Indian History Collective

The tradition of the ‘travelling dewan’, a label given to dewans who served as dewan or prime minister with multiple states, is said to have begun by Sir Albion Rajkumar Banerji. So how could we not feature him in our ‘Dewan-i-Khas’ series?

Born in England, with dreams of becoming an English MP, Banerji had to settle for the Indian Civil Services. In 1907, he became the first ICS to be appointed as a Dewan in the state of Kochi and later also served as foreign minister at the court of Kashmir.

During his stint as the dewan of Mysore, he also led the negotiating team for the Cauvery Waters Agreement, which still remains a bone of contention between the states of Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. “Apparently, Banerji was closely involved in the discussions where both sides tried to hammer out a lasting solution,” writes MT Saju. “But there was a problem.”

The problem was that Banerjee belonged to the Madras cadre of ICS and was accused of serving the interests of his home state and the British, rather than the state of Mysore. “Though Banerji ensured that Mysore has a greater proportion of land irrigated with Cauvery water, people thought he had sold Mysore down the line,” writes Siddharth Raja.

SN Pandita writes that Banerji was also responsible for inciting a revolt against the Maharaja of Kashmir. “He masterminded the sowing of the seed of Muslim rebellion against the Maharaja,” writes Pandita. “However, in the circumstances that followed, Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah did become a political scarecrow to challenge Maharaja Hari Singh’s rule.”
Raja believes that Banerji, throughout his life, remained an Empire loyalist. Perhaps this is why his stint as a dewan came to be regarded as a “dark void” by the Maharaja of Mysore. He also favoured a federalist structure for India, hopes that were dashed with the national movement. Raja writes, “His writings of later years show this increasing disillusionment, although he still retained his optimistic outlook for India.”

What does a well known road in Jaipur have in common with Mysore’s sobriquet ‘Garden City of India’?

A dewan. Or rather, the second dewan we have chosen to profile in our series ‘Dewan-i Khas’. The Pink city, the Garden City and the City of Nizams (Jaipur, Bengaluru and Hyderabad, respectively), each from an erstwhile princely state where Mirza Ismail served as dewan, bear the legacy of Ismail’s intellect and artistic sensibility. Jaipur’s primary road is called Mirza Ismail Road. Narayani Gupta writes, “If M. Visvesvaraya, as Diwan of Mysore (1912-19), made Bengaluru an industrial city, then Mirza Ismail made it a beautiful one, with the Lalbagh and the streets lit by chandelier lamp posts.” Ismail made it a point to beautify all the cities in which served as a Dewan. In his autobiography he writes, “It is to my mind obligatory for the administration to provide for the recreation and enjoyment of the people, especially the poorer classes, and enable them to enjoy themselves without expense.”

Born to Persian parents in Bengaluru, Ismail spent most of his life as a Dewan at the Mysore court. However, for the last innings of his career, he found himself in Jaipur which, prior to his arrival, had been regarded as “a picture of neglect” by the New York Times. Though Ismail spent only two years there as Dewan, “his brief spell in Jaipur wrought a civic revolution,” writes Gupta. By the time his stint was done the city was “more thoroughly transformed and improved than New York after Robert Moses got through with it,” argues Gupta.

However, Ismail’s contributions were not limited only to town planning and beautification. He also took a keen interest in setting up industry and educational and healthcare institutions. In Jaipur he commissioned several schools, universities, medical colleges and hospitals, while also improving the connectivity of roads between major points around the city.
But, writes Gupta, “Mirza Ismail was too astute a person not to see the writing on the wall.” “Governments in the East,” he reflected. “Do not enjoy the confidence and respect of the public they serve. Our countries so easily become the paradise of the professional politician.”

If the history of the princely states has languished on the periphery of historical research it has done so, particularly, with regard to many progressive dewans or prime ministers of these states. At a time of Enlightenment in the West and British power (citing misgovernance to disenfranchise rulers) in the subcontinent, the princes were driven to create what Janaki Nair calls a ‘hollow monarchy’, or a monarchy run by a bureaucracy (including the dewan) which had received a Western education. To quote Sarath Pillai, in such a monarchy, the rulers were ‘hollowed’ or made less powerful in “the face of steely bureaucracy and the paramount power [of their British overlords]”. The dewans, in this paradigm, often drove the evolution of the princely state.

Our new short series ‘Dewan-i Khas,’ brings you the stories of such dewans from across the subcontinent. We begin with T Madhava Rao who, according to Rahul Sagar, “Had the unique distinction of serving successively as Dewan (or Prime Minister) to the Maharajas of Travancore, Indore and Baroda.” Rao is fascinating not only because the states of Travancore and Baroda, during his tenure, came to be regarded as ‘model states’, but also because he is one of the first Indians to write a modern treatise on statecraft. Comprising his lectures to the young Sayajirao III of Baroda, Rao’s ‘Hints on the Art and Science of Government’ “summarises the principles, gleaned from long experience, to which Rao credited his practical successes” (Sagar). It spans a vast array, from personal ethics, a ruler’s need for internal and external discipline, fundamental governing principles, methods of working in key departments and how to regulate the relationship with a paramount power like the British.

Did Rao’s ‘Hints… ’ have the desired effect on Sayajirao? According to Sagar, “Rao had shown him how such an equilibrium could be attempted under modern conditions, namely by establishing a constitutional monarchy. But unwilling to do what this required—to curtail his power—Sayaji chose instead to repress his critics, setting Baroda on a collision course with the nationalist movement, and the Congress in particular.”

The dewans, in this paradigm, often drove the evolution of the princely state.

You can read more about this in Janaki Nair’s book 'Mysore Modern: Rethinking the Region Under Princely Rule':

https://www.amazon.in/Mysore-Modern-Rethinking-Region-Princely/dp/0816673845

Despite what you may think, Subhas Chandra Bose’s Indian National Army wasn’t the only military force of its kind. Kaushik Roy writes, “The Axis powers set up several satellite armies for creating political and military troubles for the Allies.” But what made the INA special was its merging of the social and cultural ethos of pre-colonial India with the professional military styles of the West.

Roy posits that this blend of pre-British and Western martial traditions actually eroded the effectiveness of the INA, but it had a profound impact on the psyche of Indian society. “Bose realised that British imperialism could not be crushed only by brute force,” writes Roy. “Colonialism depended on collaboration with certain segments of Indian society. Bose aimed to loosen the imperial foundiation by trying to wean away these groups from the imperial fold.”

The INA’s social cache, not just in India but also abroad, is evident from the number of personnel recruited from the British Indian army as well as the diaspora. It was as part of this ‘social strategy’ that the INA inducted women, setting it apart from other militaries in the world at the time. “He [Subhas Bose] felt that psychologically it would have a tremendous effect on Indian men, soldiers as well as Indians inside India,” writes Carol Hills. Bose wished to invoke the pre-colonial image of a dominant and strong woman; a Durga or a Kali, rather than an angel of the hearth (what the Gandhian movement had made Sita out to be). This led to the birth of the Rani of Jhansi regiment.

It was for similar (social) reasons that the tradition of giving commands in the vernacular was begun by the INA— a tradition which was adopted by the post-colonial Indian army.

For more read, “Axis Satellite Armies of World War II: A Case Study of the Azad Hind Fauj, 1942-45”, by Kaushik Roy.

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/318733716_Axis_Satellite_Armies_of_World_War_II_A_Case_Study_of_the_Azad_Hind_Fauj_1942-45

Have you ever wondered what the Great War, or the First World War, meant for Indian soldiers? We bring you the rare account of an Indian-Parsi soldier who fought in the Battle of the Somme (often called World War I’s deadliest battle).

Although the First World War is widely considered to be a European conflict, India, which happened to be a British colony then, also had to participate. “More than one million Indian soldiers were deployed overseas to fight on behalf of the British Empire in the Indian Army during World War I. They fought in France and Belgium, Egypt and East Asia, Gallipoli, Palestine and Mesopotamia,” writes Andrew T Jarboe.

Nariman Karkaria, a Parsi from Navsari in Gujarat, was one of the few soldiers who not only saw action on three different fronts and lived to tell the tale, but also left a first-hand account of the World War. Originally in Gujarati, Karkarias account of the Great War was titled ‘Rangbhoomi par Rakhad’ and has only recently been translated into English by Murali Ranganathan as ‘The First World War Adventures of Nariman Karkaria’. So far it is only one of the two known first-hand accounts of Indians soldiers who fought in World War I.

About the Somme, Karkaria writes, “We were staring death in the eye. But as luck would have it, there had been a fierce battle on this very site just four days ago, and the bodies of the dead soldiers were lying all around us… As we advanced, we would lie behind these corpses, and they would act as our shield taking all the gunfire.” Although injured at the Somme, Karkaria would not only live to tell his tale, but also later on join the 5th Middles*x Regiment and take part in the action at the Western Asian front, including the battle that led to the Allied conquest of Jerusalem, and then again at the Balkan front as part of King Edward's Horse.

Read Karkaria’s account of the Battle of the Somme which has been reproduced in full on our website: https://indianhistorycollective.com/an-indian-at-the-battle-of-somme/

(Pictures: A Benet-Mercier machine gun section of 2nd Rajput Light Infantry in action in Flanders, during the winter of 1914-15. Wikimedia Commons and a portrait of Nariman Karkaria.)

The birth anniversary of Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar, born in 1891, coincides with the launch of Indian History Collective, three years ago.

This project has strived, time and again, to shine a spotlight on the life and works of this socio-political and intellectual colossus who belongs not just to the past but, also, the present and future. Here are some instances.

BR Ambedkar’s ‘Annihilation of Caste’ is a groundbreaking text which was originally supposed to be a speech that was “prepared… but not delivered” and which continues to shine like the sun in the face of darkness. Read the complete text, along with his correspondence and debate with Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi on the issue, on our site.

It has been carried in two parts and stands testimony not only to Babasaheb's massive intellect but also to his acerbic wit and ability in turning a phrase. (To quote Valerian Rodrigues, “Ambedkar privileged the written word.”)

In this text, Ambedkar begins by demolishing the idea of ‘chaturvarnya,’ then takes on arguments routinely put forward by defenders of the caste and the varna system, following this up with a searing indictment of Hinduism as it is practised.

Besides striking at the root of social injustice, ‘Annihilation of Caste’ also offers an alternative way.

Secondly, read today on our website a speech that Ambedkar delivered at the final reading of the bill to enact the new Constitution in November, 1949, which comprises a telling set of warnings regarding dangers to the Indian Constitution.

“What should happen to her (India’s) democratic Constitution? Will she be able to maintain it or will she lose it again?” asks Ambedkar, almost as if he were speaking to us today.

Read this speech and ‘Annihilation of Caste’ in full on our website. Links via Linktree in bio.

Indian History Collective is looking for an Editorial Intern.

Come, work with us for the love of , and , for we are where these three wonderful things meet.

The role will involve:

Researching, curating and writing history-related content for our website.

Liasoning with publishers, historians and other scholars for permission to carry academic papers, essays and book excerpts as required.

Proactively setting up and taking meetings and calls with historians, scholars and curators to be able to be cued into the latest in historical research and curate content for the IHC website.

Think of and help execute social and digital campaigns to promote and distribute this content.

Requirements:

Someone with a background in (or other allied fields in social sciences) who can research and curate content from primary sources and scholarly works.

Excellent English writing skills (you need to be able to introduce, summarise and contextualise dense academic text to make it compelling and accessible for the lay reader).

Should be comfortable with working on Google Docs.

Should have working knowledge of social media (preferably some experience as well)

This is a full-time Delhi-based position for which we offer an honorary stipend (though if an intern has classes then she, he or they can take time out for the same).

To apply (or for further queries), write to: [email protected] with your CV and writing samples.

The ‘insider’/’outsider’ debate is entirely irrelevant in the context of why the Mughal empire needs thorough studying for an adequate understanding of Indian history. This is what many commentators, stuck on this line of enquiry, are missing.

John F Richards writes, “Although the first two Timurid emperors and many of their noblemen were recent migrants to the subcontinent, the dynasty and the empire itself became indisputably Indian. The interests and futures of all concerned were in India, not in ancestral homelands in the Middle East or Central Asia.” Insightful? Yes. But not a reason for why one should or shouldn’t study the Mughals.

Consider another Richards quote — “The (Mughal) Empire was more than a superficial canopy… It was an intrusive, centralising system which unified the subcontinent.” — and it will become clear why the Mughals, irrespective of whether or not they were ‘outsiders’, bear great scrutiny: because their influence on the intellect, culture, society, economics and politics of India’s past as well as its present (and quite possibly future) is immense.

Here’s a list of what you can read about the Mughals on our site:

1. Begin with an essay by Irfan Habib on Religion in Medieval India. It traces the evolution of religious sects under the Mughal rule. Referring to the complexity of religious binaries, Habib writes, “Hinduism and Islam were not religions in the same sense [as they are today].”

2. Next up, a lot of what we know about Mughal emperor Akbar comes from two sources— Abul Fazl and Badauni. Yet we know little about these scholars themselves. Our excerpt from ’s ‘Akbar of Hindustan’ attempts to correct this.

3. A lot has been said about Akbar’s relationship with religion, yet the question still rages: In his religious outlook, was he mystically driven or politically shrewd? Read this excerpt from ’s book to know more.

4. The Mughals shared an interesting and complicated relationship with many Sufis and Sufi saints. But what do we know about Sufism and various Sufi Silslihas? Read our excerpt from ’s ‘In Search of the Divine’.

The last recommendation is in our comments. Link in bio.

“Great is truth but still greater… is silence about truth.” —Aldous Huxley

The NCERT’s ‘rationalisation’ of school syllabus has brought into focus the subject it has chosen to ‘rationalise’. Examples of this ‘rationalisation’ include a deletion of historical content pertaining to Mughals, Gandhi’s assassination and caste.

And yet this call for silence, surrounding milestones in this country’s history, is not novel. To illustrate, we bring you a chapter from the book ‘RSS, School Textbooks and the Murder of Mahatma Gandhi’ by Mridula and Aditya Mukherjee and Sucheta Mahajan, with a foreword by Bipan Chandra.

The chapter explores how the RSS in the early noughties communicated ideology through “tens of thousands of its Saraswati Shishu Mandirs and Vidya Bharati primary and secondary schools” via a fabrication of historical facts “designed to promote not patriotism, as is claimed, but… blind bigotry and fanaticism”. This fabrication hinges on tropes such as the superiority of ancient Hindu civilisation, the vilification of Muslims and Christians, the glorification of figureheads like Hedgewar and Golwalkar and undermining of those like Nehru and Gandhi as well as overlooking those connected to the latter’s assassination.

Next, the chapter probes “the attempt to use government institutions and state power to attack scientific and secular history and historians and promote an obscurantist, backward looking, communal historiography”. To elaborate, the authors refer to a 2003 study titled ‘History in the New NCERT Text Books: A Report and an Index of Errors’ which reveals “an uncanny similarity between the distortions in these NCERT books and those produced by the RSS Shishu Mandirs and Vidya Bharati”.

“These textbooks are… beyond the realm of salvage,” the study concludes. “They need to be withdrawn altogether.”

The chapter makes its points by presenting evidence in the form of excerpts and Q & A sets from textbooks of the Saraswati Shishu Mandirs and Vidya Bharati schools as well as the early 2000s revised NCERT texts.

Interestingly, in the first edition of Hari Om’s ‘Contemporary India’ for Class X, Gandhi’s assassination “was not even mentioned”.

Why did Ashoka fall completely silent in the last decade of his reign?

Chandragupta Maurya’s last years were spent in penance at the Chandragiri hill, where he took to asceticism in accordance with the Jain Digambara sect. Jain texts have lauded him and mention him very often.

The last years of his grandson Ashoka’s reign, however, are shrouded in mystery, with very little contemporary textual evidence. After promulgating the Seventh Pillar Edict, his poetic voice falls silent. Nayanjot Lahiri tries to investigate why. The emperor occupied the throne for another decade. So why did he cease to speak through his public messages carved in stone? Could it be depression left over from the Kalinga War? An existential crisis post his embrace of Buddhism? All of this is speculation, encouraged by legends surrounding the emperor’s last years. Here’s what we do know.

The Mahavamsa [historical chronicle of Sri Lanka as a Pali poem] chronicles his continued donations to Buddhism during this period. “The Mahavamsa is known to have derived a great deal from the Dipavamsa [Sri Lanka’s oldest historical record] but the latter text is silent about Ashoka’s last years. The only possible conclusion is that the brief account in the former is some version of the popular view about Ashoka’s last years in this part of South Asia in the fifth century,” writes Lahiri.

This lack of historical record applies to Asoka’s successors as well. “The dearth of contemporary chronicles and accounts of the Ashoka years persists into those of his successors. No Mauryan ruler after Ashoka set down a substantial body of epigraphs on stone,” Lahiri writes.

However, as Buddhism continued to put down roots across Asia, glimpses of Ashoka’s life were reconstructed in Buddhist chronicles. But this took time. For a while, his imagery was absent from the Buddhist narrative. He is absent from Buddhist iconography in the Bharhut Stupa, for example. Lahiri writes, “It would take a couple of centuries for Ashoka to be similarly imaged. Eventually, he came to be remembered in this form in the early part of the first century CE, on sculpted columns and lintels of the remarkable gateways.”

Few stories bring out the complexities of Mughal era politics like that of Mahabat Khan, Jahangir’s close childhood friend, who later launched a coup and arrested the emperor, then struck a deal with his son Shah Jahan.

Khan had rendered years of service to Jahangir when he was prince. The latter writes of him glowingly in Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri, in the year 1617, when Khan was given an honorary du-aspha si aspha, on account of his service in the Deccan. The rank was later withdrawn. According to Beni Prasad, Khan fell in disfavour as the ‘Junta’, spearheaded by Nur Jahan and Khurram (Shah Jahan), gained prominence. He was appointed governor of Kabul, effectively removing him from the Mughal court.

“During the last years of Jahangir’s reign, Mahabat Khan seemed to enjoy the support of many Rajputs and Afghans at court,” writes Afzal Hussain. Unsettled dues at the office of the imperial diwan and Khan marrying his daughter to Khwaja Barkhurdar, without the emperor’s permission, was considered treasonous. The couple was invited to the Mughal court where Barkhurdar was humiliated and imprisoned. Khan flared up at this and appealed to his Rajput allies for support. In the coup that ensued, he took Jahangir into custody.

Hussain writes, “Mahabat Khan appears to have remained in a confused state of mind. Although he took the bold step of arresting the Emperor, he could not think of removing Jahangir or Nur Jahan from the nominal pinnacle of power. He hoped that through Jahangir he could win allies among the nobles.”

Instead, his Rajput allies abandoned post and Khan was forced to later liaise with Shah Jahan who had also rebelled against his father. Nur Jahan eventually negotiated Jahangir’s release and Shah Jahan, Jahangir’s successor, pardoned Mahabat Khan, allowing him to carry on as an influential figure in the Mughal empire. Mahabat’s career graph (his rise, fall and rise again) reflects the fluidity of Mughal polity. Hussain calls Khan’s failed coup-d'etat a “dramatic illustration” of dissent but it is also illustrative of how various players, not just heirs to the throne, would play risky power games in a quest for their piece of the Mughal empire.

Were the neolithic settlers of ‘India’s Stonehenge’ familiar with cranial surgery?

Often referred to as India’s ‘Stonehenge,’ Burzahom, in present-day Kashmir, is one of the neolithic wonders of the subcontinent. Dated between 3000-1500 BCE BM Pande writes, “The overall economic level at Burzahom seems to be that of the hunters and food-gatherers, with the neolithic folk at Burzahom practising rudimentary cultivation that is attested by harvesters, round perforated stones used possibly as weights for digging stones, etc.”

However, one of the most interesting discoveries from the site has been a human skull that shows evidence of a trepanation procedure. Trepanation, Anek Sankhyan and George Weber write, “is the craniotomy or drilling/cutting through the skull vault of a living or recently deceased person.” The Burzahom skull belongs to a female, probably aged between 26-30, however, no one has been able to determine why such a surgical procedure would have been performed.

“As it is, we can only speculate that the Burzahom woman with the, at least slightly abnormal skull may have been insane, epileptic, or otherwise ‘different’,” write Sankhyan and Weber. Although 6 holes and 5 other depressions have been found on the skull, no instruments for performing such a procedure have been found. But with plentiful evidence and tools of such a procedure being found from Indus Valley sites, the Sankhyan and Weber say, “It is an attractive, but purely speculative thought that at least some of the trepanation on this skull could have been performed by an Indus civilisation surgeon with their own bronze instruments.”
However, the Burzahom skull is yet to answer the question of how such prehistoric trepanation came to use techniques and procedures remarkably similar to those found in other ancient societies of Europe, the Americas, Africa and other parts of Asia. Sankhyan and Weber write, “Trepanation in the case of the Burzahom skull and elsewhere could merely represent the surgical part of a much more elaborate medico-ritual ceremonial procedure, of which only the trepanated skull has come down to us.”

We know about gender ambiguity in ancient societies but did the Indus Valley civilisation (IVC) also witness the prevalence of a ‘third s*x’?

Conceptions of s*xuality, gender and fertility in the Indus valley are best investigated through a plethora of terracotta figurines discovered in Harappa. Such figurines, found in the ruins of this ancient yet “faceless civilization”, to quote Gregory Possehl, have become our reckoners.

The earliest village religion in the neolithic settlement evolved around fertility and the image of the mother and this continued into the Mature Harappan era. However, as Asko Parpola writes, “Male human figurines make their appearance in the Early Harappan period, first at Mehrgarh, where they usually are turbaned and sometimes have a child in their arms.”

But, interestingly, a subset of figurines found from the site have mixed attributes. There are some wearing feminine attire, despite masculine attributes; one figurine has a moustache as well as breasts. “The mixture of s*x attributes on figurines may also represent a number of s*xual and gender identities expressed through cross dressing or androgyny,” writes Sharri R. Clark.

Also, Western notions of what constitutes ‘male’ or ‘female’ have mired the study. “The ability to consider s*x and gender separately in archaeological interpretation is still an important option,” writes Clark. Previous research on s*x and gender in the Indus did not necessarily separate the two, apart from the vague references made to physical attributes. According to Clark, female figurines were overemphasised which then led to even fragmentary and ambiguous figurines being classified as female.

The figurines with ‘mixed attributes’, which Clark talks about, might have had ritualistic purposes, but no temples or ritualistic buildings have been found to corroborate the same. What does this say about social identities in the IVC? Did social and gender roles intersect?

“The equivalence in the representation of male and female upper bodies and the mixed attributes on a few figurines indicate concepts of s*x, gender and s*xuality in Indus society were both complex and somewhat fluid,” Clark concludes.

Besides Hindus who are the other claimants to Shivaji’s memory? What was his relationship with the British like?

“While celebrating Shivaji’s birthday every year we must re-interrogate his story present in the layers of memory which began their journey into our lives from the 17th century itself.” —Anirudh Deshpande.

Shivaji is a historical figure that hardly needs an introduction. However, as Cynthia Talbot has shown, memories of events, places or people survive in a society in multiple layers and are produced and often re-produced by bards and historians over centuries. Interestingly, when it comes to the story of Shivaji we find two dominant narratives.

“The first,” Anirudh Deshpande writes, “Has been popularised by the essential Brahmanical ideologues of Hindutva according to whom Shivaji was a Gau Brahman Pratipalak (custodian of cows and Brahmins) dedicated to upholding the social hegemony of savarna Hindus threatened by Muslim tyranny. The second view projects Shivaji as an ideal secular king dedicated to the welfare of his subjects, most of whom were the Shudra peasants.”

However, the first narrative was only constructed in colonial times. “We find the fusion of colonial and communal perspectives in the imagination of Aurangzeb as the archetype Muslim tyrant. The story of Shivaji was also constructed simultaneously as a binary heroic counter-narrative to the debunking of Aurangzeb,” writes Deshpande.

But Deshpande says that a re-interpretation of Shivaji, through contemporary records, suggests that there are many claimants to his memory, beyond these two dominant ones.

“Even the Non-Hindus have a legitimate claim on his memory,” writes Deshpande. Many of Shivaji’s trusted naval admirals were devout Muslims, and so was the servant who helped him escape from Agra. Shivaji also had good relations with the East India Company. A representative of the EIC attended his coronation at Raigad in 1674 and during his raids in Surat, Shivaji left the Company largely untouched.

“All these facts,” writes Deshpande, “increases the number of claimants to his memory.”

, in 1930, Gandhi began his march to Dandi from Ahmedabad’s Sabarmati Ashram, kicking off the Civil Disobedience Movement. His violation of British salt tax law would transform the freedom struggle. Less remembered are parallel, similar protests throughout the subcontinent which highlighted the contours of resentment upon which Civil Disobedience grew, while building upon the effect of Gandhi’s march to give the movement a national & socialist hue.

On March 19, 1930, as Gandhi marched to Dandi, the patidars of Ras (Kheda District, Gujarat) appealed to the Congress for permission to begin a parallel movement for the non-payment of taxes. According to historian Sumit Sarkar, Gandhi & the Congress were hesitant at first (probably because one protest may have diluted the other) but eventually acquiesced. The numbers in which they gathered were overwhelming. Later in the 1930s, the spirit of resistance spread to Hisar (Punjab), where peasants not only refused to pay rent but also seized their landlord’s crops (both rent & crops would have been shared with the British). In Rohtak a group of ‘social bandits’ (to borrow from Hobsbawm) pushed back against landlordism. In Karnataka the ‘no-rent campaign’ was in full swing in Belgaum & Dharwad.

In Bengal a ‘no-tax campaign’ was born in Birbhum, whose peasantry was wracked by insufficient rain & crop failure. From 1923 itself, there had been open resistance against landlords as well as British officers. “In this situation, it was very natural that the call for boycotting any tax in the 1930s would get overwhelming support,” writes Partha Mazumdar. As the movement spread, a police superintendent wrote in his report, “In view of the above situation it is very essential that I should either be allowed with a full complement of the district force or be provided with an extra force of 50 men.”

Sarkar identifies 2 phases of the movement in Bengal. The first, controlled peasant mobilization on issues selected by Gandhian leadership in the villages. The second, an appeal for the non-payment of taxes, including chowkidari taxes, the violation of forest laws & the picketing of foreign cloth.