Himachal Pradesh Governor Shiv Pratap Shukla’s suggestion that Devanagari be adopted as a common script for all Indian languages is not just impractical but also a threat to India’s linguistic and cultural diversity. His remarks, made at a seminar on Tulsidas’ ‘Ramacharitamanas’, missed a crucial point: the beauty of Indian literature lies in its multilingual richness not in forced uniformity. Tulsidas’ work itself is a testament to the power of translation and adaptation. Originally written in Awadhi, it gained pan-India popularity through Hindi, just as Valmiki’s ‘Ramayana’ found new life in Tamil, Malayalam, and other languages. Each version is unique, shaped by its linguistic and cultural context. To claim superiority of one over another—as some do by dismissing Thunjathu Ezhuthachan’s ‘Adyatma Ramayanam’—is intellectual arrogance. The Ramayana’s North Indian dominance today owes more to Ramanand Sagar’s television adaptation than to any script.
Governor Shukla is right that translation fosters wider understanding, but his push for Devanagari as a unifying script is misguided. India is home to ancient languages like Tamil, Kannada, and Bengali, each with its own rich script. Imposing Devanagari would not bridge gaps but erase identities. Punjabi’s near-extinct script in favour of Devanagari serves as a warning: language erosion follows script abandonment. When a script dies, a culture’s distinctiveness fades. A script is more than a writing system; it embodies a people’s history, ethos, and artistic expression. Imagine Tamil without its elegant calligraphy or Urdu without its Persian-inspired Nastaliq—it would be cultural amnesia. The governor, knowingly or not, echoes a homogenising agenda: one script, one language, and one culture. But India’s strength is its pluralism.
Technology has made multilingualism easier. AI tools enable translation between scripts, and digital platforms support diverse fonts. The British and French share the Roman script yet remain linguistically distinct—proof that scripts don’t guarantee understanding. Rather than imposing Devanagari, India must preserve its linguistic heritage. The ‘Ramayana’ thrives because it embraces multiplicity, not uniformity. Forcing a single script is not unity—it is cultural impoverishment. True harmony lies in celebrating differences, not erasing them. Instead of advocating for a single script, policymakers should focus on strengthening regional languages through education, digital inclusion, and literary promotion. Scripts are living legacies; losing them would mean severing ties with centuries of wisdom. India’s Constitution recognises this diversity, granting equal respect to all languages. The government must invest in technology that facilitates script diversity, ensuring that future generations can access literature in its original form. A common script may seem like an easy solution, but linguistic unity cannot be achieved by sacrificing cultural identity. India’s greatness lies in its ability to harmonise differences—let’s not undermine that with reductive solutions.
