When Bankim Chandra Chatterjee wrote 'Vande Mataram' in the late 19th century, he was giving voice to a new emotion that was both political and spiritual. The idea of the motherland, tender and protective yet wounded and enslaved, took the shape of a goddess. The country was imagined as a divine figure and the act of liberation became an act of worship. Few songs in Indian history have carried such an intense combination of faith and rebellion.

The song came from the pages of Anandamath, a novel set during the late 18th century when famine and rebellion tore through Bengal. The novel imagined a band of Hindu ascetics rising against both Muslim rulers and British power. It turned resistance into sacred duty and the battle cry of the monks became the sound of a divine mission. In Bankim’s imagination, the foreign ruler, Muslim or English, stood as the antagonist in a civilisational drama where the fallen Hindu nation must awaken under the protection of the Mother.

'Vande Mataram' travelled from page to street, from hymn to slogan. It was sung in Congress sessions and freedom rallies, written on prison walls, whispered before executions. Yet its religious imagery made it difficult for many Muslims to join in. To bow before an image, however symbolic, was against their faith. The love of land was one thing, the worship of it quite another. Muslim leaders and intellectuals could not accept the idolatrous imagery of the song. For them the motherland could be loved but not worshipped. The figure of Bharat Mata, emerging from the same imagery, carried an unmistakably Hindu form. That distinction was never understood by the nationalist imagination shaped by the Hindu middle class. What began as a song of liberation became a test of loyalty.

After independence the compromise was delicate. The Constituent Assembly, under the guidance of Rajendra Prasad, decided that 'Vande Mataram', which had played a historic role in the struggle for freedom, would be honoured as the national song alongside 'Jana Gana Mana'. The Assembly wished to recognise the emotion it carried without turning the republic into a religious state. Only the first two stanzas were accepted, since these lines were free from the overt goddess imagery of the later verses. The idea was to preserve its historical importance while avoiding its sectarian potential.

Yet the debate never really ended.

In contemporary India that old debate has returned with renewed force. The present government, guided by the ideological influence of the RSS, has turned Vande Mataram into a test of patriotism. The decision to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the song is part of a larger cultural campaign that seeks to redefine nationalism. The celebration is not about literature or music. It is about ownership of history. It asks Indians to prove their loyalty through ritual rather than reflection. Those who hesitate to sing it are branded as outsiders, as if citizenship depends on the ability to worship the nation in a particular language.

The year-long programme announced by the government reinforces this transformation. Divided into four phases and aligned with Independence Day, Republic Day and other symbolic dates, it invites citizens, students and shopkeepers to sing Vande Mataram, record their renditions and receive certificates. Schools and colleges are instructed to hold mass singing events. The song has moved from the pages of Anandamath to the loudspeakers of the state. The devotion once imagined in the forests is now performed in classrooms and public squares.

Behind the official celebration lies a deeper silence, the erasure of the many Muslim and minority voices who fought for India’s freedom and shaped its composite culture. Their stories do not fit easily within the frame of the goddess mother. A history once shared is being redrawn as a story of one faith’s awakening. The novel that imagined the enemy as Muslim now finds its afterlife in a politics that cannot see the Muslim as citizen. The goddess of Anandamath, once a symbol of spiritual redemption, has become the emblem of a Hindu nation.

That image of the Muslim villain in the novel has never fully disappeared.

In the current political climate, where history is being rewritten and communal lines are being hardened, Anandamath reads less like a 19th century allegory and more like a prophetic script. The portrayal of Muslims as the obstacle to national renewal has quietly shaped the visual and emotional vocabulary of Hindu nationalism. When 'Vande Mataram' is sung today under the banners of the state, it carries the unspoken echo of that older conflict. The Muslim, once the villain of a novel, now becomes the silent other in the national chorus.

Sreejith K teaches History at Dr APJ Abdul Kalam Government College, Kolkata.

The Wire is now on WhatsApp. Follow our channel for sharp analysis and opinions on the latest developments.