The Parsis: The Remarkable Rise from Refugees to Founders of Modern India
- Edit Desk
- Apr 19
- 5 min read
Updated: Apr 21
In Udvada, a sacred fire has been burning continuously for over 1200 years at the Iranshah Atash Behram, often called the “Fire of Victory,” and is tended to five times a day by priests. This enduring flame symbolises a people who outlasted the empire that exiled them and built institutions that may well outlast their own decline.
By Sheeza Sharona Rai
There is something inherently remarkable about a community that, despite being just 0.006% of India’s population, became synonymous with industrialists, philanthropists, and nation-builders. The Parsis, or Zoroastrians, who fled Persia about 1200 years ago, present a fascinating example of how a small displaced community can shape a civilisation far larger than itself. This is a touching story of exile, adaptation, and the unique alchemy through which refugees became founders.
The story of how the Parsis came to be in India begins with a fall. The Sassanid Empire, the last great Zoroastrian civilisation, collapsed under Arab conquest in the seventh century CE. A civilisation that once stretched from Mesopotamia to Central Asia, with a faith that had been the state religion of powerful empires, was pushed into decline and the verge of extinction. Temples were desecrated, sacred fires extinguished, and people were encouraged to convert to Islam through a mix of taxation and social pressure.
Some Zoroastrians adopted the new faith, while others retreated to the mountains of Yazd and Kerman, where around 15,000 of their descendants still live today as a small, often troubled minority in Iran. A third group, the ancestors of today’s Parsis, chose a different and more uncertain path of exile.
Building New Roots
The migration unfolded over centuries, with the most significant arrivals on India’s western coast between the eighth and tenth centuries CE. According to the Qissa-i Sanjan, a sixteenth-century epic poem, Zoroastrian refugees arrived by sea at the port of Sanjan in Gujarat and sought asylum from the local Hindu king, Jadi Rana.
Wary of newcomers, the king is said to have presented the priests with a full bowl of milk, symbolising that his kingdom had no room for outsiders. The priests responded by gently dissolving sugar into the milk, sweetening it without causing it to overflow. This “sugar in milk” parable came to define the essence of Parsi identity and their pledge to enrich their new home without displacing the indigenous.
Whether historically precise or not, the story reflects a powerful metaphor for the Parsis’ relationship with India. A community of diverse origins and structure integrated into India without fully assimilating, remaining distinct while becoming indispensable.
The early Parsis were practical people. They adopted Gujarati as their language, altered their clothing and took up professions that did not compete with the existing castes. For several centuries, the Parsis lived as a modest agricultural and trading community in Gujarat, largely invisible to the broader currents of Indian history.
They tended their sacred fires, preserved their rituals, and prospered without drawing much attention. The community, however, broke this quiet mould with the arrival of another group of outsiders: the British. Bombay became the crucible of the Parsi rise. Parsis emerged as shipbuilders (the Wadia shipyards were among the finest in Asia), as well as cotton and opium traders, bankers, and brokers. Yet what truly distinguished them was not their wealth, but what they chose to do with it.
A New Dawn Blooms
Jamsetji Tata, a central figure in the story of India’s industrialisation, laid the foundation of the country’s largest industrial group and established several pioneering institutions. He envisioned a steel industry for India long before Tata Steel produced its first ingot in 1912 at Jamshedpur, marking the beginning of the nation’s industrial strength.
He also foresaw the potential of hydroelectric power in Mumbai when the technology was still in its infancy. His creation of the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel, reportedly after being denied entry to a Europeans-only establishment, came to symbolise Indian pride and excellence. His legacy extended further through his endowment of the Indian Institute of Science, which remains one of Asia’s leading research institutions.
Dadabhai Naoroji became the first Asian to be elected to the British Parliament. He articulated the “drain of wealth” theory, an economic critique of colonialism that went on to shape India’s independence movement. Pherozeshah Mehta was among the earliest patrons of the Indian National Congress and played a key role in shaping modern Mumbai. Families such as the Wadia family, Godrej family, Mistry family, and Petit family built hospitals, libraries, and factories. We can recognise these institutions across India to this day.
This altruism differed from conventional charity. The Zoroastrian principles of asha (righteousness) and hamkari (communal responsibility) fostered a culture in which accumulating wealth without giving back was seen as spiritually incomplete. The wealth the Parsis acquired was thus channelled into nation-building.
An Expatriate Community in the Storms of Change
India is home to about 60,000 Zoroastrians, which is roughly half of the global population. Iran, Iraq, and the United States each have around 15,000, while Canada has about 7,000. Dadar Parsi Colony alone is home to as many Zoroastrians as all of Iran. The iconic Britannia & Co. in Mumbai displays the Iranian, British, and Indian flags side by side, featuring a quiet tribute to the community’s layered and enduring heritage.
But the very factors that enabled this extraordinary success, such as being a closed community, high investment in education, late marriages, small families, and a concentration in urban professions, have also led to one of the sharpest demographic declines of any community in the world.
At the time of Independence in 1947, the Parsi population in India stood at around 114,000. Today, it has fallen to roughly 57,000 and continues to shrink. The ratio of deaths to births is nearly 2 to 1. With relatively high life expectancy and very low fertility rates, the community faces the real possibility of disappearing within the next century.
Conversion into the faith remains functionally impossible. The very principle that once protected its distinctiveness has now contributed disproportionately to its decline. Children of interfaith marriages are often not recognised as Parsi within the community, and their concentration in expensive urban centres further discourages larger families. There is, however, an ongoing internal debate. Some advocate for reform by accepting converts and recognising children of Parsi mothers, while others resist, fearing that such changes could dilute an already fragile identity.
On the other hand, the Iranian Zoroastrians face marginalisation by the Islamic theocracy. As the Strait of Hormuz, named after their god, becomes a battlefield. They cannot leave easily, cannot convert without abandoning their faith, and lack the open-handed acceptance that the Parsis found a millennium ago.
The Parsi Legacy Refuses to Perish
In Udvada, a sacred fire has been burning continuously for over 1200 years at the Iranshah Atash Behram, often called the “Fire of Victory,” and is tended to five times a day by priests. This enduring flame symbolises a people who outlasted the empire that exiled them and built institutions that may well outlast their own decline.
Yet, across the Persian Gulf, around 15,000 Iranian Zoroastrians continue to tend their own sacred fires amid uncertainty. Their ancient tradition now stands at risk, threatened not only by conflict and marginalisation but also by a slow and persistent demographic erosion.
The Parsis sweetened the milk of their adopted country. The question now is whether there will be anyone left to remember this remarkable story, and whether the world will offer sanctuary to the next generation of refugees before it is too late. The name Strait of Hormuz, etched into one of the world’s most vital waterways, ensures that even if the community fades, the memory of their faith’s once-dominant presence will not be entirely erased.
About the Author
Sheeza Sharona Rai is a student at St. Stephen's College, University of Delhi and is pursuing a B.Sc. (Hons.) in mathematics. With an emphasis on global power shifts, regional security, strategic affairs, international relations, trade routes, and energy security, she is interested in geopolitics, diplomacy, and geoeconomics.
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