DISCLAIMER:

This article presents a critical interpretation of the complex ideas and political positions of B. R. Ambedkar based on selected sources. Readers are encouraged to consult primary texts and diverse scholarship before forming conclusions. It is only intended to contribute to informed academic and public discourse.

Introduction

Dr. Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar is undeniably a titan of modern Indian history. Born into the deeply marginalised Mahar community, he rose through sheer intellectual brilliance and unrelenting perseverance to become a polymath, a fierce crusader against the historical scourge of untouchability, and the principal architect of India’s Constitution. For millions of Indians, he remains an enduring symbol of emancipation, dignity, and legal equality. Given his monumental stature, it is entirely understandable why modern political and intellectual movements would seek to weave him into a broader, unifying national fabric.

In recent years, this desire has birthed a deeply appealing idea: the attempt to conceptually reconcile Ambedkar with the ideological framework of Hindutva. For those seeking a unified civilisational narrative, this effort, often termed “Blue Hindutva”, offers a profound hope. It rests on the optimistic assumption that, despite his fierce criticisms, Ambedkar ultimately operated within, and contributed positively to, a shared Hindu civilisational ethos. It attempts to present him as a tough but necessary internal reformer who wanted to cleanse the faith, much like other great Hindu social reformers of his era.

It is an amalgamation one desperately wants to believe in. However, when we embark on a careful, comprehensive reading of his voluminous writings, his shifting political positions, and his proposed legislative solutions, a genuine historical puzzle emerges. We are forced to ask an uncomfortable question: was Ambedkar merely trying to eradicate the observable social practice of caste discrimination, or was his project fundamentally aimed at dismantling the very structural, historical, and philosophical foundations of Hindu society itself?

This article does not seek to deny the harsh historical reality of caste-based discrimination, nor does it diminish the absolute urgency with which it needed to be addressed. Rather, it aims to earnestly explore Ambedkar’s specific methods and structural solutions. By examining his actual political footprint, we must ask whether recent attempts to seamlessly blend his ideology with Hindutva are supported by the historical record, or if they require us to look away from irreconcilable contradictions.

The Moses of the Untouchables?

“I confess that if anything sustains me in my efforts to emancipate the Depressed Classes, it is the story of Moses undertaking the thankless but noble task of leading Jews out of their captivity.” [1]

In a rather generous and highly dramatised self-assessment, Ambedkar compared himself directly to Moses, the legendary biblical prophet who led the Israelites out of Egyptian bondage. By consistently invoking this grand analogy, he effectively cast himself as the solitary, indispensable liberator of the Depressed Classes, guiding an otherwise ignorant and oppressed population toward political enlightenment. It is a sweeping, messianic self-portrait: the Dalit masses wandering blindly in the darkness, with Ambedkar serving as their divinely appointed and unquestioned torchbearer.

But if we are to accept him as the universal, undisputed Moses of the untouchables across the vast expanse of India, we inevitably run into questions when looking at the democratic data. Did the overwhelming majority of the Depressed Classes actually subscribe to his specific political framework?

This grand self-perception meets a complicated reality during the crucial 1937 elections. Following the results, Lord Brabourne, the British Governor, astutely noted that Ambedkar’s confident boast of winning not only the 15 reserved seats but many more looked like being “completely falsified” [2]. The democratic electoral verdict poses a challenge to the Moses narrative: Ambedkar simply did not emerge as the dominant, national representative of the Scheduled Castes.

Ambedkar, however, offered a structural explanation for this outcome. He argued that the system of joint electorates was fundamentally flawed. He was highly insistent that so long as joint electorates existed, Hindu candidates could safely ignore the wishes of the Scheduled Castes. He argued that even when caste Hindus were forced to vote for untouchables in the final elections, their object was never to favour the Dalit candidate, but merely to “outvote the candidate put up by his own Federation,” making separate electorates absolutely fundamental for true representation [3].

According to this rationale, joint electorates allowed caste Hindus to maliciously override the true political will of the Scheduled Castes purely by virtue of their larger demographic numbers. It is a compelling defence. But does the actual, documented election data support it?

The Myth of the Stolen Electorate

To truly understand the electoral situation of 1937, we must step back to 1932 and the turbulent signing of the Poona Pact. Following the British government’s Communal Award, which granted separate electorates to the Depressed Classes, Mahatma Gandhi undertook a historic fast unto death in Yerwada Jail. Gandhi argued passionately that separate electorates would permanently fracture and divide Hindu society, turning a social evil into a permanent political wedge. Under immense national pressure to save Gandhi’s life, and after tense negotiations, Ambedkar compromised.

The resulting Poona Pact replaced separate electorates with joint electorates, but in exchange, it significantly increased the number of reserved seats for the Depressed Classes from the 78 originally proposed by the British, to a substantial 151 seats. It was almost double and later on we will see that how this automatically played out as a separate electorate and not joint electorate

The new electoral process involved two distinct stages: a primary election in which only Scheduled Castes voted to shortlist a panel of four candidates, and a final election in which the entire Hindu electorate voted to choose the winner from that panel. Crucially, a unique system of cumulative voting allowed voters to distribute or concentrate their votes strategically. Distributive voting meant that in a multi seat constituency a voter will have to give one vote per seat however in a cumulative voting the voters could give all their votes on a single seat to a single candidate. This was in accordance with the demand of Ambedkar who believed a cumulative system would help the depressed classes to consolidate all their votes in favour of their own candidate. [4].

In actual political practice, the primary election functioned precisely as a de facto separate electorate, fully allowing Scheduled Caste voters to filter and nominate their preferred candidates without any outside interference. Yet, Ambedkar maintained his deep suspicion that caste Hindus would inevitably manipulate the final stage to deliberately sabotage the authentic choices of the Scheduled Castes [5].

The 1937 election results, however, present a fascinating historical contradiction. The Indian National Congress won a staggering 78 of the reserved seats, while Ambedkar’s Independent Labour Party managed to secure a mere 13. Furthermore, his support was heavily regionalised: 10 of his 13 seats came directly from Bombay, and 3 from the Central Provinces [6]. This suggests his influence, while undeniably deep in his home region, was not national.

But the most pressing question arises from the actual voting behaviour in the final elections. Did caste Hindus overwhelm the Dalit vote to defeat Ambedkar’s candidates, as he feared? Historical analysis shows that in a vast majority of the contested constituencies, caste Hindu voters displayed a “complete absence of enthusiasm” for electing Dalit candidates. Instead of outvoting them, caste Hindus used their cumulative voting prerogative to simply abstain from voting for Dalit candidates entirely, allocating all their votes to caste Hindu candidates instead. Because of this mass abstention, one hundred ten Dalit candidates received votes “solely from Dalit voters” [7].

This leaves us with a profound paradox that strikes at the heart of Ambedkar’s core argument. Out of the 151 reserved seats, a massive 110 Scheduled Caste candidates were elected entirely and exclusively by Scheduled Caste voters. In other words, these 110 seats functioned exactly like the pure separate electorates Ambedkar so deeply desired. If separate electorates were indeed the only true mechanism for authentic representation, shouldn’t his party have swept these specific seats?

Instead, the overwhelming majority of Scheduled Caste voters freely chose Congress candidates under these un-interfered conditions. Yet, Ambedkar continued to feel aggrieved by the democratic outcome:

“The Congress, in capturing 78 seats, left only 73 seats to be filled by true and independent representatives of the Untouchables. The Untouchables were worse off under the Poona Pact than they would have been under the Prime Minister’s Award… The Congress on the other hand gained by the Poona Pact. Although under the Poona Pact it gave 151 to the Untouchables it took back 78 and thereby made a handsome profit on its political transaction.” [8]

This forces us to ask a difficult, fundamental question about democracy and agency: If Scheduled Caste voters themselves democratically and overwhelmingly choose Congress candidates in what was functionally a separate electorate, on what empirical basis can those duly elected representatives be dismissed as inauthentic? Does representation only become “true” when voters select the specific leader who claims to speak for them?

Caste Favouritism and Selective Representation

The immense difficulty of leading a vast and diverse demographic becomes even starker when we examine the complex internal dynamics of the Scheduled Castes themselves. Historical evidence suggests that Ambedkar’s support base was not uniform, raising uncomfortable questions about internal community friction.

During the 1937 elections, we see that a vastly disproportionate number of political tickets went directly to the Mahar community, which was Ambedkar’s own caste. Meanwhile, candidates from the Chambhars, one of the more economically advanced and ritually highest groups among the Scheduled Castes in Maharashtra, were strikingly absent, as were the Mangs, who were educationally and economically backward. It appears that deeply ingrained caste divisions meant that “neither Chambhars nor Mangs could see a Mahar leader as their salvation” [9].

If highly significant sections of the Scheduled Castes themselves viewed his political machine with suspicion, can we accurately brand him the universal leader of all Depressed Classes? Other marginalised communities certainly felt neglected, claiming that the sanctions of the Scheduled Classes were being exploited to build a powerful political machine for a specific pressure group. They lamented that while the Mahar masses were prioritised, communities like the Matangs, Dhors, and Mang Garudis were completely neglected, remaining unfranchised and too “non-Mahar to get in the scramble” for educational concessions [10].

This selective approach to representation appears again in his broader political crusade. When formally submitting before the Simon Commission, Ambedkar was asked by Sir Hari Singh Gour if he confined his requests for special representation strictly to the untouchables. Ambedkar confirmed he did. When pressed on the fact that some aborigines were not untouchables, he plainly stated, “I do not propose to speak on their behalf” [11].

How do we reconcile this with his broader philosophy of universal social justice? The philosophical tension deepens when looking at his views on adult suffrage. While he fiercely demanded reserved representation for Scheduled Castes on the foundational premise that all communities inherently act in their own self-interest, he used that exact same logic to argue against giving democratic voting rights to so-called “criminal tribes,” suggesting it might not be a good thing because they have “more the interest of their own particular community in their mind” [12].

But wasn’t the fundamental need to protect a community’s collective self-interest the exact reason he demanded separate electorates in the first place [13]?

When we look at this evidence, the poor electoral performance, the regional confinement, the internal caste rivalries, and his highly selective political advocacy, we are left with a much more complicated picture than the universal “Moses” narrative suggests. Ambedkar was undoubtedly a towering intellectual and a fierce advocate for his people. But hamstrung by incredibly poor electoral performance, strict regional confinement, deep internal caste favouritism, and highly selective political advocacy, Ambedkar was at best the leader of a very specific section of untouchables: primarily the Mahars of Bombay and the Central Provinces.

Ambedkar’s Non-Cooperation Movement

To truly understand a political figure, we must understand the baseline of trust from which they operate. For anyone attempting to position Ambedkar within a unifying “Dharmic” or Hindu civilisational framework, his fundamental stance towards the Hindu majority presents a profound conceptual challenge.

“Gandhi says to us ‘Trust us-trust the Caste Hindus!’ I reply ‘We will not trust you, for you are our hereditary enemies’.” [14]

This is a startling declaration. We must ask ourselves: if a community is formally and permanently designated as “hereditary enemies,” what room remains for social reconciliation? This does not appear to be a mild distrust born out of circumstantial political caution; it reads as an uncompromising, foundational principle. If we accept this premise, that caste Hindus are an inherent enemy rather than a flawed brethren, we are forced to wonder if the concept of cooperation ceases to be a strategic option and becomes, in Ambedkar’s eyes, a fundamental act of betrayal. Does a politics stemming from this premise aim to reform a civilisation, or to irrevocably oppose it?

Having established in the previous section the complexities of Ambedkar’s acceptance as the sole leader of the Depressed Classes, we must now turn to examine an equally vital enquiry: how did he engage with other prominent political and social organisations that were actively striving to eradicate caste distinctions?

One might reasonably expect that a social challenge as monumental as untouchability would naturally invite broad cooperation, or at least a baseline of strategic common ground among reformers of different stripes. Yet, the historical record suggests a different approach. Rather than seeking alignment, Ambedkar consistently dismissed, delegitimised, or outright rejected nearly every parallel reform effort. This leaves us with a difficult question: did Ambedkar view himself as a prominent leader among many, or as the exclusive, authentic voice of the Depressed Classes, where anyone who disagreed was inherently compromised?

The Rejection of Congress and the Mahasabha

Ambedkar’s attitude toward untouchable leaders who chose to align with the Indian National Congress is highly revealing. He wrote that the Congress “maintains a body of agents from among the Untouchables” to shout that they are Hindus, but claimed that even these “paid agents” would not agree to be counted as Hindus if Hinduism fundamentally meant a belief in caste [15].

This framing poses a serious dilemma for how we view democratic disagreement. By reducing Dalit leaders in the Congress to mere “paid agents,” does Ambedkar afford them the basic dignity of an honest ideological difference? In this framework, it appears that any member of the depressed communities who did not subscribe to his specific political line was instantly reduced to a puppet of the establishment. When sweeping accusations are delivered without the need for verifiable evidence, what happens to the possibility of healthy, internal community debate?

Nor was the Congress the sole recipient of this unyielding judgment. Ambedkar extended the exact same dismissal to the Hindu Mahasabha, writing:

“If there is anybody who is quite unfit for addressing itself to the problem of the Untouchables, it is the Hindu Mahasabha. It is a militant Hindu organisation. Its aim and object are to conserve, in every way, everything that is Hindu, religious, and cultural. It is not a social reform association.” [16]

Let us pause and consider the historical timeline of this specific critique, written in 1945. How do we reconcile this dismissal with the fact that, by 1944, the Hindu Mahasabha had already formally drafted a comprehensive constitutional framework for an independent India? Officially titled the Constitution of Hindustan Free State, this document explicitly guaranteed equal civil rights for all citizens, completely irrespective of caste:

“All citizens have the right to free elementary education, and of admission into any educational institution maintained or aided by the State without any distinction of caste, colour or creed.” [17]

“No person shall, by reason of his colour, caste or creed, be prejudiced in any way in regard to public employment, office of power or honour and the exercise of any profession, trade or calling.” [18]

The striking similarity between these Mahasabha provisions and the legal safeguards Ambedkar himself spent his life advocating is impossible to ignore. Equal access to education, strict non-discrimination in public employment, and equal civic status before the law, these were the precise institutional guarantees he demanded. Why, then, faced with these explicit, documented constitutional promises, did Ambedkar refuse to engage?

This blanket dismissal becomes even more puzzling when we remember the massive, highly successful social reform initiatives undertaken by Veer Savarkar in Ratnagiri: including revolutionary temple entries, inter-caste dining, and fierce campaigns against untouchability. Ambedkar had previously, on record, acknowledged Savarkar’s immense efforts. Why did that vital acknowledgement evaporate when evaluating the Mahasabha politically? Was it truly impossible to find common civilisational ground, or was the separation intentional?

Dismissing the Arya Samaj and the “Caste Hindu” Reformers

Perhaps, one might optimistically assume, Ambedkar found some meaningful common ground with more theological and scriptural reform movements like the Arya Samaj. Unfortunately, they fared no better in his assessment.

Ambedkar vehemently objected to the Arya Samajist proposal of a varna system based strictly on guna (qualities) and karma (actions) rather than birth. He questioned why they insisted upon labelling men at all, asking why Hindu Society found it difficult to honour its citizens without giving them permanent labels like “Brahmin” or “Shudra” [19].

This criticism invites us to look closer at the Arya Samaj’s actual philosophy. A merit-based varna is not, by definition, a permanent, hereditary identity; it is a functional classification tied to individual conduct. In this dynamic framework, labels are meant to be fluid rather than rigid social prisons. By entirely brushing aside these crucial philosophical distinctions, did Ambedkar misunderstand the Arya Samaj, or did he deliberately choose not to accommodate any framework that retained traditional Hindu terminology?

This pattern of rejection culminates in a fascinating, unresolved logical paradox regarding “Caste Hindu” reformers. First, Ambedkar firmly states that he does not like to take part in movements carried on by Caste Hindus because their attitude towards reform is so different, finding their company “quite uncongenial” to him on account of their differences of opinion [20].

Here, he openly acknowledges that genuine upper-caste reform movements do exist, but he actively refuses to participate in them. However, he simultaneously argues:

“Is it reasonable to expect that the Brahmins will ever consent to lead a movement, the ultimate result of which is to destroy the power and prestige of the Brahmin caste?… In my judgment, it is useless to make a distinction between the secular Brahmins and priestly Brahmins. Both are kith and kin. They are two arms of the same body, and one is bound to fight for the existence of the other.” [21]

How do we as readers resolve this profound logical dilemma? Both statements simply cannot be logically true at the same time. Either upper-caste reformers exist and Ambedkar chose to boycott them because he found them “uncongenial,” or they do not exist at all because Brahmins are supposedly sociologically incapable of supporting reform. By erasing the critical distinction between reformist and orthodox Brahmins, does he not casually sweep aside generations of prominent social reformers who literally dedicated their lives to eradicating caste discrimination?

This rigid, identity-first approach even dictated his critique of the Communists. He noted that the Communist Party was originally in the hands of “some Brahmin boys—Dange and others,” and attributed their lack of headway in Maharashtra entirely to the fact that they were “mostly a bunch of Brahmin boys” [22].

While there are countless profound ideological and structural criticisms one can intelligently level at the Communist movement, Ambedkar bypassed them all. If the principal driving objection to a political movement is solely the caste identity of its leadership rather than its ideology, what does that mean for the prospect of a united, issue-based political future?

The Final Alliance: Choosing Periyar Over Hindutva

At this precise point, a highly natural question arises: if Ambedkar harboured such deep, seemingly insurmountable objections to the Congress, the Hindu Mahasabha, the Arya Samaj, upper-caste reformers, and the Communists, was there any political formation in the country he deemed acceptable?

The revealing answer lies directly in the official manifesto issued by Ambedkar’s Scheduled Castes Federation just ahead of the 1951 elections. The manifesto explicitly declared that it perfectly mirrored British colonial anxieties.

How do we reconcile this with his modern image? The standard defence often offered is that Ambedkar was primarily concerned with safeguarding the Depressed Classes, and if that required a tactical, temporary engagement with the British, it was a necessary sacrifice. But as students of history, we must ask: does this “tactical distance” excuse fully explain his actions, or does a closer reading reveal a much deeper, ideological hostility toward the very concept of Indian independence?

Claiming the Colonial Conquest

If Ambedkar merely maintained a cautious distance from the freedom movement out of concern for his community, we might understand it as political pragmatism. However, the historical record shows he went much further. He repeatedly went out of his way to declare that the Depressed Classes had neither participated in the freedom struggle nor benefited from it. In a fascinating historical pivot, he aggressively credited the total success of British colonial rule directly to the untouchables, asserting that the British “owes its very existence” to their help, and that India was not conquered by the likes of Clive or Hastings, but by “an army of Indians” who were “all Untouchables.” Without them, he claimed, British rule would have been impossible [26].

We must pause and ask: is this a neutral historical observation, or a deliberate political assertion? By proudly positioning the untouchables as the foundational enablers of colonial rule rather than its victims, what narrative was he trying to build? He consistently reiterated this active disassociation, noting that the “Fight for Freedom” was carried on mostly by Hindus, and that aside from a brief Muslim participation during the Khilafat agitation, other communities—particularly the Untouchables—”never took part in it” [27].

If a leader actively claims credit for securing the colonial conquest, proudly refuses to participate in the national liberation movement, and explicitly disassociates his followers from its objectives, how do we intellectually stretch the definition of “nationalist” to include him?

Ambedkar’s critique did not stop at non-participation; he actively sought to strip the freedom movement of its moral legitimacy entirely. He described the anti-colonial struggle led by the governing class as a “selfish, if not a sham, struggle,” arguing that it was merely a demand for the “master race to rule the subject race” which he equated to the “Nazi or Nietzschean doctrine” of the superman ruling the common man [28].

When a leader resorts to reducing the sacred independence struggle of his own country to a “sham” and equates it with Nazi doctrine, can we truly say he was emotionally or ideologically invested in the nation’s liberation?

The Crown’s Useful Ally

Given this fierce opposition to the nationalist movement, it is perhaps unsurprising that Ambedkar earned incredibly high praise from top British officials. They documented how he “behaved very well” at conferences, prompting them to express a desire to “strengthen his hands in every possible way” [29]. British administrators were openly impressed by his “manifest desire to support the British influence in India,” noting that his fights with Gandhi and caste Hindus worked out quite well from the imperial perspective [30]. They recorded how helpful it was when members like Ambedkar “spoke up and stated the case either for the Government or against the Congress,” proving himself to be “most effective more than once” [31].

These are not casual bureaucratic compliments. They raise a difficult question: why did the British Empire view him as such a reliable political asset? Subhas Chandra Bose captured this exact dynamic with unsparing clarity in The Indian Struggle:

“Dr. Ambedkar has had leadership thrust upon him by a benign British Government, because his services were necessary to embarrass the nationalist leaders.” [32]

This observation is exceptionally weighty because it comes from one of the most uncompromising figures of the Indian freedom movement itself. If we are hesitant to accept the testimonies of both British officials and nationalist leaders, Ambedkar’s own highly candid analysis of his massive electoral failures shatters the nationalist illusion completely.

Reflecting on his devastating defeat in the 1946 elections, he openly admitted that his party was at a “discount with the people” precisely because they had “co-operated with the British Government.” Furthermore, he noted that the highly emotional trials of the Indian National Army (INA) men placed the Congress at a massive advantage. He bluntly conceded that if the INA trials had not happened, the Congress might have lost, but because of them, his own stock was simply too low [33].

This is a remarkable admission that demands our attention. Ambedkar, a brilliant, highly trained lawyer, knew that public sentiment was overwhelmingly and fiercely nationalist. The INA trials were a watershed moment in late colonial India. Had he truly wished to position himself alongside nationalist sentiment, he had both the perfect opportunity and the legal acumen to do so. Why, then, did he stubbornly choose to remain on the opposing imperial side, only to subsequently complain that the Indian public’s deep patriotism cost him his electoral success?

Outsourcing the Constitution

This deep-seated scepticism towards Indian self-rule extended even to the most fundamental act of a new nation: the framing of its Constitution. Distrustful of a Constituent Assembly that would naturally and democratically reflect a Hindu majority, Ambedkar formally proposed a rather astonishing alternative:

“His [Ambedkar’s] own proposal was that the tasks envisaged for the Constituent Assembly should be divided into two glasses:

(a) Constitutional questions properly so-called, e.g. the relations between the Legislature and the Executive and their respective composition and functions. There was no great controversy about these matters which did not excite the emotions. To deal with them was beyond the mental capacity of the type of man whom Provincial Assemblies might be expected to send up, and was a job for experts.

b) Communal questions.

Questions under the first of these headings should be referred to a commission presided over by an eminent constitutional lawyer from Great Britain or the U.S.A… Questions under (b) should be referred to a conference of the leaders of the different communities. If the conference failed to arrive at an agreed solution, His Majesty’s Government would have to make an award. This would no doubt be accepted if it were reasonable.” [34]

How do we reconcile this historical document with his modern legacy as the “Father of the Constitution”? He formally proposed that key constitutional questions should be entirely outsourced to British or American experts, and that the British Government should permanently retain the overriding authority to dictate terms.

The tragedy of this position becomes apparent when directly contrasted with the views of British policymakers themselves, such as Leo Amery, who clearly stated that India’s future constitution should be “devised by Indians for themselves and not by the British Government,” and framed in accordance with “Indian conditions and Indian needs” [35]. When British imperial officials appear significantly more committed to Indian constitutional autonomy than the very leader claimed by “Blue Hindutva,” how do we sustain the narrative of his nationalism?

The Three-Day Contradiction

We are continually brought back to the ultimate fallback defence: that Ambedkar’s intense hostility to independence was driven purely by his genuine, paralyzing concern that Swaraj (self-rule) would physically and socially harm the Scheduled Castes. He argued that Swaraj of the Congress variety meant only one thing to the Untouchables: that the Legislature and Executive would also be filled with Hindus, which would undoubtedly “aggravate the sufferings of the Untouchables” [36].

If this was a genuine fear, did he outgrow it once independence was achieved and the Constitution he helped draft was implemented? The evidence suggests otherwise. Explaining his dramatic resignation from the cabinet on 10 October 1951, he stated that the constitutional provisions for safeguarding the Scheduled Castes were not to his satisfaction. He asked rhetorically what their position was today, answering that,

“The provisions made in the Constitution for safeguarding the position of the Scheduled Castes were not to my satisfaction. However, I accepted them for what they were worth, hoping that the Government will show some determination to make them effective. What is the position of the Scheduled Castes to-day ? So far as I see, it is the same as before. The same old tyranny, the same old oppression, the same old discrimination which existed before, exists now, and perhaps in a worst form.” [37]

Ambedkar publicly and forcefully declared that under independent “Hindu rule,” the Scheduled Castes were actually worse off, and that the constitutional safeguards he supposedly architected were utter failures. This is a shocking, sweeping claim, made all the more staggering and incomprehensible when one looks at what his own party, the Scheduled Castes Federation, officially published in its election manifesto merely three days earlier on 7 October 1951:

The Constitution of Free India has made the Backward Classes, the Scheduled Tribes and the Scheduled Castes virtually the masters of the country.” [38]

This forces us into a deeply uncomfortable analytical corner. How does a community miraculously go from being absolute “masters of the country” to being utterly relegated to the “limbo of nothing” [39] in a matter of a mere 72 hours? When rhetoric swings so wildly from triumphant empowerment to claims of absolute tyranny in just three days, can we view it as a measured, factual assessment of constitutional reality? Or does it look more like sheer political opportunism driven by an inherent, unshakeable hostility toward the Hindu majority?

A Marxist Disdain for the Nation

Many of Ambedkar’s supporters bring up his opposition to communism as a means to show his nationalism. Since communism and marxism are inherently inter-nationalist in their outlook and don’t care much about nationalism, we are forced into the assumption that Ambedkar must be a nationalist. There are statements of Ambedkar opposing the communists where he calls them out for trying to “destroy individual freedom and Parliamentary Democracy and substitute in its place a dictatorship”[40](BAWS 17 1 402). Ambedkar also clearly said he would oppose any kind of alliance with the Communist party as “for the plain reason that I do not believe in Communism”[41](BAWS 17 1 406)

Ambedkar, though he says that he doesn’t believe in communism but we see that Ambedkar applies the same outlook in his views. We see the Marxist lens in the ideology and words of Ambedkar. Hence to conclude if Ambedkar was a nationalist we must look at what Ambedkar truly thought of nationalism as an overarching, unifying ideology. Did he view it as a civilisational glue, or something much more sinister?

“The besetting sin of the labouring classes is the easy way in which they are led away by an appeal to Nationalism. The working classes who are beggared in every way and who have very little to spare, often sacrifice their all to the so-called cause of Nationalism… More often than not, the free independent national state which emerges from a successful nationalism and which reared on their sacrifices, turns to be the enemy of the working class under the hegemony of their masters.” [42]

In Ambedkar’s own words, nationalism was not a beautiful, unifying force, but explicitly a “besetting sin” and an instrument of elite exploitation. His ideological leanings in this regard are made undeniably clear by his highly specific reading recommendations for the working class. He urged them to acquaint themselves with Rousseau, John Stuart Mill, and Marx’s Communist Manifesto, complaining that instead, labour had taken delight in reading “false and fabulous stories of ancient kings and queens and has become addicted to it” [43].

Here lies the final question for the advocates of “Blue Hindutva.” How do we reconcile a grand, unified Hindu civilisational project with a leader who viewed nationalism as a literal sin? How do we synthesize Hindutva with a man who actively collaborated with colonial rulers, demanded outsourcing the Constitution to foreigners, and urged his followers to abandon the sacred “fabulous stories” of Indian epics for radical Marxist theory?

When we step back and view the historical record without the lens of modern political compulsion, the portrayal of Ambedkar as a straightforward nationalist figure appears less like an objective historical conclusion, and more like a retrospective necessity for a society desperately trying to hold itself together.

Emancipation through Segregation

When trying to weave a historical figure into a unifying national narrative, the most crucial element to examine is their vision for the nation’s structure. Did they view the nation as a cohesive whole requiring repair, or as inherently fragmented? Ambedkar was remarkably clear about his foundational premise:

“The keynote of my policy is that we are not a sub-continent of the Hindus but a separate element in the national life.” [44]

This is not a casual political statement; it is declarative, almost doctrinal. The core idea that the Scheduled Castes are not merely a marginalised section requiring urgent reform within Hindu society, but a fundamentally and permanently separate element altogether, runs like a rigid spine through Ambedkar’s political thought.

If we accept this premise of absolute separation, we must ask how it translates into political action. History shows us that Ambedkar did not hesitate to advocate for radical political configurations that resemble what is often termed “Bhim-Mim” politics today.

“There are more outcastes than Caste Hindus—if we include the Muslims who are also regarded as untouchables by the casteists. And the tribal people. Together, with the socialists they can abolish ownership of private property ! No landlords, no tenants ! No landless labourers!” [45]

This presents a troubling question for modern proponents of “Blue Hindutva.” How do we reconcile a unifying civilisational project with a leader who actively envisioned a Marxist-influenced coalition of disparate communities united not by any shared cultural identity, but seemingly by a shared antagonism toward the Hindu majority?

Furthermore, if this was the precise political alignment Ambedkar actively desired, how do we intellectually square this with his extensive, much-praised writings critiquing Islamic politics in Pakistan or the Partition of India? We are left struggling to reconcile his detailed, academic critique of Islam with his highly practical willingness to politically align with Muslims directly against caste Hindus. Was this a matter of shifting principles, or purely tactical politics?

The Dynamite and the Demolition

This willingness to seek a complete rupture rather than reform was not an isolated instance. To truly understand whether his ultimate goal was the annihilation of caste or a broader project of civilisational dismantling, we must look at his interactions with Hindu reformers.

A particularly revealing episode is the 1936 invitation extended to Ambedkar by the Jaat-Paat Todak Mandal. This was a dedicated, reformist Hindu organisation deeply committed to completely dismantling caste barriers. Ambedkar, as the most prominent critic of caste, seemed the ideal choice to preside over their annual conference. In principle, there should have been complete, harmonious alignment.

However, upon reviewing his draft presidential address, the organisers discovered a speech that went far beyond a sociological critique of caste. Ambedkar declared:

“You must not forget that if you wish to bring about a breach in the system, then you have got to apply the dynamite to the Vedas and the Shastras, which deny any part to reason; to the Vedas and Shastras, which deny any part to morality. You must destroy the religion of the Shrutis and the Smritis. Nothing else will avail.” [46]

Reforming social practices is a noble endeavour, but actively calling for the literal destruction of an entire religious framework with ideological “dynamite” poses a serious question for anyone claiming Ambedkar was a Hindu reformer. Unsurprisingly, the Mandal, being a reform organisation and not a civilisational demolition squad, objected to these extreme passages and politely suggested he restrict his critique to the caste system rather than extending it to Hinduism as a whole [47].

If Ambedkar’s true objective was genuinely limited to the eradication of caste discrimination, why reject a willing, allied platform merely because it refused to endorse the wholesale destruction of the Hindu religion? His refusal to moderate the speech is frequently romanticised as an act of uncompromising intellectual integrity. But does it not also unmask a terrifying scope to his project, one that extended far beyond social justice into absolute theological rejection?

The Denial of a Shared Civilisation

If Ambedkar insisted the untouchables constituted a distinct community entirely separate from Hindus, we must ask: on what empirical, observable basis was this vast distinction made?

Observable reality suggests a massive, inescapable web of commonality: shared vibrant festivals, revered deities, deep cultural practices, and languages. Yet, Ambedkar summarily dismissed this lived reality, arguing that while there is similarity in habits, customs, and beliefs, one cannot conclude that Hindus constitute a society. He claimed that the parallel performances of similar festivals by different castes “have not bound them into one integral whole” [48].

At first glance, this argument mimics sociological rigor. But does it survive basic historical scrutiny? No society in human history has ever been defined by absolute, perfect uniformity. When we speak of Maharana Pratap or Chhatrapati Shivaji, pride is not cordoned off to a single caste; a broader civilisational memory is powerfully invoked. The grand civilisational epics flawlessly reflect this shared inheritance: the Ramayana reveres Lord Rama while equally immortalising the pure devotion of Shabari. Saints like Chokhamela are absolutely not confined to a single caste’s narrative; they are unshakeable pillars of a much broader spiritual tradition.

This reality of shared historical consciousness was articulated perfectly by Veer Savarkar, who offered a powerful counter-framework:

“What are the distinctive elements by virtue of which England, Germany, Italy, America, Japan, Ireland and others are termed nations? If those elements are present with equal intensity in the composition of the Hindu nation, then its existence must likewise be accepted… When the history of England — divided among seven nations, repeatedly defeated by the invasions of the Danes, Angles, and Normans, and again and again bloodied by the Wars of the Roses — can nevertheless be regarded as the common national history of that nation… then we Hindus too ought to be capable of according to this uninterrupted, venerable, shared, and magnificent past of the last two thousand years the status of our national history.” [49]

Savarkar’s logic invites a difficult question: if European societies with horrific histories of deep, bloody internal conflict can be universally recognised as nations based on shared culture and collective memory, is there any sociological justification for denying that exact same status to Hindus?

Furthermore, Ambedkar’s insistence that Hindu differences were hopelessly irreconcilable did not age well historically. In independent India, ironically, the very “Hindu Raj” Ambedkar so deeply feared [50]. It was under a constitutional framework passed by a massive Hindu-majority assembly that untouchability was legally and permanently abolished. This was a civilisational reform undertaken through immense collective political will. If the immense goodwill required to peacefully rectify internal injustices clearly existed, why does this reality find almost no acknowledgement in Ambedkar’s broader narrative? Did acknowledging it threaten his foundational case for separation?

Separate Electorates and reservations

Because Ambedkar began with the pessimistic assumption that civilisational coexistence was simply impossible, his proposed legislative solutions were not designed to integrate society, but to structurally divide it. We have already seen how he fiercely demanded separate electorates. But this demand becomes truly baffling when we read his own deeply condescending assessment of the very voters he claimed to champion.

“No Caste Hindu will cast a vote in favour of an Untouchable candidate… On the other hand there will be found many voters among the Untouchables who would willingly cast their votes for a Hindu candidate in preference to an Untouchable candidate. That is because he is taught to revere the former more than himself… I am not mentioning the other means which are often resorted to for catching votes of the poor, illiterate, unconscious, unorganised body of voters which the Untouchables are.” [51]]

This leaves us with an extraordinary paradox. If a leader truly believes his voters are so “unconscious” and easily manipulated into revering their supposed oppressors, what magical property of a separate electorate would suddenly and permanently grant them political consciousness? Does isolating them structurally empower them, or does it merely reduce broader democratic scrutiny, insulating the leadership from having to build consensus?

This pessimism extended to his views on reservations. When arguing that legislative seats should be blindly reserved purely in proportion to population, the obvious question of intellectual capability and governance was raised. Ambedkar’s justification took a remarkable turn, arguing that,

“It has never been a primary object of constitutional arrangement to get together the best possible parliament in intellectual capacity. Indeed, it would be inconsistent with the idea of representative Government to attempt to form a parliament far superior in intelligence to the mass of the nation.” [52]

One is immediately reminded of the old Hindi proverb: “Andheri Nagari Chaupat Raja” (Dark is the city, inept is the king).

How do we intellectually digest this? To argue that a parliament should absolutely not strive to be intellectually superior to the masses undermines the very foundational concept of leadership. True representation does not mean mathematically mirroring societal average; it means entrusting a nation’s highly complex destiny to the most capable. If the ultimate goal of a constitutional republic is not to ensure the absolute highest possible quality of governance, what exactly is its purpose?

The Complete Divorce: Separate Settlements

This ideological pessimism reached its absolute zenith in Ambedkar’s most radical proposal: separate settlements. Fully believing untouchability could never be eradicated within the traditional village structure, he proposed physically and forcefully separating the populations as part of a “New Life Movement” to free the Untouchables from the “thraldom of the Hindus,” claiming that under the present arrangement it was impossible to get rid of Untouchability [53].

Logistically, this envisions a waking nightmare: crores of people requiring massive forced relocation, with entire vast economies rebuilt from scratch. But Ambedkar had a highly punitive solution for the immense funding required. He argued that the cost should be financed by the Government, but that the burden should fall “for the most part on the Hindus” because they supposedly “own everything” and control trade. He saw no reason why they should not be asked to pay the cost of this scheme.

“As to cost, the Untouchables say it should be financed by the Government. It will no doubt fall for the most part on the Hindus. But there is no reason why the Hindus should not bear the same. The Hindus own everything. They own the land in this country. They control trade, and they also own the State… The social system helps the Hindus to have a monopoly of everything. There is no reason why they should not be asked to pay the cost of this scheme when they practically own the country.” [54]

He made his ultimate desire explicitly clear: they wanted the link to be broken and a “complete divorce from the Hindus effected without delay” [55].

We must ask ourselves: how does an explicit, highly documented demand for a “complete divorce”—funded by penalising the other party—conceptually map onto Hindutva, a philosophy entirely predicated on shared identity? Can we truly build a unified civilisational future with a framework designed for total fragmentation?

The Flaw of Internal Hierarchy

Beyond the sheer logistical madness of this proposal, there is a fatal sociological flaw embedded in the dream of segregation: the naive assumption that the “Depressed Classes” were a homogenous, perfectly egalitarian utopia. History decisively proves otherwise. Deep-seated practices resembling untouchability and strict hierarchy thrived vibrantly within these communities.

Consider this highly documented, intense historical conflict between the Mahars (Ambedkar’s own caste) and the Mangs:

“The Mahars subsequently made the following appeals to the government: When bulls and buffaloes die in the village, it is the custom that we Mahars take their hides except for those of the plough bullocks, even though the peasants have begun to dispute with us over this matter. On the occasion of Dasarä, Mangs go about to every door asking for alms and we Mahars take pane naivedya (an offering) and pane paise (a money offering) but Mangs have begun to quarrel over this. On the occasion of Polä, we Mahars take the offering offered to cows, but now Mangs say that they should take it. When cattle of a Mang’s house die, it is the custom that we Mahars take their hides and that Mangs should not interfere with this. On the occasion of the sänti ceremony in Dasarä, we Mahars let a buffalo walk around the village boundary and we walk before it carrying a pot of pedhä (sweetmeats) in hand. After the sänti ceremony is over, we Mahars take the buffalo and pedhä but now Mangs are asking for a half of the pedhä. Mangs must not be allowed to ask for this. We Mahars take the offering offered to Jarimari (the devi of cholera) but now Mangs are making trouble over it and say that they should take it. On the occasion of a marriage ceremony, the bridegroom of the Mahar caste rides on a horse and goes in the procession but the bridegroom of the Mang caste must ride on a bull. Now, Mangs are making their bridegrooms ride on a horse, so please order them to make their bridegrooms ride on a bull as in the past. Receiving the appeal from the Mahars, the government conducted an inquiry, and the statement by the Mahars proved to be true. Therefore, a government order was issued to the district officials, desmukhs, despändes, pätils and Mahars of Parner and other districts to the effect that they had to behave in accordance with the long-standing custom and must not make trouble.” [56]

This is a devastating historical reality that shatters the utopian framework. If vicious caste-based hierarchy and strict ritual discrimination (like dictating who can ride a horse versus a bull) existed vividly within the Depressed Classes, how exactly does physical separation from caste Hindus solve anything?

If caste is as deeply ingrained as Ambedkar claimed, then totally isolating these communities does not magically eliminate hierarchy—it merely violently rearranges it. In these proposed separate settlements, would the relatively dominant groups not simply assume the role of the “new Brahmins” to oppress the others? And if one argues that these deep internal hierarchies would miraculously dissolve in a separate settlement, we must ask: why is that exact same capacity for reform denied to the broader Hindu society?

The Constitutional Lock

These radical demands for total separation were not abstract, harmless thought experiments. Ambedkar actively and aggressively sought to institutionalise them within the very Indian state permanently. On 24 March 1947, he presented a highly detailed memorandum to the Constituent Assembly titled Rights of States and Minorities, forcefully demanding all three pillars:

“The system of election introduced by the Poona Pact shall be abolished. In its place, the system of Separate Electorates shall be substituted… The quantum of representation of the Scheduled Castes in the Services shall be as follows: In the Union Services— In proportion to the ratio of their population to the total population in India or British India as the case may be. In the State and Group Services— In proportion to their population in the State or Union. In the Municipal and Local Board Services— In proportion to their population in the Municipal and Local Board areas… There shall be a Settlement Commission under the new Constitution to hold uncultivated lands belonging to the State in trust for settlement of the Scheduled Castes in separate villages. The Union Government shall set apart annually a fund of Rs. 5 crores for the purpose of promoting the scheme of settlement.” [57]

India, in 1947, was violently bleeding from Partition, deeply economically devastated by the British, and facing mass starvation. Yet, Ambedkar considered it vital to legally extract an astronomical 5 crore rupees annually—not for critical national industrialisation or broad poverty alleviation—but specifically to engineer total social segregation.

Worse still, he deliberately sought to ensure these massive divisions were virtually irreversible, proposing a tyrannical constitutional lock that totally defies democratic logic:

“Any amendment or abrogation of Section IV of Article II or any part thereof relating to the Scheduled Castes shall only be made by a resolution passed in the manner prescribed below by the more popular chamber of the Union Legislature.

(i) Any proposal for amendment or abrogation shall be initiated in the form of a resolution in the more popular chamber of the Union Legislature.

(ii) No such resolution shall be moved—

(a) unless 25 years have elapsed after the Constitution has come into operation and has been worked; and

(b) unless six months’ notice has been given to the House by the mover of his intention to move such a resolution.

(iii) On the passing of such a resolution, the Legislature shall be dissolved and a new election held.

(iv) The original resolution in the form in which it was passed by the previous Legislature shall be moved afresh in the same House of the newly elected Union Legislature.

(v) The resolution shall not be deemed to have been carried unless it is passed by a majority of two-thirds of the members of the House and also two-thirds of members of the Scheduled Castes who have been returned through separate electorates.” [58]

To call this process “tedious” is an understatement; it was a complete constitutional straightjacket. It begs the question: if these were meant to be temporary safeguards to help a community catch up, why design a system meticulously structured to ensure permanent, unyielding constitutional entrenchment?

Had Ambedkar’s unadulterated vision been implemented, India would not have emerged as a unified republic peacefully grappling with its diversity. It would have been structurally segmented and legally segregated. We are frequently told that Ambedkar was the great champion of “fraternity.” Yet fraternity, by definition, absolutely requires the profound belief that differences can be reconciled within a shared framework of belonging. By systematically attempting to codify a “complete divorce,” did Ambedkar not architect the exact opposite of fraternity?.

The Civilizational Exit

When evaluating whether a historical figure can be integrated into a unified civilisational narrative, we must ultimately look at their final, definitive choices. For those hoping to reconcile Ambedkar with Hindutva, his declaration at the Yeola Conference in 1935 presents perhaps the most insurmountable hurdle:

“Unfortunately for me I was born a Hindu Untouchable. It was beyond my power to prevent that, but I declare that it is within my power to refuse to live under ignoble and humiliating conditions. I solemnly assure you that I will not die a Hindu.” [59]

The declaration is as unambiguous as historical records allow. Ambedkar did not merely criticize certain discriminatory practices; he explicitly, publicly, and permanently rejected any continued association with Hinduism itself. If his stated goal was to not die a Hindu, how do we place him on the exact same ideological pedestal as someone like Veer Savarkar, who consistently identified himself as a Hindu and sought to consolidate the society rather than exit it?

A widely invoked defence advanced by modern advocates of “Blue Hindutva” is that Ambedkar ultimately chose a religion within the Dharmic fold, and therefore never really left the civilisational matrix. According to this reasoning, his conversion was less a rejection and more a gentle realignment.

There is a historical anchor used for this assumption: Ambedkar did express concerns that mass conversion to Islam or Christianity would “denationalize” the Depressed Classes [60]. But as students of history, we must ask: does avoiding one set of political liabilities automatically imply a deep ideological loyalty to the “Dharmic fold”? Or was it a matter of political pragmatism? To fully understand this, we must rigorously examine the framework through which he viewed religious reform.

Religion as a Political Instrument

A highly useful starting point is Ambedkar’s own prescription for “reforming” Hindu society, as outlined in his undelivered Annihilation of Caste speech. He argued that there should be one standard book of Hindu Religion, and crucially, that all other books such as the Vedas, Shastras, and Puranas must “by law cease to be so.” Furthermore, he demanded that the preaching of any doctrine contained in these books “should be penalized” [61].

We must pause and ask: is this the vision of a civilisational reformer, or something fundamentally different? To legally criminalize the teaching of foundational texts bears a striking resemblance to the approach of Periyar, who similarly demanded the legal suppression of religious texts. When a leader moves from critiquing social practices to actively advocating for state-enforced censorship of the Vedas, can we still accurately categorize him as an internal reformer?

It is also historically vital to note that Ambedkar did not simply arrive at Buddhism out of an immediate, singular theological conviction. His decades-long journey through religious alternatives reveals a pattern that invites genuine questioning.

At different historical points, he actively explored multiple options. He initially engaged with Islam and encouraged his followers to consider embracing it, leading to actual conversions under his influence [62]. He later turned his attention to Sikhism, advocating it as a viable political alternative, resulting in another section of his followers converting [63].

What are we to make of the asymmetry between the leader and his followers? While he deployed his supporters into different religious camps, he refrained from converting himself until decades later. Does this suggest that conversion was a matter of profound spiritual awakening, or a strategic, political weapon deployed upon a constituency?

This approach drew sharp criticism from within the Depressed Classes themselves. Prominent leaders like P.N. Rajabhoj accused Ambedkar of misdirecting his followers [64]. G.A. Gavai went straight to the core of the issue, stating that this behavior clearly showed Ambedkar did not have any “faith in God or in religion,” and that he was only thinking of changing religions for “achieving equality” [65].

How do we address Gavai’s critique? It becomes even more difficult to dismiss when viewed alongside Ambedkar’s categorical indictment of Hinduism, where he claimed that Hinduism is a religion “not founded on morality,” and that whatever morality exists within it is a separate force “sustained by social necessities and not by the injunction of Hindu religion” [66].

If the premise is that an entire religious tradition fundamentally lacks a moral foundation, does that not pre-emptively suffocate any genuine possibility of internal reform? Yet, an agonising logical contradiction lies deeply within his own argument. If morality in Hindu society is indeed sustained by “social necessities,” it naturally follows that society is highly capable of evolving and correcting itself, completely independent of scriptural authority. If society can organically sustain high morality, why did Ambedkar present complete civilisational abandonment as the only viable solution?

The Mutilation of Buddhism

The complexity of his approach to religion becomes even more pronounced when we examine exactly how he treated Buddhism.

“Ambedkar did not subscribe to the position that there were canonical texts that were the authentic teachings of the Buddha himself. Buddha’s teachings were not standardised… Such a perspective on the tradition left Ambedkar free to elaborate the criteria for the choice of texts and the hermeneutic direction. He highlighted three of them: (1) Adulteration by Brahmanism had to be eliminated. The Buddha was rational and logical while Brahmanism is not. In the long and extensive interaction with Hinduism a large number of Buddhist texts were either distorted or interpolated by Brahmanical elements.” [67]

This invites a question of methodological consistency. When evaluating Hinduism, its texts were taken strictly at face value and condemned wholesale. When evaluating Buddhism, any inconvenient text or metaphysical inconsistency was instantly explained away as a later “Brahmanical interpolation.” How do we intellectually justify this selective interpretation?

Having cleared the field of any Buddhist doctrines that did not align with his framework, Ambedkar proceeded to reconstruct the religion. Even core Indic doctrines, such as Karma, were altered. He claimed the Hindu doctrine of karma as transmission was an “interpolation of Brahmanism,” and instead argued that karma refers strictly to consequences to follow in “present life”.

“The Hindu doctrine of karma as transmission was not consistent with the Buddhist doctrine of anatma. It was ‘an interpolation of Brahmanism, he claimed, if sometimes tradition had tended to interpret it that way… He brought in, however, the other facet of the doctrine in the Buddha’s emphatic assertion ‘reap as you sow, and argued that kamma refers to consequences to follow in ‘present life’. It constituted the basis of morality.” [68]

By stripping Karma—a concept understood across multiple Indic traditions in a deeply layered, metaphysical sense—of its spiritual weight and reducing it to a present-life sociological mechanism, was he engaging in religious interpretation or deliberate ideological differentiation?

Highly traditional Buddhists did not view this as a revival. The Mahabodhi journal delivered a scathing review, commenting that it would “shock any real Buddhist” to see his interpretation.

“In its review columns, the Mahabodhi commented that it would ‘shock any real Buddhist’ to see his interpretation of the theory of karma, ahimsa and the truth-status of the teachings of the enlightened one. It saw Ambedkar as reducing Buddhism merely to a social system… Its considered opinion was that Ambedkar’s Buddhism was based on hate, the Buddha’s on compassion, and it concluded that the title should be changed from “the Buddha and His Dhamma” to that of “Ambedkar and His Dhamma” for he preaches non-dhamma as dhamma for motives of political ambition… They claimed Ambedkar was tampering with texts, omitting that which was unacceptable to him. Even certain of his ardent admirers, like Sangharakshita, who otherwise hold Ambedkar’s conversion to be a major episode in the history of Buddhism, by and large avoid commenting on the doctrinal rectitude of his interpretation.” [69]

When traditional Buddhists explicitly state that an interpretation is driven by political ambition and shocks real practitioners, how sturdy is the modern claim of a gentle “Dharmic realignment”?

Erasure, Violence, and the Final Vows

This distancing was not confined to academic textual tampering; it manifested on the ground. Long before his formal conversion in 1956, Ambedkar’s followers had initiated a campaign of cultural separation. As Wamanrao—the organisational brains behind the 1956 conversion—said in the mid-1930s:

“As Wamanrao—the organisational brains behind the 1956 conversion—said as early as the mid-1930s: ‘Before we adopt another religion, we have to wipe out the culture of this religion [Hinduism]’ .Ambedkar’s young followers stopped doing puja, boycotted Hindu festivals-including Krishna’s birthday-and broke idols. In Nagpur, and probably elsewhere, they even harassed and ostracised caste fellows who took part in Hindu processions-to such an extent that some of them could not find a girl to marry from their community. Vasant Moon considers that ‘By 1942 we had given up our celebration of nearly all the Hindu festivals.’ Moreover Nagpur’s Mahars had begun celebrating Buddha Jayanti even before the 1956 conversions because of Ambedkar’s growing inclination towards this religion.” [70]

If conversion requires actively “wiping out” Hindu culture, is it truly just about embracing the Buddha? This underlying animosity is perhaps most glaringly visible in Ambedkar’s response to the violence against Chitpawan Brahmins following Gandhi’s assassination in 1948. He wrote that the murders, arsons, and loot committed against members of the higher classes showed “how deep rooted this enmity is,” and suggested that the only solution to remove the cause of this enmity was to give the lower classes higher education and open the doors of services [71].

Faced with murder and arson targeted at a specific community, he rationalised the violence as a symptom of structural inequality. For a man who utilised fiercely moralistic language to condemn Hindu texts, why was there an inability to issue a straightforward moral condemnation of this slaughter?

The culmination of this civilisational divorce was the administration of the 22 vows [72] during his 1956 conversion. These highly specific vows—entirely absent from traditional global Buddhism—are an explicit rejection of Hindu deities and revered rituals. Were they not perfectly designed to formalise an entirely irreversible cultural and civilisational break?

Veer Savarkar, keenly witnessing this, diagnosed the situation with absolute clarity. He argued that Ambedkar’s conversion was a highly deliberate act of separation [73]. Savarkar rejected the notion that Hindus should consider it a “favour” that Ambedkar supposedly spared them by not choosing Islam or Christianity [74], categorising the entire endeavour as fundamentally rashtra ghatak (nation-destroying) [75]. Savarkar’s deeply impassioned response asks the very questions we must ask today:

“Our “untouchable” brethren should stop threatening the touchable Hindus by saying, “Remove untouchability, otherwise we will convert.” For such a statement is itself deeply demeaning to them. The right over Hinduism belongs only to those who remove untouchability. Are the so-called “untouchables” mere guests in the Hindu fold? Is Hinduism, for the untouchables, some worn-out garment that can be discarded at will, or vegetables bought from the market that can be thrown away whenever one pleases?” [76]

Finally, even if one evaluates this conversion purely as a pragmatic tool for social upliftment, does it pass the test of history? As Savarkar rightly observed, changing a theological label does not dissolve deeply embedded social structures; rigid caste identities persisted powerfully even among converts to Islam and Christianity. If caste is purely a social phenomenon, must its lasting resolution not organically emerge through internal social transformation, rather than through religious substitution?

Conclusion

When we conduct a rigorous, earnest examination of B.R. Ambedkar’s political thought and actions, a highly consistent pattern reveals itself. From his demands for separate electorates, to his radical proposals for physically segregated settlements, to his active collaboration with colonial powers, and his final, public rejection of Hindu identity itself, his proposed structural solutions to social injustice were deeply rooted in total structural separation, not civilisational unity.

He did not appear to believe in Hindu society’s capacity for reform, nor did the historical evidence suggest he truly desired a shared future within it.

This position stands in absolute, irreconcilable tension with Hindutva—an ideology deeply anchored in cultural continuity, shared history, and collective civilisational identity. The modern attempt to seamlessly integrate Ambedkar into the Hindutva pantheon under the guise of “Blue Hindutva” asks us to look away from too much history. It requires a highly selective reading of his legacy that willfully ignores his explicit critiques, his segregationist political strategies, and his ultimate civilisational divorce.

To merge Ambedkar with Hindutva is to force an amalgamation he himself spent a lifetime resisting. Perhaps the most respectful way to honor a historical figure is not to retrofit them into our modern political necessities, but to take them at their exact word. In Ambedkar’s case, his words and actions tell us clearly: he was not a reformer of the Hindu nation; he was its most dedicated, uncompromising challenger.

— Jinesh Choraria

Footnotes

1. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol. 17, part 1, p.343
2. Worshipping False Gods, Arun Shourie, p.6
3. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol. 10, p.486
4. What Congress and Gandhi Have Done to the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.89
5. What Congress and Gandhi Have Done to the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.92
6. Indian Politics and The Elections of 1937, David Denis Taylor, p.353-354
7. The Poona Pact, Indian National Congress and the descriptive and substantive representation of Dalits in colonial India, Sujay Biswas
8. What Congress and Gandhi Have Done to the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.95
9. Learning the Use of Political Means: the Mahars of Maharashtra, Eleanor Zelliot, quoted in Caste in Indian Politics, Rajni Kothari, p.50
10. Was Ambedkar Just a Leader of the Mahars? Neera Burra
11. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol. 2, p.463
12. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol. 2, p.471
13. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol. 10, p.494-495
14. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol. 17, part 1, p.350
15. What Congress and Gandhi Have Done to the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.183
16. What Congress and Gandhi Have Done to the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.23
17. Constitution of Hindustan Free State, Section: Fundamental Rights, Right 4
18. Constitution of Hindustan Free State, Section: Fundamental Rights, Right 13
19. Annihilation of Caste, B. R. Ambedkar, p.25
20. Annihilation of Caste, B. R. Ambedkar, p.3
21. Annihilation of Caste, B. R. Ambedkar, p.44
22. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol. 17, part 1, p.425
23. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol. 17, part 1, p.402
24. Selected Works Of Jawaharlal Nehru, Second Series, vol 40, p.387
25. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol. 17, part 2, p.192
26. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol. 10, p.496
27. What Congress and Gandhi Have Done to the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.164
28. What Congress and Gandhi Have Done to the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.222
29. Worshipping False Gods, Arun Shourie, p.65
30. Worshipping False Gods, Arun Shourie, p.66
31. Transfer of Power, vol 3, p.314
32. The Indian Struggle, Subhas Chandra Bose, p.41
33. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 10, p.524-525
34. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 10, p.483-484
35. What Congress and Gandhi Have Done to the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.311
36. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 10, p.494
37. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 14, part 2, p.1320
38. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 17, part 1, p.401
39. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 14, part 2, p.1321
40. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 17, part 1, p.402
41. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 17, part 1, p.406
42. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 10, p.111
43. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 10, p.110
44. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 17, part 1, p.350
45. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 17, part 1, p.382
46. Annihilation of Caste, B. R. Ambedkar, p.36
47. Annihilation of Caste, B. R. Ambedkar, p.4
48. Annihilation of Caste, B. R. Ambedkar, p.19
49. ‘Our Hindu Nation’ essay by Veer Savarkar translated in English from the original ‘Hamara Hindu Rashtra’ in the book ‘Hamari Samasyaein’
50. Pakistan or Partition of India, B. R. Ambedkar, p.358
51. Mr Gandhi and the Emancipation of the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.24
52. Mr Gandhi and the Emancipation of the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.29
53. Mr Gandhi and the Emancipation of the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.35
54. Mr Gandhi and the Emancipation of the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.40
55. Mr Gandhi and the Emancipation of the Untouchables, B. R. Ambedkar, p.39
56. Ati Sudra Castes in Medieval Deccan, H Kotani, quoted in Caste System, Untouchability and the Depressed, H Kotani, pg.70
57. The Framing of India’s Constitution, Select Documents, vol 2, B. Shiva Rao, p.93-95
58. The Framing of India’s Constitution, Select Documents, vol 2, B. Shiva Rao, p.95-96
59. Thus spoke Ambedkar, Bhagawan Das, vol 4, p.108
60. Indian Annual Register, 1936, vol 1, pg. 278
61. Annihilation of Caste, B. R. Ambedkar, p.37
62. Was Ambedkar Just a Leader of the Mahars?, Neera Burra
63. Dr. Ambedkar and Untouchability – Analysing and fighting Caste, Christophe Jaffrelot, p.124
64. Was Ambedkar Just a Leader of the Mahars?, Neera Burra
65. Thus spoke Ambedkar, Bhagawan Das, vol 4, p.310
66. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 17, part 2, p.98
67. The Buddha and his Dhamma, B. R. Ambedkar, p.151
68. Making a Tradition Critical: Ambedkar’s Reading of Buddhism, V. Rodrigues, quoted in, Dalit Movements and the Meanings of Labour in India, P. Robb, p. 320
69. Making a Tradition Critical: Ambedkar’s Reading of Buddhism, V. Rodrigues, quoted in, Dalit Movements and the Meanings of Labour in India, P. Robb, p. 300-301
70. Dr. Ambedkar and Untouchability – Analysing and fighting Caste, Christophe Jaffrelot, p.131
71. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, vol 17, part 1, p.389
72. Dr. Ambedkar and Untouchability – Analysing and fighting Caste, Christophe Jaffrelot, p.135
73. Samagra Savarkar Vangmaya,vol 7, p.276
74. Samagra Savarkar Vangmaya, vol 7, p.273-271
75. Samagra Savarkar Vangmaya, vol 7, p.276
76. Samagra Savarkar Vangmaya, vol 7, p.154

(The article was published on cshc.substack.com on April 23 and has been reproduced here)