BJP’s battle for Karnataka’s old Mysuru | Let Me Explain 97 | Pooja Prasanna
This is from a town in Karnataka that has not seen communal tensions like this before.
On September 7, stones were thrown at a Ganesha procession passing near a mosque in Ram Rahim Nagar in Maddur’s Karnataka.
Police diffused the situation, and the idol was immersed. Later, around 21 people, all Muslims, were arrested.
The next day, the scene turned into a show of Hindu strength. And the episode led to communal strife.
This isn't just a local spat. It reflects a much bigger, more deliberate trend: the BJP is laying the groundwork for a massive political realignment in Karnataka.
We're talking about the Old Mysuru region: the state’s agricultural heartland, and the traditional political battleground between the JD(S) and the Congress.
For generations, quiet social pacts between castes and communities have kept communal tensions in check here. The BJP has always been an outsider.
But that’s changing now.
In recent years, these towns—long considered Vokkaliga bastions—have become the frontlines of a quiet political battle. Saffron flags are now appearing where once green ones flew. Small incidents—an argument over a ritual, a stone-pelting—are being magnified.
With the BJP-JD(S) alliance offering a new political opening, Hindutva groups are moving into spaces once dominated by the JD(S). The old social balances that kept Hindus, Muslims, Dalits, and Vokkaligas in uneasy harmony are cracking apart.
How is this region slowly being communalized?
Why is the BJP investing so heavily here?
And what does it mean for the future of Karnataka politics?
Let me explain.
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Now, the latest communal flashpoint was Maddur in September.
Just last year, a town not too far from Maddur, Nagamangala, saw something similar. Clashes broke out there during a Ganesh Chaturthi procession after an altercation near a mosque. Shops and vehicles were set on fire, and many arrests were made.
Maddur and Nagamangala have now become sudden, new flashpoints for communal strife.
This social shift isn't random. It’s a deliberate engineering campaign built through narratives, potent symbols, and the outright distortion of history.
Two to three years ago, the BJP introduced two new characters: Uri Gowda and Nanje Gowda. They were hailed as Vokkaliga chieftains who supposedly killed Tipu Sultan.
But here’s the crucial issue: history tells a very different story. Tipu Sultan was defeated and killed by the British in 1799 during the Fourth Anglo-Mysore War.
Historians I spoke to then were clear: there is no evidence these two men existed or killed Tipu. They were, in fact, characters introduced in a 2022 play called Tippu Nija Kanasugalu.
One historian said that the two men were perhaps part of Tipu’s father, Hyder Ali’s army.
Yet, the BJP turned the myth into a sharp political tool.
At rallies, leaders invoked their names to stir Vokkaliga pride. Former Minister Ashwath Narayan even suggested voters should "finish off" Siddaramaiah in the same way Uri and Nanje Gowda supposedly "finished off" Tipu Sultan.
By elevating mythical heroes, the BJP tried to reframe history as pure identity politics. Old Mysuru’s voters were invited to pick sides in a conflict from 200 years ago, linking local pride to modern political loyalties.
But the story didn't fully catch on.
We have seen efforts to polarize the region before.
In 2022, a group demanded permission to hold prayers inside Srirangapatna’s historic Jamia Masjid, claiming it stood on the ruins of a Anjaneya temple. Officials denied permission, but the effort was seen as an attempt to replicate the Babri Masjid demolition in Ayodhya.
The same year, the hijab row reached Mandya. College student Muskan Khan stood her ground against a crowd of ABVP members chanting "Jai Shri Ram." That moment had the makings of a flashpoint, but caste loyalties and long-standing local social networks prevented a complete breakdown.
In the 2023 Assembly elections, the BJP's aggressive push in Old Mysuru did not yield the expected electoral results. Congress won 43 of 64 seats, JD(S) 14, and the BJP made only modest gains in vote share.
The BJP’s alliance with the JDS in 2023 opened the doors for them in the region.
Cut to 2024. At a small village named Keragodu in Mandya, a dispute over replacing a Hanuman Dhwaja from a flagpole escalated into a massive communal flashpoint.
This presented a stage for political theatre. BJP’s R Ashoka galvanised workers and Sangh Parivar affiliates.
Not to be outdone, JDS leader HD Kumaraswamy arrived, shedding his green JD(S) shawl for a saffron one. Visuals of him in saffron shifted the dynamics — many grassroots JD(S) workers, previously wary, now found themselves echoing the language of Hindutva.
The symbolism was unmistakable. JD(S) and Hindutva, once separate, were now moving together. Party lines blurred, colors merged, and a minor administrative issue became a stage to project communal identity.
The latest controversy over Banu Mushtaq inaugurating the Mysuru Dasara was another attempt in the same direction.
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For decades, JD(S) dominated Vokkaliga votes in Old Mysuru.
Social and political groups used the memories of Tipu Sultan’s egalitarian land reforms and Mysuru Wodeyar’s alliances with Dalits and Muslims, to maintain a fragile social balance.
Communalism remained weak, not necessarily just because of progressive or secular ideals. But because caste and community pacts held society together.
Vokkaligas maintained dominance, Dalits and Muslims negotiated coexistence, and BJP cadres, though present for decades, could not penetrate these networks.
The JD(S)-BJP alliance changed that. Now local leaders could embrace Hindutva symbols publicly, while BJP gained access to networks built over generations.
WhatsApp groups, temple networks, and local mutts amplified ideology, framing Hindu identity as under threat.
The strategy is psychological as well as structural. Young Vokkaligas embrace BJP’s narrative of religion and nationalism while remaining JD(S) supporters.
Mandya reported 26 communal incidents in 2024. Stone pelting, flag disputes, and inflammatory speeches increased.
Individually they are minor, but collectively they signal a shift in culture.
Communities that once lived side by side now feel the need to perform their identities in public. Meanwhile, arrests disproportionately target Muslims, fueling resentment and deepening divisions.
The BJP’s long-term goal is clear: Make Old Mysuru a sustainable voter base.
History offers precedent. In the 1990s, S Bangarappa brought OBC votes to BJP. Over the years, even after he left the party, many of his followers stayed loyal to the BJP. A similar realignment is being attempted with Vokkaligas.
The result is a hybrid model. JD(S) retains vote banks and protection from the Congress in the region. For now. And the BJP expands ideological influence and network into the influential Vokkaliga belt.
With the alliance, BJP now gets access to Vokkaligara Sangha, a century-old caste-based association with influence in 11 districts.
It controls prestigious schools and colleges, runs key religious institutions, and counts politicians, businessmen, and influential seers among its members. Historically, this network reinforced Vokkaliga cohesion and JD(S) dominance.
Now, with BJP getting easy access to the sangha, the process of infusing Hindutva has started. Once polarized, it becomes a force multiplier for Hindutva, shaping political loyalties for generations.
Combined with JD(S) cadres, BJP can now influence social behavior and electoral outcomes simultaneously, embedding ideology into everyday life.
For the BJP, the Old Mysore region holds the key. So far, they have never been able to win enough seats in Karnataka to form the government on their own. While they have saturated the rest of the state, this region has remained elusive.
Old Mysuru has 64 Assembly and 10 Parliamentary seats. And success here can be the key to BJP’s plan for Karnataka.
This is not just an electoral strategy. It is cultural and social engineering. Historical memory, caste networks, youth identity, and ritualized public performances are being harnessed to embed Hindutva into daily life.
Communalism and sectarianism don’t tear societies apart overnight — they eat away at us quietly, from within.
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Produced by Megha Mukundan, Script by Pooja Prasanna, Edited by Nikhil Sekhar ET, graphics by Vignesh Manickam, Camera by Ajay R