Narrator: In September 1995, a bizarre phenomenon swept across India and the global Hindu diaspora. Statues of the elephant-headed god, Ganesh, appeared to be drinking milk. From humble roadside shrines to grand temples, devotees would hold a spoonful of milk to the statue's trunk, and the liquid would vanish, seemingly absorbed by the stone or metal. Rationalists and scientists quickly offered explanations, demonstrating on television how capillary action could cause porous materials to soak up liquid. Yet, for millions of believers, this was no scientific curiosity; it was a miracle, a sign that the divine was present and interacting with the mortal world. This event captures a central tension within one of the world's oldest faiths—a religion of profound philosophical depth that coexists with vibrant, everyday devotion, a faith of immense tolerance now grappling with a rigid political identity. In his book, Why I Am a Hindu, Shashi Tharoor unpacks this complex reality, offering a personal and political exploration of Hinduism to distinguish its true, pluralistic spirit from the narrow, aggressive ideology that seeks to speak in its name.

Narrator: Shashi Tharoor argues that Hinduism cannot be understood as a religion in the Abrahamic sense, with a single holy book, a single founder, or a set of compulsory beliefs. Instead, it is a civilization—a vast, open-source library of spiritual ideas and practices developed over millennia. This is a faith defined by its lack of rigidity. As the ancient Rig Veda states, "Ekam sat vipra bahudha vadanti," which means "Truth is one, but the wise call it by many names." This single verse encapsulates the Hindu acceptance of multiple paths to the divine. There is no concept of heresy because there is no single, unchallengeable truth to be heretical about.

This inherent pluralism has been a feature of the faith for centuries. A striking example comes from the 17th century, when the French traveler François Bernier tried to convert a group of Brahmin scholars to Christianity. He presented his faith as the one universal truth. The Brahmins listened politely but were unpersuaded. They explained that their law was for them, and his law was for him. God, they suggested, might have appointed several different ways to go to heaven. They respected Bernier’s truth but insisted on the validity of their own. This wasn't a rejection of Christianity, but a rejection of its claim to a monopoly on salvation. For the Hindu, faith is an individual quest, allowing for a personal relationship with the divine, whether that divinity is seen as a formless, universal spirit or worshipped through one of thousands of gods and goddesses, each representing a facet of that ultimate reality.

Narrator: While celebrating its philosophical heights, Tharoor does not shy away from Hinduism’s most troubling social distortion: the caste system. He argues that while some scriptures have been used to justify this rigid social hierarchy, caste is a social practice, not a religious imperative. In fact, the core tenets of Hindu philosophy provide the strongest arguments against it. This internal capacity for critique and reform is a vital, though often overlooked, aspect of the faith.

Tharoor illustrates this with his own childhood experience. Raised in a cosmopolitan family that consciously rejected caste, he was eleven years old when a schoolmate asked him, "What caste are you?" Confused, he went home to ask his parents, who explained his family’s Nair background but stressed its irrelevance. For him, it was a minor detail, but he later realized that this "caste blindness" was a privilege. For millions, caste remains an oppressive reality.

However, resistance to this injustice has often come from within Hinduism itself. The story of Sree Narayana Guru in Kerala is a powerful example. As a member of the Ezhava community, he was forbidden from entering the local Shiva temple. Instead of rejecting the god who was denied to him, he waded into a river, pulled out a stone, and consecrated it as his own Shiva lingam for his community to worship. This act was not a rejection of Hinduism but a profound reassertion of its core principle: that the divine is accessible to all, regardless of birth. It demonstrates that the faith possesses the philosophical resources to challenge and overcome the social evils practiced in its name.

Narrator: A central argument of the book is the critical distinction between Hinduism, the faith, and Hindutva, the political ideology. Tharoor contends that Hindutva is a 20th-century political project that cherry-picks religious identity for exclusionary ends, fundamentally betraying the inclusive spirit of Hinduism. Coined by V.D. Savarkar, Hindutva defines a Hindu not by belief but by geography and ancestry. According to Savarkar, a true Hindu is one who considers India their motherland, the land of their ancestors, and their holy land. This definition was explicitly designed to exclude Indian Muslims and Christians, whose holy lands are outside India.

This ideology has been weaponized in modern Indian politics, leading to violence and social polarization. The lynching of Pehlu Khan, a 55-year-old Muslim dairy farmer, serves as a grim case study. In 2017, Khan was transporting cattle he had legally purchased when he was stopped by a mob of self-proclaimed "cow vigilantes" in Rajasthan. Accusing him of smuggling cows for slaughter, the mob beat him to death, filming his pleas for mercy on their phones. This act of brutality, one of many, was not inspired by ancient Hindu scriptures, which show a far more complex relationship with cattle, but by the modern political ideology of Hindutva, which uses the cow as a symbol to demonize minorities. Tharoor argues that this violent, intolerant movement is a travesty of the peaceful, accepting faith he grew up with.

Narrator: In his final argument, Tharoor issues a call to action: to reclaim the soul of Hinduism from the political bigots who have hijacked it. He argues that the tolerant, pluralistic, and introspective nature of the faith is not a weakness but its greatest strength, and one that is uniquely suited for the 21st century. This authentic Hinduism has a long history of coexisting with and respecting other faiths, a tradition that Hindutva seeks to erase.

To illustrate this, Tharoor points to the historical figure of Shivaji, the 17th-century Maratha warrior-king. Though often idolized by Hindu nationalists as a hero who fought the Mughals, Shivaji’s own conduct contradicts their intolerant agenda. Historical accounts, even from his Mughal adversaries, note that Shivaji issued strict orders to his troops to never desecrate a mosque, harm a woman, or disrespect the Quran. When a copy of the Quran was captured in battle, he would treat it with reverence and ensure it was returned to a Muslim. This historical example reveals a model of a proud Hindu ruler who saw no contradiction between his faith and profound respect for others.

This spirit of acceptance is also embedded in the faith’s mythology. Tharoor recounts an ancient story of a warrior who must find "Truth" to win a princess's hand. After searching everywhere, he finds Truth in a cave, embodied as an ugly, old crone. When he agrees to tell the world he has found her, she makes one request: "Tell them I am young and beautiful." This story reveals a deep wisdom: that Truth is complex, paradoxical, and cannot be reduced to simple, rigid certainties. It is this Hinduism—one of mystery, doubt, and intellectual humility—that Tharoor believes must be defended against the brazen, fanatical certitudes of Hindutva.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Why I Am a Hindu is the profound and dangerous chasm between Hinduism as a vast, inclusive spiritual tradition and Hindutva as a narrow, exclusionary political ideology. Shashi Tharoor argues that the Hinduism of the sages, which embraces doubt and sees divinity in all, is being eclipsed by a political movement that thrives on fear, resentment, and the creation of an enemy. The faith’s greatest strengths—its pluralism and its intellectual depth—are being recast as weaknesses by those who demand a militant, uniform identity.

The book leaves us with a challenging question that extends far beyond India's borders: What happens when a religion of personal liberation is instrumentalized for political power? Tharoor’s work is a powerful plea to believers and non-believers alike to recognize that the battle for the soul of Hinduism is a battle for the very idea of a tolerant, pluralistic world.