On the night of 28 February, a group of 20-25 men gathered outside Uday Bhembre’s home in Margao, Goa. The intrusion drew the 85-year-old multi-hyphenate—a former lawyer, writer, activist, MLA, and Sahitya Akademi winner—to his threshold. There, Bhembre found himself facing off with these tense figures. Their complaint? He had dared to counter CM Pramod Sawant’s remarks about Maratha king Shivaji in a YouTube video, backed by solid historical evidence.
The mob had shown up with a videographer that telecast their accusations. The visibly agitated leader of the group, identified as Viraj Desai, the state convenor of Bajrang Dal, tallied up the grievances one by one: They first shouted that Bhembre had no right to utter the name of Shivaji Maharaj. Then they accused him of being against the Bahujan Samaj and Hindu unity. This was followed by the accusation that he was criticising the CM by using Shivaji as a pretext.
In the middle of the speech, a group member showed Desai something on a mobile phone, after which he accused Bhembre—a man who has spent decades advocating for Goan cultural autonomy—of being a Portuguese national (like the rest of Goa, pre-1961). The group capped it all off by chanting slogans like “Shivaji Maharaj Ki Jai”.
As word of the confrontation spread around the state, a circle of solidarity formed around Bhembre. At a spirited citizen’s demonstration the next day, prominent voices like MP Viriato Fernandes, MLAs Carlos Alvares Ferreira and Cruz Silva, as well as Jnanpith Award-winning Konkani writer Damodar Mauzo gathered to condemn police inaction. These sentiments were echoed by ordinary Goan citizens in social media comments, representing a groundswell of support for Bhembre—and a tacit understanding that when one voice is threatened for speaking documented truth, all democratic spaces shrivel.
‘A misconception’
In the face of organised intimidation, this spontaneous community resistance reveals what’s truly at stake: Historical accuracy, yes, but also a tradition of intellectual freedom and pluralism worth protecting. However, what unfolded that night at Bhembre’s residence was the visible edge of a trend: Who controls the past, and through it, public imagination. Some narratives are no longer available for examination; some figures elevated beyond the reach of historical inquiry; and some facts are subservient to feelings.
What exactly had Bhembre said that warranted this inquisition? His video simply challenged the narrative that positioned Shivaji as both ruler of “the rest of Goa” beyond Portuguese territories and as a saviour who halted religious conversions.
In mid-February, at a state function in South Goa celebrating Shiv Jayanti, CM Sawant had declared it a “misconception” that Portuguese ruled “entire” Goa for 450 years. He claimed that instead only three talukas were under colonial control while the rest of Goa was under “Shiv Shahi” rule. Sawant also said that it was “only due to his rule that a majority of Goans were not forced to convert.”
Bhembre’s video response was very measured: He acknowledged where the CM was right—that Portuguese control of Goa was indeed not uniform across 450 years. Portuguese rule is divided across Old Conquests—over the talukas of Tiswadi, Bardez, Salcete, and Mormugao (then a part of Salcete)—and New Conquests that added other territories after a gap of 220 years.
Where Bhembre differed from the CM was over the other statements. Citing authoritative sources like Dr Pandurang Pissurlekar’s seminal work on Portuguese-Maratha relations and the government’s own Gazetteer (republished in 2009), Bhembre argued that Shivaji never established sustained, sovereign rule over Goan territories. His strategic conquests—the capture of northern Goan territories like Kudal in 1664 and incursions into Bardez—were part of the fluid military geography of 17th century politics.
According to Bhembre, the timeline collapses under scrutiny: Religious conversions in Goa began around 1540, but Shivaji wasn’t born until 1630. “The population of the four talukas was a little less than four lakh. How long can it take to convert everyone?” Bhembre told me during an interview. “Even if you take 100 years and conversions go on until 1640, Shivaji must have been 10 years old then. How could he have stopped conversions at the age of 10?”
Bhembre also cited an incident that particularly illuminates the nuances of Shivaji’s relationship with the Portuguese. In 1667, the Maratha king’s forces entered Bardez in pursuit of one Keshav Naik Desai from Pernem who had sought Portuguese protection. Unable to capture Desai, Shivaji’s army engaged in the standard military practices of the era—looting homes, burning villages, taking villagers as prisoners, and killing three Catholic priests in the process. This wasn’t an ideological crusade against Portuguese colonial power or religious policy but a targeted pursuit that ended in violent confrontation.
Far from the simplistic narrative now being peddled, the whole incident ended with a pragmatic treaty: The Portuguese would cease protecting Desai, while Shivaji would return looted goods and prisoners, and grant permission for Portuguese commercial activities at Dabhol in his North Konkan territory. “Even Babasaheb Purandare, known as ‘Shiv-Shahir’ (Shivaji’s bard) never claimed that the Maratha king ruled over Goa,” Bhembre said.
But “you cannot fact-check your way out of a dictatorship—or even a populist government,” journalist Gerard de Souza wrote in his weekly newsletter.
De Souza said that “there’s an inherent problem” with attempting to counter the Chief Minister’s claims by citing historical sources. The CM “wasn’t attempting to give a history lesson (though he did make it seem like that’s what he was doing). He was making a political speech targeted at his political constituency (the caste constituency, rather than the geographic one he represents). And in doing so, he was making it clear who his target was. This isn’t the first time he was doing it either.”
Also read: Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, who championed a ‘Hindavi Swarajya’, wasn’t against Islam
‘Hindu king, not a king for Hinduism’
What’s unfolding in Goa around Shivaji is a spatialisation of power and consensus. In the last two years, two Shivaji statues have come up: one in a South Goa village that resulted in clashes with the local residents, and another 30-foot structure in Porvorim. The central government has also allocated a staggering Rs 97 crore for a new museum on Shivaji in Goa. But the Shivaji that emerges from these projects is a flattened figure—stripped of diplomatic nuance and secular leadership that were hallmarks of his rule.
As Kaustubh Naik, a doctoral scholar at the University of Pennsylvania explained, Shivaji affinity is not new to Goa. From the late 19th to early 20th century, several plays on the Maratha king’s life were performed across Goan villages. His appeal, especially among subaltern groups, continues to this day.
“What is new is the scaling up of the discourse around Shivaji,” he told me. “The kind of Bullet rallies that you see in Goa now began around 2017. It galvanises semi-urban and rural youngsters. And the celebration of Shiv Jayanti also represents a certain composite masculine Hindutva identity.” Naik points out that the statues by themselves are not alarming—what’s alarming are the way that they are being installed.
The irony is that these statements diminish rather than elevate Shivaji himself. Journalist and author Sandesh Prabhudesai—who identifies as “an ardent follower of Shivaji”—said that Shivaji is being projected as a saviour of Hindus who fought against religious conversions. “But Shivaji is beyond all this, he had a Muslim sarnobat, bodyguards, and armoury chief. He had Europeans in his army”.
Prabhudesai argues that Shivaji stood for “Hindavi Swaraj” or rule of the natives that included all castes and religions, including Hindus and Muslims. His army had strict instructions to not destroy religious shrines. Shiv Shahi rule extended over Gujarat, Konkan, and even Thanjavur. “Where is the question of Marathi rule? He was a Hindu king. He was not a king for Hinduism, but humanism. He was unlike any Muslim or Hindu king or Christian colonialists, but this narrative makes him so much smaller.”
The Shivaji worthy of genuine historical admiration is being sacrificed for a simplified avatar useful to contemporary power, and that’s a profound disservice to his legacy, Prabhudesai said.
True respect for history’s greatest begins with the courage to encounter these figures as they actually were—complex, pragmatic, and fully human. These confrontations echo a worrying pattern we’re seeing unfolding all over India, where historical complexity yields to politics and public sentiment. Nuance is lost and counter-narratives shut down.
But not everyone can be intimidated, certainly not people like Uday Bhembre. He recalled being attacked with rotten tomatoes and stones, when he was campaigning against the merger of Goa and Maharashtra during the 1967 referendum. “My wife asked me the next morning [after the mob visit] if I had slept ok,” he said. “I told her that I slept much better than any other day!”
This article is part of the Goa Life series, which explores the new and the old of Goan culture.
Karanjeet Kaur is a journalist, former editor of Arré, and a partner at TWO Design. She tweets @Kaju_Katri. Views are personal.
(Edited by Aamaan Alam Khan)
“Criticism is the soul of democracy”, says Modi and “Unapologetic heckling and cancel culture is the soul of democracy” says his followers. Actions speak louder than words. Judge a man by his actions not by his speech.