(The following is a summary of a virtual lecture delivered by Shri Shankara Bharadwaj Khandavalli at Indic Studies, Toronto, on the Hindu social order. The lecture can be viewed here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ARKq-HlKY-I .This lecture stands out as one of the first and most insightful explorations of the architecture of our Dharma Shastras and how they shaped the lived reality of our great civilization. It highlights the distortions and gaps in the current discourse, addresses them thoughtfully, and offers a roadmap for the future.)
We live in an age where information is abundant. We have data, we have history—we know what happened in the past, and we have access to detailed accounts of what is happening today.
What we lack, however, is perspective on these facts. And why is perspective important? Because meaningful transformation—whether in the system, the State, or society—is not driven by facts alone. It is perspective, shaped by a selection and interpretation of facts, that ultimately drives major changes, policies, laws, and societal shifts.
Currently, the dominant perspective shaping our State and society tends to come from an outsider’s point of view. That is precisely why we need to develop and adopt an insider perspective—a view shaped by our own lived experiences and cultural context. We need to see our reality through our own prism, not through one imposed from the outside.
This shift in perspective is crucial, and we’ll try to explore why it matters. Our goal is to understand our society on our own terms, and to ensure that any transformation we envision is grounded in that understanding. To gain such a perspective, we must avoid taking a judgmental stance. We need to approach both the past and the present with clarity, seeing them as they are, through our own lens. This is not about defending, apologizing for, substantiating, or supporting any particular view. The purpose here is to understand.
Re-examining Society, the State, and the Lens We Use
When I began my studies a few years ago, there were a few questions that consistently occupied my mind—questions that seemed both fundamental and often overlooked. One of the first was: What exactly is the role of the State in shaping the fate of society? And more importantly, is that role sufficiently accounted for in most analyses we encounter today?
Most of the academic or public discourse we come across focused primarily on society. However, society does not function in a vacuum. It is governed, in large part, by the policies and outlook of the State. The way the State perceives society, and how it acts upon that perception, is a decisive factor in shaping the way society functions.
This becomes particularly significant when we consider the historical context of the Indian society. For centuries, different regions were ruled by a wide range of kingdoms, many of them foreign. We had the Mughals, the Turk-Mongols, Arabs, the British, the French, and the Portuguese—each exerting various forms of influence through state apparatus over extended periods. So, has there ever been an honest, thorough analysis of how these different ruling powers shaped the lived experience of society—its rise and decline, its prosperity and deprivation, its internal conflicts and resolutions?
This leads us to the second question : Is there a concept of Varna Mimamsa in our texts? Certainly, the four Varnas are mentioned—it’s well-known and widely referenced. But when we examine Itihasa, Purana, or even later texts, do we find any serious analysis of an individual’s Varna? Of changes in Varna? Obviously, there are many social groups, so there is a description of those people, but there is no elaborate analysis of anybody’s Varna. Very little, if any, concrete data emerges.
This raises the question: Is Varna a functional aspect, or is a functional aspect being conflated with what we think is Varna. Because obviously, today, there is no Varna operating at all. It did not operate under the British either, because that’s not how the statecraft ran. So, What we have is mostly backward projections—attempts to reconstruct how things might have worked, without a solid grasp of how things really work if the principle is operating.
This brings us to a broader inquiry: What kinds of classifications—upper, lower, forward, backward—do we use today, and on what basis? How permanent are these categories in our classical texts? What is the relationship among social, economic, political, and spiritual classification?
Our society has always had a variety of collectivities—Desha, Sampradaya, Kula, Jati, Varna. Have these all been collapsed into a single social unit over the past century? Do we have any clear understanding of how each of these identities operated historically, and how those functions are reflected in textual references and lived experiences?
This question is important because today, for many of these categories, especially for the ones with the social dynamics, there is no living pedagogy. We do still have living traditions that teach certain Shastras. We have living traditions for Vedanta and also for Vedas. Some Darshanas have faded, but others persist. But when it comes to the study of social order—how collectivities functioned and interacted—there is no living tradition of pedagogy. With that tradition lost, how much can we really claim to understand the correlation between the texts and our lived reality? And which prism are we applying when we look at the present day reality? Are we applying an insider prism or an outsider prism?
Another critical question arises here: How do we distinguish between normative and ontological statements in our texts? That is, are we interpreting Shastra as a prescriptive set of do’s and don’ts, or as an exploration of the nature of reality through its own epistemological lens?
Not all of Shastra is concerned with Vidhi (prescriptions) and Nishedha (prohibitions). While texts like the Dharma Sutras contain normative content, the bulk of traditional Indian knowledge systems—scientific or otherwise—aim to explain the nature of the world through the window of that subject’s epistemology. Just as physics explains the world through one methodology and aesthetics through another, Shastra has its own methods of explaining things.
Understanding this is extremely important because Dharmashastra is mostly seen as a normative text, which, in reality, is not. And this normative view has creeped in primarily as a result of applying the outsider prism. In truth, more than half of its content is ontological—attempting to describe the nature of social and moral order. The prescriptive parts—guidelines for the State or for individuals—form only a portion of the whole. These distinctions are rarely acknowledged. Perhaps this is a topic that deserves a dedicated discussion on its own.
Lastly, one of the more pressing dilemmas we face today is this: Who gets to define fairness, opportunity, and prosperity? Who determines who is “forward” or “backward”? What are the parameters being used? Are these based on potential, access, history, or something else?
These are not rhetorical questions. They lie at the heart of how we frame social policy and justice today. And to answer them meaningfully, we need clarity not just in our data, but in the perspective through which we interpret that data.
Rethinking Rigidity, Social Change, and Western Assumptions
Now, let’s dive into some data-related questions: Did Indian society actually become rigid at some point? We hear this often—how the Varna system, which was originally not based on birth, eventually became birth-based. The common narrative says society became rigid and ossified. But is that really true?
When we look at the historical data, we see continuous transformation. Over the past century alone, Indian society has changed drastically. In fact, every single century in the past has witnessed shifts—vocational, cultural, and social. So how exactly did this supposed rigidity come about?
Because, if we’re being honest, things like intermixing and changing vocations have always existed. Much of what people complain about—caste rigidity, lack of mobility—doesn’t quite match the long-term historical data. Sure, if we look at a narrow window—say, a decade or a few years—some rigidity might appear. But when you consider the timeframes that Indian civilization has spanned, and the centuries of transformation, that narrative doesn’t hold up.
One could argue, “Yes, transformations happen over long periods, but what about the individual? Their life is short. Has there been room for individual-level change?” The answer, too, appears to be yes. There are enough examples to show that individuals have experienced mobility and transformation within their lifetimes.
That’s not to say society is free of problems. Suffering and other issues have existed. But the real issue lies in the prism we use to view these problems. How we interpret institutions, laws, and societal practices makes a huge difference. Often, we conflate the structure of institutions with what’s actually happening on the ground.
This leads to a bigger question: Did India prosper because of applying a Western lens—focusing on individualism and equality—or was it due to its strong social capital? When we examine historical data century by century, the story that emerges is quite different from the popular narrative.
And then there’s a fundamental question: Is the birth-based caste ladder something inherent to Hindu order, or was it a British imposition? For instance, if we compare the period between 1820 and 1931—using just two census points—we notice significant changes: in literacy, wealth distribution, and the vocations people pursued.
This comparison raises a striking question: Who actually weaponized literacy in India? Who made illiteracy such a severe societal problem? It’s not something that organically grew out of Indian traditions.
Another important and timely question we need to grapple with—perhaps even more in the future—is this paradox: How is it possible that in a world claiming to uphold equality, we still see oppression and even genocide?
Logically, you’d expect that in a truly egalitarian and tolerant society, there would be no mass murders or systematic oppression. Yet, many scoieties that claim to be the most egalitarian are often responsible for some of the worst violence—either within their borders or in other regions. This contradiction remains largely unexamined.
Which brings us to an even deeper question: Are the moral and legal rules we champion truly universal? Or are we missing something fundamental in how we frame our social theories—both for the present and the future?
As an example, consider this: How many matrilineal groups have survived in Western countries like the U.S., which presents itself as the most open and tolerant society? Contrast this with the subcontinent, where such groups have existed for centuries. What happened there?
This leads us to yet another reflection: Are we mistaking uniformity for equality?
Some of these questions have clear answers; others remain open-ended. But the purpose of asking them is to highlight that many of our assumptions are just that—assumptions. And unless we challenge them, we won’t realize how deeply rooted and unquestioned they’ve become.
Understanding Social Order: Varna, Colonial Disruption, and the Decline of Chaturvarnya
Let’s now turn to the question of our social order—specifically, the concept of Varna. While the term appears frequently in ancient texts, we don’t see it as commonly used in the everyday functioning of society. What we do see are numerous groups and collectivities that don’t explicitly identify with the term “Varna.” So, what exactly is its relevance? Did it ever play a role in shaping society? Is it playing any role today?
In the post-colonial era, our experience has been shaped largely by the policies of a nearly colonial, state-controlled system. But before we address that, let’s look at what immediately preceded it—the British colonial rule. The British neither governed India according to Raja Dharma nor did they follow Varna Dharma. Instead, they implemented state-controlled laws, particularly penal codes, while leaving personal laws to be managed by individual communities. So, British governance didn’t reflect either of these native frameworks.
This leads us to an important question: What exactly changed in Indian society under British rule? If we attribute those changes to the Varna system, we are fundamentally mistaken. The societal functions at the group and individual level were completely different from what was happening at the macro level—especially when it came to governance, social policies, and economic control.
Let’s take a straightforward example. Traditionally, society recognized four Varnas. But under British rule, the functions of the first three Varnas—Brahmana (knowledge), Kshatriya (protection), and Vaishya (commerce)—were nearly eliminated.
- The learning systems were dismantled, marginalizing the Brahmanas. This forced many of them into literary, clerical, or administrative jobs under colonial rule.
- India was heavily demilitarized, with martial communities often criminalized. This effectively wiped out the Kshatriya role.
- Trade and commerce were stripped from Indians. Colonial economic policies ensured India exported only raw materials and imported finished goods. Laws prevented Indians from exporting finished products, shifting the entire trade ecosystem to Britain.
These are well-documented historical facts. We don’t need fresh research to uncover them. What we do need is a better understanding of where these facts fit into the larger picture. When we view them through an insider’s lens, it becomes clear: all three primary Varnas were systematically dismantled. Society was pushed into a single category—the fourth Varna (Shudra).
Naturally, this led to internal conflict—competition for scarce resources, lack of opportunities, and social unrest. The resulting impoverishment of society is a reality. Many communities lost not just livelihoods but also their self-esteem. Fact is that Varna was not in operation during dcline. What functioned was a distorted system imposed from outside.
Going a little further back, under the Marathas—who reclaimed much of the subcontinent from Muslim rule—we already begin to see the decline of Varna. Under the Peshwas and rulers like Shahu, many Brahmins took up non-Brahminical vocations. Early feudal patterns began to emerge, with land treated increasingly as a commodity. Political expansion and a quest for independence were evident, though society remained war-torn and subject to high taxation. While the situation wasn’t ideal, it reflected a society striving for self-rule.
During this period, deep-sea control was lost, which limited but did not eliminate trade. Knowledge function was in preservation mode, not actively flourishing. Traders still existed, though under constraints. What we observe under the Marathas is a weakened Varnashrama—not its glorious form.
If we look further back to the Vijayanagara Empire, which directly preceded the Marathas, we see a very different picture. Here, Chaturvarnya (the four-fold Varna system) was visibly operational. Society was prosperous. There was active knowledge generation, Vedic commentaries (Bhashyas), artistic and aesthetic developments, strong military presence, vibrant trade, and overall Abhyudaya—a sense of collective well-being and material prosperity.
What does this tell us? The conclusion is clear: wherever Chaturvarnya functioned properly, it correlated positively with the rise of society in prosperity. It did not lead to decline or fragmentation. In fact, it supported growth and stability.
Going even further back, post-Mahabharata, the great Magadha empire exemplifies this pattern. It was a society of upward mobility, with many royal lineages rising from Shudras and other communities. Prosperity naturally brings mobility—there’s no need to artificially engineer it. When society thrives, all its groups tend to rise with it.
Is that the case post-independence?
Although, we are making economic progress as a nation, many groups have spiralled downwards, especially in terms of Dharma and many others in a materialistic sense too. . Yes, there has been some material improvement, but many communities have not progressed holistically. Instead, we see a craving among people for backward status, for privileges and patronage, rather than a focus on shared growth.
So, once again, the lesson stands clear: Chaturvarnya, when functional, correlates with societal prosperity and upliftment. Its decline or distortion, on the other hand, has often accompanied periods of stagnation, conflict, and impoverishment.
Into the Teleology of Jati: Understanding Its Purpose and Function
Let’s delve into the teleology—the purpose—of Jati. What exactly is its functional use? We know Jatis exist, but why do we actually need them?
The primary reason often cited is that Jatis help preserve diversity through distinct collective identities. History has shown us that the forced elimination of diversity in the pursuit of uniformity has frequently led to civil wars, social unrest, and even the extermination of entire communities. Genocides across the world have occurred largely due to the lack of a well-organized, diverse structure of social identification.
So, what does Jati do?
First and foremost, it offers social capital—a form of collective strength. Groups, by organizing themselves through Jati, have significantly better bargaining power with the state and society than isolated individuals do. Beyond economic leverage, Jati ensures a social space, which an individual cannot enjoy by himself. So, this is the reason that there is a functional utility, it is being used by people.
This is why Jati has persisted. It’s not because people are inherently “bad” or regressive. People naturally discard what is no longer useful and retain what continues to serve a purpose. The survival of the Jati system reflects its functional utility. There is a clear teleology here—a reason why it continues to exist and evolve.
Therefore, when we try to diagnose the issues within society, we must be careful not to treat society itself as the problem. The social system is arranged for the benefit of both individuals and the collective. We can’t mistake the patient for the disease. The problems faced by society need to be addressed, but society should not be framed as the problem itself. If we don’t apply the right lens, we risk misidentifying the victim as the aggressor. If we look at our external conflicts, society has clearly been the victim, not the agressor.
Looking at the long-term trajectory of history, we find that each group and individual has experienced rise and fall based on survival fitness, adaptability, and the quality of leadership within their community. No single group has stayed at the top—or bottom—permanently. These fluctuations are part of the evolutionary process of society.
When society prospers, upward mobility becomes a natural outcome. Most groups benefit. On the other hand, when society faces oppression—whether from external invaders or coercive state forces—most groups suffer. The extent to which each suffers often depends on their current survival fitness, not because one group is consciously trying to oppress another. Resource competition is natural, and in times of scarcity or conflict, some groups will be more adversely affected than others.
What matters most, then, is whether the system creates the right incentives—incentives that foster an upward spiral of prosperity and ensure mobility and dignity for all groups.
There’s also a deeper cultural dynamic to understand. If we look back—even as far as the Mahabharata—we see countless examples of individuals who were respected not for their Jati or Varna, but for their character and knowledge.
Nobody questioned the Varna of Lomaharshana, Ugrasrava, Dharmavyadha, or even Vyasa. Similarly, in more recent times, no one asks about the caste of Swami Vivekananda, Sri Aurobindo, or Jaggi Vasudev. These individuals are honored for their contributions, wisdom, and personal integrity. Hindu society has always valued character and knowledge.
We must distinguish between this enduring respect for individual merit and the operational ups and downs that occur across different phases of societal evolution. The rise and fall of groups and vocations are part of a long historical process—but the core values of respect for knowledge and character have remained constant.
Institutions, Identity, and Integration: Rethinking Our Social Design
Society is not a simple entity—it’s a complex matrix. As previously discussed, we have layers of collective identity: Sampradaya, Jati, Kula, Desha, and many other groupings. When this matrix functions harmoniously, it has historically led to upward mobility and social integration. But when the matrix collapses, and each group begins to function in isolation—viewed solely as separate and competing units—the integrative spirit is lost. What emerges instead is a disintegration motive.
In today’s post-colonial era, we increasingly see region, language, and culture being treated as problems. People demand separate states; communities struggle to coexist. Castes are pitted against each other. The very motifs that once united us are now fractured, acting as sources of division rather than cohesion.
But this wasn’t always the case.
Take a simple example: Carnatic music. While its roots are in Karnataka, most compositions were created in Telugu by saints like Tyagaraja. Many of these were rendered in Tamil, and Sanskrit has always been a foundational language in the tradition. This exemplifies how various linguistic and regional identities have historically harmonized rather than conflicted.
This natural embrace of diversity existed as long as we maintained a healthy Desha perspective—a civilizational lens that acknowledged both diversity and unity. When this is replaced by the rigid boundaries of the modern geo-political state, we begin to see regional conflicts over water, language, and identity. It is not society that is broken, but rather the design of the modern state that fails to accommodate the richness of our traditional institutions.
This brings us to a broader framework that reflects the essence of our institutional design.
The Traditional Indian System: A Threefold Structure
Visualize a three-column framework:
- On the right are the societal institutions—Sampradaya, Vritti, Jati, Desha, etc.
- In the middle is the Rajya, the hierarchical political power structure.
- On the left is the spiritual and knowledge inheritance—Sampradaya in its deeper sense, encompassing Guru-Shishya traditions rather than genetic lineage.
At the top is the cosmic or macro level (Vaishvika), while the bottom represents the individual or micro level (Vyasti). The cosmic order operates on Rta (natural order), and the individual follows Dharma—a principle that governs all elements of nature, not just humans.
The smallest functional unit is the family, which aggregates into larger collective identities. These institutions are non-hierarchical in nature. They are parallel and complementary—not competing or stacked in power hierarchies.
However, we often mistake these structures as hierarchical because our modern mindset is conditioned by the nation-state model, where everything is viewed through the lens of centralized authority and uniformity. This is not how the traditional Rashtra functioned. In a Rashtra, there is orthogonality between the Rajya (state) and society. They are distinct yet coexisting systems.
The Cosmic Role of Varna
So where does Varna come into all this?
Varna is positioned at the cosmic level, not at the societal-operational level. That’s why it is a Sanatana (eternal) concept. It is not merely a social classification; it is a universal principle.
Everything in existence—humans, animals, trees, flowers, even Devatas—is composed of the three Gunas. The Vishwa (universe) is Trigunatmika—made of Sattva, Rajas, and Tamas. Anything composed of these three Gunas has a Varna, which is why Varna is discussed in cosmological sections of the Dharmashastras, especially in discussions about Srishti (creation), Karya-Karana (cause and effect), and the nature of the universe.
Later sections of these texts, which deal with State structures and social codes, focus more on specific groups and roles. This difference is crucial to understand: Varna is not a social engineering tool, and terms like Varna Vyavastha do not even exist in traditional literature. We find terms like Vritti with Kula (profession with lineage), and Dharma with Varna, but not Varna with Vyavastha (systematized structure). So to apply Varna as a rigid social system is a fundamental misunderstanding—one that affects both our interpretation of history and our design of future systems.
Integration Through Institutions
Each collective identity—whether family, Jati, Desha, or Sampradaya—harmonizes the individual (Vyasti) and the collective (Samashti) to enable fulfillment of individuals at different layers. Each layer addresses a different aspect of human fulfillment—emotional, vocational, spiritual—and together they support the broader goals of Abhyudaya (material well-being) and Nishreyasa (spiritual fulfillment).
These institutions are harmoniously stratified, not conflicting by nature. The Rajya (political power) is hierarchical, while the Rashtra (civilizational nation) and its institutions are non-hierarchical. Reconciling the micro and macro—individual and cosmic—is a recurring theme in our tradition, reflected deeply in our institutional design.
We can evolve or discard institutions to meet the demands of the future. But the foundational principles—of diversity, harmony, orthogonality of state and society, and spiritual centrality—must be clearly understood if we are to design robust and inclusive systems.
Resilience Through Tradition
It is precisely because of the strength of these traditional institutions that we have survived and even thrived despite facing some of the gravest civilizational challenges over the last thousand years. No other culture has endured such magnitude of trauma and yet emerged with vitality, within a century of independence, as a rising global power.
Each of these institutions—if seen not through the narrow prism of the nation-state but through the lens of an insider—functions as a theme of integration, not division. As we saw in the example of Carnatic music, and as we continue to witness in countless cultural and spiritual practices, integration remains a deeply embedded value in our civilization.
Rethinking Identity, Institutions, and the Role of the State
In contrast to modern understandings, how do we define identity in the traditional Indian context?
Today, identity is usually defined by what it constitutes and how it differentiates itself from others. This is what we might call an outfaced definition—an identity that defines itself in opposition to something else. Whether it’s believer vs. non-believer, or proletariat vs. bourgeois, these binary frameworks inevitably create vertical splits in society—two opposing groups pitted against each other.
Hindu identities, on the other hand, function differently. They are placed within a larger civilizational matrix, and are infaced—meaning they define themselves not by exclusion or opposition, but by what they contribute to a specific sphere of life. Each identity addresses only one aspect of life, not the totality of a person’s existence. As a result, these identities operate on a principle of inclusion.
They shape how the practitioner evolves internally (Antharmukhathva), how they see the world, and how they navigate life. But they do not make judgments about those who are outside the fold. This is why persecution is not a natural consequence of these identities. On the contrary, they protect individual and group spaces and promote harmony because each collectivity understands its place in the larger scheme.
Idealism and Implementation: Understanding the Design
Some of this might sound overly idealistic—but the point isn’t to argue that implementation has always been perfect. Like any system, traditional models faced challenges, especially as times changed. The real takeaway is this: we must understand the foundational principles if we want to design better systems for the future.
So, how should we approach system design going forward?
Can we have a flat, uniform space? Or can we really, you know, understand this institutional structure?
Graded collectivities are a reality of every society and to deny this is to be like the proverbial ostrich—ignoring reality doesn’t resolve conflict; it deepens it. The more productive path is to acknowledge the diversity of social collectivities and ensure that they act as motifs of integration, not disintegration. That’s the best way to ensure individual and group freedom, and laso individual fulfillment.
In this vision, the state and society must remain orthogonal—intersecting but independent. We can’t have a nation-state. This doesn’t mean political unity is lost. Rather, it means that the state must understand and accommodate civilizational motives when crafting laws and policies. The state exists to serve society, not the other way around.
On Varna and Vocations
Does this mean Varna determines one’s vocation?
As discussed earlier, Varna is a cosmic principle—not a social mechanism for job assignment. It doesn’t actively assign roles to people. There is no direct process of “allocation” based on Varna.
Similarly, do penalties or laws apply differently based on Varna?
Here, we must look at the principles of jurisprudence. Justice is not about enforcing equality blindly; it’s about balancing justice with fairness and context.
Consider this example:
A clerk commits a petty crime and is jailed for seven years. His life is devastated.
A powerful politician commits a larger crime, gets the same sentence, but returns and is re-elected.
Should justice be the same for both? Clearly, the impact of punishment is different in each case. A sound justice system must account for the individual’s position, capacity for transformation, and potential for power misuse. These considerations—not group identity—form the basis of proportionate justice. This is how a principled legal system operates.
Does this mean Varna is used to assign vocations? As we’ve seen, Varna is a cosmic principle. It does not actively assign roles, nor is there any direct mechanism through which such assignments occur.
Do penalties, then, get applied based on Varna? To answer this, we must understand how jurisprudence works. The core principle is not about group identity—it is about ensuring justice, and trading it off with equality.
Consider a simple example: A clerk commits a petty crime and is sentenced to seven years in jail—his life is devastated. A powerful politician commits a more serious crime, receives the same sentence, and returns to public life, even getting re-elected. Clearly, the impact of the same punishment on each individual is very different.
This highlights the fact that jurisprudence operates on deeper principles. We cannot assume penalties are—or should be—based solely on group identity. Instead, they take into account the impact that each penalty is making on individuals’ lives, on the nature of the individual, and how much he is prone to transformation. A sound jurisprudence must account for the individual’s position, capacity for transformation, and potential for power misuse. These considerations—not group identity—form the basis of proportionate justice. Understanding the underlying principles is essential for designing a new system.
Conclusion
State is an enabler, not an engineer.
What, then, is the role of the state?
The state must be aware of social institutions—Desha, Jati, Sampradaya, and others—but it should not legislate or engineer them. Instead, the state should enable these institutions to thrive, ensuring that individual and collective fulfillment is not hindered by state policy.
The state should be an arbiter and facilitator, not a creator of its own social fabric. Unfortunately, today’s state often stigmatizes traditional social institutions, even as it creates new ones through policy and bureaucracy—usually without realizing it. This happens because there’s a blind spot: a fundamental lack of understanding or acknowledgment of these traditional institutions.
Words like Desha or Jati rarely find positive reference in modern post-colonial statecraft. Reclaiming these terms and their significance is essential if we want to design an effective, culturally rooted system that actually works for our people.
Many of these principles may seem uniquely relevant to Bharata (India), but they are not exclusive to our context. As more and more nations become diverse, these principles—built to manage complexity and inclusion—will gain global relevance.
Rashtra Mimamsa 