On 2 October 1986, the Times of India carried a joint letter from twelve Marxist historians, led by Romila Thapar, criticizing recent reports on Qutub Minar and Mathura that discussed the desecration of Hindu images and temples under certain Islamic rulers. The letter suggested that even the publication of such findings risked being communal, regardless of the credibility of the sources. This episode exemplified how charged labels can frame debate and place interlocutors on the defensive before evidence is evaluated.
Such labeling has long-term effects on public discourse. Many scholars and readers recognize how the fear of being branded “communal” can suppress fair inquiry, especially when studying sensitive themes like Ayodhya, Mathura, or the archaeology around Qutub Minar. As Gurcharan Das has observed, the prevailing atmosphere can make even an open study of the Vedas, Upanishads, Ramayana, or Mahabharata feel suspect, prompting unnecessary disclaimers about intent rather than inviting rigorous assessment of sources.
In their 1986 letter, the historians posed a rhetorical question: “How far back do we go? Can we push this to the restoration of Buddhist and Jaina monuments destroyed by Hindus? Or of pre-Hindu animist shrines?” The formulation relied on an assumption that such destructions by Hindus formed a settled tradition, presenting a premise as if it were already an established fact. For the sake of scholarly clarity and communal harmony, claims of this kind require verifiable epigraphic, archaeological, and textual evidence rather than polemical framing.
The invocation of “animists” also reflects a conceptual difficulty with colonial-era classifications. The label was used in 19th-century missionary discourse and briefly appeared in British Indian census categories, but administrators themselves found it impractical to separate “animists” from Hindus in lived practice. Persisting with this category without clear historical or ethnographic boundaries risks re-inscribing colonial taxonomies that do not map onto India’s civilizational realities and its interconnected Dharmic traditions.
Against this backdrop, Sita Ram Goel undertook extensive research into temple desecration and iconoclasm, publishing detailed compilations and inviting open debate. On 27 June 1991, he sent Romila Thapar a questionnaire along with one of his books, seeking specific evidence to substantiate the claim that Hindus had a “tradition” of destroying Buddhist and Jain monuments. The request was straightforward: to move the discourse from insinuation to documentation.
The questionnaire sought, among other things: epigraphs recording Hindu-led destruction of Buddhist, Jain, or so-called “animist” shrines; citations from Hindu literary sources describing such acts; any Hindu theological warrant for desecration; instances of Hindu heroes valorized for such destruction; catalogues of Buddhist or Jain sites allegedly converted into Hindu shrines; evidence that Hindu temples stand atop prior Buddhist or Jain monuments; claims by Buddhist or Jain leaders asserting usurpation; and records of Hindu resistance to restitution demands. In other words, the challenge asked for the same evidentiary standards that scholars apply when documenting Islamic iconoclasm in medieval India.
According to the public record, no comprehensive evidentiary response has been published to address these eight categories directly. If doubts existed about Goel’s framing, the matter could have been advanced through a peer-reviewed monograph or article presenting primary sources and methods. The fact that a single example—such as the Kashmiri king Harsha—is sometimes cited does not, by itself, demonstrate a sustained, theologically sanctioned Hindu tradition of destroying Buddhist or Jain sacred sites.
At the same time, Goel’s compilations on temple desecration by certain Islamic rulers—grounded in inscriptions, chronicles, and archaeological study—have generally been met more with arguments about motives than with counter-evidence on the specific cases he documented. For a discourse that aspires to balance, the remedy is not denunciation but rigorous, source-based rebuttal or confirmation.
On 10 August 1991, Romila Thapar replied, suggesting that Goel consult her published lectures, “Cultural Transaction in Early India.” While the recommendation had scholarly merit in itself, it did not engage the questionnaire’s evidentiary requests point by point. Subsequent analyses note that the lecture did not answer the specific empirical queries Goel had raised, leaving his core challenge effectively unaddressed.
What would a constructive way forward look like? First, shared standards of evidence: epigraphy, archaeology, and critical textual analysis should govern claims about iconoclasm, irrespective of the community involved. Second, clear distinctions between isolated political acts, general social practice, and theological doctrine are essential to prevent the projection of a “tradition” where none exists. Third, historiography should conscientiously avoid colonial taxonomies and modern ideological filters that fracture India’s civilizational continuum.
Equally important is the commitment to Dharmic unity—Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism share deep ethical, philosophical, and cultural affinities. Scholarship that privileges transparent evidence over polemic not only clarifies the historical record; it also strengthens inter-Dharmic trust. Collaborative research teams across these traditions can document sacred geographies, examine layers of temple sites with methodological care, and build repositories of inscriptions and material culture that illuminate continuity, reform, and accommodation across centuries.
Ultimately, labels should not replace evidence, and rhetoric should not pre-empt inquiry. The 1986 letter and the 1991 questionnaire are best read today as a reminder that India’s historical debates carry a civic responsibility: to protect truth-seeking, honor the pluralist spirit of its Dharmic traditions, and foster religious harmony. By centering verifiable facts and extending good-faith engagement, scholars can move beyond impasse and build a shared, honest narrative that benefits all.
Inspired by this post on Dharma Dispatch.
