THE SONG OF HINDUISM
Shashi Tharoor’s analysis ignores the many nuances of a religion that is facing fresh challenges in modernising India, says
One of the contradictions or paradoxes of contemporary society is that the burden of religion, instead of turning lighter with age and familiarity, has only grown heavier upon its followers. One would imagine that as the collective understanding of religious principles grew and as religions themselves matured, it would lead to greater flexibility and freedom in their practice. But the years have only hardened communal positions and aggravated the violent streak even among the peace-loving and peace-espousing religions of the world (think Buddhism and Myanmar).
Hinduism has not aged well either; once counted among the most open and assimilative religious traditions, its followers now wear their intolerant and violent positions openly. While many have sought to distance the religion from its modern-day practitioners as Hinduism vs Hindutva, the phenomenon is more complex than the neat explanations such neat binaries offer.
But undoubtedly there is a sociopolitical story underlying the religious extremism that holds us in thrall today. Does every religion come with its seeds of self-destruction and Hinduism is no exception? Or is it that humans are wired to fight the “other” and their religious beliefs to death? Shashi Tharoor’s book comes at a critical time when many more Hindus are asking these questions, looking to lay claim to their identity via their religion.
Tharoor knows the ways of Hinduism well and his exceptional felicity with words lets him navigate its troublesome corners with greater ease than it would do most others.
The book reflects his knowledge of the scriptures, sacred texts and the epic literature and diligently records every doubt, dithering and revelation that his readings have brought him (quite arduously so at times).
Hinduism grew and flourished quite differently from other religions, accepting that there is more than one god and that there is more than one way to find them. It has never insisted that its followers bring others into the flock or denounced people of other faiths. The miracle is that despite or perhaps because of its non-rigid nature, it survived the onslaught of Islam and Christianity and held its own. And, as this book hints, it could be because of the philosophical enquiry that informed the development of Hinduism in its early years, as seen in some of the hymns of the Rig Veda where questioning one’s beliefs or challenging a god does not amount to blasphemy.
“One consequence of this acceptance of difference is that it flies in the face of the certitudes most religions assert,” writes Tharoor. Its openness and freedom of choice, he says, makes the religion a “capacious banyan tree, sustained by multiple roots and several trunks.”
Ignore the tired cliché of the banyan tree and India but, there is a bigger problem with the narrative. While Hinduism has for the most part preached an absorptive and accommodating way of life, it has also been ruthless in the way it has brought minor religions and tribes into its fold. The religious iconography is quite explicit in the positions accorded to the minor deities as compared to the trinity (always lower, always subservient). The tree has also not been comforting refuge for all, its benefits largely showered on an elite class, leaving the others out. Also the clash between Hinduism and Buddhism in the early years showed quite clearly that no religion truly eschews force or violence.
Tharoor looks at Hinduism through an extremely personal lens, using his first contact with the religion via his immediate family to inform his present-day explorations into its meaning and influence. Devdutt Pattanaik, who Tharoor acknowledges as an influence, more than once in his book uses a similar narrative style when he talks about religion and mythology. Tharoor even calls his study of the religion “My Hinduism”, quite like Pattanaik’s books where he calls his interpretation of mythology as
“my truth”.
And there is little to object to about Shashi Tharoor’s brand of Hinduism: it is a faith that turns a kind light on all, does not force people to sing its paeans, a faith that lets people be and encourages them to do what they want as long as it does not harm others… What is there not to like? In fact if there were (warning: blasphemous thought) a fashion show for religions, Hinduism would get the shiniest crown.
Hinduism is a civilisation not a dogma, he writes, and has traditionally found its strongest critics within the fold— the Charvakas were avowed atheists within the Hindu framework. Hinduism is no monolith, its strength lying within each Hindu and not in collectivity. How, then, does one explain the rage of Hindu mobs? Hindutva is the answer, a political movement towards mass uniformity is setting fire to the underlying principles of the religion.
The answer is too glib and in that sense this book is no study of the kind that Karen Armstrong produces. Nor does it look very carefully at the emerging challenges to Hinduism from within, such as the clash between the notion of modernising India and the perpetuation of caste faultlines. The book also suffers from a glut of superlatives; “extraordinary wisdom”, “Hinduism, that most plural, inclusive, eclectic and expansive of faiths” and in parts resembles the documentaries from the glory days of Doordarshan that used every screen to convey a single truth: That India is a great country, a land of great spiritual leaders and whose people epitomise unity in diversity. Mr Tharoor for prime minister, anyone?