Indianisation or Indoctrination? The Bharatiya Shikshan Mandal and the Great Educational Contradiction

 

Education is never neutral. Every civilisation understands that whoever shapes education ultimately shapes the future. Empires have always rewritten textbooks before they rewrote societies. Political movements have always recognised that if you can influence the classroom, you can influence generations. It is therefore no surprise that education has become one of the most fiercely contested spaces in contemporary India. At the centre of this ideological contest stands the Bharatiya Shikshan Mandal (BSM), an organisation associated with the larger RSS ecosystem that seeks to influence educational thought, curriculum and policy through what it calls the "Indianisation" of education.

The slogan sounds attractive. Who would oppose an education system rooted in India's own civilisation? Who would object to teaching students about Aryabhata, Sushruta, Panini, Chanakya, Kalidasa, the Upanishads, Buddhist philosophy or India's remarkable contributions to mathematics, astronomy, medicine and linguistics? Every nation has the right, and indeed the responsibility, to introduce its children to its own intellectual heritage. For decades, many scholars have argued that colonial education disproportionately celebrated European achievements while neglecting India's own traditions. Correcting that imbalance is not merely acceptable, it is necessary.

Yet, as someone who has observed the evolution of this movement over the years, I have come to believe that the debate is no longer about restoring balance. It is about controlling the narrative. The project of Indianisation, at least as articulated by many within the BSM ecosystem, increasingly appears less like an academic exercise and more like an ideological one. The concern is not that Indian civilisation is being taught. The concern is whether education is being transformed into a vehicle for a single political and cultural worldview.

The Bharatiya Shikshan Mandal presents itself as an organisation committed to educational reform. It advocates integrating Indian knowledge systems into mainstream education, promoting Sanskrit, revisiting historical narratives, encouraging research into traditional sciences and creating a curriculum that reflects India's civilisational ethos. On paper, these objectives sound constructive. However, every educational reform must be judged not by its slogans but by its consequences. The question is not whether Indian knowledge deserves respect. It undoubtedly does. The question is whether respect for Indian knowledge requires suspicion towards every other tradition of learning.

Civilisations do not become great by isolating themselves. They become great by absorbing ideas from everywhere and improving upon them. Nalanda was not celebrated because it shut its doors to foreign scholars. It became one of the world's greatest universities precisely because scholars from China, Korea, Tibet, Persia and Southeast Asia travelled thousands of kilometres to study there. Ancient India was intellectually confident because it welcomed debate. Philosophical schools challenged one another relentlessly. Buddhists debated Hindus. Mimamsakas challenged Vedantins. Materialists questioned spiritualists. Knowledge flourished because disagreement was encouraged rather than feared.

That spirit of fearless inquiry is the true legacy of Indian civilisation. Unfortunately, modern educational nationalism sometimes mistakes conformity for confidence.

One contradiction has particularly troubled me, and I write this not from newspaper reports or political propaganda but from my own experience. Over the years I have interacted with several individuals associated with the Bharatiya Shikshan Mandal and the broader ideological ecosystem that passionately advocates Indianisation. Many of them are my friends.

In those discussions, they speak passionately about freeing India from its colonial mindset. They argue that Indian education has been mentally enslaved by Western intellectual traditions. They insist that our universities must reject imported frameworks and instead build an education system rooted entirely in Indian civilisation. Listening to them, one would believe that the future of higher education lies almost exclusively within the boundaries of our own cultural tradition.

Yet my own experience has often revealed a striking contradiction.

I have personally seen some of these very friends proudly celebrate when their children secure admission to universities in the United States, the United Kingdom, Australia and other Western countries. They discuss international rankings, research opportunities, academic freedom, laboratories, innovation and global exposure with understandable pride. There is nothing wrong with that. Every parent naturally wants the very best opportunities for their children. If I had the means, I too would want my child to study wherever excellence exists.

My question is different.

If Indianisation is genuinely creating an educational system superior to the global institutions they frequently criticise, why does confidence in that system disappear when personal choices are made? Why is Indianisation preached for society while international education remains the aspiration for one's own family?

To me, this is not merely a contradiction. It is a profound commentary on the difference between ideology and conviction. Ideology is what we ask others to believe. Conviction is what we practise ourselves. An educational philosophy earns credibility when those who advocate it trust it with the future of their own children. When public speeches glorify self reliance but private aspirations continue to seek global universities, ordinary citizens are entitled to ask whether Indianisation is genuinely about educational excellence or whether it has become an instrument of political symbolism.

The irony is impossible to ignore. The very institutions often criticised as products of Western civilisation remain the benchmark against which success is privately measured. Harvard, Oxford, Cambridge, MIT, Stanford and countless other universities continue to attract ambitious Indian students from every political persuasion. This is not because Indians lack patriotism. It is because these institutions have earned reputations through research, academic freedom and intellectual excellence. Respect cannot be manufactured through slogans. It must be earned through scholarship.

Unfortunately, much of the present debate confuses cultural pride with intellectual superiority. Pride is important. Every civilisation should celebrate its achievements. But pride without evidence quickly becomes propaganda. A nation does not become intellectually stronger simply by declaring itself superior. It becomes stronger by producing better research, better universities, better scientists, better philosophers, better judges, better doctors and better citizens.

The deeper danger lies elsewhere.

Education slowly ceases to be about questioning and gradually becomes about affirming predetermined truths. History begins to serve politics rather than evidence. Universities begin to reward conformity rather than curiosity. Students become reluctant to question accepted narratives because questioning itself is portrayed as being anti national or anti cultural. Once that happens, education loses its soul.

A classroom should never become a recruiting ground for any ideology, whether left, right, religious or secular. Its purpose is to cultivate independent minds capable of evaluating competing ideas through evidence and reason. The greatest tribute we can pay to India's civilisation is not blind celebration but fearless examination. If ancient Indian achievements are genuinely extraordinary, they will survive the highest standards of academic scrutiny. They do not require political protection.

What India desperately needs today is not Indianisation versus Westernisation. That is a false choice. We need international excellence rooted in Indian confidence. We need students who can read the Upanishads and understand quantum mechanics, appreciate Kalidasa and Shakespeare, study Aryabhata and Einstein, admire Chanakya while critically engaging with Adam Smith, Ambedkar, Gandhi and modern constitutional thought. Knowledge has never recognised national borders. Only politics does.

The real crisis in Indian education is not that students read too much about Europe. The crisis is that millions of children still study without libraries, laboratories, trained teachers or meaningful opportunities for critical thinking. Universities struggle with inadequate funding, declining research output and bureaucratic interference. Teachers spend more time navigating administration than mentoring students. These are the problems that deserve national attention.

Changing textbook language without transforming educational quality is like repainting a crumbling building. It creates the illusion of reform while leaving the foundations untouched.

India has always been strongest when it remained intellectually open. The civilisation that gave the world the Upanishads also welcomed Buddhism, Jainism, Persian influences, Islamic scholarship, European science and modern constitutional democracy. Our civilisation survived because it absorbed, adapted and evolved. It never feared knowledge from elsewhere.

Perhaps that is the greatest lesson of Indian civilisation itself. Confidence does not require isolation. Strength does not require censorship. Patriotism does not require intellectual uniformity.

The future of Indian education will not be determined by how loudly we proclaim our greatness. It will be determined by whether our universities become places where every idea may be questioned, every claim tested and every student encouraged to think freely. Nations that fear questions eventually stop producing answers.

India deserves an education system that prepares young people not merely to repeat slogans but to compete with the finest minds anywhere in the world. Our civilisation is far too rich to be reduced to ideology and far too confident to fear open inquiry.

Indianisation should mean bringing India's best ideas to the world. It should never mean closing India's windows to the world.

That is the difference between education and indoctrination.

About the Author

Siddhartha Shankar Mishra is an advocate at the Supreme Court of India and a commentator on law, politics and society. His writings blend legal insight with social critique and aim to provoke reflection on power, justice and public conscience.

© Siddhartha Shankar Mishra