Mahfouz said: ‘‘I am the son of two civilisations that at a certain age in history have formed a happy marriage. The first of these, 7,000 years old, is the Pharaonic civilisation; the second, 1,400 years old, is the Islamic one. As for Pharaonic civilisation I will not talk of the conquests and the building of empires. This has become a worn-out pride, the mention of which modern conscience, thank God, feels uneasy about. I will not even speak of this civilisation’s achievements in art and literature, and its renowned miracles: the Pyramids and the Sphinx and Karnak.’’ He then narrates a story whose gist is the Pharoah’s commitment to Truth and Justice. ‘‘This conduct, in my opinion, is greater than founding an empire or building the Pyramids. It is more telling of the superiority of that civilisation than any riches or splendour. Gone now is that civilisation—a mere story of the past. One day the Great Pyramids will disappear too. But Truth and Justice will remain for as long as Mankind has a ruminative mind and a living conscience.’’

Mahfouz, equally proud of his Muslim identity, continued: ‘‘As for Islamic civilisation I will not talk about its call for the establishment of a union between all Mankind under the guardianship of the Creator, based on freedom, equality and forgiveness. Nor will I talk about the greatness of its Prophet...I will, instead, introduce that civilisation in a moving dramatic situation summarising one of its most conspicuous traits: In one victorious battle against Byzantium it has given back its prisoners of war in return for a number of books of ancient Greek heritage in philosophy, medicine and mathematics. This is a testimony of the value for the human spirit in its demand for knowledge, even though the demander was a believer in God and the demanded a fruit of a pagan civilisation.’’

He then told the audience in Stockholm: ‘‘It was my fate, ladies and gentlemen, to be born in the lap of these two civilisations, and to absorb their milk, to feed on their literature and art. Then I drank the nectar of your (West’s) rich and fascinating culture. From the inspiration of all this—as well as my own anxieties—words bedewed from me.’’

For the Islamist militants, it was not enough that Mahfouz declared his faith in Islam. What was unacceptable was his equal pride in what preceded Islam in Egypt.

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I cut now to Jawaharlal Nehru’s convocation address at Aligarh Muslim University on January 24, 1948. Remember that India’s first Prime Minister was speaking in the tragic, blood-soaked backdrop of Partition, which was demanded by a party whose leaders stated that ‘‘there is nothing common between Islam and Hinduism, and between Muslim and Hindu civilisations’’. Nehru said: ‘‘India’s strength has been two-fold: her own innate genius which flowered through the ages and her capacity to draw from other sources and thus add to her own. She was far too strong to be submerged by outside streams, and she was too wise to isolate herself from them, and so there is a continuing synthesis in India’s real history and many political changes which have taken place have had little effect on the growth of her variegated and yet essentially unified culture.’’

Then came Panditji’s plain-speaking to the teachers and students of AMU: ‘‘I am proud of our inheritance and our ancestors who gave intellectual and cultural preeminence to India. How do you feel about this past? Do you feel you are also sharers in it and inheritors of it and, therefore, proud of something that belongs to you as much as to me? Or do you feel alien to it and pass it by without understanding it or feeling that strange thrill that comes from the realisation that we are the trustees and inheritors of this treasure?’’

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Why these apparently unconnected references to Mahfouz and Nehru in a column on Vande Mataram? Dear readers, the answer lies in the interesting debate on Indian nationhood that has been provoked by the current unfortunate controversy over our national song. And I wish to join this debate squarely through a series of articles in this space. In a way, I have already begun the series with my column last week. In particular, what has provoked me is an article in The Hindu last week (’A souvenir, not an emblem’; September 6) by Malini Parthasarathy, its part-owner and one-time executive editor. Known for her leftist leanings, she writes: ‘‘The anthropomorphic depiction of the Indian nation that Vande Mataram evokes—Bharat Mata, with its allusions to Durga—is more suited to a context of cultural nationalism. The new Indian nation that came into being in 1947 was the product of a mass struggle of people of diverse identities, belonging to different communities and regions. This recognition brought forth an open acknowledgment from the makers of modern India that the national ethos that would power the new nation would be only civic and territorial in nature, with civic identity rather than any affiliation being given primacy in the new structure. It was acknowledged that all communities were equal stakeholders in the new democratic republic. It was therefore clear that symbols such as Vande Mataram that had strong overtones of cultural nationalism could not have a place among the official symbols of India’s nationhood.’’ (Italics mine.)

This view resonates the thinking of many leftists and Islamists. However, it constitutes a complete negation of the Idea of India. Why? Read next.

write to sudheen.kulkarni@ expressindia.com