Imagining Hinduism without caste

One does not convert to Hinduism. One is born into a jati. Caste determines occupation, marriage, food, ritual, and social belonging
Illustration for representation
Illustration for representation
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For centuries, what we now call Hinduism was never a single religion. It was a civilisation organised through caste. Each caste had its own gods, rituals, food rules, taboos, and ideas of the sacred. Diversity was not accidental; it was structural. To imagine a caste-free Hinduism is therefore to imagine uniformity. Who defines it then? The “pure” vegetarian Brahmin? Or an angry Dalit leader? Or maybe a rich Baniya who funds political parties? Or a guru who ignores ground reality and gets foreigners to suddenly turn into Brahmins?

The modern idea of secularism is European. It emerged after the French Revolution, when Jews were allowed to become citizens of a new French republic rather than members of a religious community. Around the same time, the American republic separated church and state, acknowledging the many Christian denominations within one political framework. This was also when the modern idea of religion took shape alongside the idea of the nation. Kings ruled territories, nations demanded cohesion, and religion became a tool of identity. In practice, this meant peace amongst different Christian denominations, with limited tolerance for Jewish financiers. Secularism and separation of state and church had nothing to do with Islam or Hinduism, when first imagined.

The word ‘religion’ itself comes from ancient Rome. Religio or religere referred to the careful performance of clan and civic rituals that ensured divine favour. The Greek equivalent, ‘eusebeia’, meant much the same. It was about practice, not belief. Even Ashoka, in his Greek inscriptions at Kandahar, used eusebeia to explain ‘dharma’. He was not describing Buddhism as a belief system. He was distinguishing ethical public conduct from domestic auspicious rites and from noisy, ecstatic community gatherings. Religion, in its early sense, was orthopraxic. What mattered was what one did, not what one believed.

Modern religion is an institution that one can convert into or out of. Under colonial rule, Indians were forced to become a religion by answering questions that were never asked before: What is Hinduism? Who founded it? How does one convert to it?

One does not convert to Hinduism. One is born into a jati. Caste determines occupation, marriage, food, ritual, and social belonging. Today, new Hindu cult leaders are creating new forms of Hinduism that allows anyone to become a Hindu. But these Hindus have no caste. They are not part of the system that shapes Indian society. Are they Hindus or simply masquerading Hindus, cosplaying in temples and festivals?

The Japanese were the first in the 19th century to distinguish between religion and ethnic identities. They argued Buddhism and Christianity are religions. One can become a Buddhist and choose Christianity. But Shinto is what makes a person Japanese. One cannot convert to Shintoism, just as one cannot choose to become Han Chinese. These are ethnic identities. Caste is an ethnic identity, but part of hierarchical system.

For over 1,500 years, Brahmin groups, with royal patronage, organised this lived reality of caste into a hierarchy. They placed themselves at the top as the purest, followed by their patrons, the Kshatriyas and wealthy elites, classified as twice born. Everyone else was graded below, with the so-called impure at the bottom.

This hierarchical imagination is distinctly Brahminical. It becomes explicit in medieval texts such as the Chaturvarga Chintamani, composed in the 13th century by Hemadri, a courtier of the Yadava kings. Here we see a deliberate attempt to unify India by standardising ritual life and positioning Brahmins as natural leaders. Unity is achieved through hierarchy and purity, not negotiation.

Yet this was not always how Indian society functioned. Between the fifth and eighth centuries, a period often described as the Shaiva age, social life was far more decentralised. Each group followed its own rules. Castes, guilds, regions, and sects lived by their own customs. Kings patronised Shaiva traditions, Vaishnava communities flourished independently, Yogini cults and goddess worship were widespread, and Buddhist and Jain communities were strong. There was no single authority and no universal scale of purity.

The push for a single, hierarchical Hindu order intensifies much later, possibly as a response to political disruption and Islamic rule in North India. Faced with loss of power, Brahmin groups emphasised lineage, textual authority and ritual purity. Temples became instruments of consolidation. Resistance was inevitable.

This reveals an uncomfortable truth. There have always been two Hinduisms. One is plural, local, and decentralised, where each community has its own gods, rituals, and truths. There is no single measure of purity and no dominant authority. The other is Brahminical Hinduism, constructed over centuries, where all jatis are forced into a fourfold varna framework, purity becomes power, and hierarchy is presented as cosmic order.

Both have always coexisted uneasily. Today, however, many can only see the second. The first has faded from memory.

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