If Sanatan is Eternal, Why Did It Change? The Forgotten Mahabharata Challenge

 

One of the most powerful claims made in contemporary religious and political discourse is that "Sanatan Dharma" is eternal, unchanging, and timeless. The very word Sanatan means eternal. It evokes an image of an ancient truth that has remained constant across millennia, untouched by human intervention. But what happens when one turns to the scriptures themselves? Surprisingly, the Mahabharata offers a story that raises uncomfortable questions about this claim.

In the Adi Parva of the Mahabharata, we encounter the sage Uddalaka and his son Shvetaketu. The episode begins with a shocking incident. A Brahmin approaches and takes Shvetaketu's mother away by the hand in full view of her husband and son. The young Shvetaketu is enraged. To him, this is an intolerable violation of family and marital norms.

Yet his father Uddalaka responds calmly. He tells his son not to be angry because this practice is "Dharma Sanatana" or "Sanatan Dharma." He explains that in ancient times women were free and unrestricted, and such social arrangements were accepted. In other words, what Uddalaka called Sanatan Dharma was not a sacred scripture, a temple ritual, or a theological doctrine. It was a social custom that existed in a particular historical context.

The story becomes even more significant because Shvetaketu refuses to accept his father's explanation. He rejects the custom and establishes a new social code governing relations between men and women. The Mahabharata explicitly states that he created a new maryada, a new social boundary and norm.

This raises an obvious question. If the practice described by Uddalaka was truly Sanatan, how could it be abolished by the next generation? If it was eternal, how could it cease to exist?

The answer may be that the concept of dharma in ancient India was never as rigid as modern interpretations often suggest. Dharma was not merely a fixed set of commandments. It was a living principle that adapted to circumstances, communities, and changing social realities. Different texts present different duties for different ages. What was considered appropriate in one era could be modified or discarded in another.

The history of the Indian subcontinent itself demonstrates this constant evolution. Vedic sacrifices gave way to philosophical inquiry in the Upanishads. The rise of Buddhism and Jainism challenged existing religious assumptions. Bhakti movements questioned ritual hierarchies and opened spiritual paths to ordinary people. Reformers from Basava to Kabir, from Nanak to Ambedkar, challenged inherited traditions and demanded change.

Even practices once defended in the name of religion have disappeared or been transformed. Child marriage, untouchability, restrictions on widow remarriage, and numerous caste based customs have all faced criticism and reform. Society changed because human beings changed. Moral understanding evolved. Laws evolved. Institutions evolved.

The story of Uddalaka and Shvetaketu therefore reveals something profound. The real history of Indian civilization is not the history of an unchanging order. It is the history of debate, dissent, adaptation, and reinvention. Every generation has interpreted inherited traditions in the light of its own values and circumstances.

This does not necessarily diminish the significance of Sanatan Dharma. Instead, it suggests that its endurance may lie not in rigidity but in its capacity to evolve. The Mahabharata itself records a moment when a son challenged a tradition that his father called eternal and successfully replaced it with a new norm.

Perhaps the greatest lesson of the episode is that no social arrangement becomes sacred merely by being old. Traditions survive not because they are ancient, but because each generation finds meaning in them. What is called Sanatan may therefore be less about permanence and more about continuity through change.

The Mahabharata's forgotten story leaves us with a provocative conclusion: what remains eternal is not any single social custom, but the human capacity to question, reform, and redefine the meaning of dharma itself.

Author Introduction

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.

 

WhatsApp University And The Manufacture Of The Indian Mind: From Forwarded Myths To Political Power

 

In the last decade, India has witnessed the rise of a parallel education system that has no classrooms, no teachers, no textbooks and no accountability. It thrives on half knowledge, distorted facts, emotional manipulation and the speed of virality. This ecosystem is what we now call “WhatsApp University” the vast factory of forwarded messages that shapes the political mindscape of millions, including people who otherwise appear educated or intellectually trained. It is not an accident. It is a product of deliberate political engineering, emotional anxieties, and a deep cultural vulnerability to simplified narratives.

The origins of WhatsApp University lie in the early 2010s when cheap smartphones and affordable data merged with growing political polarisation. The platform was perfect for ideological mobilisation because it offered privacy, speed and amplification without scrutiny. Unlike Facebook or Twitter which were public and therefore contestable, WhatsApp’s closed groups allowed selective feeding of information. This meant lies could be circulated without challenge, prejudice could be reinforced without debate, and hate could be legitimised without consequence.

Its true expansion began around the 2014 general elections. Political groups especially the BJP IT Cell realised the enormous potential of micro targeting. Thousands of volunteers were trained to craft messages that blended religion, nationalism, half history and conspiracy theories. These were not mere forwards. They were psychological tools designed to bypass reasoning and activate emotion. A rumour about cows, a fake quote attributed to Nehru, a photoshopped image of a Muslim mob, or a fabricated piece of colonial history all travelled through WhatsApp with the same authority as verified news. Over time, the forward became more powerful than the fact.

The success of WhatsApp University rests on four pillars. The first is fear. Fear of the other, fear of losing identity, fear of imagined threats. Communal rumours, especially against minorities, spread like wildfire because fear makes people less rational and more reactive. The second is nostalgia. Messages claim India was once a land of perfect harmony, scientific glory and divine wisdom until modern politics ruined it. This sentimental mythmaking blinds people to evidence. The third is resentment. Many forwards stir anger against liberals, intellectuals, journalists and opposition leaders by portraying them as corrupt enemies who betrayed the nation. The fourth is simplification. Complex issues like economy, unemployment, inflation, constitutional rights or federalism are reduced to slogans that require no thinking.

But why do even intellectuals fall for this? Not because they lack education but because they are human. Confirmation bias is universal. People like to believe information that strengthens their existing worldview. WhatsApp University gives instant ideological gratification. It offers ready made arguments that save the effort of reading, analysing or questioning. It also creates a sense of belonging. Being part of a group that constantly forwards patriotic messages or religious warnings gives the illusion of community and purpose. Many professionals doctors, engineers, lawyers, bureaucrats find comfort in these echo chambers where identity is reaffirmed and doubt is unwelcome.

The ecosystem also works because traditional institutions of knowledge have weakened. Schools rarely teach critical thinking. Universities have become battlegrounds of partisan politics. Television debates reward shouting, not scholarship. Print journalism is shrinking. In this vacuum, WhatsApp steps in as the default educator. It replaces textbooks with images, research with rhetoric, and inquiry with emotion. The more people scroll, the less they question.

WhatsApp University is not just a cultural phenomenon. It has become a political weapon. Elections today are shaped as much by WhatsApp groups as by rallies. Before every major poll, there is a surge of targeted misinformation. Fake economic statistics, communal stories, edited videos, invented achievements, and doctored speeches are pumped into millions of groups simultaneously. By the time fact checkers intervene, the psychological impact has already registered.

The 2019 elections demonstrated the height of this strategy. Local WhatsApp groups in villages and cities functioned as command centres of message dissemination. Thousands of customised narratives were produced for different castes, regions and professions. A person in Uttar Pradesh got caste based propaganda, someone in Kerala received religious warnings, someone in Gujarat received economic mythmaking. The same pattern continues today with greater sophistication. Artificial intelligence has now joined the business of misinformation, making deepfakes more convincing and lies more difficult to identify.

But WhatsApp University does more than win elections. It restructures the moral compass of society. It normalises hatred by presenting it as nationalism. It justifies violence by calling it self defence. It erodes faith in institutions by portraying courts, media, NGOs and scholars as enemies of the nation. It weakens democratic debate by turning every disagreement into a battle between patriots and traitors. Most dangerously, it manufactures consent for authoritarian politics. When citizens are conditioned to believe that dissent equals anti national behaviour, they willingly accept repression as discipline.

The impact is visible in everyday life. People forward communal rumours without hesitation but hesitate to question the government. They circulate unverified medical cures but distrust scientific guidelines. They share conspiracy theories about history but ignore archival records. They condemn minorities without knowing their neighbours. WhatsApp University has created a nation that reacts faster than it thinks, judges quicker than it learns, and hates more easily than it understands.

Has this ecosystem peaked? No. It is now institutionally entrenched. Political parties maintain full fledged digital armies. Religious groups use WhatsApp to spread doctrinal messages. Corporate interests use it for marketing disguised as nationalism. Even local disputes are settled through digital intimidation. The line between truth and fiction has blurred so deeply that many people no longer care which is which. What matters is emotional satisfaction, not factual accuracy.

Yet, hope lies in awareness. Increasingly, some citizens are questioning forwards, exiting toxic groups and demanding verification. Fact checking initiatives are becoming stronger. Courts and election bodies are slowly acknowledging the threat. But the real resistance must come from society itself. Each citizen must learn to pause before forwarding, to ask “Is this true”, to value knowledge over sensation, and to accept that patriotism does not require gullibility.

WhatsApp University will collapse the day we choose thinking over forwarding. Until then, democracy will continue to be shaped not by informed debate but by the speed of ignorance.

Author’s Introduction
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.