If you are a fan of Arundhati Roy, you must be aware of a story that she told from the 2002 Gujarat Riots, in which a woman named Sayeeda was caught by a mob and her stomach was ‘ripped open and stuffed with burning rags’. Not just this, but also that after she died, ‘someone carved ‘OM’ on her forehead’. However, investigations by the police revealed that no such case, involving someone called Sayeeda, had been reported either in urban or rural Baroda. But you remember the story – that’s the narrative.
I believe narratives are the invisible architects of human civilization. They mould our perceptions, ignite our passions and at times, they even blind us to see the truth. From the epic tales of our civilization to the viral posts of the digital age, narratives have always shaped how people imagine and act. Stories have always had a strong power to influence people and sometimes that, too, with serious consequences. But, how do these carefully crafted words and images mislead entire populations? The ability lies in their ‘emotional impact’, their ‘simple appearance’ and the ‘human need’ to find meaning in a confusing world.
That a narrative is more than just a story. It’s a compendium of events and characters arranged to deliver a specific message. At its core lies a simple pattern: a beginning that catches attention, a middle that builds tension and an ending that either solves the conflict or leaves you thinking about it. Now, why does this ‘more than just a story’ feel natural? Because it mirrors human life. Think of any situation from your life and you’ll be able to connect. Psychologist Carl Jung has explained this phenomenon beautifully. Jung says the most powerful ideas come from archetypes – ‘basic patterns we all understand’.
Whether it’s the hero’s journey or the fall of a villain, stories connect with these deep, shared images in our minds. Though, this simplicity can also be dangerous as when complex realities are turned into simple stories, important details are often left out. For example, the rule of the Mughal Empire has been shown only as a ‘golden age’ of art and architecture, where the narrative-driven historians have focused on monuments like the Taj Mahal as a ‘symbol of love’. At the same time, communal conflicts, temple destructions, jaziya and resistance movements have either been minimized or completely ignored. Now, think once people get emotionally attached to such fabricated versions, won’t it shape how they see their identity, culture and even their present? You are right.
What also important is that the real power of a narrative is not always in its ‘accuracy’, but in how well it ‘persuades’ someone and that is where the risk of ‘deception’ begins.
Then, narratives don’t merely inform, they enchant. Neuroscience reveals why stories trigger the release of dopamine and oxytocin in the brain, chemicals linked to reward and trust. And this biological reaction transforms a tale into an experience for a person, one that lingers long even after the facts fade.
Maya Angelou captured this essence well when she said, ‘I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did but people will never forget how you made them feel’.
This emotional hook is or becomes its secret weapon and bypasses reasoning to lodge itself in the heart. Take, for instance, the very dominant narrative in India that upper castes, especially Brahmins, Rajputs, and Baniyas, have continuously and systematically oppressed marginalized communities for centuries. Today, this is not just a theory. Through repeated storytelling in textbooks, media debates, political speeches and social media, the members of these communities have started seeing society only through that ‘one victmized single lens’. Identity, for them, has been reduced mainly to victimhood and collective blame. And like this, now, it shapes how they think, react and judge the various upper caste communities. The slogans, the hate and abuses we hear against Brahmins, Rajputs and Baniyas regularly are a byproduct of such hardened narratives only.
Today, narratives spread faster than ever because of media and technology. Corporations, politicians, historians and influencers all compete for attention, each presenting their own version of reality. Social media platforms like X and Instagram push stories that trigger strong reactions – anger, excitement, pride or fear. Their algorithms focus on engagement. As a result, the ‘most dramatic narratives’ often spread faster. ‘Modi ji ne war rukwaadi papa’ was made a joke by YouTuber Dhruv Rathee, when it was true that the Prime Minister did make Putin ‘stop the firing’ during the Russia-Ukraine war, to bring the Indian students out of the war zone.
Narratives grow stronger through conflict and conflict grows stronger when things are made too simple. As Walter Lippmann has said, we are often prisoners of the picture in our own heads; we believe the world we have experienced is the only real one. In this way, narratives do not just mislead us; they trap us inside a fixed way of thinking. But the question that arises then is this: why do we fall for narratives so easily? Because the real battlefield is our ‘mind’.
In the words of Swami Chinmayanand Saraswati: ‘Mind is man. As the mind, so is the individual. If the mind is disturbed, the individual is disturbed. If the mind is good, the individual is good’.
It is cognitive biases, like confirmation bias, that make us prefer stories that match what we already believe. We want clarity and order. We need a simple explanation for a complicated world. So when a story feels emotionally satisfying and consistent, it feels true even if it is incomplete. For example, our sidelined legacy. When our ancient achievements were praised as something far behind us, while the medieval period was repeatedly described only as a ‘dark’ or ‘worst’ age, where our rulers lost to invaders without fully discussing the political conditions, internal divisions, or military realities they faced, we, the Hindus, slowly internalized a sense of decline and defeat. Even after independence, this pattern continued. School books briefly mentioned resistance movements, while the cinema often highlighted Mughal grandeur—Azeemo Shaan Shenshaah should strike a chord—rarely giving equal attention to the courage and resilience of our regional kings and their resistance.
As a result, when people consumed this one-sided portrayal, they began to see their history as a chain of losses rather than a story that also includes resilience, resistance and survival. And this sense of inferiority did not stop at history alone; it slowly spread into culture as well. When people started seeing their past as a series of defeats, they also started doubting their traditions, languages, dresses and customs. Native practices were labeled ‘backward’, while foreign habits turned into something ‘modern and superior’. And eventually, this mindset affected confidence. Festivals became ‘regressive’, rituals became ‘superstition’, and traditional knowledge was dismissed without understanding. In a nutshell, instead of reforming what needed reform, people began to reject everything as outdated.
In this way, repeated narrative did not just reshape how we saw our history; it also reshaped how we ‘value’ our culture and most importantly, ourselves.
I am confident that we may never escape stories because they are part of human nature. But we can certainly choose ‘awareness’ over ‘impulse’. When we understand our own biases, fears and desires, we become less vulnerable to manipulation. My message for you: pause before reacting, question before sharing and seek what is missing from the version you are told.
Clarity does not come from louder voices; it comes from deeper thinking.
Narratives are not harmless stories floating in the air – they shape nations, identities and conflicts. They can inspire courage, but they can also plant divisions through emotions, repetitions, and selective memory. They slowly guide how societies think and survive because we accept them, repeat them and pass them on.
Always remember: narratives are mirrors of our making. They reflect our fears, hopes and flaws, whether in ancient courts or WhatsApp forwards. Whether we wield them as masters or fall as pawns depends on our willingness to see beyond the tale – to question, to probe and to rewrite. In a world filled with stories, the greatest deception is thinking that we cannot be deceived. One quote that all Hindu philanthropists concerned with India as a civilization should consider is this: ‘Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.’ It was George Orwell who said this. Orwell still remains relevant.
