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EVIL AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF RETRIBUTION: Modern Commentaries on the Bhagavad-Gita by Sanjay Palshikar. Routledge, Delhi, 2014.

THE ostensible thematic of the book under review could be rubrically explained as the later enlistment in the service of modern Indian nationalism, or to be precise, Hindu nationalism, of a once somewhat undistinguished and rather obscure Hindu text composed in relative antiquity. This thematic would, however, fail to adequately capture the distinctiveness of this erudite and readable book by Sanjay Palshikar written in, what is for the most part, delectable prose. While tracing the treatment of the quality and inference of evil by certain modern Indian intellectuals, with particular focus on the Bhagavadgita, Palshikar informedly engages with ideas of agency, renunciation, jivanmukti (living liberation) and non/violence. The book constitutes an interrogation of the interpretative possibilities of the Bhagavadgita – which might have become a defunct text but for the imperatives of British colonialism that resurrected the ‘dialogue’ for a western readership, reflected in the epistemic sense of three remarkable, and in ways vastly dissimilar Indians – Aurobindo, Tilak, and Gandhi – who it might be mentioned had no hesitation in manifestly accepting the text’s authority as well as its self-definition of a ‘samvâdam imam adbhutam’ (dialogue that is wondrous).

The first chapter maps the range of the argument and presents an outline of the conceptual framework and the historical context of the ideas with which the book engages. In this Palshikar also provides instances of the inter-effectuality of the nationalistic consciousness and what is seen as the colonial retrieval of part of India’s cultural heritage. It is an interesting and nuanced attempt to secure a bearing on colonial modernity and nationalist discourse, and to trace therein the intersections of the ideas of identity, hierarchy, and also a kind of vilification of the ‘other’. In the process the study explores the intellectual interstices in inherited continuous group identities, probing into the problematic embedded in the equating of the contemporary with the customary, or rather the consuetidinary while regarding particular scriptural texts such as the Bhagavadgita.

Palshikar discusses the perils of universalizing and chronologically transferring a particular representation of evil, especially in the context of racial and communal signage. Evil is seen here by him primarily as a political category. This brings him to analyze the scope of a demonology drawn from the Bhagavadgita in 20th century India. Such an exercise allegedly involved on the part of certain modern Indian intellectuals, who later come to qualify as ‘political thinkers’ in India, a large scale elision of the variety of context and meaning. ‘They [the modern Indian intellectuals in question] took a leap across centuries, often without a robust hermeneutics, lifted the text of the Gita from a nebulous past, and placed it right in the midst of the eventful decades of early 20th century India’ (p. 10). Similarly, the diverse connotations of ‘evil’ make it problematic for unqualified usage. Palshikar is careful to append very specific senses while invoking the term – employing narratology to discuss the embodiment of evil as human appetency and destructiveness.

The next chapter encapsulates the curve of demonization in Hindu tradition from the Rigveda to the 16th chapter of the Bhagavadgita which is arguably significant for its narrational relationship with the Udyogparva of the Mahabharata, which again can be said to illustrate the demonic quality through the amoral and vaulting ambition of Duryodhana. One could at this point mention that the description of the demonic nature, specifically in verses 13-18 of the 16th chapter, naturally call to mind the character of Duryodhana in the immediate context of the Mahabharata. Palshikar illustrates the gradual congealment in the Vedic corpus of the concept of malevolent forces into a human category of demons opposed to the social and cosmic order ultimately defined and headed by Brahmins. The illustration of this process includes a delightfully astringent account of the evolution of the worldly order, onwards from the mythological golden age to the somewhat more realistic levels of existence, as described innocently in the Vayu Purana and the Skanda Purana. On a more sober note, it brings home the social, if not also a philosophical, danger of atavistic recoveries of historical fables that were originally not entirely judgemental or moralistic, and might admit to a plurality of viewpoint and elucidation insofar as they can accommodate a play of difference.

As is well known, this interplay of possible viewpoints generally differentiates a literary text from an essentially conceptual document. The danger of such atavistic recoveries is a central concern in the book. ‘This is not to deny that the same stories and the same logic behind them can be used and has been used to rationalise the subjugation of several classes and groups of population. But besides the issue of identifying the groups and the people who were demonised and subjugated, addressed brilliantly by materialist historians, there is also the question of representations: what kind of actions and characteristics were called demonic? This calls for the identification of the text’s scheme of evaluation in its own terms. This way the transference of the epithet, "demon", or "demonic", to new groups becomes easier to understand’ (p. 38).

The chapter on Aurobindo notes the apparent elusiveness of his approach to the contradiction between dualism and non-dualism that underlies his vision of the ideal Kshatriya protector of the social order on earth which is ultimately sustained and corrected by the moral order of the universe. According to Palshikar, this teleological argument on the part of Aurobindo creates a premise that the very nature and manifestation of evil indicates that it can be destroyed only through the seeming harshness of violent action which in reality rises above both the dross of the earthly passions and the delusional virtues of mere human piety and nobility, and thereby forges itself as an instrument of the divine will. ‘The idea that the truly free action, the action of a liberated person, acting as the instrument of the divine, is not subject to any ethical code but must transcend all such systems of rule, is an idea we will come across in Aurobindo’s work elsewhere too’ (pp. 61-62).

Aurobindo tries to reconcile on one plane the inexorability of evil with the Sankhya exposition of the eternal interplay of the three gunas, and on another the paradox of an immutable moral standard in a moral cosmos with a moral agent transcendent of the moral standard, through his belief in the power of the ‘supramental’ to dissolve resistance by ‘means other than dramatic struggle and violence’. Palshikar speculates pithily on the significance of such reconciliation and by this adds a link with the next stage of the discussion: ‘The very belief in such a scenario and its confident articulation suggest that it is possible to bend the law of "progress through destruction". Did Aurobindo see this possibility as central to his vision? It is not easy to answer the question. What is easy to say is that as we move from Aurobindo to Tilak, the ambiguity vanishes and we enter the world of stark scholarly claims advocating the necessity of violent, punitive action against evil’ (p. 91).

The chapters on Tilak and Gandhi seem to the reviewer as two parts of a single movement within the general argument of the book, and which perhaps simultaneously demonstrate the attitudinal difference between the two protagonists as well as the conceptual possibilities of the Bhagavadgita and are thus best appreciated in a continuous reading. Tilak argues for an irreducible meaning of the Bhagavadgita which advocates against any overriding notion of renunciation, either of this world or one’s duties while living in it. The duties to the highest ideals are inherently free from the limit of so-called moral principles simply because of the fact that such duties are directed towards the ultimate morality in an earthly life. One can expect, in the context of Tilak’s political position, that any incontrovertible idea of non-violence might constitute for the siddha, or the spiritual adept, one such mistaken and limiting moral principle – as he says, the most bloody of wars may be deemed to be righteous if its participation were equanimous on the part of the liberated warrior. This translates, as in Palshikar’s comment, ‘The Siddha, can kill, maim, manipulate – though all for the sake of universal welfare or lokasamgraha’ (p. 162). Tilak’s evident knowledge of a variety of texts, and Palshikar says that Tilak does write with the persona of a scholar, necessitates epistemic leaps as it were to overcome the counterfactual in proving his thesis. ‘For Tilak, it [Bhagavadgita] is a unified text, with one message, and that message is of remaining engaged throughout one’s life in one’s varna-specific duties in a detached way’ (p. 127).

Conversely, Gandhi understands the Bhagavadgita as pointing in the direction of the dissolution of human ego and undeviating non-violence. There is, as Palshikar indicates, a problem with Gandhi’s theory of the ideal of varna-centred duties being completely devoid of notions of hierarchy and privilege. However, such dichotomies are somehow not so immediately glaring as Gandhi approaches the Gita with total humility, with ‘frequent admissions of ignorance’, and unlike Tilak, as a devotee and not a scholar. The denial of any kind of pride is the foundational quality for attempting to absorb the true lesson of the Bhagavadgita – and here it is of paramount importance that Gandhi regards its absolute absorption as a near impossibility – of the spiritual hindrance of the human embodiment and the truth of human insignificance. This has for him fundamental implications for the perceived duality of good and evil. ‘Gandhi does not mean to propose that we discard the very distinction. No radical relativism intended here. But by making the distinction relative to our passage through this world Gandhi denies ultimate status to both "good" and "evil". The conflict between the two is important for individual spiritual progress, it has no apocalyptic significance’ (p. 153). Can there be a semiotic significance in Palshikar’s preceding the argument on Gandhi by an engrossing discussion on jivanmukti in the previous chapter?

Complete as the book is on its own terms, it left the reviewer wishing for a closer look, in the second chapter, at the possibilities of ethics in the religious consciousness. The author might have also indicated the problematic of viewing evil as a fundamentally politically category, as for instance discussed in Leszek Kolakowski’s stimulating essay, ‘Leibniz and Job: The Metaphysics of Evil and the Experience of Evil’. Moreover, the author’s approach to the topic of demonology is somewhat mediated by a certain section of the academy, resulting therewith in a possibly prismed representation of particular ideas. It could have been a productive aspect to the discussion for Palshikar to indicate his views on the demonising of denominational contestants in even avowedly pacific religions such as Jainism and Buddhism, even if inappropriate, to construct an argument with the book in review, it nevertheless may not be entirely futile to indicate a few texts that remind one of the Bhagavadgita in this regard.

Jain classifications of himsa appeared probably by the 11th century, documenting categories as in Navapadaprakarana of Devagupta, as to the objects and objectives of violence. The much earlier Uttaradhyayana Sutra of the 3rd century describes divine violence on the Brahmin tormentors of an untouchable Jain monk, and the 8th century Brihatkalpa Bhasya justifies defensive violence on the part of renunciants. The Mahaparinirvana Sutra states that killing of persons preaching against the Mahayana was not equivalent even to the killing of animals. The more militant Vajrayana texts exhorted followers to eliminate those who were hostile to the Buddha’s message. Employing the principle of compassion for objectives radically different than those in the foundational texts, the later theoreticians stated that killing for instance human predators served two purposes at the same time. They saved the predator from the sin of possible homicide and protected the likely victims as well. Provided that the Buddhist killing the predator abjured hatred at the point of killing and fixed his mind on compassion instead, he himself was absolved from the sin of killing. He could be someone like the Vajrayana siddha, for whom the text Candamaharosantantra states, ‘Even if he should slay a hundred Brahmins, he is not touched by evil.’

Notwithstanding such omissions, if they are at all such, the book presents an exceptionally able and reasoned argument. Even if I was unable to, very occasionally, agree with it, I enjoyed reading the book and learned from it, and trust others will find it equally valuable. And, since the author himself might well be disappointed at the closure of the argument, a future rejoinder from a more traditional viewpoint would be valuable for the discourse on the theme. Will it be unrealistic to expect a conversation across ideology in the intellectual climate of the country?

Gangeya Mukherji

Reader in English, Mahamati Prannath Mahavidyalaya, Mau-Chitrakoot, U.P.

 

MAULANA AZAD, ISLAM AND THE INDIAN NATIONAL MOVEMENT by Syeda Saiyidain Hameed. Oxford University Press, Delhi, 2014.

THE book by Syeda Hameed is much more than a biography of Maulana Azad; it is a critical celebration of a multifaceted life which unfortunately has remained on the margins of Indian history. I say this because Azad’s view of Islam, minorities, nationalism and education has not been adequately discussed or even acknowledged till today. Some of the better books on Azad, though limited in scope, are by V.N. Datta and Ian Douglas; there is also one critically insightful paper by Aijaz Ahmad. Most others are insipid hagiographies providing few insights into Azad’s life and work. The book under review is perhaps the first serious attempt to delve deep into Azad’s mind and heart. As Mubashir Hasan comments in his foreword, ‘The lifting of the veil from Azad’s many faceted eminence was long overdue. Syeda Hameed has done just that.’ Despite the author’s proximity to Azad since her childhood, the book is not marred by mere glorification of the man; if at all, it successfully maintains a distance.

It is not possible to touch upon all aspects of Azad’s persona discussed in the book. However, I shall comment upon some of those concerns which have huge contemporary relevance, in particular his perception of Islam which needs to be resuscitated today in the context of global Islamic developments. Another concern that permeated Maulana’s life was Hindu-Muslim relations and it repeatedly comes up in the book. His views on education, science and culture were also crucial in the building of a new India in the 1950s.

Syeda Hameed deals with Azad’s perception of Islam, directly or obliquely, throughout the book. We learn that Azad passed through various stages from intense dogmatism to scepticism, followed by denial and repudiation, and finally a real rapprochement. He refused to inherit the faith from his family, like everyone else did; instead, he seriously engaged in a spiritual and scholarly search. While in Alipur Central Jail for a year, Azad spent most of his time thinking about the past and planning for the future. It was here that Azad confided to Malihabadi, his lifelong friend, about the turmoil within. He had rejected the faith of his forefathers at the age of thirteen and, at this stage, had just three questions in mind: Does God exist? If He exists, what is the cause of differences in religions? If one religion is accepted as the true religion, then why the differences within that religion? The only respite during this turmoil was a shift to philosophy and science to comprehend religion. Azad even turned an atheist, reposing faith in materialism and rationalism and seeing religion merely as ignorance and superstition.

Finally, when he came back to faith, after years of reading and thinking, his Islam was not an inherited one but a refreshed Islam, purged of all dogma and prejudice. He provided new insights, as reflected in his Tarjumanul Quran and other writings. ‘The highest form of this guidance,’ writes Hameed, ‘was that Islam enjoined man to use his intellect and reason and to seek knowledge’ (p. 132).

Maulana Azad’s progressive and rational understanding of Islam helped him to formulate a robust view on communal amity. He was convinced that the Hindus and Muslims in India shared a common destiny as Indians and no religious divide could undo that. Azad was at his best while articulating his position on composite nationalism. At his Ramgarh Presidential address in 1940, he reminded both Hindus and Muslims that, ‘This thousand years of our joint life has moulded us into a common nationality. This cannot be done artificially. Nature does her fashioning through her hidden processes in the course of centuries. The cast has now been moulded and destiny has set her seal upon it.’ Syeda Hameed refers to the last part of this address where Azad famously talked of composite nationhood: ‘Whether we like it or not, we have now become an Indian nation, united and indivisible. No fantasy or artificial scheming to separate and divide can break this unity.’ He also had a categorical message for the revivalist Hindus and Muslims when he said that any attempt by them to revive a thousand year old life was just daydreaming and the sooner they woke up the better.

One of the most interesting chapters of the book is about Ghubar-i-Khatir, a collection of letters on unusual subjects. And a noticeable feature of these letters is that Maulana, otherwise deeply seeped in politics, avoids anything political. Written in Ahmednagar Fort Prison (1942-45), and addressed to his friend Habibur Rahman Khan Sherwani in Aligarh, the letters were never allowed to be posted. These letters, says the author, reveal how in his private thoughts Azad was conscious of acting differently from the rest of the world (p. 204). We also know from these letters that Azad sought the solitude of the early hours of the morning when the world slept, to introspect and think undisturbed over a cup of hot Chinese jasmine tea.

One unusual letter, which runs into twenty-six foolscap pages, only discusses aesthetics, particularly music; what it means to him personally, what it meant to people in the course of history, and how India’s composite culture was reflected in her music. Few people know that Azad was an accomplished sitar player who trained for three years with Maseeta Khan, a musician of the Jaipur gharana. In engaging with music, Azad was only following a well established Islamic tradition, which had been marginalized by certain sections during the later centuries of Islam. Even Imam Ghazali, as far back as the eleventh century, had devoted a chapter to music in his Ihya Ulum al-Deen, pointing out that: ‘One who is not moved by music is unsound of mind and intemperate, is far from spirituality and is denser than birds and beasts because everyone is affected by melodious sounds.’

Azad’s commentary on music stands in stark contrast to the Wahabi and Talibani perversion of Islam: ‘I can always remain happy doing without the necessities of life, but I cannot live without music. A sweet voice is the support and prop of my life, a healing for my mental labours. Sweet music is the cure for all the ills and ailments of my body and heart.’ Azad also locates the place of music in history, within Islam as well as elsewhere. He was aware that the Prophet only denounced excessive music or poetry as corrupting; music as such was not prohibited. The thing whose wise and balanced use is an ornament turns into a blot as evil and bad manners if excessively indulged. These letters tell us about the esoteric in Azad’s life and the author does well to highlight that.

Maulana Azad’s commitment to the pluralist ethos of our freedom struggle is reflected in his work as the first minister for education, science and culture in independent India. He constantly strove both as a minister and as an intellectual to synthesize Islamic, Indian and western ideas into a coherent and single pattern for the newly independent nation. He was one of the few leaders of the freedom movement who, though steeped in medieval scholarship and classical learning, transcended the limits of different classical languages and religion. He castigated any kind of narrow outlook, whether expressed as cultural tradition, national chauvinism or religious orthodoxy. The book is a remarkable and welcome celebration of Maulana Azad’s life, his understanding of Islam, his central role in our freedom struggle and his unflinching commitment to the idea of united India.

S. Irfan Habib

Maulana Azad Chair, NUEPA, Delhi

 

ECOLOGY IS PERMANENT ECONOMY: The Activism and Environmental Philosophy of Sunderlal Bahuguna by George Alfred James. SUNY Press, New York, 2013.

THIS timely book clearly and comprehensively captures the motivation, method and philosophy of the grassroots level environmentalist, Sunderlal Bahuguna, best known for his contribution to the ‘Chipko’ movement. The author, George James, discusses why this book is important in the introduction. ‘It is relevant to an understanding of environmental struggles everywhere’ (p. 1). I agree with his observation as environmental struggles the world over have primarily centred on conservation, distribution, justice and sustainability. Since Bahuguna’s own struggles touch on all these at some point or another, a recording of his contribution to the environmental movement is crucial. What makes the book additionally valuable is that while presenting a well researched objective account, it also records the protagonist’s own views.

The book mainly charts the course of Bahuguna’s environmental activism in the Western Himalayas in India. It also seeks to analyze his underlying philosophy. Bahuguna’s actions were influenced by Gandhian thought and the depth of this influence becomes clear on a reading of the book – there is constant reference to some Gandhian idea underlying his actions. According to James there were other influences too. ‘His [Bahuguna’s] environmental philosophy is rooted in the soil of Indian philosophy, informed by the insights of contemporary ecology, and inspired by the vision of Gandhi’ (p. 2). The implications of these influences are discussed in the final chapter.

This book is based on the author’s interviews with Bahuguna that began in 1998. James has a lucid, storytelling manner that he intersperses with explanations and analysis. He narrates his first encounter with Bahuguna: Bahuguna appears friendly and forthcoming and informs James that his entire philosophy can be summed up under three A’s (austerity, alternatives and afforestation) and five F’s (food, fodder, fuel, fertilizer and fibre, all related to trees). As one can well imagine, these are recurrent themes throughout the book.

The initial chapters describe Bahuguna’s childhood in Tehri and his early influences. Born in 1927, Bahuguna and his siblings were raised by their mother when their father died. His mother’s strenuous life seems to have left a lasting impression on Bahuguna, notes James, about the hard life of mountain women. Bahuguna’s tryst with the Gandhian, Sri Dev Suman, to whom he gave the status of guru, is then discussed. Sri Dev Suman introduced the young Bahuguna and his friends to the work of Gandhi and Kropotkin. The latter’s fiery writings, and Gandhi’s ideas of self-rule, non-violence and self-reliance impressed his young mind. It was for helping Sri Dev Suman, who was then in jail for protesting against the princely ruler of Tehri Garhwal, to publish (in the Hindustan Times) a copy of the statement he had made at his summary trial in jail that Bahuguna was arrested for the first time. Sri Dev Suman later died in jail while fasting for his causes. This news affected Bahuguna deeply. He was then all of seventeen and still in jail. But when Bahuguna was temporarily let out on medical grounds, he fled to Lahore and later to Lyllpur. He spent the years away from Tehri productively: reading and learning. James observes that he continued to read Gandhi and picked up the ideas of reconstructing communities from the grassroots and decentralization. He also took to spinning and scavenging, the latter a form of selfless practice suggested by Gandhi. Bahuguna returned to Tehri in 1947 at the age of nineteen.

James notes that Bahuguna had a short-lived career as an activist politician (Chapter 4). He was initially the publicity secretary for the local Praja Mandal (Citizens’ Forum) and later became its general secretary. He fasted for the first time in peaceful protest when the police wouldn’t let him enter his hometown in anticipation of trouble. The police eventually gave in and gave credence to this type of protest, one that he was to turn to several times in his life. As secretary of the Praja Mandal, Bahuguna worked against caste discrimination, and was instrumental in building a hostel for students facing discrimination. It was around this time that Bahuguna met Mira Behn. James spends the next chapter discussing this encounter as it was what, in Bahuguna’s belief, initiated his involvement with ecology. Mira Behn was an Englishwoman who had come to live and work with Gandhi. James introduces her life and environmental activism that came to influence Bahuguna so deeply. Her writings and discussions inspired Bahuguna to devote himself to mountain villages and to understand the bond between these villages and nature. Though Mira Behn’s environmental projects met with mixed success, her legacy lived on as Bahuguna began to organize grassroots level communities along Gandhian lines. James adds ‘…in his association with Mira Behn, he came to understand that Gandhi saw things from their roots’ (p. 58).

Another Gandhian, Sarala Behn, was a major influence on Bahuguna. Lakshmi Ashram, Sarala Behn’s centre for the education of women, had Bahuguna’s future wife, Vimala Nautiyal, among its first students. Nautiyal’s influence on Bahuguna is significant: she made him give up politics, thereby changing the course of his life altogether. Together they set out to create another centre like Sarala Behn’s in Silyara, a backward area of the Tehri hills, calling it the Parvatiya Navjeevan Ashram, where they devoted themselves to service and education. At this time Bahuguna also started padyatras (foot marches) to nearby villages to spread Gandhi’s views on self-reliance. In time padyatras were to become his second nature. The sharab bandi (stop alcohol) movement against liquor outlets was also strengthened as a result of these padyatras.

Bahuguna’s interest in the condition of forests was growing all this while. James now chooses to discuss Bahuguna’s activism within the Chipko movement (Chapters 7-11), of which Bahuguna is sometimes considered the founder. James records that Bahuguna himself dismisses this, claiming to be only a messenger, spreading the word. Accordingly, James discusses the possible origins and nature of the Chipko movement. In understanding the Chipko movement, James avers that, ‘for Bahuguna, the Chipko movement was a women’s movement…’ (p. 92); this did not mean that men were excluded, but only that its issues were of greater importance to women. James explains that to Bahuguna the movement was entrenched in the rural development schemes of Mira Behn and Sarala Behn and in Gandhi’s idea of self-reliance.

James claims that his aim is to comprehend Bahuguna’s understanding of the movement and his activities in its context. Much has been written on the Chipko movement. Though James relies primarily on two accounts – those by Thomas Weber and Ramachandra Guha – he periodically goes back to Bahuguna’s insights to understand the movement from his context. The problems were many. The timber industry had over many decades depleted the forests. Further depletion of forests through auctioning was still rampant. The local women were especially concerned with the loss of native trees that provided for family needs and livestock fodder. There was a loss of jobs as contractors often hired labour from outside the area. The political situation at the time the Chipko sentiment first made an appearance exacerbated the problem. The persons in charge did not understand the problems of the hill people or the nature of their protest. The floods of 1970 were proof that deforestation could have devastating results. There appears to have been dissatisfaction all around. James discusses Bahuguna’s padyatras through villages to explain the injustices involved, to organize demonstrations against unfair government policies, convincing the media to report on the discrimination against hill people, and going on fast against unjust practices. Over time the movement gained strength and became more widespread. James describes Bahuguna’s ‘charisma’ when he interacted with people – he inspired young people, reaching out to village people in words they could relate to. He coined slogans spontaneously, so much so that many looked upon him as the leader of the Chipko movement, a claim Bahuguna has consistently denied.

In the course of his conversations with Bahuguna, James gathered that there were certain features that contributed to the achievements of the movement, what he calls ‘modes’ of the Chipko movement. Of these, Bahuguna personally undertook the first and the fourth and supported the other two. The first mode was the padyatra. Bahuguna walked an impressive 4200 kms between 1973-75, sharing his views on the value of forests and the nature of the Chipko movement. The second mode was the folk song that imparted Chipko messages and had popular appeal. The third mode, with a religious dimension, was that of telling stories, particularly from the Bhagavat Katha, stressing that forest protection was not isolated from the divine, but closely related. The fourth mode was the fast. It has been commented of Bahuguna that he is the only man to go on a fast unto death for the sake of trees. James writes, ‘In discussing his fasts with me, Sunderlal emphasized that the fast is not a hunger strike but an act of devotion to God’ (p. 118) that has the gravity and power to convert the other side. Fasts played an important role for Bahuguna precisely for this reason.

James throws light on how Bahuguna came to coin his famed slogan, ‘Ecology is permanent economy’. In May 1978, Bahuguna pledged to devote himself to the protection of the Himalayan environment. Around this time he read E.F. Schumacher’s Small is Beautiful (1973) about alternative sustainable economies, and Gandhian economist J.C. Kumarappa’s work on service-inspired economies. The slogan came as a result of these interactions. James also discusses Bahuguna’s association with and admiration for Richard St. Barbe Baker (1889-1982), the famous British forester and environmentalist.

James discusses two controversies that plagued Bahuguna’s activism. While assessing the depth of Bahuguna’s deep ecological orientation, James points out that initially Bahuguna had two aims – to build sustainable self-reliant villages and meet the needs of local people. These two aims eventually conflicted when he realized that the first involving the cutting of trees for local industry, was environmentally disastrous and undermined the second. Bahuguna’s views now differed with those Chipko workers who were promoting use of forest resources for village-level industry. On being questioned about this by James, Bahuguna dismissed the analysis that this difference may have led to a split in the movement. He simply saw no opposition between the ecological and economic interests of the movement; his belief that forests be protected and meet local needs remained firm. James adds later, ‘It was for this reason that he and other activists moved from an economic approach to an approach to conservation for a stable and permanent economy’ (p. 168).

James next examines Bahuguna’s efforts to spread the Chipko message far and wide through a padyatra from Kashmir to Kohima. The year was 1981. Bahuguna’s aims were to gain an overall ecological picture of the Himalayas amidst all the damage, communicate this information with decision makers, and share the anguish of the destruction with the communities who depended on the forests. James records that Bahuguna travelled 4870 kilometres covering parts of Nepal and Bhutan as well. Apart from spreading the Chipko message and understanding that commercialization was the root cause of deforestation, Bahuguna was successful in energizing environmental groups in three places.

Bahuguna’s involvement in the Tehri dam issue is discussed in the penultimate two chapters (12 and 13). Many felt that building a hydroelectric power project on the Bhagirathi river, a tributary of the Ganga, would lead to the submersion of several villages and lands and was also in a region that was seismically active. James points out that Bahuguna supported the TBVSS (Anti-Tehri Dam Struggle Committee). The TBVSS organized protests, filed petitions, but the construction work went ahead. James explains Bahuguna’s involvement in the struggle and his pledge not to return to Silyara and his ashram until the dam issue was settled – an issue that to him was not only about the dam but about government policy concerning the Himalayas. James writes ‘…Sunderlal’s involvement with the protest…became a large parenthesis within the larger concern for the condition of the Himalayas’ (p. 175). James’ discussion throws light on how the protest gained from Bahuguna’s dedication and skill – from the organization of massive non-violent demonstrations and a cycle journey and in the drawing in of public and media attention, to time in jail and periods of severe fasting (the longest being 73 days). The author draws attention to Bahuguna’s struggle for economic and environmental justice – both of which to him would be violated by the building of the dam.

The second controversy regarding Bahuguna’s activism that James draws attention to is related to the dam protest. A few religious groups opposed the building of the dam because it would desecrate the holy river Ganga. Some studies claim that because Bahuguna supported these groups, who had a narrow and biased stand, he lost credibility. However, when questioned by the author, Bahuguna asserted that these groups had a political and not an ethical agenda. Their concerns were far from his own religious beliefs, which were influenced by Gandhi’s ideas of equality of all religions and of austerity and tolerance. For Bahuguna, the very idea of ecology was tied up with these beliefs.

James discusses the last phase of the struggle. The Supreme Court of India decided in favour of the dam in 2003. However, the movement had already started to wane. Protesters feared for their compensation. Bahuguna pointed out another reason to James: ‘The appeal of satyagraha is not to the behaviour of a person but to the heart. In the case of the Chipko movement, there were government officials, contractors, and workers whose hearts could be moved. In the protest against the Tehri Dam, the struggle was not against persons but against a corporation…A corporation is not person with a heart that could be moved’ (p. 195). James traces Bahuguna’s resolve in the face of these circumstances: he stayed on till the very end for the sake of those who had not received fair compensation, who had not been relocated. But was the movement a failure? What did Bahuguna achieve? James concludes that issues concerning the dam ranging from the environmental to safety to rehabilitation, got the attention they did in large measure due to the movement and Bahuguna’s efforts. He writes, ‘For Sunderlal this decision was neither a victory nor a defeat, but one episode in the protracted struggle to save the Himalayas for the ecological health of the region and the nation’ (p. 202).

The final chapter focuses on Bahuguna’s philosophy. According to the author, ‘When taken as a whole, his thought represents a critical, comprehensive and coherent environmental philosophy’ (p. 207). James identifies three interconnected themes that motivated all his activities – the philosophy of Gandhi, modern science of ecology and spiritual traditions of India. Bahuguna, while agreeing with the author, feels that the three are really one – Gandhi’s thought was based on spirituality, which came from the insights of the forest dwelling sages for whom the divine was indeed embedded in nature. James explores each theme. He draws out that Bahuguna rejected materialism and modern economics that focused on exploiting nature and believed that science and technology had to be used correctly for the sake of all and for developing alternatives. Bahuguna stood for contentment and not desire. To James, he reiterated ‘…the future lies in tree farming because trees give you all your requirements.’ This was, adds James, ‘a solution that would support the local economy and facilitate village self-reliance and the Gandhian hope of true swaraj’ (p. 214).

It is clear that Bahuguna’s activism was deeply tied to the unfolding environmental movement in India. James’ treatment of his subject matter is only positive, focusing on a man whose love for trees and the Himalayas defined his life and who remained pro-active in his quest. He recognized injustice and protested against it, but always non-violently. He involved women and the youth. He spread public awareness about environmental conditions in India and further and often reached out to policymakers. He became well known, received many awards and yet remained humble. He faced adversity with strength and wisdom. This is the image of Bahuguna the book presents, one sure to win him many admirers. What the book could have gained from, however, is critical reflection. In all, George James offers rich insights into the activism and environmental philosophy of Sunderlal Bahuguna, presenting a wealth of information which will be useful to historians, environmentalists, Gandhian scholars and others.

Pragati Sahni

Department of Philosophy, University of Delhi

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