Dirk Collier stumbled upon Akbar some time in 2002. He was researching a book on Goa when he realised that Akbar had invited three Jesuit priests to his capital, Agra, for religious discourse. As he dug deeper, Mr Collier grew fascinated with the Great Mughal. The result is The Emperor’s Writings: Memories of Akbar, The Great. To move from scratch to a 609-page tome in nine years clearly shows how Akbar captivated Mr Collier.
We in India are fed regular doses of Akbar’s greatness from childhood. Lazy boys are often reminded by parents that Akbar took command of India at just 13! Well-meaning books in schools tell us how Akbar tried hard all his life to bring together Muslims and Hindus. There have been at least two big-budget films on him, numerous small ones, scores of books and comics, and innumerable research papers. So, what new can Mr Collier offer?
Quite a lot, actually. In spite of the abundant literature on Akbar, little is known about the man — what made him anxious, what made him sad, where did he fail, what were his best moments, what were his passions. Akbar was not a uni-dimensional man, notwithstanding what the propagandists tell us. Though largely compassionate, he could be vindictive with his enemies and often asked his soldiers to make mounds from the heads of his defeated enemies. Akbar also had a dreadful fear of the written word, though he could recite couplets from the Koran ad nauseam.
Towards the end of his life, Akbar did learn how to write but he remained fearful of reading. Mr Collier has used this bit to tell Akbar’s story through his letters to his son, Shekhu (later Jahangir). Father and son were estranged — not out of Shekhu’s love for a lowly woman, as Mughal-e-Azam would have us believe, but because he found life difficult under an omnipotent father. And Mr Collier makes Akbar write furiously. Time was running out for him. Though he had innumerable wives, he had only three sons. Two had died and Shekhu, born of a Rajput mother, was Akbar’s last hope.
Does Akbar speak in the letters like Akbar would actually have spoken? To Mr Collier’s credit, he has got it right. He has depended heavily on Abul Fazal’s Ain-i-Akbari and Akbarnama. That could be one reason for that. Mr Collier is quite correct with the etiquette of the Mughal court and the flourish of Urdu. But he does slip up at times. For instance, it would be unreasonable to expect Akbar to call a detractor “bastard”. Instead, he would have called him haramzada. The two words don’t have different meanings but the latter is Indian usage. In another place, Akbar talks of manifest destiny — an expression that gained popularity in 18th century America. Apart from these glitches, and there aren’t too many of them, Mr Collier has the subtleties right.
Though much of his time was spent away from Agra on military campaigns, and he was an unbelievable fornicator, Akbar pondered for long over religion and its divisive powers. He was ready to learn religions other than his, and was often criticised that he was too lenient towards infidels. But he knew that nobody could rule over India for long by alienating the Hindus. He first abolished the pilgrimage tax on Hindus and then the much-hated jiziya. Hindus paid this protection money, he said, for not doing military service; since he had recruited them in large numbers in his army, there was, he argued, no need for them to pay this tax. His philosophy of sulh-i-kul (peace among all) was as much a political masterstroke as personal secular belief.
How the Rajputs were won over makes an interesting story. Akbar married the daughter of Raja Bihari Mal of Amer (Jaipur). At the time of the marriage, the girl’s family offered to convert to Islam. But Akbar turned down the offer. There is no evidence that his wife (her name is lost in history, says Mr Collier; it certainly wasn’t Jodha Bai as folklore would have us believe) had to convert to her husband’s religion later in life, though it transpires from Mr Collier’s book that she might not have been Akbar’s favourite wife. She, like most Rajasthanis, had a sound head for business and invested her money regularly in shipping ventures. Akbar’s gesture won over many Rajput princes, though several others had to be subdued by force.
Perhaps the best example of Akbar’s wish to bring the two communities, and cultures, together is the name of his new capital near Agra. He had initially called it Fatehabad (the city of victory), till one day he heard some Hindu craftsmen call it Fatehpur (also city of victory but with the Hindi twist). There and then he decided that the city would henceforth be called Fatehpur — a beautiful mix of Urdu and Hindi. Still, his experiment with a new religion, Din-i-llahi, flopped. There never were enough takers for it. Those who came in lost interest soon and opted out.
Racy at most places, dour at some, this is a book that will keep you engrossed.
THE EMPEROR’S WRITINGS: MEMORIES OF AKBAR, THE GREAT
Dirk Collier
Amaryllis
609 pages; Rs 695