National Education: Problems and Prospects
I would like to raise some fundamental questions in this paper: what do we mean by “national” education? How does it relate to the state? Is the idea of nation relevant in the 21st century? And, finally, what kind of education should we plan for India in the light of these questions?
For those who have been following the order as well as the drift of these questions, their interconnections should be obvious. Nevertheless, let me spell out some of them. There is, to my mind, a great deal of confusion regarding what we mean by nation. A lot of people use it interchangeably with the idea of the state. Hence, when we speak of a topic such as national education, we do so usually with a certain lack of clarity. Similarly, the links between culture and nation, on the one hand, and between the nation itself and its education system are seldom examined rigorously. To worsen our confusion, some of these terms have become so ideologically charged that it becomes practically impossible to discuss them intellectually. A certain kind of well or ill-intentioned wishy-washiness coupled with the passionate decrying of our perceived opponents positions becomes the substitute for clear thinking.
But before proceeding farther, I would like to say that could not have asked for a better venue in which to discuss such questions. The Aurobindo Bhawan, where our deliberations are taking place, is a place sacred to any devotee of Sri Aurobindo, nay, anyone who loves India. For here was born a great being who consecrated his life not only for the emancipation and rejuvenation of India, but for the perfection of life on earth itself. As a sanatani Hindu, I believe in sthala mahatmaya or the sanctity of place; for those of us who have been inspired by Sri Aurobindo’s yoga, this is indeed a sacred site. I hope that whatever we do today will bear the imprint of that higher consciousness that Sri Aurobindo strove to nativize on the humble soil of this lonely planet.
That is why I can think of no better way to address some of the questions I had raised earlier than to remind ourselves of some of Sri Aurobindo’s and the Mother’s thoughts on education. First, let me refer to Sri Aurobindo’s three principles of education, which are well known to all of us. Yet they bear paraphrasing and refreshing, just as we refer to and repeat our smritis so as to orient our lives according to their directions. Sri Aurobindo offers us these insights in the very first part essay, called “The Human Mind,” of an eight-part series called “A System of National Education,” which he wrote for the Karmayogin in 1910. That Sri Aurobindo had a deep and abiding connection with education is obvious not only because he was himself a teacher, going on to become the Vice-Principal of Baroda College, but because he came to Calcutta in 1906 as the Principal of the newly founded Bengal National College. Few of us remember that it is that college which has now become Jadavpur University. What a pity that the university, for that matter any major university in India, has not been named Sri Aurobindo University.
Anyway, the first principle that Sri Aurobindo enunciates is that nothing can be taught. What could be more paradoxical that this? If followed, it would put all of us teachers out of business—at least so it seems at first sight. This is a great lesson to bear in mind to all those who think that the purpose of education is to mould malleable minds. Nothing can be taught, however, doesn’t mean that nothing can be learned. Education must foster a climate of voluntary learning. So teachers must also become learners and facilitators of true learning if they are to be effective. This also means that all programmatic approaches to education should be eschewed.
The second principle is that the mind must be consulted in its own growth. This means that coercion is inimical to its growth. Learning is a cooperative and participatory process, not a one-way stream of inputs and force-feeding. We rarely bother to find out what children want to learn, where their natural inclinations lie. When they do not conform to our ideas of doing well, we brand them as failures, rejects, or dimwits. Incalculable harm is done to tender minds with such a cruel system of competition and evaluation.
Finally, according to Sri Aurobindo, we must start with the near before going to the far. The mother tongue, local conditions and knowledge, and immediate concerns and considerations must come before foreign languages, (inter)national matters and global concerns. This also means that a child should learn about her native, local, regional, and national culture, before learning about, say, Western culture or Western thought. Unfortunately, the opposite is the case in India. Our children are losing whatever little knowledge they’ve inherited about their own country and culture, but instead turning into semi-literate and semi-Westernized hybrids. This undermines their confidence, their native genius, and their natural aspirations, turning them into inauthentic and ineffective agents in a complex world.
Similarly, the Mother clearly stated that the goal of education was to know oneself and to control oneself. This harks back to our ancient upanishadic ideals which declare that true education is not just empowering but emancipatory. In contrast, must of modern education, inaugurated in this country by Thomas Babington Macaulay, with its excessive stress on a derivative mental and material training, really serves to enslave us. Moreover, this modern system has no room for the training of the senses and the higher spiritual faculties, as it often totally ignores the development of the body. Being solely mental, it produces, more often than not, diseased minds, unhealthy bodies, corrupted senses, and an underdeveloped spirit.
I have reiterated Sri Aurobindo’s and the Mother’s words not necessarily because I believe that a sound national education policy can be built on these postulates but because they speak directly to the current controversies in education, especially to the question of the relationship between the state and the education system. To my mind, it is not the function of the government, in the ultimate analysis, to prescribe syllabi, produce textbooks, or impose a model system of education. Education needs to be saved from political interference, whether from the Left or the Right. What we need, instead, is greater participation from teachers, learners, and the society at large in matters of education so that issues and ideas that are truly meaningful to a society become integral to the education system, which itself ought to be much freer, open, flexible, diverse, and pluralistic.
Having said this, I must, at the risk of immediately contradicting myself, speak of a certain kind of interference that is required in our education system. This interference, or rather intervention, may actually be state sponsored, because the state is a major stakeholder in the kind of education system that prevails within its borders. What needs to be done is to set-right something that is grievously wrong. This setting right, once it is accomplished, will create, it is hoped, an environment in which the kind of freedom and choice that Sri Aurobindo advocates can really come into being and operate freely. Right now, this expression of the inner being is not possible precisely because of pre-existing disorientations that need to be corrected.
Anyone who has lived and worked in the present system will quickly notice its faults. I am not speaking only of the obvious bureaucratization, corruption, mismanagement, apathy, misallocation of resources, but of something deeper, of the false orientation of the entire system. The pervasive and obvious paradox that I allude to is that fact that our educations system is contrary to our cultural traditions, even opposed to national culture. The source of this system can be found in the infamous Minute of Macaulay. This Minute bears repetition:
We must at present do our best to form a class who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern; a class of persons, Indian in blood and colour, but English in taste, in opinions, in morals, and in intellect.
Macaulay goes on to dismiss Indian knowledge systems:
I have no knowledge of either Sanscrit or Arabic.--But I have done what I could to form a correct estimate of their value. I have read translations of the most celebrated Arabic and Sanscrit works. I have conversed both here and at home with men distinguished by their proficiency in the Eastern tongues. I am quite ready to take the Oriental learning at the valuation of the Orientalists themselves. I have never found one among them who could deny that a single shelf of a good European library was worth the whole native literature of India and Arabia. The intrinsic superiority of the Western literature is, indeed, fully admitted by those members of the Committee who support the Oriental plan of education. Whether, when we can patronise sound Philosophy and true History, we shall countenance, at the public expense, medi- cal doctrines, which would disgrace an English farrier,--Astronomy, which would move laughter in girls at an English boarding school,--History, abounding with kings thirty feet high, and reigns thirty thousand years long,--and Geography, made up of seas of treacle and seas of butter.
This is not just a statement of colonial arrogance, but of civilizational aggression, coupled with a proselytizing mission. The aim to destroy the native culture of India was not the sole prerogative of religious missionaries, but also of modern, secular thought. As Macaulay sums it up:
We are to teach false History, false Astronomy, false Medicine, because we find them in company with a false religion. We abstain, and I trust shall always abstain, from giving any public encouragement to those who are engaged in the work of converting natives to Christianity. And while we act thus, can we reasonably and decently bribe men out of the revenues of the state to waste their youth in learning how they are to purify themselves after touching an ass, or what text of the Vedas they are to repeat to expiate the crime of killing a goat?
The fact is that those who are educated in this system of education cannot but have contempt for the cultural traditions of India.
But it would be a mistake to consider Macaulay’s views as either isolated or singular. We know that before Macaulay wrote his Minute, there was a raging controversy over the kind of education system that the British East India Company should impalement in the territories under its control. The two main factions were the Anglicists and the Orientalists, with the Vernacularists being a less discussed third option. While, to all appearances, this controversy concerned the medium of instruction, its implications were actually far deeper. Today, it is merely a matter of speculation as to what the course of Indian modernity might have been had the Orientalists won. Would we be speaking in Sanskrit today? Would we be more connected with our past and better able to handle the impact of the West? Perhaps, the victory of English was inevitable given the momentum of history. There was, in fact, a native demand for “English” education. This demand came, however, from a slightly different source than Macaulay’s racist, supremecist, and colonizing zeal. Consider, for instance, what Rammohun Roy in his letter to Lord Amherst had to say about native knowledge systems:
The Sangscrit language, so difficult that almost a life time is necessary for its perfect acquisition, is well known to have been for ages a lamentable check on the diffusion of knowledge…. Since no improvement can be expected from inducing young men to consume a dozen of years of the most valuable period of their lives in acquiringthe niceties of the Byakurun or Sangscrit Grammar…. Neither can such improvement arise from such speculations as the following, which are the themes suggest by the Vedant:--In what manner is the sould absorbed into the deity? What relation does it bear to the divine essence? … Again, no essential benefit can be derived by the student of the Meemangsa from knowing what it is that makes the killer of a goat sinless on pronouncing certain passages of the Ved…. Again the student of the Nyaya Shastra cannot be said to have improved his mind after he has learned into how many ideal classes the objects of the Universe are divided, and what speculative relation the soul bears to the body, the body to the soul, the eye to the ear, etc.
The thirst for modernity inherent within Indian culture at the middle of the 18th century had something in common with the Enlightenment of Europe. It too was a quest for order and light of reason. But such a thirst was neither allowed to grow nor to find its natural avenues of satisfaction. Under colonialism, a distorted and stultifying modernity was imposed on the country. Nevertheless, we are groping for a way out of it.
I have revisited the past of our educational system because I believe that the way to the future lies through the past. Modern education in India was founded in the colonial period with the specific intention of supplanting, even destroying the native Indian culture. Hence, it is clear that our British rulers, for their own ends and purposes, imposed upon us an alien and alienating system of knowledge. This system, moreover, was taught through English, which was itself a foreign language. They therefore planted the seeds of a certain schizophrenia in the psyche of our elites. That is why we have a an inherent or systemic clash in India between the prevalent educational culture and whatever cultural education we may wish to impart based on the native ethos of this land.
I do not have the space to carry out a detailed survey of the ideological content of the education system subsequent to its foundation, but very briefly, I would like to offer some observations. First of all, it is not that the discourse of colonialism went unchallenged or that it was uniform. Powerful counter-discourses and internal dissensions were present from the outset. But what is noteworthy is that a counter-discourse emerged through the 19th century, with the rise of nationalism. The relationship between colonialism and nationalism is disputed. It was thought that they were, by and large, oppositional and incommensurable, at least in India. Nationalism presented an alternate model of state and civil society in India, therefore an alternate model of education as well. However, following Independence, this distinction was blurred. A national system of education was neither able to supplant the colonial system entirely, nor was it ideologically entirely different. Independent India joined the community of nations as an ex-colony, an under-developed country, and not quite a first class citizen. This sense of inferiority was reflected in the education system too, which remained Western in its orientation and direction. Nehruvian secularism and socialism did little to redress the balance in favour of Indian culture. So, a certain cultural deficiency remained endemic to the system.
That is why we today have a situation which is peculiarly post-colonial: a national, that is state-sponsored, educational system that is essentially anti-national, that is against the very consciousness that sought to make this a free, independent, and proud country. The whole purpose of this paper or even of such a meeting, in my opinion, is to unmask this internal contradiction and to find ways out of it. Colonized and oppressed people develop many different ways of survival. From schizophrenia to hybridity, from equivocation to dissimulation, from disguise to mimicry, from silence to parody. Only rarely is opposition expressed openly and fearlessly. When it is, it is usually crushed ruthlessly. Colonialism works through coercion and consent; the two are not very different in the ultimate analysis. That is why nationalism had to find a counter strategy of open and covert revolt. Ultimately, the two were not all that different.
The central question for us today is this: does the education system accurately reflect the aspirations of a free people? Does it accurately reflect our historical and cultural realities? Finally, is it giving us the “right” kind of values that is are the values that it espouses really in our self-interest? If the answers to all these questions is in the negative, then the educational system is seriously in need of different kinds of inputs, if not a total revamping. How undo or modify this system, thus, remains the basic challenge for us and I believe is the purpose of meetings such as this one.
This reconstruction is, by no means, an easy task. It requires a deep understanding of how culture in India actually works. In the remaining part of this presentation, I shall try to offer an outline of this. I believe it will help elucidate what our task is.
Let me call the Indian cultural system “sanatani.” By sanatani I mean a certain way of regarding the self, the society, and the cosmos, not necessarily it’s identity with any of our prevalent religious traditions, including Hinduism. Let me quickly spell out some of the features of this sanatani parampara or sanatani narrative, as I see them. First, it has no point of origin and no closure. Secondly, it is pluralistic, without being relativistic; that is it accepts the unity of truth, but allows for a diversity of expressions and descriptions. Thirdly, it has no one central text, prophet, founder, or church. It is always a field of difference and debate, though not necessarily of conflict or opposition. Fourthly, its central tendency is to sacralise the world and all the objects contained in it. To such an extent is this drive manifest that it turns even secularism into a sacred creed and sanctifies instrumental rationality, which is itself the means of de-sacralising the world. It is this tendency that saves it from rapaciously preying not only on other human groups, but on non-human life. The sanatani is not anthropocentric, logocentric, or even theocentric, but radically self-centric, where the self is progressive non-separate, co-extensive with the cosmos, and ultimately transcendental. The divinity of the self is thus its cardinal principal. The sananati, as its name suggests, is not fixated on time, but on the timeless; though it allows for complex notions of linearity, evolution, and teleology, it main focus is neither on the past or the future, but on the present. The sanatani also has a complex sense of causality called karma and an equally complex sense of axiology called dharma. When both karma and dharma are individual, collective, and cosmic, there can be no simple idea of doership or agency. Naturally, the ultimate reality cannot be restricted to the merely perceptible. Unlike the modern mind, which moves from inequality to equality, the sanatani proceeds from identity of substance to variety, differentiation, and hierarchy. Instead of equality of opportunity it stresses variety of aspiration. I could list many other features and characteristics, but will end with what I call the categorical imperative of the sanatani, its non-exlusivity. The non-exlusive must not be considered identical with the inclusive. The opposite of inclusive is exclusive; to that extent the two will always be tied together. Those who claim to include will always exclude something or the other. The non-exclusive, on the other hand, has no opposite, because theoretically it does not exclude even the exclusive. But to remain non-exclusive, it cannot permit the exclusive to overrun it totally. That is how the exclusive remains as a non-dominant element in the non-exclusive. In other words, the sanatani will have some exclusive elements, but the latter will not be allowed to dominate.
India’s intellectual and cultural history, if seen in sanatani terms, often shows it coming into contact or conflict with alternative perspectives. These latter I shall term co-sanatani, non-sanatani, and anti-sanatani. The co-sanatani shares basic assumptions and premises with the sanatani: for example, Jainism, Buddhism, Sikhism. There have been perennial exchanges, debates, and crossovers between the sanatani and the co-sanatani. Then there is the non-sanatani, which refers to those world views which are radically different from the sanatani. The Abrahamic faiths may be cited as examples. All these have a point of origin and closure, are monotheistic and dogmatic, and ultimately based on a community that is formed by a special covenant with God, who is the sovereign of the university and the ultimate arbiter. Secular modernity, communism, capitalism, imperialism, to name just a few, are also non-sanatani. There is every possibility of a peaceful coexistence, conversion, or limited syncretism between the sanatani and the non-sanatani. But under certain circumstances, the non-sanatani can also turn into the anti-sanatani. When that happens, the sanatani is called upon to produce a response. These responses are often multi-dimensional, more or less vigorous or successful. Like all resilient traditions, the sanatani may be considered to be endowed with self-correcting and self-renewing mechanisms. So its growth and development in history needs to be seen not so as much unbroken and continuous but as marked by losses and recovers, ruptures and sutures. This moment of recovery, restoration, and recuperation may be termed the “neo” or “navya”-sanatani, as, for instance, in “navya nyaya.” The “neo” is not a negative, pejorative, or reactionary; it cannot be dismissed as fundamentalist or revivalist. The “neo”- to be genuinely so must be a both new and old at the same time. It has to show a new way of being sanatani thereby rendering it simultaneously both unprecedented and recognizably the same as what is already known. One might borrow an idea from Kashmir Saivism to explain this familiar newness: pratabhijna—the sort of self-recognition that is in fact predicated upon the self being already realized, but somehow forgotten by none other than itself in anticipation of the camatkara (miraculous wonder) of remembering as in Acharya Utpaladeva’s Isvaraprtyabijankarika.
There is an epochal dimension to these acts of recovery and suturing, of recognition and remembering. The tradition produces its own cultural heroes and heroines to do the job. The process of mending is also one of minding, like searching for and splicing together the scattered threads of a cloth that has been torn or rent. Similarly, a tradition that has undergone a traumatic, even catastrophic blow finds ways of healing by rediscovering lost continuities and new bridges from the past to the future. The present, so potent with possibilities, is not some essence from the past or even that goes before the uncertain future, but a gift, a joyous flow liberates the beleaguered self of its false identification. As M. K. Gandhi said, the moment Indians know fearlessness, virtue, and dignity, they are already free; no prison or imperial government can bind them then. It is only the free who can demand or attain freedom. Freedom is the prerequisite not the result of satyagraha. Such praxis involves the invention of new methods and materials with which to effect the restoration of the flow of the parampara. Sruti, or non-contingent gnosis incarnates as human agency to heal the wounds in Smriti or the collective cultural memory. Unlike the Hebraic, which emphasizes re-membering, the sanatani often encourages forgetting: one must forget the holocaust of the Hindus, their defeat and humiliation, their oppression and trauma, their scattering and conversion. The realization of present power is not contingent upon the denial of past tribulations, nor is it unavailable to a conquered people; the memory of being crushed can be overcome by the immediacy of svaraj. Forget that you are crushed, but rise up anew for an altogether different kind of battle, fought with altogether different kinds of weapons. Gandhi, like Sri Aurobindo, taught us how to turn our disadvantages to our advantages.
We are poised at a very crucial juncture in the ongoing evolution or unfolding of the sanatani parampara. I believe we now have the political stability and the economic resources to being the process of recovery and rediscovery of who we are. By re-connecting with our sources, we can forge a new future for ourselves. This is the future that several great souls have predicted for us. But for this to happen, an all round reassertion of the sanatani spirit is required. In all realms of human endeavour we should express ourselves and flourish. This would be the true efflorescence of the spirit of India and the real meaning of “India shining.” India must shine because bharat itself means “effulgent.” This is the effulgence of the spirit, not just of material prosperity. Whether in science or the arts, whether in commerce or industry, whether in politics or sports, India must express its deep seated talent and genius. But for this to happen, a clear and unclouded will and self-awareness is a prerequisite.
Before I end, I would like to advocate one specific type of work that needs our urgent attention. This is to discover what the state of the native knowledge system was one the eve of colonialism. I don’t mean just the local knowledge systems, but the “national” one, which was going on in Sanskrit. The ambitious Sanskrit Knowledge Systems Project led by Sheldon Pollack from Chicago is a vital step in this direction. Let me read out a portion of its mission statement:
As poorly understood as the internal and external history of the late-precolonial Sanskrit knowledge systems themselves are the reasons for their demise in the latter half of the eighteenth century. Although political-economic changes of the sort found in Bengal at the time are sometimes identified as the critical factor, the decline in the quantity and quality of Sanskrit scholarly production in some places seems to have begun even before then, and elsewhere does not set in until later. Counter-tendencies, such as the attempt by the Peshwas in mid-eighteenth-century Maharashtra to revivify Sanskrit scholarship, need careful assessment (see for now Deshpande Forthcoming b). Other causal factors of a social nature, such as the diminishing salience of courtly society, or the loss of vitality of the Sanskrit educational system, are more difficult to evaluate, since so little sound scholarship is available. The transformed political landscape-in south India, Thanjavur was taken by Wellesley in 1799; in the north, Varanasi was ceded to the British in 1803; in the west, the Peshwas of Maharashtra were defeated in the course of the following decade-clearly needs to be taken into consideration, though again, the historiography of non-Mughal polities prior to the consolidation of the colonial order is thin. (http://dsal.uchicago.edu/sanskrit/proposal.html)
Most pertinent is the intellectual sphere itself, and the kinds of exchanges that took place within and across the knowledge systems. But here, too, we are pretty much in the dark. Direct confrontation between Indian and European learning was as rare as that between Sanskrit and Persianate scholarship during the previous three centuries. Or better put, the confrontation was one-sided: As modernizing Europe attacked vociferously, Sanskrit India retreated in silence; no shastri ever bothered to answer the critique, made so painfully explicit by Macaulay and his compatriots in the century following our epoch. And when later thinkers such as Ram Mohan Roy did respond, it was from an already colonized, even westernized perspective. Forms of Sanskrit science without close analogy in the West, such as hermeneutics or language analysis, disappeared as creative modes of thought in the face of what were vaguely comparable European forms (in this case, historical textual criticism, on the one hand, and descriptive grammar on the other). 1 Other types of knowledge sharing a common ground for discourse with Europe, such as astral science (jyotisa)or life-science (ayurveda), briefly contended with western technical and conceptual difference before ceding authority to what was openly acknowledged to demonstrate greater empirical success (Minkowski Forthcoming; Tubb Ms.; Wujastyk 1998, chapter 7). Elsewhere, the engagement with European thought on the part of Sanskrit intellectuals simply did not occur-or not, at least, before they had ceased to be Sanskrit intellectuals.
I do hope that Indians also join in this endeavour. This of course needs political will, which we might have already squandered, but in the face of governmental apathy, we perhaps, need a private enterprise initiative in this direction.
Let me now return to some of the questions I had raised at the beginning of this presentation. By national education is meant an education fit for the nation of India. This national education may have regional and international components, but these will not dim or overshadow its uniquely national character. By national character is meant a set of ideas that support and in turn derive nourishment from the idea of India. This idea may be “imagined” in that it does not pre-exist but must be actively conceptualized and then shared by millions of people. To me, nationalism is a set of ideas or an ideology. It bears an intrinsic relationship with the state that it produces and is in turn shaped and modified by such a state.
I believe that Indian nationalism was and remains a glorious thing, plural, liberating, and beautiful. The state that exists in its name, however, is far messier and flawed. This state, along with its several inefficient and self-negating systems is in need of constant vigilance and periodic reform. The state is controlled by a coalition of interests which are by no means holy or responsive to the needs of the vast majority of the population. The result is that we have an ineffective executive, a corrupt legislature, and an overburdened, sometimes confused, judiciary. Subject to all kinds of political pressures and internal contradictions, the education system is severely crippled and deformed. It is in severe need of “detoxification,” to use a now popular word. However, what exactly the toxins are need to be clearly identified. They include self-hatred, shame, inferiority complex, absence or confusion of values, lack of proper orientation, and so on.
Now, when we dwell in altered times, times which are more propitious for the restoration of our cultural integrity, the challenge is how best to proceed? I would argue that the key lies in an adequate and strategically meaningful structuring of the relationship between two kinds of power—political and economic, on the one hand, and social and cultural, on the other—that is, between hard power and soft power. In other words, deschooling is as important as reschooling. Ultimately, we need to foster a culture of svaraj rather than institutionalize new curricula. The latter will flow out of the former, but the former needs fostering first. Intellectual autonomy and cultural creativity are only possible when education ceases to be stultifying and regimental. A clear-headed and responsible exercise of power is what the situation demands, not belligerent or anxiety-ridden sloganeering.
I have been arguing that Indian education must express and reflect our sanatani cultural and intellectual traditions just as Indian nationalism struggled to do so. In order to accomplish this, some sort of colonial bias that still persists may have to be removed, perhaps through state intervention. The many distortions and corruptions in the education system, including political interference, over-bureaucratization, commercialization, casteism, inequality of opportunities, neglect of the rural areas, and so on, need to be redressed. But for this to happen will need a clear idea of our own sva, our own self, now clouded and obscured by the history of our enslavement and defeat. To emerge out of this cloud of unknowing into the clear self-knowledge that is the basis of right action will not be easy. But the effort is well worth the while because in it lies the way to not just our own future but, perhaps, the future of the human race itself. Because India can play her chosen destiny in world-transformation only by being herself, not by becoming a second order, second-rate copy of the dominant West.
Aurobindo, Sri and the Mother. A New Education for a New Consciousness. Pondicherry: 1992. Sri Aurobindo International Centre for Education, 1995.
Gandhi, M. K. Hind Swaraj. 1909. Ahmedabad: Navjivan, 1994.
Macaulay, T. B. “Minute on Indian Education.” Tradition, Modernity & Svaraj. 1.1 (1990): 99-107.
Rammohun Roy, Raja. “Address of 11th December 1823 to the Governor-General.” Tradition, Modernity & Svaraj. 1.1 (1990): 96-98.
Sanskrit Knowledge Systems Project. http://dsal.uchicago.edu/sanskrit/proposal.html
Utpaladeva. The Isvara-Pratyabhijna Vimarsini. With Commentary by Abhinavagupta. Edited by Mukanda Rama. 2 vols. Kashmir Series of Texts and Studies, nos. 22 and 33. Srinagar: Research Department, Jammu and Kashmir State, 1918 and