In New India, an Italian woman with an Indian passport remains a ‘foreigner’, but a French man with an Indian passport becomes a ‘civilisational Hindu’, and is even asked to influence young impressionable minds by creating ‘decolonised’ school textbooks.
Until the Supreme Court pulled him up, Michel Danino functioned as the de facto Deshaguru of Bharat. Now questions are being raised about his credibility and suitability.
The phrase ‘civilisational Hindu’ has emerged in recent years in discussions around education, politics, and culture in India. It is often used to describe someone who sees India not merely as a modern nation-state, but as the expression of an ancient and continuous Hindu civilisation. In this view, Indian history is interpreted through the idea of an unbroken cultural tradition stretching from the Vedas to the present.
While this perspective appeals to many people seeking cultural pride after colonial rule, critics argue that it can distort historical evidence. They say that in the process of presenting a unified civilisational narrative, complex and contested aspects of Indian history — such as caste hierarchy, the movement of horses, the debate around the Saraswati River, and the diversity of knowledge traditions — are simplified, or selectively interpreted.
One area where this debate becomes intense is the interpretation of the Indus or Harappan civilisation. Civilisational narratives often argue that the Harappan world was essentially Vedic, and, therefore, part of a continuous Hindu civilisation. Some even propose renaming the Indus civilisation as the ‘Sindhu–Saraswati civilisation’. The argument relies on identifying the river Saraswati mentioned in the Rig Veda with the Ghaggar-Hakra river system of northwest India and Pakistan. According to this interpretation, the Harappan cities developed along the banks of the Saraswati, and the decline of the civilisation occurred when the river dried up.
However, many historians and geologists caution that the issue remains unresolved. Geological studies suggest that a major Himalayan river may indeed have flowed through the Ghaggar-Hakra channel in prehistoric times, but most evidence indicates that this happened long before the mature Harappan phase. By the time the Harappan cities flourished, the river system appears to have been largely rain-fed rather than glacier-fed. Archaeologists, therefore, argue that while settlements existed along this dry riverbed, identifying it directly with the Vedic Saraswati is still debated. Critics say that presenting the identification as a settled fact risks turning a complex scientific question into a civilisational claim.
Another subject where civilisational narratives are accused of distortion is the role of horses in early Indian history. The horse occupies an important place in Vedic ritual and symbolism, particularly in the Ashvamedha sacrifice. Yet, archaeological evidence from Harappan sites shows very limited and uncertain remains of horses. Genetic studies have proven that domesticated horses became prominent in South Asia only after interactions with Eurasian steppe cultures during the second millennium BCE. Historical records also show that for much of Indian history, horses were imported through trade networks from Central Asia, Arabia, and Persia.
Large horse fairs developed at places such as Pushkar in Rajasthan, Haridwar in Uttarakhand, Sonepur in Bihar, and other pilgrimage centres where traders supplied cavalry animals to Indian rulers. Maritime trade also brought horses by ship from West Asia to ports on the western and southern coasts. Indigenous horse breeding expanded significantly only in the medieval period, particularly after the twelfth century when new warrior elites such as the Rajputs emerged in northern India. Critics argue that civilisational narratives often minimise this long history of horse importation because it complicates the idea of a purely indigenous Vedic culture.
The question of caste provides another example of historical tension. Civilisational interpretations frequently claim that caste as we know it today was largely created or rigidified by colonial administrators, especially through British census categories. While colonial policies certainly hardened social identities, historians point out that earlier Sanskrit texts, such as the Dharmashastras describe a social hierarchy based on birth. Manusmriti and related texts explicitly treat varna as hereditary, and explain the emergence of numerous jatis through the mixing of these varnas. Genetic studies of Indian populations also suggest that large-scale endogamy became widespread roughly 70 generations ago.
Civilisational narratives often emphasise the Bhagavad Gita’s statement that varna is based on qualities (guna) and actions (karma). Critics respond that in practice, most classical texts and historical evidence treat social status as inherited. They, therefore, argue that ignoring the historical reality of caste hierarchy prevents a serious engagement with India’s social past.
A final debate concerns the idea of ‘Indian Knowledge Systems’. Advocates of this concept argue that India produced sophisticated traditions of philosophy, mathematics, grammar, medicine, and astronomy long before colonial rule, and that these traditions deserve recognition in modern education. Critics agree that these intellectual achievements are important, but warn against presenting Brahmanical scriptures as the sole or universal source of knowledge in India. They point out that many developments — such as the zodiac system, planetary astrology, and certain astronomical concepts — entered India through exchanges with Greek, Roman, and West Asian cultures during the early centuries of the Common Era.
For example, sculptural depictions of the zodiac and planets appear in India mainly during the Gupta period, reflecting cultural interaction rather than purely indigenous invention. Similarly, Indian astronomy evolved through dialogue with multiple traditions. To describe all knowledge as originating exclusively in Vedic texts risks
The debate over ‘civilisational Hindu’, therefore, reflects a larger tension in contemporary India. On one side is the desire to reclaim cultural pride after centuries of colonial interpretation. On the other side is the historian’s insistence that pride should not replace evidence.
When textbooks simplify complex debates about caste, horses, Saraswati, or knowledge traditions, critics worry that ideology is being presented as fact. When that happens, the French become Hindus, Muslims become foreigners, Aryans become local, Ram becomes ‘pure’ vegetarian, Shambuka is never beheaded, horses become indigenous, Brahmins emerge from the mouth of Brahma, and Parashurama’s massacre of Kshatriyas becomes righteous, justified violence.
