He was one of the last examples of a particular worldview which was ever interested in ideas, no matter how eccentric, and knew of curious ways to connect them to help understand the world in more lucid, more intelligent ways. This attribute is sometimes described as ‘renaissance’. But, in fact, in India this is a much older trait.
New Delhi: When famous people die, it is often said that there will not be another like them. But this is true for very few people. Like grains of sand, we are replaceable, and replaced, all too easily.
But some of us are not like that. Like ideas, we persist. Bibek Debroy was a noted economist, a famed policymaker, and a celebrated Sankritist, this much is well-known. Like the man he most resembled, the 19th century prolific translator Manmatha Nath Dutt, he was working through translating every major Hindu text from Sanskrit to English. It had been said that no one can finish translating both the Mahabharata and the Ramayana in one lifetime—but that was before Bibek Debroy took upon the task and finished it, along with many of the major puranas, and much else.
This, above and apart from being the chairperson of the Prime Minister’s Economic Advisory Council, his last governmental assignment. Before all of this, he had worked on railway reform, trade policy, and, a particular love of his, fountain pens.
It is easy to forget, or ignore, though, what all of this represented. What Bibek Debroy represented. He was one of the last examples of a particular worldview which was ever interested in ideas, no matter how eccentric, and knew of curious ways to connect them to help understand the world in more lucid, more intelligent ways. This attribute is sometimes described as “renaissance”. But, in fact, in India this is a much older trait.
Think, for instance, of Raja Harshavardhana (or Harsha, in short, as he is often called) of 7th century Kannauj, one of the great empire builders of Indian history, who was also an author of some renown with three popular plays of his time, Ratnavali, Nagananda and Priyadarsika, attributed to literary prowess. As interested as the good king was in statecraft, he somehow had enough time to devote to his literary interest. When not fighting wars to spread, and keep, his kingdom, the good king won over his subjects with words.
Another 7th century ruler, the Pallava king Mahendravarman I, who wrote the comedic play Mattavilasa Prahasana, or the prodigious Raja Bhoja, one of the most celebrated kings of India, whose 11th century empire was a central piece of the time, and is said to have written more than 80 books on topics as diverse as astronomy, and statecraft to architecture, and poetry.
What is common in these stories? It is an understanding intertwined in the life of these characters that existence is not monosyllabic. To live, and to govern, is a wholistic idea, where one aspect of life cannot be, truly, bifurcated, from another aspect of life. To fight to protect a kingdom is to also ask oneself, what exactly am I really fighting for? What do I mean when I say I wish to protect my kingdom, or my country? What is that kingdom or country made up of? What lies at its very heart? What is its core? What defines it?
Without answering what one really seeks to defend, to exult in a war of defence could turn frequently barbaric, and barbarism is the antithesis of much of Indian civilisation. No doubt war is always savage but that brutality is given meaning by the philosophies that one seeks to defend, for the lack of a better phrase, the way of life one is protecting.
This “way of life” is made up of many ingredients, and those who govern, or rule, must themselves understand, even philosophise, what it is that they defend, and explain this to the people in the name of whom they act out this defence. This much is fundamental. Without achieving this level of insight, all kingship is tyranny, and all governance, authoritarian.
This is why rajas had raj rishis—scholars, ascetics, and philosophers with whom they could interact, with whom they could refine their views, and with the help of whom they could themselves explore deeper and richer aspects of their own creative, and spiritual, nature.
This exploration was not confined to matters of the state, and could involve anything that fancied the ruler, as aspect of life that they wish to understand better, more intrinsically. The raj rishis had the wisdom, the depth and the breadth to embark on inner journeys with those who rule, helping them understand what life truly is, how poetry can engender valour in the face of impossible odds, and stimulate mercy upon achieving absolute surrender. To rule, or govern, is to understand how to live. It is only when one understands how to live better can one help one’s help live better—this virtuous cycle is the ultimate goal of Ram Rajya.
Bibek Debroy represented every aspect of this worldview. He was interested both in the minutiae and the grand design, both matters of the goods and services tax, and in the civilisational goal of Bharat. He was contemporary India’s raj rishi, wise about, it seemed, all things, all at once. How could anyone speak fluently about Chandipath and explain inter-state trade and its impact of India’s GDP (gross domestic product) at the same time? Bibek Debroy could, and Bibek Debroy did.
The man who was the Prime Minister’s Chief Economic Advisor was also a daily limerick writer on X, and if you asked, he could have given you a quick history of limericks, and a quick summary of the Harivamsa, without pausing for breath.
Like the man he was named after, Vivekananda (pronounced with a “b” sound in Bengali), Debroy was blessed with a photographic memory. He was impossible to refute because he remembered everything, paragraphs and pages, word by word, line by line, in at least four languages (English, Bengali, Sanskrit, and Hindi). I never argued with him on anything textual because it was impossible that he was getting it wrong. He just never did.
All of these skills, Debroy used to become the kind of advisor who inevitably becomes irreplaceable—he knew of everything, and spoke of nothing. And cared about the country beyond the narrow domain of politics. He was the advisor’s adviser, the writer’s writer, and the scholar’s scholar. As I once discovered while co-writing a paper on BRICS with him, Debroy would read every data point, every argument, and knew all the counter data, and counter arguments.
Bibek Debroy wrote in his last newspaper essay that perhaps when he was gone, he would be described as “irreplaceable”, and that is exactly what I have done. He did not seem to think such a description was accurate, for, as he suggested in the same essay, all things pass, all things go away, and no one, in fact, remembers. This is not true about Debroy. There will not be another raj rishi anytime soon in India.
* Hindol Sengupta is a historian and author. His last book, “Life, Death and the Ashtavakra Gita” was co-authored with Bibek Debroy.