The Unfinished Covenant, We, The People, and the Gaping Chasm Between Constitutional Promise and Lived Reality

The Unfinished Covenant, We, The People, and the Gaping Chasm Between Constitutional Promise and Lived Reality

On January 26, 1950, India did not merely adopt a new system of government; it made a sacred, revolutionary promise to itself. The enactment of the Constitution was the formal crystallization of a national covenant—a binding pact between the State and every individual citizen, articulated in the majestic, aspirational prose of its Preamble. This document, the product of nearly three years of profound deliberation in the Constituent Assembly under Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, sought to forge a new India from the ashes of colonial subjugation. It promised a nation that was not just “Sovereign,” but “Socialist Secular Democratic Republican,” committed to securing for all its citizens “JUSTICE, LIBERTY, EQUALITY,” and “FRATERNITY assuring the dignity of the individual and the unity and integrity of the Nation.” As we reflect on the Republic’s journey, the grand annual spectacle of the parade down Rajpath serves as a powerful, yet deeply ironic, metaphor. It showcases the might of the State and the valor of its military in defending territorial integrity—one half of the Preamble’s dual mandate. Yet, it simultaneously casts a stark shadow over the other, more elusive half: the State’s sacred constitutional commitment to assure the dignity, justice, liberty, and equality of every single individual who constitutes “We, the People.” The soul of the Republic, it appears, is caught in a painful paradox, celebrated in ritual but increasingly strained in reality.

The Foundational Vision: A Dual Mandate of Integrity and Dignity

The genius and the burden of the Indian Constitution lie in its comprehensive ambition. It did not limit itself to creating a procedural framework for governance; it laid down a substantive vision for a just society. The Preamble’s closing phrase—“assuring the dignity of the individual and the unity and integrity of the Nation”—is not a rhetorical flourish. It is the keystone that holds the arch of the Republic together, outlining a dual, non-negotiable responsibility for the State.

On one front, the mandate of national unity and territorial integrity has been pursued with singular focus and considerable sacrifice. As strategic analyst C. Uday Bhaskar notes, from the first challenge in Kashmir in 1947 to contemporary operations, the Indian military has risen to this “onerous and sacred duty.” The Republic Day parade is, in essence, a ritualistic reaffirmation of this success. It projects an image of a unified, powerful, and secure state—a “masculine” assertion of sovereignty through marching columns, roaring fighter jets, and displays of military hardware. The names of heroes like Brigadier Mohammad Usman, Lieutenant Arun Khetarpal, and Subedar Major Bana Singh are rightly invoked as exemplars of this commitment. In this sphere, the State can claim with confidence that it has largely honored its covenant.

It is the second front—the mandate to assure the dignity of the individual—where the covenant feels frayed, contested, and, for many, broken. This mandate is far more intimate, complex, and revolutionary. It requires the State to be not just a protector from external threat, but a guarantor of internal justice; not just a wielder of power, but an enabler of empowerment. It demands that the abstract principles of Justice, Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity be made tangible in the daily lives of over 1.4 billion individuals. Here, the spectacle of the parade gives way to a far messier, more dissonant reality.

The Erosion of Fraternity: From “We, the People” to “Us vs. Them”

Perhaps the most profound casualty in contemporary India is the principle of Fraternity. The founding fathers, scarred by the horrors of Partition, envisioned fraternity as the glue that would bind a wildly diverse polity into a cohesive nation. It was the ethical foundation without which liberty could become license and equality a mere formalism. Today, that fraternal fabric is under severe stress, replaced by what Bhaskar identifies as a politics of “othering” and “angry brittleness.”

The rise of majoritarian nationalism has recast the idea of citizenship. The inclusive, unqualified “We” of the Preamble is being subtly but persistently redefined along lines of religion, ethnicity, and caste. The “othering” of minorities is no longer a fringe phenomenon but a disturbing feature of mainstream socio-political discourse. The tragic stories of 15-year-old Junaid Khan, lynched on a train in 2017 for “looking Muslim,” and 24-year-old Anjel Chakma, who died after being assaulted in Dehradun for his Northeast Asian features, are not isolated atrocities. They are horrific bookends to a trend of vigilante violence where difference is met with impunity. Anjel’s agonized plea—“We are not Chinese, we are Indians, what certificate should we show to prove that?”—is a damning indictment of a society where constitutional citizenship is insufficient, and a narrow, majoritarian identity is demanded as proof of belonging.

This erosion of fraternity has a chilling effect on Liberty. The “liberty of thought, expression, belief, faith and worship” enshrined in the Preamble is increasingly contingent. Dissent is routinely branded as “anti-national,” critical journalism is labeled “urban Naxal,” and artistic freedom is hemmed in by mob censorship and restrictive laws. The space for civil discourse, for the “carefully nurtured consensual societal tolerance” that Ambedkar advocated, is shrinking. When fraternity withers, liberty for the “other” becomes the first casualty, creating a climate of fear and self-censorship that is antithetical to a vibrant democracy.

The Mirage of Equality: When Some Are “More Equal Than Others”

The promise of Equality—of status and of opportunity—stands exposed as a mirage for vast sections of the population. The Constitution envisaged a society that would actively dismantle centuries-old hierarchies of caste, gender, and economic privilege. While legislative and affirmative action measures have made strides, contemporary India presents a paradox of deepening economic inequality alongside a political culture that often reinforces social stratification.

The promise of equality is mocked by a reality where access to justice, quality healthcare, education, and even clean air and water is determined by one’s socioeconomic location, caste identity, or geographical accident. The deaths due to contaminated water in Indore, a city repeatedly feted for its cleanliness, reveal the grotesque gap between branding and lived experience. As Bhaskar points out, the ancient Mauryan concept of yogakshema—where the welfare and security of the most vulnerable was the benchmark of righteous rule—feels like a distant ideal. Today, the vulnerable—the poor, religious minorities, Dalits, Adivasis, and residents of pollution-choked cities—often find themselves negotiating a state that is indifferent at best and hostile at worst. Equality before the law remains a contested ideal, with concerns over selective enforcement and the weaponization of legal machinery against dissenters and minorities.

Justice Delayed, Dignity Denied: The State as Abdicator

The composite failure to secure fraternity, liberty, and equality culminates in the denial of Justice and the violation of dignity. Justice is not merely a verdict in a courtroom; it is a holistic condition of societal fairness where rights are protected, and grievances are redressed. The inability to swiftly bring the killers of Junaid and Anjel to justice, like countless others in cases of hate crime, sends a corrosive message: that the dignity of certain lives is less valued, that the state’s covenant does not extend equally to all.

The State’s commitment to dignity is tested most acutely in its capacity to provide the basic requisites of a humane existence. A citizen living amidst overflowing sewage, breathing toxic air, drinking polluted water, or bankrupting themselves for medical care is stripped of dignity daily. When the State fails in its basic yogakshema functions—providing public health, sanitation, environmental protection, and social security—it is not merely an administrative failure; it is a constitutional abdication. The delegation of sovereignty from “We, the People” to the State comes with the covenant that this power will be used for the common good, to assure dignity. Obsession with grand projects and symbolic nationalism, while basic governance fails, represents a profound obfuscation of this sacred duty.

Reclaiming the Covenant: The Path Forward

The diagnosis is grim, but the Constitution itself provides the remedy. The Republic’s soul does not reside in the might displayed on Rajpath, but in the daily realization of its Preamble in every village, city, and heart. Reclaiming the covenant requires a multi-pronged revival:

1. A Rebirth of Constitutional Morality: Beyond legalism, citizens and leaders alike must internalize what Ambedkar called “constitutional morality”—a paramount reverence for the principles of the Constitution, which must become “a habit” of the people. This means actively championing fraternity, protecting dissent, and calling out majoritarian excess.

2. Reinforcing the Institutions of Accountability: An independent judiciary, a free press, a vigilant civil society, and robust autonomous institutions (like the Election Commission, CAG, and Human Rights Commissions) are the guardians of the covenant. Their strength and independence must be fiercely defended against political encroachment.

3. Shifting Governance Paradigm: The state must be judged not on pomp and spectacle, but on the tangible metrics of human dignity: air quality indices, access to clean water and healthcare, conviction rates in hate crimes, and the protection of civil liberties. The benchmark must shift from territorial security alone to human security in its fullest sense.

4. The People’s Vigilance: Ultimately, “We, the People” are not passive beneficiaries but active custodians of the Republic. The covenant is a two-way street. It requires an engaged citizenry that holds power accountable, that bridges community divides, and that constantly reiterates, in word and deed, the inclusive, dignified vision of the Preamble.

Conclusion: The Unfinished Project

The Republic Day parade is a powerful show of state capacity. But the true test of the Republic is what happens when the parade ends, the crowds disperse, and citizens return to their daily struggles for justice, equality, and dignity. The schism between the triumphant display of national integrity and the quiet, often violent, erosion of individual dignity is the central crisis of Indian democracy today.

The founding fathers handed down a covenant, not a completed project. They entrusted future generations with the ongoing task of building a republic where the soldier defending the border and the citizen demanding dignity from their own state are seen as equally sacred, equally central to the national project. The soul of the Republic will live only when the State honors its full commitment—not just to the unity of the map, but to the dignity of every person within it. The parade celebrates the Republic we have; the struggle continues for the Republic we were promised.

Q&A: Unpacking the Republic’s Dual Mandate

Q1: The article argues the Republic Day parade highlights a paradox: celebrating territorial integrity while overlooking individual dignity. How does this paradox manifest in contemporary Indian policy and public discourse?
A1: This paradox manifests in a clear prioritization where the state’s energy, resources, and narrative focus are disproportionately channeled towards symbols and projects of hard power and nationalistic unity, often at the expense of the softer, more complex mandate of ensuring dignity. In policy, we see massive defense budgets and grand infrastructural projects (new parliament, central vista) receiving emphasis, while public spending on health, education, and environmental protection remains inadequate. In discourse, loud celebrations of military valor and national sovereignty coexist with the trivialization or outright denial of grievances related to mob violence, discrimination, and welfare failures. The state is quick to invoke nationalism to demand unity but is often slow to apply the constitutional principles of justice and equality to protect vulnerable citizens from majoritarian prejudice or administrative neglect, creating a dissonance between the state as a powerful protector and the state as a compassionate guarantor of rights.

Q2: What is meant by the “othering” of minorities, and how does it directly contradict the Constitutional principle of Fraternity? Provide examples beyond those in the article.
A2: “Othering” is the process of defining and labeling a group of people as fundamentally different from and inferior to the perceived mainstream, thereby excluding them from the full circle of national belonging and rights. It directly murders Fraternity, which is the spirit of brotherhood and common citizenship essential for a diverse democracy. Examples abound:

• Legislative & Political: Debates around laws like the Citizenship (Amendment) Act (CAA), which explicitly exclude Muslims, send a message that citizenship itself is contingent on religious identity, fracturing fraternity along religious lines.

• Socio-Cultural: Stereotyping and harassment of people from the Northeast as “Chinkis” or of Muslims as inherently disloyal “Pakistanis” during cricket matches or tensions. The boycotts of Muslim-owned businesses or the policing of inter-faith relationships (“love jihad” rhetoric) are direct assaults on fraternal bonds.

• Rhetorical: The use of pejorative terms for political opponents or communities by figures in public life normalizes division. Fraternity requires recognizing the “other” as a fellow citizen with equal stake and dignity; othering systematically denies this, replacing “We, the People” with “Us vs. Them.”

Q3: The article references the ancient concept of “yogakshema.” What does this concept entail, and how can it be a useful benchmark for evaluating modern governance in light of the Preamble’s goals?
A3: Yogakshema, from the Arthashastra, encapsulates the duty of the ruler to ensure the welfare, security, and prosperity of the subjects, with special attention to the vulnerable. It translates to providing yoga (the means of acquisition/well-being) and kshema (the security to enjoy it). This is a profound benchmark for modern governance aligned with the Preamble. It moves evaluation beyond GDP growth or military might to tangible human security: Are citizens secure in their persons from violence and hate? Do they have the means (clean water, air, healthcare, education) for a dignified life? Can they enjoy their liberties without fear? The deaths from polluted water in Indore, the pervasive urban air pollution, and the anxiety of minorities facing violence all represent a failure of yogakshema. Applying this benchmark would force a reorientation of state priorities towards the basic, dignity-assuring functions that directly impact the quality of life of the weakest, making governance accountable to the spirit of Justice and Dignity in the Preamble.

Q4: The author states that “dissent is deemed anti-national.” How does this conflation threaten the specific liberties enshrined in the Preamble, and what is the long-term danger to democracy?
A4: Conflating dissent with anti-nationalism is a direct assault on the Preamble’s guarantee of “liberty of thought [and] expression.” It creates a chilling effect where citizens self-censor for fear of being branded traitors. This threatens:

• Liberty of Thought: Independent thinking and criticism of government policy are stifled.

• Liberty of Expression: Artists, journalists, academics, and activists face legal harassment (sedition, UAPA) and extra-legal intimidation.

• Liberty of Belief: It imposes a monolithic, state-sanctioned version of patriotism, leaving no room for alternative conceptions of the national good.
  The long-term danger is the death of a deliberative democracy. Democracy thrives on debate, criticism, and accountability. If only praise is permissible, power becomes absolute and unaccountable. It leads to policy failures going unexamined, injustices unchallenged, and the gradual erosion of all other rights, as a state that will not tolerate criticism will inevitably become a state that violates other liberties with impunity.

Q5: The piece calls for “a rebirth of constitutional morality.” What would this look like in practice for (a) elected representatives, (b) institutions like the police and judiciary, and (c) ordinary citizens?
A5: Constitutional morality is the superstructure of ethics built upon the foundational law.

• For Elected Representatives: It would mean their primary allegiance is to the Constitution, not party or ideology. In practice, this means legislating and governing to uphold fraternity (avoiding divisive rhetoric), equality (protecting minority rights), and dignity (prioritizing welfare). It requires speaking out against violations by their own party and viewing their role as trustees of the constitutional covenant for all citizens.

• For Institutions (Police/Judiciary): For police, it means applying the law impartially, protecting all citizens equally, and refusing to be instruments of political or majoritarian agendas. For the judiciary, it means being the fearless guardian of constitutional rights, issuing timely justice, and strictly scrutinizing state actions that infringe on liberty, equality, or dignity. It requires interpreting laws through the prism of the Preamble’s transformative vision.

• For Ordinary Citizens: It means moving beyond a rights-based demand culture to a duty-based culture of upholding constitutional values. This includes rejecting prejudice, protecting the rights of one’s neighbors (even from one’s own community), voting for constitutional morality, and using civic tools (RTI, PIL, peaceful protest) to hold power accountable. It is about making the values of justice, liberty, equality, and fraternity a lived, daily practice in communities, schools, and homes.