Several decades ago at Aligarh Muslim University (AMU), a defining episode in Indian historiography unfolded when Prof. Irfan Habib questioned archaeologist K. K. Muhammed’s identification of the Ibādat Khāna at Fatehpur Sikri. Built by Akbar in 1575 CE as a forum for interfaith dialogue, the Ibādat Khāna symbolizes a plural vision that resonates with the dharmic emphasis on respectful debate across traditions. Muhammed’s discovery, widely reported, triggered an institutional confrontation that would shape his career and his critique of academic power structures.
According to Muhammed’s account, Prof. Habib summoned him to dispute the identification and pressed for a retraction. Muhammed declined. The exchange, terse and uncompromising, reflected deeper tensions over authority, expertise, and evidence in Indian history and archaeology. The incident is recounted in Muhammed’s Malayalam autobiography, "ഞാനെന്ന ഭാരതീയൻ" (Me, the Indian), which chronicles his experiences at AMU and beyond.
Institutional dynamics at AMU shaped Muhammed’s path. After he was denied admission as a researcher, he shifted to archaeology—an outcome he later credits as fortuitous. Completing a postgraduate diploma, he returned to fieldwork and gained recognition not only for locating the Ibādat Khāna but also for identifying a Christian church established by Akbar for missionaries at Fatehpur Sikri. These findings spotlighted the layered religious landscape of the Mughal court and the importance of material evidence to Indian historiography.
Muhammed writes that the pushback came in stages: first, attempts to deny his role in the discovery; then, to deny the site’s identification as the Ibādat Khāna. When Prof. Habib became Head of Department, the disagreements moved into direct confrontation. For observers of academia, this sequence is familiar: contests over authorship, interpretation, and recognition often mirror deeper ideological rifts.
He further describes how patronage networks influenced scholarships, research admissions, and reputations. Those who did not align with a dominant group risked being labeled "communal," while alignment often secured the status of being "secular." The episode underscores the need for fair processes and evidence-led debate—principles crucial to the integrity of Indian history.
The case of Prof. Ramachandra Gaur illustrates the power of such labels. Branded earlier as an RSS sympathizer and an adversary of Habib, Gaur’s stance reportedly shifted after assuming departmental leadership, whereupon he was seen as "secular." Muhammed notes that he declined similar counsel to change camps, framing it as a matter of professional independence.
In an interview before a panel that included the Vice Chancellor and Prof. Habib, Muhammed contested the idea that institutional respect could be demanded rather than earned. He cited disparities in admissions and appointments, including cases where candidates with lower marks or fewer qualifications were preferred. He also referenced documentary evidence that, he writes, countered an accusation made against him. The episode, as narrated, demonstrates the complex interplay of merit, mentorship, and institutional authority.
Relations with other scholars also evolved. Muhammed describes how Prof. Makkan Lal initially aligned with Habib amid a dispute over a deputy director position, only for their groups to diverge later—especially visible by the time of the World Archaeology Congress in Delhi and during the debates surrounding the Babri Masjid dispute. These shifting alliances show how academic coalitions can be contingent and issue-specific.
When Muhammed was selected as Deputy Superintending Archaeologist at the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI), he alleges that efforts were made to block the appointment or, failing that, to influence his posting. He was assigned to the Madras Circle rather than Agra. Despite occasional attempts to restrict his lectures—successful at JNU, he writes—he continued to speak at other campuses, emphasizing field evidence and methodological rigor.
In the foreword to Muhammed’s book, Prof. M. G. S. Narayanan offers a critical appraisal of institutional practices he associates with Prof. Habib’s circle, citing groupism and nepotism while acknowledging Habib’s diligence. Prof. Narayanan writes that Habib is not a Muslim fundamentalist and questions whether he is even a believer, but contends that his cohort’s approach contributed to intensifying the Babri Masjid controversy as a national issue. His own tenure at ICHR led him to resign, after which, he writes, he was labeled "Hindutvavaadi."
According to Muhammed, the Babri Masjid debates marked a turning point. As head of a government body (ICHR), he argues, Prof. Habib should have maintained institutional neutrality. The larger lesson for Indian historiography is enduring: public trust depends on demonstrable fairness, careful use of sources, and transparent method—especially on questions intertwined with faith, identity, and memory.
Viewed through a broader civilizational lens, this narrative affirms the value of plural inquiry. The Ibādat Khāna itself—conceived as a space for dialogue across traditions—embodies an ethos shared by Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism: rigorous debate, non-coercive exchange, and mutual respect. Protecting that ethos requires guarding against ideological gatekeeping and honoring field evidence, epigraphy, and textual analysis in equal measure.
These vignettes from the early chapters of Muhammed’s autobiography highlight more than personal disputes; they expose structural questions about Indian history writing: who decides what counts as authoritative, how labels shape reputations, and how institutions can center evidence over ideology. In strengthening Indian historiography, the imperative is clear—support transparent processes, welcome diverse scholarly traditions, and nurture a research culture that unites dharmic values of inquiry with academic rigor.
Inspired by this post on Varnam.
