I was quite taken aback when I came across a statement by Mahatmaji in his message about “Hindu-India,” where he promoted the idea of a common script for all Indian languages:
“…We must promote a common language. The beginning must naturally be made with the script, and until the Hindu-Muslim question is solved, confined perhaps to Hindu India. If I could have my way, I would make the learning of Devanagari script and Urdu script, in addition to the established provincial script, compulsory in all the provinces…”
— Young India, 27-8-1925, CWMG, Vol. 28, p. 122
This quotation, while progressive in its advocacy for linguistic unity, also underscores the need for caution when using sensitive terms like “Hindu-India”—especially in today’s politically charged atmosphere where nationalism is often framed in religious terms.
If I have understood correctly, Mahatmaji’s use of the term “Hindu-India” likely referred not to religion per se, but to those linguistic communities that did not primarily speak Urdu. Otherwise, those who seek to appropriate Gandhi’s words to justify a particular ideological position on religious nationalism may end up misquoting him out of context.
Thankfully, in all my limited reading so far, I have not encountered anyone else quoting or even referencing this specific term “Hindu-India” as used by Mahatmaji. Yet, to truly understand why he used it, we must revisit the complex colonial politics of language. In the late 19th century, during the Indian Education Commission’s visit to Aligarh (1882), Muslim landlords emphasized Urdu’s place as a native Indian tongue spoken across communities—not just as a Muslim or religious language. But nationalist critics like Bharatendu Harishchandra dismissed Urdu as manipulative and foreign, even morally degenerate, framing it as a tool for Muslim domination in law and administration. The British, with their pre-existing biases and political motives to weaken Muslim power, often sided with Hindu elites. [See Appendix for the full quote from where I collected these points: Orientalism and the Postcolonial Predicament ] This linguistic polarization, rooted in colonial strategy, has had long-term consequences that still echo in contemporary communal discourse.
Closing Reflection
The historical references I’ve shared are not meant to stir controversy, but to highlight the layered complexities behind terms like “Hindu-India” and the debates over national language and script. As we’ve seen, language in colonial and postcolonial India has always been more than a means of communication—it has been a battleground for identity, access, and power.
Mahatmaji’s use of “Hindu-India,” when read in its historical context, appears to refer more to linguistic demographics than to a religious or exclusionary vision of nationalism. Yet this phrase, if lifted out of its original time and place, can easily be misunderstood—especially in today’s polarized climate. This is precisely why it’s essential to approach such expressions with both scholarly rigor and interpretive humility.
The excerpts from Orientalism and the Postcolonial Predicament help us see how colonial administrators, native elites, and emerging nationalist leaders were entangled in contested narratives of language, identity, and legitimacy. These histories remind us that the question of a national language—or script—is never neutral. It must be approached not just with idealism, but with sensitivity to the historical wounds and social realities that continue to shape Indian society.
Ultimately, if we truly seek unity in diversity, we must learn not only to speak one another’s languages—but to listen across them, with empathy and care. In that sense, Mahatmaji’s vision, even when framed imperfectly, calls us toward deeper understanding, not division.
However, the legacy of ‘divide and rule’ employed by the British to govern us still persists, even though they have long departed. The problems they created by dividing Indians along communal lines—solely to protect their own interests—continue to harm us today. Politicians and religious fundamentalists alike have found this strategy useful for advancing their own agendas and ideologies.
What’s more concerning is that this phenomenon is no longer confined to India. It has become a global trend. The rise of right-wing nationalism across the world has led to divisions within societies and nations—if not in identical form, then certainly in spirit—resembling the old colonial policy of divide and rule. Societies are increasingly fractured both internally and against one another.
As long as religion is politicized and politics is communalized, there seems to be little hope for lasting solutions. Nevertheless, those who still believe in the ideal of ‘unity in diversity’ must continue to do their part. Even if their voices are drowned in the deafening roar of communal tensions, they must not fall silent. They must continue with the quiet confidence that: “All is not lost just because something went wrong.”
This article, in its own small way, is one such voice.
Ashram
9-4-2025
Orientalism and the Postcolonial Predicament
“…when the Indian Education Commission came to Aligarh in August 1882, its chairman W.W. Hunter received a deputation of fifteen Muslim notables from four adjoining districts. Hunter, perhaps the supreme ‘expert’ of the Indian Civil Service… had lived in India for twenty years. Yet, the members of the deputation still felt it necessary to explain to him what language people spoke in India. They claimed it was Urdu. They weren’t speaking as Muslims, they assured the British official:
‘Urdu is not our religious or national [qaumi] tongue… It is a product of India itself.’
We are zamindars, often frequent our villages, talk with every description of cultivators [kashtkaar] of both sexes, see and hear them converse with each other, and find that it is Urdu which is the mother tongue [mutanaffis ki zuban] of them all.”— The Fate of Hindustani: Colonial Knowledge and the Project of a National Language, David Lelyveld, in Orientalism and the Postcolonial Predicament, ed. Carol A. Breckenridge and Peter van der Veer, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1993, p. 205
“Unfortunately, there is no record of the conversations that the zamindars had overheard in the villages they owned…”— Ibid.
“The use of the word mutanaffis (having breath, being animate), morphologically unmodified from the Arabic and inaccurately translated at the time as ‘mother tongue,’ was just the sort of thing the opponents of Urdu objected to…”— Ibid.
“The major figure of Hindi literature in the nineteenth century, Bharatendu Harishchandra, also met the education commission when it came to Banaras. He told them, in English, that the problem with Muslims was that they have ‘a sharp and oily tongue’ and try to ‘overpower other people.’ He argued that their insistence on Urdu was to maintain a monopoly over clerical and administrative posts and the legal profession. He even went so far as to say that Urdu was the language of prostitutes and a tool of deception. Remove the deception, he said, and it is essentially the same as Khari Boli Hindi.”— Ibid., p. 206
“British sympathies tended to favor Hindus over Muslims in the eighteenth century. There were clear political reasons: Europeans carried historical baggage of fear and hostility toward Muslims dating back to the Crusades and the Reconquista in Spain. In India, the British were displacing Muslim powers…”— Rosane Rocher, British Orientalism in the Eighteenth Century: The Dialectics of Knowledge and Government, in Orientalism and the Postcolonial Predicament, p. 222
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