Remember the infamous Shuddho-Ashuddho? That was the circular issued by the Education Department of the Jyoti Basu Government in 1989 about the proposed changes to the history syllabus in the state. The summary of Sh
Remember the infamous Shuddho-Ashuddho? That was the circular issued by the Education Department of the Jyoti Basu Government in 1989 about the proposed changes to the history syllabus in the state. The summary of Shuddho-Ashuddho: all mentions of Muslim atrocities against Hindus during the medieval period were Ashuddho (literally, impure) and had to be deleted; all mentions of the brave Hindu kings and warriors who fought them were similarly Ashuddho. This was how for example, Aurangzeb became St Aurangzeb. But the Communists in West Bengal were at least two decades late to the game. The Dravidianists had implemented the Shuddho-Ashuddho scheme of things as early as the 1950s itself in Tamil Nadu by making the Deva Bhasha, Sanskrit completely Ashuddho. The pristine “purity” of their version of Tamil, like the jealous Abrahamic Gods, wouldn’t tolerate an equal, and therefore demanded a wholesale slaughter of Sanskrit.
It is one thing to merely read historical or contemporary accounts of wars and other tragedies. However, it is entirely a different thing to actually live or experience those horrors. Which is why our wise ancients merely stopped at saying, Yuddhasya vaartaa ramyaa (The narrative or story of war is thrilling) and didn’t say that the direct experience of or participation in war was thrilling.
By the middle of the 1950s, the frenzied hollering of the Dravidianists whose venomous Tamil chauvinism had penetrated almost every corner of the Tamil society was about to reach the climax they desired: they were now within striking distance of capturing political power which alone would enable them to seize and bamboozle institutions with the Dravidian battering ram. To the twisted sensibilities of the supremely overrated Maniratnam, this bamboozling appeared as some sort of Divine Dravidian Deliverance of Tamil Nadu as depicted in his phony Iruvar.
The atmosphere of social harmony that existed among the B.A. and M.A. students at Presidency College, Madras till the late 1940s (as described by Dr. B.G.L. Swamy in the previous part of this series) was shattered by a series of venal steps directly aimed at destroying Sanskrit in the garb of making it more accessible to the masses.
This is how it happened.
It began with a self-righteous demand for justice rooted in manufactured victimhood. Overnight, someone noticed that a majority of students graduating with First Class marks belonged only to a “particular forward caste!” followed by the consequent demand, “a scheme should be devised whereby other castes should also be given First Class marks.” This topic was hotly debated in the University Senate and Rajya Sabha. The “warrior” Dravidian and “pure” Tamil tabloids witnessed record sales propagandizing this. As we’ve seen in the previous parts, the Dravidian sword-sharpeners won the day on this occasion as well.
A new precedent and convention was thus established: Sanskrit examiners had to be appointed solely on the basis of their caste. Accordingly, a five-member body of Sanskrit examiners was formed: three Brahmins, two non-Brahmins and one from a really backward caste. The first three were easy to find. For the second category, an employee of the Indian Railways was found. He had an M.A. in Sanskrit. But finding the other member proved a more uphill task. After months of hunting when no such candidate could be found, the University made an amendment: only a B.A. in Sanskrit would suffice. Finally, they netted a candidate who frankly confessed his inability: “Saar, forget Sanskrit, the last time I even touched a book was twenty-five years ago. I barely crawled through Sanskrit after flunking three times. I’ve forgotten how to write or read the Sanskrit alphabet. I’m doing well in my timber business. Please let me go.” But after much persuasion, he finally consented.
As for the last category—the solitary examiner from a really backward caste—no candidate could be found. More debates and discussions ensued. Finally, it was agreed that the real role of this candidate was to act as a policeman who would ensure that the other four members would not develop casteist feelings in their evaluations. And if they were suspected of such feelings, he would bring in the necessary corrective measures. Who better than a real policeman to do the policing? So the Government found a policeman from the Police Department and made him the examiner. No knowledge of Sanskrit was needed for this job.
The cop embraced his new job with the zeal of a new convert. Instead of the time-honoured practice of evaluating answer sheets, he proposed a revolutionary idea: examiners had to know the caste of students in advance and award marks according to the backwardness or otherwise of the students. The other four members were horrified and vetoed his academic revolution. The same fate befell his other revolutionary ideas, the details of which are beyond the scope of this essay.
Finally, after dogged lobbying with Dravidianist politicians, he managed to exert political pressure on the Presidency College Principal to somehow admit a bunch of unwilling backward caste students to Sanskrit M.A. These students had never learnt Sanskrit since the day they were born. The Sanskrit Pandit of the Department was a traditional Vaidika, deeply learned in Tarka (Logic) and Vyakarana (Grammar). He asked the cop, “are your students familiar w