How the Idea of a Hindu Nation Reaches a Tribal Village

by Ravindra Dhanka

I live in a small tribal village in Rajasthan where the rhythm of life is shaped by farming seasons, water scarcity, family labor, and daily struggle rather than by national political debates, yet in recent years the idea that India is mainly a Hindu nation has entered even our quiet lanes through mobile phones, social media videos, political speeches, school lessons, and television discussions, and it has slowly begun to change the way people see one another and the way they understand belonging.

Earlier our village knew difference without fear because tribal customs, local Hindu practices, folk traditions, and shared village rituals flowed together without anyone needing to prove that they were more Indian than someone else, and religion remained a personal matter tied to family and tradition rather than a political test of loyalty, yet today people hear again and again that to truly belong one must follow a specific religious identity, and this repeated message gradually settles into public thinking.

Dr B R Ambedkar clearly warned that when the state begins to favor one religion it destroys the foundation of democracy because citizenship then becomes measured through belief rather than equality, and this danger is no longer theoretical for us because we now feel the slow pressure of being measured through cultural behavior rather than through shared human dignity.

I notice change not through violence but through quiet shifts in daily life where people hesitate before speaking freely, where festivals feel politically loaded instead of purely joyful, where food habits invite commentary, and where friendships carry invisible tension that did not exist before, and these changes have not risen naturally from village life but have been carried into it by a national political climate that rewards religious dominance.

The idea of a Hindu nation is presented as cultural pride and unity yet its practical effect is the creation of a hierarchy of belonging where some people feel born into acceptance while others feel as if their place must be proven again and again through behavior, symbols, and silence, and this constant pressure damages the trust that once held communities together beyond political identity.

For tribal communities the danger becomes deeper because our identity does not rest primarily on formal religion but on forests, land, collective labor, seasonal survival, and ancestral practices that do not fit neatly into rigid ideological definitions, and when one religious idea of the nation expands it slowly pushes our culture toward invisibility without directly attacking it.

Ambedkar opposed the idea of religious nationalism because he understood that when religion captures the state it uses law to enforce belief and social power to suppress difference, and he insisted that India must remain secular so that every community can live without fear of majority domination, and his warning today feels less like history and more like lived reality.

The real harm of this ideological shift is not only political but emotional and social because it teaches children to look at neighbors through religious categories before looking at them as fellow human beings, and it quietly replaces shared struggle with mutual suspicion.

A strong nation grows when its people feel safe in their difference, when disagreement does not threaten belonging, and when identity does not become a political weapon, yet when difference is framed as a threat the social fabric weakens even as political power expands.

If India closes its many windows of belief to create a single official identity then the air inside the nation will grow heavy and restricted, and a society that cannot breathe freely cannot remain democratic for long no matter how loudly unity is proclaimed.