Vande Mataram: How an anti-British song became ‘anti-Muslim’ – Ibn Khaldun Bharati

Bankim Chandra Chatterjee

In the Islamic political praxis, Muslims are nationalist if they are in majority and the rule is theirs. But if they can’t rule the country, they can’t be nationalist either. – Ibn Khaldun Bharati

The Muslim opposition to Vande Mataram is well known. However, the reason behind it is not well understood. Actually, it’s beyond comprehension. Their objection to the national song is formulated in such abstruse theological terms that even an educated Muslim can’t grasp its esoteric nuance. In reality, it’s not so much an opposition to the song as to the idea behind it—the idea of India as a nation. It’s the idea that Hindus and Muslims become an organic whole to form an inseparable political community. The major Muslim ideologues insisted on their separateness, and separate they remain.

To say that saying Vande Mataram (Salutations, Oh Mother) evokes the imagery of idol worship is the kind of convoluted reasoning that defies common sense. Furthermore, to emphasise that the hostility to idol worship is the foundational creed of Islam, and that it’s incumbent on every Muslim to wear this abhorrence on sleeve, isn’t really conducive to diversity, pluralism, peaceful coexistence, and composite nationhood—the ideals in which the Muslims have greater stake than anyone else.

Recently, Maulana Mahmood Madani, the head of the largest organisation of ulema in India, Jamiat Ulema-i-Hind, made a controversial speech, in which he stressed the imperative of jihad in India. He also said, “Murda qaumen mushkilaat mein mubtala nahin hotin. Wo to surrender kar deti hain. Wo kahenge ke Vande Mataram padho to padhna shuru kar denge.” (Dead communities don’t face any difficulty since they surrender readily. When asked to chant Vande Mataram, they willingly do that).

The ferocity with which these Muslims proclaim their revulsion for Vande Mataram, and the grim determination with which they threaten to go to war if its public singing were to be revived, makes one wonder if there is actually something so repugnant in the song that a Muslim can’t countenance it if he were to remain true to his faith.

Is there a problem?

Let’s see if there is anything in Vande Mataram that makes Muslims recoil in horror. Arif Mohammed Khan, the scholarly Governor of Bihar, translated into Urdu the two stanzas that have the status of the national song, and sent the same to one of the most prominent Islamic seminaries, the Nadwa, at Lucknow, for their opinion on it; specifically asking if there was anything in it that was contrary to Islam.

It was presented as an original composition, and not a translation. He had rendered the key words, Vande Mataram, as “Taslimaat, Maa, Taslimaat”. The ulema at Nadwa opined that there was nothing in the song that contravened Islam. One, however, suspects that if they knew it to be the translation of Vande Mataram, they might have had a different opinion. Such is politics and such is the power of narrative!

The reality behind the narrative

The root of the Sanskrit word ‘vande’ is ‘vand’. According to Sanskritist Monier Monier-Williams, depending on the context, ‘vand’ means “to praise, celebrate, laud, extol, to show honour, do homage, salute respectfully; or, venerate, worship, adore”. The primary meaning is not worship; certainly, not the ritual worship. Even if it were, hasn’t Urdu poetry been more extravagant in such expressions. For example, Iqbal, the poet of Islamic revivalism, in one of his earlier poems, said, “Khaak-e watan ka mujhko har zarra devta hai” (Every particle of the country is a god unto me)”. Iqbal’s fans—quite a few of them being fundamentalist fanatics—never saw anything amiss in this.

Can there be a nation without a motherland?

As for mataram, i.e., mother—Mother India—Urdu has a beautiful term, madar-e-watan, the motherland. No Muslim ever found this concept contrary to Islam. In fact, the most literal and yet most exquisite rendition of Vande Mataram has been A.R. Rahman’s song Maa Tujhe Salaam.

There are numerous verses in the Quran (7:12, 23:12, 30:20, etc.) which say that we are made of earth, and it is the source of life and the place of origin. It’s implied that, in a deeper sense, the earth is the mother, and one’s own place is the motherland.

In a display of genius that is peculiar to them, the Muslim leaders espied the idol of a deity in the conception of motherland, and flinched from its adoration. Even in Pakistan—which broke away from us, on difference over the Indian nationhood, and the sacredness of the motherland—Asim Munir, the generalissimo, can be seen referring to his country as motherland.

Nowhere else in the world do Muslims have had any problem with the concepts of nationalism and the sacredness of the respective countries. The literal translation of the word ‘Pakistan’ is holy land, which in Hindi translates as punya bhumi. The Indian Muslims, however, can’t accord this status to their own country.

In the Islamic political praxis, Muslims are nationalist if they are in majority, and the rule is theirs. But if they can’t rule the country, they can’t be nationalist either. In a debate that raged between poet Muhammad Iqbal and Jawaharlal Nehru, the former candidly said, “In majority countries Islam accommodates nationalism; for there Islam and nationalism are practically identical; in minority countries it is justified in seeking self-determination as a cultural unit”. (Modern Review, Calcutta, 1934-35)

There’s a deeper reality. Without recognising the country as the motherland, there can’t be a nation. But can the people who came as invaders, conquered the country, and ruled it for centuries, ever accord the status of mother to the vanquished territory? Could the British ever regard India as mother?

The Muslim ideology has been in the hands of the elite descended from the old ruling class. The Muslim masses follow it uncritically because it’s couched in religious idiom, and religion is not to be questioned.

Is Anandmath anti-Muslim?

Regarding Vande Mataram being a part of the novel Anandmath; well, it’s true that the poem, though independently written, has been interpolated in the book. It’s also true that the theme of the book is the Sannyasi Rebellion of 1770s, which was an uprising against the oppressive Muslim rule, and therefore, some passages have clear anti–Muslim overtones. But isn’t it equally true that those Muslim rulers were oppressors, and their religious hostility toward the Hindu peasants was an added factor in oppression? So, why shouldn’t the rebellion against them be seen as a class war of the oppressed against the oppressors, and the fulmination against them should be seen in perspective, and not misconstrued as invective against ordinary Muslims who belonged to the same class as them? Haven’t we seen this kind of class analysis about the Moplah “Rebellion”?

But, it’s not possible despite the fact that a large number of Marxist historians have been Muslim. That’s because, these historians, when it suits them, treat Muslims as a monolith, ignoring their socioeconomic diversities. Thus, a justified diatribe against the Nawabi system is seen as a tirade against ordinary Muslims. What if Indian Christians were to see in the criticism of the British rule the condemnation of ordinary Christians?

By the way, no Indian ever rejected the popular patriotic song Saare Jahan Se Achha just because it’s from the pen of Iqbal, the separatist ideologue.

The genesis

Vande Mataram, set to tune by Rabindranath Tagore, had been sung in the Congress sessions since 1896. No Muslim leader ever found it antithetical to their religion. Even during the Swadeshi Movement, which was a response to the Partition of Bengal (1905), when this song became the anthem of resistance to the British, one doesn’t hear of any objection to its purported polytheistic imagery. This was despite the fact the division of Bengal was on religious lines, and it supposedly favoured the Muslim majority of East Bengal. Even Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, the great Islamic scholar and thinker, who claims to have joined the underground revolutionary movement of the Bengali youth, doesn’t record any religious objections to it.

Even during the Khilafat Movement (1919-24), when the Congress was working on pan-Islamist agenda, Vande Mataram continued to be sung in its gatherings, in the presence of the leading Khilafatist maulanas, who, then, dominated its proceedings.

How an anti-British song became ‘anti-Muslim’

From 1896 to 1937, Vande Mataram was the staple for the Congress. And then, elections were held under the Government of India Act, 1935; and Congress ministries were formed in provinces. After centuries, the natives of India, the Hindus, were in power. The Muslim ruling class could endure British rule, but seeing their former subjects becoming rulers was beyond their endurance. For centuries, they had been conditioned to look down upon the Hindus, and now the same Hindus were ministers. They freaked out, and began hallucinating about the Hindu oppression. As they upped the ante for a desperate fight, their glance fell upon the “Durga” and “Lakshmi” in Vande Mataram, and the Islam-in-danger bogey became ever more palpable.

This situation has been best summarised by a nationalist Muslim, Rafi Ahmed Kidwai. In a statement that was published in The Pioneer on 19 October 1937, that merits in-extenso reproduction, he said, “Mr. Jinnah characterises Vande Mataram as an anti-Islamic song. Mr Jinnah had been a devoted and enthusiastic member of the Congress and of its chief executive, the All-India Congress Committee, for a number of years. Every year, the session of the Congress opened with the singing of this song, and every year he was seen on the platform listening to the song with the attention of a devotee. Did he ever protest? Mr Jinnah left the Congress, not because he thought the Vande Mataram was an anti-Islamic song, but because he had found the idea of swaraj unacceptable.”

Nehru is both Churchill and Chamberlain

The Muslim League, having suffered a rout in the 1937 elections, and further failing to force its way into the government in the United Provinces—not on the basis of the seats won, but as an entitlement for having once been the rulers—suddenly realised that Vande Mataram was idolatrous, and raised a war cry against it.

In the book Vande Mataram: The Biography of a Song, historian Sabyasachi Bhattacharya details the debates in the Congress, and the correspondence between Nehru, Bose, and Rabindranath Tagore. Nehru’s first reaction was: “The present outcry against Bande Mataram is to a large extent a manufactured one by the communalists.” However, soon, in order to appease the communalists, he said that having read the English translation of Anandmath, he was of the opinion that it was “likely to irritate the Muslims”. And so, he set out “to meet real grievances where they exist(ed).” That is how the Congress Working Committee, on 26 October 1937 (just days after Kidwai’s remonstrance), decided to truncate the song, and adopt only the first two stanzas as they were “unobjectionable”.

Such bending backward before the communalists recalls to mind what Atal Bihari Vajpayee once told Nehru about the streak of appeasement in him: “In you, there are both Churchill and Chamberlain”.

Sabyasachi Bhattacharya narrates how this concession couldn’t satisfy the Muslim League, as they insisted on the deletion of Vande Mataram in toto. Jinnah wrote, “Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru cannot be unaware that Muslims all over have refused to accept the Vande Mataram or any expurgated edition of the anti-Muslim song as a binding National Anthem”.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi is right in his analysis that the mutilation of Vande Mataram whetted the appetite of the Muslim League, and became the prelude to the partition of India. It is in the logic of appeasement that instead of resolving an issue, it exacerbates it.

Even now, the Muslim leadership remains as staunchly against Vande Mataram as it was during Jinnah’s time. So, what is gained by cutting out the better part of the song; and, what’s been gained by acquiescing to the partition?

The way forward

Since 2014, because of the conducive atmosphere provided, the Muslims have been showing an unprecedented fondness for the Constitution, and the sacred symbols of the nation. The Independence and Republic Days are celebrated with gaiety in Muslim institutions, including madrasas; and the national anthem is sung with gusto. Many a time, one can see the national flag waving from the high minaret of a mosque. If a better atmosphere is conduced, the Muslims will sing Vande Mataram with as much fervour as anyone else. – The Print, 12 December 2025

Ibn Khaldun Bharati is a student of Islam, and looks at Islamic history from an Indian perspective. 

Chhattisgarh Waqf Board orders all mosques and madrasas to hoist the Indian flag on Independence Day.

Vande Mataram: Nationhood in conflict – Prafull Goradia

Bankim Chandra Chatterjee

“Vande Mataram” should not divide Indians; it should remind them of their shared soil and destiny. History may be scarred by conquest and division, but the future must rest on reason and reconciliation. – Prafull Goradia

Questions such as whether our Constitution is secular or whether “Vande Bharat” is a patriotic or political slogan are not merely contemporary concerns; they are rooted in centuries of Indian history. To understand current controversies, one must go back to AD 1194, when Mohammad Ghori defeated Prithviraj Chauhan in the Second Battle of Tarain. Some trace the origins even further. Qaid-e-Azam Jinnah once claimed that Pakistan was born the day the first Hindu converted to Islam in the subcontinent.

Muslims came to India as conquerors, guests, or converts who could claim native descent. Among the rulers, some were benevolent, others harsh, and a few destructive. The brightest phase came under Emperor Akbar, whose long and liberal reign brought a rare harmony to India. In contrast, Aurangzeb’s intolerance marked the darkest chapter of Mughal rule.

A puzzling feature of Indian history is the absence of a united Hindu resistance to the Sultans and Badshahs of Delhi. Shivaji stands out for his courage and statecraft, yet his influence remained confined to the Deccan. Maharana Pratap, too, fought heroically against Akbar, but his struggle was limited to Mewar. A pan-Indian uprising never materialised. By the mid-18th century, the declining Mughal order gave way to new powers. The reckless Nawab of Bengal, Siraj-ud-Daulah, alienated his own officers and merchants, pushing them into alliance with the East India Company. Their support ensured Robert Clive’s victory at Plassey in 1757, which opened the gates of Bengal to British domination. Subsequent British victories-over Tipu Sultan in 1799 and the annexation of Awadh under Dalhousie-completed the dismantling of Muslim authority.

The Revolt of 1857 briefly shook British confidence. For a year, large parts of North India were aflame, but the uprising ended in defeat. In 1858, Queen Victoria assumed direct control, and two decades later, in 1877, she was proclaimed Empress of India. The British concluded that Muslims had been the principal instigators and punished them more severely than Hindus.

This perception deepened Muslim resentment and nostalgia for lost power. Sir Syed Ahmad Khan, founder of the Aligarh Movement, even argued that when the British eventually left, they should return India to the Muslims from whom they had taken it. Whether this was foresight or delusion remains debatable. Ironically, the Indian National Congress—often branded a “Hindu party”—was not formed by Hindus at all. It was founded in 1885 by a retired English civil servant, Allan Octavian Hume. Yet, by 1906, Muslims had established their own political platform, the All-India Muslim League, reinforcing the belief that while Hindus were traders and cultivators, Muslims were natural rulers. This sentiment persisted even after Mahatma Gandhi entered the scene in 1915.

Gandhi’s early political strategy was curious. To bridge Hindu-Muslim divides, he supported the Khilafat Movement, launched by the Ali brothers—Mohammad and Shaukat—to restore the Ottoman Caliphate after World War I. Astonishingly, Gandhi even became president of the Khilafat Committee, formed to defend a Turkish sultan thousands of miles away. Many observers saw this as proof that political power in India still revolved around Muslim leadership. Gandhi’s satyagraha, though morally compelling, appeared to many as nothing more than a moral appeal, not really a political challenge to imperial rule.

In 1940, at Lahore, Jinnah declared that Hindus and Muslims were “two distinct nations.” No strong Indian voice publicly disputed this claim. When the premiers of Punjab and Bengal initially opposed Partition, Congress leaders quietly welcomed their stance, believing Jinnah’s plan would fail. Yet, by May 1947, Mountbatten announced the Partition, confirming that Jinnah’s vision had prevailed. Once again, Muslim political will had triumphed. Partition’s aftermath was tragic and uneven. In Pakistan’s western wing, Hindus and Sikhs were virtually wiped out by 1948. The eastern wing—now Bangladesh—saw its Hindu population fall from 33 per cent to barely 8 per cent. Migration was overwhelmingly one-sided: millions of Hindus fled Pakistan, but few Muslims left India. The imbalance revealed the persistent perception that power and initiative in the subcontinent lay largely with Muslims, not Hindus.

This historical backdrop helps explain why, even today, debates such as the one surrounding “Vande Mataram” evoke old anxieties. Some Muslim leaders continue to act as if their community still sets the terms of national discourse. Such illusions are not merely harmless, they perpetuate misunderstanding and hinder social harmony.

India’s past is too complex to be reduced to communal binaries. Both Hindus and Muslims have shaped its destiny, for better and for worse. Yet, national progress demands a sober recognition of facts, not romanticised memories of lost empires or imagined privileges. True secularism lies not in appeasement but in equal accountability. The maturity of a nation is measured not by the volume of its grievances but by its capacity to face history without distortion.

In the final analysis, “Vande Mataram” should not divide Indians; it should remind them of their shared soil and destiny. History may be scarred by conquest and division, but the future must rest on reason and reconciliation. Every citizen—Hindu, Muslim, or otherwise—must realise that the power to shape India’s tomorrow lies not in nostalgia for the past, but in unity of purpose and respect for truth. Only then can the spirit of Vedanta, of oneness and universality, truly prevail. – The Pioneer, 12 November 2025

Prafull Goradia is a former member of the Raja sabha and is currently the general secretary of the Akhil Bharatiya Jan Sangh.

Bharat Mata by M.F Huisain

Vande Mataram marginalised in the name of secularism – Utpal Kumar

Bharat Mata (Tamil Vijaya Mag 1909).

The Congress, in its post-Independence avatar, began to craft a “secular” nationalism that saw overt Hindu imagery as regressive, even dangerous. In doing so, it vacated a cultural space that epitomised the soul of Bharat. – Utpal Kumar

In his seminal work The Open Society and Its Enemies (1945), Karl Popper explains what he calls the “paradox of tolerance”. He writes, “Unlimited tolerance must lead to the disappearance of tolerance. If we extend unlimited tolerance even to those who are intolerant, if we are not prepared to defend a tolerant society against the onslaught of the intolerant, then the tolerant will be destroyed, and tolerance with them.” Popper, however, adds a rider, saying that as long as one can counter intolerant views “by rational argument and keep them in check by public opinion, suppression would certainly be most unwise”.

Seven decades later, Nassim Nicholas Taleb reaches a similar conclusion in his 2018 book Skin in the Game, where he explains how it is the most intolerant, however minuscule they might be, who succeed in imposing their views on the majority. Among others, he gives the example of halal food to show how a small, stubborn group’s preferences dictate changes for everyone.

Today, as we celebrate 150 years of ‘Vande Mataram’, composed by sage and seer Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay in 1875 and later included in his novel Anandamath (1881), Popper’s “paradox of tolerance” and Taleb’s “minority rule theory” seem vindicated as never before.

Few symbols capture the trajectory of Bharat’s nationalist evolution—and its post-Independence identity crisis—as poignantly as Vande Mataram. Once the heartbeat of the freedom struggle, this ode to Bharat Mata (the motherland) became, over time, an inconvenient liability—an “extra”, to use Swapan Dasgupta’s term in his book Awakening Bharat Mata—awkwardly preserved but carefully marginalised too.

Vande Mataram’s journey from revolutionary anthem and rallying cry of the nationalist movement to contested, “communal” symbol reflects not only Bharat’s pseudo-secular identity politics but also the deliberate reshaping of national consciousness to accommodate the intolerant, who brand their intransigence as the anxieties of a besieged minority.

The retreat of Vande Mataram was threefold. While it became an “extra” post-Independence, this wasn’t the only time this song was viciously assaulted. The verses of Vande Mataram inspired one of the most enduring icons of Indian nationalism—the image of Bharat Mata. As per Bankim’s notion, she is an embodiment of both divine power (Shakti) and cultural identity:

Terrible with the clamorous shouts of seventy million throats,
and the sharpness of swords raised in twice seventy million hands,
Who sayeth to thee, Mother, that thou art weak?
Holder of multitudinous strength,
I bow to her who saves,
to her who drives from her the armies of her foemen,
the Mother!

Yet, by the early 20th century, alternative depictions began to emerge. Abanindranath Tagore’s 1905 painting of Bharat Mata showed a saffron-robed, serene woman—gentle, ascetic and unarmed. This transformation from Shakti to Sadhvi was further solidified when Mahatma Gandhi entered the freedom movement arena in the country.

Gandhi, though deeply religious, was wary of any symbol that could alienate Muslims. He revered Vande Mataram but readily surrendered to the opposition: “It never occurred to me that it was a Hindu song. … But in such times it is wisdom not to market pure gold.” His retreat symbolised the nationalist leadership’s helplessness—which was more like surrender—to the intolerant. The Congress, anxious to sustain Hindu-Muslim unity, began to treat Vande Mataram with utmost restraint.

The Muslim League, led by Mohammad Ali Jinnah, rejected Vande Mataram outright, calling it “idolatrous” and “anti-Muslim”. Its depiction of the nation as a goddess was deemed an affront to Islamic monotheism. To pacify Muslim sentiment, the Congress decided that only the first two stanzas—devoid of explicit religious imagery—would be sung, and even then, never by compulsion.

This compromise of the majority didn’t stop the rise of Muslim separatism; it gave it further impetus. The country got its independence but at the cost of partition—in the name of religion. And as happens with concessions, one leads to another—the smaller takes us to the bigger ones.

On January 24, 1950, the Constituent Assembly adopted Rabindranath Tagore’s Jana Gana Mana as the country’s national anthem. Interestingly, the decision was reached without debate or vote. Vande Mataram was given “equal honour”, yet it was relegated to ceremonial margins—sung only in part, on rare occasions.

The author’s intent isn’t to question Jana Gana Mana, and it is ludicrously silly to link it with the British monarchy. The point being raised here is the discomfort which first the Gandhian worldview and then the post-Independence Nehruvian ecosystem had with Hindu imagery and underpinnings. The Congress, in its post-Independence avatar, began to craft a “secular” nationalism that saw overt Hindu imagery as regressive, even dangerous. In doing so, it vacated a cultural space that epitomised the soul of Bharat.

The assertive spiritual nationalism of the early freedom struggle was recast as an embarrassment—something to be remembered but not revered. Vande Mataram thus became the “extra” of Indian nationalism—honoured in rhetoric bereft of its Sanatana sacredness and explicit Hindu imagery, thus denying its rightful place at the centre of national identity.

The story of Vande Mataram is the story of Bharat struggling to reconcile its ancient Sanatana soul with its modern “secular” anxieties. It is also a reminder that concessions to a bully, even if he is a minority, do not pay. They backfire. – Firstpost, 9 November 2025

› Utpal Kumar is Opinion Editor at Firstpost and News18 and is the author of the book Eminent Distorians: Twists and Truths in Bharat’s History.

Vande Mataram