What is the ultimate goal of Maoists of India?

“O Jagannath! Thus prays your servant (Kapilendradeva) throughout the kingdoms of Oriyas! I maintained, from the days of my youth, these nations and have given wealth. Now they have broken the peace, they have disobeyed your word, they have forsaken me. I declare intent to deal with them, and punish them, each in accordance to the aspect of their deeds and the laws as have been laid down. O Jagannath! Am I right or wrong?”

-Gajapati Kapilendradeva Routray, 1492 VS

Before reading this, I suggest you read Shri's answer. His is much better than mine TBH.

In the year 1231 VS- can't bother with what that is in Gregorian- Anangabhimadeva II Chodaganga, Lord of the Three Kalingas- commissioned the largest ever land survey ever organised in Orissa, in order to help restore Oriya agriculture after the century-long Kalinga-Chola Wars. Some readers might be better acquainted with the career of his grandson, Anangabhimadeva III, who cemented his place as one of the great fascists and Nazis of the Continent by crushing the Mlecchas when they tried to spread peace in Orissa.

Anyway…

From the Damodar Valley to the Godavari Delta to Amarkantak, it was determined that the Realms of Oriyas and their vassal states covered 62,28,000 vatis with 47,80,000 vatis being of potential use for Crops, Livestock, Forestry, Cities, etc.

The rest 14,80,000 were determined to be too mountainous or swampy or - interestingly- 'too lazy a populace' for development.

Reminder that this was Imperial Orissa which had no issues sending thousands of people scuttling all over the land to establish colonies and settlements. And yet, they adjudged the populace of a quarter of the land simply too inherently unfit for development to bother sending Oriyas or Brahmin settlers.

Again- literally “not worth development.”

The State Officials at Puri & Cuttack instead elected to just contact the tribal chieftains in those areas, hand over liaison authority to the local State officers, and guarantee food aid, iron, medicine in return for wood, furs, amber, honey etc. The Superintendent of Forests was tasked with this purpose, at least during the 12th Century.

Of course, we know that the Oriya Bureaucracy collapsed in the 16th Century but as it was, even in the 19th Century, the Forested Hill lands were arguably the most peaceful and stable in Orissa & ex-Oriya lands in modern Andhra, Jharkhand, and Chattisgarh.

But enough of Imperial Orissa. We live in a Democracy now and Kali Yuga is in full flow.

Now, we must first define the term “Marxist”. Broadly one can recognise five types of the aforementioned creatures.

1- The “Urban Naxal”.

These wonderful scholars wish for nothing but freedom, human rights, and possibly of the people- especially themselves & their misbegotten kids. They can be typically found attending international conferences on how Teletubbies promote Fascism, in Lutyens bungalows propositioning dumb college feminist interns, in tax payer-funded colleges discussing how to shank the tax payers, and in NGO HQs in state capitals telling tribal leaders how they're with them all the way.

They want the same thing the feminists marching alongside the Islamists during the Iranian Revolution wanted from the Shah. The destruction of the Republic & it's replacement by a more “human” State. What they'll achieve is the massacre of hundreds of thousands, decades of oppression (& very likely genocide), and the balkanization of the Country.

Once they achieve their ends, most Urban Naxals will - like the feminist liberal bourgeoisie in Iran- flee to the West to attend TED talks and bemoan the end of “Democracy” in India to Islamist/ Christian Theocratic/ Stalinist Balkan Republics that'd have sprung up then, still engaged in spreading their virtuous gibberish to…

2- The “Future of the Country”.

Our worthy Youth. Pride of the country. Creme de la creme of the Land. Virtuous on account of having passed some random exam. Distinguished by the accident of fortunate birth. Ignorant of who his great grandfather was but all too eager to wax eloquent on the joys of the gulag and the Party committee.

The more mechanical gifted among them invariably turn into hedonistic psychopaths, but on the plus side, they often migrate and spare us their inanity.

Their more Artsy counterparts stay on; ranting and screaming on media and the streets, confident that the State will shower then with our money and secure them from our fists. The women among them spend their days preaching the dubious joys of feminism and Bakunin and Mao, and their nights spreading their legs to every wonderful scholar introduced to them by their WhatsApp group SPOC feminist high Priestess. When they're 30, their parents marry them off to unsuspecting small town IT workers or, if that's not possible, beat their breasts and cancel their retirement plans to feed the chick.

The guys go down roughly the same route - except they usually turn druggie or drunkard or petty criminal. But guys usually have another route…

3- The “Firebrand”.

Whereupon they can enjoy all the privileges accorded to the Urban Naxal without the hassles of conferences or PhDs or having to write shitty poetry. The eminent scholar Jayanta Mahapatra had to pen thousands of lines on purple flamingoes & parakeets flying upside down to justify his Padma Bhushan, the one he returned recently.

A more ethical Youth- one that has no desire to torment generations of school kids with meaningless modern literature or dubious ethnic pride- can simply turn up at the nearest Maoist hub with a letter of reference.

Before he leaves, he can enjoy the attention of awed tribal yokels, the pats on the back by grey-haired scholars, the sparkling kohl-rimmed eyes of feminist chicks.

When he arrives, he spends the first fortnight in bliss- carried down to wondrous depths of the silent hills & lonely woods where the fabric between Real and Surreal grows thin, where strange faces of joyous, heartless, ever-young mortal eternities sport still. But our young lad is no Imperial Oriya officer; he knows not the unending sacrifices of the Eternal War against the Mleccha nor the ageless aged laughter of a grandmother as she tells children of their ancestors nor does he love the mysterious smile of Jagannath as he laughs at us wretches from atop his great mountain blue throne nor the slow churning of the firmament of Surya as he gazed down, iron red, upon a World that deserves nothing but the mercy of annihilation…

And he goes insane, his utterances of Mao & Marx go beyond his feeble delusions of Dualistic non-reality. He looks into the mirror & he sees terrible ungraspable phantoms that he sports with. In the mist-haunted half-twilights, hide CRPF jawans and tribal half-allies and the armies of long-dead Gajapatis and the hosts of Raghu on the eve of their war with Indra. At night, he lies with one chattering voiceless tribal woman and then another and then falls out with a screaming voiceless tribal man and, over him, slays another; and Reason, absurd and frantic, dawns upon him and thus he grows not as bitter and cynical and suicidal as any Imperial Oriya sub-collector who's had to leave his fine Khurda house to take a seat in the middle of nowhere, but ascended, beyond woe or Dharma or Mao or Madness…

In the night, there are shots. A telegram is sent to Delhi & Calcutta & such places as where the Rich gather, that their student was slain by the fascist Hindu State. The body is thrown into the woods, and a cigarette lights up the face of…

4- The “Gardener”.

Now when it comes to men, it can generally be said they are fickle, wicked, cruel, false, greedy, ingratiate, and cowardly. However, above all, they are flowers.

Some grow in ranks, others among weeds. Some have thorns- sharp and cruel, some to the convictions of other's. Some are of sweet smell. Some can be made into wine. Some please women, some are crushed.

A wise man, thus, should be a gardener.

He should destroy the spreading weeds of asphalt & steel marching into his garden; there are many of them and the work is hard. But it must be done: in light, some flowers don't grow. He must root out brambles bringing discord to his beds; the flowers will appreciate it and offer him strapping boys and tender girls. He must learn to bandy words with the elderly schemers who sell him his equipment; they'll tear his garden & steal his flowers given half a chance. Thus they must be sated- but not at the cost of his own bed.

When twilight comes, he sings to his flowers about the great Flowerland in the sky where no flower is ever plucked. When the buds droop, he crushes the prettiest and warns against crows.

In earlier days, there were lions and they slew gardeners at sight. But now there are but crows- insane and wild- and as it is, they are engaged in feeding on corpses elsewhere. Some fly over now and then, but the garden remains at peace

A garden is prettiest when there is but one to rule it.

5- The “Garden of Earthly Delights”.

Gobinda Babu, having served his gods & nation faithfully for over three decades, was retiring as Junior Secretary of Forests in the year 1291 VS, handing over his charges to the incredibly young, yet already much-reknowned, Vidhyadhara Patnaik.

Time and the ravages of Peacefuls & the Government of India have ensured that we know nothing about the career of Honoured Gobinda nor of the early deeds of his protege Vidhyadhara yet it is a matter of record that the then-young man would go on to be Head of Accounts for the construction of Konark Surya temple.

As it is, we can imagine the two riding along the river Kuakhai on a quiet evening. Both had been to Cuttack to meet the Emperor- this was before the establishment of the position of Gajapati, when mere humans still persisted under the delusion that any save Jagannath himself could claim Reign over the Oriyas- and had decided to travel to Bhubaneswar to pray to Mahadeva at Lingaraja, before Vidhyadhara departed for his new post at Angul and Gobinda left to take up retirement at his small Zamindari near the river Budhabanlanga.

As the horses drifted without direction in the direction of the languid current, we can imagine the young Vidhyadhara, in the prime of his life and curious about the World outside the barracks & battlefield, eagerly asking his questions from his elder.

At length, he asked: “Is there anything I must keep in mind, Lord, as I travel to the Hills?”

The elder bowed his head in thought, and then spoke after a while: “In this World, young sir, there are many people and many manners of people and as many ways of living as there are manners.

Most of them desire War.

Given time, maybe this warlike beast that dwells within men can be seduced; we can bid it to come over to warm beds and warm rice and soft pillows and shaded pillowhouses. But in the harsher lands of this World, the beast grows gaunt and ever-hungry and gnaws at its siblings even as it sleeps in the womb.

Four hundred years when half of Orissa fought the other half- or even during my youth when our conflict with the Sea-Emperor of the Tamils had yet to end, our lands and our people suffered greatly. And yet it was the fierceness of the War, the Terror and Grief and Fear that, now I feel, were what succoured us.

Imagine a World where the Keshari Lords of old didn't pick up the Crown from the mud of the blood-stained fields where they broke their foes. Imagine a World where there were well-wishers from the North & South, telling us to shake hands over a trench and empty our barracks of violent soldiers to house their virtuous peace-keeping Auxiliaries.

Would Cuttack have stood then instead of being a battle line across which Ganjam and Virajapura glared at each other? Would children play into mango orchards at Khurda instead of being sold to foreign well wishers? When the Turashkas came, would we have been to face them if we were a thousand states born in a false peace instead of one People forged from a true War?

Men respect Strength, child, and nothing more. Despise Cruelty for you're a Bharata. Despise Ignorance for you're an Oriya. Despise Sloth for you're a Karana. But above all, despise Weakness and any sign of Weakness, for that is the mark of he who would be Arya.

Having heard all this, do what you see fit.