A cornered demagogue

Narendra Modi, the self-styled vanguard of ‘Rising India’, has long built his political career on two foundations: theatrical nationalism and relentless communalism. Both find convenient expression in his cyclical chest-thumping over Pakistan – the preferred external scapegoat whenever the domestic pot threatens to boil over. The latest military misadventure along the border with Pakistan not only marks a strategic defeat for India but also the beginning of the political twilight of a man once thought electorally invincible.

Around two months before this latest debacle, Modi solemnly bowed before the portrait of Veer Savarkar - the ideological progenitor of Hindutva and a man who, in 1938, openly admired Nazism as a model for handling 'the Muslim problem'. It’s no accident that Modi, now a two-decade practitioner of Hindutva politics, chooses to invoke such ghosts. The RSS, his ideological mothership, will turn 100 in September 2025. Modi clearly intended to crown its centenary with a pyrrhic 'victory' over Pakistan – something to rouse the saffron hordes and silence murmurs of discontent. But the plan, much like Modi’s faux promises of vikas, has crashed – quite literally.

The events of May 10 offer a textbook example of the Modi doctrine: provoke a crisis, perform a false flag, and externalise blame to Pakistan. The Pahalgam 'incident' follows the same playbook as Uri in 2016 and Pulwama in 2019 – loud allegations, zero evidence and instant escalation. Except this time, something snapped. Unlike previous episodes where international complicity gave India a long leash, the quick appeal to Donald Trump to intervene exposed New Delhi’s desperation and fragility. The global policeman shrugged. “None of our business", quipped JD Vance, echoing the broader mood of a war-weary and divided West.

And so, stripped of diplomatic cover and military momentum, Modi’s government has suffered a battlefield setback and a credibility implosion. Five Indian jets, including the much-hyped Rafale, were downed by Pakistan’s Air Force in a matter of minutes. The self-proclaimed Vishwaguru (global teacher) now finds himself schooled by the very adversary he derides as inferior. Operation Sindoor turned out to be Operation Duckshoot, with Pakistan's precision-strike response shattering the myth of Indian air superiority.

Desperate to salvage his image, Modi staged a visit to Adampur Air Force Station, solemnly inspecting the wreckage as if the mere act of presence could undo the humiliation. His speech, laced with defiance, framed the ceasefire as a strategic manoeuvre rather than an act of necessity. The global community, unimpressed, saw through the theatrics. Even his closest allies offered only tepid support, unwilling to entangle themselves in yet another reckless Indian provocation.

As images of flaming fuselages and confused pilots began flooding newsrooms, India’s jingoistic media predictably tried to change the narrative. Behind Modi’s bluster lies a nation increasingly at war with itself. His government’s obsession with projecting power abroad is matched only by its paranoia at home. Muslim Kashmiris, stripped of constitutional protections since the revocation of Article 370, live under what can only be described as a military occupation. In Delhi, Muslims are lynched with impunity while Christians and Sikhs face mounting intimidation. The BJP has corroded democratic institutions to the point where dissent is equated with sedition and minorities with enemy agents.

But the fissures don’t end there. In the east-central Red Corridor, Naxalite insurgents – champions of India’s most dispossessed – continue to wage a stubborn, if uneven, guerrilla war. In the northeast, the so-called Seven Sisters have witnessed decades of neglect, cultural alienation, and violence. Manipur today is a portrait of chaos, a state cannibalised by ethnic conflict and government apathy.

Against this grim domestic backdrop, Modi’s aggressive posture towards Pakistan has always served a dual purpose: to distract, and to unify – albeit through division. War, or the threat of it, has become his electoral drug of choice. But the side effects are catching up. Far from rallying the nation, this most recent humiliation has exposed India’s regional overreach and domestic brittleness. The facade of a rising superpower is cracking.

Internationally, India’s bullying of smaller neighbours has begun to backfire. A recent report in The Hindu asked a question once unthinkable in New Delhi’s corridors of power: 'Is India losing the goodwill of its neighbours?' From Nepal to Bangladesh to Sri Lanka, the answer appears to be yes. Modi’s ambition to be South Asia’s undisputed hegemon lies in tatters. His economic overtures to the West have been undermined by his ideological excesses. His military swagger lies buried under the debris of downed jets and failed operations.

And yet, the danger is far from over. With the RSS’s centenary looming next year, Modi may well attempt another round of military theatrics – desperate to reclaim lost ground, restore a dented ego, and fulfill his ideological obligations. Adampur was just the first act – a prelude to a larger, more dangerous escalation. Modi knows his legacy hangs by a thread, and history has shown that wounded strongmen rarely retreat; they double down. The fear is not merely another misadventure, but a catastrophe born of desperation. But playing with fire is Modi’s forte.

Now, faced with a Pakistan that not only shoots back but hits hard, Modi is learning a bitter truth: propaganda cannot replace performance, and fear cannot substitute for legitimacy. If there is a silver lining, it lies in the resilience of ordinary Pakistanis – their calm defiance in the face of drones, their humour amid cyber-warfare, their unity in the shadow of hostility. They do not seek war, but they refuse to be bullied. Unlike Modi, they have no ideological anniversaries to prepare for. They only have a future to protect.

It is a future that Modi, and by extension, India under BJP rule, seems increasingly incapable of facing. His gamble on war has backfired, not just militarily, but morally and politically. The mythology of Modi as India’s unassailable strongman lies in ruins. What remains is a wounded demagogue, cornered by the very chaos he conjured. And as history has taught us, a cornered demagogue is often the most dangerous kind.

The writer is a freelance contributor.