The figure of Yogi Adityanath, Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh, invariably triggers a familiar, polarised debate. To his supporters, he is the ‘Hindu Hriday Samrat’, a decisive administrator who has restored order and pride. To his detractors, he is a deeply divisive communalist and a symbol of majoritarian assertion that undermines India’s secular fabric. This binary, however, is a lazy and inadequate framework — a relic of an older political vocabulary that fails to capture the complexity of his political project. To understand Yogi Adityanath’s enduring influence, one must look beyond the simplistic communal-versus-secular lens.
His politics represents a far more sophisticated and potent synthesis: a unique blend of spiritual authority from the Gorakhnath Peeth, a strategic project of “subaltern Hindutva”, and a governance model framed around “Lok Kalyan” (public welfare). This model is rooted in a politics of labharthi (beneficiary) and a law-and-order situation unimaginable in Uttar Pradesh before 2017. It fulfils a public craving not just for a normal life but for a quality of life that many felt was sacrificed under the previous guise of social justice. These elements converge into a powerful form of identity politics that is fundamentally reshaping the Indian polity.
At the core of Yogi Adityanath’s identity is his role as the Mahant, or head priest, of the Gorakhnath Peeth. This is not merely a religious title; it is the bedrock of his philosophical outlook and an autonomous source of political legitimacy. The Peeth, belonging to the Nath Panth tradition, carries a legacy of spiritual and temporal influence that predates modern political parties by centuries. This role grants him an authority insulated from the whims of party politics, setting him apart from career politicians. Crucially, the Peeth’s ideology provides a philosophical bridge connecting the spiritual to the material.
The principle of ‘Lok Kalyan’ is central here. Adityanath articulates a vision in which spiritual values are not antithetical to material progress but are its very foundation. He has often stated that India’s spiritual traditions provide a “moral compass to humanity”, rooted in compassion and the principle of ‘live and let live’. He argues that “spirituality, cultural advancement, and material development all require a safe, civilised, and clean environment”. This philosophy allows him to seamlessly frame the construction of a temple and the building of an expressway as complementary, not contradictory, acts-both presented as sacred duties in the larger project of national rejuvenation. This refutes the Western-inspired dichotomy that separates the sacred from the profane, offering a holistic vision in which development is imbued with cultural and spiritual meaning.
Perhaps the most politically astute element of the Yogi model is its project of ‘subaltern Hindutva’-a conscious effort to broaden the social base of Hindu nationalism beyond its traditional upper-caste anchor. This is a strategic move to dismantle the caste-based political fortresses of parties such as the Samajwadi Party and the Bahujan Samaj Party, whose politics of social justice gradually converted into fiefdoms of specific families and castes. This re-engineering operates on multiple fronts. First, there is the radical inclusivity historically associated with the Gorakhnath Peeth itself, an unorthodox institution known for its openness to lower castes.
Second, and more crucially, was the founding of the Hindu Yuva Vahini, an organisation that gave prominent positions and a sense of agency to youth from OBC and Dalit communities, alongside their mobilisation in the Ram Janmabhumi Andolan by his guru, Mahant Avaidyanath. This created a populist, often aggressive, form of ‘non-Brahmin Hindutva’. It empowered non-dominant castes by tapping into their “anxieties and aspirations” — their desire for recognition and a share of power that they felt was denied to them by established ‘social justice’ parties. By offering a platform within a pan-Hindu identity, the Yogi model convinced a significant section of the subaltern electorate that their interests were better served by aligning with a majoritarian project than by remaining within caste-specific silos. This strategic inclusion is not about erasing caste but about subsuming it within a larger religious-political identity positioned against a perceived common ‘other’.
This leads to the third pillar of his strategy: a distinct form of identity politics that constructs a pan-Hindu social coalition while positioning itself as a corrective to the “politics of appeasement”, a term used to critique policies aimed at Muslim minorities. His discourse consistently contrasts this alleged appeasement with his government’s commitment to ‘Sabka Saath, Sabka Vikas’, reflected in his labharthi politics. The implicit-and often explicit-message is the dawn of a new era in which the majority community receives its due. This is identity politics on a grand scale, appealing to a sense of historical grievance and majoritarian entitlement. The success of this strategy is starkly evident in electoral outcomes. The BJP, under his leadership, secured a massive majority in the 2022 State Assembly elections without fielding a single Muslim candidate.
This signalled a profound shift: the Hindutva discourse had become so normalised and dominant that it could win elections without the symbolic inclusion of the largest minority, rendering traditional minority representation electorally insignificant.
To dismiss Yogi Adityanath’s politics as merely communal is to miss the forest for the trees. His model is a carefully crafted and potent construct. He has successfully moved Hindutva from the fringe of protest politics to the centre of a governance blueprint, arguing that building a temple and building an expressway are complementary projects in the grand narrative of national rejuvenation. The communal-secular binary becomes meaningless here, as the ruling ideology is presented not as a sectarian agenda but as the natural cultural soil from which development sprouts. This is complemented by an aggressive push for economic growth, with ambitions to transform Uttar Pradesh into a $1 trillion economy. Initiatives aimed at attracting private investment and undertaking massive infrastructure projects allow his government to present a dual identity: to investors, he is a business-friendly reformer; to his core constituency, the economic push is framed as the rise of a self-confident Hindu society shaping its own destiny.
The ultimate success of the Yogi Adityanath model lies in this very confluence. He has positioned himself as a leader who can simultaneously be a ‘Vikas Purush’ and a ‘Hindu Hriday Samrat’, demonstrating that, for his supporters, these identities are not contradictory but complementary. To critique this model effectively requires more than labelling it divisive. Its enduring appeal lies in its capacity to deliver-or at least convincingly promise-a package of security, prosperity, and cultural pride, all wrapped in the cloak of decisive leadership. The question for Indian politics is no longer whether one is for or against Yogi Adityanath within an outdated binary, but whether one accepts the terms of this new synthesis. His political playbook illustrates how, in contemporary India, a politics that seamlessly blends spiritual identity, subaltern aspiration, and performative governance can transcend traditional binaries and emerge as a formidable-and, for now, winning-formula.
Mahendra Kumar Singh is political commentator, former journalist and teaches Political Science at DDU Gorakhpur University; views are personal
