Recently, Assamese YouTuber Dimpu Baruah, in a podcast, expressed a shocking preference for monarchy over democracy.
According to him, a monarch would rule better because he would consider the nation his own, unburdened by the fear of elections or losing power.
He even went so far as to claim that Prime Minister Narendra Modi could have achieved “much more and better” if he were the king of India rather than a democratically elected leader.
Let me be blunt: this is not merely a naïve or harmless opinion — it is an insult to democracy and to the sacrifices of millions of Indians who fought, bled, and died so that we could live in a free and democratic nation.
It reflects a shocking ignorance of history and a shallow understanding of politics, governance, and power.
The Illusion Of The Benevolent Monarch
Baruah’s romanticisation of monarchy reveals a startling ignorance of India’s long and painful history under monarchs who treated this land as personal property to exploit at will.
Let us begin with the later Mughals. After Aurangzeb’s death, the empire descended into chaos. The Mughal throne became a prize for ambitious courtiers and generals, not a platform for public service.
Successive emperors squandered the empire’s wealth on personal indulgences and palace intrigues, while large swathes of India fell prey to anarchy, invasions, and famine. The people suffered — their plight secondary to the self-preservation of a crumbling dynasty.
Consider the Nizams of Hyderabad. They amassed unimaginable wealth while their subjects, particularly in rural regions, languished in poverty and backwardness.
The Nizam’s obsession with personal riches was so notorious that, by the time of Independence, he was one of the richest men in the world — while large parts of his dominion remained illiterate and impoverished.
The Nawabs of Awadh provide another stark example. The later Nawabs, especially Wajid Ali Shah, were more concerned with artistic pursuits, luxurious lifestyles, and palace pleasures than the welfare of their people.
British colonialists exploited this weakness, and Awadh’s annexation became a textbook case of how self-serving monarchy opened the door to foreign domination.
The princely states, in general, tell a similar tale. Across Rajputana, Punjab, Mysore, and elsewhere, many rulers prioritised their comfort over the welfare of their subjects.
Courts were rife with sycophancy, misrule, and oppression. While there were exceptions — enlightened rulers like Sayajirao Gaekwad of Baroda or Maharaja Ranjit Singh — they were rare, not the norm.
Most princes, when faced with the might of the British, chose to safeguard their thrones by becoming willing collaborators, betraying the larger cause of Indian freedom.
Contrary to romantic myths, the Marathas were notorious for extracting chauth and sardeshmukhi—a legalized yet extortionate tax—across North India. In Bengal and Bihar, peasants were terrorised, their crops destroyed, and villages looted.
And when dissent arose within their own ranks, Maratha monarchs dealt ruthlessly—as in the 1801 public execution of Vithoji Rao Holkar: tied, flogged, dragged, and crushed by an elephant under the Peshwa’s orders.
The Maratha state, far from uniformly just, was riddled with internal power struggles, self-serving chiefs, and mercenary bands—Pindaris—that terrorised provinces to borrow and pillage.
Even in Assam, the Ahom dynasty wasn’t exempt. Supimphaa (1493–97 CE) launched a brutal purge against nobles and critics—frightening the court and commoners alike.
Later, under Gadadhar Singha, the state began persecuting lower-caste Vaishnavas—suppressing religious freedoms and triggering unrest .
Tensions exploded into the Moamoria Rebellion (1769–1805), a major uprising by peasants and religious sects who faced exploitative controls under the Paik system—annual forced labor by adult males with minimal rights.
The revolt left around 50% of the population dead and shattered the Ahom state’s economy.
These deeply Indian examples expose monarchy not as benevolent guardianhood, but as a system where hereditary rulers prioritized their thrones over people, often brutalising subjects and enabling foreign domination.
Such lessons reveal why monarchy failed India—not because of idealism, but because of harsh realities.
Even during the freedom struggle, many of these so-called “guardians of the people” resisted unification into a democratic India.
The last Nizam, for instance, refused to accede to the Indian Union and maintained his feudal grip until Operation Polo forcibly integrated Hyderabad.
The rulers of Travancore and Bhopal flirted with similar ambitions of independence, defying the will of the people in favour of preserving their personal power.
This is the true face of monarchy in India: rulers who put their dynasties above their duty, who enriched themselves while their people starved, and who too often sold out the nation’s interests to foreign powers to cling to their thrones.
Narendra Modi As King? A Dangerous Hypothetical
Baruah’s bizarre suggestion that Modi could have done more as a monarch ignores a basic truth: any power Modi has today flows from the people of India — from the democratic mandate that gives him legitimacy.
His achievements, whatever one’s view of them, have been possible because of a system that ensures accountability, debate, and public participation.
If Modi were a king, freed from elections and accountability, what guarantee is there that decisions would align with public good?
Absolute power, history teaches us, inevitably leads to arrogance, silencing of dissent, and disastrous decisions. Democracy keeps leaders humble.
The fear of losing power is not a weakness — it is the safeguard that protects us all from tyranny.
An Insult To India’s Freedom Struggle
Baruah’s comment dishonours the blood, sweat, and sacrifices of our freedom fighters. Our ancestors fought not just to oust foreign rule, but to establish a nation where the people, not kings, are sovereign.
From Mahatma Gandhi to Bhagat Singh, from Subhas Chandra Bose to countless nameless heroes — their struggle was for self-rule (Swaraj), not for the replacement of one monarch with another.
To suggest that India should go back to monarchy is to spit on the values of our Constitution, to mock the dreams of our freedom fighters, and to trivialise the pain and sacrifices of generations who fought for democracy.
The Strength Of Democracy: Its Imperfections Are Its Safeguards
Democracy may be messy, slow, and full of challenges — but these are not flaws; they are features. They ensure that no single person can become bigger than the nation. They give voice to the voiceless, protect diversity, and allow peaceful change through ballots, not bloodshed.
Baruah’s casual dismissal of democracy reflects not only ignorance but also irresponsibility
As someone with influence over young minds, he ought to promote values of equality, justice, and civic participation — not dangerous fantasies of authoritarian rule.
The Peril Of Authoritarian Fantasies
Dimpu Baruah’s statement is not merely misguided — it is dangerous. It feeds into the rising global trend of glorifying authoritarianism and strongmen, as if surrendering our rights to a single ruler is the magic cure to all societal problems. History teaches us that this path leads only to ruin, repression, and regret.
What India needs today is not a king. We need stronger institutions, greater accountability, deeper civic engagement, and a renewed commitment to democratic values. We need leaders who fear losing power, because that fear keeps them answerable to us.
Final Word
Dimpu Baruah is not only wrong — his comment exposes a shallow, ill-informed understanding of history, politics, and governance.
Despite all its faults, democracy is still our greatest strength. It is the reason we are free to speak, to question, to aspire.
To glorify monarchy is to glorify chains. Instead of dreaming of kings, let us strive to build a stronger, fairer, and more just democratic India.
And Dimpu Baruah, one piece of advice- please do read some good books and do not be confined in your self created world which, perhaps, isn't bigger than a well.
Before preaching, please know what you are speaking and where you are speaking.
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Partha Prawal (Goswami) is a Guwahati-based journalist who loves to write about entertainment, sports, and social and civic issues among others. He is also the author of the book 'Autobiography Of A Paedophile'.