Pañcāyatana and Panchayat: Fivefold Plurality in Indic Ritual and Civic Imagination

 

Abstract

This essay examines the conceptual similarity between pañcāyatana and panchayat without advancing the historically unsustainable claim that the latter directly derives from the former. Pañcāyatana belongs primarily to the ritual, theological, and architectural domains, especially in its Smārta form as the worship of five deities. Panchayat, by contrast, belongs to the civic and social domain as a council associated traditionally with five elders and, in modern India, with constitutionally recognised institutions of local self-government. The two are therefore not linked by direct institutional descent. Their deeper affinity lies elsewhere: both express an Indic habit of arranging plurality into a balanced, participatory, and dhārmic order. The ritual fivefoldness of pañcāyatana and the civic fivefoldness of the panchayat may be read as parallel embodiments of a shared civilizational grammar—one that honours plurality without dissolving unity, and recognises authority without absolutising it.

1. Introduction

The terms pañcāyatana and panchayat appear at first glance to inhabit unrelated worlds. The first evokes a ritual mandala of deities, domestic worship, temple architecture, and Smārta theological synthesis. The second evokes village councils, dispute resolution, social arbitration, and local self-governance. Yet both terms are marked by the Sanskritic root pañca, “five,” and both organise plurality through a fivefold structure.

The comparison between the two must be made carefully. It would be misleading to argue that the panchayat as a social or political institution originated from pañcāyatana pūjā. The available lexical and historical evidence does not support such a genealogical claim. The panchayat is generally explained as a village council, traditionally associated with five influential or respected elders; English dictionaries trace the word through Hindi pañcāyat, ultimately connected with Sanskrit pañca, “five.”¹ Pañcāyatana, on the other hand, refers to a fivefold sacred arrangement, especially the worship of five deities—Gaṇapati, Viṣṇu, Śiva, Devī, and Sūrya—in Smārta practice.²

The point of comparison, therefore, is not origin but form; not derivation but analogy. Both institutions—one ritual, the other civic—give structured expression to plurality. Both create a field in which difference is not erased, but ordered. Both hold together a centre and a circumference. Both resist a crude monism of authority and instead suggest a more relational model of wholeness.

2. The Ritual Logic of Pañcāyatana

The word pañcāyatana may be analysed as pañca and āyatana: five seats, abodes, shrines, or loci. In the Smārta ritual context, pañcāyatana pūjā places five deities within a single sacred arrangement. The common list includes Śiva, Viṣṇu, Devī, Sūrya, and Gaṇeśa. One deity may occupy the central position according to the worshipper’s iṣṭa-devatā, while the remaining four are honoured around it.

This arrangement is not merely an aesthetic device. It is a theological discipline. The worshipper may have a chosen centre, but that centre does not delegitimise the other divine forms. In this sense, pañcāyatana accommodates devotional particularity within metaphysical inclusivity. It allows a Śaiva, Vaiṣṇava, Śākta, Saura, or Gāṇapatya orientation to remain sincere without becoming sectarian in an exclusionary sense.

A Vedic hermeneutic often invoked to illuminate such theological plurality is Ṛgveda 1.164.46:

इन्द्रं मित्रं वरुणमग्निमाहुरथो दिव्यः स सुपर्णो गरुत्मान् ।
एकं सद्विप्रा बहुधा वदन्त्यग्निं यमं मातरिश्वानमाहुः ॥
indraṃ mitraṃ varuṇam agnim āhur atho divyaḥ sa suparṇo garutmān |
ekaṃ sad viprā bahudhā vadanty agniṃ yamam mātariśvānam āhuḥ ||

“Reality is one; the sages speak of it in many ways.”³ This mantra should not be simplistically treated as a direct scriptural source for pañcāyatana pūjā. Rather, it provides a deeper theological sensibility within which a practice such as pañcāyatana becomes intelligible. The one is encountered through many names and forms; plurality is not necessarily contradiction.

The architectural use of pañcāyatana carries a similar logic. In temple architecture, the term may denote a main shrine accompanied by four subsidiary shrines, thus creating a sacred layout of one centre and four related presences.⁴ Whether in domestic worship or temple design, pañcāyatana expresses ordered multiplicity: one focal point, four complementary loci, and a larger field of sacred integration.

3. The Civic Logic of Panchayat

The panchayat belongs to a different domain. It is not a ritual mandala but a social institution. In its traditional sense, it refers to a village council, often imagined as a group of five elders recognised by the community. Merriam-Webster defines panchayat historically as a village council in India and specifically mentions the older form as “a former group of five influential older men acknowledged by the community as its governing body.” Collins similarly traces the term to Hindi, from Sanskrit panch, “five,” because such councils originally consisted of five members.⁵

Modern Panchayati Raj has, of course, moved far beyond the older council of five. After the 73rd Constitutional Amendment, Panchayats acquired constitutional status as institutions of local self-government under Part IX of the Constitution of India. Article 243G envisages Panchayats as institutions of self-government, and the Eleventh Schedule lists subjects that may be devolved to them for planning and implementation in areas of economic development and social justice.⁶ Yet the symbolic memory of the panchayat as a body of collective deliberation remains culturally powerful.

The panchayat represents a civic principle: no single individual should monopolise the moral and practical judgement of the community. Authority is located in deliberation. A dispute, resource question, ethical concern, or administrative matter is brought before a recognised body. Ideally, the decision is not merely imposed; it is discussed, weighed, contextualised, and socially accepted.

The Vedic language of collective deliberation offers a suggestive frame for understanding this. Ṛgveda 10.191.2 says:

सं गच्छध्वं सं वदध्वं सं वो मनांसि जानताम् ।
देवा भागं यथा पूर्वे संजानाना उपासते ॥
saṃ gacchadhvaṃ saṃ vadadhvaṃ saṃ vo manāṃsi jānatām |
devā bhāgaṃ yathā pūrve saṃjānānā upāsate ||

“Move together; speak together; let your minds understand together.”⁷

The following mantra, Ṛgveda 10.191.3, adds:

समानो मन्त्रः समितिः समानी समानं मनः सह चित्तमेषाम् ।
समानं मन्त्रमभि मन्त्रये वः समानेन वो हविषा जुहोमि ॥
samāno mantraḥ samitiḥ samānī samānaṃ manaḥ saha cittam eṣām |
samānaṃ mantram abhi mantraye vaḥ samānena vo haviṣā juhomi ||

“Common be your counsel; common your assembly; common your mind and thought.”⁸

Again, these verses should not be read as direct textual origins of the panchayat. Rather, they reveal an older Indic vocabulary for shared movement, shared speech, shared counsel, and assembly—precisely the values that a good panchayat is expected to embody.

4. Similarity I: Five as Completeness, Not Arithmetic

The first similarity between pañcāyatana and panchayat lies in the symbolic function of five. In both cases, five is not merely numerical. It is structural. It suggests completeness through plurality.

In pañcāyatana, five deities create a sacred whole. The divine is not exhausted by a single name or form. The worshipper’s chosen deity may occupy the centre, yet the surrounding deities complete the mandala. The fivefold arrangement protects devotion from narrowness.

In the panchayat, the idea of five elders similarly suggests that community judgement should not be reduced to the will of one person. Five provides plurality, balance, and the possibility of correction. A single voice may be impulsive; multiple voices can deliberate. The panchayat, at least ideally, embodies the social wisdom of distributed judgement.

Thus, in both pañcāyatana and panchayat, five functions as a grammar of wholeness. It creates a structure in which diversity becomes meaningful order.

5. Similarity II: Centre and Circumference

The second similarity lies in the relation between centre and circumference. Pañcāyatana is not a flat arrangement in which all distinctions vanish. There is often a centre: the iṣṭa-devatā of the worshipper. But the centre is not tyrannical. It is relational. The chosen deity is central to the devotee’s practice, yet the other deities remain honoured.

The panchayat also works through a relation between centre and circumference. A specific dispute or concern becomes the centre of discussion, but it is surrounded by the perspectives of elders, affected parties, community norms, and practical consequences. The centre is the issue; the circumference is the deliberative field that prevents the issue from being judged in isolation.

Both structures therefore avoid two extremes. They avoid fragmentation, where every element stands apart without relation. They also avoid authoritarian concentration, where one element devours all others. The centre gathers; the circumference balances.

6. Similarity III: Plurality Without Hostility

The third similarity is the transformation of plurality into concord. Pañcāyatana addresses the possibility of sectarian competition among different devotional streams. By placing Śiva, Viṣṇu, Devī, Sūrya, and Gaṇeśa within a shared ritual field, it symbolically suspends rivalry. The practice does not require the worshipper to abandon particular devotion; it requires the devotee to discipline particularity through reverence for other forms.

The panchayat addresses social plurality. Villages contain families, lineages, occupations, interests, disputes, memories, and competing claims. The function of the panchayat is to prevent these differences from degenerating into permanent conflict. Through deliberation and judgement, plurality is brought into a negotiable order.

This does not mean that every historical panchayat was just, inclusive, or free from hierarchy. Nor does it mean that every ritual enactment of pañcāyatana automatically created theological harmony. Institutions often fall short of their ideals. Yet the normative structure of both points toward concord rather than hostility.

7. Similarity IV: Dharma as Ordering Principle

A fourth similarity lies in their dhārmic orientation. Dharma here should not be reduced to religion in a narrow sense. It means the principle that sustains order, relation, propriety, and responsibility.

In pañcāyatana, the dhārmic principle is ritual and theological. The worshipper is trained to see the many as held within a larger sacred order. Difference is not denied, but placed properly. The practice cultivates samarasatā—a harmonising sensibility.

In the panchayat, the dhārmic principle is civic and ethical. The council is expected to uphold fairness, social trust, responsibility, and practical justice. Its legitimacy depends not only on power but on recognised moral authority. A panchayat that merely dominates is a failed panchayat; its deeper function is to restore balance.

In this sense, both pañcāyatana and panchayat are not merely arrangements of five. They are pedagogies of restraint. They teach the centre to recognise the whole, and the whole to sustain the centre.

8. Similarity V: Embodied Knowledge

Both forms also represent embodied knowledge. Pañcāyatana is not a theory of pluralism written as an abstract doctrine; it is enacted through placement, offering, gesture, and daily worship. The worshipper learns plurality by arranging and honouring it.

The panchayat too is not merely an abstract theory of democracy or decentralisation. It is embodied through sitting together, listening, speaking, negotiating, deciding, and accepting responsibility. Its wisdom lies in practice, not merely in constitution or terminology.

This is a key Indic feature: knowledge is often institutionalised through repeated forms. A ritual arrangement teaches metaphysics. A civic council teaches social ethics. A mandala and an assembly both become pedagogical structures.

9. Difference: Analogy, Not Genealogy

The similarities, however, must not obscure the differences. Pañcāyatana is ritual-theological; panchayat is civic-administrative. Pañcāyatana works through worship and symbolic arrangement; panchayat works through deliberation and decision. Pañcāyatana concerns divine forms; panchayat concerns human affairs. Their commonality is formal and civilizational, not institutional in a direct historical sense.

Thus, the right scholarly formulation is not: “Panchayat originated from pañcāyatana pūjā.” A more defensible formulation is: “Pañcāyatana and panchayat express parallel fivefold structures within Indic civilisation—one in the domain of sacred plurality, the other in the domain of social deliberation.”

This distinction is crucial. Genealogical claims require textual, epigraphic, institutional, or historical evidence. Analogical claims require structural comparison. The present essay advances the latter.

10. Conclusion

Pañcāyatana and panchayat may be viewed as two distinct yet resonant forms of fivefold ordering. In pañcāyatana, the sacred is arranged as a plurality of deities gathered into a unified field. In the panchayat, the social is arranged as a plurality of voices gathered into deliberative judgement. One belongs to worship; the other belongs to governance. One sacralises plurality; the other civicises it.

Their similarity lies in a deeper Indic intuition: order is not necessarily uniformity. Unity need not erase difference. Authority need not be singular to be legitimate. A centre may exist, but it must be held in relation to the whole.

The fivefold form, therefore, becomes a civilizational grammar. It teaches how to honour many forms without chaos, and how to deliberate among many voices without fragmentation. In that sense, pañcāyatana and panchayat stand as ritual and civic expressions of the same larger ideal: balanced plurality under the discipline of dharma.

---

Footnotes

Footnotes

1. The word panchayat is defined as a village council in India, historically “a former group of five influential older men acknowledged by the community as its governing body”; Collins traces the word through Hindi from Sanskrit panch, “five,” because such councils originally consisted of five members. ↩

2. On pañcāyatana pūjā, see the description of the worship of five forms invoking Gaṇapati, Viṣṇu, Śiva, Devī, and Sūrya; another Advaita-oriented ritual source notes that Panchāyatana Pūjā may be practised with five mūrti-s. ↩

3. Ṛgveda 1.164.46: ekaṃ sad viprā bahudhā vadanti. The mantra names Indra, Mitra, Varuṇa, Agni, Yama, and Mātariśvan as diverse names associated with the one reality. ↩

4. Pañcāyatana also appears in the architectural vocabulary of vāstuśāstra as one of the temple types mentioned in the Sāttvatasaṃhitā, showing that the term has ritual, theological, and architectural resonances beyond a single domestic ritual usage. ↩

5. See lexical sources cited in footnote 1. The point here is not that every historical panchayat literally had exactly five members, but that the cultural memory and etymological explanation of the term are tied to the idea of five. ↩

6. The Press Information Bureau notes that the 73rd Amendment inserted Part IX into the Constitution, gave constitutional status to Panchayats, and that Article 243G envisages Panchayats as institutions of self-government. ↩

7. Ṛgveda 10.191.2: saṃ gacchadhvaṃ saṃ vadadhvaṃ saṃ vo manāṃsi jānatām. ↩

8. Ṛgveda 10.191.3: samāno mantraḥ samitiḥ samānī samānaṃ manaḥ saha cittam eṣām. The presence of the term samiti is especially noteworthy for discussions of assembly and shared counsel, though it should not be treated as a direct institutional source for the later panchayat. ↩

From Civilizational Villages to Urban Imitation

This is part 1 of a series of 3 articles is based on the booklet titled 'Grama Vikas' (Village Development), authored by Ashish Kumar Gupta and Dilip Kelkar and published by Bharatiya Shiksha Sansthan.

Foreword

The question of development in India has long been framed through a narrow and borrowed lens—one that equates progress with urban expansion and modernity with the erosion of tradition. In this framework, the Indian village has gradually been reduced from a vibrant civilizational unit to a symbol of deficiency, spoken of more as a problem to be solved than as a legacy to be understood. This shift in perception has not been accidental; it is the result of decades of intellectual distancing from indigenous knowledge systems and lived historical experience.

This work seeks to challenge that prevailing narrative. It invites the reader to revisit the village not as a relic of the past, but as a foundational pillar of Indian civilization—one that sustained economic prosperity, social harmony, cultural richness, and ethical living for centuries. By questioning the unquestioned assumption that urbanization is the only path to development, this exploration opens space for a deeper, more authentic understanding of progress rooted in India’s own civilizational wisdom.

From Civilizational Villages to Urban Imitation: How India Lost the Village-Centered View

At a time when the consequences of indiscriminate urban models are becoming increasingly evident, this reflection is both timely and necessary. It is an attempt to rekindle a dialogue that has been neglected for too long: a dialogue about balance, self-sufficiency, and the organic relationship between village, city, and civilization.A few decades ago, it was widely believed—and deeply felt—that the soul of India resided in its villages. Even today, the mere remembrance of that bygone village life evokes emotion, nostalgia, and a sense of belonging. History stands as clear testimony that India once truly lived in its villages. The people who inhabited them, and the civilization that flourished through them, together formed a society that was complete in every sense—culturally refined, socially harmonious, economically prosperous, and admired across the world for its civilizational depth and stability.

For centuries, Indian villages were not backward habitations waiting to be “developed.” They were living civilizational units—self-sustaining, ethically guided, and socially integrated. The prosperity of India did not emerge despite its villages, but because of them.

Sadly, in contemporary discourse, the village is no longer viewed through this lens. Today, villages are discussed almost exclusively in terms of problems—poverty, lack of infrastructure, unemployment, migration, and deprivation. The dominant assumption has become that every challenge faced by a village must be resolved through urbanization. Either the village must be transformed into a town, or reshaped in the image of a city. This approach has come to be accepted, almost unquestioningly, as the only path to development.

In the process, we have completely obscured the unique characteristics and inherent strengths of the village as a distinct social, cultural, and economic entity. A village and a city are not merely different stages of development; they are two fundamentally different identities. Yet, the constant comparison between them—always measuring the village against the city—has distorted our understanding. This comparison itself is flawed.

What we witness today is an increasingly un-Indian way of thinking and living—an outcome of a worldview that has distanced itself from indigenous wisdom. The imitation of urban models, often borrowed wholesale from Western contexts, has weakened the organic structures that once sustained village life. If we truly aspire to preserve, strengthen, and rejuvenate our living civilization, culture, and prosperity, then this worldview must be questioned urgently. Delaying this introspection any further will only deepen the damage.

Encouragingly, after repeated missteps and the visible failures of indiscriminate urbanization, a shift in outlook is slowly emerging. There is growing recognition that villages must be made self-sufficient rather than urbanized. At this crucial juncture, it becomes essential to understand the cultural traditions, social organization, and systems that sustained villages for centuries. Equally important is rediscovering the organic relationship that historically existed between the village and the city, where the city complemented the village, rather than consuming it.

Only by learning from these indigenous systems can we evolve an authentic Indian perspective on development. When village life is rooted once again in traditional ways of thinking—adapted to the present but grounded in enduring principles—villages can naturally reclaim their place as peaceful, prosperous, and culturally vibrant units of society.

Conclusion

The decline of the village in contemporary thought is not merely a developmental failure; it is a civilizational forgetting. By measuring villages solely against urban standards, we have overlooked their intrinsic strengths and misunderstood their purpose. Villages were never meant to be cities-in-waiting. They were, and can once again be, complete ecosystems—economically resilient, socially cohesive, and culturally grounded.

The path forward does not lie in romanticizing the past nor in rejecting modernity, but in reclaiming perspective. True progress for India will emerge only when development is rooted in indigenous realities rather than imposed frameworks. Revitalizing villages through self-sufficiency, local knowledge, and traditional social organization is not a step backward; it is a necessary course correction.

Re-establishing the complementary relationship between village and city—where each supports rather than supplants the other—offers a sustainable and distinctly Indian vision of development. If this reorientation is undertaken with sincerity and urgency, villages can once again become centers of peace, prosperity, and cultural vitality. In doing so, India will not merely develop—it will remember who it is.

THE GENIUS OF SANATANA POLITY AND STATECRAFT: DECOLONISING INDIAN GOVERNANCE by SANDEEP BALAKRISHNA (Dharma Dispatch)

Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel’s vision of and eulogy to the Indian Civil Services in his inspirational speech on April 21, 1947 to the first batch of the Indian Administrative Services needs repetition if only to underscore how farsighted he was: 

Your predecessors were brought up in the traditions in which they … kept themselves aloof from the common run of the people. It will be your bounden duty to treat the common men in India as your own. [Emphasis added] 

It was a truly rousing and heartfelt speech. It was also a challenge to the best men to see whether they could scale the Mount Everest or just Nandi Hills. Fortunately, a sizeable chunk took up the Sardar’s challenge and showed what the Sardar’s “steel frame” was really capable of contributing towards nation-building. Until at least the mid 1970s, there were any number of IAS officers who were also scholars and culturally learned. Fast forward, a decade later, the downward transformation was as swift as it was brutal and criminal. Recent history is witness to the undeniable living reality that the steel frame has transformed into a moth-eaten hollowness. Indeed, it is inconceivable that brazen “politicians” like Lalu Yadav, D.K. Shivakumar et al couldn’t have gotten away with their venal marauding of both the exchequer and public conscience without being ably assisted by the bureaucracy. 

Nirad C Chaudhuri echoed[i] Sardar Patel as recently as in 1997 when he remarked that

…what disappeared from India with the going away of the British had created remained, intact in all its features and above all in its spirit… The immense noisy crowds that greeted the end of British rule in India with deafening shouts of joy on August 15, 1947, did not recall the old saying: they thought nothing of British rule would survive in their country after the departure of the White men… They never perceived that British rule in India had created an impersonal structure…. a system of government for which there was no substitute. In this system, the actual work of government was carried on by a bureaucracy consisting of the highest British officials together with a hierarchy of officials whose lowest but the most numerous personnel was formed by the clerks. Actual initiation of government action was in the hands of the men in the lowest position, viz, the clerks… the basic character of the Indian bureaucracy as it is now: ‘Theirs is a solid, egocentric, and rootless order, which by its very nature, is not only uncreative, but even unproductive. Its only purpose is to perpetuate itself by inbreeding, and ensure its prosperity. Government by such a bureaucracy can by itself be regarded as a decisive sign of decadence of a people in their political life.

The common feature of both the Sardar and Nirad Chaudhuri’s observation is just one word: rootlessness; in other words, psychological and cultural colonization. In practical terms, if there’s any institution that needs to be urgently decolonized today, it is the Indian Administrative Services (I use this term in an all-encompassing sense to include all the Civil Services like IFS, IPS, etc). Many learned Civil Services officers have themselves written and spoken at length about the need for reform in the Civil Services. But the word they’re looking for is not “reform” but “decolonize.” I would also dare add the following to this: the state at which the Civil Services is currently in, reform is simply impossible.

We can also regard this issue with a bit of historical data pertaining to said colonization.

Rule by Theory

One significant consequence—indeed, a defining feature—since India became a democracy in name is something that I call Rule-by-Theory. Under Nawab Nehru’s extended dispensation of darkness, softcore Communism was the theory that ruled India. Till she lifted the Emergency, Indira Gandhi opted for a slightly hardcore version of the same Communism. And Rajiv Gandhi didn’t have a clue about anything. After his demise, the country was pretty much in free fall except for some breaths of fresh air under P.V. Narasimha Rao and Atal Bihari Vajpayee. 

But what has remained common for the last sixty-odd years is the selfsame Rule-by-Theory. Or to be more specific, Rule by Western Political Theories, which are completely at odds with the millennia-old genius of Sanatana polity, statecraft and governance. What has worsened the situation is the untested implementation of said Rule-by-Western-Theories. And nowhere is this defect more glaring than in the near-obliteration of the time-tested system of the Gram Panchayat, which had largely remained untouched even by the most oppressive Islamic tyranny. Although the Gram Panchayat system exists only in name, its original sturdiness has perhaps been irretrievably lost. In other words, the form of democracy that India adopted after 1947 centralized political power in New Delhi to such an appalling extent that even state governments were reduced to the status of supplicants. As an example, let’s look at an illuminating if not tragic account[ii] of the deliberations over the Panchayat Raj system in the Constituent Assembly.  

·       I want to ask whether there is any mention of villages and any place for them in the structure of this great Constitution. No, nowhere. The Constitution of a free country should be based on ‘local self-government’. We see nothing of local self-government anywhere in this Constitution. This Constitution as a whole, instead of being evolved from our life and reared from the bottom upwards is being imported from outside and built from above downwards. A Constitution which is not based on units and in the making of which they have no voice, in which there is not even a mention of thousands and lakhs of villages of India and in framing which they have had no hand—well you can give such a Constitution to the country but I very much doubt whether you would be able to keep it for long. 

·       We cannot have a strong Centre without strong limbs. If we can build the whole structure on the village panchayats, on the willing cooperation of the people, then I feel the Centre would automatically become strong. 

·       Dr Ambedkar boldly admitted, and the members of the Drafting Committee do concede that in this Constitution there is no provision for establishing Panchayat Raj…When there is no such provision, it can never be the Constitution of India… If the village is to be discarded, someone can also boldly demand that this Constitution be discarded.

Unprecedented Concentration of Political Power

Some conclusions are inescapable from this. At no other time in the millennia-old civilizational history of India—even under the vast and sweeping monarchies of the Mauryas, the Guptas and the Vijayangara Empire—was political power concentrated in the hands of a tiny minority in a single city: New Delhi. Such concentration of political power is not only alien to the Sanatana spirit, it is a crime against this spirit. Indeed, this centralization and concentration of power is the chief reason for the growth of regional and caste-based parties in just about thirty years after we attained freedom. For example, from the “Dravidian” parties up to say the Telugu Desam Party until recently, it was common to hear their leaders drop such grand public utterances about “taking our fight to Delhi.” Think about what that means. Think about what this kind of “democracy” has done to Bharatavarsha and her Sanatana civilisational continuity. 

Rajyashastra is Subservient to Dharmashastra

In the Sanatana tradition, what is known as politics was always subservient to Dharmashastra. In a way, Rajyashastra (polity, statecraft, governance, administration) was a mere subset of Dharmashastra and couldn’t be divorced or separated from it. Politics, economics, etc were worldly subjects to be regarded as mere tools and implements that facilitate a human being’s continuous quest to attain spiritual liberation. Which is why politics was constrained by the tenets of Dharma, and it is Dharma which guarantees spiritual freedom to the individual. All other freedoms are meaningless without spiritual freedom. In the Sanatana conception, this spiritual freedom of the individual received primacy because the collective actions and remembered traditions guided by this spiritual freedom is what gave us civilizational continuity. 

Consider these words[iii] by the iconic D.V.G.

no matter how far India progresses in the achievement of….material wealth, there will always be numerous other countries as competition… our desire…to be equal to England, Germany, America, and Russia in material acquisitions…is itself an adventure. It’s our duty to attempt such things so let’s do it.

But the one field which doesn’t present any such competition is culture: specifically, the spiritual culture of India. This spiritual culture is the best and the finest of India’s wealth. If we don’t account for or neglect this spiritual culture, there’s no other area which India can take pride in. Forget pride, there is indeed no area where India can become useful to the world.

But think about what these Western political theories, democracy etc have become today, in the lands of their origin: they have become instruments to manipulate the public mind. Indeed, even the notion of the term, “public conscience” has all but been eliminated in public discourse in the West.  

From the Vedic period up to the 18^th century, there was an intimate and a kind of deeply personal relationship between the ruler and the ruled. Indian polity represented perhaps the greatest lived example of what is today known as “last mile delivery of governance” and such other fashionable verbiage. The level of decentralization in governance was truly unparalleled. Every village, the last unit of administration was self-contained. Villagers really didn’t have a reason to step out of their confines for any matter concerning their daily needs. 

Genius of Decentralisation 

Indeed, history shows us that the genius of Indian polity can best be observed in our village setups. In a manner of speaking, the village was the physical manifestation of the proverb that “you can create your own world wherever you are.” 

Speaking at a very high level, what do institutions like Gram Panchayat, Sabha, Samiti, Mahanadu, Oor, Parishad etc really mean? For a fairly detailed treatment of this topic, refer to my essay on the Mackenzie Manuscripts. In any case, these institutions were later refinements of the original administrative and governance systems that existed in the Vedic period: Arajaka, Bhaujya, Vairajya, Samrajya, Maharajya, Swaarajya, etc. Roughly speaking, these refinements were brought in practice during the Mauryan rule and continued in a largely unbroken fashion until the Mughals. Thus, in Northern India, we had administrative units such as Rashtra, Ahara, Janapada, Desha, Vishaya, and Bhukti. Their equivalents in Southern India were Rajya, Pithika, Ventte, Vishaya, Seeme, Naadu, Hobli, Valanad, Mandalam, Naad, Aimbadin, Melagaram, Agaram, Chaturvedi, Mangalam, Kuttam, and Palayapattu. 

See another facet of the indivisibility and unity of India?   

But in the realm of practical life, these were intimate institutions that kept our extraordinary civilization alive and unbroken in the daily life, customs, festivals, and consciousness of Indians for hundreds of generations. Only in the rarest of rare cases was punishment actually enforced at the level of the village because there was an unspoken and interiorized understanding among people that even a minor disruption in these systems would bring down the whole edifice. The fabled inscription at Uttaramerur (near Kanchipuram) is one of the extant records that testify to this kind of near-perfect administrative decentralization. 

Maharaja, Samrat and Chakravartin

The Sanatana conception of a Maharaja, Samrat or Chakravartin also offers tremendous illumination. The Taittiriya Samhita, for example, lists what is known as the Dasharatni (Ten Gems). These were ten top administrative officials (Purohita, Rajanya, Senani, Suta, Gramani, Kshatriya, Sangruhitr, Bhagadhugh, Akshaavapa, and Parivrukti), whose permission was mandatory in order to ratify the King’s coronation. Only after the King took the following vow (Vrata): “I will protect Dharma,” was he pronounced as being officially coronated. But there was an even more practical and profound side to this. Let’s hear it in the words[iv] of the gem of a scholar, Dr. Srikanta Sastri: 

Because there is the Law of the Jungle [Matsya Nyaya] in this world, the [institution] of King was created in order to uphold and maintain peace. The King who enforces the power of punishment using Dharma as his guide is compared to Mahavishnu who preserves order in the world. However, it is completely in violation of the spirit of the Dharmashastra to regard the King as having the Divine Right to rule.

At once, the King was the combined embodiment of the following: he was the leader of the society, the commander-in-chief during wartime, the Chief Justice who would dispense justice after free, frank, and open consultation with wise men, and not folks who had risen to high rank owing to mere technical or subject competence. In the Sanatana conception, dispensing justice was to be done with an attitude of Soumanasya (Pleasantness of mind) as a verse of the Atharvaveda (30: 5-6) says beautifully. When we regard this from another perspective, the genius of Bharatavarsha becomes evident: this is an attitude, outlook, and temperament towards life juxtaposed on the complex tapestry of statecraft and polity. Which is why for the major part in its long history, Bharatavarsha had very few instances of dictators and tyrants. However, every Muslim Sultan or Nawab was a despot and tyrant almost without exception. 

One can cite examples of numerous such Samrats but I’ve considered Harshavardhana here. Harshavardhana divided the income derived from his personal landowning into four parts. He gave one part each to:

1.     Take care of Government expenses

2.     Fund the salaries of high-ranking Government officials

3.     Patronise scholars, Vidwans, Pandits, poets, artists etc.

4.     Charity

More than a thousand years later, the warrior-queen and Raja-Rishika, Ahalyabai Holkar followed the same tradition of Harshavardhana. Indeed, they followed the warning in the renowned aphorism, Rajaa Kaalasya Kaaranam, which simply means this: that political system is despicable which loots people without first solving their economic problems.

I leave the gentle reader to draw their own conclusions.  

Postscript

More fundamentally, recall how we address a long and distinguished line of luminaries – Manu, Brihaspati, Ushanas, Parashara, Bharadwaja, Vishalaksha, Vatavyadhi, Baahudantiiputra, Katyayana, and Chanakya – who first laid down the philosophy of Sanatana statecraft: as Rishis. 

Notes

[i] Nirad C Chaudhuri: Three Horsemen Of The New Apocalypse. Emphasis added.

[ii] Dharampal: Panchayat Raj And India’s Polity

[iii] D V Gundappa: Jnapaka Chitrashale: Vaidikadharma Sampradaayastharu: DVG Kruti Shreni: Volume 8: Nenapina Chitragalu – 2:  (Govt of Karnataka, 2013). Upasamhara. Emphasis added.

[iv] Dr. S. Srikanta Sastri: Bharatiya Samskruti. P. 203. Emphasis added. 

Courtesy: https://www.dharmadispatch.in/culture/the-genius-of-sanatana-polity-and-statecraft-decolonising-indian-governance

---------
*Updated : 2026