The author, an acclaimed historian herself, wrote a piece for The Hindu that may be read here. This is the unedited version of the article that she has posted on Meta Facebook.
A very special memory, which exemplifies the kind of person that Sumit Sarkar was, bears repeating here. It shows us the multiple ways in which what we believe in can shape perceptions in everyday life and perhaps even alter public discourse.
The time and place was IIM Calcutta, where, maybe in 1999, I was one of three candidates who was called to the campus for the talk, and later interview, for the job of History Professor. My talk went well, I was told, and then it came to the interview. On that panel were many, including Sumit Sarkar and another very senior and highly respected historian. I cannot remember who else was on the panel. Many questions were asked, and I nervously answered them, to the best of my ability.
But then, I was suddenly asked, by that same senior historian, about my marital status, and whether I was hoping for the job to be with my partner. I was stunned, but before I could catch my breath, Sumit Sarkar told the panel that these were not fair or appropriate questions to ask, and the matter ended there.
I did not get that job after all, ranking only number 2 in the list. But I will cherish this memory of someone who stood for the right of women not to be asked questions that would never have been asked of a man.
And I wish I had cultivated the same courage in all the positions that I later came to occupy. I cannot say I have.
Ways of Historical Thinking: Sumit Sarkar, his times and legacies
I did not have the good fortune of being taught by Sumit Sarkar. But like every (conscientious) modern Indian historian, I have indeed been ‘taught’ by him. His classic, Modern India, modestly described as a ‘textbook ’, is perhaps the most well-thumbed of my many books. Here, along with colonial masters and nationalist leaders, peasants, workers and ordinary people sprang from its pages. This was no simple inclusion: it was a conceptual break, altering our understanding of Indian history in profound ways, acknowledging the lives and actions of millions, even their failures, as the true basis on which to understand our past. But political leaders, their actions, and the periodisations familiar to students of history could not be dispensed with altogether. Therefore, the book, despite its emphasis on the novel breakthroughs of a ‘history from below’, was sandwiched ‘between the foundation of the Indian National Congress in 1885 and the achievement of independence in August 19 47’ since those sixty years ‘witnessed perhaps the greatest transition in our country’s long history’. In one memorable sentence, he signalled the
many unfulfilled promises of Indian nationalism: thus, the Mahatma succeeded in
‘drawing in the masses, while at the same time keeping mass activity strictly pegged down
to certain forms predetermined by the leader.’
Let me not dwell on the gaping hole that Sumit Sarkar’s demise had left among Indian
historians, and focus instead on the riches he has left us. His book, Swadeshi Movement in
Bengal, on Bengal’s (first) partition of 1905, and the nationalist movement that it spawned,
was full of methodological innovations, using plays, novels, newspapers, pamphlets in
addition to the more familiar colonial archive. These materials led him to ask questions
that often led to ambiguous or unsatisfactory answers. Educated unemployment and
rising prices surely fuelled the anger against the Bengal partition. But the pride-inducing
victory of a little ‘eastern’ nation, Japan, over a powerful ‘western’ neighbour, Russia, — the
Russo Japanese war of 1904-5 – also played its part, despite a relative ignorance in India of emerging critiques of imperialism elsewhere.
Sarkar also asked himself: how could a Swadeshi editorial in the Bande Mataram praise, in
the same breath, both the labour movement and the caste system, the latter for having had ‘the true socialistic aim of keeping awake in every class of the society a sense of duty to it’ ?
Or, as he would ask later, what drew upper caste men to revolutionary terrorism in Bengal,
and why has that memory endured longer than those of tribal or lower caste participants?
Sarkar was among the earliest of historians to unpack how ‘Hindu’ nationalism gradually
became ‘common sense’, with consequences up to the present day.
Sarkar’s task was to break out of the economic determinism and narrow positivism that
was the hallmark of Marxist scholarship at the time. But the work remains unsurpassed,
since it upholds the protocols of historical research, the verifiability of evidence, and as he
said, ‘the constant knowledge that my conclusions remain open to revision and change.’
Would a revised Modern India, that more correctly reflects the scholarship of the last four
decades — as many regions, social groups, practices, and events have found their historians – be at all possible in our times?
How were material conditions and cultural forms to be integrated within a structured totality? Sarkar’s companion volume Modern Times brought culture and other histories – of the city for instance, or of print media or caste – to the foreground, to understand the subaltern on her own terms. His Marxism did not come in the way of engaging with what Ranajit Guha has called the oldest (and richest) archive in India: religion. He read religion, but not as a believer; not to denigrate but to connect the celestial world to its earthly presence in meaningful ways.
In fact, Marxism enabled his interest in the nineteenth-century mystic (and rustic) Hindu
thinker Ramakrishna Paramhansa, and the petty-bourgeois, clerical ambience within
which he operated, which gave his philosophy its force and material influence, especially
among the emerging, well read, urban middle class. That contradiction needed to be
explained. Sarkar linked the belated entry of clock-time into India, and the disciplinary
mechanisms it generated, to the slavery of clerical labour, which paved the way for the
reception of Ramakrishna. Ramakrishna’s ‘success’ and Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar’s
‘failures’ were equally processes that he critically examined.
Sarkar showed us the true meaning of engaged scholarship: when India was stunned in
1992 by the shock troops of the BJP and RSS that brought down the Babri Masjid, Sarkar
and his colleagues produced a short but vital book called Khaki Shorts and Saffron Flags. It
was the first serious historical reconstruction (based also on sensitive fieldwork) of what
the RSS had become, the most formidable force on the Indian political firmament.
Certainly the young people who have today given us a ray of hope should place this book at
the top of their reading lists.
Sumit Sarkar, in both his writing and his political positions, was unafraid to confront the
official left and its surrender to global capital, as at Nandigram and Singur. He would have
been the first to admit that proletarians have not been the grave diggers of capitalism,
though he welcomed those historians who showed renewed interest in labour and working
class history. I was personally honoured when this remarkable historian included me in
his review of five such books. But more striking was his intellectual openness: his choices
‘provincialised’ Bengal, by acknowledging the worlds and questions that lay well beyond it
– Kanpur, Jamshedpur, KGF, Bombay, the railway works. At a time when ‘everyone’
is a historian, and we are being trained in thinking of history only as ‘pride’ in the past, we will miss complex thinkers like Sumit Sarkar even more, for his passing no doubt signals the end of an era.
(The author is the professor (retd.), Centre for Historical Studies, JNU, New Delhi)