By Rajiv Shah
Following the Prime Minister’s “Dimagi Naxal” remark, there appears to have been a huge backlash, especially from protagonists of the “Cockroach Janata Party.” The term is being variously interpreted as a move to “isolate” dissidents, following the claim of a successful campaign against Naxalite violence. Social media is full of “Dimagi Naxal Party” memes, making a joke of an expression used, perhaps for the first time in India.
I have been reading these reactions with considerable interest, including those by BJP leaders seeking to defend Modi. But I found one comment particularly interesting—that of Devdutt Pattanaik, the well-known mythologist, who went to the root of the meaning of the word “Naxal.”
Pattanaik asks: “What is the meaning of the Dimagi Naxali? And what is its origin?” He then offers an explanation that would probably not please either Modi’s protagonists or the Naxalites.
He says, “Dimagi means psychological or maybe intellectual.” As for “Naxal,” he points out that the word “refers to a special river reed that grows in North Bengal (kash grass) with silvery flowers.”
So far, so good. But what he says next may make both Modi supporters and Naxalites scratch their heads.
“Naxali,” he says, “would then be the name of Shiva’s son Kartikeya, who was born amongst these reeds.”
Wow!
Pattanaik’s explanation may feel even more embarrassing to the detractors of the term. He says:
“The gods told Shiva to give them his semen. So instead of placing it in Shakti’s womb, he gave it to Agni. The fire-god burned. He threw it in the Ganga river. Ganga boiled. The Naxal grass caught fire. From the ash emerged a boy—Naxali, the son of Shiva. He was nursed by the Krittika constellation, so-called Kartikeya.”
Pattanaik further goes on to what he calls “the Tamil version of Naxali.” He says it “would be Saravani, one born in the forest of river reeds.”
Offering a mythological insight, he explains:
“After his birth, Kartikeya carried pots of water on a bamboo shoulder sling, and carried it to Mount Kailasa, without keeping the pots on the ground. This was the first Kawar.”
He insists that the “Naxali people follow this practice.”
In fact, Pattanaik believes that this myth goes back to some of the earliest civilizational traits found in the South Asian subcontinent:
“We find these images of shoulder slings (kawar) in Harappan emojis too. Which means Kawar and worship of Naxali may have existed in Harappan cities too. Mats made of Naxal grass are still popular today. Maybe it was exported from Bengal to Harappan cities in ancient Vedic times.”
“So,” Pattanaik believes, “Kartikeya or Naxali or Murugan was the first Kawar who worshipped Shiva with pots of water from the river collected in the region where Naxal grass grows. Shiva worshipped on banks of the river where Naxal grass grows is called Naxaleshwar Mahadeva.”
“So,” he concludes, “Dimagi Naxali is a Shiva-bhakta, one immersed in worship of Shiva, and Kartikeya, like the ancient Tamil Nayamnars.”
Calling this the “beauty of Sanatan Dharma,” he adds that these “fabulous stories” would suggest that “Dimagi Naxal is Shiva-bhakta and first Kawariya, maybe from Harappan cities. Jai Naxaleshwara Mahadeva.”
And then comes the postscript:
“Is Dimagi Naxali a fact or fiction or faith? You decide. Unlike Islam, Hindu wisdom is oral not textual.”
There is, of course, a delicious irony in all this. A political expression apparently intended as a label of condemnation may, through Pattanaik’s mythological interpretation, acquire an entirely different genealogy—one connecting it to Shiva, Kartikeya, Murugan, the Kawar tradition and even the ancient civilizations of the subcontinent.
Whether one accepts this interpretation as history, mythology, linguistic speculation or simply an amusing coincidence is another question altogether.
But perhaps that is precisely what makes the “Dimagi Naxal” controversy so fascinating: words can acquire meanings far beyond what their political users originally intended.
And sometimes, in India, a political slogan can take an unexpectedly long journey—from the language of contemporary politics all the way back to mythology, faith and antiquity.
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