in India losing its diverse culture and becoming a cheap imitation of Western civilization. In the world of multinational corporations, nationalism exists in the guise of development, which causes one to forget the past, emaciates the earth, and boosts excessive desire. “Modi, in his short-sleeved kurta, speaking with an uplifted chin, appearing as a dazzling leader, providing twenty-four-hour electricity to corporates, is one of those pushing India towards that hubris,” he writes.

Modi’s victory fascinates Ananthamurthy, who sees it as a display of conspicuous politics without introspection. He writes that Modi has been projected as a collective advertisement and endorsement for the nation, akin to a hoarding. “There were rituals of electoral victory, but no rituals for the dead of Gujarat. And the ghosts of the victims haunt no one,” he writes, pointing out that Modi is not like Gandhi, who walked the streets of Noakhali during Partition, but someone who practises a new raj dharma based on erasure.

A warning, eerily prescient

URA suggests that to understand Modi, one must understand Savarkar, whom he had read and admired in his youth. He notes that Savarkar borrowed from Hebert Spencer’s critique of non-violence, and although he summoned Western concepts to build his idea of Hindutva, he created a fabrication of a past devoid of defects. According to him, this is the first step taken by anyone attempting to build a nation-state.

In a tragic turn of events, Ananthamurthy passed away in August, mere months after Modi’s swearing-in ceremony as the Prime Minister of India. It was a moment of immense loss for the literary world and for those who admired his courage to speak out against social and political oppression. Today, as his words echo through the halls of time, it has become clear that his warning about the rise of authoritarianism in India was eerily prescient.

As for URA’s manifesto, it has taken on a life of its own, whispering in the ears of those who would listen, calling out to them to take up the mantle of change and carry it forward, into a brighter, more hopeful future.