How much longer will 80 per cent of the population continue to view itself as weak? How much longer, despite being the majority, will they remain politically fragmented? Was this country truly drifting away from its own foundational society? And the biggest question: was a silent injustice unfolding in the name of "secularism"?

For decades, these questions floated in the air, but no one provided an answer. Then, suddenly, something changed. A silence broke. Anger erupted. And the society that had been the epitome of tolerance for centuries began to ask questions. Is this merely a shift in politics, or has a sleeping lion truly awakened?

Before 2014, the Hindu majority in India existed in an incredibly strange and contradictory state. Despite comprising nearly 80 per cent of the population, this society was politically divided, ideologically weak, and indifferent toward its collective strength.

In that era, leaders of Socialist and Communist ideologies donned "secularism" like a shroud. However, the reality beneath was different. The core of their politics lay in keeping Hindu society entangled in the web of caste and regionalism.

The Congress and various dynastic parties exploited this fragmentation for their own gain. Their math was simple: build a coalition of minorities and select castes to seize power. This game lasted for decades. But every game has its limit.

Gradually, this "appeasement" became a sting; a wound that wasn't visible but caused deep pain. It was this pain that eventually turned into an explosion.

After independence, India sought to build itself into a modern nation. In the 1950s, the Jawaharlal Nehru government implemented the Hindu Code Bill. This reform was necessary; it gave rights to women and brought social change.

But the question arises: was the same courage shown toward Muslim Personal Law? The answer is clear: No.

This marked the beginning of an inequality. The government became a "reformer" for Hindus and a "protector" for minorities. Article 30 of the Constitution grants minorities the freedom to run their own educational institutions, yet the majority did not receive this right.

Then came the Places of Worship Act of 1991, which froze the status quo as of 1947. Legally, the doors to resolving disputes like Kashi and Mathura were shut. On the other hand, Hindu temples came under government control. The income of temples like Tirupati fell under state jurisdiction.

It was a bizarre situation. There is perhaps no other country in the world where the religious institutions of the majority are controlled by the government, while those of the minorities remain completely independent.

If one were to find the "turning point" of this entire narrative, it was the Shah Bano case of 1985. A 62-year-old woman, divorced by her husband through Triple Talaq, won a Supreme Court ruling granting her alimony. However, the then-Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi, despite having a massive majority, retreated. He enacted a new law in Parliament to overturn the Supreme Court’s decision.

This wasn't just a verdict; it was a message. And the message was clear: Politics is greater than justice.

This was the moment people realised that "secularism" did not mean equality, but rather a specific tilt. This was the moment Hindu society realised its political weakness.

In 1990, VP Singh implemented the Mandal Commission to provide reservations for backward classes. But there was a deep political game behind it, an attempt to break the Hindu unity that was forming through the Ram Mandir movement.

The country reached a boiling point. Protests erupted, and youths even committed self-immolation. In response, Lal Krishna Advani launched the Rath Yatra. This journey from Somnath to Ayodhya was not just a journey; it was a symbol. It began to weave together a caste-divided Hindu society into a single thread. This was the birth of the "Hindu Vote" concept, something previously deemed impossible.

Under the UPA government, appeasement became a policy. The Sachchar Committee Report highlighted the economic condition of Muslims, but it was used for politics rather than for solutions. Manmohan Singh’s statement, "Minorities have the first claim on the nation's resources", became a massive political flashpoint.

Simultaneously, the narrative of "Saffron Terror" was crafted, attempting to link Hindu organisations to terrorist activities. These claims later proved weak in courts, but by then, a perception had taken root: the government does not stand with the majority.

What happened in 2014 was not sudden. It was the result of decades of resentment. It wasn't the strategy of a single party; it was a sentiment brewing within society. Hindu society began to view itself not just as a number, but as a power.

The 2026 West Bengal elections are the latest example of this. Even in a state that was once a fortress of Leftist and intellectual politics, this change is visible. This shift isn't just about votes; it’s about mindset.

Those who assumed the majority society would always remain divided are now finding their calculations proven wrong. The sleeping lions have awakened. And when a lion wakes, the balance of the jungle shifts.

Today’s Hindu society is asking questions. It is demanding answers. It is no longer just tolerant; it is vigilant. Politics is changing. The mathematics of vote banks is weakening, replaced by a rising tide of nationalism, of India and Indianness. Even Tamil politics is being influenced by this.

Whether this change is permanent or temporary, only the future will tell. But one thing is certain: it will no longer be easy to ignore the majority society. The lion’s roar has echoed. The silence will never be the same.