Knowledge as Heritage

 

It is repeatedly said that education is critical to the making of a civilization. In its different forms through the centuries it has been and is central to our understanding of the world in which we live, and in some ways, how we experience it. This in turn inculcates in us the values necessary to all human interaction. For all our talk about having inherited a great civilization, we are the least concerned with giving priority to quality education that leads us to enquiry and encourages us to think outside the mould, which was precisely what had contributed to the making of our past achievements.

This chapter on education is divided into two parts. The first part looks at what is lacking in the content of education at present, and why educational institutions play a miniscule role as agencies of culture. They have neither been able to perform with success, their expected task of educating the public to make them responsible citizens, nor have they encouraged the non-conservative quality of thinking that advances knowledge and explores theories of explanation that is so central to understanding ourselves and our requirements. Among those that have marginally succeeded in doing the latter some are being currently barred in various ways, not least with state support, from continuing to do so. Of the population barely half can claim to be educated, and many of these minimally so. In this first part of the chapter I shall comment briefly on education and knowledge that existed in India in premodern times to the present day, and suggest what needs to be done to systematically improve the quality of current education.

The second part of the chapter is more personal and has to do with my involvement with Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) or rather more specifically with what those of us who were part of the founding team of the Centre for Historical Studies (CHS) were trying to do, in order to institute a place where historical knowledge could be known and advanced. This was encompassed by the wider vision of JNU as an agency of education. What JNU stood for, in our minds, was part of the effort to encourage universities to become catalysts to develop new ways of thinking. Universities in India have tended to be clones of a single model, inherited from colonial times, rather than institutions that have been shaped by their contribution to the growth of knowledge. JNU was intended to be different and I will go into this in some detail in the second part of the chapter.

I

Educational institutions are not static. They change when societies change. The minimum that is required of them is that those they educate should be trained to understand the world they live in through the knowledge they receive; to have the confidence to question this knowledge where such questioning is needed; and to be aware of claiming their rights as citizens of a reasonably well-ordered society. Democracy is meant to enable people to change from being subjects of the state, to becoming citizens of the state, with rights and obligations. Citizenship in a democracy should mean equal access to social justice and to human rights, given unanimously and universally. No category of citizen has priority over others. What we have today is a citizenry of which almost 50 per cent, for no fault of their own, remain effectively without education. This lack and its general acceptability is a reflection on how poorly we define our democracy.

Cloning the existing institutions in larger and larger numbers is not a solution. We need to return again to two themes that have cropped up in past times. They remain undecided and therefore prevent the shaping of the programme for education. One is the question of relating the content of education to its purpose and function; and the other is the tangled but connected question of the language of instruction at various levels. In order to discover the potential from hitherto uneducated sections of society, obviously there has to be universal education that goes beyond the lowest common denominator. That this is not happening makes one wonder whether political parties feel threatened by the possibility of an educated electorate. It is also not happening because the content of education is not directed towards encouraging new thinking and the language of education is inadequate.

We treat the purpose and function of education rather casually. Its budget is paltry to begin with, nevertheless it meets with constant cuts, education being thought of as dispensable. Efforts to educate being so casual it is not surprising that only less than half the population can claim to be educated, and even among these only half again acquire an education that is of some use. In most schools where science is taught without conducting experiments, or geography is taught without maps, such teaching has little value other than providing cursory information. Yet if quality education were to be available to larger numbers it would result in many more competent people facilitating even the basic simple programmes of economic development, or the application of new technologies, and would understand the need for social change, hopefully moving towards the society we aspire to. I am making a distinction here between merely imitating a technology currently used in technologically advanced countries, such as digitization, and adopting it after investigating the kind of change that it will bring about not only in our economy, but also in our society. In order to prepare for the much more intensive impact of this technology on the form of social relations that will result from it, we have to understand and foresee this result. We have superficially adopted the idea with little understanding of, and preparation for, the consequences.

Every government claims to be concerned about the poor quality and dismal reach of our educational institutions but little effective change is made. It seems to me that no government to date has been seriously committed to a systematic agenda of establishing and improving education. Are we caught between what we have inherited which requires reassessment and the current populist ideological drives that are pushing us away from quality education? Quoting the increase in the number of schools, colleges and universities, doesn’t tell us much about the criteria that go into the making of education. Improvement would lie in providing every Indian with some degree of comprehension of the world that he or she lives in.

Part of the problem is also the increasing interference from non-professionals in the content of education. Disallowing inquisitive enquiry can easily undermine the purpose of education as can diluting or even falsifying the content of what is taught. Neither of these are unknown today in schools. This becomes evident from the poor training that teachers receive—if at all—and the quality of the textbooks from which they teach. Administrators often look upon educational institutions as stepping stones to personal ambitions and the institution suffers. Political and religious organizations have demanded deletions in the content of syllabi, reading lists and textbooks, and at another level, they intervene in appointments of teachers. Proximity to a particular ideology becomes the driving force of activity. This was barely visible four decades ago but has accelerated to a far greater extent in recent times. Unfortunately many academics, even if they are aware of it, are hesitant to resist it.

A violent agitation by a group of students in Delhi University, claiming that an item in a syllabus hurt their religious sentiments, resulted in the Academic Council removing the item despite its importance to teaching the subject. The university recognizes the threat from groups with political backing but does it also understand the intellectual damage of conceding to such demands? This is precisely where decision through debate is called for. In much earlier times the better vice chancellors tackled these problems, and found ways of disallowing such interference. But in recent years, vice chancellors and administrative heads, in some cases, are themselves a part of this problem.

Universities have four components—teachers, students, administration and financier. In the best universities of the world, the financier—whether the state or a private organization—is disallowed from intervening in academic matters. But since the roots of our university system lie in colonial governance, we have become accustomed to allowing interference by those who claim to be in authority or have the ear of authority. This was warned against by our first president Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan who had stated, ‘Higher education is undoubtedly an obligation of the state, but state aid is not to be confused with state control over academic policies and practices.’ University administration should ideally be the function of keeping the machinery working, but not claiming primacy in academic matters, irrespective of whether it is the vice chancellor or any other who in the administration tries to assert this primacy.

The crucial core of the university, then, should be those who teach and those who learn. This core is meant to be concerned with what is taught as required information, and with learning how to explore knowledge through new ideas and methods. At the broadest level the intention was, and is, as I have said at the outset, to produce an educated public and therefore responsible citizens; and at a more specific level to contribute to the advance of knowledge. To provoke new thinking and where necessary to dissent from conventional thinking, is axiomatic to this process. It is foundational to a university that it be the required space that nurtures freedom of thought. This has been the essential condition of the best universities anywhere resulting in research that has advanced our understanding and knowledge of the world, and in every field. Autonomy is of the essence in the functioning of universities, and they have to protect their right as being places where there is freedom to think, to speak and to debate. This is what we were trying to do in JNU as I shall explain later.

Whether in the primary and secondary schools that lay the foundations of education, or in tertiary education, the planning and funding of education in the country could have been far more adequate and focused. State universities struggle with paucity of funds and facilities. It is thought that the alternative could be private colleges and universities. But for some private investors education has become an industry. Colleges and universities are sometimes run more as factories than faculties, and the central concern of the financiers is investment and profit. Financial ambition takes over and many such places are seldom open to the most meritorious unless they can rustle up the enormous fees required. Are these alternatives giving us qualified specialists and responsible citizens? And in advertisements what is often promised is not so much learning and knowledge, but success—and the meaning of success is clear to all.

*

After all these years we remain among the countries with the lowest rate of literacy. Yet even literacy is not the test of an educated population as it is only the initial step. There are other components of education of which I shall discuss two as essential. To put it simply, one is access to knowledge and the other is the communication of that knowledge.

Access to knowledge requires up-to-date information on the subject taught, and demands the questioning of existing knowledge to ascertain whether it is still valid or has been replaced by new knowledge. This could begin with knowing about the world we live in and how we relate to the cultures of our neighbours.

Creating curiosity is a major step. But we show scant interest even in what is being discussed by our neighbours. To take the simplest example, when did we last make a serious study of curricula in schools and universities in neighbouring countries? Yet what is taught in these countries would tell us about their self-perception, and their attitudes to neighbours, of which we are one. Our neighbours also experience controversies on what should be included in textbooks and why—controversies that should be of great interest to us since they parallel ours. A study of educational programmes would tell us much about how we see ourselves and how others see us.

The quality of education is not determined only by the amount of information acquired by students. More important is whether they have been taught to think critically. Are students familiar with the process of critical enquiry so essential to every form of education? It applies to each subject of study and to virtually every human activity. It begins with asking questions, the answers to which are statements on the subject being enquired into; these in turn can be questioned and analysed. A simple explanation of what is a logical statement and what is not, can be a start. This does mean of course that teachers themselves must understand what is meant by critical enquiry.

A more purposive beginning may be made by first teaching the teachers. And who better than knowledgeable teachers to do this training. This does not require an extensive financial outlay, which is always the pat excuse. Teachers have in any case to be trained and textbooks written for teaching. The teacher can be trained to ask questions, to think critically, and be familiar with methods of enquiry instead of stopping at merely providing information, and in some cases even misinformation; and textbooks should both inform and encourage students to ask questions about what they are learning. Textbooks are amongst the most difficult pedagogic tools to write and yet it is amazing how we allow all kinds of nonsense to pass as textbooks. This would require an extensive and transparent commitment to conveying knowledge and to also explaining its social value on the part of those advancing education. Better-trained teachers would be better appreciated by parents and others and thereby receive more respect than they are currently given.

What do I mean by critical enquiry and why do I think that it is the essence of education? Learning and the acquisition of knowledge are incomplete unless there is an awareness of the method of enquiry that is used to prise out knowledge. This has to be taught as a process of thinking and one that is relevant to all subjects. It assumes the freedom to ask questions, and to direct questions that enhance the enquiry. Such training helps in another way. Every enquiry involves assessing the validity of suggested explanations. All explanations do not have equal validity. Giving priority to some involves a selection and an explanation of why some are selected and others rejected. This involves critical enquiry.

The method draws on common sense. It starts with collecting data and ascertaining its reliability. Some fantasy may intervene in this process but fantasy has to be differentiated from evidence. Causal connections necessary to theories of explanation draw largely on logical argument and rational thought, but perhaps the occasional leap of imagination may be permitted if it illumines the argument. New discoveries both of information and of new methods of analysing it are happening continuously. Consequently the range of sources of knowledge expands. As a result existing information has to contend with the new and if necessary be revised.

Let me try and demonstrate this from my own specialization in ancient history. There was a time when a source consisted of what was said in a text. Herodotus, dated to the fifth century bc, popularly described as the father of history, was accused by a few of his contemporaries of replacing history with gossip in some instances. They accused him of using hearsay as evidence, and hearsay—as we all know—is not evidence. The same accusation was made of some of the chronicles of Indian royal courts, both of the earlier kingdoms and of the sultanates. Nevertheless, until a couple of centuries ago, narratives from these sources were retold and described as history. Today’s historians have to investigate these texts and their contents for reliability before treating their narratives as history. This means checking the text with other sources. If these are limited we resort to the technique of Agatha Christie’s detective, Hercule Poirot, of trying to piece together a hypothesis, in the expectation of finding a solution.

The historian therefore has to cross-question the text and, in retrospect, the author. What was the social and intellectual background of the author—caste, occupation, family, religion, location, learning and so on? Did his background influence what he wrote? What was his intellectual predisposition? What was the historical context of the text? Who read it and why? What was the intention of the text—both covert and overt?

In past times it was enough just to know the language of a text to use it as a source of information. Now we have to know more than the language. Specialists in linguistics tell us about the various dimensions of a language, such as, does one language carry the imprint of another that may have been used in its proximity. For example, some argue that Vedic Sanskrit has elements of Dravidian. This leads to new questions about the cultural interface of the speakers of the two languages. Another source is archaeology that can involve the comparison between objects described in the text with those excavated from sites of a similar date. Wine amphorae from the Mediterranean found at sites such as Pattanam in Kerala can be compared with descriptions of them in Greek and Tamil sources referring to the Red Sea trade. Archaeological finds are now examined by using various scientific techniques so the archaeologist is forced to be familiar with the relevant science. For example, the archaeologist tracking settlements on the banks of the river Sutlej has to consult hydrologists, since the river changed its course more than once. Where population migrations in history are being studied, their DNA analyses and genetics are becoming part of the argument. Maritime trade cannot be explained in detail without technical information on shipping and navigation in past times.

Apart from such methods of obtaining information, history is now interpreted with the aid of theories explaining the organization and functioning of societies. Historians, therefore, are in dialogue with other social scientists. The public perception of history has yet to be made aware of the fact that the divide today is between historians trained in interdisciplinary research and techniques of investigation, and an array of amateurs, quite untrained, who claim to be historians. Education based on critical enquiry would enable the non-specialist to differentiate between arguments based on reasoning or on myth.

Methods of critically examining texts can sometimes lead to new departures in disciplines. This is how, over the years, the importance of oral history emerged as a sub-discipline of history and literature, adding another dimension to the understanding of the past. For example, oral records were once dismissed as fiction, but now techniques of investigation have been developed that require a meticulous examination of the oral composition that can result in obtaining some historical information. What is said in the composition cannot be taken directly at face value but the methods of analyses can provide some historical clues. Some of the latter that were worked out for modern oral epics, for instance, have yielded interesting results when applied to the epic literature of the past.

Inevitably, when new theories are proposed controversies abound. They can only be resolved by academic debates or the discovery of fresh evidence. Controversy between scholars and polemicists are frequent in the public space and some are linked to political ideologies. In India, controversy hinging on historical interpretation is often tied to defining a national identity, which can be a secular identity or one given to upholding religious extremism.

In the USSR, the claim to alter genes by agrobiologist Trofim Lysenko was linked to genetics, and was projected as a possible way of thinking about social change. In the USA, the Scopes Monkey Trial involved attacks on Darwin’s theory of evolution, which was seen as opposing what was said in the Bible about God creating man. In such situations textbooks are the victims. Ideally they should be left to professionals. But instead, all kinds of people intervene in determining the contents of textbooks. Most people are ignorant of the new knowledge in the discipline. Their only purpose is to push an ideological agenda.

In recent decades general elections have brought different political parties with dissimilar ideologies to form the government. Some advocate interference in the content of education, where the aim is not searching for knowledge but ideological reasons for controlling what people think. So when the political party governing India changes, the history textbooks used in central state schools also change. This has happened with alternating UPA and NDA governments. As I have mentioned, an array of non-historians, among whom are politicians, bureaucrats and their hangers-on, as well as diverse religious enterprises that have nothing to do with historical research, demand the inclusion of their views in the textbooks. One wishes that they would stay within their own jurisdiction of marketing religions and garnering votes, and leave the control over the contents of education to those professionally qualified to do so. This is why many of us argued twelve years ago that the National Council for Education Research and Training (NCERT) that produces textbooks, or the councils of research in various disciplines, should cease to be institutions controlled by the central government and instead should be autonomous organizations under the control of academics specializing in the specific subject. But not surprisingly, no one in authority responded to this suggestion. Politicians are loath to give up their access to patronage.

We have to take a decision as to whether the content of what is taught in school and college is to be the promotion of the ideology of a political party, or whether it should be up-to-date knowledge on the subject concerned. This is a choice that so far has been critical for the social sciences but not for the sciences. Recognizing the intervention of ideology in the sciences has so far been of marginal interest to scientists, not because there is no such intervention but because most scientists regard their research as being value-free and altogether unconnected to ideology. A few have tried to show the connection, but the majority remain unconcerned. Is this because science is still largely treated as a technology rather than a body of knowledge inherent to social change?

*

In a seemingly contradictory manner the past, as we envision it, is often sought to give shape to the present. Political ideologies seeking to establish particular identities resort to interpreting knowledge to support the identity. This is then linked to their reading of nation and nationalism, of democracy and of a secular society—all of which are central to our public life. We have therefore, to understand these concepts by analysing and debating them and not treating them as slogans. Fundamental to such discussion are the right to information and the right to question.

Rights are what nurture citizenship. The right to information is crucial to public life. Questions have to be asked to obtain information. Raising questions therefore is not anti-national as is being maintained by some contemporary politicians. Questioning is at the root of the process of thinking. It was the questions of Socrates that initiated Greek philosophical discourse. It was the questions of the Buddha, the Charvaka thinkers and some of the rishis in the Upanishads, and questions by many others that provoked Indian philosophical thought. There were parks in the towns where people gathered and debated ideas. These were called the kutuhala-shalas (literally, places for raising curiosity).

Buddhist and Jaina viharas and later the Brahmana mathas and the Sufi khanqahs were places for discussion and debate covering a range of theories. We acclaim what emerged from the thought but give little recognition to the inherent process of questioning.

It is often said that there is a distinction between premodern and modern education and that questioning what is written in the texts was alien to premodern education. This is a generalization stemming from only the orthodox traditions that discouraged new questions. Established institutions propagating a particular religion socialized the young into that religion. They did not always encourage the questioning of existing knowledge. Their preferred form of teaching was one where predetermined questions were given predetermined answers and both were memorized. Questions were confined to the learned few. The appropriate religious body of each religion—Hindu, Buddhist, Jaina, Muslim, Sikh, Christian—controlled the content of education in its institutions. Deviations or alternate enquiries were not encouraged. Yet critical enquiry can suggest new ways of exploring ideas, even those relating to religion and society, and they may be more apposite to our times or to our requirements.

However, despite the authoritative conventional beliefs of the upper castes and elite, there was no shortage of breakaway sects and persons that questioned the beliefs. They were interested in new aspects of knowledge, and proclaimed alternate avenues to social organization. Various Shramanic groups—of Buddhists, Jainas, Ajivikas, Charvakas and such like—questioned Brahmanical beliefs. These groups were, therefore, dismissed by the more orthodox as nastika or non-believers. The accusation of preaching false doctrines at the popular level, was repeatedly exchanged between the two, the Brahmana and the Shramana dharmas, although the philosophical debates between them on, for instance, the meaning of categories such as ‘doubt’, or the use of logic, was of a high intellectual order.

This duality of the Brahmana and Shramana dharmas is on record for 1,500 years and may have continued until longer. It is referred to in many texts until the early second millennium ad, and is regarded as characteristic of Indian religion and thought, as is also the antagonism between the two as dharmas. Despite the frequent description, at the popular level, of the last thousand years being a period of Hindu victimization, historical facts contradict this. It is actually a period particularly rich in the growth of religious and philosophical sects and their beliefs, and especially in the direction that their compositions and texts gave to religions such as Hinduism and Islam. As I have noted elsewhere in the book, the founders of the sects ranged across the social and religious spectrum and included people of learning and scholarship, as well as composers of popular religious verses. These also included women, Dalits and other lower castes, who had been excluded from upper caste religious articulation. Some sects were dedicated to a particular deity. Most others broke the boundaries of the formal religions and illuminated the overlapping areas between them and their big followings. In the interstices, were Muslim devotees of Krishna, among whom was Ras Khan whose verses are sung to this day in Hindustani classical music. The teachers of the last thousand years enriched existing religions, by creating new foci of faith, that often drew in those who had been distanced before. These activities expanded earlier conventional knowledge.

The questioning was not necessarily a critical enquiry as we understand it today, but more of a probing into conventional knowledge and suggesting alternatives. We tend to project these sects merely as manifestations of a single religion. We ignore the fact that, as late as the fourteenth century, a compendium of Indian philosophical schools—the Sarva-darshana-samgraha—begins with a chapter on the Charvaka or Lokayata school. This was an earlier school of free thought drawing on arguments based on reason, which despite the opposition from conventional sources, continued into much later times. Histories of philosophy written in the last century tend to give it short shrift. Yet the author of the compendium, Madhavacharya, states that although he personally did not subscribe to the Lokayata philosophy, others did, and so it had to be given recognition. This attitude to the world of the intellect is sparsely observed these days in India, and more so by some in positions of power. The freedom to speak or write and defend one’s views with transparent evidence and logical argument, is often difficult to demand and protect, but is an essential characteristic of a civilized society.

Scholars have pointed to the existence of a long tradition of rational thinking and enquiry in India. This was to be expected as such traditions are always present in cultures with strong centres of philosophical thought. We need to see this tradition in its historical context and use it in educational curricula. It is a heritage from the past that points to thought-provoking perspectives, some of which challenge the ones that we constantly quote.

It also illustrates what I mean by the content of education having to be defined by professionals and scholars in respective fields. Few non-professionals are aware of this philosophical tradition of logic and rationality in the early Indian past. Even if they are, they hesitate to make it a part of an intellectual stream. We have been imprinted with the idea that traditional Indian thought was largely resistant to the rational. Therefore now there will be those who would oppose incorporating logic, rationality and enquiry into the educational curriculum, describing it as alien to the Indian tradition of thought, as much as there are others keen to pursue it. And, above all, bringing in the stream of rational thought would be so pertinent to interpreting the world around us.

We now come to an issue I raised earlier. A concern with the content of education means giving serious consideration to communicating through the most effective language of instruction—the language used for this purpose must be conducive to the discussion of knowledge. Whatever the official policy may be, the practice is that in most parts of the country the regional language is increasingly being used as the medium of instruction. More ambitious students and their parents, however, prefer the medium to be English both as a valuable qualification for employment and for its expansive intellectual world usage. We end up mainly using the regional language. English is generally used in such a way that it hardly provides any intellectual appetite, except of course in elite schools. This condition could be changed given that we have always used more than one language, and each in different ways.

Looked at historically, the variation is interesting. The language of the Harappa culture is so far unknown but it would have been used in northwestern India. A millennium later, there were three languages concurrently in use. Two were from the Indo-Aryan group. One of these was Vedic Sanskrit that Panini differentiates from the Sanskrit used in non-Vedic texts and in speech. Grammatical and linguistic works and etymologies of great brilliance were written in Sanskrit from the first millennium bc onwards. The need for such specialized texts points to the fact that languages other than Sanskrit were also in use at the time. Even the normal change that any language undergoes over a long period requires a revised grammar and etymology. The writing of such detailed grammars further suggests that Sanskrit was diversifying, probably due to the presence of other languages, and needed rules to embed its structure; and that it had to be taught to non-Sanskrit speakers.

The other Indo-Aryan language was the far more widely spoken Prakrit. As has been noted, Buddhist and Jaina texts were composed in Pali and Prakrit, both languages of the Indo-Aryan family but different from Sanskrit. Prakrit was used extensively in inscriptions as in those of Ashoka and other rulers. It was also the language used by women—some of the upper castes—and by Shudras and other lower castes. These together formed the majority of the population. Sanskrit became the language of governance particularly with the coming of dynasties from Central Asia around the Christian era, such as the Shakas, Kshatrapas and Kushanas, some of whom issued inscriptions in Sanskrit rather than Prakrit. Subsequent to this it became the court language, the language of administration, and the language associated with upper caste males. It remained so for a millennium. Inevitably, it was the main language of learning. Texts of the Brahmanical religion were composed in Sanskrit, as also on secular subjects, ranging from mathematics, astronomy and medicine to philosophy, aesthetics, literature, and an array of commentaries on the social codes, epics and other subjects. Buddhist and Jaina authors also began writing their texts in Sanskrit. When Persian and the regional languages began to be used in the royal courts, the use of Sanskrit as the court language, declined.

Parallel to Indo-Aryan was Dravidian, the second language group, and current in peninsula India. That there were languages other than Sanskrit even in northern India is clear from references in Sanskrit texts to people who speak their own language; references such as Shatapatha Brahmana (III.2.1.24) portrayed those who didn’t speak Sanskrit in derogatory terms such as speakers of the incomprehensible Chandala-bhasha, and the Mlecchas, who could not speak Sanskrit correctly. Tamil was important in south India from the latter part of the first millennium bc, and some Prakrit was known. Sanskrit was a later arrival here. If the Adivasi presence went back to this period then languages such as Munda would also have been spoken, and would have formed another group of languages.

What has recently been described as the Sanskrit cosmopolis, other languages notwithstanding, was established in the mid-first millennium ad. The other languages were the associated Prakrits, and still later the evolving Apabrahmsha, not to mention the Dravidian languages of the peninsula. The primacy of Tamil in the south, and the emergence of Telugu and Kannada took form in the Dravidian language areas. In north India the derivatives of Indo-Aryan were also diversifying into a variety of languages by the early second millennium ad (and in some cases even a little earlier), which we now refer to as regional languages. Much cited Sanskrit texts, such as the popular versions of the narratives of Rama, were adapted into new forms and in various languages, among which the Tamil, Hindi and Bengali have received much attention. The Sufis of north India and the Mughals wrote in Hindi, apart from other languages such as Persian, and that was the language of the learned and of the court. At the Mughal court there was active collaboration between Brahmana and Jaina Sanskrit scholars supervising the translation of major Sanskrit texts into Persian. Braj Bhasha was common to some northern courts and to popular culture in the northern region.

Then came European trading companies bringing Portuguese, French and English. Portuguese continued to be used in the colonies of Portugal in India. French declined since the colonies of France gradually became insignificant. English became the major European language introduced by British colonialism. English as the language of governance and power was also used by the emergent middle classes, together with their regional languages. If occupation was one factor in the segregation of castes, English education had a similar role in segregating classes. As the language of communication it reached out to larger numbers than had Sanskrit, since lower castes, Avarnas and women were learning English. Specialized knowledge in the sciences, philosophy and the early social sciences was taught in English. Soon the literary articulation of the middle class both in poetry and prose was to include English, in addition to the regional language. The language of knowledge, therefore, changed from Prakrit to Sanskrit to Persian and then to English.

What then would be the most felicitous use of languages in educating Indians? Implicit in this question is the future of English or what some call Indian-English, and its relationship to the regional languages? The need for English in the world of today is linked to the fact that it is the language of knowledge. At another level it is also the language of the international market to which the Indian economy is now connected. If English is linked to the advance of knowledge then it has to be known and known well. The correct and precise use of a language is crucial to research in all branches of learning.

Knowledge of the language in which a particular subject was being researched was necessary to research even in past times. Advances in mathematics and astronomy, for instance, were possible because scholars in these fields were familiar with works in Arabic and Sanskrit. Arab scholars had translated Greek texts and they also acknowledged the expertise of Indian scholars in mathematics. They were doubtless familiar with Sanskrit texts apart from the language of signs used, as for instance, in algebra as part of mathematics. Working with contemporary knowledge means knowing its language. This applies to the social sciences as much as to the other sciences.

In the Indian subcontinent no language had the monopoly of being the only one used at any time for all purposes. There was always diffusion in the function of various languages. Left to itself that is what is likely to happen now. But it can be made more effective if a properly worked out system is adopted.

So what should be the language of instruction? To know three languages sufficiently to make even impolite conversation is not a problem. To know each well enough to use it in fundamental research is problematic. Generally one is the preferred language. I would argue that a student should know two languages really well. Initially it has to be the language of his/her socialization into the family and society. Subsequently comes the language of knowledge. One language may not fit all.

It might therefore make some sense if we were to opt for a modified bilingual formula: we begin with the language of socialization at primary school—the regional language—the language of childhood, imagination, poetry and much else. English could be introduced towards the end of primary school as the additional medium together with the first language. If some subjects are taught bilingually they might be better understood by the student. That would certainly strengthen both languages. By the end of secondary school a student should be able to use both languages with relative ease.

Education today is increasingly given in the regional language with little emphasis on training in English, even if just as an additional language. Knowledge is being reduced to what is available in only one local language. This is fine for developing a facility in using that language but its ability to communicate up-to-date knowledge may not be adequate. To merely repeat knowledge that is no longer of much use defeats the purpose of education. Translation seldom keeps up with new knowledge. The danger is that communication between Indians may also decrease.

As I have said earlier in the chapter, in recent years we have had market forces edging out the humanities in favour of disciplines linked to the market economy and its technologies. This is a problem facing the best universities the world over. Giving priority is understandable but utilitarian value should not be the chief or sole criterion of education.

If the Indian genius expressed itself in grammatical works, this was partly because language was not an obstacle but was used creatively. Many languages coexisted. Emanating from different social strata and regions, they were used for different activities, and were communicated through osmosis in the proximity of two or more languages. I can recollect the ease with which my grandparents and parents moved between both the written and spoken forms of Punjabi, Hindi, Urdu and English. Each language seemed to be attuned to a specific function. The advantage of a bilingual education is that both languages borrow concepts from each other and thereby take on extended functions.

*

Many of these basic problems of school and university education remain and will continue to do so unless we deliberately and consciously decide to improve the content and accessibility of education. Let me restate some of these problems, both the obvious ones of physical infrastructure and the more subtle ones of the content of education. The initial pressure of larger numbers of students is spiralling out uncontrollably with little back up of qualified teachers and faculty. The hub of a university is a well-equipped library and up-to-date laboratories, yet priority is always given to the administration buildings. Adequately furnished and properly run hostels provide an addition to university culture and this is generally not recognized. Building more and more substandard institutions and filling them with unqualified students and teachers is not the answer. Knowledge is not a game of numbers although we have reduced it to that.

Despite this dismal scene, there are nevertheless, almost in defiance, pockets of excellence. A tiny percentage of bright students and teachers become prized professionals. Given the natural potential the percentage could be much higher if properly tapped. But on the contrary the advance in thinking is being mowed down by a preference for a larger percentage of pedestrian or even regressive actions and thought. Most students these days are expected to grapple with grades rather than ideas. Relatively less and less is being done to peg schooling to decent, leave alone high standards. If that could be done then the students admitted to colleges would be more prepared for the tertiary level. We could move well beyond the colonial inheritance and reformulate our educational needs in accordance with our aspirations to social improvement and the appropriation of knowledge. Instead of learning from the good institutions and replicating them, there seems to be a wish to tear down the good institutions so that only the lowest common denominator prevails.

*

I would like to conclude this section by reiterating what I have been arguing for: that the content of education has to give priority to critical enquiry. By this I mean teaching students to feel liberated enough to ask questions about the world they live in; and to question knowledge in a systematic, logical, reasoned manner that might well give them new insights into their world. This may release the potential of not only those that are first generation learners, but also of others having to learn out-of-date knowledge that they, in any case, are not permitted to question. A different kind of education may well lead to the discovery of new knowledge. It is only then that education can help in changing mindsets for the better. Values have to be experienced and nurtured. Where values are imposed, they tend to wither away. And if a bilingual education can also be implemented through using both the language of socialization and the language of knowledge, then there can be a greater comprehension of the world and why we live the way we do. The world will open up to many more than just the few. And that surely is what education, a crucial component of our culture, is all about.

II

The ideas that I have discussed above were some that a few of us had when we joined JNU in its foundation year of 1970–1971. We were able to make of it a leading university in India. Its students in turn are teaching in India and in other parts of the world in the best universities. Some have manned a variety of jobs in India, ranging from senior positions in the administration to ambassadorships to politburo members of the Communist Party (Marxist). The success of JNU was that we knew what was essential to a good university and were not willing to compromise on this, whatever might have been the academic and political inducements to doing so. Today, there is an attempt to systematically dismantle JNU and other centres of advanced research in the social sciences, largely because the powers that be prefer it that institutions encouraging critical enquiry and freedom of expression be snuffed out, or at best be converted into what seem like nursery schools for adult students.

I would like to describe my experience in helping to found the Centre for Historical Studies in JNU that in a sense encapsulates much of what went into the making of JNU. The focus on critical enquiry was central as was also the concern that students of history must be familiar with the methods of investigating the past. What did this mean? It meant that as a first step the student had to read the major writing on a subject and work out tentative questions that might be relevant to an enquiry. It meant that students had to be made aware of the fact that studying any aspect of history required bringing together as many of the known sources as possible, assessing their reliability, analysing them by asking pertinent questions, establishing causal explanations, and ensuring that the generalizations that emerged drew on a logical and well-reasoned argument. This was a new experience for the students who came to us.

The readings for such an approach meant consulting books not just on the specific subject but also on the theories of explanation in the social sciences that could be used to ask broader questions of the sources and relate them to their context, which is not done so often. The debates on these themes were in books written in English and required a more than basic knowledge of the language. This was less of a problem for students who came from metropolitan areas and from what we now call elite schools, but it was that much more problematic for those who came from schools and colleges that had the regional language as the medium. The problem of familiarity with English had to be a special concern in the teaching programme. Nor was it only a matter of language. The larger problem lay in the comprehension of concepts. Nevertheless we were determined to work with the students to ensure that the quality of the learning they acquired was high.

The university had further decided that students from economically backward regions would be assisted to get admission. So we were teaching at various levels in the first semester, but what was most impressive was how quickly the less equipped students came up to the required levels in subsequent semesters. My explanation for this is that it was a highly personalized form of teaching with much discussion in class, and a heavy emphasis on library reading and tutorials, the grades for which went into the final mark. Timetables were adhered to but so much extra time went into informal, worthwhile discussion. Since JNU was not a school, attendance was never compulsory, nevertheless classes were fully attended.

I joined JNU in November 1970 and was among the first few appointed. We started teaching in 1971, so we had time to prepare syllabi, courses and the pattern of teaching. I came from Delhi University where I had taught in the history department for seven years. I left there because the courses had been drawn up some thirty years earlier and changing these had become problematic. The focus was on political and diplomatic history—quite legitimate—but with minimal attention to other aspects of the past. History was a narrative of the politics of the elite. But history as a discipline had begun to change with new methods of analysing sources, and a wider range of explanations of what happened in the past, and why. History was undergoing a metamorphosis from being a subject in Indology and providing useful information, to a discipline of the social sciences. I thought, therefore, that JNU might provide an opportunity to work with a new approach to the past.

In the late 1960s, this new history was taking shape. It was being extensively discussed elsewhere, although in India this was restricted to a handful of historians. This was the time of the teach-ins associated with the Dialectics of Liberation meeting in London in 1967, and similar events in universities in France and the United States. New ideas emerged from wide-ranging debates as also some protests about what was being taught and how. A less audible echo of this could be heard at Delhi and Calcutta universities, and a few other places, but only at the edges. Nevertheless, this was a time of optimism, the coming of a better world and of intellectually vibrant universities.

Theories explaining the historical basis of societies, were taking on a new legitimacy. There was immense interest in the challenges of contesting theories and the insistence on free discussion. Debates ranged over ideas emanating from Marxists, anti-Marxists, Neo-Marxists, extending to other theories that were later to evolve into subaltern studies, postmodernism, and still later, postcolonialism and the literary turn, and the variety continues. If some used Marxism to explain the functioning of the society under study, others criticized them, not by abusing them as is the fashion among Hindutva ideologues in India today, but by putting up counterarguments based not on hearsay or fantasy but on research. New ways of using Marxist analysis led to Neo-Marxist theories especially in the social sciences. These debates suggested other theories of explanation some of which were closely tied to studies of literary texts, searching for further ways of analysing texts, as argued in Postmodernism and Postcolonialism—the literary turn. It was a new way of understanding text and context and raised many intellectual controversies. Whatever might be the intellectual stance of the participant, pro- or anti-current theories, it was not just sloganeering. It was rooted in reading and thinking about what was being discussed. This was the intellectual ambience when JNU was founded. Discussions in parliament on the university focused on the ideas of the man after whom it was eventually named. That was the starting point, but intellectually JNU debated much else that had been thought and written about since then.

The founding vice chancellor was G. Parthasarathi, known to everyone as GP. Although his career had been in diplomacy rather than academia, he turned out to be a better VC than many academics have been. Vice chancellors in India, as we all know, have to be carefully chosen, as they can make or break a university. We have not got to the point where the conventions of a university in its functioning, hammered out through experience, are always honoured by the vice chancellors, as they should be. Some tend to foist their personal ambitions onto university functioning and this can be disastrous.

GP was a liberal, and well aware that what makes a fine university is the exploring of knowledge and ideas through teaching and research, as well as a concern with the welfare of students and faculty. For him, JNU had to be a university of quality, a path-breaker in the pursuit of knowledge, which brought this knowledge within reach of students from every segment of society. To achieve this he asserted the autonomy of the university and was not dictated to by the Education Ministry or as it was later called the Ministry of Human Resource Development. The support of academic opinion mattered more to him than that of politicians or bureaucrats. A university, after all, is a place where academic knowledge is advanced among bureaucrats and politicians.

Since we were starting from scratch we needed time to work out courses and syllabi. So we were given a few months off to do this and also to recruit more faculty. The initial faculty of the Centre for Historical Studies consisted of Professors Satish Chandra, Sarvepalli Gopal, Bipan Chandra and myself. Our specializations covered the range of Indian history and we recruited other faculty. Satish left shortly after, to become chairman of the University Grants Commission (UGC). It needs to be said that if Bipan Chandra brought in the radical element (radical as in the radicalism of those times), Sarvepalli Gopal was the quintessential liberal. The combination of the two invested the CHS with an appropriate ambience. Small things made a difference, such as the insistence that we address each other by our first names, which in those days was a break in convention. It did not eliminate the sense of hierarchy but did noticeably reduce it.

We gathered a small faculty and discussions on what was to be taught became a manageable exercise. Our courses were not a repetition of the MA History courses of any other university, and they were interdisciplinary, adding to the quality of our own discipline. GP, to his credit, made no attempt to control whom we recruited nor what we taught and who taught what. We had complete independence and a heavy emphasis on professional responsibility. This is essential to the intellectual life of any university and to the quality it hopes to achieve.

We were concerned with teaching courses that would enhance the understanding of Indian society. Imitating courses of the best universities in the West, some still being colonial in their orientation, was not how we saw the new history. There was an ongoing debate among historians of modern India, between the CHS and what was referred to as the Cambridge School on the interpretation of the colonial period. Sensitivity to the world around us led to an effort to teach some courses that raised issues around questions of social inequality, control of resources and categories of labour, or the articulation of cultures in various forms, or religion as a social enterprise. Added to this was the significance of understanding points of historical change or transitions as essential aspects of understanding the structure of society—its changes and the cultural patterns that emerged. Our effort was to create an independent space for thinking and producing new knowledge, making research a primary activity.

The semester system encouraged smaller courses that were introductions to themes and to sources, or could illustrate the use of concepts. These courses were central and self-contained and could be completed in a period of four months. The insistence on tutorials as a system of evaluation resulted in students learning how to analyse sources and understand concepts. This was necessary to the kind of history we were teaching. The requirement of reading for a tutorial was dependent on a well-equipped library. Writing the essay and discussing it formally, was an innovation in methods of teaching at Indian universities. In most universities the system of focusing only on information was declining into learning by rote.

The tutorial system also brought about a greater communication between the tutor and the student. However, given our hierarchical society, the implicit hierarchy did not disappear. Another obstacle was the arbitrary increase in student numbers without a parallel increase in qualified faculty and in the availability of books. The quality of education suffers the most when this happens.

The tutorial system as the contact between student and tutor, sometimes had a curious side. A student whom I got to know through tutorials came to me with an emotional problem and after we had discussed it at length she said it would help her if she could talk with a psychiatrist. So I made an appointment for her at the All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS). She insisted I go with her. This I did for a few times but then stopped because a friend rang me from AIIMS and said that my visits had been noticed, and did I have a serious problem that made me visit the psychiatrist so often?

The system of tutorials and exams was dependent on the availability of the recommended books in the library. This, the faculty had to ensure. There was much rushing around in those years to buy books, and even look out for private libraries on sale, such as that of D. D. Kosambi, that we gladly acquired. The bonus in this case was getting to read some of his acerbic or amusing comments scribbled on the margins of the page.

There was initially a debate on internal assessment at the MA level. Our courses were different from other universities, and taught in a manner that was unfamiliar to faculty and students elsewhere. Some argued that external examiners ensured rigour. Ultimately it was decided to keep evaluation internal at the MA level. The faculty would be required to maintain standards, because the reputation of the university depended on the quality of the students that were given its degrees. This was another way of emphasizing professional responsibility. Inevitably, there were sometimes small differences of opinion on grades, but by and large it worked well. Mechanisms of redressal came into use and continue. The reverse procedure of student evaluation of those who teach them, has never taken root in Indian institutions, perhaps for obvious reasons. For a guru to be evaluated by the shishya would require turning the Indian mindset upside down.

The admission policy of JNU was discussed at length. There were arguments over having a written entrance exam, an interview, the number of deprivation points for various categories of people, and so on. Contentions over admission policy, or other aspects of university administration, took the form of occasional gheraos of the VC or the chairperson of the centre. The gherao had other uses. Sometimes it became the occasion for a chairperson of a centre to join the captive VC, since this allowed for a long, uninterrupted and generally useful dialogue on the problems of the centre concerned. In the case of the chairperson being gheraoed, (I do recall one such occasion in which I was involved as chairperson) it finished up with my doing a kind of extended tutorial discussion with some of those gheraoing me.

We had to engage with the idea that students when taught to think independently will protest about many things. Protests need to be talked over. The university needs to have all its component parts participating in this conversation. Such discussions took place in the classroom or in open meetings. It is a pity that there are not more teach-ins on campuses, as they can be a useful form of extracurricular conversations on a variety of questions.

The contention over admissions led to the introduction of the entrance exam together with an interview. Many exam centres were set up and JNU drew students from an all-India range, unlike most other universities that tend to be parochial. This enhanced the national character of JNU and that in turn meant a greater mingling of students from different parts of the country. Our system of deprivation points—giving a few extra points to students from economically underprivileged backgrounds—at the time of admission, brought in students from social classes that normally do not easily get admission to universities. First generation learners from lesser-known colleges mingled with those from metropolitan backgrounds. Most of our students came from the humanities stream but some were from science. We had to devise a syllabus that would in the initial stage convey to them not only a sense of what history was about, but also train them to think in a manner that grew out of critical enquiry. Asking questions is vital and one has to learn how to ask questions that yield answers, whatever the answers may be.

Widening the catchment area brought in student interests pertaining to their own regions. This inevitably extended the geographical range covered in research. Similarly the diversity of social backgrounds also alerted us to the need for expanding the themes that we included and more so at the MPhil level. For those that had some difficulty in following the analytical methods that we were teaching, we worked out a one-year ‘catch-up’ course on language training and methodology. Any student wishing to be better prepared could take this course prior to the two-year MA course. But the students rejected the idea, arguing that they could not extend the MA for another year, even if given a grant to do so. This has been at the crux of many problematic conditions over the years, and has intensified in recent times. It needs to be considered more seriously by many universities if school education continues to be as pathetic as it is these days.

If the general level of education in schools and colleges cannot be immensely improved, such interventions will become increasingly necessary to maintain even the minimum standards. This is a problem faced elsewhere too. A college in Oxford has very recently started providing for such a preparatory year for students from underprivileged backgrounds. It has the advantage that the quality of education does not have to be lowered and students get a bonus year of being trained to handle what may appear initially to be unfamiliar courses.

The MA consisted of sixteen courses, most in history and some in associated social science disciplines, to be taught over two years. There was an additional language course, other than in the student’s mother tongue, and chosen to relate to the textual sources he or she may be required to use. This was debated at great length as some thought it might be an extra burden on the student. It was thought to be more difficult for medieval and ancient history students who had to learn Persian or Sanskrit. But some of us felt that a working knowledge of Sanskrit was essential for students studying ancient India. JNU was about the only university in India where a degree in ancient history required a credit in Sanskrit. We were fortunate in having a linguist in the CHS, K. Meenakshi, who specialized in both Dravidian and Indo-Aryan linguistics, and taught both Sanskrit and Tamil.

Of the total of sixteen courses taught over a two-year MA, we decided that four would be compulsory for all students. These would be the courses in which we would focus on two aspects of history. One would be on the methods of research and the interpretation of history. The assumption was that all social sciences have a method of investigation, especially for research. In history, the purpose is to get information on the past, and to explain what happened in the past and why. This means recognizing and analysing the possible range of sources, and checking their reliability as a first step. The second equally important aspect is to ask questions of the sources in order to explain what happened in the past. Existing knowledge gets to be checked for having advanced in various ways. We thought comparative history would help, not just as more information on other societies, but in seeing how historical concepts are used in the study of these. Were such analyses relevant to our history?

The four compulsory courses were Historical Method, Ancient Society, Feudalism, and Capitalism and Colonialism. These four courses were the most innovative in our syllabus and were its backbone. They were unheard of in other universities, until more recently. The maximum brainstorming went into fashioning them. These early years were intellectually the most stimulating for us as faculty, since they forced us to think critically about what we were intending to teach, and how we were going to justify courses that were so different from the usual.

The brainstorming in the CHS was occasionally contentious but ultimately useful, with differences usually being ironed out through much discussion. Kind friends from Delhi University teased us about the new syllabus, declaring that we would never get any bright students, since why would they waste their time on such way-out courses. Yet not only were our students among the brightest, and excited by our courses, which they found to be different and more relevant to understanding the past, but we noticed that slowly some of these courses were finding their way into the syllabi of a few other universities.

There was amongst us at that time a strong sense of a shared social commitment, underlying both what we were teaching, and in the stands that most of us took on public issues. There were plenty of public issues given that history is the chosen battlefield for what is described as religious nationalism of an extreme variety. When the question of the historicity of the Ramjanmabhoomi became a public debate, there was initially a clear divide between historians who questioned the historicity of a location designated as the birthplace of Rama, and those that were not historians but had other reasons to support the idea that the Babri Masjid was built on the site of a temple that marked the Ramjanmabhoomi, the temple having been destroyed to build the mosque. Some of us put out a brief essay giving historical reasons to doubt the location. This was supported by most of us in the CHS yet some disagreed, not with the historical facts but with the form of debate. Since there was no compulsion in the matter it remained an individual option. When the Emergency was declared in 1975 many of the faculty in the CHS were opposed to it, and defended the opposition of other faculty and students.

For quite a few of us historical research was a way of understanding the past not just in itself but also as a way of illuminating the continuity or the discontinuity of that past into the present, and subsequently, as the manner in which the present shapes and uses the past. Explaining the past is in many ways the purpose of researching it, but since the past is so closely linked to the present for a variety of intentions, historians have also to understand this aspect of history. Apart from this, it has been pointed out that history is an essential ingredient in a variety of nationalisms. This also makes it necessary to be aware of the use of history for political mobilization.

There was a time when it was said that the purpose of history was to try and discover the truth about the past. This claim is rarely made these days. The truth about the past cannot be known by any method because the past has disappeared and cannot be reconstructed or conjured up. What we are concerned with now is how to explain what happened in the past by using the sources at our disposal. This is why the causal links that we make in order to explain the past should draw on well-reasoned and logical connections. The final statement, if based on a cogent explanation, becomes that much more firm.

But should some new knowledge come our way then the narrative and the explanation might have to change. Let me illustrate this from my specialization in ancient history. As I have shown earlier in this book and elsewhere, when the history of India was written in the nineteenth century there was virtually no knowledge about Emperor Ashoka Maurya. Brahmanical sources are virtually silent about him. Kalhana in his Rajatarangini refers to him as an early ruler who included Kashmir in his kingdom. Buddhist texts referred to him but these at the time received little attention. For over ten centuries he was largely unknown to Indians, as his inscriptions appear to have been unread, so later rulers do not refer to him. With the decline of Buddhism even that source was silenced. His inscriptions were first deciphered in the early nineteenth century but none knew the identity of the author—Devanampiya Piyadassi. The identification with Ashoka was suggested when the Pali Buddhist chronicles of Sri Lanka were studied in the late nineteenth century. They refer to an Indian king Ashoka whose name was linked to this title. It was only in 1915 that an inscription was discovered which refers to Devanampiyassa Asokassa. The king’s identity was revealed and Mauryan history changed. One never knows where a new clue may appear.

The search in historical study was not merely to use new sources to expand the narrative about the past, but also to provide new ways of correlating and analysing evidence. The other three of the four compulsory courses focused not on single societies but on the various concepts that are associated with different times and places. It is recognized that societies register social disparity and we took this as an entry point to the past. Societies were governed by chiefs of clans or by kings claiming to be of the upper castes. At the other end of the hierarchy were the slaves and the lower castes. The historian has to consider the entire range of the disparity and the hierarchy between the high and the low. But at the same time it was necessary to explain the context of such disparities and consider not just the disparities but other aspects of these societies as well.

We wanted students to read about Mesopotamian society and the later Greco-Roman. These were histories on which there had been, at that time, more accessible analytical study than on other ancient societies. How did these societies differ in their patterns of culture? What was the kind of culture that characterized these societies and how was it correlated to their histories? Who controlled resources and who laboured? The Greco-Roman is generally described as based on slave labour. Historians have investigated the different categories and how this imprinted the culture. The city state of Athens owned and employed individual slaves—the doulos—each unconnected with the other, whereas the city state of Sparta, had a separate society of slaves, the helots, who lived as families, separate from the free citizens, outside the city. This form has been compared with castes regarded as Avarna, excluded from caste society and living in ghettos outside the city. There are some similarities but of course many more dissimilarities. The question to be asked is what were the alternate organizations and did they function differently? Did this have an impact on other patterns of culture? Comparative studies can be helpful in sharpening definitions, and discovering new theories of explanation.

Some of these comparative studies of early societies had become vastly more challenging with the extensive use of archaeological data that gave some precision to the reconstruction of their pattern of life. This was data that was also becoming more available with reference to early India. Our intention was not to take up excavation since this required almost an additional department of archaeology, but to work on the data that was available as evidence of how early societies functioned. In this the insights of social anthropology were also useful. Differentiating between different categories of societies, and recognizing the forms and functions that went into the making of these different categories, assisted historians in recognizing some of these categories from the historical evidence. These were being brought to bear on the study of early societies in many parts of the world and such studies were helpful in formulating questions for the study of Indian material.

The redefinition of culture as a pattern of life in a society was undoubtedly a major input into studies of Indian society. Patterns of life are not restricted to elites and call for a discussion of the larger society. Hence culture was no longer confined to the texts, monuments, architecture, and art of royalty and the well-to-do, but required the study of not only objects but also social forms that characterized society as a whole. Therefore, studies of the economy, of caste, of gender relations, became essential to any definition of culture as an entity. Social history accommodated such changes. In terms of historical periodization it not only clarified but differentiated between the societies that were included in the early period and those of medieval times.

In many societies of the world, the period prior to the modern, is described as medieval. This is taken as a time when the social and economic structure is thought of as based on a feudal pattern although in some instances this pattern may be absent. We worked out a course on feudalism where the meaning of the concept and its variations were discussed, as also the degree to which it applied to a particular history. The variations are immense as is now being recognized. Almost every society has its own variation and that also became evident in studies of the extensive Indian subcontinent. Again comparative studies are helpful in understanding whether there was a particular kind of Indian feudalism, or more than one, and how the forms differed. Or indeed as is being discussed today for the European past, whether the use of the term as it is used, is valid.

The focus is more on land as a resource as compared to earlier times. Many questions arise such as who controls this resource, who labours on it to make it productive, and ultimately who profits from its productivity, and what is the associated cultural pattern? There is the juxtaposition of this activity with the forms taken by the cultural patterns that it supports.

The third of these courses, that on capitalism and colonialism, highlighted modern times. The attempt here was to show the interface between the two both in the colony and in the home country of the colonizer. British colonialism provided a clear example, although comparative studies of other patterns of colonialism were included. These were taken from European colonial control of other parts of the world. The degree to which this fostered capitalist development has to be ascertained. The interface between capitalism and colonialism has not always been sufficiently recognized even by those who have worked out detailed theories of explanation. Does the type of colonialism affect the way in which capitalism advances in the society of the colonizer? What is the difference between capitalism in the colonial societies and its arrival in the ex-colony? Can this be contrasted with societies that had not been colonies?

These four courses were what we called the ‘core courses’ and in a sense set out the concepts and concerns around which history was being debated in our times. This was made clear by showing how these societies were studied in the previous century and why they came to be studied differently. Readings had to be up-to-date and this forced students to have some idea of current debates in other histories. They provided a glimpse into other areas and pointed up the need to see different societies reacting to historical change that was partially similar and partially dissimilar. Coming to grips with the concepts basic to these courses prepared students to handle problems emerging from a range of historical situations. Since they were rather open-ended courses, it meant that the next person teaching the course could introduce other societies for comparison, provided the focus remained on the concepts, and could consider how even these are being refashioned in the light of advancing knowledge. The courses that we had worked out in the 1970s would, in present times, be asking additional questions based on more recent theories.

Since these courses were newly configured, we realized that some students would have initial difficulties with them. We were particular, therefore, in announcing at the start of the course that any student who wanted a further explanation of a topic, or who had problems with the explanations, or disagreed, was free to interrupt the lecture, and a discussion would follow. I recall one such occasion.

I was giving a lecture on fallacies in history, in the course on Historical Method. I had just started introducing the subject when a student stood up, took out a Bengali translation of the Little Red Book of Mao Zedong, and began to read from it. Both the class and I were perplexed. After ten minutes he closed the book and sat down. I asked him to explain what he had read since not all of us understood Bengali. So he explained as best he could what Mao’s comments had been on Marx’s theories of the modes of production being necessary to understanding a society. Some students said that that was not what I had been talking about, so where was the connection? Others attempted to make connections. This was followed by the liveliest of discussions with both agreement and disagreement. It went on for more than an hour with my trying to keep it on track in terms of the subject of discussion. Historical fallacies of all kinds were quoted, upheld or knocked down. Every student present had strong opinions on the subject, for and against. This was one of my most successful classes, not because it began from the Little Red Book, but because every student had argued vehemently. I was told that each one had later held forth with confidence in describing a historical fallacy!

The emphasis was very much on a readiness to discuss. This was so not only in the lecture room but also outside. Inevitably from history it extended to topics of contemporary interest when faculty and other speakers were invited to speak elsewhere on campus and strong opinions were expressed and debated. As everybody agrees, the university is a place that must allow freedom of speech and the freedom to debate any issue thought to be relevant. We wanted this to be effectively so in JNU and indeed it was so, until the last couple of years.

Theories of explanation in history are varied and many. Marx’s periodization of history had perhaps a more orderly series of historical explanations than those, for example, of Max Weber. We discussed both and others, and made our choices. We were aware of the concept of modes of production not as the invariable explanations of Indian history but as a useful starting point to ask questions about social formations that might have given direction to historical events, and about causation and historical change in the context of the larger debates, and other issues significant to the study of history. Our concern was of course in discussing whether and how theories of explanation were applicable to Indian history, and perhaps more so with using them to trigger questions.

Much was said, and is being said, about JNU being Marxist in its orientation. These comments were also levelled at the CHS in those days. However, such comments fail to see that all theories of explanation have to be assessed for viability and therefore need to be prised apart. Discussing a theory does not necessarily mean that it is being endorsed. However, it does mean that it is being taken seriously and is being assessed, and that is what determines acceptance or not. Testing the application of a theory can become a form of asking new questions. That Marxism was much discussed in academic and intellectual circles the world over, half a century ago, meant that we also had to be familiar with what was being discussed elsewhere. In the process of examining one theory, obviously other theories were also looked at comparatively. It was not that everyone in JNU was or had to be a Marxist, but that JNU was unusual, because Marxism was treated neither as gospel nor as a taboo subject. There were the normal controversies over opinions about Marxist readings and these were argued over, generally analytically and sometimes acrimoniously.

I might add that one of the outcomes of teaching these courses was that they led to a widespread debate on the meaning of the concepts used, as well as the explanations they provided, and of course their applicability to Indian history. This debate by then was not restricted to JNU but was current in other institutions as well. For example, many Marxist historians argued in support of a feudal mode of production in Indian history. But it was Marxist historians again, some at JNU, who initially questioned the endorsing of this mode for the Indian past.

Marxists and non-Marxists of every hue had opinions on this debate and it went on for a few years. It was actually extremely useful to the study of medieval history. Regional history came into focus since much of the evidence comes from sources of regional history. Studies ranged from agrarian histories and varieties of tenancies to differing patterns of caste relations, to the inducting of local religions into the mainstream. The variations led to an interest among historians in aspects of environmental, socio-economic, administrative and cultural history. Medieval history, earlier regarded as the Dark Ages, with historians discussing only the politics of establishing sultanates and Mughal rule, was now illumined by other kinds of information and analyses. This debate has been a major departure in the study of premodern medieval Indian history.

Of the remaining twelve courses, three were the choice of the student. These could be courses in non-Indian history, or in other disciplines of the social sciences. Modern history students tended to study aspects of sociology and economics. Those working on premodern periods were encouraged to read social and cultural anthropology. Our sociologist colleague, Satish Saberwal, was a valuable asset for this, although there were others in the school whose courses were also taken. Incidentally, the term ‘centre’ was preferred over the conventional ‘department’, since each had multidisciplinary faculty linked to the general research interests of those that conformed to the main discipline.

The remaining nine courses focused on a broad period of Indian history. We debated in great detail whether we should follow the conventional periodization of ancient, medieval and modern. Historically it was defective since the breaks did not mark any major historical change, only a change in the religion of some dynasties in the twelfth century ad, and again with the arrival of British rule from the eighteenth. We were also well aware of the overlaps between one and the other. What stopped us from changing the periodization in the syllabus was the fact that most advertisements for teaching jobs in history specify one of these three periods, therefore if we had discontinued them our students would have had problems finding jobs. So we continued with the three but underlined continuities, overlaps and disjunctures, where needed, within and between each.

Specialization was required in one of these three periods. In each there was a set of core courses that taught students how to examine particular aspects of the history of that period—political, economic, social, religious and cultural and their interrelations. These courses required familiarity with the different kinds of primary sources relevant to each theme and training in how to consult them. The remaining four were optional courses on other aspects of the same period.

The intention of this course structure was that the student acquire a good idea of what is meant by historical context and background through a study of selected periods and themes; have some comprehension of the concepts that are used in historical analysis; and be familiar with the method of analysing the past and understanding what was meant when it was said that history explains the past. Methods of analyses such as these can be meaningful to research in almost any social science.

Let me mention some critical reactions to what we taught. Criticism came from a few Marxists for an insufficiency of theory—largely Marxist theory—in our courses. Our response was that theory was a means of understanding the past, but the focus could not be singular and it was equally necessary to be familiar with the nature and agenda of sources, and that such other aspects also required study. At the other extreme was some conservative and even liberal opinion, arguing that our history was far too theoretical. We were faced with reactions opposed to each other. These became even more intriguing when we discovered that some of our more vehement critics were including courses similar to ours in their own syllabi!

Historical explanations made greater sense where they drew from logical and secular explanations. This we saw as the contribution of the CHS. It was a time when the teaching of history explored little beyond political and religious factors and that too at a rather superficial level. Even those that claimed, and still claim, to be writing history from an indigenous perspective—whatever that meant or means—were actually basing themselves on colonial readings. We were critiquing the colonial versions of Indian history. Many of us subjected these versions to a secular and reasoned analysis. This became an alternative, if not a corrective, to the colonial reading of the past. This latter was a reading that nurtured a skewed history, and provided a justification, for example, for extreme religious nationalisms. These we demonstrated as being ahistorical and therefore untenable as history. We had our share of confrontations with fantasy playing at being history.

It is as well to remember that from the late 1960s Indian history was shifting from Indology and being inducted into the social sciences. In this mutation the role of the CHS was not insignificant. It was a pioneering effort that has had an impact in many areas of historical studies over the last half century. We were not looking for clones, but in a few universities new courses did begin to reflect a small change in this direction, in part because some of our students are teaching there, but much more so because it is becoming gradually an intrinsic change in the definition of history.

I have mentioned how the CHS started and its early life. People have come and gone and much has changed in JNU and inevitably in the CHS. I retired over twenty-five years ago. So I have been accused of being nostalgic about the early years. But I believe that much of what we started continues. Hopefully the foundations that we built will not be overturned in coming years, no matter how severe the current pounding becomes.

Establishing JNU was a challenge to see whether we could have a university which may not have the same material comforts as the better universities elsewhere but which would be respected for the intellectual quality of the students it produced and their research and that of its faculty. For the almost half century of its existence our students have met the challenge. Apart from the interest they evoke in other Indian universities, they are welcomed in the best universities outside India as generally being well-trained and thoughtful young people. Students have remarked on JNU having given them an understanding of the world in which they live, and even if there are some who have not experienced this, what they have experienced is different from the experience of any other university. Those who do not understand the function of universities in our society, or wish not to, resent this contribution, therefore an attempt is being made to convert a university from a place where one can think without restraint, to a shop where one can obtain degrees.

The content of education is a crucial factor in the cultural reflection of a society. It can be unquestioning and passive, subservient to belief about anything and everything, and pliant. This would suit those who wish to impose a particular way of thinking on people, resulting in an acceptance of a particular ideology. A different kind of content would make a society questioning and active, demanding a greater understanding of its world and making social ethics a primary concern. The culture that many endorse today is at a distance from a commitment to social ethics.

What the future holds cannot be predicted, barring a few hints of what may come our way. One is only too aware that the social sciences are at risk of being so diluted as to become ineffective as areas of knowledge, and especially in the better universities where they have been pushing the intellectual frontiers. Dismantling any one of the three, whether the humanities, the sciences, or the social sciences, will of course wreck the system of knowledge, since the three are interdependent. Those unfamiliar with the thought processes involved even in minimal research, are unaware that undermining the social sciences will be disastrous for the sciences as well, since the two are connected, not at the level of technology but at the level of both asking relevant questions and investigating the answers to questions that relate to advances in science. We would then be no more than purveyors of the thinking and activities of societies other than our own.

It does not require much wisdom to recognize that advances in the sciences come from exercising a critical enquiry into existing knowledge. This is often motivated by the questions posed in the social sciences. In every branch of knowledge it is critical enquiry that is at its root, whether we trace our thoughts to Socrates or the Upanishads. And knowledge in every field has to keep up with advances otherwise it becomes extinct.

To know the past of JNU is in part to remind ourselves that the university was created to advance knowledge, and to make it accessible to all those that want to access it. This involves questioning existing knowledge and being able to seek answers to questions in a free and unfettered manner. Knowledge is the heritage that we leave for those that will come after us. It has therefore to be cultivated and nurtured even against present political odds.

***

Read the book on Kindle today