“The English language has caused a great loss to the country. We are losing our language, our culture as there are hardly any people who speak Sanskrit now.

“We have lost everything in the era of modernism. English language has caused maximum damage to India. Knowing or speaking English is not bad but the problem is when we try to act like an Englishman. [Emphasis ours]

“We have started forgetting our religion and culture these days. There are only 14,000 people left in this country speaking in Sanskrit. Knowledge acquired out of English is not harmful but the Anglicisation penetrated into the youth is dangerous.”

— Rajnath Singh, BJP president, while addressing a function in New Delhi on Friday, July 19.

Dear Mr Singh,

I read with intrigue and some reservation your views on the English language in India in today’s newspapers. I am aware newsmakers run the risk of being quoted out of context; So I gathered an assortment (given above) of your statement picked in bits from different dailies.

To be honest, I’ll begin with a disclaimer: I dote on gin and tonic and have long dreamt, though not dared, of sporting a billycock. If there is any loss that you talked about in your speech the English language could cause, I am its living epitome. But, on a realm of ideas and arguments, I am impartial and selfless.

I read and re-read your statement to come down to two of your basic concerns: first, Anglicisation of the country is dangerous; and second, only a handful of people speak Sanskrit now. I will deal with the two in reverse.

According to the 2001 census, only 14,135 persons speak Sanskrit. The number may have come down further in 2013 given the fall in the previous decade (according to the 1999 census, 49,736 persons spoke Sanskrit). Since the 1990s, movements to spread spoken Sanskrit have been increasing. Organisations like Samskrita Bharati are conducting ‘Speak Sanskrit’ workshops to popularise the language.

ALSO READ: A letter to the Anglophile: a case for reviving Sanskrit

Newspapers have published reports about several isolated villages, where, as a result of recent revival attempts, large parts of the population, including children, are learning Sanskrit and are even using it to some extent in everyday communication. Some of these locations are Mattur in Karnataka, Mohad (Narasinhpur) and Jhiri (Rajgadh) in Madhya Pradesh, Kaperan (Bundi), Khada and Ganoda (both in Banswada) in Rajasthan, Bawali (Baghpat) in Uttar Pradesh and Shyamsundarpur (Kendujhar) in Odisha.

While I hope and wish the revival attempts bear more such fruits, I have my doubts if Sanskrit was the language of masses in any period of recorded history. Please tell me if I am wrong, but the earliest and the only known documented proof of this language being spoken by workers and ordinary citizens is dated 4th century BCE. In his book of epic importance Ashtadhyayi, grammarian Panini cites the example of a sutak (charioteer) conversing with a prince in Sanskrit to elaborate on a grammatical rule. There is an element of doubt in this example as well. Inferring from other examples, it appears a sutak to a royal in the ancient India was mostly supposed to be a man of wisdom and was thus distinct from ordinary workers. Channa to Prince Siddhartha, Krishna to Arjuna and Shalya to Karna are some of the illustrious examples.

Other than this singular example, throughout the history of this country, we do not have a single documented proof of any man of lower caste order speaking Sanskrit. Of course, I am counting out the famous Rigvedic hymn, k?ruraha? tato bhi?aghupalaprak?i?? nan? (I am a bard, my father is a leech and my mother grinds corn. Striving for wealth, with varied plans, we follow our desires like kine); because the hymn elucidates that the varna, or caste, system had not become rigid then.

A language of upper crust

Thence on, Sanskrit throughout remained the language of the upper class. It was never the language of the masses. Speakers of Sanskrit were always multilingual. A clue to this appears in 2nd century BCE when Patanjali in his ‘Mahabhashya’, a commentary on Panini’s ‘Ashtadhyayi’, exhorted that one should speak proper Sanskrit at all times, and at least during ritual.

To my understanding, with the passage of time, as India woke up to the second millennium, Sanskrit had become the symbol of subjugation by the top order. So much so that Mahmud of Ghazni and Muhammad of Ghur struck coins here in this language. The obverse of Mohammad Ghuri’s coin struck somewhere in Ajmer in 12th century reads ‘Bhagwan Parmeshawar Muizuddin Mohammad bin Sam Mohammad Ghuri’ while the reverse reads ‘Samant Prithviraj Chauhan’.

Brahmins firmly controlled the imparting of the language while royals patronised it. When Parmara king Bhoja (1010–1053) who himself composed and supervised the composition of Sanskrit texts, died, it was said: ‘Adhadhara niradhara niralamba saraswati, pandita khandita sarve bhojraje divangate’ (Today the world of knowledge stands orphaned since king Bhoja is dead). Such words were never spoken for a man from lower caste order. The argument that Valmiki was a robber and a man of lower caste is false. His own book Ramayana makes a mention of his Brahmin origin and that his father’s name was Prachetsa (Verses, 96:16 and 94:24).

Reacting to your statement, Dalit ideologue Chandrabhan Prasad has said, “All things Indian by tradition, be it caste, be it social structure, political structure, have stopped India from growing into a modern society. If English is eliminating tradition, it is also eliminating a culture that is caste-driven.” I cannot but agree with him in totality.

For the stupidity of learning a language that none other than a handful ‘haves’ spoke, there is a popular joke, roughly a century old or even more, commonly heard in parts of Uttar Pradesh, from where you and I come. The joke goes like this: A stringent Brahmin father determined to teach his son speak Sanskrit falls into a well while they both are returning after a puja at a client’s home. When the father asks his son to call people for help, the son thus calls the farmers in nearby fields – ‘Panditam jalkoop maddhe, dhav dhav daiyya re bappam’ (the pandit has fallen into the well, run, run to his rescue). The moral of the story is that knowledge of Sanskrit can be dangerous at times.       

I’ll now come to your first concern: that Anglicisation of the country is dangerous. First, I do not see any Anglicisation, and second, it is certainly not dangerous. Despite being under their rule for 150 years, we never fell for the charm of ‘Civis Britannicus sum’ (I am a proud British citizen). Had it been, we’d still be throwing garden tea parties of the yore where young ladies in pinafores and gents in bowler’s hats would be sitting on benches and discussing the merits of aromatic Darjeeling over subtle Assam.

In fact, Indians are following their culture more strongly than people of most other nations. The youth is religious in a positive sense and conforms to the customs in a more reasonable way. For matters of pure convenience and utility, they have imbibed some elements of the Anglicised, or I’d say global, clothing, food habits and mannerism. There is absolutely nothing more to it. They are more aware of their roots than ever and are proud of those.   

Awaiting your reply,
 
Yours faithfully,

Akash Deep Ashok