Have you ever pondered the distinct features that define Indian deities? London’s British Museum recently explored this intriguing question through its exhibition, ‘Ancient India: Living Traditions’.
This almost five-month-long exhibition, backed by Reliance Industries and Reliance Foundation, concluded on October 19. It meticulously charted the evolution of idol craftsmanship within Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism over two millennia, offering visitors a grand tour through India’s rich religious art history. While the exhibition’s educational aims and efforts to illuminate the objects’ value were commendable steps towards transparency and cooperation, a striking irony persisted: this narrative unfolded not in India’s sacred cities like Varanasi, Amravati, or Nalanda, but in Britain—a nation whose colonial past includes the extensive removal of these very idols from their original contexts in India.
Considering the star-studded guest list at the museum’s lavish Pink Ball fundraising gala, co-chaired by businesswoman Isha Ambani and held to mark the exhibition’s closing, one can’t help but wonder if anyone present felt the stark incongruity. While curators and art critics discussed the ‘aesthetics of devotion,’ it’s widely acknowledged that many of these sacred artifacts likely arrived in Britain via the legally and morally questionable methods of the British Empire’s vast cultural plunder network.
Such exhibitions represent a complex blend of cultural scholarship and deep-seated cultural dispossession. They compel us to ponder the fate of spiritual icons transformed into perpetual exiles, uprooted from their sacred Indian homes to foreign cities where their very names are often unfamiliar or mispronounced. Regrettably, like many similar initiatives, this exhibition largely failed to ignite a meaningful conversation about restitution and the establishment of productive dialogue on this critical issue.
Devotion Versus Wealth and Display
An artifact on display at the ‘Ancient India: Living Traditions’ exhibition at the British Museum.
The numerous Indian idols found in Britain are no mere coincidence. Throughout and following colonial rule, countless artifacts made their way to the U.K., whether through outright looting, ‘gifts’ extracted under duress, or illicit smuggling. Many of these treasures were simply categorized as curiosities by colonial administrators, who viewed Indian art as mere anthropological data rather than vibrant expressions of living faith. By the late 19th century, it was as common to encounter Indian deities in London’s Bloomsbury district as it was in India’s sacred Bodh Gaya.
This London exhibition, complete with its academic catalogs and polished posters, effectively sanitized this history. It showcased idols primarily as aesthetic achievements. While the exhibition offered educational value, its very location undermined its stated authenticity. The idols were presented in an environment detached from the fervent adoration of devotees who once lovingly anointed them with sandalwood paste or adorned them with marigolds. The profound acts of worship, dedication, and spiritual labor were supplanted by mere acts of display, symbols of wealth, and privilege. This, then, is the true legacy of cultural plunder: not just physical removal, but a profound distortion of meaning and purpose.
Another perspective of the ‘Ancient India: Living Traditions’ exhibits at the British Museum in London.
From this perspective, the British Museum’s expansive corridors and the recent London exhibition bear no resemblance to a sacred shrine; instead, they evoke the spectacle of a cabinet of curiosities. These idols, once at the heart of vibrant religious rituals for countless devotees, are now merely objects of distant admiration. To observe a statue of Lord Vishnu encased in a sterile glass display, within an air-conditioned, humidity-controlled room with stark, monochrome walls, is to witness not continuity, but rather a profound rupture—a narrative tragically severed in its journey.
Monetizing the Sacred
The profound irony deepens when one realizes these idols aren’t merely being preserved; they’re actively being monetized. Visitors to London’s museum pay admission fees, buy exhibition catalogs, and even acquire souvenirs inspired by these very artifacts on their departure. Once sacred objects of communal devotion, these idols have been transformed into significant revenue streams for institutions located thousands of miles from their places of origin. While numerous Indian museums, particularly in remote areas, grapple with chronic underfunding and the government struggles to safeguard village shrines from theft, the British Museum consistently converts colonial acquisitions into both cultural prestige and substantial financial capital.
The ‘Gaja-Lakshmi’ idol, dating to approximately 1780, on display at the British Museum.
Herein lies the exhibition’s unintended revelation: it wasn’t just about the ‘evolution of idols,’ but fundamentally about the evolution of ownership. The repatriation of these artifacts would demonstrate a profound respect for culture, echoing the imaginative foresight shown by the judges of the Court of Appeals for England and Wales in the 1991 case of Bumper Development Corporation v Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis and Others. In that landmark decision, concerning the ownership of a stolen Nataraja idol, the judges famously ruled that the South Indian temple from which it was taken could be recognized as a legal entity in the U.K., allowing the idol, through its priest, to express its ‘yearning to go home.’
Lessons for India
A Ganesha statue, crafted from volcanic stone in Java between 1000-1200 CE, exhibited at the British Museum.
Undoubtedly, the ‘Ancient India: Living Traditions’ exhibition has been hailed as a cultural triumph. Yet, it also stands as a subtle but powerful indictment of a system that continues to profit from colonial acquisitions, displaying no remorse, and highlights the incomplete historical understanding prevalent among some Indians. To engage in discussions about the ‘evolution’ of these idols while simultaneously refusing their return to their rightful homes is an egregious act of selective memory.
For India, the crucial lesson extends beyond merely establishing a clear framework for demanding restitution. It’s about fostering genuine dialogue and comprehensive education. Idols are far more than just carvings of stone and bronze; they embody faith, history, and cultural identity. They deserve to be reunited with their original contexts, to reconnect with their authentic environments, and until then, to be presented with accurate and respectful explanations. Every exhibition of such artifacts abroad will inevitably carry the heavy and ever-present shadow of dispossession.
India’s continued participation in institutions like the Commonwealth, despite their often-redundant nature, should empower the nation to reconcile the ideal of a global family with the vital significance of cultural identity. Encouragingly, international organizations are showing signs that recognizing cultural dispossession should take precedence over mere display. In September 2025, UNESCO launched a virtual database of stolen objects. However, this database remains quite sparse, listing only three items submitted by India. For true effectiveness, it must align with UNESCO’s 1970 ‘Convention on the Means of Prohibiting and Preventing the Illicit Import, Export and Transfer of Ownership of Cultural Property’ and establish a truly comprehensive record of cultural objects plundered during the colonial era.
For the time being, while gods may traverse continents, true cultural sensibility, it seems, has been left far behind.
This article was penned by Sahibnoor Singh Sidhu, a Lecturer at Jindal Global Law School, and Lavanya Regunathan Fischer, a Lawyer at RFKN Advocates.