Mah-K'taka boundary dispute: Flogging a dead horse!

Raju Korti
The Maharashtra-Karnataka boundary dispute, centered on (now) Belagavi and its surrounding regions, is a textbook case of a dead horse flogged intermittently to stir public sentiment, with language as the perennial pivot. Rooted in the State Reorganisation Act of 1956, which redrew India’s map along linguistic lines, the conflict over Belagavi, Karwar, and Nipani has festered for nearly seven decades. Despite attempts at resolution, most notably the Mahajan Commission of 1966, the issue remains a political lightning rod, reignited periodically by symbolic gestures, violent flare-ups, and contradictory posturing, even when the same party has held power at the Centre and in Karnataka.

The latest spark came last month when pro-Kannada groups called a 12-hour bandh across Karnataka on a Saturday, protesting an alleged assault on a bus conductor in Belagavi for not speaking Marathi. Tight security shadowed the demonstrations as shops shuttered and streets filled with agitators demanding linguistic loyalty. Belagavi, a border city with a significant Marathi-speaking population, has long been the epicenter of this tug-of-war. Maharashtra claims it, along with 865 villages, based on its Marathi-speaking majority, while Karnataka staunchly defends its historical and administrative hold, refusing to cede an inch.

The dispute traces back to the linguistic reorganization of states post-Independence. Belagavi, once part of Bombay state, was incorporated into the erstwhile Mysore (now Karnataka) in 1956, following the Fazal Ali Commission’s recommendations. Maharashtra, formed in 1960, contested this, arguing that Marathi-dominated areas like Belagavi belonged with them. Karnataka counters that Belagavi’s Kannada roots, evident in its dynastic history and land records, precede the Maratha empire’s 18th-century expansion, which shifted demographics but not the region’s core identity. The Mahajan Commission, set up in 1966 by the Congress-led Centre, largely sided with Karnataka on Belagavi but suggested village swaps, a compromise Maharashtra rejected outright, calling it biased.

What’s striking is how this sore has festered even under unified political stewardship. The Congress party, which dominated both the Centre and Karnataka for decades post-Independence, failed to resolve the impasse. In 2005, with Congress at the helm nationally under Manmohan Singh and in Karnataka, efforts to broker talks between the states’ Chief Ministers collapsed. Karnataka pushed for the Mahajan report’s implementation, while Maharashtra dug in, filing a Supreme Court petition in 2006 claiming Belagavi and citing insecurity among Marathi speakers. Party lines blurred, yet contradictions abounded. Leaders from the same Congress stable issued conflicting statements -- one day advocating dialogue, the next stoking regional pride -- leaving the issue in limbo.

This pattern of political opportunism transcends parties. In 2022, BJP-ruled Maharashtra’s Eknath Shinde rolled out welfare schemes for Marathi speakers in Karnataka, prompting BJP-led Karnataka’s Basavaraj Bommai to counter with grants for Kannada schools in Maharashtra. Bommai even upped the ante, claiming 40 villages in Maharashtra’s Sangli district. The dispute unites parties within each state -- Shiv Sena and MES in Maharashtra, pro-Kannada outfits in Karnataka -- while language remains the emotional cudgel. Karnataka has doubled down, renaming Belgaum as Belagavi and building the Suvarna Vidhan Soudha there, signalling permanence.

Yet, the deadlock persists. Maharashtra leans on Article 131, asserting the Supreme Court’s jurisdiction, while Karnataka cites Article 3, arguing only Parliament can redraw borders. The case languishes in court, and neither plebiscite nor referendum seems viable given the entrenched stances. Violence, like the recent bus conductor assault, punctuates the stalemate, amplifying linguistic chauvinism.

The Maharashtra-Karnataka border row is less about geography than identity, a wound kept raw by political grandstanding. That it endured even under Congress’s long reign at both levels exposes a failure of intent, not just governance. Language, wielded as both shield and sword, ensures this horse, though dead, will be flogged again when the next election looms.