How Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb is being silenced in the New India

I do not worship what you worship,
Nor do you worship what I worship.
I will never worship what you worship,
Nor will you ever worship what I worship.
You have your way, and I have my way.

— Al Quran 109

A week or so back, I had the honour of addressing Karwaan Heritage, an organisation led by Eshan Sharma, a history student at Delhi University. However, when Eshan attempted to upload our conversation on YouTube on February 28, he encountered technical issues. Subsequent attempts to upload my interview on YouTube by Eshan made on February 29, March 1, and March 2, all met with failure. When asked for reasons, YouTube gave a few flimsy excuses. Eventually, the conversation found its way to the public on Facebook, which he uploaded on the site on the night of March 2.

Renowned personalities like Romila Thapar, Shashi Tharoor, and Shabana Azmi have spoken at Karwaan. But a conversation featuring someone like me, who is not too well-known beyond the boundaries of Tamil Nadu and Kerala, was implicitly barred. What was said in that discussion that could be perceived as a threat to society?

In the conversation, I highlighted the fact that India’s essence lies in its pluralism. In a Hindu temple, worshipers vary — from those who regard cows as revered, to those who slaughter and offer their meat, accompanied by arrack, to the gods. Hinduism is known for the worship of a multitude of gods, a fact that emphasizes the diversity within the religion.

Erosion of pluralistic character

Beyond religion, India’s distinctive strength lies in its cultural pluralism. A Punjabi and a Tamil who meet in a foreign soil might erase their linguistic and regional differences and meet on the common ground of English. In such a situation, a single language, a single culture, a single race, and a single nation prevail: that of our erstwhile colonial masters. But this artificial ‘common ground’ created by the centuries of colonial rule is in stark contrast to the multifaceted character that defines India.

India stands as a testament to diversity with its hundreds of languages, thousands of gods, and myriad races. This mosaic of pluralism sets India apart, embracing a multitude of identities and perspectives within its vast and varied landscape.

In recent times, Hindutva politics seems inclined towards eroding this pluralistic character and promoting a singular identity. This trend isn’t confined to those in government alone; Indian society as a whole is moving in this direction. A parallel can be drawn with Germany in the 1930s, where a similar shift occurred. History cautions us that the actions of a few can determine the destiny of a nation.

Instances of imposing a singular identity are becoming more and more prevalent. For example, in South India, Ram is often worshipped as one among a diverse array of gods and goddesses, in temples dedicated to Murugan, Vinayagar, Shiva, and Perumal. The cultural landscape, particularly in Tamil Nadu, is distinguished by its equal emphasis on Shaivism, and the slogan ‘Jai Shri Ram’ is not commonly heard in this region.

A shift in cultural expression

The inauguration of the Ram Temple at Ayodhya sparked fervour across Bengaluru. Countless households were illuminated with hundreds of lamps and light bulbs. Soon, some started equating one's devotion to Shiva with allegations of being unpatriotic, irreligious. There was even the risk of being perceived as pro-Islamic or pro-Pakistani. This shift raises questions about the evolving dynamics of religious identity and patriotism in contemporary discourse.

A friend flying from Bangalore to the Jaipur Literature Festival experienced a two-hour flight delay. When the flight finally took off, he was surprised to hear a significant number of passengers chanting ‘Jai Shri Ram’. This phenomenon, relatively new to South India, reflects a shift in cultural expression and suggests the expanding influence of certain religious and nationalistic sentiments in the region.

In Tamil Nadu, where no one knows Hindi, the traditional greeting ‘Vanakkam’ is commonly used when people meet. However, a corporate guru suggested that ‘Namaste’ be used instead and this has gained popularity. Even in Sri Lanka, my Sinhalese friends have adopted the greeting, attributing it to that guru’s influence.

The cult of tradition and rejection of modernism

This is what I call the emergence of a single identity at the cost of many. India is slowly being pushed into this definition of itself. Dissent risks being labelled as treasonous. While reflecting on this, I listed some correspondences in our current societal trends with those found in Umberto Eco’s fourteen characteristics of fascism. These signal the potential challenges to pluralism and democratic values in our country.

The belief that all has been revealed in our tradition has now become common. All progress in science is thought of as just incremental to what was already known to our Vedic ancestors. Some people now go to the extent of citing examples from the Mahabharata to assert that India had airplanes and televisions, thousands of years ago.

Several incidents, varying from men threatening women in pubs, for consuming alcohol, to the abuse and oppression faced by the writing community, are indicators of this disturbing trend. There is widespread encroachment on personal freedom and creative expression. Such actions not only infringe upon individual rights but also pose a threat to the diversity and inclusivity that are at the foundation of a democratic society.

The fear of difference

After the military overthrow of Salvador Allende’s democratically elected government in Chile, Augusto Pinochet swiftly sent the army to raid Pablo Neruda’s house. In response, Neruda questioned the rationale, stating, ‘Would a poet have a gun in his house? But you seem to be more afraid of poetry than of guns.’

This reflection underscores the power of words and the fear they can instil in oppressive regimes. In this context, my novel Conversations with Aurangzeb (HarperCollins) serves as an antidote. For 45 years, Aurangzeb was driven by this desire to unify: his mission in life was to erase India’s plurality. The result was four decades and more of constant war and destruction.

Aurangzeb in his final years regretted his decisions of the past. The hundreds of letters written to his sons and generals that he wrote at the age of 85 to 89 are crucial aspects of the narrative in my novel. In these letters, he explains how mistaken his firm belief in the necessity of replacing plurality with a single ‘truth’ was. It is these very comments that seem to have faced implicit censorship on YouTube.

In Delhi, they renamed Aurangazeb Road as Dr Abdul Kalam Road. Perhaps, YouTube would have been far more lenient in my case too, had Eshan changed the title of the video from ‘Conversations with Aurangzeb’ to ‘Conversations with Dr Kalam’.