Invoking the mother as a symbol of national strength must honour all her children—across faiths, castes, and cultures—if Operation Sindoor is to truly reflect India’s plural spirit. As International Mother’s Day approaches, Vinta Nanda writes…
Operation Sindoor, launched in response to the Pahalgam terror attack, invokes India’s deep-rooted symbolism of motherhood and Shakti. But as this powerful narrative unfolds, it must reflect the country’s true diversity—embracing Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Sikh, tribal, and Dalit communities alike. The sindoor, while sacred to many, cannot be the sole emblem of Indian womanhood or patriotism. True national unity lies in inclusive symbolism that honours all traditions. As India mourns and resists, this pluralism must guide both healing and justice. Maa Tujhe Salaam must echo in every Indian heart, regardless of faith or identity.
From Yashoda to Bharat Mata – The Eternal Power of the Feminine in India

In India, the idea of the mother transcends biology. It is a deeply embedded spiritual, cultural, and emotional force—one that has guided the country’s moral compass for centuries. From ancient mythology to contemporary politics, the mother remains not just relevant, but sacred. Today, when the nation finds itself confronting new threats and traumas—such as the terrorist attack in Pahalgam that claimed the lives of 26 Hindu pilgrims—the invocation of the mother figure becomes more than symbolic. It becomes a call to arms, a reason to defend, a cry from the soul of the nation: Maa Tujhe Salaam.

Yet, even as we channel the maternal spirit to express national grief and resolve, we must ask: which mother, and whose symbolism, are we invoking? India is not a monolith. The soul of India is plural, multi-faith, and syncretic. And if the mother is to represent the nation, she must embody all her children—Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Sikh, Buddhist, Jain, tribal, Dalit, atheist, and agnostic alike.

Across India’s spiritual spectrum, the feminine has been honoured in diverse ways. In Sikhism, women are considered spiritually equal to men; the Sikh Gurus rejected gender discrimination, and figures like Mata Khivi, who sustained the langar (community kitchen), are revered for their service and leadership. In Islam, while traditional interpretations vary, feminine power is embodied in figures like Hazrat Fatima, daughter of the Prophet Muhammad, who is celebrated for her piety, strength, and maternal dignity—earning the title Leader of the Women of Paradise. Christianity venerates Mother Mary as the epitome of compassion, courage, and divine grace, central to worship in many Indian Christian communities. Jainism recognizes feminine divinity through figures like Mallinatha, the 19th Tirthankara, who is considered female by the Shvetambara sect—emphasizing spiritual potential regardless of gender. In Buddhism, female Bodhisattvas like Tara are revered as embodiments of wisdom and compassion, especially in Mahayana traditions. Each of these faiths, in their own way, honours the strength, wisdom, and nurturing power of women—offering a broader spiritual landscape in which the feminine is not only sacred, but central to salvation and service.

The earliest image that comes to mind when one thinks of maternal love in Indian lore is that of Yashoda and her foster child, Lord Krishna. Yashoda’s unconditional affection, her blind indulgence in Krishna’s mischief, and the deep emotional bond they shared made her the archetype of the Indian mother—protective yet permissive, grounded yet divine. In her lap, the god-child played freely, and in her arms, even the divine found solace.

Yashoda’s love was not transactional. It was instinctive, intuitive, and all-encompassing. She didn’t birth Krishna, but she raised him as her own—teaching generations of Indians that motherhood is a matter of the heart, not just of the womb.

This ideal of nurturing love exists across Indian traditions. It is mirrored in the courage of Sikh mothers who sent sons to battle for justice. It is felt in the devotion of Muslim mothers who raise their children in faith and dignity amid suspicion. It echoes in the songs of Dalit women whose struggles are unrecorded but whose sacrifices are foundational. If Yashoda is one expression of the Indian mother, she is not the only one. Her essence lives in every community.

From Home to Temple: The Mother as Goddess
This sentiment finds spiritual expression in Indian temples and households alike, where the mother goddess reigns supreme. Whether she appears as Lakshmi, the bringer of prosperity, Saraswati, the goddess of wisdom and learning, or Parvati, the nurturer and destroyer of evil, her feminine force—Shakti—permeates all aspects of Indian life.

Each household in India, regardless of caste, class, or geography, keeps a space for the divine feminine. But we must also recognize that the symbols used to express this reverence are not universally shared. Sindoor, for example, traditionally applied in the maang of married Hindu women, signifies marital sanctity, feminine power, and sacred duty. It is a potent emblem within many Hindu households. Yet, it does not hold the same significance—or any at all—for many of India’s religious and cultural communities. For Muslim, Christian, Sikh, tribal, and Dalit women, the sindoor may be optional, or even rejected.

When we make such symbols central to national narratives—as in the naming of Operation Sindoor—we must be conscious of what is being left out. The sindoor may represent the goddess alive in every Hindu woman, but India’s mothers wear many symbols—or none at all. The tribal woman reveres forest spirits. The Christian woman may wear a cross. The Muslim woman may drape a dupatta in prayer. The Dalit mother carries her strength without the validation of ritual adornments. All of them are Shakti. All of them belong.

The Bhagavad Gita and the Transcendence of Form
The Bhagavad Gita reminds us of this transcendence of form when Lord Krishna declares: “I am the strength of the strong, devoid of desire and attachment. I am the desire in beings that is not contrary to dharma.” (Gita, 7.11). This strength, this sacred desire to uphold dharma, is the very essence of motherhood in India—not bound by ritual or religious identity, but by action, compassion, and courage.

With time, this reverence for the feminine evolved to envelop the land itself. India—the very soil and rivers and mountains—came to be seen as a mother, Bharat Mata. It is no coincidence that when freedom fighters resisted colonial rule, they did not raise slogans of nationalism in abstract terms. They said, “Vande Mataram” – I bow to thee, Mother. The struggle was not just political; it was deeply emotional, spiritual, and cultural. To protect the motherland was akin to protecting one’s own mother.

Pahalgam: The Wound That Won’t Heal
On a recent summer day in Pahalgam, one of the most serene and picturesque corners of Jammu and Kashmir, this sacred sentiment was once again torn apart. A group of 26 Indian civilians—tourists, pilgrims—were brutally targeted and killed by terrorists after being identified by their religion. It was not just an attack on people. It was an assault on the very idea of India. Of unity. Of peace. Of dharma.

These were not soldiers. They were ordinary men, women, and children, seeking solace in the beauty of their country and in the divine energies of the Himalayas. The terrorists who struck did not merely spill blood—they desecrated the land, wounded the mother.
In response to this horror, the Government of India launched Operation Sindoor. The name carries deep emotional and spiritual resonance. To many, it evokes a sense of sacred resistance—of reclaiming what is pure, and defending what is sanctified. But it is also a deeply Hindu symbol.

If Operation Sindoor is meant to restore dignity, then that restoration must be inclusive. Let us not forget that many Indian women do not wear sindoor, nor identify with its symbolism. For Hindu widows and unmarried women, and for millions from other religious traditions, it may even carry different connotations.

Can we find language that heals all wounds, not just those that fit within a single tradition? Can we honour Bharat Mata in a way that welcomes the full breadth of Indian womanhood?
India’s spiritual imagination sees power itself as female—Shakti. She is Durga, riding a lion, slaying demons. She is Kali, wild and fierce, dancing over corpses of evil. She is Meera, singing her love for Krishna in defiance of patriarchal norms. She is Savitribai Phule, teaching girls to read in the face of caste tyranny. She is every woman who stands up, fights back, and refuses to bow down.

But she is also a tribal woman resisting displacement, a Muslim mother shielding her children from violence, a Dalit activist protesting against oppression. Her Shakti is not always wrapped in tradition. It is not only visible in temples—it lives in protests, in classrooms, in clinics, in kitchens, and in courts.
If Operation Sindoor is to live up to its name, it must not only wield force—it must restore faith. Not just in military might, but in the secular, inclusive spirit of India.

Maa Tujhe Salaam – A Living Anthem
The late singer Lata Mangeshkar’s voice rings eternal in A.R. Rahman’s song “Maa Tujhe Salaam,” a melody that tugs at the collective heartstrings of the nation. Today, as we confront terror and tragedy, this anthem must become our action. To salute the mother is not to simply chant slogans, but to protect, nurture, and honour all that she stands for.

Our mothers—biological, spiritual, divine, and national—are the threads that weave India together. And in that fabric, every thread matters. When one community is left out of the narrative of national mourning or national pride, we unravel the very unity we seek to defend.

So let Operation Sindoor be more than a military response. Let it be a reckoning. Let it remind us that symbols are powerful—but only when they unite, not divide. Let our tribute to the mother be expansive, compassionate, and true to the pluralism she gave birth to.
Maa, we salute you—in every tongue, every prayer, every silence.