Breaking the Caste Myth: Aravindan Neelakandan’s Game-Changing Book on Bharat’s Social History
- Harsh Agrawal
- Apr 5
- 6 min read
A Dharmic Social History of India
Author: Aravindan Neelakandan
Genre: Historical and Social Commentary
Published by BluOne Ink
Pages: 737
MRP: Rs. 999/-
Purchase Link: https://amzn.to/3G7x7zv
Thank you BluOne Ink for a review copy of the book/
In an era where identity politics and historical revisionism dominate cultural discourse, Aravindan Neelakandan's A Dharmic Social History of India arrives as a sweeping, provocative, and unapologetically rooted counter-narrative. Published by BluOne Ink in 2025, the book is a bold intellectual venture that seeks to dismantle the long-standing “standard model” of Indian social history—a model, Neelakandan argues, born in colonial prejudice and perpetuated by post-independence academia.
At nearly 750 pages, A Dharmic Social History is not a light read. Nor does it intend to be. This is a manifesto in the garb of a meticulously researched historical tome. It blends theology, sociology, textual analysis, and an impassioned call for civilizational renewal. For readers familiar with Neelakandan’s earlier work or his contributions to Swarajya magazine, this is very much in character—erudite, defiant, and sharply polemical.
Deconstructing the “Standard Model”
At the heart of Neelakandan’s thesis is a rejection of what he calls the “standard model” of Hindu social history: the widely accepted narrative that the Varṇa-Jāti system was a rigid, Brahminical social hierarchy imposed by Indo-European migrants (Aryans) who subjugated the native Harappans and enforced birth-based discrimination as a religious dogma.
This model, Neelakandan argues, is not only historically flawed but ideologically motivated. Drawing from archaeology, genetics, textual exegesis, and cross-cultural anthropology, he dismantles the idea of “Indian exceptionalism” in caste-based social stratification. “Social exclusion,” he writes, “is not a Hindu or Indian phenomenon. It is a feature of all pre-modern societies.” From medieval Europe’s honor-shame guild culture to the deeply entrenched hukou system in Communist China, Neelakandan lays out case after case to show that birth-based discrimination is a global, historical pattern—not a uniquely Hindu original sin.
The Birth-Based Fallacy
In the opening chapters, Neelakandan engages with dominant intellectuals such as Louis Dumont, Ramachandra Guha, and Isabel Wilkerson, whose works have cast the Hindu caste system as the world's most enduring apartheid structure. These views, he argues, are simplistic and steeped in Christian moral binaries of sin and redemption. “Caste is not Hinduism,” he asserts, “but a social reality that was shaped by multiple historical forces, including colonial legal codifications.”
He draws special attention to how colonial and missionary scholars weaponized the concept of “Brahminism” to malign the entire spectrum of Hindu traditions. While acknowledging the undeniable history of social oppression in India, he insists that Hindu Dharma, when understood through its foundational texts—the Vedas, Upanishads, and Bhakti literature—offers an ethos of inclusivity and spiritual equality.
In this context, he also revisits the Purusha Sukta, a favorite target of caste critics. Rather than a justification for inequality, Neelakandan reads the hymn as a symbolic vision of societal wholeness. The Shudra, described as the “feet” of the cosmic being, is not inferior but foundational. It's a poetic metaphor, he argues—not a constitutional decree.
Vedic versus Buddhist: Rethinking the Binary
One of the more daring chapters is where Neelakandan critiques the “Buddhist as savior” trope so common in Dalit historiography. He questions whether Buddhism truly offered a rupture from caste-based exclusion or whether it inherited and even institutionalized similar hierarchies under the guise of monastic purity.
In a section that’s likely to stir controversy, Neelakandan contrasts Buddha with the Bhagavad Gītā’s vision of dharma. He proposes that the over-emphasis on rigid ahimsa (non-violence) in Buddhist ethics inadvertently stigmatized certain occupations—like butchery and sanitation—laying the seeds for untouchability. In contrast, the Vedic yajña framework, with its inclusive role for all professions, provided a more pluralistic social model.
This is not to diminish the contributions of Buddhism, he clarifies, but to urge a more nuanced reading that resists simplistic binaries of good versus evil, oppressor versus liberator. The problem, he asserts, is not religion but the ossification of social roles over time and the failure of society to evolve with its own spiritual ideals.
Bhakti as Social Revolution
The chapters on the Bhakti movement are perhaps the most emotionally resonant and spiritually compelling. Far from being a passive devotional trend, Bhakti is portrayed as a revolutionary force that dissolved social hierarchies, elevated the marginalized, and reconnected Hindu society with its spiritual core.
Through rich examples—Nandanar in Tamil Nadu, Chokhamela in Maharashtra, Ravidas in North India—Neelakandan argues that Bhakti was the true engine of social emancipation, centuries before Western liberalism. He is especially critical of attempts to frame Bhakti saints as mere rebels against Brahminism. “They were not exceptions,” he writes, “but the Sanātana Dharma in action.”
The author also devotes significant space to contemporary figures like Shri Jayendra Saraswati and Sri Krishnapremi Swamigal, highlighting their work with marginalized communities. These sections serve to remind the reader that dharmic activism is not a relic of the past—it’s a living tradition.
Dharma versus Fatalism
One of the most fascinating chapters, “Karmic Fatalism versus Dharmic Entrepreneurial Activism,” tackles the oft-repeated criticism that Hinduism encourages fatalism. Neelakandan flips the script. True dharma, he argues, is not passive resignation but active participation in the world guided by inner alignment. He cites examples from Indian entrepreneurship, temple economies, and spiritual lineages to show that the dharmic worldview encourages initiative, responsibility, and social commitment—not fatalism.
This reinterpretation carries significant weight in the age of development discourse, where religions are often judged by their “economic output.” Neelakandan asserts that it was colonial disruption—not dharma—that slowed Indian economic momentum.
A New “Hindu Social Science”?
Perhaps the most intellectually ambitious goal of the book is the call for a new “Hindu Social Science”—a discipline rooted not in Western paradigms but in dharmic epistemologies. This is more than just a critique of colonial social science. It’s a manifesto for decolonized knowledge production.
This proposed discipline, Neelakandan envisions, would not only be descriptive but transformative. It would offer new categories of analysis—beyond class, caste, and race—and provide tools to build a society that balances tradition with modernity, diversity with unity.
Strengths of the Book
The book’s greatest strength lies in its interdisciplinary sweep. From Vedic exegesis to molecular genetics, from Mughal court records to contemporary Chinese policy, Neelakandan’s scholarship is expansive. His command over Tamil bhakti literature adds a poetic grace to otherwise dense discussions.
Moreover, his writing, though academic in rigour, remains accessible. His prose carries a narrative rhythm that draws the reader in. Stories of saints, anecdotes from travels, and personal reflections are seamlessly woven into theoretical arguments, giving the book both gravitas and emotional texture.
Another strength is the balance he tries to strike between pride and introspection. While he is unapologetically dharmic in his lens, he does not romanticize the past. The book opens with a searing account of caste-based atrocities, and Neelakandan doesn’t shy away from acknowledging the “rage and shame” they invoke.
Critiques and Controversies
No work of this ambition escapes critique. The most obvious one is its polemical tone. At times, the author is too quick to dismiss counter-arguments as colonial or Marxist constructs. Critics may also find that his sympathy for tradition borders on apologetics, especially in his defense of the Vedic social order.
Another valid concern is the limited engagement with Dalit scholars themselves. While Neelakandan critiques Ambedkarite interpretations of Hindu history, the book could have benefited from more dialogic interaction with thinkers like Kancha Ilaiah, Gail Omvedt, or Suraj Yengde. All of whom I personally disagree with as well.
Finally, the suggestion that caste in India is no worse than social stratification elsewhere—while contextually accurate—can come across as a deflection rather than a solution. Comparative analysis is valuable, but the lived realities of caste oppression in India demand more than a relativist defense.
Why This Book Matters
Despite these critiques, A Dharmic Social History of India is a monumental work that fills a crucial void in the Indian intellectual landscape. For too long, social history has been told from the outside looking in—through the eyes of missionaries, colonizers, and Marxist academics. Neelakandan flips the gaze. He looks at Hindu society from within, with affection, frustration, and most importantly, responsibility.
At a time when Hinduism is either demonized or decontextualized in global discourse, this book reclaims its voice—not through slogans but through scholarship. It doesn’t ask for uncritical reverence. It asks for nuanced understanding.
The Final Word
Aravindan Neelakandan’s A Dharmic Social History of India is not merely a book—it’s an intellectual intervention. It demands that we rethink not just how we study Indian society but why we study it in the first place. Are we seeking blame, or are we seeking truth? Are we looking to divide, or are we looking to heal?
In reclaiming dharma as both a spiritual and social compass, Neelakandan offers not just a critique of the past but a vision for the future. One where tradition and transformation are not enemies but allies. Where saints, not saviors, show the way.
If the goal of history is to illuminate the present and guide the future, then this book deserves to be read—critically, openly, and wholeheartedly.
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