Manusmriti hasn’t worn the same hat through the ages. What began as one among many fluid Dharmashāstras in ancient India gradually sprouted layers of commentary and interpretation, each shaped by the priorities of its time.

During the early medieval period, scholars like Medhātithi and Kullūka refined its verses, treating them less as immutable commandments and more as guidelines for a stratified society. Fast forward to the 18th and 19th centuries, and the British Empire parachuted in with an Orientalist lens: Sir William Jones’s 1794 English translation elevated Manusmriti into the de facto “Hindu Code,” often simplifying or even twisting verses to fit colonial governance. That move locked it into a rigidity it never truly possessed.

The nationalist era witnessed yet another turn. Figures such as Gandhi and Tagore selectively mined Manusmriti—sometimes praising its moral ideals, at other times quietly sidelining passages that clashed with emerging ideas of equality. B.R. Ambedkar, meanwhile, wielded it as both a symbol of caste oppression and a rallying point for social reform, famously burning its pages in protest.

Post-independence India ushered in a constitutional framework that directly challenged Manusmriti’s hierarchy—abolishing untouchability, guaranteeing gender justice and affirmative action. Landmark judgments, from Sabarimala’s 2018 ruling on women’s temple entry to ongoing debates about a Uniform Civil Code, underscore how modern courts reinterpret—or outright reject—archaic prescriptions.

Today’s digital age amplifies voices once muted: Dalit activists, feminist scholars and grassroots organisers remix and repurpose Manusmriti’s legacy. Social media campaigns against caste-based violence or gender discrimination often invoke its verses as cautionary tales rather than blueprints. In this sense, Manusmriti has become a double-edged sword—a reminder of entrenched prejudices and a catalyst for spirited debates on justice, equality and the very meaning of Dharma in a rapidly changing world.