Panchayati Raj: The Indian Way of Self-Governance

    The Ramayana, during the coronation of Lord Rama, is not merely a familial or dynastic affair but a profound testament to the participatory ethos of ancient Bharatiya society. Valmiki's narrative, though poetic, subtly provides the importance of the involvement of various societal guilds, Shrenis (craft guilds), Pugas (associations of artisans), and Naigamas (urban merchant groups), in affirming Rama's ascension to the throne. These guilds, integral to the urban and rural fabric, were not passive entities but active participants in the polity, reflecting a decentralized and consultative approach to governance.​

    Fast forward to contemporary times, April 24th is observed as National Panchayati Raj Day, commemorating the 73rd Constitutional Amendment enacted in 1993. This amendment sought to institutionalize the Panchayati Raj system, aiming to devolve power to the grassroots and empower local self-governance.​ Yet, one must ponder: Is this a novel inception or a renaissance of an age-old civilizational principle? The concept of Swaraj (self-rule) is not an imported ideology but an indigenous realization deeply embedded in the Bharatiya consciousness. Villages, or gramas, have historically been the nucleus of societal organization, functioning autonomously with their own assemblies (sabhas), councils (samitis), and guilds. These institutions operated on principles of consensus, duty (dharma), and collective well-being, ensuring that governance was not a top-down imposition but a bottom-up manifestation of the people's will.​ Therefore, National Panchayati Raj Day should not merely be a commemoration of a constitutional provision but a reflection upon and a recommitment to the timeless ethos of decentralized, participatory, and dharma-centric governance that has been the hallmark of Bharatiya civilization

A Civilizational Governance

    Indian polity did not sprout with the ink of the Constitution in 1947, nor was it conjured into existence by the 73rd Amendment in 1993. Bharat's political thought is not a postcolonial invention, it is a civilizational expression. It breathes in the Vedas, it speaks through the Smritis, and it organizes itself in the sabhas, samitis, ganas, and sanghas that formed the vertebrae of dharmic governance. Long before the West debated democracy in dusty parliaments, the sabha sat under peepal trees and decided with dignity. The samiti, a deliberative body, was not a rubber stamp but a space of wisdom and viveka, where the collective will was aligned with dharma, not with the loudest voice.

    In the Gana-Sanghas of the eastern regions, be it the Vajji Confederacy or the Lichchhavis of Vaishali, rulers were not monarchs but ganapatis, chosen by assemblies, answerable to councils, and removed when they lost the people's trust. Decisions were forged through sammati (consensus), not by outvoting dissent into silence. Leadership was not a prize of power, but a position of service (seva)—earned, not seized. Even the term rajya did not connote control, but responsibility. Governance in Bharat was participative, not majoritarian; consensus-based, not conflict-prone. The village was not a unit of administration, it was a living organism, with a soul (grama-devata), a rhythm (ritam), and a shared sense of duty (kartavya).

    Panchayati Raj, then, is not a borrowed bureaucratic model. It is the memory of a decentralized civilization that trusted its people, respected its elders, and balanced freedom with responsibility. What we call today “local self-government” was in fact the atma of governance in Bharat—a soul unbroken by time, only forgotten, and now in need of remembrance.

The Term ‘Panchayat’: What’s in a Name?

    When I think of the term Panchayat, a question always arises: Why five? Is this just a number or does this have a deep-rooted symbol? In ancient Bharat, the Panchayat was not simply a body of governance; it was a living, breathing embodiment of balance, harmony, and collective responsibility. The term Panch—meaning "five"—wasn't arbitrary; it represented a governance system designed to mirror the balance of society and the universe itself. Perhaps the five represented five major roles in governance, each as crucial as the other. The Sarpanch, as the leader, had the responsibility of guiding the assembly. The Panchas, the members, played an equally significant role in decision-making, bringing diverse perspectives to the table. Then there was Vidhikaran, the legal advisor, ensuring that decisions were aligned with the principles of justice and dharma. The Koshadhikari, the treasurer, managed the financial aspects, while the Gramikaksha, the village accountant, ensured that the community’s resources were well tracked and accounted for. Each individual had a distinct, critical responsibility, yet all worked in unison toward the collective goal of justice, self-rule, and harmony.

    But the five were more than just positions—they could also represent the five pillars of governance and justice. Nyaya (justice), Satya (truth), Dharma (righteousness), Seva (service), and Sahishnuta (tolerance)—these values weren’t merely concepts but were woven into the very fabric of the Panchayat. Justice was not just legal; it was the embodiment of fairness, debated and resolved in a manner reflective of the community’s shared values. It was not about formalized principles but about the intrinsic qualities that governed every decision and action. In the larger societal context, the five could also symbolize the diverse classes of society. In ancient Bharat, the Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, Shudras, and even emerging Dalit communities each had a voice in the Panchayat. The Gram Sabha, the assembly of villagers, could thus represent the pluralism of the village, ensuring that decisions were made with the input of all groups. No community was left unheard, no voice left out. It was, in essence, a holistic representation of society’s collective will.

    Perhaps the number five also connects to the internal structure of the Panchayat, where specialized committees, sometimes five in number, handled specific aspects of village life. These committees could include areas like agriculture, water management, education, law, and public welfare. With five distinct committees, the Panchayat ensured that every aspect of village life was managed with care and precision, all underpinned by the core values of justice and fairness.

    Finally, if we dig deeper into the philosophical underpinnings of the number five, we find a connection to the Pancha Mahabhutas, the five elements of the universe: earth, water, fire, air, and ether. Just as these elements are in constant harmony, so too was the Panchayat designed to balance the many diverse ideas, interests, and communities within the village. No single perspective was allowed to dominate; instead, every element was respected, ensuring that the village ecosystem remained in balance. In the end, the term Panchayat is far more than just a name. It represents a governance system that is as rooted in the cosmic principles of balance as it is in the earthly values of justice, fairness, and inclusivity. Each of the five elements, whether people, roles, or values, formed a part of a greater whole, ensuring that governance was not just a matter of rules, but a reflection of dharma itself.

The Village Structure in Ancient Bharat: A Microcosm of Dharma

    The village (grama) in Bharat was never just a patch of land where people settled. It was a living, breathing yajna, a sacred ecosystem where dharma was enacted in every stone, every breath, and every grain of soil. If we dare to look, we’ll see that this wasn’t simply a structure of buildings and streets, but a spiritual organism, woven together by the thread of dharma, self-governed by the people who lived and breathed it.

    At the heart of every village stood the Agrahara. Land not given in ownership, but entrusted, especially to educational institutions, as a form of service to the people. These were not mere tax-exempt properties but intellectual sanctuaries where wisdom was nurtured and shared—where the knowledge of the Vedas, Sanskrit, and the cosmos itself was passed down from generation to generation, through dialogue, debate, and ritual. They were the sites of not just material wealth, but of spiritual and intellectual inheritance. Every grain of knowledge planted here would eventually bear the fruits of culture itself, rooted in wisdom but thriving in service to society. The Balutedar system, specifically in Maharashtra, stands as an embodiment of this village structure. Here, the community didn’t just "work together." It was together. The Bara Balutedar system, a collective of twelve vital professions—each hereditary and each indispensable—was a perfect example of how Bharatiya society viewed occupation: not as a hierarchy but as a web of interdependence. The blacksmith (Lohar) was as vital as the farmer (Kisan), and the potter (Kumbhar) had as much honor as the priest (Purohita). Here, each role carried dignity, for it was a service to the community and to the cosmos. This was not mere economic functionality; it was a dharmic synergy, where each act, however humble, was a step towards the greater good of the whole.

    The Jajmani system, a hallmark of village interdependence, added another vital layer to this intricate structure. In this system, the Jajman (the patron) would provide food, shelter, and resources to the Jajmanis (the service providers) in exchange for their specialized services, such as those of the priest, the carpenter, the blacksmith, the washerman, and the potter. The Jajmani system was the social glue that bound the village together, it ensured that no one was left isolated, that every need was met, and that the dignity of labor was preserved in every corner of the village. It wasn’t charity; it was mutual exchange, grounded in the realization that each person’s service was sacred and necessary for the welfare of the community. The system reflected a profound understanding that the well-being of the village was an interconnected web, where the services of the potter were as critical as the prayers of the priest. Each role, no matter how seemingly small, was indispensable for the flourishing of dharma within the village. And let us not forget the multitude of roles that made up the village ecosystem: the Sthapati, the architect whose designs adhered to the sacred principles of Vastu Shastra, constructing homes and temples in alignment with cosmic order; the Vaidya, the healer who drew from the timeless knowledge of Ayurveda, preserving health as a sacred duty; the Senapati, not a general of armies, but the protector of the village, maintaining order, peace, and safety; the Gramakuta, the headman whose leadership ensured the smooth functioning of daily life; and the Purohita, the priest whose prayers and rituals held the village's spiritual center intact.

    In this village system, no role was too small, no duty unimportant. Every individual, from the lowest craftsman to the highest Brahmana, had a part to play in the dance of dharma. The village was not an isolated unit; it was a mirror to the cosmos itself, a reflection of the balance and order that governed the universe. The village structure was not just an economic or political entity, it was a divine mechanism, functioning in perfect harmony with the eternal rhythms of the universe. It was the realization that the whole is only as strong as each individual unit within it. It was an ecosystem where every role, from the smallest to the greatest, held significance. This was not just governance, it was the practice of dharma, day in and day out. And let us remember, the governance of Bharat was not dependent on Western notions of law or control. It was not a top-down structure built on power but a bottom-up system, born from wisdom, honor, and responsibility. This was Bharat’s gift to the world: not simply governance, but the governance of the soul, the governance of dharma.

Living Institutions of People’s Will

    In ancient Bharat, democracy was not a modern invention nor a distant aspiration, it was embedded in the fabric of daily life, in the very governance systems that shaped the people’s destinies. At the heart of this lived democracy stood the Gram Sabha, the democratic core of every village, an open assembly where the voice of the people was sovereign. It wasn’t a place of theoretical debate, but a practical ground for the deliberation of the community’s welfare. In this space, every individual had a stake, from the youngest child to the oldest elder. Every voice counted, for it was in the unity of diverse opinions that consensus was forged.

    The Samiti, the executive body of the village, translated these deliberations into action. Its role wasn’t just to make decisions, but to implement them with accountability. The Samiti was the decision-making organ, the body that ensured the village’s directives were carried out efficiently, in line with the collective will of the Gram Sabha. But this was no bureaucratic machinery, it was a living embodiment of dharma, not driven by the cold, hard mechanics of legality alone. Here, the checks and balances were guided by values of justice, fairness, and respect for the community. Governance wasn’t a power structure imposed from above; it was a participatory system, rooted in the collective wisdom and ethical imperatives of the people.

Indigenous Economic Guilds

    While much of the modern world is obsessed with capitalism and communism, ancient Bharat had already mastered the art of economic democracy. The Naigama, Puga, and Shreni were the bedrock of economic life in the village, ensuring that commerce, craftsmanship, and community affairs were governed not by blind profit or coercive state power, but by principles of mutual respect and collective well-being.

    The Naigama represented the town-based traders, a class that organized themselves around the principles of fair trade, equitable distribution, and communal responsibility. These were not merchants out for their own gain, but stewards of the local economy, ensuring that the goods of the village, whether grains, textiles, or crafts, were traded in ways that benefited the whole community. The Puga was a tribal or community-based group, often linked by kinship ties, where economic decisions were made collectively. These groups were the lifeblood of the rural economy, weaving together social and economic bonds in a system that was inherently community based. They didn’t simply trade goods, they ensured that the fruits of the earth and labor were shared equitably, that no one was excluded from the basic resources necessary for survival. The Shreni were the guilds of craftsmen, the proto-corporations of ancient Bharat. These guilds were much more than just trade unions; they were self-regulating entities, responsible for the ethical conduct of trade, the training of apprentices, and the maintenance of quality standards. They didn’t just produce goods, they produced community, governance, and prosperity. These guilds provided a model of economic governance long before the rise of modern corporations, showing that economy and governance could coexist with a sense of shared responsibility.

    These systems were not merely about the distribution of wealth; they were about ensuring that the wealth was generated and distributed in a way that honored the community as a whole. In this sense, the Naigama, Puga, and Shreni systems represented a form of economic democracy that was far more egalitarian and interconnected than anything seen in the capitalist or communist models that would emerge centuries later.

Vaishali and the Buddhist Sangha: Ancient Republicanism

    Among the earliest examples of republican governance in the world, the Vaishali Ganarajya stood as a testament to Bharat’s long-standing tradition of lokatantra, people’s rule. Known as the first republic, Vaishali was governed not by a monarch, but by a system in which power was vested in the people. Decisions were made through debate, consensus, and the guidance of elders, a model that would later influence the structure of the Buddhist Sangha. In Vaishali, the Ganapatis (leaders) were not kings, but representatives of the collective will of the people. Power was decentralized, with each village or town participating in the decision-making process. This system was based on deliberation, not force, and it placed great emphasis on the voice of the people. This model of governance would go on to deeply influence the structure of the Buddhist Sangha, as buddha himself came from one such democratic setup. The Sangha, which was established as a spiritual community, mirrored the republican ideals of Vaishali, with its emphasis on collective decision-making, debates, and the role of elders in guiding the community. Decisions in the Sangha were made by consensus, with the elders providing wisdom, but never imposing their will upon the members. The concept of majority decision-making, seen in the Sangha, was not a foreign import, it was rooted in the ancient republicanism of Vaishali. In this way, it wasn’t Buddhism that introduced republicanism to India, it was India’s indigenous system of governance that Buddhism internalized and adopted. The legacy of Vaishali’s republicanism can still be seen in the decentralized decision-making structures that characterize many of Bharat’s traditional institutions today.

Indian Village Culture vs Western Models vs Maoist China

    The essence of Bharat’s village culture is as old as the land itself. It is organic, evolving, and intricately woven into the fabric of dharma. It is decentralized, rooted in the principle of duty before right, where the collective good and the interdependence of all members take precedence over individual desires. The village isn’t just a place; it’s a living ecosystem, where roles, responsibilities, and relationships are balanced in a way that ensures harmony. Gram Swaraj—village self-rule—was never about state machinery but about individuals and communities coming together to solve their own issues, underpinned by dharmic values. The village itself becomes the ruling body, guided by an innate sense of justice, not imposed legality.

    Contrast this with the Western model: a system built on contracts, legalities, and individual rights. The West, with its modernist framework, has constructed governance based on the notion of the social contract, where individuals surrender certain freedoms in exchange for state protection and order. It is legalistic, centered around the idea of rights over duties. In the Western view, governance is a transactional agreement, focused on enforcing rules and maintaining control through laws, rather than cultivating communal responsibility or moral duties. It emphasizes individualism, with little regard for the interconnectedness of individuals within society or the sense of communal responsibility that characterizes Indian villages.

    Then, there is Maoist China—an entirely different approach. It’s a model of top-down control, where the state is the ultimate authority, and even the villages are subject to revolutionary doctrine. The Chinese approach under Mao sought to impose state ideology through force, attempting to radically transform the very structure of rural life. The emphasis was not on self-rule or local autonomy but on the centralized control of all aspects of village life, directed from the top by the state. It was a revolutionary shift that sought to override traditional, organic forms of village governance with the heavy hand of Communist ideology.

    Indian villages, however, never sought to impose uniformity from above. They were always self-sustaining, with leadership drawn from within. This deep-rooted sense of autonomy and organic governance has withstood the test of time, not through revolution or imposition but through an evolving, interconnected process that respects the unique identities and needs of each village. Gram Swaraj was always about empowerment, not control—about fostering harmony and balance, not revolution. In essence, while Western models depend on the enforcement of individual rights and legal systems, and the Maoist model looks to centralize power for radical transformation, the Indian village culture is the antithesis of both. It is about decentralization, mutual responsibility, and a deep-seated connection to dharma. It is about finding solutions from within, guided by timeless principles, not imposed by an outside force. The Indian village was never merely a piece of land; it was a microcosm of society’s deeper, spiritual truths, evolving with time, yet never losing its connection to its roots.

Government’s Role in Today’s Panchayats: Intervention or Enabling?

    The question that lingers over the modern-day Panchayats is: Should the government intervene, or should it enable? The reality is far more nuanced. While government intervention is often seen as a necessary mechanism to ensure oversight and funding, it runs the risk of over-bureaucratization. The increasing control of state apparatus over local bodies threatens the organic, self-governing nature of villages that once thrived on Gram Swaraj. The government’s approach must not be one of intervention but of enabling, allowing Panchayats to function as dynamic hubs of local self-rule. However, this enabling process is not without its concerns. The political capture of panchayats, epitomized by the "sarpanch-pati syndrome," where power is often wielded by those not directly elected, undermines the very principle of democratic decentralization. Moreover, the growing gap between the state’s vision of Panchayats and the traditional, indigenous systems of governance signals a deeper issue, the breakdown of trust. Government intervention should aim at empowering these institutions, not overrun them.

The Challenges: Where Do We Stand Now?

    Today’s Panchayats exist in a paradox. While they are meant to be the epitome of grassroots democracy, they often remain a shadow of their true potential. There is a glaring implementation gap between the spirit of ‘Panchayati Raj’ and its actual practice on the ground. Much of the training provided is devoid of an Indic orientation—no connection to the dharmic values that once shaped village governance. Instead of being empowered as primary decision-making bodies, Panchayats have often been relegated to tokenistic roles, with bureaucratic processes and political maneuvers taking precedence. Therefore, there is a need for ‘village hubs’ rather than urbanization and cosmopolitanism. 

    Additionally, the disconnect from the spiritual, ecological, and familial roots of villages has caused Panchayats to lose their organic character. These systems once flourished because they were deeply embedded in the spiritual and socio-cultural life of the community. Now, stripped of that connection, they operate in a mechanical manner, driven by state directives rather than a natural sense of justice, equity, and duty.

Contemporary Indic Models Still Alive

    Despite the challenges, there are still regions in Bharat where the essence of the Indic village governance model endures. For example., In Nagaland, under Article 371A, village councils function according to their own customs and practices, a perfect example of local governance steeped in indigenous wisdom. Similarly, in the North-East, community assemblies continue to embody the spirit of local self-rule, untouched by the overreach of the state. There are many examples of such institutions. In Chhattisgarh and Jharkhand, tribal panchayats follow ancient traditions of community decision-making, where issues are resolved based on samudaayik dharma (community ethics), rather than state-mandated statutes. These models prove that the Panchayat, when aligned with the values of the land, can function as more than just a political institution—it can be a living example of indigenous democracy.

Insights from Indic Categories: What We Forgot

    The Panchayat, in its truest form, was never meant to be a mechanistic structure. It was rooted in concepts like Rita (cosmic order), Dharma (duty-bound ethics), and Artha (economy as sustenance). These categories shaped the understanding of governance in India, not as an external imposition but as an organic, internal process. Social structures like Kula, Jati, and Gotra were not divisive but formed socio-economic networks that fostered cooperation, not competition. Unlike the Western model, which often demands mechanical equality, India’s system was based on organic cohesion—interdependence without uniformity. These insights, largely forgotten today, are the true essence of governance in Bharat. Reconnecting with them is crucial to reviving the Panchayati Raj system in its original, dharmic form.

Governance in Indic Society: Individual, Duties, and Belonging

    In the Indic worldview, the individual was never isolated. The concept of duty preceded that of right, for it was through the fulfillment of one’s duties that individual rights were earned. Leadership in this system was never about power; it was about seva (service). Leaders emerged from the community as custodians of dharma, chosen for their ability to serve rather than to dominate. The current electoral process, which places power at the hands of individuals chosen for their political clout, has moved away from this ancient model of leadership. Panchayats, in their ideal form, were not about politics but about relationships. The individual’s role in society was seen through the lens of duty, and leadership was a sacred responsibility—a role to be earned through integrity and service. This model needs to be revived to restore balance to our democratic processes.

From Tokenism to Transformation

    National Panchayati Raj Day should not merely be a celebration of a constitutional amendment. It must serve as a call to action, a rallying cry to revive the ancient wisdom of self-rule that has been marginalized in the modern age. Gram Swaraj should not be reduced to a mere political tool but seen as a holistic model of governance that encompasses justice, dharma, and community-driven decision-making. To achieve this, we must reconnect with our roots, reimagine the village as the center of governance, not its periphery. The journey from Raj to Swaraj is one of reclaiming our civilizational heritage, of returning to a time when villages were the beating hearts of democracy. This is the vision that Panchayati Raj Day should strive for, not as a tokenistic celebration, but as the first step toward a true transformation, where governance reflects the soul of Bharat.

Bibliography

K.P.Jayaswal’s Hindu Polity

Altekar’s State and Government in Ancient India

Altekar’s Ancient Indian Political Thought and Institutions

Bhaskar Anand Saletore’s Ancient Indian Political Thought and Institutions

H. C. Raychaudhuri’s Political and Cultural History of India

Narendra Nath’s Inter-State Relations in Ancient India

Aitereya Brahman

Shathapatha Brahman

Ramayana, Kaschit Sarga (100)

Mahabharata (Shanti Parva)

Digganikaya and Jataka Stories etc.

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