The factions are busy. Some continue their theatrics — radical statements, resistance campaigns, endless petitions, and court cases that echo like hollow drums. Others sit in neat little coteries, polishing their PowerPoints for Delhi, convinced that engaging the people themselves is a futile exercise. Then there are the opportunists, forever switching sides with gymnastic grace, living proof that loyalty has long been replaced by convenience. Bureaucrats, too, perform their ancient balancing act: offending no one, pleasing everyone, generating minutes of meetings that can rival khichdi in their blandness. And finally, the so-called neutrals — serene on the surface, yet quietly entangled behind the scenes, whispering to one camp or another while insisting they are untouched.
Put together, it feels less like the City of Dawn and more like a three-ring circus. Performers spinning in their own orbits, clowns juggling grievances, acrobats swinging between factions, and tightrope walkers carefully balancing their postures of neutrality. All noise, very little music. And yet, despite its absurdity, this circus holds a strange fascination. It distracts us from the deeper purpose, that beyond the drama, there is still a possible dynamism waiting to be seized.
Strip away the roles and costumes, and the question becomes blunt, bare naked and primitive — are we ‘for’ or ‘against’ the City the Earth Needs? Many will insist they are for it, of course. They will sing its praises in every speech. But always, without fail, comes the “but.” “Yes, we are for the Dream, but—” And whatever follows the “but” is where the question lies. For or against. In that binary, masks fall away.
One could argue that every faction, every individual, is simply playing out their preordained part in a larger evolutionary drama. Each soul chose this karmabhumi, knowing well the theatre it would entail. Seen this way, the circus has its necessity. Perhaps the radicals, the bureaucrats, the opportunists, and the neutrals have all been cast in roles that force us to confront ourselves. But acknowledging that does not absolve us of responsibility. If anything, it sharpens the question — what would it take for us to come together?
It will not be easy. Fifty-plus years have given us a certain talent for inertia. Ordinariness has been refined to an art form. Squabbles are rehearsed with the same discipline as method actors’ finesse. And yet — we know this cannot be the final act. Auroville was not conceived to be another settlement of well-fed egos and exhausted committees. It was meant to be a higher stage of consciousness where human beings rise above themselves. If so, what qualities must we invoke to transcend the circus?
Perhaps the answer lies in the four aspects of the Divine Mother: Maheshwari’s Wisdom, Mahakali’s Strength, Mahalakshmi’s Harmony, and Mahasaraswati’s Perfection. Together, they form a compass for the journey. Wisdom to see clearly, Strength to act without fear, Harmony to dissolve divisions, and Perfection to keep us from settling for half-measures. Without them, we drift in the same spiral of conflict, mistaking activity for ‘Action’. With them united, the possibility of a circle emerges.
Of course, one cannot delude oneself into thinking a single individual can conjure this circle into being. Many of us have tried. We’ve organised gatherings, dialogues, and “events,” hoping to gather the collective. Reality has a way of reminding us that unity cannot be a standalone performance. It demands a collective will far larger than any personal charisma. Those who seek the throne of harmoniser often become kings and queens of their own echo chambers, too wrapped in ego to genuinely rise above.
So perhaps the work does not lie in individuals at all, but in the factions themselves. Yet here too, contradictions abound. The neutrals are too private, too atomised. Scratch their silence, and allegiances bleed through. Bureaucrats may have authority but not the stamina for the long march; they stand with a toehold, not a lifeblood. Opportunists will never harmonise; division is their marketplace. Coteries remain fragmented jungles, united only by their ability to be short-sighted. And radicals — colourful, fiery, chaotic — hold within them both the greatest danger and the faintest chance of redemption.
Why the radicals? Because they have nothing left to lose. Their privileges, their kingdoms, their exclusivities are already vanishing, if not already gone. They can either cling to the wreckage or step into a new role — not as destroyers, but as harbingers of a second beginning. They could, if they wished, turn their legacy around. They could transform “pioneer” from a curse back into a blessing, through a simple act of courage — laying down arms.
Imagine it. Imagine if those who have resisted most fiercely were to withdraw their lawsuits, silence their mouthpieces, and dissolve their shadow structures. Imagine if, with sincerity, they called for a true assembly of residents — a gathering in the spirit of Aurovilians as Aurovilians. Such a moment would disarm the coteries, liberate the bureaucrats from paralysis, expose opportunists for what they are, and awaken the silent neutrals into participation.
Unity is no utopian fantasy. It is possible. The logic of necessity and reality will birth it, even if its painful. Without it, the circus will go on indefinitely, a self-perpetuating carousel of grievance. With the semblance of unity, even imperfect, a circle takes shape. Work begins to move, not crawl. Initiatives find hands, not hurdles. Transparency replaces secrecy. Leadership shifts from manufactured appointees to willing servitors. The Dream of the Mother begins to breathe again.
Let us not mistake this for naïve optimism. Unity will not erase conflict. It will not make us saints overnight. But it would signal maturity — that after decades of rehearsing our differences, we are finally ready to practice our common destiny. For in the end, that was the point of this experiment: not to escape humanity’s flaws, but to confront them and, by some miracle of sincerity, transmute them.
So, here we stand, with a choice as stark as it is simple. Remain in the circus — juggling, posturing, endlessly circling around ourselves. Or step into the larger, wider, higher circle — not a perfect circle, not yet, but one that carries the possibility of harmony. The difference is everything. One leads to exhaustion, decay, irrelevance. The other leads, slowly, painfully, beautifully, toward the City the Earth Needs.
Many circuses have had their season, before. But, the Circle still waits. Which one shall we choose this time?
