India, Aug. 23 -- In The Hindi Heartland, Ghazala Wahab expounds on an area that comprises various states of north India even as she questions the very idea of it: "[The] diversity of the Hindi heartland militates against the region being clubbed together as a single entity. What holds it together is an artificial political construct driven by opportunism, which has impacted not just our contemporary politics, but our concept of the nation itself." She adds that Hindi, the language that gives the region its name, is its least-unifying factor. While many states across North India ostensibly speak the language, their mother tongues are diverse and might be incomprehensible to other Hindi speakers. For example, Garhwali would be as barely intelligible to most Mewari speakers as Punjabi would be to Maithili speakers. And yet the former two are regarded as dialects of Hindi, while the latter two are considered separate languages. Given the arbitrariness of these divisions, the Hindi heartland is a rather amorphous idea. Wahab, for instance, does not consider Haryana and Himachal Pradesh as part of the region, in her account. She adheres to a definition that marks the watershed between the Indus and Ganga rivers as its northwestern frontier. While such conceptions of the Hindi belt might not seem intuitive, given that many north Indian states have a shared history, geography and economic conditions, viewing them collectively can be a useful lens through which to explore their politics, society, and culture. Wahab's account is not merely descriptive. She profiles the region because of "the role that the historical experiences of the Hindi belt played in the evolution of the idea of India - a multi-religious, multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, and multi-lingual nation, which defies all notions of a traditional nation-state". Her goal is lofty: "It's a reminder of the fact that India was at its best when people lived and worked together for their collective well-being, irrespective of religion and ethnicity. It's a spark of hope." That spark is much-needed as majoritarianism becomes the triumphant political discourse, leaving the once-cherished ideals of diversity and coexistence in cinders. Many have argued that these were merely ideals rather than reflective of on-ground realities. Even if one were to accept this contention, the fact remains that they were once considered important enough to pay lip service to, but are not anymore. Wahab opens the book with an anecdote about the Kanwar pilgrimage that illustrates this change. Muslim artisans have long made the kanwars (decorated water pots on bamboo sticks) that Hindu pilgrims carry. Lately, there have been efforts to identify and boycott Muslim-owned businesses along the pilgrimage route. She then touches on the Hindi heartland's economy, society, languages and cultures. This yields interesting insights on a range of topics: Why is southern Bihar more prosperous than northern Bihar? Why have marginalised castes not been able to politically assert themselves in Madhya Pradesh as they have in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar? How have festivals in the region changed? For the most part, the book dwells on history, which is understandable given that most arguments for majoritarianism in India hark back to historical grievances, imagined or otherwise. The second section explores how the rule of the Delhi Sultanate, Mughals, Marathas and the British East India Company shaped the Hindi belt. The third section highlights how British colonial policies drove religious divides and impoverished the region. The fourth focuses on the independence struggle and how it shaped the idea of India, while increasingly conflating it with religion. Wahab cites the example of how even secular Hindu politicians freely resorted to religious references in nation-building - as Gandhi did by seeking to establish "Ram Rajya" - while Muslims doing so would have been anathema. This opened up a path for Hindu fundamental- ists to infiltrate Indian polity in the decades after independence, she argues in the last section. It is here that she recounts a statement by a political party volunteer in Varanasi: "Aurangzeb wouldn't have destroyed as many temples as these people have." The conversation unfolds against the backdrop of the Kashi Vishwanath Temple Corridor, built in 2021 by razing many ancient shrines. An oft-repeated claim regarding the Kashi Vishwanath temple is that the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb ordered its demolition in the 17th century. Few highlight that 100 years earlier, Akbar, an emperor of the same dynasty, had supported its construction. It is this reading of more than a thousand years of history and the present that Wahab breaks down in her book. While her endeavour is not completely novel, it meticulously builds on the work of historians and political commentators to contextualise recent events and debates. This makes it a compelling read speaking to the current zeitgeist, in which wishful thinking is often placed on the same footing as evidence-based claims. In this playground of fabrications are writers who assume a scholarly air but often have no training in history. They have succeeded in capturing the public imagination because, unlike the work of actual historians, their heady narratives are unencumbered by academic rigour. Wahab, as well as historians such as Meera Visvanathan, have challenged these pop histories. Wahab adopts a journalistic approach and the book draws as much from her travels, experiences and interviews, as it does from secondary sources. It references the work of scholars such as Shahid Amin and Christophe Jaffrelot. While one could perhaps question some of her characterisations or what she chooses to focus on, her account is wide-ranging and informative. The book's prognosis may be bleak, but Wahab's marshalling of facts and storytelling is still a heartening antidote to falsehoods and indoctrination....