I’ve been reading this book called “The Periphery Strikes Back” by Udayon Misra. It examines the historical context behind secessionist movements in Assam and Nagaland. Here I am just going to voice my observations based on the first two chapters, which deal with Nagaland specifically.
A map representing a common conception of “Greater Nagaland”
Nagaland was largely left to govern itself under British rule, with minimal direct administration. However, this “ungovernment” was quite strict, as the Naga tribes were forcibly isolated from commerce and interaction with Assam and the lowland peoples. Despite this isolation, American Baptist missionaries arrived even before the independence movement, introducing Christianity. According to this text, the spread of Christianity—along with, to a lesser extent, modernist ideas and economic structures—disrupted traditional Naga tribal structures. This transformation fostered a more universalistic or individualistic (as opposed to tribal) perspective, ultimately allowing a distinct Naga national consciousness to emerge. In this sense, the very foundation of Naga national identity appears to be a product of colonialism. This is not to imply that tribalism totally evaporated amongst the Naga, actually it continued to be a thorn in the side of the movement as we will see.
Map representing the India Northeast showing the actual state of Nagaland, formed out of Assam as a result of the Naga and other local nationalist struggles. (Source)
The Ahl-i-Hadiths, Deobandis, and Barelvis engaged in a series of debates with one another over the course of the late 19th century which illustrated three sets of varying doctrinal positions. This is based on a series of thoughts I’ve taken notes on over the course of a few years reading the books and journal articles in the bottom of this section. I will try to touch upon the social background of each sect in turn, and then briefly summarize what some of their more important doctrinal differences were. I am forced to discuss doctrine for the simple reason that it is what these sects’ writers wrote most about, and it is what the scholars who study them continue write most about. However, I think that this focus on doctrinal minutia can easily mislead us from observing the more practically relevant characteristics which distinguished them from one another, namely their strategies for dealing with the colonial encounter.
Some Background:
Before delving into the differences it is necessary to make a few remarks on the common context of defeat which all three sects shared. One piece of context is the failure of the Wahabee jihads in the earlier part of the 19th century, a piece of background which almost nobody talks about for some reason. Syed Ahmad Barelvi (not to be confused with the later Barelvi movement) led a jihad against British rule, Sikh rule, and local Muslim rulers whom he considered un-Islamic. His movement gained traction in the 1820s and 1830s, particularly in northwestern India (modern-day Pakistan and Afghanistan). The goal was to establish an Islamic state based on strict adherence to the Quran and Hadith. He fought against the Sikh Empire under Ranjit Singh but was ultimately killed in 1831 at the Battle of Balakot. So that failed.
Depiction of the Battle of Balakot, part of Syed Ahmad Barelvi’s Jihadi campaign against the Sikhs, in which he was killed in battle against Maharaja Ranjit Singh
A second failure is the failure of the 1856 mutiny the Muslim ulema was starkly confronted with the weakness of their position in the post-Mughal political environment. As a whole they attributed the decline of Muslim power not to a political failure or to technological factors, but rather to a failure to live as proper Muslims. It was the desire to revive and reform true Islam amongst the Indian Muslims which constituted the overall driving motivation behind this spate of sectarian proliferation. Though all three groups were all philosophically anti-western and religiously conservative in the doctrinal sense, they were modern and “westernized” insofar as they made use of western cultural forms (education) and technologies (printing).
And then a third, which doesn’t require much elaboration, is just the overall failure of Muslim regimes to retain control over the Indian subcontinent in the first place, and their loss of sovereignty (including the end of their domination over Hindus and Sikhs) and subjugation by the British.
Shah Waliullah’s (1703–1762) school of thought is the ultimate progenitor of all three schools which I’ll be considering, though his ideas are advanced along different lines in each sect. On the one hand, it is true that Waliullah promoted the use of independent reasoning to analyze the Quran and Hadith, and wanted to make these texts more available without any commentary, at least to the Persian reading public. This is the part of his teaching which would be emphasized by the Deobandis and the Ahl-i-Hadis. On the other hand, he also valued the teachings of Islam’s historical intellectual and jurisprudential schools, and utilized them in his own Quranic interpretation. In addition, while he challenged some traditional Sufi practices, he was an overall supporter of Sufism and intended to reform rather than oppose Sufism. These are the aspects which would be emphasized by the Barelvi sect. He additionally enjoined his followers to adhere to Hanafi law in particular. On this point the Deobandis and Barelvis agreed (a rare occasion), while the Ahl-i-Hadis dissented. From this alone we can already see the general pattern forming: Barelvis adopt a more permissive traditionalist position, Ahl-i-Hadis adopt a conservative textualist position, and Deobandis adopt a conservative traditionalist position.
The early 20th century in Denver marks a fragmented period for the presence of Hinduism, a time when authentic Hindu philosophy and spirituality began to emerge alongside a flurry of sensationalist and dubious claims. The Vedanta Society made a brief but notable appearance, attempting to establish a foothold for genuine Hindu teachings, though its influence appears to have been transient. More dominant in this period, however, were hucksters and lecturers who used Hindu concepts and imagery in ways that blended Western spiritualism, occultism, and commercial opportunism. Even among these figures, it is difficult to discern where genuine spiritual intent ended and snake-oil salesmanship began. These fragments highlight a historical moment where the public’s fascination with the exotic and mysterious often overshadowed earnest efforts to introduce Hindu traditions, creating an ambiguous and complicated legacy that warrants further exploration.
The absolute earliest fragments are some scattered references (2) in very early (1894) newspaper about Hindu beliefs or publications, but they are very sparse, and view the subject hazily and at a distance.
Some other very early articles contextualizing the extremely early Vedantic and Theosophical period in the context of the concern, anxiety, or even panic surrounding New Thought, occult, and other novel turn of the century religious movements are as follows:
But for where there is more meat to the story, I will start with something a little more concrete:
The earliest reference I’ve been able to find of a Hindu actually visiting Colorado is actually a Brahmo Sajami, B. B. Nagarkar, who visited in 1894, having previously represented that tradition at the Chicago Congress of Religions the previous year. Despite the Brahmo Samaj being one of the first to bring Hindu thought to Denver and perhaps the US in general, its influence would eventually be eclipsed by the Ramakrishna movement, which gained prominence in the early 20th century, particularly through the work of Swami Vivekananda. Nevertheless, Nagarkar’s visit marks an important early moment of direct engagement between Hinduism and Colorado, predating the later widespread interest in Vedanta and other aspects of Hinduism that would follow with the Ramakrishna Mission and other movements.
I recently saw some Libertarian women carrying a sign which said “My Body = My Property”. I suppose they were doing this as a sort of alternative permutation of “My Body, My Choice” to lend themselves an explicitly Libertarian flare to their pro-abortion rights advocacy. This is also a common sentiment and justification for abortion rights which I have heard from many Libertarians. However then I thought…. “Is it really property though?” This actually seems somewhat contentious. Let me go over some perspectives in order from least to most persuasive to me. Unlike a lot of what I post here, this will just be a few spur of the moment thoughts rather than something deeply researched and considered. This shouldn’t be construed as implying any particular stance on abortion.
The sign in question
On one hand, on a Marxist critique, for instance, one might argue that by viewing the body as “property,” we’re objectifying it, treating it as an object subject to public decision over ownership and control, a thing to be utilized and exploited, an form of alienation splitting the integrated self upon itself. You can also see how this would flow into a feminist critique where the body is now becoming an object or a commodity to be controlled, purchased or exchanged.
I recently read this book, which I would like to share my impressions of. Or at least my impressions of the first essay, entitled “The Politics of Alms gathering: Asceticism, Exchange, and the Alimentary Ethics of Ancient Buddhist and Jain Mendicants”. It is a fairly short book consisting of just two essays, so it is the type of thing which is easy to read and review. The first essay was quite interesting. I feel as though a Jain reading it would be irritated and maybe have some counterarguments. Nevertheless, I’ll just present it relatively uncritically, as this is more of a summary or a book review than a full analysis which would require further follow up research.
Gandhara depiction of the emaciated Buddha, in the midst of his harsh ascetic practice prior to receiving enlightenment. (Also the profile pic of Videshi Sutra!)
Sutherland frames ancient Indian monastic communities in a way I haven’t heard before, though which in retrospect is rather intuitive. The idea is that Jain, Ajivika, Buddhist, and even Hindu renunciates all at one point in time late in classical antiquity followed a relatively similar pattern of monastic life (and continued to do so into the middle ages, and to some minor extent still do) centered around relatively extreme renunciation and ascetic practices, including wandering throughout cities and villages, isolation in the forest for extended periods of time, and a pretty extreme impulse towards maintaining some iteration of “purity”. Namely, purity of the sort which would be required to attain moksha, or nirvana, which sometimes could be termed “ritual purity” though that concept is not really inclusive enough to describe this.
Lets pause on this for a moment. This is unique and interesting to me because while we sometimes think of sramanas as sort of consisting of one distinct class of monks. We often think of them as being united by some implicit non-vedic doctrines, or perhaps a shared prehistory which is no longer accessible to us. Thinking of them as instead united by a shared practice is a different idea, an interesting one to me, and one which might offer a more obvious explanation of how it is that Brahminical ascetics were effectively part of the same system, social milieu, and world of ideas.
Continuing on, This whole ascetic programme created a problem, because now you have renunciates who basically don’t engage in the normal social world at all except in one particular respect, which is how they get their food. This link with normal society, though very thin, is a potential vessel for contamination. What if the food you take entails violence in some way? Now you’ve got that karma, that papam. What if the person giving it to you is ritually impure? Now you’ve got that on you as well. (Side note on that: Actually, just as this is a problem for the ascetic, it is also a social function of an ascetic. The ascetic, assuming he is powerful enough, has the spiritual power to “burn through” or “digest” the karma of the laity, which they themselves do not possess. In this sense giving the ascetic food relieves the laity of their papam via the symbolic act of donation, and allows the ascetic to dispense with the karmic debt in a sort of specialized form of spiritual labor. Though obviously this entails risk on behalf of the ascetic). What if you start storing up the food? Now you’ve got acquisitions and property which opens the door to materialistic living and an abandonment of ascetic practice. What if the food tastes really good? Now you’ve become mired in attachments as well. So these monks are in a situation where they have to be really really concerned about what types of food they take, who they take it from, and under what circumstances. This puts them in an odd situation where they are nominally independent and free of social strictures and conventions, while also being totally at the mercy of the productive classes of society for their food, while also being subject to risks imposed by the “sinful” acts of that same society.
The Maldives are not a country we typically associate with Buddhism. Currently, it is primarily known to the West as a culturally denuded vacation dystopia/utopia catering to the cosmopolitan elite, though in reality, it also exists alongside a somewhat extremist Islamic state. A double whammy to ensure the cultural irrelevance of anything preceding even early modernity.
The paucity of the noticeable historical impact of Buddhism vis a vis Islam in the Maldives is actually one of the most severe I’ve ever studied, of any formerly Buddhist society. Typically those who mourn over the loss of such cultural zones reference Afghanistan, perhaps northern India, Bactria, Indonesia or elsewhere in Central Asia, or Southest Asia. But the elimination of Buddhism (and Hinduism for that matter) in the Maldives is shockingly total, not only in terms of population but also in terms of archeological evidence and even historical memory. This really is not something I’m making up. In the words of Hassan Ahmed Maniku (from CONVERSION OF MALDIVES TO ISLAM, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Sri Lanka Branch , 1986/87, New Series, Vol. 31 (1986/87), pp. 72-81):
Unlike any other country, when Maldives accepted Islam it was a complete acceptance. No trace of any other religion was left. Vestiges of whatever form of worship that existed prior to such acceptance was completely erased from view.
Whatever scraps escaped this storm are still under threat up until modernity. In 1959 the below pictured Buddhist statue was discovered in an excavation. It had clearly been intentionally buried to escape the wave of destruction that swept over the Maldives in the immediate aftermath of its conversion to Islam.
Almost immediately upon discovery, the statue’s head was smashed off, and most of the brittle torso was reduced to fragments. Below is the remaining head in the National Museum, after undergoing some restoration. Though given what happened in 2012 (see below) I am unsure of its current fate.
Though an ominous, violent phrase, I think this I think represents two ends of a similar means of attaining wisdom within the broader Dharmic tradition. Two which are at opposite ends of a particular horseshoe. 1) The intoxicated Caitanya-esque ecstatic dancing, music, or trance (embodied in most epitomized form by the heterodox, antinomian and anti-textualist Baul tradition) on the one hand, and 2) The almost inhuman, absurdist form of samadhi of Chan/Zen Buddhism on the other, which produced the brutal, piercing line from which this post derives its title. Theoretically, the two share a genealogical origin in conjoined tantric traditions of Sahaja/Sahajiya Buddhism/Vaishnivism respectively. See the below diagram, with Bauls occupying the far left and Zen occupying the far right of the diagram. See the following quotation for a Chan/Zen mode of describing this condition.
An eight-sided grinding disk is the large millstone which is turned by an ox or donkey. The idea that such an object was flying and cutting through the universe was something beyond common sense during the latter portion of the Kamakura period (1185–1333). There were intense debates on which form of Buddhism was superior: the established forms of Mahayana Buddhism or the newly imported Zen Buddhism. Scholars of the established Buddhist doctrine, with the intent to “crush” the newly arrived Zen Buddhism, debated Myocho Shuho who represented the Zen Buddhism side. (Later the Imperial Court honored Shuho by awarding him the highest title of Daito, Kokushi.) The scholars, after many debates, questioned Shuho: “Zen discourses intimate kyo gai betsu den [kyo=teaching; gai=outside; betsu=separate; den=communication]. What is the meaning of that phrase?” Shuho’s instant answer was “Octagonal grinding disk cuts through the universe.” The meaning of this phrase is that regardless of how well one intellectually understands the doctrine or dogma, without actual experience the understanding remains only on the surface. Deep attachments, delusions, intellectual understanding of good or evil; stubborn self-centered ideas and teaching through sutras: they who assume they are erudite scholars can be smashed into pieces but spiritual activity is totally free. Thus this statement ended the discourse and debates between the established Buddhist sects, and Zen Buddhism consequently gained a foothold in Kyoto.
The sagacity of this ichigyo mono made Zen Buddhism acceptable to other Buddhist scholars, and Daito, Kokushi since then has become greatly respected. The goal in Zen is to search for the truth with complete disregard for scholarly dialogue or one’s station in life.
In the work at left by Gengo Akiba Roshi, the subtitle is “Furyu Monji.” This means “not depending upon literature,” and is one of the phrases in traditional Chinese ideograms that explain the characteristic nature of Zen Buddhism. Other such phrases are Kyo gai betsu den meaning “extra- curricular or outside the teaching of sutras”; Jiki shi jin shin meaning “directly reaching to the heart and soul of that person”; and Ken sho sei butsu, meaning “rediscover the existing Buddha nature within oneself.” One must surpass or go beyond doctrine and the language from the teacher, and di- rectly connect with the spirit within. The student must take the mentor’s teaching and then internalize and digest it. Then it becomes an intrinsic part of heart and soul and allows each individual to grasp the core of Buddhist teaching in order to open the passage to satori. A simple way of saying this is to point your finger to your heart and it is the Buddha.
156-157, SHODO The Quiet Art of Japanese Zen Calligraphy
I won’t be doing this kind of post often. This isn’t even related to South Asia at all except that I’m starting the list with South Asian leaders, but I’m posting it because I was annoyed at how bad the media is at doing this extremely simple job. I couldn’t find a single complete list of immediate reactions of foreign leaders to the death of Castro. They all exclude some major leaders, chop up the quotes, or even make comical errors like this ABC article which refers to “Rashtrapati Bhavan, the president of India…” So here I’m presenting all the quotes I could find from all world leaders on this topic in as complete a manner as possible. If you find an error or one I missed, add it in the comments and I’ll edit the post.
Reactions to Fidel Castro’s death from Narendra Modi, Maithripala Sirisena, Imran Khan, Vladimir Putin, Dmitri Medvedev, Michael Gorbachev, Donald Trump, Barack Obama, Jimmy Carter, Justin Trudeau, Xi Jinping, Bashar Al Assad, Boris Johnson, Jeremy Corbyn, Pope Francis, Rafael Correa, Enrique Peña Nieto, Nicolás Maduro, Salvador Sánchez, Michelle Bachelet, Michael Higgins, Alexis Tsipras, Francois Hollande, Seyed Ali Khamenei, Jean-Claude Junker and Ban Ki-moon:
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Fidel Castro and Indira Gandhi. Image Source: India.com
Narendra Modi (India):
“Fidel Castro was one of the most iconic personalities of the 20th century. India mourns the loss of a great friend.” “
“I extend my deepest condolences to the Government & people of Cuba on the sad demise of Fidel Castro. May his soul rest in peace.”
We stand in support with the Cuban Government and people in this tragic hour.”
(And President Pranab Mukherjee also said: Heartfelt condolences on sad demise of Cuba’s revolutionary leader, former President & friend of India, Fidel Castro)
Recently I was reading over the “Presidential Address of Desabhandhu C. R. Das at the thirty-seventh session of the Indian National Congress held at Gaya on 26th December 1922” also known as “Freedom Through Disobedience.” I kept highlighting key passages for my own reference, but I thought that I’d post them up here for those interested in such things but who don’t have the time or desire to read the full 75 page speech. Unless otherwise noted, all quotes here come from that speech. But if you are interested in reading a lot, you could also check out this other collection of his speeches, “India for Indians” which fleshes out some of the details of Deshbondhu’s worldview which his Gaya speech leaves out. This will be somewhat relevant to the Ancient Constitution post I made earlier.
Deshbondhu (title meaning “friend of the nation”) seems like a much more lucid thinker than practically any other Indian independence leader who has risen to prominence in the historical memory of Indian independence in the west. In many ways he ends up approaching conclusions which in the west are associated with radical federalism, anarchism, classical liberalism, or proto-fascist conservatism. If this collection of ideas seems incongruous to you, you might want to check out this essay on anarchism and nationalism called Anarchist Integralism: Aesthetics, Politics and the Après-Garde which although hostile to integralism, shows how all these ideas are related to one another. Ultimately I think that Deshbondhu’s Swaraj ideology, like the preceding Swadeshi Ideology in its Bankinchandra through its Tagore forms, as well as Subhash Chandra Bose‘s unnamed ideology, and pretty much all forms of Bengali and Indian “culturalism” including Hindutva are all Indian manifestations of integralism. Deshbondhu’s iteration seems to be a more anarchic, libertarian, and internationalist iteration of Indian integralism than the average (though not as free spirited as Tagore).
Like Burke, and the liberals I mentioned in the Ancient Constitution post, Deshbondhu believed that rule of law had to be subservient to some other concept of law (shall we call it natural law?) in order to justify obedience:
Why are the Indian Criminal Law Amendment Act 1908 and the Prevention of Seditious Meetings Act 1911 to be retained on the Statute Book? For the preservation of law and order? They little think these learned gentlemen responsible for the report that these Statutes, giving as they do to the Executive wide, arbitrary and discretionary powers of constraint, constitute a state of things wherein it is the duty of every individual to resist and to defy the tyranny of such lawless laws. These Statutes in themselves constitute a breach of law and order, for, law and order is the result of the rule of law; and where you deny the existence of the rule of law, you cannot turn round and say it is your duty as law-abiding citizens to obey the law.
Much of the cultural output from the Mayura to the Gupta period reflects the themes of Lokayata. Though it had always been prevalent amongst the population, as an aspect of Arthashastra, a pragmatic, syncretic permutation of Lokayata contributed to the ruling ideology. (1) Shastri is fully convinced of their influence:
“The Lokayatikas were a creed of joy, all sunny. Through their influence, at that period of Indian history [broadly speaking, 200 BC – 400 CE], the temple and the court, poetry and art, delighted in sensuousness. Eroticism prevailed all over the country. The Brahmin and the Chandala, the king and the beggar took part with equal enthusiasm in Madanotsava, in which Madana or Kama was worshipped. Reverences to this festival are not rare in works of poets like Kalidasa, Bisakha, Datta and Sreeharsa.” (2)
Illustration depicting a scene from a Kalidasa poem. This type of erotic content is fairly standard for poetry of this period. The poem and image source are Joshiartist.com
Poetry of this period communicates the earthly, pleasure oriented, anti-clerical ethos extremely well. What follows are four representative samples of poetry from the era of Lokayata’s greatest influence:
Videshi Sutra 
