‘History from Below’: Reading Sharankumar Limbale’s "Sanatan" as Counter-History | Kathiravan Annamalai, T. Marx

History, by its very nature, resists completion. No matter how meticulously one attempts to write the past, a complete picture remains elusive, characterised by gaps, discontinuities, and fragmentary narratives. This inherent complexity in history is particularly relevant in Indian historiography, where multiple contradictory narratives intersect and compete for legitimacy. As Sumit Sarkar notes, such histories usually remain “grievously incomplete” (Sarkar 1), which makes it challenging to arrive at a single unified history. However, history and historiography have become increasingly subject to political instrumentalisation in contemporary times. This is evident mainly through the attempts to construct a monolithic historical narrative sidelining alternate histories and lived experiences. For instance, in India, Hindutva ideological frameworks seek to build a homogenised Vedic narrative as Indian history that posits a singular, unified cultural past. As Gail Omvedt observes, “the identification of the Indian subcontinent with a single people whose religion is Hinduism was only made in recent history, and only in recent decades has it been projected as a national religion centering on Rama” (Omvedt 1). Such monolithic constructions of history particularly imperil alternate histories by systematically excluding them from the dominant discourse.

However, India has witnessed a continuous tradition of dissent and counter-cultural movements. Romila Thapar’s emphasis on “not culture, but cultures; not tradition, but traditions” (Marudhan 22) directly challenges such totalisation, highlighting India’s heterogeneous past. From Buddha to Jyotirao Phule and B.R. Ambedkar, Carvaka to Iyothee Thass and Periyar, dissident voices have consistently challenged Brahminical orthodoxy. Ambedkar’s characterisation of Indian history as fundamentally the struggle for supremacy between Buddhism and Brahmanism encapsulates this persistent contestation. It is clear that efforts to homogenise Indian history have always faced significant resistance.

In contemporary times, such attempts have reached unprecedented levels in India, reminding us of the importance of counter-narratives now more than ever. For instance, on January 1, 2018, violent attacks disrupted the bicentennial commemoration of the Battle of Bhima Koregaon as thousands of Dalits gathered at the Vijay Stambh (Victory Pillar). What should have been a moment of historical remembrance turned into chaos as the gathering faced stone-pelting, vandalism, and accusations of being ‘anti-nationals’. Exactly two hundred years earlier, on January 1, 1818, less than a thousand soldiers of the Bombay Native Infantry, including many Mahar soldiers, had achieved an extraordinary victory against a 25,000-strong army of Peshwa Baji Rao II (Duff 432–433). While dominant narratives frame this as merely another battle in colonial India, for Dalits, it represents their first significant strike against Brahmanical tyranny — a powerful symbol of Dalit assertiveness. This historical moment exemplifies how oppressed communities sometimes align with external powers — not out of loyalty but as a strategic response to internal oppression. This complexity suggests the importance of alternate historical narratives to problematise dominant historiography and revive the systematically erased marginalised voices.

It is precisely such marginalised narratives that Sharankumar Limbale’s novel Sanatan (2024) recovers and reimagines, emerging as more than just a historical novel — it becomes a radical act of historical reconstruction. Limbale constructs a counter-history by weaving together oral narratives, local legends, personal experiences, and collective memories that transform Dalits from passive historical study objects into active subjects of Indian history. He sheds new light on different historical events, challenging the totalising project of mainstream historiography. The novel’s title becomes symbolic — while stone-pelting at Bhima Koregaon represents an attempt to silence Dalit narratives, Sanatan becomes a stone, pelted at the edifice of homogeneous historical narratives, creating fissures in their seemingly organic wholeness.

This paper aims to read Sanatan as a counter-history that writes modern Indian history from below by positioning Dalits as active historical agents, thus rejecting the totalising narratives of traditional Indian historiography. By challenging these dominant historical discourses, the paper demonstrates how the novel positions itself as an alternate subaltern historiography that brings out what Ranajit Guha called “the small voice of history” (Guha 304).

History from Below’: The Counter-Historical Project

Traditional historiography has been significantly challenged and reconceptualised through the evolution of counter-histories. Historians like E.P. Thompson, George Rudé, Eric Hobsbawm, and Christopher Hill pioneered approaches that took history out of its ivory tower by focusing on the plebs. In his essay “History from Below,” Thompson established ordinary people’s experience and culture as fundamental categories of historical writing in the 1960s (Marx 19). New Historicism in the 1980s further advanced this methodological shift by proposing that history is inherently incomplete and discontinuous. Scholars like Stephen Greenblatt developed alternative approaches to history writing by embracing what Louis Montrose termed ‘the historicity of texts and the textuality of history’. This enabled them to bridge the gap between literature and historical documentation effectively. Such developments collectively represent the attempts to challenge traditional historiography and provide frameworks for writing alternate histories. This historical understanding emphasises that there is no singular past but multiple pasts — a perspective particularly relevant to the Indian context.

Much of modern Indian history is written around the “valorised opposition between colonialism and nationalism” (Pandian 8). These colonial and national narratives create a deceptive binary that obscures the experiences of the subaltern. While colonial historiography centres on the European Enlightenment project’s civilising mission, nationalist historiography focuses mainly on the collective mobilisation against foreign rule. Despite their apparent opposition, both these narratives share a common erasure — the experiences and agency of Dalit communities. Particularly, the nationalist historiography remains deeply influenced by Vedic traditions. It attempts to present Indian history as an organic whole that stretches from the Vedic period. As MSS Pandian observes, “The nationalist invocation of Vedic civilisation indeed challenges the claims to supremacy by the colonisers. However, it also carries an unstated hierarchisation of different social groups that go to make the nation” (Pandian 8). This attempt to present Indian history as Vedic history poses a threat to other histories, especially those of Dalits — whose experiences of resistance and oppression often contradict this seamless historical continuity. This totalisation not only erases subaltern narratives but also serves to delegitimise contemporary Dalit assertions of historical agency and claims for social justice.

Sharankumar Limbale’s Sanatan emerges as a radical intervention in this historiographical scene. By positioning Dalits as active historical agents rather than passive subjects, the novel demonstrates how history looks fundamentally different from below. This intervention operates at multiple levels — challenging the legitimacy of homogenised Indian history, recovering silenced Dalit narratives and demonstrating how these recovered narratives fundamentally alter our understanding of historical (dis)continuities.

The novel reconstructs modern Indian history through the experiences of the Mahar community. The narrative focuses on Sidnak Maharand Bhimnak Mahar, two friends whose lives reflect the harsh reality of caste oppression and the spirit of resistance against it. Their early lives in Sonai village reveal the systematic nature of untouchability — Mahars must wear bells around their necks to announce their ‘polluting’ presence, live in segregated quarters marked by animal bones on roofs, and perform degrading tasks like removing animal carcasses while ensuring their shadows do not ‘pollute’ upper-caste individuals. However, their subsequent decisions to join the Company army and Sidnak’s later conversion to Christianity (as Philip Bush) represent active attempts to challenge this cruel social order. However, these paths toward liberation prove more complex than initially hoped. Their transformations reveal the complexities of identity and belonging, as Philip’s “…body was Christian, his mind was still that of a Mahar, of a Hindu” (Limbale 114). Through three generations of Mahar families, including Carter (Bhimnak’s grandson), who returns to India seeking his ancestral identity, Limbale weaves together myths, Puranas, and historical texts to construct an alternate history where Mahars emerge as active agents. The novel reimagines crucial historical moments, from the Sepoy Mutiny to social reform movements, by introducing Dalit experiences that traditional historiography has failed to capture. This interweaving of personal narratives with historical events creates a powerful counter-history that reclaims a Dalit past while demonstrating how history appears when viewed from the position of the oppressed.

The novel reveals a complex triangulation of power between colonial reign, Muslim rule, and Hindu authority, stressing the presence of many existing power dynamics. Through a detailed exploration, Limbale portrays how different groups experienced colonial intervention differently. For instance, the colonial intervention meant the loss of both traditional authority and political freedom for the upper-caste Hindus and a decline from previous positions of power for the Muslims. However, Dalits saw unprecedented opportunities for social mobility and resistance against caste oppression. The novel observes that “the Company Raj was good. It gave opportunities to the untouchables.”(Limbale 156). Gradually, this dynamic shifted after 1857 when the British administration actively supported upper-caste interests to maintain social stability. The novel traces this shift through multiple characters’ experiences, showing how initial opportunities for Dalit advancement were gradually closed off.

As Limbale articulates in his History News Network interview, “I have written novels, essays, short stories, poems and criticism because I felt the urge to write and prove that we are capable of powerful creative renderings that can bring about a social revolution rather than merely forwarding the notion of creating art for pleasure” (Limbale qtd. in Ghosh and Rani). This statement positions his work as a literary creation and a revolutionary historiographical intervention in both content and form. The novel’s revolutionary potential lies in simultaneously recovering lost histories and demonstrating how they fundamentally destabilise dominant historical narratives when recovered. By showing how Dalits actively participated in and shaped historical events, from the Battle of Koregaon to the anti-caste struggles, Sanatan challenges the basic assumptions of both colonial and nationalist historiography.

Reclaiming Mahar Past

Along with destabilising the homogenised Indian history, Sanatan undertakes the vital task of recovering and centring silenced Dalit experiences. By positioning them at the forefront of the historical discourse, Limbale reconstructs modern Indian history using what E.P. Thompson identifies as the essential categories for writing history — the ‘experience’ and ‘culture’ of ordinary masses. Beginning in pre-independence Sonai village under the Nizam’s rule, the narrative ingeniously weaves together multiple forms of historical evidence — colonial documents, nationalist versions, myths, oral narratives, and memories of the oppressed and their collective experiences. This methodological approach challenges traditional historiography’s reliance on written, official documents, demonstrating how alternative sources can reveal histories that official records deliberately or unconsciously erase.

For instance, the novel’s reframing of the Battle of Koregaon (1818) exemplifies its counter-historical methodology. While nationalist historiography reduces it to merely another Anglo-Maratha war where British forces defeated the Peshwa army, Limbale’s narrative shifts the spotlight to reveal a deeper, more complex conflict. Through the Mahar perspective, what official history records as simply a colonial victory emerges as a crucial moment of anti-caste resistance. The battle transforms from being just another chapter in British colonial expansion to a significant confrontation between Mahars and the Brahminical Peshwa regime that had subjected them to centuries of degradation and oppression. The novel recovers this silenced history through Sidnak Mahar’s story — a participant in the Battle of Koregaon. His transformation from a marginalised untouchable to a British army soldier represents not just individual mobility but the community’s first significant challenge to Brahminical authority. As Kancha Ilaiah Shepherd writes, “A Mahar soldier in 1818 was the first great freedom seeker, even while working within the colonial army.” This observation captures the paradoxical position of Mahars — seeking liberation through service to another oppressor. However, this apparent paradox reveals a strategic consciousness: for Mahars, the battle represented not loyalty to British forces but an opportunity to challenge their immediate oppressor.

Through generations, Sidnak’s legacy has been preserved in oral traditions, songs, and commemorative practices, demonstrating how marginalised communities maintain their own historical narratives parallel to official histories. This living memory continues to fuel contemporary Dalit activism — as evident in Jyoti Jagtap’s songs performed at Bhima Koregaon commemorations, which connect past resistance to present struggles for social justice. While mainstream historiography overlooks the caste dimensions of such conflicts, Limbale’s novel reveals how what appears as a straightforward colonial victory was perceived and experienced as a liberatory moment by Dalit communities, revealing the complex interplay of caste, colonialism, and resistance in Indian history.

However, the narrative delves deeper to portray Mahars’s complex relationship with colonial intervention. Though they embraced Christianity (albeit not collectively), joined the army, and gained education, they were still not accessible from the oppressive system. These changes often deepened their problems. The novel’s treatment of religious conversion powerfully illustrates this complexity. Limbale writes, “The lives of the untouchables had not improved after conversion. They were still very poor. They did not have jobs. The caste system of the Hindu religion had made its way into the Indian Christian community” (Limbale 155). Sidnak’s transformation into Philip Bush through conversion represents more than individual social mobility — it embodies the complex relationship between liberation and identity that characterised Dalit engagement with colonial modernity. The novel depicts this transformation not as a simple escape from caste oppression but as an entry into new forms of identity negotiation. “They had both converted, but in their minds, they were still Hindus” (Limbale107). His continued connection to Mahar identity despite Christian conversion reveals how caste identity persists even through religious transformation. This internal struggle manifests powerfully in dreams, where he wears a Father’s gown but finds the Bible transforming into Ramayana. His declaration, “I was a Brahmin in my dream” (Limbale119), reveals the profound psychological impact of caste identity. Ostracised by Mahars as a ‘renegade’ and considered polluted, yet still marked by his original caste identity (as evidenced when dacoits spare him upon learning he is a Mahar), Philip embodies the impossibility of escaping caste. His son Warren’s poignant question — “What will be my caste if I become a Hindu?” (Limbale 124) extends this identity crisis across generations.

The text further enriches this complex historical narrative by recovering other forgotten Mahar figures who exemplify these power relations. Matadin Bhangi’s role in the cartridge controversy during the Sepoy Mutiny presents a powerful example. In Limbale’s retelling, Matadin, a Mahar soldier, reveals to Mangal Pandey that the cartridges contain beef and pork fat — crucial information delivered when Pandey refuses water from this same Mahar. This incident encapsulates both Dalit participation in crucial historical moments and the persistence of caste prejudice, even in moments of national crisis. Similarly, the recovered story of Jhalkar Bai, who sacrificed herself while disguised as Rani Lakshmibai, demonstrates how official history “saw only the caste” (Limbale 153), systematically privileging upper-caste actors while erasing Dalit participation in crucial historical moments.

Through these interconnected narratives, the novel successfully brings Mahar’s experiences from the margins to the centre of Indian history. By revealing these alternative histories, it demonstrates how caste prejudice has shaped not just social relations but historical memory itself, making the recovery of Dalit narratives essential to understanding India’s past and present.

Sanatan: Towards an Alternative Subaltern Historiography

Sharankumar Limbale’s Sanatan responds to the crucial need for alternative subaltern historiography through its recovery of marginalised narratives. By positioning Dalits as active historical agents rather than mere subjects, mainly through its retelling of the Battle of Koregaon through Mahar’s perspectives, the novel demonstrates how literary works can contribute to historical reconstruction. Its incorporation of alternative sources — oral traditions, memories, local legends — creates a historical methodology that values marginalised perspectives, often preserving truths that official documents delegitimise.

The attacks on Bhima Koregaon commemorations (2018), mirroring the violence faced by characters in the novel, demonstrate the continued relevance of such historical recovery. That violence can still be unleashed against those celebrating a two-hundred-year-old Dalit victory reveals how threatening alternative histories remain to dominant narratives. In such times, works like Sanatan become crucial, reminding us that embracing historical plurality is essential in the ongoing fight against totalising narratives that seek to silence marginal voices. By recovering lost histories and centring Dalit agency in history, the novel offers more than a counter-narrative — it provides a template for how marginalised communities might reclaim their past while imagining new futures.

Works Cited

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Published in:  Writing as Counter-Discourse: Critical Essays on Sharankumar Limbale, Edited by T. Marx, Authors Press, 2025.