The Last Mughal Transcript
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The Last Mughal Transcript Date: Monday, 7 July 2008 - 12:00AM THE LAST MUGHAL William Dalrymple I have just flown in from Delhi, which today is a city of about 15 million people, if you count the various suburbs on the edge that have sprung up over the last few years. In contrast, if had you visited Delhi 150 years ago this month, in July 1858, you would have found that this city, which was the cultural capital of North India for so many centuries, had been left completely deserted and empty. Not a single soul lived in the walled city of Delhi in July 1858. The reason for this was that in the previous year, 1857, Delhi became the centre of the largest anti-colonial revolt to take place anywhere in the world, against any European power, at any point in the 19th Century. That uprising is known in this country as 'the Indian Mutiny', is known in India as 'the First War of Independence'. Neither the Indian Mutiny nor the First War of Independence are particularly useful titles. What happened in Delhi was much more than a mutiny of soldiers, because it encompassed almost all the discontented classes of the Gangetic Plains, but was not quite a national war of independence either, as it had rather particular aims of restoring the Mughal Dynasty back to power. Whether we call it an 'uprising' or 'rising', by it the two institutions which had formed North Indian history for the previous 300 years came to an abrupt and complete halt. In human affairs, dates rarely regulate the ebb and flow or real lives. Historians impose them on history, but in most occasions, life continues despite the events that historians like to demarcate as boundaries. But 1857-8 is one of those rare moments that acts like a complete guillotine. Everything in North India that happened before then comes to an abrupt halt and everything changes direction. The first of those institutions which came to a close in 1857 was the East India Company. People talk about the British conquering India, but, far more sinisterly, it was not the British or British Government per se, but a multinational trading corporation based in Leadenhall Street, here in the City of London. The East India Company was a company: it existed to create profit for its shareholders. A helpful image might be to think Microsoft with armies, or McDonalds with territorial ambitions. It is the ultimate example of continent-scale corporate irresponsibility. The company, which was founded in 1599, the same year that Shakespeare wrote Hamlet, had existed in India for 250 years before the uprising, and a very different set of relations had governed the interface between the merchants from London and the Indians it traded with than was to be the case for the subsequent ninety years of the Raj. When the British think of themselves in India, they think of people waving Union Jacks, or possibly gunning down people in Jalianwalabag, but the Raj is, oddly enough, the kind of the bit of the iceberg above the water. It is only ninety years. The period of the East India Company, which lasted 250 years, is a far more ambiguous, interesting and uncharted bit of history. The other institution which came to a dead halt in 1857 was the Mughals. The Mughals are one of the few dynasties in the world to have become an adjective. You do not talk about a Hollywood Tudor, or a business Plantagenet, but you do talk about a Hollywood Mughal. The word has become synonymous in the English language with power, might and prestige. The Mughals arrived in India in 1560, only a short period before the British arrived with the Company. Babur came from what is now Uzbekistan, Fergana. By clever use of artillery, he defeated the Lodhi Dynasty, which was the last of a succession of Muslim dynasties that had been in North India since the 12th Century, and over a period of generations, they conquered almost all of Northern India, all of modern Pakistan, all of modern Bangladesh, most of modern Afghanistan, and a slither of Persia. For the British or the English of the time, what was remarkable about the Mughals, as the adjective implies, was their power and their might. The English arrived in India not as part of some sort of Elizabethan NGO bringing clean water, good wells or children's aid to India; they arrived as ragged Tudor outsiders and were regarded as barbarians by the Mughals, who were the rich, sophisticated magnates of the time. India was the richest country in the world. Today, we are beginning again, sixty years after the end of colonialism, to associate India with wealth, entrepreneurship and go-ahead policies, but this was very much the reason for the Elizabethan interest in India. It was the silks and textiles of Bengal, the spices of Kerala, and the unlimited quantities of gold which India had. It also had the only sources of diamonds in the world before the discovery of the New World mines. The Mughals brought all this to fruition, seen most significantly in buildings like the Taj Mahal or the Indian military tradition, but what, in a sense, to us today is most remarkable about the Mughals is the way that they defy almost all the media stereotypes of Islamic fanaticism and the association of Islam with words like 'terrorism' and so on. The Mughals, at a time when, here in the City of London, Jesuits were being hung, drawn and quartered for their faith; at a time when, in Spain and Portugal, the Inquisition was doing a version of water-boarding to anyone who did not subscribe to the doctrines of the Catholic Church; at a time when, in Rome, Giordano Bruno was being burnt at the stake in Campo de'Fiori; in Fatehpur Sikri, the Emperor Akbar, by far the most interesting and remarkable of the Mughals, was summoning to Fatehpur Sikri, Sunni, Shia, and Sufi Muslims, Hindus of Saivite and Vaishnavite persuasion, as well as Hindu atheists, Buddhists from the Himalayas, Zoroastrians and Jains from Gujarat, Jews from Cochin, Jesuits from Goa. All were called to the court so that they might sit together and form what is really the world's first multi-religious discussion group to discover where the different religions of the world could agree, where they differed, and what they might learn from each other. At the end of it, Akbar declared that, 'No man may be compelled in matters of religion,' there can be no compulsion in matters of religion, which is a quote from the Koran. He said that these matters of faith must be decided by reason. At the time, this was a revolutionary concept. There was no similar declaration in Europe for another 250 years, until the time of the Enlightenment. So before one believes the huge and ignorant generalisations of certain American scholars, or take in the kind of rubbish that one reads the right-wing press, and even the quality press, where you will often read people sounding off about Islam, fanaticism and clashes of civilisation, there is much from this period that defies all stereotypes. By the time that the man I am going to speak about tonight, Bahadur Shah Zafar, 'The last Mughal' as the title of my book points out, comes to the throne in 1832, 200 years have passed since the time of Akbar, and the Mughal dominions have contracted dramatically from the wide empires of Akbar to only the walls of Delhi. But the same Mughal traditions of tolerance, religious pluralism, and multi-ethnic and multi-religious court life continues. Ascending the Mughal throne in his mid-sixties, in the 1830s, when the treasury was empty, the Mughal Army had long vanished, the riches and piles of diamonds which attracted the merchants to the court of Akbar had long been dispersed and robbed, Zafar's extraordinary achievement is that, almost uniquely in history, he acted as catalyst for one of the great renaissances of Indian history in a time of extreme economic decline. In almost all places in the world where you have exciting moments when the whole pace and pulse of artistic life transforms itself into some form of renaissance, it almost always take place during times of economic growth, for very simple reasons: that you need to have money to patronise great buildings and most artistic renaissance. What is unique about Zafar, who was a mystic poet, a calligrapher, a poet and an amazing writer on philosophy and higher Sufi mysticism, is that rather than by power of patronage, he leads by example and produces one of the great moments of Indian literature, in Delhi. Zafar's court is the court of the poets Ghalib or Zauq, which is to Urdu poetry and to modern Indian poetry what names like Marlow and Shakespeare is to Elizabethan drama. It is the highest of names - Ghalib, in particular, is a world class genius. His poetry is dense and difficult, but to give you a picture both of Ghalib's own writing and the kind of mores of the court at the time, I would just read you one of his letters. This is very typical of Ghalib's prose. He is writing to a friend of his whose mistress has just died, and the man is in mourning for this woman, and Ghalib says: 'Cut it out! I don't like the way you are going on. In the days of my lusty youth, a man of perfect wisdom counselled me: Abstinence, I do not approve of; dissoluteness, I do not forbid.