In the chaotic early months of the COVID-19 pandemic, when laboratories across the world were racing to develop vaccines and antiviral drugs, India witnessed an extraordinary episode that would have been dismissed as satire in most democracies.
A schoolteacher in Goa claimed that a Hindu seer had appeared in his dream and revealed a formula to cure COVID-19 using common kitchen spices.
Ordinarily, such a claim might have remained confined to WhatsApp forwards or neighbourhood gossip. Instead, the Indian government treated it with remarkable seriousness. A Union minister was sent from New Delhi to collect the formula, which was then forwarded for laboratory testing.
Scientists later concluded that the concoction had no proven efficacy against the virus. But the larger damage had already been done.
At a time when doctors at premier institutions like the All India Institute of Medical Sciences were struggling to save lives with limited resources, the spectacle of a dream-inspired remedy receiving official attention symbolised a deeper shift in India’s intellectual climate.
For many scientists, educators, and historians, the incident was not an aberration.
It was part of a broader ideological project unfolding steadily under Prime Minister Narendra Modi and the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party, where mythology increasingly competes with evidence, and where education is being reshaped through the lens of Hindutva nationalism.
Scientific theories, historical interpretations, and even language education have all become battlegrounds in an attempt to redefine India’s intellectual identity around what the government calls the “Indian Knowledge System”.
More than 1,800 scientists and educators eventually signed open letters warning that India’s scientific temper was being systematically weakened. Among the most vocal critics has been the Breakthrough Science Society, which argues that the state is undermining critical thinking by elevating mythology to the status of science.
“A nation advances when science flourishes,” said Professor Soumitro Banerjee of the Indian Institute of Science Education and Research.
“Science questions belief, tests it, and only then accepts it.”
India spends less than one per cent of its GDP on research and development, far below countries like the United States, Germany, or South Korea
Banerjee warns that the growing emphasis on astrology and Vedic cosmology under the Indian Knowledge System framework risks marginalising modern astronomy itself.
Prime Minister Modi himself led irrational thinking when, just months after assuming power, while addressing a gathering of doctors in Mumbai, he suggested that ancient India possessed advanced plastic surgery. He cited that the Hindu deity Ganesha is depicted with an elephant’s head attached to a human body.
“We worship Ganeshji; there must have been a plastic surgeon in that era,” Modi said.
In 2018, Rajasthan Education Minister Vasudev Devnani claimed cows inhale and exhale oxygen and that cow dung possesses anti-radiation properties.
Former Union minister Uma Bharti urged scientists to investigate whether the river Ganga originates from Mansarovar in Tibet, as mentioned in Hindu mythology, rather than from the scientifically established Gaumukh glacier in Uttarakhand.
The consequences are increasingly visible in classrooms.
School textbooks have undergone repeated revisions, often with little transparency or consultation.
References to Darwin’s theory of evolution have been reduced in some curricula. Sections on the Mughal Empire have been removed or shortened. The Periodic Table and parts of modern scientific theory have reportedly disappeared from some school textbooks during successive revisions.
Educationists say the problem is not merely ideological. It is also administrative.
The National Council of Educational Research and Training, long regarded as India’s premier curriculum body, traditionally revised textbooks through an elaborate process involving scholars, teachers, and subject experts. Critics say that the process has increasingly been bypassed in favour of hurried, politically driven changes.
Professor Anita Rampal, a veteran educationist who has served on several curriculum committees, says the consequences are severe.
“Curriculum revision used to be a careful and scientific exercise,” she said.
“Now changes are rushed, planning is inadequate, and textbooks often do not reach students on time.”
The disruption has left teachers struggling and students confused. In several states, new textbooks reportedly arrived months after academic sessions had already begun. For millions of students in senior grades, delayed textbooks have meant losing critical classroom time in already competitive academic environments.
At universities, too, the atmosphere has shifted.
Academics complain of increasing pressure to align research and teaching with ideological expectations. Historians who challenge official narratives face harassment online and sometimes institutional scrutiny. Courses focusing on medieval Muslim rulers or caste oppression have become politically sensitive.
Meanwhile, funding for research remains stagnant.
India spends less than one per cent of its GDP on research and development, far below countries like the United States, Germany, or South Korea. Even a country like Türkiye spends nearly 2 per cent of its GDP on research and development.
The growing resources are being diverted towards projects designed to validate traditional beliefs.
The battle is no longer merely about textbook chapters or laboratory grants. It is about whether India’s future will be shaped by inquiry or obedience, by evidence or mythology
In 2020, the Ministry of Science and Technology informed Parliament that it had launched projects studying the medicinal properties of cow urine and cow dung, including their possible role in treating diseases such as cancer and tuberculosis.
Scientists say such projects consume already limited funds while yielding little credible scientific output.
Ironically, even scholars working within the government-backed Indian Knowledge System complain of inadequate support. Researchers say most projects receive minimal grants, insufficient even to maintain laboratory infrastructure or hire staff.
The result is a research ecosystem trapped between ideological pressure and chronic underfunding.
But perhaps nowhere is the crisis more visible than in India’s examination system.
This month, the government’s National Testing Agency once again found itself under fire after irregularities emerged in the National Eligibility cum Entrance Test, or NEET, one of the country’s largest medical entrance examinations.
More than 2.2 million students sit for NEET each year, viewing it as the gateway to India’s medical colleges and a path towards social mobility. Yet allegations of paper leaks and manipulation have repeatedly shaken the system.
The controversy echoes the 2024 NEET scandal, where leaked question papers and suspiciously high scores sparked nationwide protests. Despite public outrage, critics say little accountability followed.
Delhi University professor and parliamentarian Manoj Jha says the system is collapsing under a lack of transparency.
“The National Testing Agency has no accountability,” Jha said. “Admissions are delayed, sessions do not begin on time, and students pay the price.”
Since 2014, India has witnessed more than 89 reported examination paper leaks affecting over 17 million students across different states and recruitment systems. For students and parents, merit increasingly appears vulnerable to corruption and administrative failure.
The emotional toll is immense. Students spend years preparing for examinations that can determine their careers, only to discover that leaked papers or procedural lapses may invalidate their efforts overnight.
Experts argue that the erosion of scientific temper cannot be separated from the broader weakening of educational institutions.
Until recently, India’s Education Ministry was considered one of the government’s most intellectually significant portfolios. Leaders such as Maulana Abul Kalam Azad helped shape the foundations of post-independence education policy, while later ministers oversaw major reforms in higher education and affirmative action.
Today, many academics feel the ministry has lost both authority and vision.
“The concerns of students rarely find space in political discourse,” said Manoj Jha. “It may take another generation to undo the damage being done.”
The deeper concern extends beyond classrooms or laboratories. India’s Constitution explicitly calls for the development of “scientific temper” among citizens, reflecting the vision of leaders like Jawaharlal Nehru, who saw rational inquiry as essential to nation-building.
That vision helped produce generations of scientists, engineers, and doctors who built India’s reputation in medicine, information technology, and space research. Institutions such as the Indian Institutes of Technology became globally respected symbols of meritocratic education.
Today, many fear that legacy is at risk.
The battle is no longer merely about textbook chapters or laboratory grants. It is about whether India’s future will be shaped by inquiry or obedience, by evidence or mythology.
The Goa dream remedy episode remains instructive because it captured this transformation so vividly. In moments of crisis, societies reveal what they trust most. While much of the world turned towards laboratories, clinical trials, and evidence-based medicine during the pandemic, sections of India’s political establishment looked towards visions, myths, and divine revelations.
For observers, that was not just an embarrassing anecdote. It was a warning about the direction in which the country’s intellectual foundations are heading.