Veer Savarkar at 142: A Forgotten Flame in the Furnace of Freedom

Disclaimer Before the First Stone is Thrown

Before you reach for your ideological pitchforks or sharpen your academic daggers, allow me a brief moment to clarify: I am not a political pundit. I have no party membership card, secret RSS handshake, or Marxist manifesto under my pillow. I don’t wear khadi or Karl Marx on my sleeve. I’m simply a curious citizen, armed with a keyboard and a cup of chai, attempting to understand one of the most debated (and often the most demonized) figures in Indian history.

This article is not a sermon. It’s not a eulogy. And it’s certainly not an invitation to a Twitter war (though I suspect I’ll get one anyway). It’s just a reflection—borne out of recent noise, newsroom debates, and a historical rabbit hole I happened to fall into.

If you feel triggered, outraged, vindicated, or oddly itchy by what follows… please remember: I’m just the messenger. Shoot me if you must—but do check your ammunition. It might be loaded with decades of inherited bias and unopened books.

Now, if your political blood pressure is under control, shall we proceed?

As India commemorates the 142nd birth anniversary of Vinayak Damodar Savarkar—popularly known as Veer Savarkar—one cannot help but ask an uncomfortable question to the corridors of Lutyens Delhi and the intellectual bastions of Jawaharlal Nehru University: Why has one of the most influential and controversial figures of the Indian freedom movement been consistently relegated to the margins of historical consciousness?

Why is it that a man who spent over a decade in the hellish confines of the Cellular Jail in the Andamans (Kala Pani), who was among the first to call 1857 a "War of Independence" and who envisioned a united India free of colonial rule, continues to be painted as a pariah by the very intelligentsia that prides itself on nuance and layered readings of history?

Is it political discomfort? Ideological rigidity? Or the simple human tendency to dismiss that which challenges one's worldview?

The Intellectual Amnesia

For decades, Savarkar has been boxed, branded, and banished from mainstream narratives—dismissed as a communal ideologue, often reduced to a single clemency petition, and rarely studied with the depth he deserves. Ironically, this dismissal has come not from colonial historians, but from within the very halls that claim to champion anti-imperialist struggle and freedom of expression.

Isn't it ironic that the same left-leaning academia that demands freedom for the incarcerated and lionizes revolutionaries like Bhagat Singh has seldom acknowledged that Savarkar was sentenced to two life terms (50 years) at the age of 28? That he was shackled in solitary confinement in a prison designed to crush the human spirit, where he was forced to grind oil like a beast of burden and often denied pen and paper?

Why is this chapter of his life not taught with the same reverence afforded to other martyrs?

Savarkar in Kala Pani: The Unknown Patriot

The horrors of Kala Pani are scarcely imaginable today. Yet Savarkar endured—and wrote. Denied writing materials, he composed thousands of lines of poetry and prose on the prison walls using thorns and pebbles. Many of these were later memorized and passed on by fellow prisoners, forming a rich oral archive of resistance.

What is less known is that Savarkar was a mentor figure within the prison. He inspired countless inmates, organized clandestine study circles, and became the nucleus of revolutionary thought in the most dehumanizing of environments.

He wrote extensively on nationalism, science, social reform, and even caste abolition. It is worth noting that long before it was fashionable, Savarkar openly denounced untouchability and advocated inter-caste dining and temple entry for Dalits.

Indeed, Veer Savarkar’s time in the Cellular Jail (Kala Pani) was marked not just by physical suffering but also by extraordinary intellectual resistance. Despite the isolation, torture, and humiliation, his mind remained razor-sharp. When denied pen and paper, he scratched his thoughts on prison walls with nails, thorns, or charcoal—and committed many to memory, encouraging fellow prisoners to do the same.

Here are a few notable examples of his writings and literary output during and around his incarceration:

Kamala – A Long Poem

While imprisoned, Savarkar composed the epic poem Kamala, a symbolic tale of Bharat Mata’s struggle, blending myth, nationalism, and emotion. Since writing materials were prohibited, he mentally composed over 10,000 lines, which were memorized and preserved by fellow inmates who were released earlier.

Majhi Janmathep(My Transportation for Life)

Although written later in Marathi after his release, this powerful autobiographical work describes his life sentence at Kala Pani. It chronicles:

-The brutal daily routines of hard labor.

-Inhumane punishments meted out for trivial infractions.

-The crushing isolation.

-The psychological warfare waged on political prisoners.

It remains one of the most vivid first-hand accounts of colonial repression and the mental fortitude required to survive it.

Translations and Essays

In his solitary confinement, Savarkar mentally translated parts of foreign revolutionary literature into Marathi and Hindi for the benefit of future freedom fighters. He also worked on:

1857: The First War of Independence (written earlier in London, smuggled and published anonymously). He later reworked elements of this text mentally in prison.

Essays on Hindutva, nationalism, and social reform that he would later publish post-incarceration.

Letters and Appeals (Hidden Writings)

Though often cited controversially, many of his appeals for clemency were tactically crafted and embedded with coded resistance. For instance:

Some appeals cleverly employed the language of loyalty to extract concessions or ensure better treatment for fellow inmates.

Others carried embedded philosophical or ideological messages that continued to inspire nationalist thought.

Bhajans and Patriotic Songs

Savarkar also composed patriotic hymns and songs, which became anthems of morale among prisoners. Some were composed in Sanskritized Marathi, invoking Shivaji, Krishna, or Mother India as rallying symbols.

An Anecdote of Memory and Resistance

One prisoner recounted how Savarkar would recite verses daily through cracks in cell walls, teaching and preserving them orally. This chain of memory was unbroken even after 11 years of exile—a testament to his intellectual discipline.

Veer Savarkar’s literary legacy from Kala Pani is not just a personal triumph over colonial repression; it is a record of the unbroken spirit of resistance, written not with ink, but with pebbles, memory, and fire.

How does a mind trained to deconstruct power structures conveniently skip over these progressive aspects of Savarkar’s thought?

Savarkar’s political thought

Hindutva—has often been conflated with theocratic bigotry, yet his writings suggest a more nuanced, if difficult, position. He envisioned Hindutva not as a religious doctrine but as a cultural and civilizational identity. One may agree or disagree, but to dismiss it without engaging is intellectually lazy.

He was a rationalist who questioned religious dogma, an atheist who still valued cultural roots, and a realist who believed that India’s freedom would be won not just through idealism, but through organized resistance and pragmatism.

He championed military training for Indians and anticipated the strategic necessity of an armed struggle long before it became fashionable. His biography of the 1857 revolutionaries was banned by the British—a rare honor reserved for those truly deemed dangerous.

Time for Reassessment, Not Revisionism

Savarkar does not need glorification. He demands engagement. His legacy is uncomfortable, complex, and sharply distinct from the romantic idealism of Gandhi or the socialist vision of Nehru. But history is not a monologue—it is a chorus of competing voices.

In an age where decolonizing the curriculum is a global rallying cry, isn’t it time we applied the same lens to our own historiography? Shouldn’t the contribution of someone who spent years in chains, inspired generations of revolutionaries, and wrote fearlessly even under surveillance be treated with more nuance than political sloganry?

Perhaps the real courage today lies not in burning effigies or chanting slogans but in reading Savarkar—not as a saint, not as a villain—but as a patriot who shaped India in ways we have yet to fully acknowledge.

As the dust of time settles, let us at least grant him the dignity of debate.