VIEWPOINT
Romit Bagchi
The clash between a thesis and its competing antithesis often results in chaotic confusion, from which a unifying synthesis is born, reflecting the dialectical model of intellectual and historical progress.
After a long, stagnant hiatus, Bengal-a land of revolutionary ideas and free thinking unburdened by the past legacy, even capable of extreme iconoclasm-has been experiencing an intense churning. When established orders break down, volatility follows. Things seem pell-mell and devoid of clarity, with ideas challenged by conflicting notions that assail our subjective world. This is not chaos; it is a filtering process, helping a collective stable order to emerge. This order will, however, last only for a time before it gives way to the same dialectical dynamism: thesis, antithesis, and synthesis.
The observance of state foundation day is the latest major political flashpoint to hit Bengal, stemming from a fierce clash over historical narratives and conflicting ideologies. This argumentative turmoil reveals deep-rooted ideological divides that extend far beyond calendar dates. While for the BJP, the day signifies Syama Prasad Mookerjee’s resolute campaign that ultimately led to the state’s formation through partition, its critics see in the observance an attempt to over-simplify a nuanced historical process for narrow political motives. The political climate is so charged that Mookerjee’s patriotism is being questioned, with some critics going so far as to label him a staunch agent of British imperialism. They allege that he collaborated with colonial authorities at the expense of the freedom struggle, purposely avoiding participation in it to serve imperialist agendas.
The heat of these fiery debates touched me too, even though I am physically away from Bengal. Suddenly, a Bengali book titled ‘Where are Hindus heading?’ that I read many years ago flashed through my mind. It contained several articles about the problems plaguing the nation as it struggled to free itself from colonial rule through a variety of means, including revolutionary, Gandhian and Communist approaches.
The writer was Acharya Debaprasad Ghosh, a close friend of Mookerjee; they were travellers towards the same goal, sustained by the same ideology. A multifaceted scholar, who never stood second in the exams he took as a student, Ghosh served as the national president of Bharatiya Jana Sangh for many years following its founder’s untimely death. Nirad C Chaudhuri, whose caustic pen rarely spared anyone from his witty banter, had once spoken volumes of Ghosh’s brilliant intellect. He remarked that had Ghosh not strayed into politics and remained solely focused on mathematics, the world would have gained another Srinivasa Ramanujan.
Standing at a historical crossroads, the country’s chosen strategy carried monumental consequences for the generations destined to inhabit free India. Ghosh’s arguments were cogent and simple. As the British came, they would leave in due course; they had not come here to settle down permanently. But what kind of India would they leave behind- with Hindus and Muslims vying for supremacy? He felt that it was quite natural for Muslims, having ruled India for nearly a thousand years, to desire a return to power—either over the entire subcontinent or, at least, within Muslim-majority regions after the British departure. The Hindus should accept this reality and tailor their anti-colonial strategy in tune with the demands of the volatile times, he reasoned.
Ghosh asked whether the Hindus should blindly fight the British for immediate, complete independence, which seemed a chimera, while rejecting administrative reforms designed to aid their gradual progress toward full self-governance. In his view, if the Hindus chose to fight the British impulsively, the wily British would continue to court the Muslim leadership; as a result, the possibility of a united India—founded on the inclusive Indian culture—would be doomed. It would either strengthen the hand of the conformist Muslims at the expense of the rebellious Hindus within the administrative structure of a free and united India, or it would result in a partitioned freedom with ominous consequences for the Indian subcontinent. He advised the Hindus to progressively learn modern democratic governance within the British system to prepare themselves for eventual self-rule under what was called ‘responsive cooperation’ instead of going for an all-out boycott.
Now, a question arises: even if his arguments are accepted, did his proposed line of action endorse the two-nation theory by stressing the distinction between Hindu and Muslim ‘nations’? Did that not amount to pitting the Hindu and Muslim ‘nations’ against each other in a bid for aggressive dominance?
Things would not appear to be so when viewed from the perspective of those who led the Swadeshi movement in Bengal. They supported the simultaneous growth of each community, aligning with their vision of a ‘federation of religious movements’ representing their respective groups. Bipin Chandra Pal affirmed that there was nothing wrong in the growth of Hindu nationalism. However, he was well aware that such resurgence would revive Muslim pride in their own history and culture, and they would inevitably view Hindu ascendancy as a threat to their future. “For the realisation of this federal ideal of nationalism, it is necessary that the different Indian communities must evolve in their own way, along their own lines, preserving and developing to the full their respective personalities, be autonomous social units themselves, and then join the others as members of a great federation,” he observed. He refused to be perturbed by Muslims staying away from the Swadeshi movement. “I do not regret that our Mohammedan friends practically kept away from it. But what I regret is their spirit of antagonism. What the situation really required of them was the initiation of a real Moslem national movement, along parallel lines, moved by the same spirit, working for the same ultimate end, but organised in Islamic forms, with the symbols and sacraments familiar to higher Islamic thought and culture,” he noted.
While welcoming the formation of Muslim League in Bengal, Sri Aurobindo made things even clearer in an article titled ‘Swaraj and the Musulmans’: “We do not fear Mohammedan opposition so long as it is the honest Swadeshi article and not manufactured in Shillong or Simla. We welcome it as a sign of life and aspiration…In that faith, we are ready, when the time comes to us to meet in the political field, to exchange with the Musalman, just as he chooses, the firm clasp of the brother or the resolute grip of the wrestler. India’s new nationalism is not afraid of Pan-Islamism or any signs of the growth of a special Mohammedan self-consciousness, but rather welcomes them.”
It is time to reflect. Was not this vision of federation of communities, grounded in a broad framework, and ‘brotherly confrontation’ when necessary, far more pragmatic than helplessly capitulating to aggressive demands and rioting? Did not the strategy of appeasing fanatical demands under the guise of Hindu-Muslim unity only serve to empower fundamentalism, undermine national unity, and deepen social divides?
Though crying over spilt milk is futile, it is worth exploring the potential consequences of adopting this federal ideal of nationalism on the subcontinent. Perhaps partition could have been avoided; even if it were not, the cataclysmic suffering in its aftermath- the displacement of 15 million and the massacre of nearly two million people-could have been substantially mitigated.
