In Hindutva and Hind Swaraj: History’s Forgotten Doubles, Makarand R. Paranjape undertakes an ambitious reconciliation project—one that refuses the comfortable binaries of contemporary Indian politics in favour of a nuanced examination of two towering figures, MK Gandhi and VD Savarkar, whose ideological clash continues to shape the nation’s trajectory. Instead of choosing sides in the Gandhi-Savarkar debate, Paranjape attempts something far more complex: understanding why these ‘history’s forgotten doubles’ remain locked in an unresolved antagonism that still animates Indian political discourse.
The book’s central thesis is both provocative and necessary. As Paranjape argues, “If project India that is Bharat is to succeed, old antagonisms, like unhealing wounds or scabs that bleed again at the slightest scratch, cannot be ignored or hidden under flimsy bandages”. This metaphor runs throughout the work, suggesting that India’s body politic requires careful surgery rather than cosmetic treatment. The author positions himself not as a partisan but as a diagnostician, tracing the roots of contemporary political divisions back to the fundamental disagreement between Gandhi’s philosophy of non-violent resistance and Savarkar’s advocacy of armed revolution.
Structured as a ‘Swaraj Samvad’—a dialogue on self-rule—the book employs what Paranjape calls ‘intermedial hermeneutics’, drawing from the ancient Indian tradition of aanvikshiki, or critical inquiry. This methodological choice reflects the author’s broader project of decolonising knowledge production while remaining committed to rigorous scholarship. The three-part structure mirrors a pranayama breathing exercise, with the author explicitly stating that “this practice is meant to purify and balance the nation’s prana or life breath”.
The biographical material on both Gandhi and Savarkar is meticulously researched, particularly the analysis of their seminal texts of 1909—Savarkar’s Indian War of Independence 1857 and Gandhi’s Hind Swaraj. Paranjape demonstrates how these works, published in the same year, established competing visions of Indian freedom that continue to reverberate. His account of their London encounter at India House is particularly compelling, showing how their early proximity makes their later antagonism all the more tragic.
Where the book truly excels is in its historical detective work, particularly in the second part, Daksinayan: India Lost and Found, where he notes that the “whole conflict between Hindutva and Hind Swaraj was split wide open in the very womb of India, the Deccan, right before my eyes a quarter of a century back”. Paranjape’s journey through the Deccan—from Grishneshwar temple in Aurangabad to the caves of Ajanta and Ellora— offers a rare synthesis of personal pilgrimage, scholarly investigation, and philosophical reflection.
The author’s treatment of contentious historical figures, such as Malik Kafur and Aurangzeb, avoids both demonisation and whitewashing. His portrait of Kafur—the enslaved Hindu who became a destroyer of temples—is remarkably nuanced, showing how individuals can become trapped within larger historical forces. Similarly, his analysis of contemporary debates around figures like Tipu Sultan demonstrates how historical narratives continue to serve present political purposes.
Paranjape’s prose is scholarly yet accessible, although it occasionally becomes dense with Sanskrit terminology and philosophical concepts. His background as a literary theorist shows in his close readings of historical texts and his sensitivity to narrative construction. The dialogue format allows him to present multiple perspectives without endorsing any single viewpoint uncritically.
The book’s greatest strength lies in its refusal of false equivalence. While Paranjape seeks reconciliation between Gandhi and Savarkar, he doesn’t minimise their genuine differences or suggest that all positions are equally valid. His analysis of how ‘becoming Hindu’ differs from ‘being Hindu’ in contemporary politics is particularly astute, demonstrating how political Hinduism necessitates ongoing ideological work that spiritual Hinduism does not.
While the book’s scope is admirably ambitious, the breadth—from ancient Indian philosophy to contemporary politics—occasionally results in brief treatments of complex questions. A somewhat tighter emphasis on the Gandhi–Savarkar relationship might have allowed for greater depth, even if that would mean trimming some of the rich contextual material.
Perhaps most importantly, Paranjape avoids the trap of nostalgia that often characterises works on Indian civilisation. He acknowledges the genuine horrors of historical invasions and cultural destruction while refusing to use this history to justify contemporary prejudice or violence. As he observes, “Recovery, not revenge, would be the objective of an Indian renaissance”.
The book succeeds in showing that the Gandhi-Savarkar divide, while real, need not be eternal. Paranjape’s call for a middle way that honours both positions while transcending their limitations offers a valuable contribution to public discourse.
Ultimately, this is a work of synthesis rather than polemic. In showing how “Hindutva needs Gandhi, Secular India Savarkar”, Paranjape points toward a more capacious understanding of Indian nationalism—one that can accommodate both spiritual idealism and political realism without sacrificing either to the other.