The evolving understanding of varNa in Indian history

This post is triggered by some posts from XTM in the past and some discussions on the BP whatsapp group.

This is not a referenced essay but more of a summary of my evolving position on the history jAti and varNa. I am neither a history or genomics scholar and this is an essay of a reasonably well informed layperson who has gone deep in the speculative prehistory of Indian subcontinent. 

The first thing to note is the difference between jAti and VarNa.

jAti is a endogamous population – maps on to English word Caste. Identity into a jAti is a lived reality for billion Indians.

varNa is a hierarchical abstraction which is presented in Vaidik texts which does and doesn’t always map neatly on to thousands of jAti groups. I would wager that varNa mattered for the Brahmanas and at times to the Kshatriyas as their jAtis map neatly on respective varNas. 

This post will focus on varNa, I will cover jAti in some other post briefly.

For a bit more on jAti: Early Hinduism – the epic stratification – Brown Pundits

on varNa:

During the composition of the áč›gveda the priests and the warriors were the prime movers of the Arya society hence designated Brahmanas and Rajanyas. This bifurcation is common among a lot of society where the physical and spiritual power is owned by different elites who in a sense rule the society. These two communities were to become two Arya varNAs. The third varNa called the Vaishyas were originally the remaining people. The word Vaisya comes from Vish which means people. So all farmers, craftsman, artisans etc would come under the word Vaisya initially. This much can be asserted with certain degree of confidence.

The origin is the fourth varNa – Shudras is not as crystal clear but its safe to bet that initially the outsiders (non Arya) were called Shudras. The word is used to denote someone who doesn’t follow the proper Arya rituals at places or someone who is a defeated enemy or someone who is a labourer. So as Arya communities were forming during the early Vaidik period after the collapse of Harappan civilization, the outsiders who were defeated and assimilated were termed Shudras. This label also applied to populations outside the core Vaidik area who were kings and rulers in their own right in complex pastoral and farming  societies. The cultures of Deccan and Peninsular India at this time would also fall in this bracket (precursors to speakers of Dravidian languages of today).

Aryavarta (Land of the Aryas) expanded mimetically through lavish sacrifices and tall poetic tales (later Epics). Instead of building complex structures, the Rajanya class (later Kshatriyas) from the core Indo-Gangetic region (Aryavarta), focussed their wealth on conducting extravagant sacrifices (Yajnas) like Asvamedha and Rajasuya to assert their strength. The template was set by Vaidik Rajanyas and slowly people outside the core Vaidik area began to emulate their peers. Non Arya rulers invited priests to conduct spectacular sacrifices to rival the Rajanyas. These Non Aryas were gradually assigned the Kshatriya varNa along with the original Rajanyas. I would wager that priests from non Arya cultures were assimilated into the Brahmanas. Those from outside who didn’t keep their power became the Shudras. But this designation also was by no means settled.

Every now and then we have Shudra monarchs especially in the Eastern and Southern part of the subcontinent. Its worth noting that even thought a dynasty may be of Shudra origins, they likely re-wrote their histories once they attained power. Some of these rulers claim to have conducted even grander sacrifices than the Kshatriyas 1.0 and 2.0. Conversely, Kshatriyas and Vaishyas who lost their power or wealth might have lost their varNa.

a-varNa

(Co-Pilot wouldn’t help me with a representative image as its termed offensive)

Even now a vast number of people were outside this matrix of abstract varNa and secular Kshatra. As AryaVarta continued to expand it encountered the people on the margins. The template of absorbing the elites into the elite varNas would slow down eventually. Every now and then the outsiders would not be integrated into the varNas but remain outside as a-varNas. When this became happening is debatable but its safe to assume that around the time of Manu smriti, Arya-Varta had a significant proportion of a-Varna population. Over time ritual status was assigned to the outsiders and they became the untouchables.

I think this practice evolved like slavery as suppling an eternal supply of low cost labor (especially for dirty tasks). The a-varNa need to be distinguished from the Shudras who could accumulate wealth and status. So it could be a combination of (a) tribes whose professions were deemed unclean (b) defeated  people forced to do unclean professions or probably a combination of both.

Another group of people were to remain outside the Arya social system, the tribals. But it would be unfair to club the tribal communities with a-varNa. Tribal people had wide range of experience of interactions with the mainstream from domination and competition to servitude. Some tribes may have been absorbed into the a-varNa groups but that is not a generic template.

The varNa fluidity:

As Merchant guilds began becoming powerful around the times of Mahajanapadas, the Vaishya Varna began to become more associated with the Merchant class. Artisans, farmers and ordinary soldiers began to be associated with Shudra varNa. Today its quite common to associate the Vaishya varNa with traders and merchants but it wasn’t always so.

Similarly its quite possible that some a-varNa clans could lose their shackles but its fair to assume that this fluidity kept reducing in the common era. Last thousand years the varNas have not been fluid – especially for the a-varNas.

The Ossification:

I have written an entire blogpost on why the jAti-varNa matrix began to ossify and when.

Co-Pilot summary of this post:

The essay explores how early Hinduism’s caste stratification evolved through interactions between Vedic Brahmanical traditions and Sramana schools like Buddhism and Jainism. It argues that concepts of karma, rebirth, and dharma—emphasized by Sramanas—helped justify and ossify the Varna hierarchy, linking birth to karmic retribution. Over time, this moral dimension reinforced endogamy and rigid social divisions, especially during the Gupta era. The author speculates that pre-Aryan tribal endogamy combined with Vedic ritual purity and karmic philosophy created the uniquely enduring Jati-Varna system in India

The Kaliyug cope:

From the turn of the century, the subcontinent was always under attack from North West, Yavanas, Shakas, Kushanas, Hunas and final Arab and Turks. It is my belief (and also of some scholars) that the ideas of Kali-yug were a response to these invasions. A Yug when idealised Vaidik society was destroyed.

Islamic conquests of India began in the 7th century itself but it wasn’t till the 13th century that the entire subcontinent was touched by the crescent scimitar. While the concept of Kali-yug might be older than Islamic incursions into the subcontinent, I think they were imagined sufficiently during the Islamicate age. Some of the Brahamanas who survived (entire Shakhas of Vaidik learnings have been wiped out) saw Kaliyuga as the yuga where only 2 varNas exist – Brahmanas and Shudras. While some Kshatriya clans retained the memory of their ancestry during the Islamic time and reformulated as Rajputs, a lot of Kshatriyas and Vaishya lost the touch with their ancestry. While most of these groups have myths of their descent from Yadus or Ikshvakus, these claims did not get Brahmana (and Kshatriya) stamp of approval in the medieval times.

On psychological level one can understand this statement – Kali-yug contains only Brahmanas and Shudras as a coping mechanism opted under the yoke of Barbarians. Naturally wealthy landed castes who may have descended from Kshatriyas or Vaishyas were seen as Shudras. The Kadambas, Rashtrakutas, Yadavas, Chalukyas, Cholas, Gangas, Pandyas and Cheras all claimed Kshatriya descent. If this is assumed to have some merit, its not logical to assume that all the descendants of these dynasties and their power structures went extinct. Its more likely that the elites from medieval times became the wealthy landed and mercantile elites without some deviation (on the coattails of the brits).

Brits and modernity:

The Europeans began documenting varNa with the arrival of Portuguese (Casta). But the modern understanding began to truly take shape under the British rule. I will only quote the Co-pilot summary of Nicolas Dirk’s fantastic book here.

Nicholas Dirks’ Castes of Mind argues that the modern idea of caste as India’s defining social system was largely shaped by British colonial rule. While caste existed earlier, it was more fluid and intertwined with local, regional, and occupational identities. Colonial administrators, obsessed with classification, codified caste through censuses, ethnographic surveys, and legal frameworks, turning it into a rigid hierarchy. Dirks shows how this “ethnographic state” reified caste as the central lens for understanding Indian society, overshadowing other identities. The book highlights how colonial policies and scholarship created enduring structures that continue to influence politics and social life today.

In essence, varNa and social stratification is surely older than even the Roman colonisation of Britain, what we understand today as Caste is significantly shaped by the British intervention into India. The emerging economies have offered upward mobility for some while relegating others to medieval times. In many cases, artisan communities continue to see their economic status significantly degrade with mechanisation. Present Caste identities and economical realities are much more downstream of the economic exploitation and changing economy due to industrialization than abstractions like of Dharma-Shastras.

In the theatre of Indian democracy, the first-past-the-post script ensures caste takes center stage — louder, sharper, more enduring than ever before. And as present-day passions spill backward into history, they stir the ancient pot with fresh fervor, adding new tadka to a saga already simmering with spice and strife.

 

Post Script:

I am generally liberal with comments, but i will exercise moderation for repeated stupidity on this post.

Open Thread: From Floods to LaBal

A few updates from this week:

Sri Lanka is facing severe flooding. Sbarkkum reports major damage to rail and road networks, with Dutch support expected for reconstruction.

Sana Aiyar’s “World at MIT” video touches on her life and work

Sam Dalrymple has a clip on Lahore and Delhi—another reminder of how closely the two cities mirror each other despite partition.

Pakistan’s minority rights bill is worth watching. Continue reading Open Thread: From Floods to LaBal

Mid-Nov Circular

Dear all,

With everything going on in the last 48 hours, we wanted to send a short note to everyone directly. BP has sputtered back to life in the past year, and with that revival comes all the familiar subcontinental pathologies: everyone believes they’re right, everyone believes moderation is biased, and everyone believes someone else is being unfair. In that sense, BP is working exactly as it always has.

We want to restate something very clearly: we’re not going to run a hyper-moderated blog. It takes too much time, too much energy, and, crucially, it’s an unfunded mandate. Nothing is more dispiriting than a dead space. Our approach has been simple and consistent:

1. Authors control their own threads.

If things escalate on your post, you shut it down when and where you see fit. That’s the cleanest system and the only one we can realistically sustain.

2. No bans, shadow bans, or entrapment games.

Once we go down the path of micro-policing, BP loses its character. That’s not the direction we want to take.

3. We do not manufacture controversy.

If anything, the only thing we are biased toward is what the audience reads and engages with. That’s it. Everything else is noise.

Reflections:

Some of you will have seen the recent exchanges where accusations were thrown in both directions, and where intentions were questioned. Without going into details: this is exactly how online political communities melt down; by assuming the worst in each other and by escalating minor provocations into existential battles. It’s the same pattern we saw a couple of years ago at a public talk by Rahul Gandhi in Cambridge: someone asked a loaded, “gotcha” question, the out of context reply went viral, people got outraged, and the whole thing became a cycle of reaction and overreaction. We’re drifting into the same dynamic.

Let’s not.

BP works only when people post, comment, disagree, and move on. If that stops, the blog dies. And as Omar’s recent post highlighted, we want authors to write more, not less.

So our simple request is this: Calm down, carry on, manage your own threads, and do not fall prey to the outrage factory.

If you feel strongly about a situation, reach out; if you want more balance, we’re happy to add an additional admin to offset the load (BP’s editorial board already functions with more factions than the Lebanese Parliament); if something crosses a line, handle it on your post. But let’s not turn BP into a miniature Whitehall where everything becomes bureaucratised. We’ve done extremely well this past year. Let’s keep the energy without burning down the house.

Warmly.

What Is Not India Is Pakistan

As Dave mentioned, there is a lively WhatsApp group of BP authors and editors, and it inevitably shapes the comment ecosystem. But one comment on the blog stood out:

“The very foundation of Pakistan is an anti-position. What is not India is Pakistan. So isn’t it obvious?”

It’s an extraordinarily crisp description of Pakistani identity-building. What is not India is Pakistan. That is not a slur; it is, in many ways, a psychologically accurate frame for how the state narrates itself.

What I increasingly find misplaced on this blog is the recurring assumption that Pakistanis are somehow “Indians-in-waiting,” or that Punjab is “West Punjab,” Pakistan “Northwest India,” or Bangladesh “East Bengal.” These are irredentist projections that simply do not match lived identities. This is not “North Korea” or “East Germany,” where both sides continue to imagine themselves as fragments of one common nation.

Yes, Pakistan consumes Bollywood and Hindi music, which themselves derive from Mughal and Indo-Persian syncretic traditions. Yes, Pakistan is culturally embedded in the greater Indo-Islamic civilizational sphere. But emotionally, Pakistan has severed itself from the Indian Subcontinent as a cohesive landscape. It has constructed a hybrid identity; part Turko-Persian, part Islamic internationalist, part anti-India.

I don’t personally agree with this move, and my own trajectory has been toward a strong Hinducised, Dharmic identification. But my view is irrelevant here. What matters is that Pakistani identity is defined negatively; as the commentator put it, “What is not India is Pakistan.”

Whether that is healthy or sustainable is another matter. But identities can persist in unhealthy configurations for a very long time; the stock market can be irrational longer than your liquidity can survive.

Caste and the Structure of Discourse

I’ve come to realise that it’s often more productive to write full posts than to engage in fragmented comment threads. The richness of thought requires a form that can hold tension, contradiction, and nuance but comments, by design, resist that.

The Upper-Caste Template of South Asian Dharmic Discourse

Take, for example, sbarrkum, who shares personal reflections and images from his life on the common board. While one might raise questions about permissions or boundaries, it’s also important to respect dialectical differences in how people choose to engage. There’s no single valid mode of expression.

That brings me to a broader reflection: how the very structure of discourse in Dharmic South Asia has long been shaped by upper-caste templates; especially under Western influence. Over two centuries, upper castes have Brahmanised, Saffronised, Persianised, and then Westernised themselves, adopting and enforcing norms of discourse, authority, and ‘rationality.’

Why Intermarriage Doesn’t Erase Hierarchy Continue reading Caste and the Structure of Discourse

Pakistaniat & Urdu from Qasim to Quaid

UP’s very long shadow:

As I board my flight back to the UK after a brief but productive trip, I find myself reflecting on a language that continues to haunt and inspire me: Urdu.

It is a tongue caught between paradoxes. The language of courtesans and qawwals, of sacred supplication and sly seduction. It carries within it the scent of jasmine and blood, of Delhi’s dusk and Lahore’s lingering grief.

The Beloved Guardian of the Baha’i Faith once noted that while most Baha’i texts should be translated from English, Urdu alone is trusted for direct translation from Persian and Arabic. That proximity, that spiritual siblinghood with Persian, the language of kings, and Arabic, the language of God, renders Urdu magical.

Sanskrit, of course, is the language of gods, but Urdu, its stepdaughter of sorts, captures the longing of poet to partisan.

There’s a reason the Bahá’í prayer I share below is so piercing in Urdu. So here, before I cross back into another timezone, I offer this prayer—without commentary, without translation. Just Urdu, as it was meant to be heard.

And I wonder: perhaps this is what Pakistan truly is—a project in transcending the local. Not rooted in soil, but in sentiment. A place where Punjabis, Pathans, and Muhajirs are asked to shed skin and commune in Urdu. Where Pakistaniyat, for all its fractures, has succeeded in producing a common idiom: of piety, pride, and pain. Continue reading Pakistaniat & Urdu from Qasim to Quaid

If You Have a Side, You Don’t Care for the Other Side

In a world increasingly defined by sides, partisanship often masquerades as empathy. Whether it’s Pakistanis performing concern for Indian liberalism, or Indians invoking the plight of Muslim minorities to score points against their ideological rivals, the truth is simple: if you already have a side, you’re not truly invested in the fate of the other.

This isn’t cynicism; it’s structure. Sides, by their nature, demand loyalty. And loyalty comes at the expense of dispassion. You can mourn injustice selectively, but don’t pretend it’s universalism. More often than not, tribalism puts on the mask of principle.

As a Bahá’í, I’ve been shaped by a millenarian vision that urges global unity; yet I’m also deeply influenced by Hindu pluralism and pagan elasticity. Nicholas Nassim Taleb once said the more pagan a mind, the more brilliant it might be (excellent article) because it can hold many contradictions without demanding resolution. That capaciousness allows one to see that not every question needs a single answer. Hinduism, with its deep pluralism, contrasts radically with Islam’s (and Judaism’s) uncompromising monotheism. And yet, these two traditions are bound together—enmeshed across centuries of history, thought, and blood. Their tension is real, but so is their shared life.

That’s the point: opposites don’t just coexist, they form a whole. But when we prescribe change for the “other side,” we ignore our own capacity for reform. It’s always easier to critique outward than to renovate inward. Especially in a world run by oligarchic elites and managed emotions, where empathy is choreographed and outrage monetized.

So no, the Dalit Muslims of Dharavi aren’t the problem. Nor are the marginalized Hindus of East UP and Biharis. The problem is that a single family can build a private skyscraper in Mumbai while the city gasps beneath it. It’s the system that rewards power accumulation, not its occasional victims, that should concern us.

I don’t offer neat solutions. Maybe it’s taxation. Maybe it’s redistribution. Maybe it’s noblesse oblige. But the first step is this: stop pretending your critique of the other side is altruism. It’s not. It’s strategy. And perhaps the more honest work begins at home—with your own side, your own people, your own self.

Let Hindus Decide for India

There’s a quiet but persistent coalition, inside and outside India, that seems intent on denying Hindus the right to define their own future. It includes unreformed Islamists who refuse to reckon with modernity, English-speaking liberal elites still shadowboxing for Nehru, minorities with veto power but no stake in cohesion, and a chorus of Western (and increasingly Chinese) voices, eager to manage India’s trajectory from afar. What unites them? A shared discomfort with Hindu political consolidation.

Let’s be clear: Hindu identity is not a new construct. Whether you place its roots 3,000 or 5,000 years ago, it’s one of the world’s oldest living civilizational continuities. That identity has always been plural, regional, and evolving. But it has also always been there; visible in memory, ritual, geography, and language. Today, that identity is waking up to its political form. And it will not be put back to sleep.

Hindutva is not going anywhere. Nor is the Indian Union. Those who hoped Kashmir would stay outside this arc have already seen the direction of travel. Pakistan’s decision to opt out of Hindustan, and then build an identity against it, has led not to strength but to strategic stasis. Bangladesh, too, for all its cultural richness, now stands as a separate civilizational lane. And so we arrive at the core truth: Hinduism and India are coterminous.

This isn’t a call for exclusion. But it is a reminder that those who opted out do not get to dictate terms to those who stayed in. That includes foreign commentators and diasporic gatekeepers alike. There is a difference between pluralism and paralysis. There is a difference between nationalism and denial. And if majoritarianism is the anxiety; perhaps the deeper fear is that Hindus are no longer apologizing for being the majority. Let India decide. Let Hindus decide. Let the world, finally, learn to listen.

Did the Muslim League and RSS Want the Same Thing?

Let’s just ask it plainly: if the Muslim League got what it wanted—a Muslim-majority Pakistan—then what, exactly, is the problem with the RSS wanting a Hindu-majority India? This isn’t a provocation. It’s a genuine question.

The Muslim League, by the end, wasn’t fighting for shared rule. It wanted partition. It wanted sovereignty. It wanted to exit the Hindu-majority consensus that the Congress represented. And it succeeded—through law, politics, and eventually blood.

The RSS, for its part, never pretended to want pluralism. It’s been consistent for nearly a century: it wants India to have a Hindu character, spine, and center. If the League could ask for a state that reflects Muslim political interests, why is it unthinkable for the RSS to want the same, flipped?

This is where I struggle with a certain kind of liberal-istan logic—found across both India and Pakistan. You’ll hear:

“India must stay secular! Modi is destroying Nehru’s dream!”

But what was Q.E.A-Jinnah’s dream? Was Pakistan built as a pluralist utopia? Or was it built—openly, unapologetically—as a Muslim homeland?

If Pakistan’s existence is predicated on Muslim majoritarianism, then India’s tilt toward Hindu majoritarianism isn’t an anomaly. It’s symmetry. Maybe even inevitability.

So either we all agree that majoritarianism won in the subcontinent—and everyone adjusts accordingly. Or we all agree that the Congress secular ideal was the better one—and try, equally, to hold both India and Pakistan to it.

But it can’t be:

  • Muslim nationalism is liberation

  • Hindu nationalism is fascism

That math doesn’t work. And yes, the Muslim League had more polish. Jinnah smoked, drank, defended pork eaters in court. The RSS wore khaki and read Manu Smriti. But don’t be fooled by aesthetics. At the core, both movements rejected the idea of a shared national project. They just took different exits off the same imperial highway.

So pick one: Either Nehru and Gandhi were right—and so was Maulana Azad. Or everyone else was right—and we all now live in our chosen majorities. But don’t demand secularism from Delhi while praying for Muslim unity in Lahore. That’s not secularism. That’s selective memory.

Brown Pundits