The Cultures of History in Early Modern India, by Kumkum

That's French for "the ancient system," as in the ancient system of feudal privileges and the exercise of autocratic power over the peasants. The ancien regime never goes away, like vampires and dinosaur bones they are always hidden in the earth, exercising a mysterious influence. It is not paranoia to believe that the elites scheme against the common man. Inform yourself about their schemes here.

Re: The Cultures of History in Early Modern India, by Kumkum

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Part 1 of 2

4. Prose Narratives of Kings

Between ‘Old’ and ‘New’


This chapter focuses on a group of Bengali prose narratives which were composed during the first decade of the nineteenth century. These narratives represented accounts of past kings and their deeds—one of the most common topics in pre-modern historiography. Kings figured centrally in pre-modern historiographic narratives partly because of their prominence and power and partly because their actions affected the fates of the subject population. Kings represented the moral climates of the polities they ruled, the king's body being often perceived as an embodiment of the polity itself. Thus, accounts of kings served to commemorate the lives and actions of eminent individuals; at another level, they also encompassed the experiences of the community of subjects as well.1

This chapter traces the historiographic substance and style of this cluster of prose narratives. These texts hold a celebrity status on account of several factors: they are widely regarded as early examples of Bengali prose; they represent some of the earliest printed texts in the region and language; they are associated with the emergence of a modern literary culture in Bengal; and finally, they are associated with the compulsions of the early colonial state in the region. Since the historiographic status of these texts is intertwined with their status as early examples of a definitive Bengali prose, the present discussion foregrounds the exploration of their historiographical significance by tracing the genealogy and history of Bengali prose. Like many other societies, Bengal too had produced verse literature for many centuries in the most commonly used language of the region, that is, Bengali, prior to what is conventionally regarded as the definitive advent of a prose style in that language during the early nineteenth century. My aims are, first, to reflect on the significance attached by scholars to the transition of a literary culture from verse to prose, and to consider whether the issues raised by this discussion are applicable to the region and the literary/historical culture studied here. Secondly, this chapter discusses the history of prose-use in Bengal prior to the nineteenth century and the linguistic and literary influences which affected it. Thirdly, this chapter suggests that influences from the Persian language and literary culture functioned as a significant influence on Bengali prose, especially during the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. Finally, a cluster of prose narratives works in Bengali are discussed thoroughly to illustrate the features mentioned above.

The Transition from Verse to Prose

Scholars of various persuasions have reflected upon and discussed the significance of the transition from verse to prose in any given society. As the linguistic traditions of Greek, Latin, Arabic, English, Spanish, German and certainly many South Asian languages indicate, verse often preceded prose.2 As Bakhtin points out, prose represented more than just a genre; it indicated on the contrary, a form of thinking that presumed the importance of the everyday, the ordinary, and the prosaic. Literary theorists have also pointed out that the emergence of a new genre in effect reflected significant changes in social life.3 Scholars like Godzich and Kittay and Gabrielle Spiegel have made the case that the advent of prose as the language of literary expression was connected to shifts in the political and cultural order and to the attendant quest for new modes of expression, particularly historiographic expression.

While these reflections on the significance of the emergence of a prose genre as a mode of literary expression raise powerful intellectual issues, they do not quite help us in trying to understand the advent of a Bengali prose language or its significance for the composition of historical narratives. In Bengal, it was not the prose genre per se that was new, but rather its use in the regional vernacular. Secondly, it was not just any prose use in Bengali, but its use to produce expressive narratives.

History and Context of Prose-Use in Bengal

Several languages (that is, other than just for purposes of speaking) had circulated in Bengal at least since the later sixteenth and seventeenth centuries —particularly among the literate gentry and aristocracy. As seen in Chapter 1, Sanskrit, Persian, and Bengali, the principal linguistic and literary registers, were used for different purposes and performed different functions. This, however, was not a simple form of multilingualism since each language and its literary culture created ‘a hierarchy of discourses each of which represented a different set of values, behaviour and attitudes’.4 The need for prose—identified sometimes with material, practical uses, especially during its early phases—was met most often in Bengal by the use of the two main supra-regional languages in use at the time, that is, Sanskrit and Persian.

The reason for the non-development of a robust mode of Bengali prose prior to the nineteenth century is attributed to a number of factors, not all of which can be accepted unreservedly. These range from the view that many centuries of literary convention discouraged the use of Bengali for literary prose compositions, to the assertion that relatively low levels of literacy together with the largely oral character of pre-modern Bengali society impeded the development of a vigorous prose literature. Gholam Murshed also refers to the nature and culture of governance in Bengal prior to colonial rule and describes it as one in which the culture of writing was relatively limited when compared to the governmental culture ushered in by the rule of the English East India Company.5 Given the fairly intensive ‘documentary’ nature of Mughal governmental culture, it is hard to accept without more evidence that the regime of the nawabs of Murshidabad would deliberately subvert or reduce it. The remark regarding the overall importance of orality in Bengal prior to the advent of colonial rule and, with it, the culture of print, is of course valid at a general level. But we need to keep in mind that despite such all-pervasive orality, it was nevertheless a culture which had been accustomed for many centuries to strong traditions of writing. The issue therefore is not so much the absence of writing per se, or the absence of prose writing, but the fact that the language of choice for such writing was not Bengali. Here, the argument about the continuing power and legitimacy of the Bengali verse genre as well as the point about prose needs being met through the use of Persian and Sanskrit may be much more persuasive.

The most commonly held view is that Bengali prose made its appearance quite dramatically at the very beginning of the nineteenth century on account of the compulsions of the early colonial state in Bengal.6 In 1800, the East India Company's government in Bengal established the Fort William College for the purpose of providing newly-arrived officials of the company with a degree of familiarity and proficiency in the languages they were likely to encounter in the course of their administrative career in the company's dominions in India. This ‘Oxford of the East’7 was to provide instruction in Arabic, Persian, and Sanskrit, six Indian vernacular languages and several other subjects. The Bengali department of the college was placed under the charge of William Carey, one of the famous trio of Baptist missionaries associated with the Srirampur (Searampore) mission. Carey's perception that there was a total dearth of suitable Bengali prose books prompted him to commission three Bengali scholars—Ramram Basu, Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar, and Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya—to produce texts in Bengali which could be used as classroom material. This initiative led to the production of the first cluster of Bengali prose narratives. These were the Pratapaditya Charitra by Ramram Basu (1801), Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya's Maharaja Krishnachandra Royasya Charitram (1805), and Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar's Rajabali (1808).8 This development was a command-performance activated by the early colonial state rather than an organic development. Thus, what is more significant than the choice of Bengali for the composition of these works, is the style and contents of these works and also the models and influences from which they may have been derived.

By far the most pervasive truism about the Bengali language and literature is that it was descended from Sanskrit and therefore Sanskrit literature and literary style provided a template and a model for it. While this is undoubtedly true, this view was articulated through the first dictionaries and grammars of Bengali which made their appearance in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries thanks to the efforts of European scholar-officials and missionaries. Since Bengali does not appear to have been studied formally (through grammars and dictionaries) during the pre-nineteenth century period by the indigenous literati, we cannot speak of their views and assumptions about the linguistic and literary heritage of this language.9

A history of the career of Persian in Bengal and its association with the history of pre-Mughal and Muslim rule has been discussed at some length in Chapter 1. The following section traces the presence and influence of Persian in Bengal during the period of Mughal rule.

Persian and Bengali Prose: the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries

The view that the English East India Company was instrumental in making possible the definitive development of Bengali prose still enjoys a degree of currency. However, a large body of scholarship which was dedicated to finding samples of pre-nineteenth century Bengali prose has compelled a modification of this point of view.10 There is now a degree of acceptance of the premise that that there had occurred a considerable expansion of Bengali prose-use during the seventeenth century and a further acceleration of this trend in the eighteenth.

The use of Bengali prose for letter-writing and documentary purposes continued as before, but prose was being deployed, perhaps in a limited, but no less significant way, for religious texts composed by Vaishnavas and Sahajiyas.11 Bengal's administrative integration within the Mughal empire and the greater currency of the Persian language and literature in Bengal is regarded as a significant factor in this expansion of Bengali prose-use.12 According to Sukumar Sen, the use of Bengali for practical reasons had become indispensable since the seventeenth century and the number of people who possessed high degrees of Sanskrit literacy began to decline in comparison to earlier periods. This was compensated by growing literacy in Persian, the language in which much administrative business was now being conducted. The full development of Bengali prose was still far away, but the influence of Persian is believed to have created distinctive features at this incipient stage. Both Sukumar Sen and Haraprasad Shastri attest to the emergence of a Persianized prose style from this period. This type of expression coexisted with other styles of expression— such as Sanskritic or ‘panditi Bangla’ for example—but it was nevertheless identifiable as a distinct mode.13

These views are reinforced by the fact that there was a steady influx of Persian, Arabic, Turkish, and Hindusthani words into Bengali during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in particular. The expansion of Persian, Arabic, Turkish, and Hindusthani words in written expression—documentary (legal, judicial, official), epistolary, expressive narrative works as well as everyday speech—is generally acknowledged to have attained a remarkable level during this period.14 The endeavour of Suniti Kumar Chatterji to provide a chronological comparison of ‘the rate of admission of Persian words into Bengali’ over several centuries further confirms this (see table below). In the eighteenth century, even Persian-knowing Bengali pundits used Persianized expression in their letter-writing, petitions, and other writings. Murshed further asserts that there occurred the migration of a vocabulary of Persian/Arabic/Hindusthani origins into the everyday speech of educated Bengalis during the early nineteenth century.15

Table 4.1 Incidence of Persian Words in Bengali Texts: Fourteenth–Eighteenth Centuries

Title of Bengali Text / Date / Total Number of Lines / Approximate Number of Persian Words


Srikrishnakirtan of Badu Chandidas / late 14th century / 9,500 / 4

Padmapuran of Vijay Gupta / late 15th century / 18,000 / 125

Dharmamangal of Manikram Ganguly / mid 16th century / 17,000 / 225

Chandikavya (Chandimangal) of Mukunda Chakrabarty / later 16th century / 20,000 / 200–210

Annadamangal-kavya of Bharat-Chandra Roy / mid 18th century / 13,000 / over 400

Source: Suniti Kumar Chatterji, The Origin and Development of the Bengali Language, p. 204, footnote no.1


Suniti Kumar Chatterji, Sir J.N. Sarkar, and Sukumar Sen posit a direct relationship between the Mughal conquest of Bengal and the expanding currency of Persian and, in the case of Sen, their connection to the growing use of Bengali for prose compositions.16 In general, though, the influx of Persian and Hindusthani words into Bengali, when noticed at all by scholars of Bengali literature and language, tends to be treated almost as an incidental phenomenon and the full implications of it for the society and culture of the region are not adequately explored. The reason may well lie in the declaration of Suniti Kumar Chatterji that ‘the Persian influence on the Bengali language has been mainly lexical’.17 As Chatterji further elaborates, ‘the net result of the Persian influence has been the imposition, as a permanent addition to the vocabulary, of some 2,500 [Persian] words.……’.18 One of my main aims here is to prove that Persian, in early modern Bengal, was more than a ‘lexical influence’. Since I approach Persianization as an aspect primarily of Mughal political culture, my perspective includes but does not remain confined only to purely linguistic matters. The phenomenon I call ‘Persianization’ was transmitted to Bengal through the medium of the Persian language as well as the literary culture of Persian and both were mediated through the incoming governmental culture and style of the Mughal state. These were mirrored, among other things, in the style and the political and temporal perspectives found in Bengali narrative accounts with a historiographic content. The subsequent section discusses the authors of the three Bengali prose narratives that are the central focus of this chapter. It is followed by a discussion of the narratives themselves.

The Authors

The scholars who composed the cluster of Bengali prose narratives commissioned by the Fort William College had been formally recruited by William Carey to serve in the Bengali department of that institution. The involvement of these scholars with various facets of early colonial enterprise during the eighteenth century highlights the critical need of the English to depend on indigenous scholarly collaborators during this period. The large numbers of Indian scholars associated with Colin Mackenzie in Southern India, the Calcutta Orientalists, and the East India Company's governmental circles as well as with missionary projects in Bengal, provide well-known examples of such collaboration. The link between these ‘native informants’ and the colonial state have been the topic of much debate and controversy among contemporary scholars regarding the formation of colonial knowledge and the very nature— hegemonic versus dialogic—of colonial power and colonial institutions in eighteenth and early nineteenth century India.19 This debate is well-known; a recapitulation of it though lies beyond the scope of this book. However, it is necessary to be aware that the authors under discussion here also fitted into the overarching rubric of native informants who serviced various needs of the early colonial state.

Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya, the author of the Maharaja Krishnachandra Roysya Charitram, most probably had a family connection to the rajas of Nadia and chose as the main subject of his narrative, the life and achievements of Maharaja Krishnachandra Roy of that family. Rajiblochan was well-acquainted with Sanskrit literature and scholarship. He may also have had a long association with Carey, but it is difficult to be certain about it.20

Ramram Basu had a prolonged association with various English enterprises in Bengal generally, and with Carey and the Baptist missionary project more particularly. He was born into a Kayastha family, probably at Chinsurah near Calcutta, around the middle of the eighteenth century. Basu's family may have had connections with a wealthy landowner somewhere in the Twenty Four Parganas or the Sunderban region.21 The career track most common within Basu's family circle seems to have been as scribes, secretaries, and clerical employees in the bureaucracies maintained by landowning gentry and the nobility. In keeping with the practice among literate genteel families of this sort, Ramram Basu too received an education which involved proficiency in Sanskrit, Persian, and Bengali. Through his own efforts, he may have taught himself rudimentary English even prior to his contact with Carey.22

Basu's proficiency in multiple languages made him ideal as a tutor/translator/ interpreter for Englishmen associated with various types of endeavours in eighteenth century Bengal. Ramram Basu first served as Persian tutor to William Chambers, a judge in the East India Company's Supreme Court at Calcutta; subsequently he became the Bengali munshi of John Thomas, a surgeon aboard one of the Company's ships, and also deeply interested in translating the Bible for purposes of proselytizing in Bengal. In 1793 Basu secured the position of munshi to William Carey—beginning a relationship, which although not uninterrupted, lasted probably until the former's death in 1813.23

Basu served as language instructor and perhaps translator to Carey primarily for Bengali and also at times for Sanskrit. At the behest of the Fort William College, he authored two books, the first being the Raja Pratapaditya Charitra (1801) which is discussed below. The second book, entitled the Lipimala (1802) was designed to provide examples of colloquial dialogues in Bengali and its intended audience were the sahibs who needed to learn the regional language.24

Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar was probably the best-known among the Bengali pundits commissioned to produce classroom materials for the Fort William College. Born in Midnapur in 1762, he received a formal education which emphasized the Sanskritic and shastric. He may have left Midnapur sometime in the 1790s and come to Calcutta in search of a livelihood. In Calcutta, prior to his association with the company's college at Fort William he ran a tol from his residence at Baghbazar.25 The multifarious needs of the early colonial state for Sanskrit-proficient pundits drew Mrityunjoy into the ambit of the activities of the colonial state. Carey recruited him as the chief pundit of the Bengali department of Fort William College. He was also Carey's Sanskrit tutor, possibly the ghostwriter of some of Carey's Bengali publications and served upon occasion as Carey's assistant in the classroom. Mrityunjoy was also associated with the Company's judicial establishment. He became the chief pundit of the Company's Supreme Court at Calcutta in 1816. In 1817, as part of his professional duty, he produced a vyavastha (opinion) pointing out that the scriptural sanction for sati was in fact ambiguous. Mrityunjoy's other publications included the Batris Simhasan (1802) and the Rajabali (1808). The former was a collection of popular stories about king Vikramaditya in Bengali and it was used as a textbook at the Fort William College.26 The Rajabali is discussed below in greater detail. Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar's other publications included the Hitopadesha (1808) and the Prabodhchandrika (1819).27

The Raja Pratapaditya Charitra, Maharaja Krishnachandra Roysya Charitram, and the Rajabali

The Pratapaditya Charitra of Ramram Basu traced the rise to power of a family of chieftains (zamindars) in the Jessore region of Bengal during the interregnum between Afghan and Mughal rule and highlighted in particular the career and reign of Raja Pratapaditya. The narrative detailed the circumstances of Pratapaditya's rebellion against Mughal authority and its suppression by the latter. The theme of Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya's work recounted the circumstances through which the ancestors of Maharaja Krishnachnadra Roy of Nadia had acquired power and fame. While this theme provided a background, the prime focus of this text was on the reign of Maharaja Krishnachandra, whose life and reign coincided with the transfer of political power in Bengal from the nawabs of Murshidabad into the hands of the English company. The Rajabali of Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar also provided accounts of past kings and their reigns— but on a scale far wider than the framework adopted in either of these two charitras. The Rajabali was a true chronicle. The two other narratives discussed here focus mainly on single kingly personalities; accounts of the ancestors of these rajas served only to create a backdrop for the principal protagonists of these texts. In the Rajabali, by contrast, the main aim was to highlight the continuous succession of kings of various dynasties for thousands of years. In the manner typical of chronicles, the Rajabali of Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar ended with an account of the contemporary ruler of Bengal, but left open the narrative possibility of another chronicler picking up the thread of this narrative and continuing to provide accounts of subsequent kings. This chronicle foregrounded its account in the creation of the universe and the earth in Puranic terms and provided on account of the ‘waves’ (taranga) of kings who had reigned over the earth. The account then traced the reigns of successive Puranic and epic kings through the reigns of the Sena kings of Bengal, the Rajput Chauhan rulers of Delhi and then on to the reigns of the Turushka sultans who ruled from Delhi. Mrityunjoy's narrative gave considerable weight in particular to the reigns of the Mughal emperors, especially that of the emperor Akbar, as well as to the reigns of the Murshidabad nawabs. This encyclopaedic chronicle of kings terminated with an account of the takeover of power in Bengal by the English—developments which had occurred a few years before Mrityunjoy's birth in AD 1762.

Sanskritic/Puranic Influences

The authors of all three texts positioned themselves within the Sanskrit literary tradition by using forms such as the charita and the rajabali or Rajataranga. In substantive terms too, these narratives are characterized by idioms and allusions associated with long-established literary–historical Indic traditions such as the Puranic tradition, the high tradition of Sanskrit courtly literature as well as the assumptions and premises linked with them. For example, the Rajabali of Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar begins with the Puranic explanation of how the earth and the universe itself was created and then expands to provide a description of cosmology, geography, and the notion of time itself as well as its related units and divisions in Puranic terms. The varnashrama-based social order, for example, is an essential premise in the geographical and cosmological imagination which Mrityunjoy had obviously derived from the Puranic corpus.28 The successive kings described by Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar reigned over a region also located in terms of Puranic geography, that is, they were all kings of Madhyadesa, a component part of Bharatbarsha, which again was a part of the continent called Jambudvipa.29

The accomplishments and flaws of the kings described in the Rajabali are also grounded in the cultural and ideological assumptions underlying the Puranic corpus in all its manifestations and variations.30

The imprint of a Puranic/Sanskritic tradition in these three prose works is neither surprising nor unexpected and contemporary scholarship pays due attention to it.31 What remains unnoticed is the strong imprint of the IndoPersian tarikh tradition in all three of these prose narratives. The presence of this feature is uneven in the three texts under discussion here: it is strongly noticeable in the Pratapaditya Charitra. Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar's Rajabali embodies this feature quite markedly in the part of the narrative devoted to a discussion of the reigns of various Turkish and Afghan rulers as well as the Mughals over Delhi. Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya's Charitra of Maharaja Krishnachandra Roy probably tries the hardest to associate itself with a Sanskritic tradition; but this text too, in many ways, incorporates features reminiscent of the Indo-Persian tarikh tradition. The following section explores further the specific features which mark the resonance of the Indo-Islamic tarikh tradition in these prose narratives.

Persianate Influences

One of the most obvious and visible markers of the Indo-Persian literary tradition in these Bengali texts is comprised by the heavy use of Persian terms in them. The narratives composed by Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar and Ramram Basu in particular contain the profuse usage of Persian vocabulary—usually words associated with a political and administrative culture such as subahdar, takht, khelat, nazr, daftar, mulk, qanungo, bandobast, and many others. Ramram Basu's language, in particular, seems to indicate the struggle of a writer groping to find suitable words and terminology in a narrative form for which there was no pre-existing model he could follow. The model which seems to have provided him with some sort of a template was that of the Persian tarikh, not just merely in terms of using Persian vocabulary, but in terms of a more substantive vision and idiom for writing about the rise and fall of a territorial raja.

At their core, all three prose narratives discussed in this chapter give central importance to accounts of past kings and their accomplishments and failures. Underlying this preoccupation is the assumption that the institution of monarchy was indispensable for orderly social existence. Periods of chaos, disorder, and breakdown of the moral and ethical environment are described as arajak times, that is, times when there was no king.32 In the Pratapaditya Charitra, the region of Jessore is described initially as an ‘ownerless zamindari’ (be-waris zamindari) which was deserted, forested, and infested with wild animals. But through the efforts of Bikaramaditya and Basanta Roy, the father and uncle respectively of Raja Pratapaditya, this wilderness was converted into an orderly settlement surrounded by grain stores, markets, public squares, and gardens. Thus, it needed kings to create and preserve a settled society and to keep it orderly.33

In Ramram Basu's narrative, the story of the rise and fall of Raja Pratapaditya and his forefathers is squarely grounded within a political and administrative culture. For example, the dramatic rise to power of Pratapaditya's ancestors is charted solely through a series of administrative offices held by them. The ‘original’ ancestor mentioned by Basu was a certain Ramchandra who worked in the qanungo daftar at Sarkar Saptagram.34 Subsequently Ramchandra and his sons moved to Gauda and there the latter again acquired jobs in the qanungo daftar at the behest of Sulaiman Karrani, who was then ruler of Bengal. Shibananda, one of the sons of Ramchandra rose to become the head of the qanungo daftar.35 When, on Sulaiman's death, his son Daud Khan Karrani succeeded him to the throne, the latter elevated his friends (who were nephews of Shibananda) Bikramaditya to the office of ‘courtier-in-chief’ (sarvadhyaksha mukhya patra)36 and Basanta Roy to the office of diwan of a department of his government. Similarly, the biography of Krishnachandra Roy of Nadia by Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya also traces the lives and careers of the rajas of Nadia primarily in terms of their acquisition of higher and higher administrative offices. Thus Kashinath Roy, the ancestor of Bhabananda Majumdar, held a zamindari in the pargana of Haveli in Bengal—but he lost it through unfortunate circumstances. Kashinath's grandson Bhabananda secured an important position in the administration of the subahdar of Dhaka and acquired the title of RoyMajumdar.37 Bhabananda collaborated with Raja Man Singh in the task of suppressing Raja Pratapaditya of Jessore and was rewarded with zamindari rights over pargana Baguan.38

Biographies of royal or aristocratic personages, whether in the Sanskrit literary tradition or in various Bengali traditions do not usually trace an individual's career primarily through the lens of a political and administrative culture. The kulagranthas of royalty and the aristocracy, for instance, are also biographies. However, in these traditions, the protagonist's identity and position was made more meaningful in terms of his varna/jati antecedents and his/communal status and relationships, rather than purely in terms of career trajectories viewed through the perspective of a political/administrative culture. The text composed by Rajiblochan Mukhopadhayaya, for instance, drew considerably upon the Sanskrit genealogy of the rajas of Nadia, the Kshitishvamsavalicharitam. Here, unlike the 1801 biography composed by Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya, the antecedents of the Nadia rajas are located in the event celebrated by most kulajis of Bengali Brahmins, that is, the immigration of five ritually pure Brahmins from Kanyakubja to Bengal, and in the identification of Bhattanarayana, one of the ‘original’ Kanaujiya Brahmins, as the ancestor of the Nadia rajas. It is not until twenty-eight generations had passed since Bhattanarayan's settlement in Bengal that this genealogy began to mention the career trajectories of the Nadia rajas, beginning with Kashinath Roy.39 The Kshitishvamsavalicharitam did indeed refer to the material accession of this family—but it was intertwined with descriptions of their high ritual status and dedication to a varnashrama-based social order and virtues. The biography of Krishnachandra Roy by Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya also contained references to the Bramanical zeal and enthusiasm of these rajas—but the contrast lies in the degree of importance given to this element. Despite professions of Brahmanical enthusiasm, the rajas of Nadia, as depicted in Rajiblochan's biography, are primarily represented as being preoccupied with climbing up the ladder of political and material wealth and power; their status as Brahmins and self-professed leaders of Bengal's Rarhiya Brahmin samaja in the eighteenth century seems relatively less important, or at best, a supplement to the political and material clout of these magnates. The tarikh tradition by contrast typically charts biographies and careers of rulers, their nobles and principal officials almost entirely through the perspective of a political culture. Other aspects of their lives are either not mentioned or given little importance.

The imprint of the tarikh tradition on the Bengali prose narratives in question is further reinforced by the weight and emphasis placed on a complex tangle of political relationships—particularly in the two charitras of Raja Krishnachandra Roy and Raja Pratapaditya. Thus, these two biographies repeatedly brought to the forefront the issue of political relationships between overlords and subordinates and the pressing issue of political morality. These relationships, grounded in loyalty and trust, were not to be subverted or taken lightly. In Ramram Basu's narrative, Daud Khan Karrani sought to be defiant against the Mughals and came to grief; later, Raja Pratapaditya himself defied Mughal authority and came to grief; Raja Bikramaditya and Basanta Roy however, collaborated with the paramount sovereign authority of the Mughals and won the zamindari of Jessore.40 In Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya's text, too, Bhabananda Majumdar was awarded the zamindari of Baguan as a reward for helping the Mughal forces in their campaign against Raja Pratapaditya.41 Thus, Mughal authority and overlordship were implicitly and explicitly regarded as legitimate and a betrayal of the submission and loyalty due to them almost inevitably resulted in the destruction of the transgressor. In most of these cases the tension between submission to a political overlord vis-à-vis the impulse to defiance was manifest through the concrete example of non-payment of revenue. The examples of Daud Khan Karrani and Pratapaditya referred to above bear eloquent testimony to it. Land revenue records almost symbolize the ultimate victory over a region through the acquisition of the records of its resources. This is eloquently demonstrated in the incident when the Mughal generals sent to subdue Pratapaditya realize that their victory is meaningless unless they can find the revenue records of the region. These were ultimately handed over to them by Raja Bikramaditya and Basanta Roy.42 In the tarikh tradition too, issues of political fealty and submission are very frequently manifested through the payment of tribute; while the withholding of it signals a lack of political submission and loyalty.


The history of Mughal and nawabi rule in Bengal is replete with instances of ruptured political relationships between zamindars and rajas on the one hand and the Mughal subahdars and the nawabs of Murshidabad on the other. As mentioned in the preceding chapter, the Nadia zamindars in particular are known to have suffered humiliating reprisals at the hands of the Murshidabad nawabs on account of the failure of the former to meet the niabat's revenue demands.43 Interestingly enough, the 1801 biography of Maharaja Krishnachandra Roy by Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya erases the earlier record of revenue-related troubles vis-à-vis the Murshidabad government. Significantly, this Charitra was composed during a period when the zamindars of Nadia (and other Bengal zamindars) were once again severely hard-pressed by revenue problems arising from the revenue demands made upon them by the early colonial regime in Bengal. Thus, in an adroit and strategic move, the 1801 biography steered completely away from references to revenue-related sensitivities of the Nadia rajas vis-à-vis the nawabs of the past as well as the East India Company's regime at the present and instead sought to portray these zamindars as steadfast allies of the English and key collaborators of the latter in the Plassey conspiracy which had catapulted the Company onto the path of political power in Bengal.

Despite the sanctity attached to the need to accept and maintain the authority of the political overlord, these texts also made it clear that not all forms of political overlordship were legitimate. Mughal overlordship is implicitly regarded as legitimate by both Ramram Basu and Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya. Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar actually discusses the moral and ethical underpinnings of Mughal hegemony in terms of the principles which guided their governance and the examples they set by their personal conduct. Thus the emperor Akbar is depicted as the epitome of every possible kingly virtue—courageous, dignified, capable of appreciating merit and virtue in others, compassionate, the suppressor of evil people, anxious to cater to the needs of his subjects.44 Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar paid the highest encomium to Akbar when he wrote, ‘Since the reign of Sri Bikramaditya, there has been no other emperor in Hindustan who possessed as much virtue as Akbar Shah’.45 Other Mughal emperors—such as Jehangir, Shah Jehan, and even Aurangzeb—receive overall positive assessments from him.46 However, royal authority commanded respect and obedience only when it was associated with virtue. As Rajiblochan explains in his work, Nawab Ali Vardi Khan of Bengal was an extremely virtuous ruler who was known for his piety, generosity, and compassion,47 but the latter's successor Nawab Sirajuddaula seems to have been wantonly cruel, oppressive, and depraved. His misdeeds included the kidnapping of beautiful women, deliberate overturning of passenger-laden boats, and ripping open the abdomens of pregnant women, etc.48 Interestingly enough, Persian tarikhs produced in late eighteenth century Bengal also portray a similar image of Nawab Sirajuddaula. While sketching out the mounting tensions between the English Company and Nawab Sirajuddaula, the Maharaja Krishnachandra Roysya Charitram depicted the former as much more committed to the practice of ‘dharma’. Here, the English are shown to be willing to risk a war with the ruler of a country rather than compromise their ethical principles. The principle in question revolved around whether it was moral to betray someone who had sought protection and the English are depicted as steadfast in their determination that it was contrary to ‘dharma’ to abandon someone who had sought out their protection.49

Thus, the three narratives are for the most part powerful and secular narratives of political ambition, power, and calculation, and these are firmly linked to a specific Mughal political and administrative culture. The explicit and implicit political and territorial imagination at play in these texts accepts as a premise the overarching hegemony of the Mughals as the paramount and sovereign authority. The territorial unit of discussion is variously referred to as the Madhyadesha of Bharatbarsha and as Hindustan. Bengal, the region that receives most attention in these narratives is regarded as a component part of Madhyadesha, Hindustan, and the Mughal empire. There are indeed references to divine providence in these texts and to the power of supernatural forces in shaping earthly developments. But, these are outweighed in the texts by a clearsighted discussion and analysis of motivations which were in the final analysis impelled by purely temporal considerations. Such considerations prompted the characters depicted in these works to behave in certain ways or, to arrive at certain decisions. In Ramram Basu's biography, for example, the various characters, Daud Khan Karrani, Bikramaditya, Basanta Roy, and Pratapditya are shown weighing various options, making different calculations and then engaging in specific actions. These worldly calculations and decisions were critically important because, as the narratives of Mukhopadhyaya and Basu show, they could cause total devastation or lead to an ascension in one's worldly fortunes.

The cultural environment glimpsed through these narratives reveals a world in which Sanskritic-Brahmanical cultural norms and ideals are certainly espoused by the royal and aristocratic personalities described in them. As Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar explains repeatedly, even the Mughal emperors were either by temperament or, as a matter of tactful policy, inclined to respect the cultural sensitivities of their Hindu subjects. In Mrityunjoy's view, Aurangzeb too was not totally exempt from such behaviour.50 However, a Persianized courtly culture associated with the political culture of the imperial Mughals was also portrayed as a critically important element in the careers of regional chieftains and their families. Careers of potential rajas, zamindars, and gentry were moulded through the kind of education expected of such people, that is, horseback riding, martial skills, competence at record-keeping, accounting, and the management of revenues, as well as proficiency in Sanskrit, Arabic, and Persian.

Proficiency in Persian, in particular, was seen as an indispensable element of courtly and elite culture.51 It enabled Bhabananda Majumdar of the Nadia Raj family to secure his first important bureaucratic appointment and paved the way for the ascension of the entire lineage's fortunes in the long run.52 Raja Pratapaditya turned rebel against his Mughal overlords; but he did not rebel against Mughal courtly culture.53 Again, the same text shows how a Persian education could bring the son of a fugitive chieftain from a distant province closer to princes of the Mughal royal family, through the concrete example of the sons of Raja Basanta Roy who fled to Delhi when Pratapaditya expelled them from the kingdom of Jessore.54
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Re: The Cultures of History in Early Modern India, by Kumkum

Postby admin » Mon Mar 13, 2023 4:31 am

Part 2 of 2

Methodological Strategies

An extremely significant feature noticeable in these texts is that the authors were often aware of multiple competing and divergent accounts of the same event or development which had occurred in the past. Basu for instance referred to the existence of various accounts regarding the fate of Raja Pratapaditya after he had been defeated by the Mughal forces. This feature is especially strong in Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar's Rajabali. What is striking in these texts is the effort made by the authors to choose among diverse and sometimes conflicting and competing versions about events that had occurred in the past. As narrators of those events, both Bidyalankar and Basu tried to offer what appeared to them on careful consideration and analysis to be the most correct and credible account. Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar, for instance, stated that different accounts provided different dates of the duration of emperor Humayun's second reign. Some accounts said that Humayun's second reign lasted for ten years; other accounts averred that it lasted for ten months.55 In this case, Bidyalankar said that he gave due consideration to both accounts, but opted for the latter one because it corresponded with his own calculation that Humayun's second reign could only have lasted for ten months.56 This search for accuracy in reporting facts and the conscious awareness of the need to carefully weigh different kinds of evidence before arriving at a conclusion which was accurate—these methodologies were often regarded by ‘modern’ historians in the twentieth century as defining characteristics of the modern and scientific practice of history. Here, very significantly, a ‘traditional’ Brahmin pundit such as Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar as well as Ramram Basu, a Kayastha from a literate gentry background, were using the same practices to ensure the accuracy of the facts that they reported. Furthermore, these intellectuals made it clear that they did not find all previous accounts equally credible or acceptable. As noted above, the earlier portion of the Rajabali followed the Puranic and epic record to provide accounts of ancient kings who had ruled over the Madhyadesha of Bharatvarsha. Yet, there were instances when Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar (p.140) quite clearly disbelieved the Puranic authorities. Mrityunjoy stated that according to the Puranas the mass of matter which comprised the earth was supported by an entity described as ananta (infinity); his own belief was that the earth was not supported by anything in particular, but rested in space (shunya). He cited the Puranic view— but showed his clear skepticism of it by stating briefly, ‘this is merely a description’ (se kebal barnana matra).57 This can only be seen as a piece of devastating skepticism towards Puranic ‘truth’ by a scholar who is usually regarded as a somewhat conservative and traditional Brahmin pundit who was well-versed in the shastras.

This awareness of the existence of multiple versions of the same events which had occurred in the past, translated into a tendency to present multiple perspectives about specific events. Ramram Basu, for instance, showed why, in the calculations of Raja Bikramaditya and Basanta Roy, the young Prapataditya was becoming a threat to his own family. They therefore decided to send the prince to the imperial court in Delhi in order to remove him from their own vicinity. Pratapaditya, by contrast, was hurt and offended by this action and his train of thought, as traced by Basu, led to the conclusion that his uncle Basanta Roy probably wanted to deprive him of the chance to inherit his family's estate and thus had conspired to send him away to Delhi.58 Thus, seen from Pratapditya's perspective, he had a justification for usurping the kingdom from his father and uncle. In the Krishnachandra Roysya Charitram, the author also presented a sophisticated exploration of the perspectives held by the English company, nawab Sirajuddaula, and Krishnachandra in the tense period of time leading up to the pre-Plassey conspiracy and the battle itself. In Mukhopadhyaya's depiction, the nawab felt that he had a right to demand that the English pay more customs duties on account of their expanding trade and to demand that they surrender Krishnaballabh who was a fugitive from the nawab's justice. The English eventually conceded that the nawab might be right on some points, but it was contrary to dharma or morality to abandon someone who had sought protection from them. They would rather go to war with Siraj therefore, than give in to the latter's demands. Krishnachandra felt that it was necessary to oppose a ruler such as Siraj whose own monstrous actions were making it impossible for the subjects to live in a moral environment.59 The mid-eighteenth century verse narrative, the Maharashtapurana discussed in Chapter 3 also contains an explanation embodying multiple perspectives for the beginning of the Bargi raids into Bengal. However, the presentation of (p.141) such multiple perspectives was to say the least, an extremely unusual feature in eighteenth century historiographical materials.

In terms of narrative strategy, Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya's Charitra performed an extremely significant manoeuvre in the way in which it depicted the relationship between Maharaja Krishnachandra and the English in Bengal. As an employee of the college at Fort William and a relative of the rajas of Nadia, this particular pundit may have had an interest in portraying the East India Company's regime as the embodiment of ethical, dharmic government, in representing the relationship between the Nadia rajas and the English as one of closeness and cordiality and most important of all, in trying to show that the hero of his narrative had been instrumental in enabling the undisputed sovereignty of the English in Bengal.

The events leading up to the conflict between Nawab Sirajuddaula (1756–7) and the English have been discussed at length by eighteenth century authors60 as well as by contemporary historians.61 Neither group of authors nor the voluminous records of the English East India Company for that period, mention Maharaja Krishnachandra as a key player, or even a participant in the prePlassey conspiracy which paved the way for English political ascendancy in Bengal. Yet, in Rajiblochan's text, Krishnachandra is depicted as the principal mediator between the English company on the one hand and the indigenous conspirators on the other. Krishnachandra's motive, according to this narrative, was to support the English because they appeared to be the upholders and adherents of Brahmanical shastric values, while Nawab Sirajuddaula was a cruel, oppressive ruler. The English are described as ‘resembling Brihaspati in intelligence, Kubera in wealth and adherence to dharma and Arjuna in bravery’.62 Even more significantly, in this Charitra, Krishnachandra's displeasure against Sirajuddaula is clearly linked to the fact that the latter was a yavana (Muslim) ruler. As seen above, Rajiblochan had praised Nawab Ali Vardi Khan as a good and just ruler. But in his elaboration of the considerations that impelled Krishnachandra to turn against the reigning nawab, there is unmistakable indication that the problems of Sirajuddaula's brutal and oppressive reign were being linked to the fact that he was a Muslim king. Thus, the need to remove Sirajuddaula from power was made synonymous with the need to end yavana rule over the region. As a strategy to foreshadow the eventual accession of the English company to the government of Bengal, Rajiblochan's hero Krishnachandra is portrayed as concluding that the only way to rescue the region from the tyranny of Muslim rule was to inaugurate as rulers, (p.142) a group of persons, whose ‘home was in bilaat [that is, vilayet, here denoting England], who were English in jati and who have a kothi in Calcutta’.63

As noted in Chapters 1 and 3, the rajas of Nadia often had strained and cool relations with the nawabs of Murshidabad, primarily on account of the inability of the former to meet their revenue obligations. But despite this, neither the Kshitishvamsavalicharitam of the early eighteenth century nor the Annadamangal of the mid-eighteenth century had articulated any general sentiment of anatgonism or distrust towards the Murshidabad nawabs because the latter were Muslims. Rajiblochan's Charitra may have echoed a strain of antinawab feeling which occasionally became fused with anti-Muslim feeling in late eighteenth century Bengal.64 But, it is more likely that the strategy of Rajiblochan in comparing the East India Company's regime in Bengal to a Ramrajya and in representing Maharaja Krishnachandra as an eager and willing participant in the anti-Siraj plot was due to the fact that the English were currently the rulers of Bengal and it was judicious to portray them as upholders of ethical values. Here, the past, in the form of Maharaja Krishnachandra's career, was utilized to justify and rationalize the political dominance of the English over Bengal.

The Raja Pratapaditya Charitra, Maharaja Krishnachandra Roysya Charitram, and the Rajabali: between the ‘Old’ and the ‘New’

The Pratapaditya Charitra in particular has been hailed as ‘an exercise in modern, rationalist historiography’ by Ranajit Guha and one which mirrored the ‘western model of historiography’.65 The historiographic modernity of this narrative is seen to lie in its ‘insistence on continuity and completeness’.66 Yet, as I have pointed out earlier, narrative continuity was one of the features of the chronicle tradition in particular. The next chapter which deals with Persian tarikhs points out that these texts were also characterized by a concern to maintain a narrative continuity as they provided chronological accounts of kings. The remark on ‘completeness’ refers to the fact that the Pratapaditya Charitra achieved what Hayden White calls narrative closure.67 This account centralized the life and career of Pratapaditya and ended with the political destruction and physical death of this raja, the hero of the text. It is true that chronicle literature, such as the Rajabali of Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar or the kulagranthas discussed in Chapter 1 were indeed (p.143) ‘open-ended’. But typically, the charitra/biography genre in which the narratives of both Ramram Basu and Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya can be located, were marked by the presence in them of ‘completeness’ in the sense that the thread of the narrative conclusively ended with the termination of the life, prosperity, and accomplishments of the principal protagonist. It thus seems difficult to identify these two features as harbingers of a historiographic modernity to Ramram Basu's narrative. Since Guha's discussion does not indicate what specifically was meant by the reference to the ‘western model of historical writing’ it is difficult to engage substantively with this comment. But if the rational, factual character of Ramram Basu's work—albeit its occasional digressions into the realm of the fantastic—is being referred to as a ‘new’ historiographic feature in pre-modern Indian/Bengali historiography, then this too is hard to accommodate into the historiographic climate of early modern India generally as well as Bengal. As the previous chapters of this book, as well as the work of Rao-ShulmanSubrahmanyam, Sumit Guha and others have established, pre-modern Indian historiography cannot be characterized as lacking in factuality. Its presence, as we have noted, was often accompanied by the coexistence of elements of the fantastic and the miraculous. The degree to which factual elements were emphasized vis-à-vis the fabulous depended on the form and genre of the specific narrative in question. As a discussion of Ramram Basu's career above indicates, his close association with a number of Englishmen, particularly with William Carey, could perhaps have provided him with a degree of familiarity with ‘western models of history writing’. But there is little evidence of it either in the Pratapaditya Charitra or in the few other original compositions of Ramram Basu.68

The historiographic ‘newness’ or otherwise of the three prose narratives which are the main focus of this chapter can be further elaborated upon by discussing the feature of intertextuality in them. By intertextuality, I refer to the creation of a deliberate and self-conscious intellectual context through references to preexisting narratives. As the discussion above has shown, Sanskritic/Puranic literary influences constitute the most visible influence in Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya's biography of Maharaja Krishnachandra Roy. This author did not mention it, but his brief discussion of Krishnachandra Roy's ancestors was very likely based on the Sanskrit Kshitishvamsavalicharitam.

This genealogy was both a typical kulagrantha of an eminent Brahman family; simultaneously it also contained features reminiscent of the political/ administrative culture of tarikh literature to the (p.144) extent that it gave a fair amount of weight to discussing the upward climb of Krishnachandra Roy's ancestors along the ladder of Mughal administrative offices. However, the similarity of this feature was unacknowledged by Mukhopadhyaya; and its presence in this Charitra is implicit and far from obvious. It needs to be pointed out that Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya was also strongly averse to acknowledging the existence and influence upon his work of a vigorous Bengali vernacular tradition. This tradition was embodied by the extremely popular Annadamangalakavya composed by Bharatchandra Roy merely half a century or so ago, under the patronage of the very same raja who served as the hero of his text. In his Charitra of 1802, Rajiblochan referred to the Bidya-Sundar story; he also alluded to the episode regarding the arrival of the goddess Annada to the residence of the rajas of Nadia, in a boat ferried by a boatman named Ishvari Patni. Both episodes figure importantly in the Annadamangala; both accounts were also well-known in contemporary Bengal. Yet Rajiblochan remained silent about Bharatchandra Roy's kavya. He attributed the Bidya-Sundar story to the Sanskrit work entitled the Chaurapanchashika.69 Rajiblochan Mukhopadhayaya, a Brahmin pundit proficient in the Sanskrit shastras was clearly uninterested in stepping out of the Sanskritic literary tradition.

In contrast to Mukhopadhyaya, both Ramram Basu and Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar explicitly acknowledged their indebtedness to narratives from the Sanskrit and Persian literary traditions as well as to a variety of popular traditions—oral traditions as well as written ones—as a large pool of authorities on which they based their own accounts. Of these two authors, Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar's Rajabali stands out particularly as the specimen of a narrative in which multiple literary cultures were not merely present, but in which the author actually makes explicit references to them.

As referred to above, Bidyalankar used the Puranic corpus, epics such as the Mahabharata (he collectively described both as puranetihasa)70 as well as narratives from the classical Sanskrit literary tradition to reconstruct his own account of successive kings who ruled prior to the conquests of the yavanas. From the latter category, he made specific mention of the Vikramacharitra and the Batris Simhasana associated with Bhojaraja.71 The explicit reference to and use of the Puranic and Sanskrit literary texts by Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar created a common ground of sorts between him and Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya. However, what distinguished the former from the latter was his (p.145) willingness to draw upon as many literary and intellectual traditions as possible without reservations.

Both Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar and Ramram Basu disclosed their dependence on the Persian tarikh tradition for the construction of the accounts they presented in their texts. Basu very explicitly positioned his work in the context of several pre-existing Persian works which he claimed had been composed about Raja Pratapaditya (samprati e deshe Pratapaditya name ek raja hoia chilen tahar bibaran kinchit parsya bhashae granthita ache)72—but unfortunately does not give us the names of these texts or other details regarding them. Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar referred to a large corpus of Indo-Islamic narratives which he clearly appeared to have used to construct his account of Turkish, Afghan, and Mughal rulers who ruled from Delhi.73 But his most expansive references to a Persian tarikh tradition occurred in relation to the Mughal emperors, especially Akbar.74 He also referred to various intellectuals associated with the court of Akbar. A group which he described as ‘maulanas’ included eminent persons like Faizi and Abul Fazl;75 the second group consisting of ‘pundits’ included persons of the stature of Mammatha Bhatta.76 Bidyalankar also revealed his familiarity with the fact that during Akbar's reign and particularly at his initiative, a large project involving the translation into Persian of many Sanskrit shastras had been launched.77 Bidyalankar reported that Akbar's personal interest in Sanskrit scholarship led him to send Faizi in disguise to Benares for the express purpose of finding out more about Sanskrit learning. Thus, in Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar's perspective, the Persian literary and intellectual tradition formed one among several other literary traditions prevalent in India during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and he moreover signalled his clear understanding of the interaction between the Persian and Sanskrit traditions at the encouragement of the Mughal emperors.

Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar's Rajabali was also generically descended from an ancient and medieval tradition of royal chronicles most commonly known as Rajatarangini or Rajtaranga and Rajabali. By far the best-known among works of this genre was Kalhana's celebrated chronicle of the kings of Kashmir composed in the twelfth century. Kalhana drew upon a pre-existing regional tradition to offer this connected account of monarchs.78 Following Kalhana, a cluster of at least three more works, with similar titles, was composed by successive authors who collectively carried the narrative of Kashmir's kings down till Akbar's conquest of the region in 1586.79 As noted earlier in the (p.146) Introduction, it is conventional for pre-modern historiographic narratives in Sanskrit or in South Asian vernaculars to be treated separately as ‘Hindu’ historical writing, while Persian narratives are treated in isolation from the former as specimens of ‘Islamic’ historiography. Yet, as Stein points out, the Persian tarikhs of Kashmir can, to some extent, be regarded as a continuation of the endeavours of Kalhana and his pundit successors. An appropriate example of this is comprised by the tarikh of Haidar Malik Cadura completed in 1617 during the twelfth year of Jehangir's reign.80

A similar tradition of royal chronicles had existed and circulated in Bengal for several centuries prior to the narrative of kings composed by Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar at the order of the East India Company in 1808. A Sanskrit chronicle of kings, known as the Rajabali or the Rajtaranga, currently in the possession of the Dhaka University Library (hereafter referred to as the Dhaka Rajabali)81 pushes back the currency of a Rajabali tradition in Bengal to possibly the sixteenth century and maybe earlier.82 Both the Dhaka Rajabali and the Fort William College Rajabali mentioned Puranic kings; both chronicles listed the kings of Bengal, beginning with King Adisura (of kulagrantha fame, discussed in Chapter 2) and his descendants, the Sena kings who are represented as kings of both Bengal and Delhi and the Rajput Chauhan kings of Delhi, particularly, Prithu Rai. The Dhaka Rajabali, although a complete work in itself, was a much shorter and abridged version of the 1808 chronicle. Among other things, the accounts of Muslim kings had been significantly condensed in the former. The Dhaka Rajabali ended with the conquest of Bengal by the yavana who is called ‘Qutubuddi’. R.C. Majumdar was of the opinion that the Dhaka Rajabali may have been a condensed version of a longer Sanskrit Rajabali which may have functioned as its parent text.83 Majumdar did not provide any evidence to support this speculation, but it is not unlikely that other versions, even older versions of the Rajabali, may well have circulated in Bengal, even if we do not pin our hopes on a definitive parent-text of this narrative. Indeed, the surmise regarding a generic tradition (with overall similarities, but with differences in detail) of Rajabalis in Bengal is reinforced by the reference to yet another Sanskrit Rajabali by Umesh Chandra Gupta in the first volume of his work entitled the Jati Tattva Baridhi. The Rajabali mentioned by Gupta was practically identical to the Dhaka Rajabali and was known in the Muktagacha region of Eastern Bengal around the later part of the nineteenth century. It is significant that the manuscript of the Dhaka Rajabali had also been discovered (p.147) in Muktagacha.84 We have noted above how an old, Indian/Kashmiri chronicle tradition about kings could blend with Persian tarikhs which were also typically structured around reigns of kings. In the case of Bengal, we have a somewhat similar phenomenon in the fact that the account of Bengal's kings contained in Abul Fazl's Ain-i-Akbari are similar to accounts of the same in both the Dhaka/ Muktagacha and the Fort William College Rajabalis.

Popular literary traditions were also acknowledged to be important repositories of information about past kings and their accomplishments in the views of both Ramram Basu and Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar. Basu referred to a strong tradition of anecdotes and reminiscences about Raja Pratapaditya which he had utilized to compose his Charitra. In his case these anecdotes and stories had been handed down from generation to generation among Bangaja Kayastha families in Bengal.85 These anecdotes and stories may well have been connected to the kulagrantha tradition which, as seen in Chapter 1, tended to be simultaneously oral as well as textual. Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar acknowledged his indebtedness to the work of Chand Bardai, whom he called ‘Chandra bhat’ for an account of Prithviraj Chauhan and other Rajput kings.86 For popular stories regarding Akbar, he referred to well-known poets and storytellers such as Raja Birbal and Ganga who were associated with that monarch's court.87 Mrityunjoy also mentioned what appeared to be a mass of anecdotes about Akbar which emphasized the latter's religiosity and association with Hinduism. One such story recounted how Akbar had been a Hindu Brahmachari in a previous life and Raja Birbal had been his faithful disciple.88 Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar quite clearly considered these stories and anecdotes about the emperor to be very much a part of the living culture of his time. He also acknowledged that Akbar's governmental and administrative innovations continued to constitute the political legacy of his own time.89 Ramram Basu and Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar, both pioneer prose writers, however, made it clear that oral testimony and stories were to be relied upon only when they came from authoritative and reliable sources.

The prose narratives of kings explored in this chapter are therefore remarkable in terms of the multiple literary, cultural, and historiographical traditions whose influences they embodied. Most importantly they showcase, albeit unevenly, the imprint of a Persianate literary and historiographic culture. The imprint of the Puranic/Sanskritic tradition is not unexpected. The identifiable presence of features derived from a Persianate tradition which were (p.148) simultaneously present in these texts is much more remarkable. This is because the presence— or even the possibility—of Persianate elements in narratives, whose structure and nomenclature (Rajabali/charitra) connected them to ancient Sanskritic genres, is usually neither recognized nor acknowledged. Thus, the Fort William College prose texts authored by the three Bengali scholars recruited by William Carey have most typically been characterized as Puranic texts.90 Yet, the fascinating layering of multiple literary and historiographic traditions in them better qualifies them to be seen as hybrid narratives which mirrored the polyglot cultural environment of seventeenth and eighteenth century South Asia at a general level and Bengal at a more particular level.91 The element of cultural hybridity, for instance, is beautifully illustrated in the 1808 Rajabali in the manner in which Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar referred to dates and chronological eras in his magisterial chronicle of kings. He simultaneously used chronology and calendrical systems which included the Puranic and various Indic systems (for example, the Sakabda, the Vikrama era, the Bengal san, and others) as well as the Islamic era or Hijra and the Christian era.92

The tendency of not recognizing the Persianate elements in the three texts studied here derives from the conventional proclivity to characterize the cultural and intellectual worlds of the Hindu and Muslim literati and scholars as separate and unconnected domains. Ramram Basu was a Persian-proficient munshi. The imprint of Persianate—actually tarikh-like features—in the Pratapaditya Charitra is thus not surprising. But this feature too has gone largely unnoticed in a text which is otherwise extremely well known. The heavy use of Persian vocabulary— harkening back to the ‘lexical influence’ posited by Suniti Kumar Chatterji—was noticed by scholars such as Ramgati Nyayaratna and Sushil Kumar De and it was condemned severely by them. According to De, Ramram Basu's prose style was, ‘one of the worst specimens of Bengali prose writing even for that period’.93

The Persianate strand in Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar's work is especially worthy of comment because the general assumption has been that a pundit schooled in the Sanskrit shastras was bound to be unfamiliar with it.94 The exercise in attempting to track a genealogy of the Rajabali tradition in Bengal since the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries confirms that an intermingling of Puranic/ Sanskritic and Persianate traditions in such generic chronicles of kings had been in operation long before Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar's time. This was a phenomenon which (p.149) Sanskrit-proficient Brahmin pundits were well aware of. Thus, when commissioned to produce a text book for the young sahib students of the Fort William College, Mrityunjoy wrote ‘an account that was in circulation among the Brahmin literati and their landowning patrons’95 for at least a couple of centuries before his time. Even if all Bengali scholars and intellectuals were not equally open or receptive to it, the examples of Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar and Ramram Basu in this chapter and the cases of Bharatchandra Roy and Gangaram in the previous one, indicate its presence in a variety of literary and historiographic works produced in early modern Bengal.

_______________

Notes:

(1.) The prose texts discussed in this chapter, that is, Ramram Basu, Raja Pratapaditya Charitra, Searampore, 1801; Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya, Maharaja Krishnachandra Roysya Charitram, Searampore, 1805; and Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar, Rajabali, Searampore, 1808, illustrate the importance of the king as a symbol of his kingdom and his subject community. Cynthia Talbot, Pre-Colonial India in Practice: Society, Region and Identity in Medieval Andhra, New Delhi, 2001, pp. 124–215, has an excellent discussion on the significance of kings in historical memories of communities.

(2.) Wlad Godzich and Jeffrey Kittay, The Emergence of Prose: An Essay in Prosaics, Minneapolis, 1987.

(3.) Gary Saul Morson and Caryl Emerson, in Mikhail Bakhtin: Creation of a Prosaics, Stanford, 1990, pp. 281–2.

(4.) Gabrielle M. Spiegel, Romancing the Past: The Rise of Vernacular Prose Historiography in Thirteenth Century France, Berkeley, 1993, p. 66.

(5.) Sisir Kumar Das, Gadya O Padyer Dvandva, Calcutta, 1989, p. 21; Gholam Murshed, Kalantare Bangla Gadya: Oupanibeshik Amale Gadyer Rupantar, 1399 BS, Calcutta.

(6.) There is a large literature on the development of Bengali prose. Some of the best known among these are: Dinesh Chandra Sen, Bengali Prose Style, Calcutta, 1921; Sukumar Sen, Bangla Sahitye Gadya, Calcutta, 1949 (rpt); Sajanikanta Das, Bangla Gadya Sahityer Itihasa, Calcutta, 1962; Sushil Kumar De, Bengali Literature in the Nineteenth Century, Calcutta, 1962; Sisir Kumar Das, Early Bengali Prose: Carey to Vidyasagar, Calcutta, 1966; Sisir Kumar Das, Sahibs and Munshis: An Account of the College at Fort William, New Delhi, 1978.

(7.) David Kopf, British Orientalism and the Bengal Renaissance: The Dynamics of Indian Modernization, 1773–1835, Berkeley, 1969, p. 45.

(8.) See note 1, this chapter.

(9.) Sisir Kumar Das, ‘Bengali Linguistic Historiography’ in D.P. Chattopadhyaya (ed.), History and Society: Essays in Honour of Professor Nihar Ranjan Ray, Calcutta, 1978, pp. 373–89.

(10.) Shibratan Mitra, Types of Early Bengali Prose, Calcutta, 1922; Suniti Kumar Chatterji and P. Sen, Manoel da Assumpcan's Bengali Grammar, Calcutta, 1933; Panchanan Mandal, Punthi Parichay, Calcutta, 1951–63; Anisuzzaman (ed.), Factory Correspondence and Other Bengali Documents in the India Office Library and Records, London, 1981; Murshed, Kalantare Bangla Gadya, pp. 13– 21.

(11.) Murshed, Kalantare Bangla Gadya, p. 25.

(12.) Suniti Kumar Chatterji, Origin and Development of the Bengali Language, 2002 (rpt), New Delhi, pp. 202–6; Sukumar Sen, Bangla Sahityer Itihas, vol. 1, pp. 81–2, vol. 2, p. 2.

(13.) Haraprasad Shastri, Haraprasad Rachanabali, Suniti Kumar Chattopadhyaya, (ed.), 2 vols, Calcutta, 1956, this reference: vol. 1, p. 199.

(14.) Murshed, Kalantare Bangla Gadya, pp. 29–30.

(15.) Ibid., p. 117.

(16.) S. Chatterji, Origin and Development of the Bengali Language, pp. 202–6; S. Sen, Bangla Sahityer Itihas, vol. 1, pp. 81–2, vol. 2, p. 2; Sir Jadunath Sarkar (ed.), History of Bengal: Muslim Period, 1200–1757, p. 224.

(17.) S. Chatterji, Origin and Development of the Bengali Language, pp. 201–2.

(18.) Ibid., p. 206.

(19.) The literature on this topic is voluminous; some representative examples include Bernard Cohn, ‘The Census, Social Structure and Objectification in South Asia’, in Bernard Cohn, An Anthropologist among the Historians and Other Essays, New Delhi, 1978, pp. 224–54; Ronald Inden, Imagining India, Oxford, 1990; Lata Mani, Contentious Traditions: The Debate on Sati in Colonial India, Berkeley, 1998; Eugene Irschick, Dialogue and History: Constructing South India, 1795–1895, Berkeley, 1994; C.A. Bayly, Empire and Information: Intelligence Gathering and Social Communication in India, 1780–1870, Cambridge; Thomas R. Trautmann, Aryans and British India, Berkeley, 1997; Phillip Wagoner, ‘Pre-Colonial Intellectuals and the Formation of Colonial Knowledge’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. 45, no. 4, 2003, pp. 783–814.

(20.) Brojendranath Bandyopadhyaya, Fort William Colleger Pandit, 1366 BS, Calcutta, pp. 28–34.

(21.) Sunil Kumar Chattopadhyaya, Munshi Ramram Basu, Calcutta, 1983, pp. 1– 2.

(22.) Ibid., pp. 2–3.

(23.) Ibid.

(24.) Ramram Basu, Lipimala, Searampore, 1802.

(25.) Shamita Sinha, Pandits in a Changing Environment, p. 92.

(26.) Sinha, Pandits, p. 92.

(27.) Ibid., p. 93.

(28.) Rajabali, pp. 3–4.

(29.) Ibid., p. 10.

(30.) Krishnachandra Charitram, pp. 312–13, 319.

(31.) For for example, Partha Chatterjee, The Nation and its Fragments, pp. 76– 94; Ranajit Guha, History at the Limit of World History, New York, 2002; Manu Goswami, Producing India: From Colonial Economy to National Space, New Delhi, 2004, pp. 155–7.

(32.) Pratapaditya Charitra, pp. 17–18.

(33.) Ibid.

(34.) Ibid., p. 4.

(35.) Ibid., p. 9.

(36.) Ibid., p. 12.

(37.) Krishnachandra Charitra, pp. 308–10.

(38.) Ibid., p. 314.

(39.) See Kshitishvamsavalicharitam, W. Pertsch (ed. and tr.), in Mohit Roy (ed.), Kshitishvamshavalicharit, pp. 197–235.

(40.) Pratapaditya Charitra, pp. 14–43, 129–56.

(41.) Krishnachandra Charitra, pp. 309–10.

(42.) Pratapaditya Charitra, pp. 32–41.

(43.) For example, Pertsch, Kshitish, p. 15.

(44.) Rajabali, pp. 194–5.

(45.) Ibid., pp. 194–5.

(46.) Ibid., pp. 198–214.

(47.) Krishnachandra Charitra, p. 322.

(48.) Ibid., pp. 322–3.

(49.) Ibid., pp. 335–6.

(50.) Rajabali, pp. 214–21.

(51.) Pratapaditya Charitra, p. 50.

(52.) Pertsch, Kshitish, p. 9.

(53.) Pratapaditya Charitra, pp. 60–3.

(54.) Ibid., p. 141.

(55.) Rajabali, p. 190.

(56.) Ibid., p. 190.

(57.) Ibid., p. 4.

(58.) Pratapaditya Charitra, pp. 50–9.

(59.) Krisihnachandra Charitra, pp. 329–38.

(60.) For instance, by many of the Persian chroniclers whose work is discussed in the following chapter as well as by authors like Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar, in his Rajabali.

(61.) Examples would include Sir Jadunath Sarkar (ed.), History of Bengal; Brijen K. Gupta, Sirajuddaula and the East India Company, Leiden, 1962; C.A. Bayly, Indian Society and the Making of the British Empire, Cambridge, 1988, pp. 48– 55; Chatterjee, Merchants, Politics and Society in Early Modern India: Bihar, pp. 101–12; Sushil Chaudhury, ‘Sirajuddaulah, the English Company and the British Conquest of Bengal—a Reappraisal’, Indian Historical Review, vol. 13, no. 2, July 1986–January 1987, pp. 111–34.

(62.) Krishnachandra Charitra, p. 330.

(63.) Ibid., p. 330.

(64.) This point needs much greater investigation. However, the turbulence experienced in mid-eighteenth century Bengal, for example, the Bargi raids, the ever-intensifying financial demands of the nawab's government for the purpose of resisting the Bargis, and many other factors may have combined to produce a strand of anti-nawab/anti-Muslim rule sentiment among certain segments of Bengal's population. Brijen Gupta, Sirajuddaulah and the East India Company, pp. 40–1, refers to such sentiments voiced by English factors. However, Rajat Kanta Ray, Palashir Sharayantra O se Kaler Samaj, Calcutta, 1994, points out that there was no self-consciously Hindu hostility to Muslim rule.

(65.) R. Guha, History at the Limits of World History, pp. 10–11.

(66.) Ibid., p. 11.

(67.) Hayden White, The Content of the Form: Narrative Discourse and Historical Representation, Baltimore, 1990, pp. 1–25.

(68.) See Ramram Basu's Lipimala, also his composition in praise of Christ, see, Chattopadhyaya, Munshi Ramram Basu, p. 11.

(69.) Krishnachandra Charitra, p. 311.

(70.) Rajabali, pp. 28–9.

(71.) Rajabali, p. 70. Mrityunjoy had also translated these stories into Bengali for use as a textbook at the Fort William College, see pp. 25–70.

(72.) Pratapaditya Charitra, pp. 3–4. Ranajit Guha is of the view that Ramram Basu sought to distance his work from the Persian chronicle tradition (R. Guha, History at the Limits of World History, p. 11). In my reading, Basu referred to the fact that there were pre-existing Persian accounts about Pratapaditya; Basu also mentioned the fact that these accounts were not comprehensive. However, I do not interpret this to understand that Ramram Basu was trying to distance himself from the Persian chronicle tradition. Ramram Basu's formal education which included Persian, the tradition of Persian proficiency in his family, his employment as Persian tutor to W. Chambers, the heavy overlay of Persian words in his biography of Pratapaditya plus the presence of features in it that are reminiscent of tarikh literature—collectively, these points make it difficult to think that he would be trying to separate himself from the Persianate chronicle tradition.

(73.) Rajabali, p. 113.

(74.) Ibid., p. 195.

(75.) Ibid., p. 195.

(76.) Ibid., p. 190.

(77.) Ibid., p. 191.

(78.) Kalhana's Rajatarangini, M.A. Stein (ed. and tr.), 2 vols, with an Introduction, commentary and appendices by M.A. Stein, Delhi, 1979, vol. 1, p. 4.

(79.) Kalhana's Rajatarangini, vol. 2, p. 373; see also, Kings of Kashmira, Jogesh Chandra Datta (tr.), Delhi, 1990, vol. 1, pp. i–iii.

(80.) Rajatarangini, vol. 2, p. 374. See also Ahmad Aziz, Studies in Islamic Culture in the Indian Environment, Oxford, 1964, pp. 222–34, for a discussion of the interaction between the Sanskrit and Persianate literary traditions.

(81.) ‘Rajabali’, Dhaka University Library manuscript, Accession no.: K577A.

(82.) R.C. Majumdar, ‘Samskrita Rajabali Grantha’, Sahitya Parishat Patrika, vol. 46, no. 4, 1346 BS, pp. 233–9; this reference is to p. 236.

(83.) Majumdar, ‘Samskrita Rajabali Grantha’, p. 238.

(84.) Ibid., p. 239.

(85.) Pratapaditya Charitra, p. 4.

(86.) Rajabali, p. 96.

(87.) Ibid., pp. 193–4.

(88.) Ibid., pp. 195–6.

(89.) Ibid., pp. 192–3.

(90.) For example, Guha, An Indian Historiography of India, pp. 32–3; Chatterjee, The Nation and its Fragments, pp. 77–85; Manu Goswami, Producing India, pp. 154–64.

(91.) Sanjay Subrahmanyam, ‘Recovering Babel: Polyglot Histories from the Eighteenth Century Tamil Country’, in Daud Ali (ed.), Invoking the Past: The Uses of History in South Asia, New Delhi, 1999, pp. 280–321; and Sumit Guha, ‘Transitions and Translations: Regional Power and Vernacular Identity in the Dakhan, 1500–1800’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, vol. 24, no. 2, 2004, pp. 23–31, illustrate the diversity of literary cultures in South Asia and the interactions among them during the early modern period.

(92.) Rajabali, pp. 3, 7, 10–16.

(93.) De, Bengali Literature in the Nineteenth Century, p. 154.

(94.) This is how Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar's formal scholarly training has been characterized in Mrityunjoy Granthabali, Brojendranath Bandyopadhyaya (ed.), Calcutta, 1939, pp. iii–iv. This characterization has been uncritically accepted by David Kopf, British Orientalism and the Bengal Renaissance, Berkeley, 1969, p. 124; Shamita Sinha, Pundits in a Changing Environment, Calcutta, 1993, p. 92; and S.K. Chattopadhyaya, Munshi Ramram Basu.

(95.) Chatterjee, The Nation and its Fragments, pp. 77–8.
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Re: The Cultures of History in Early Modern India, by Kumkum

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Part 1 of 2

5. Saving the Mughal Legacy

The Tarikhs of the Nawabi World


This chapter veers away from a discussion of narratives composed in Bengali to highlight a cluster of Persian texts which were composed in Bengal during the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. The Persian works discussed here belong to the tarikh tradition associated in the South Asian subcontinent with Indo-Islamic political power and its related culture. The intellectual and historical antecedents of the tarikh tradition, as well as its characteristic features, have already been discussed in Chapter 1. This chapter explores the substance and content of these narratives and the social, cultural, and political background of their composers. The historiographic function performed by these texts is also discussed here.

The Bengal Tarikhs and their Social Context

The texts studied here were composed by the nobility and officials of the Mughal successor state of Bengal with its capital at Murshidabad. This was very much in line with the tradition of Indo-Islamic historiography, which was characterized by the production of narrative histories and political commentaries by government officials who were well-informed about governmental institutions and their workings. The antecedents of the nawabi bureaucracy who authored the eighteenth century tarikhs can be traced to the establishment of Mughal rule in eastern India in the late sixteenth century, and more recently to the development of a Mughal successor state in the region at the turn of the eighteenth century. Despite the effective political break from the parent Mughal (p.156) system, as far as actual administrative subordination was concerned, the nawabs of this new realm, and the ruling class that developed here, quite deliberately preserved the political culture and social norms associated with the former. The nawabs used the distribution of jagirs to mansabdars in eastern India as a means to create a ruling class with territorial roots whose loyalty could be counted upon.1

Under the mansabdari hierarchy there existed a variety of administrative positions staffed by people who have been described by John F. Richards as the ‘technicians’ of the state—that is, a skilled professional corps of lower and midlevel officials who served in diverse capacities as revenue officials, news writers, subordinate military commanders, and managers of princely or aristocratic households, and the like. Even below this pool of ‘technical’ officials were a number of humbler but no less important administrative positions like that of the qanungo, the keeper of revenue accounts at the pargana level, and others.2 These were people without whose careful record-keeping and handling of the daily administration, no government could function.

Mughal rule had brought in its train to Bengal a considerable number of people from northern India. Most of them were associated with Mughal provincial administration in the region. Regional professional and scribal families also played predominant roles in these middle and lower-level administrative posts. Many of them had a history of service under Muslim rulers long predating the Mughal conquest. The skills, which had rendered their service invaluable in the eyes of the Bengal sultans, now served them well as far as Mughal administration and subsequently the Murshidabad niabat were concerned. Literate, gentry families in Bengal—particularly the Bengali Baidyas, Kayasthas, and also Brahmans—thus played extremely important roles in manning middle and lower-level bureaucratic offices. The existence of these social and professional groups has been referred to earlier in Chapters 1, 2, and 3.

The highest bureaucrats—those holding mansabdari ranks—constituted the most important segment of the social aristocracy both in the Mughal empire and in the breakaway nawabi state of Bengal. They played leading roles in court rituals and ceremonies, enjoyed close personal interaction with the rulers, and were expected to adhere to the aristocratic or courtly culture of the times. Lowerranking mansabdars were usually not regarded as being in the same category professionally as the highest ones. But they, together with other mid-level officials, (p.157) often comprised an influential group of people who possessed strong connections with eminent nobles, holding the highest mansabdari ranks, and with powerful personalities within ruling circles. They also shared the same courtly culture that characterized the elite, and formed part of the lesser nobility or the outer rim of the aristocratic circle, a status that derived originally from their familial and social connections. Many of the authors of the Persian histories discussed here fit very well into this category.3 There were also many highlyplaced Hindu families which possessed generations of association with the Mughal and nawabi governments and enjoyed close proximity to the ruler and the most powerful nobles. A good example is provided by the family of Maharaja Kalyan Singh Ashiq, author of the Khulasat-ut-Tawarikh (1812).4 The close association enjoyed by these personalities with rulers and ruling circles through professional connections was reinforced often by close, familial connections. Women of powerful households also played critical roles in maintaining and fostering familial ties which ultimately existed in close tandem with professional linkages.5 As will be seen subsequently, these kinds of professional, social, and familial ties with circles of political power enabled these personalities to compose their works and, in fact, shaped the content and methodologies of these tarikhs. There also developed as a subset of Mughal elite culture, a specific bureaucratic culture which was shared by imperial officials as well as officials in Mughal successor states such as Bengal and Bihar. This bureaucratic culture can be traced back to those mansabdars who came from mansabdari lineages (being the sons and grandsons of former mansabdars) and were called khanazads. John F. Richards describes the prevailing culture among the upper reaches of the Mughal bureaucracy, or ‘the proper behaviour and attitude of the Mughal nobles or amirs’, as ‘khanazadgi’, which he, in turn, defines as ‘devoted, familial hereditary service to the emperor’. Significantly enough, by the later seventeenth century, this culture of khanazadgi had filtered down to the middlelevel non-mansabdari officer corps of the empire as well to become an important element in creating what must be described as a bureaucratic esprit de corps. The writings of Mirza Nathan and Bhimsen Burhanpuri, two Mughal officials, eloquently exemplify this cult of devotion. Even more significant is the fact that other professional groups—such as artists, for example—appropriated this term and its ethos and described themselves as servants of the empire.6 This tradition of committed service ran parallel to and had links with the cult of devotion to the (p.158) physical person of the emperor (discussed in Chapter 1) which had developed among higher and mid-level imperial officials and even among provincial aristocrats.

By the eighteenth century this ethos was quite strongly prevalent among the holders of some of the most subordinate administrative positions. Several officials who held such positions also produced detailed administrative treatises during the same period when many of the Bengal tarikhs were composed. I draw the line at facilely assigning the label ‘history’ to these very technical administrative treatises. However, I discuss a couple of such treatises in this chapter as being representative of a genre of documentary writings which were compiled at this time, since these provide a significant complement to some of the most important agendas manifest in the Persian tarikhs. Atmaram, the author of one (and perhaps both) of the administrative treatises used here, held the office of qanungo of pargana Sherghatty in Bihar during the middle decades of the eighteenth century. Atmaram probably did not use the term ‘khanazad’ to describe himself or the earlier generations of his family. But he held an office which he claimed had been successively held by his ancestors for one hundred and forty two years. His job, therefore, had become an indispensable part of a personal heritage.7

Substance, Purpose, and Methodology of the Bengal Tarikhs

A common feature shared by the Bengal tarikhs studied here is that they gave central importance to the reigns of the autonomous nawabs of Bengal, starting with Murshid Quli Khan and ending with the reign of Nawab Sirauddaula in 1757. Other tarikhs positioned their narratives against a wider backdrop. Thus, Ghulam Hussain Khan Tabatabai located his narrative about developments in Bengal in relation to major political events in the Mughal empire since the death of Aurangzeb in 1707.8 Ghulam Hussain Salim, author of the Riyaz-us-Salatin, presented his account of the autonomous nawabs of Bengal as the last phase in a much longer story of Muslim rule in Bengal. Ghulam Hussain Salim also provided a brief overview of Hindu rulers who ruled Bengal prior to Bakhtiyar Khalji's occupation.

For many of the authors of these tarikhs, the purpose of composing these narratives about the reigns of past rulers was that these events needed to be recorded for posterity. As Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai (p.159) wrote, ‘…his intention [in writing] was…to furnish to some intelligent man the means of giving the public at some distant time hereafter, an idea of preceding reigns…’9 The reasons why posterity needed to know about the reigns of past kings was clear. First, the historical record allowed people a deeper insight into God's work on earth since all human affairs were ultimately ‘…the most glorious part of the creator's performance’.10 Most tarikh writers agreed that their principal subject was the reigns of monarchs of the past. This was so because monarchs held power only by the grace of God and these monarchs were responsible for the management of the world and of the affairs of human beings entrusted to their care. Thus, an exploration of the accomplishments and deeds of kings was essentially an exploration of the condition of entire societies which were subject to the former.11 Finally, narratives of past reigns held immense value for the present because they served as educational and moral examples.12

In terms of methodology, the men who authored these Persian tarikhs, first and foremost, sought to establish their connection to the classic traditions of IndoPersian and Persian historiography. This endeavour was conscious and deliberate and it allowed the authors of the Bengal tarikhs a legitimacy and prestige associated with following an intellectual and cultural precedent which had existed for centuries. Maulavi Abdus Salam, the translator-cum-editor of the Riyaz wrote that while Ghulam Hussain Salim did not clearly refer to all the sources of history, he was convinced that the internal evidence of the text suggested that its author was familiar with and had consulted what had become ‘standard historical works’ for Mughal literati. It is true that sometimes Ghulam Hussain Salim made enigmatic references to books whose titles he did not divulge; sometimes he also referred to books whose whereabouts were not known to scholars of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. For the most part though, Abdus Salam was convinced that Ghulam Hussain Salim followed Persian historiographical works such as the Tabaqat-i-Nasiri and Ziauddin Barani's Tarikh-i-Firuz Shahi for the history of Bengal under its preMughal Muslim sultans. For events in Bengal following the Mughal conquest of the region, Ghulam Hussain Salim probably depended on classics such as the Ain-i-Akbari of Abul Fazl, the Tuzuk-i-Jehangiri of emperor Jehangir, the Padshahnama of Abdul Hamid Lahori, the Ma‘asir-i-Alamgiri, and many others.13 Ghulam Hussain Salim also reveals in his writing that he was familiar with the Shahnama and with other landmark works of the Persian literary tradition such as the Masnavi of Rumi. Ghulam (p.160) Hussain Salim's methodology set a precedent which was followed several decades later by his student Abdul Karim, and then by Abdul Karim's student Ilahi Baksh.14 The Siyar-ul-Mutakhirin too was based in all likelihood on some earlier tarikhs, although Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai never makes this explicit. Allusions to personalities and events from Persian and Islamic history and cultural traditions also abounded in the Bengal tarikhs. Ghulam Hussain Salim compared his patron, an Englishman named George Udny, to Hatim (an Arab prince of ancient times) and Naushirwan (an ancient Iranian king reputed in particular for his dispensation of justice);15 Salimullah Munshi, in his Tarikh-i-Bangla, called emperor Aurangzeb a ‘second Jemshed’.16 In the Riyaz, the author displayed his close affiliation to Islamic intellectual traditions by integrating India and Bengal ethnographically and cosmologically with an Islamic worldview.17 These notions, borrowed from Islamic and Persian intellectual traditions, tied the Bengal tarikhs firmly to a broader scholarly tradition associated with the Islamic world and with Iran.

The tarikh authors also drew upon memories and recollections of people who had either lived through the times being described in these texts or had heard about them from those who had experienced them. The author of the Siyar stated that he gathered information for his book from ‘persons of eminent rank and credit’, who he also described as his ‘authorities’.18 In his Khulasat-utTawarikh, Kalyan Singh described in vivid detail his grandfather's visit to the camp of Nadir Shah following the general massacre and plunder in Delhi perpetrated by the latter.19 Associated with reminiscences and recollections collected from other people, was the phenomenon of first-hand, eye-witness experience of the events described by many of the tarikh writers. Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai had personally experienced many of the events and incidents he mentioned in his multi-volume work; so had Maharaja Kalyan Singh, Yusuf Ali Khan, and Karam Ali. Such direct testimony introduces almost a conversational and anecdotal quality to certain parts of these narratives, as well as a vividness and an immediacy which naturally could not be recovered by consulting classic books of earlier generations. But even first-hand memory had its failings. Yusuf Ali Khan composed his account of Nawab Mahabat Jang's reign when he was a person of advanced years, in dire material straits, and in exile in Allahabad. He stated in his book that while he could remember clearly many of the events of the early part of Nawab Ali Vardi Khan's reign, his memory was not as strong when it came to remembering the chronology of events during the later years.20

Thus, recollection—personal as well as secondary—and dependence on pre-existing Persian literature, comprised the principal methodologies deployed by the authors of the Persian tarikhs discussed here. Ghulam Hussain Salim claims special notice because, in addition to collecting an archive of Persian works which he consulted for his book, he also used inscriptions, epigraphs, and coins as sources of his narrative. He, in fact, attempted to use such evidence as corroboration to what he found in the existing literature which he consulted.21 Many decades later, Ilahi Baksh, the disciple of Ghulam Hussain's own student Abdul Karim, also made extensive use of inscriptions, coins, and architectural evidence in his ambitious history of the world called the Khurshid Jahan Numa.22

The practice of using multiple methodologies to produce these tarikhs meant that the authors were sometimes confronted with multiple versions of the same events as recorded in different types of sources. Ghulam Hussain Salim found a way out of this dilemma by deciding that the inscriptional evidence he saw and read with his own eyes was more reliable than the information contained in any text he consulted.23 Textual discrepancies must also have confronted these eighteenth century authors with the need to decide which version to accept and more importantly, to deliberate about why they chose to accept one particular version over others. Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, for instance, referred to two different versions regarding the events that unfolded during the accession of Jahandar Shah to the Mughal throne.24 In this case, Ghulam Hussain solved the problem by reproducing for his reader both versions of the event. However, there must have been many more when the author exercised his judgement to determine which version of a past event he chose to incorporate in his book. As Chapter 4 demonstrated, Hindu Bengali scholars of the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries were also aware of multiple versions of past events in the ‘authorities’ whom they consulted. Yet, as examples of tarikh writers in this chapter and of certain Hindu Bengali writers from the previous one show, early modern authors, whose practice of historiography would not generally be considered ‘rational’ or ‘modern’ by those who practice the modern craft of history, were making conscious choices about how to reconstruct and present to their audiences the events of past times.

Past events as recounted by the tarikh writers were envisioned as connected accounts without gaps or, as the author of the Siyar termed it, ‘chasms’. Thus, to Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, the specific (p.162) motivation for composing his comprehensive narrative was that, in his view, there was no other book which provided a connected account of major developments in the Mughal empire and in Bengal following the death of Aurangzeb. There was also a strong awareness of causation which was rooted not in divine retribution or reward but rather in purely human action. The tarikh writers also exhibited a dedication to factual accuracy. The perceived need to maintain absolute accuracy in reporting names of past kings, for example, was demonstrated by Ghulam Hussain Salim when he weighed textual evidence vis-à-vis inscriptional evidence.25.

The authors of the Bengal tarikhs were interested primarily in writing about developments in Bengal although all of them positioned Bengal as an integral part of the Mughal empire. The most notable exception was Ghulam Hussain Salim, author of the Riyaz, who appended a brief overview of the reigns of Hindu kings who had ruled over Bengal prior to the conquest of the region by Bakhtiyar Khalji. Ghulam Hussain Salim's main interest was in tracing the reigns of Muslim kings in Bengal—the earlier phase consisting of the rule of the ‘rais’ as he called them, being a sort of casual preamble to the main story. The succession of kings he described seems to have been similar to the list of preMuslim Bengal kings given in the Ain-i-Akbari by Abul Fazl. They are also similar to the lists contained in the Sanskrit and Bengali chronicles called Rajabali or Rajtaranga which had circulated in Bengal during the early medieval and early modern periods (see Chapter 4). Ghulam Hussain Salim's brief digression into accounts of Bengal's rajas, prior to the thirteenth century, seems to indicate that such a list was derived partly from Puranic sources, partly from genealogical (kulagrantha) sources, partly probably from Indo-Islamic chronicles, and Persian literature that circulated in Bengal among the literate gentry and upper classes at least since the sixteenth century. The result was a fascinating and chronologically haphazard layering of names of kings and their reigns. In the Riyaz, Indian princes are associated with ancient Persian war heroes such as Afrasiyab and Rustum.26 This account also indicates that pre-Mughal and preIslamic history was not the primary object of interest of Persianized scholars and writers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This brief overview lacks the concern with accurate chronology and sequence which was so important a concern in the tarikhs generally. Secondly, this section draws attention to the fact that by the medieval and early modern periods, there may have prevailed in Bengal a general notion about successive lines of kings—both Hindu and Muslim. Abul Fazl (p.163) seems to have had access to this account of past kings of Bengal; so did segments of literate Bengali Hindus in the medieval and early modern periods. Ghulam Hussain may well have drawn upon Abul Fazal's Ain-i-Akbari for this part of his narrative.

In the tradition of Indo-Persian tarikhs, the tarikhs produced in late eighteenth and early nineteenth century Bengal also devoted the foremost attention to describing and discussing the functioning of monarchical government. Of particular interest to these authors were the following topics: the maintenance of order in the empire through the correct functioning of the institutions of government, the assignment of official positions, awarding of honours and rewards by the ruler or his chief representatives, the suppression of rebellions and disorders, and the punishment of people who threatened the authority or principles of Mughal rule. I argue though, that the Bengal tarikhs also articulated a philosophy and vision of politics which was a modified and recast version of classic Mughal concepts. The following section discusses the specific nature of this modified political tradition.

The Reconstructed Tradition: the Paradigm of Mughal Decline

To the scholar-officials who authored the Bengal tarikhs, the immediate historical context against which they could make sense of the political environment in which they lived was the Mughal empire. This political system and the principles on which it was founded were regarded as the most legitimate ones within the South Asian subcontinent. The Mughal imperial system was likened to an orderly garden and anything that threatened to disturb its harmonious and principled existence—rebellions and disorders, for example— were likened to ‘weeds’ and ‘thorns’.27 The nawabi of Murshidabad formed the sub-context—but a sub-context that was inseparably associated with the broader context of Mughal hegemony. The Mughal imperium was usually territorialized in these eastern Indian chronicles as ‘Hindustan’, thereby betraying the general north Indian orientation of the nawabi scholar-bureaucrats. However, the term Hindustan was also generally and loosely extended to mean the entire South Asian subcontinent.

From almost the beginning of the eighteenth century, and definitely from the 1720s and 1730s, it became increasingly clear to anybody who was a conscious observer of political developments in the subcontinent that the empire was in trouble. When contemporaries attempted to (p.164) understand better or explain this troubled state, some of the most frequently used terms to describe it were ‘confusion’, in the sense of chaos, or lack of order; ‘subversion’ in the sense, of the overturning of some established structure or phenomenon; and ‘revolution’ in the sense of a very basic or fundamental change.28 The term inquilab which was used frequently in the eighteenth century histories and other literary forms (shahr-i-ashob poetry, for example), included in its meaning the range of connotations associated with the word ‘revolution’ and also possibly, the word ‘subversion’. As Lehmann points out, in its eighteenth century sense, ‘inquilab’ or ‘revolution’ was closer to its primary meaning of revolution as an observable fact, as in the revolution of the earth or the planets. Inquilab, therefore, literally meant turning and by the extension of its meaning to political affairs, it was used to convey the meaning of change.29 In this sense, inquilab included in its meaning any change of fortune, a change in the personality of the ruler, or a change in dynasty.

Irrespective of the terms that were used to denote decline, what stands out is the conviction of its authors as well as other contemporaries that they could actually pinpoint and date the commencement of the process of decline although there was no consensus about it. Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai categorically dated it to the reign of Aurangzeb and believed that the process had accelerated from the reign of Farrukhsiyar.30 Atmaram, the former qanungo of Sherghatty, dated it to the fourth year of the reign of Shah Alam.31 The discourse of decline perceived matters a little differently in Bengal and Bihar. Here, the process of decline was not seen as a prolonged trend gaining in momentum with every successive decade since the early eighteenth century. Neither was the end of the Murshidabad nawabi attributed to a series of unfit rulers. In the case of eastern India, the decline was regarded as more of an abrupt demise—an inquilab brought about by the unwise actions of a single incompetent ruler, that is, Nawab Sirajuddaula. This in turn led to the accession of the ‘hat-wearing’ firinghees (foreigners) or the English to the position of sovereign over this kingdom. The tragedy of this particular inquilab lay in the fact that the company's regime also failed to measure up to what the former believed were the standards of good government.

Usually these texts offered no clear distinction between the symptoms of decline and the causes of decline. In the general tradition of late Mughal historiography, the authors of the Bengal tarikhs also referred to factors such as bad rulers, laxity in the implementation (p.165) of administrative regulations, financial problems as undifferentiated causes and symptoms of the increasing weakness of the empire.32 Both Ghulam Hussain Salim and Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai referred to the assumption of independence by Mughal provincial governors to be a cause or symptom of the growing weakness of the empire. But ultimately, they believed that this kingdom represented a miniaturized reproduction of most of the laws, institutions, and principles that had characterized the Mughal government. In the view of Tabatabai, for example, the emergence of the nawabi of Murshidabad arrested the steady, downward slide of the empire because it kept at bay the forces of disorder and the collapse of governmental regulations by creating for a while, an oasis of peace, prosperity and good government.

He also regarded the Mughal successor kingdoms of Awadh and Hyderabad in more or less the same way. None of these three Mughal successor states had reached their positions of virtual autonomy by overt rebellions or warfare against the crumbling Mughal central administration. Since decline was perceived to be associated with violence, disorder, and subversion, the absence of these factors in the rise of these three kingdoms explains why contemporary observers found it difficult to see these states as causes of imperial decline or its manifestations. By the same line of reasoning then, it is not difficult to see why the tarikh authors based in eastern India persisted in viewing the activities of the Sikhs, Jats, and the Marathas—regional powers who also sought to shake off Mughal authority, but who did so overtly and through frequent military confrontations—as generally little more than disturbers of peace and as perpetrators of subversion.33

The Ruler, the Bureaucracy, and the Goal of Government

In these eighteenth century tarikhs the primary issue of importance was the nature of government. Government was regarded as the practical, tangible manifestation of political power and as something that ultimately underlined the moral and ethical foundations of political authority. The overall consensus among the scholar-aristocrats who composed the Bengal tarikhs was that the goal of good government was the happiness and well-being of its subjects. Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, who was unrestrained in his admiration of Nawab Ali Vardi Khan's government in Bengal-Bihar-Orissa, praised it as one that made ‘the ease of the people as well of the nobility its foremost objective’.34

These eighteenth century narratives perceived governmental ideals to be moral objectives which were not dependant on considerations of rigidly defined religious doctrine, or the values of particular ethnic or even dynastic groups. There are instances in most of these tarikhs when particular political personalities are praised for their zeal in propagating Islam.35 But the term ‘Islam’ seems to have been used often to denote a particular kind of overarching political and cultural order rather than Islam in its strict scriptural sense. Similarly race or ethnicity could become matters of secondary importance in the evaluation of the behaviour of those holding shares of formal or de facto political power. This point is best illustrated when the author of the Siyar discusses the activities of the Mughal crown prince Ali Gauhar (later, the Mughal emperor Shah Alam) in Bihar during 1759–60. In Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai's description, the arrival of prince Ali Gauhar in Bihar with a large army was initially welcomed by the majority of the people in the region because of the ‘favours and good government which they had formally experienced from the prince's forefathers and his ancestors’. But after the prince had spent some time in Bihar, the attitude of the inhabitants towards him changed completely. The plundering activities of the prince and his army devastated the countryside and exposed the people to a great deal of oppression and hardship. They now began to pray for the ‘victory and prosperity of the English army’ which appeared to them as saviours. This swing in attitude in favour of the English company and its army is explained by Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai by the fact that its behaviour towards the ordinary people of the area was marked by discipline and restraint and was therefore exemplary.36

An analysis of the function and importance of the currently reigning monarch occupied, of course, a place of primary importance in the discourse of the eighteenth century tarikh writers.37 According to the classic Mughal concept of kingship which had developed specifically since the time of Akbar, the ruler was not merely the mortal head of the political system but enjoyed almost a divine mandate to rule.38 Physically, he was a divine embodiment of royal authority. As Blake explains, the patrimonial character of this emperor-centric polity had to adopt certain bureaucratic features out of sheer and pressing practical necessity.39 This led to the emergence of the patrimonial-bureaucratic Mughal state, with its large corps of mansabdars and other administrative personnel. However, the central importance of the emperor, both real and symbolic, was not impaired, at least under Akbar's immediate successors. The narratives under discussion here were also based on the assumption that the ruler was of supreme importance to the political system. However, the architects of these texts made an important deviation from earlier Mughal tarikhs and treatises on governance by positing a significantly different role for the ruler as compared to the classic Mughal theory of royal authority. In the political tradition that was being recast in the later eighteenth century, the monarch was seen as continuing to hold a position of utmost importance in the political system. But significantly enough, it also appeared to be a somewhat ceremonial or decorative position. The personal qualities—competence, sense of justice, etc.—of monarchs were certainly not discounted as factors of importance. But there was also the emerging notion that the ruler should abide by the institutions of Mughal government that had come down at least since the sixteenth century, as well as the principles on which these institutions were based. In other words, what these eighteenth century writers were saying was that these institutions of government had acquired a legitimacy and efficacy through centuries of actual operation; they upheld a kind of society which these scholar-aristocrats supported because they were convinced that it was the right kind of society. This strong consciousness of government as a set of time-tested institutions based on specific moral principles, by implication tended to diminish somewhat the paramount importance of personal qualities possessed by the individual ruler. This sort of institutional or bureaucratic consciousness comprises, for instance, a strong theme in the writings of particularly perceptive contemporary authors such as Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai. It is even stronger in the writings of humbler administrative personnel like Atmaram, the former qanungo of Sherghatty.40

As noted above, the purely administrative treatises authored by people like Atmaram during the later eighteenth century cannot be accorded the same status as the tarikhs with their broader, more comprehensive vision of empire and its governance. Yet, the treatises of people like Atmaram, authored in large numbers at the same period when the Bengal tarikhs were written, offer an important complementary perspective into principles of governance articulated by the scholar-aristocrats. People like Atmaram, unlike Yusuf Ali Khan, Karam Ali, or any of the other aristocratic writers, had no personal contact with the emperor or powerful grandees at the fading Mughal darbar at Delhi or for that matter with court circles at Murshidabad. It is unknown if the cult of personal devotion to the emperor which had motivated a subordinate mansabdar like Mirza Nathan in the seventeenth century, (p.168) operated among petty revenue officials like Atmaram. Therefore, in the perception of the latter, more than in those of the aristocratic segment of the bureaucracy, the rulers appeared to be distant figures whose reigns served as markers in a long continuum of administrative tradition.41 This is probably what Fleischer referred to as bureaucratic consciousness, or ‘kanun consciousness’, in his study of the Ottoman bureaucrat and intellectual Mustapha Ali.42

An exploration of the implications contained within this ideology, however, is intrinsically associated with notions about the role of the bureaucracy in a political system. Bhimsen Burhanpuri, the mid-level Mughal bureaucrat par excellence, had never served under the Murshidabad nawabs nor been present in Bengal during his long and chequered official career. However, Bhimsen's famous memoirs serve as a mirror for the general philosophy among the middle to upper levels of the Mughal bureaucracy in the seventeenth century and their later Mughal/nawabi counterparts in the next century. In Bhimsen's description:

He [God] hoisted the banner of love in the field of the human body by making the heart the ruler of the empire of physical body of the man and He gave orders to the other parts and the limbs of the body to abide by the commandments of the heart.…Thus…each limb should have a definite work to do and must have clear significance and not a single moment should be wasted in having the responsibility entrusted to it so that the said limb should not become useless and crippled.43


In other words, just as the human body could not function without its limbs, the empire could not function without its bureaucrats. As writers of the eighteenth century tarikhs saw it, one of the most important duties of a ruler on ascending the throne, or of an official on assuming an administrative post, was to appoint a body of bureaucrats to fill the most important administrative and military positions under him. This function was viewed as an acid test of the inherent abilities of a ruler since much merit was attributed to the ruler's power to recognize administrative talent in potential officials and to harness these qualities for the service of the empire. Personal likes and dislikes of the emperor were supposed to be low in priority compared to the great task of selecting able officials to work for the realm. The Mughal emperor Farrukhsiyar (1714–19), for example, is depicted as distributing the highest offices of his government to nobles like Abdullah Khan and (p.169) Hussain Ali Khan whose support had enabled him to win the recent war of succession, but also to Chin Qilich Khan— one of the ablest mansabdars of the time—who had not been on his side in the war.44 Emperor Jahandar Shah (1719–48) is condemned for raising the friends and relatives of his mistress, Lal Kuar, to the highest public offices.45 These beneficiaries of Jahandar Shah's favour, particularly the latter group, are strongly denounced by Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai as undeserving people. This naturally raises the question as to who, in the views of these scholar-bureaucrats, was considered to be equipped with the right qualities to hold the highest public offices.

The people who were most suited to hold the highest civil and military offices of the state, according to the eighteenth century writers, were like themselves— that is, men who came from families with pre-existing traditions of bureaucratic service, preferably in the upper echelons of the mansabdari cadre. Since the higher mansabdari families constituted the aristocracy, it therefore also implied that these people had to be of noble birth and to have been raised in a culture of khanazadgi which was believed to instill in them the qualities and virtues required of the highest office-holders. The assumption was that this upbringing endowed them with a much higher potential for being competent and able officials than those who did not possess such family backgrounds.
Interestingly enough, professional success as a high official and a conscious adherence to other features of aristocratic life also permitted people from non-khanazad [palace-born] backgrounds to earn acceptance from the aristocratic tarikh writers. An excellent example of such a scholar-bureaucrat who came from a humble background, but rose to hold one of the highest offices under the Murshidabad niabat, is Raja Ramnarayan who was also distinguished by his considerable scholarly accomplishments.46

But whether descended from a mansabdari lineage or not, the function and obligations of bureaucrats holding the highest posts were clear. A degree of loyalty to the ruler who had recruited them to these offices was an obvious duty. But the foremost priority for them was believed to lie in ‘dispatching the affairs of state and promoting the welfare of the empire which conduct after all ought to be the intent and scope of [bureaucratic/mansabdari] employment and service’.47 Secondly, an important new note that is evident in these eighteenth century tarikhs deals with the duty of mansabdars to act as the custodians of the empire. This idea, which was not expressed so strongly or openly as a component of Mughal political ideology, either under Akbar or (p.170) his immediate successors, seems to have acquired a dominant position in the political traditions that the eighteenth century tarikh writers sought to articulate.

As the later Mughal scholar-bureaucrats saw it, the nobility were not merely people who held office at the pleasure and whims of the ruler. On the contrary, they were a class of noble, competent individuals with family traditions of service to whatever political system they lived under. Thus, emperors and rulers could come and go—as in fact they did at the Mughal capital at Delhi through much of the eighteenth century—but this corps of dedicated and committed bureaucrats remained constant and provided a degree of stability by espousing the long-term welfare of the realm and its subjects. Portrayed in this way, the higher ranks of the bureaucracy appear in these texts almost as a group of vigilant protectors of the polity. In this capacity, they were expected to act as the conscience of the empire: to act as advisers and counsellors to kings, to possess the courage to rectify the ruler's mistakes, and to tell him when he was wrong. Such a role of the bureaucracy seems to have been legitimated through the notion that it was the upper bureaucracy and their ancestors whose hard work had created the institutional foundations on which the government rested and, therefore, they had as large a stake in the well-being of the kingdom as the monarch. Several of the Bengal tarikhs provide examples of this philosophy. The distribution of the highest offices and honours by Jahandar Shah to ‘undeserving’ people has been referred to above. His mistress Lal Kuar came from a family of musicians. Yet, according to Tabatabai's narrative, the emperor elevated her brother as well as her uncle to mansabdari rank.48

According to the Siyar, these people abused the power they now undeservedly held. Lal Kuar's bother, Khoshal Kan, for instance, broke the law repeatedly and became a nuisance to the citizenry of Delhi. In these circumstances, some of the best-known mansabdars of the time—people who were steeped in the bureaucratic culture of the empire's highest official corps—attempted to protect the empire and its subjects from the baneful influence of those who had no right to be in such positions of power and influence. An illuminating example of the higher bureaucrats' role in steering the emperor and the administration from moving in what was perceived as the wrong direction is furnished by the instance of Jahandar Shah's alleged efforts to endow the governorship of the province of Allahabad on his mistress' unworthy brother, Khoshal Khan. In Tabatabai's narrative, Zulfiqar Khan, the (p.171) wazir (prime minister) of the Mughal emperor, on being informed of this plan, deliberately insulted Khoshal Khan. When this news reached the ears of the emperor, Zulfiqar Khan used the opportunity to deliver a sharp and sarcastic rebuke to the latter:

…the nobility, your servants, are from father to son in possession of serving the crown in vice-royalties, governments and such other employments and the custom of your imperial ancestors has been only to amuse themselves with dancers and singers whose merits it was customary to reward only with pensions and bounties. So soon as these last shall aspire to dignities and governments and shall contrive, to take possession of them, there shall remain then, no other party for your nobility but that of betaking themselves to the profession just forsaken by the dancers and singers…for after all…your dispossessed governors and generals…have a right to earn their bread as well as any others.49


In Ghulam Hussain's depiction, this stinging reprimand from his prime minister shamed Jahandar Shah into acquiescing in stopping Khoshal Khan's undeserved elevation within the administration.

When analysed further, these examples yield more insights into the eighteenth century scholar-officials' notions regarding the role of people of their class and professional background in the polity. As Ghulam Hussian Tabatabai and others like him saw it, society was divided into different spheres where people endowed with different qualities and abilities were positioned. People like Lal Kuar, Khoshal Khan, and their friends and families belonged to a sphere which could not be permitted to intersect with the sphere to which people like Zulfiqar Khan belonged.

How then may we devise one of those needful falsehoods of which we lately spoke — just one royal lie which may deceive the rulers, if that be possible, and at any rate the rest of the city?

What sort of lie? he said.

Nothing new, I replied; only an old Phoenician36 tale of what has often occurred before now in other places, (as the poets say, and have made the world believe,) though not in our time, and I do not know whether such an event could ever happen again, or could now even be made probable, if it did.

How your words seem to hesitate on your lips!

You will not wonder, I replied, at my hesitation when you have heard. Speak, he said, and fear not.

Well then, I will speak, although I really know not how to look you in the face, or in what words to utter the audacious fiction, which I propose to communicate gradually, first to the rulers, then to the soldiers, and lastly to the people. They are to be told that their youth was a dream, and the education and training which they received from us, an appearance only; in reality during all that time they were being formed and fed in the womb of the earth, where they themselves and their arms and appurtenances were manufactured; when they were completed, the earth, their mother, sent them up; and so, their country being their mother and also their nurse, they are bound to advise for her good, and to defend her against attacks, and her citizens they are to regard as children of the earth and their own brothers.

You had good reason, he said, to be ashamed of the lie which you were going to tell.

True, I replied, but there is more coming; I have only told you half. Citizens, we shall say to them in our tale, you are brothers, yet God has framed you differently. Some of you have the power of command, and in the composition of these he has mingled gold, wherefore also they have the greatest honour; others he has made of silver, to be auxillaries; others again who are to be husbandmen and craftsmen he has composed of brass and iron; and the species will generally be preserved in the children. But as all are of the same original stock, a golden parent will sometimes have a silver son, or a silver parent a golden son. And God proclaims as a first principle to the rulers, and above all else, that there is nothing which should so anxiously guard, or of which they are to be such good guardians, as of the purity of the race. They should observe what elements mingle in their off spring; for if the son of a golden or silver parent has an admixture of brass and iron, then nature orders a transposition of ranks, and the eye of the ruler must not be pitiful towards the child because he has to descend in the scale and become a husbandman or artisan, just as there may be sons of artisans who having an admixture of gold or silver in them are raised to honour, and become guardians or auxiliaries. For an oracle says that when a man of brass or iron guards the State, it will be destroyed. Such is the tale; is there any possibility of making our citizens believe in it?

Not in the present generation, he replied; there is no way of accomplishing this; but their sons may be made to believe in the tale, and their sons' sons, and posterity after them.

-- The Republic, by Plato


The description of the above incidents by Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai in his narrative reflects the insecurity and resentment experienced by career mansabdars—especially of khanazad backgrounds—at the ‘invasion’ of the highest ranks of the administrative service by people from different social and professional backgrounds, as well as their determination to exclude these ‘upstarts’ from these positions. However, in the conscious construction of a late Mughal/nawabi political ethos in the late eighteenth century such practical insecurities found formal expression in the formulation of a political tradition in which powerful mansabdars regarded the empire and its government as a practically sacred trust which it was their duty to guard from corrupting influences. This right was however not seen as one which they had undeservedly usurped for themselves. On the contrary, it was believed that they had earned it on account of their dedication to the empire and its (p.172) governmental institutions. This right was also rooted in the fact that they had the training and experience to be the most competent people to make judgements about how the government should be run.

The professional competence, of which mansabdars were so proud, did not merely denote an adeptness at the day-to-day task of administration. In the tarikhs studied here, mansabdari competence was also associated with virtue, that is, an adherence to the ethical principles on which the institutions of government were based.
The examples cited above underscore the importance given to virtue as a necessary quality among the late Mughal/nawabi ruling class.

Interestingly enough the role played by the nobility in steering the empire on the right course became especially important only when the ruler was perceived to be straying from the norms and customs by which their administrative systems were supposed to be run. Thus, discussion of the affairs of the kingdom of Bengal-Bihar-Orissa do not for the most part seek to highlight the role played by its mansabdars as vigilant custodians of the political system. The explanation lies in the fact that there is near unanimity among authors like Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Salimullah Munshi, Ghulam Hussain Salim, and others that the first three rulers of this kingdom were excellent administrators and rulers, imbued with the right principles and values.50 Actually, as long as these rulers maintained intact most of the outward forms of the Mughal administrative system and did not seek to radically alter governmental institutions like the mansabdari system, the bureaucratic elite, from which most of the eighteenth century tarikh writers were drawn, had little reason to worry about the well being of their class. They and people like them continued to be selected to fill the most responsible offices in Bengal–Bihar–Orissa; it was also they who made up the majority in the close and select ring of advisers and counsellors who exerted the maximum influence over the nawab and therefore over the entire kingdom. The authors of the Bengal tarikhs thus had little reason to be threatened by the actions of Murshid Quli (1700–20), Shujauddin (1720–40), and Ali Vardi Khan (1740–56). As they emphasized in the eulogies of these rulers, they were exemplary, precisely because they relied on the professional nobility in the running of the kingdom.

If the political ideology being shaped in the Bengal tarikhs perceived of the highest bureaucrats of the kingdom as people who had a stake in it, then, by implication it also imposed on them the task of preserving the governmental institutions and political system by actively getting rid of unfit rulers. At any rate, there is no clear condemnation of those who (p.173) actually did this.
The nawabi of Bengal-Bihar-Orissa provides some of the best instances of such cases. In 1740, Ali Vardi usurped the throne of Murshidabad from the son of Shujauddin, the recently deceased nawab and the person to whom Ali Vardi and his entire family were indebted for their professional advancement. Ali Vardi's action in killing Sarafaraz Khan, the heir of Shuja, is acknowledged to be an abhorrent act which initially horrified the people of Murshidabad. But even this action is legitimized on the ground that Sarfaraz Khan ‘had no talents for government…and that, had his government lasted some time more…endless confusions would have been the consequence of his incapacity…disorders and disturbances would have been the consequence…and would have brought ruin and desolation on these countries and their inhabitants’.51 Ali Vardi, on the other hand, turned out to be an able and virtuous ruler who governed his kingdom well.52

The removal of Nawab Sirajuddaula (1756–7) from power through a conspiracy constitutes one of the best-known events in the history of early modern India. It paved the way for a dramatic escalation in the power of the English East India Company in eastern India, led to the ultimate establishment of its governance over this region, and in turn became the first step towards the creation of a British empire in India. Most of the tarikh writers under consideration here were contemporaries of Nawab Sirajuddaula. Their treatment of the latter's removal from power is similar to the case cited immediately above. Ghulam Hussain Salim, Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, and Karam Ali are unanimous in agreeing that the real cause of Siraj's removal from power lay in the fact that he lacked the qualities and virtues that good rulers must have. The tragic flaw thus lay in Siraj's own personality. He is portrayed as unwise and capricious, and worse still, he ignored and humiliated the nobility who had helped the previous nawab to rule wisely and well. What eventually led to Siraj's downfall, according to these contemporary commentators, was that he gave prominence to certain undeserving people who gave him bad and unsound advice.53 Thus, in the opinion of the tarikh writers, the participants in the pre-Plassey conspiracy did what they had to do in order to free the kingdom from a tyrannical and oppressive ruler. The goal, in other words, almost made it legitimate to seek the displacement of the current ruler, whose servants they were supposed to be.

By extension of the same logic, there is little condemnation of ambitious aristocrats who sought to carve out power bases of their own from the parent Mughal system. The Bengal nawabs—from (p.174) Murshid Quli to Ali Vardi— who were eulogized by these eighteenth century writers had done precisely this; but instead of being castigated for disloyalty, they were upheld as practically ideal rulers. Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai's comment on similar kingdom-building activities by the Mughal noble and mansabdar Chin Qilich Khan in Hyderabad and Saadat Khan in Awadh are ambiguous at best—but not openly censorious. As he and the other scholar-officials saw it, as long as able and ‘virtuous’ nobles were able to provide good government to the regions under their control, without overtly rejecting Mughal supremacy or jettisoning the Mughal system of government too radically, it was of little significance whether they were appointed officials of the Mughal government, or were practically autonomous rulers.
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Re: The Cultures of History in Early Modern India, by Kumkum

Postby admin » Mon Mar 13, 2023 4:33 am

Part 2 of 2

Government as a System of Moral Principles

As seen above, the lower bureaucracy—that is, people who served as revenue officials, accountants, and the like—unlike aristocratic officials like Yusuf Ali Khan or Karam Ali had little actual contact with the ruler or the circle of mansabdars who surrounded the latter. In their perception, therefore, government appeared to be even less of a personalized, patrimonial system than a machine-like system with its component functions bound together by a large range of administrative rules and regulations. To the lower bureaucracy, too, the principal aim of government was the ‘welfare of the people and the prosperity of the country’.54 Unlike the scholar-officials, however, they perceived this as something that was attainable not through the practice of general moral principles but rather through concrete and specific administrative functions. The collection of revenue, for example, should be carried out in accordance with rules which had been formulated earlier—in a classicized Mughal past. In practical terms this meant adherence, for example, to practices like the separation of the revenue administration (diwani) from the executive branch of government (nizamat). Reinforcing this tendency to perceive the government as a mammoth machine which ought to function according to a set of rules was important, and qanungos like Atmaram saw the government archive as a repository of actual records relating to previous custom, and hence a legitimating authority in administrative matters.

The almost mechanical precision with which revenue officials like Atmaram defined and established distinctions among different kinds of administrative terminology relating to various kinds of lands, land tenures, different categories of peasants, kinds of officials involved in the collection of revenue, detailed figures of collections made under different heads of revenue, and others, reinforces the mechanistic view of government as propagated by these petty bureaucrats.55

As the petty bureaucracy, exemplified by Atmaram, saw it, the ideal revenue administration associated with former times had become somewhat derailed because the ‘customs’ or rules which had kept it on the right track were being disregarded.56 It is necessary to keep in mind, however, that when Atmaram wrote about the deterioration of the system of revenue administration, he really used it a as a microcosm of the empire, or the polity as a whole. The notion that these developments were attributable to human agency was present. But the stronger notion that comes through is that these instances of malfunction could be corrected quite simply by appointing knowledgeable, experienced qanungos who knew exactly how the revenue administration should be run. The remedy advertised by Atmaram seems to suggest that, to him, the revenue collecting machinery could be restored to its prior condition by replacing a number of flawed parts with good ones.57

Like their counterparts in the mansabdari echelons of administration, the qanungos too believed that they were indispensable for the smooth running of the empire. They might not have quite regarded themselves as partners in the empire like some scholar-officials of that period. But they certainly believed that they were indispensable subordinates.58

The English East India Company: A Reversal of the Principles on which Government Ought to be Based

To the authors of the Bengal tarikhs, the English East India Company represented a negation of the values and principles according to which government had functioned in a classicized Mughal past. There was a general realization that the pattern of administration had begun to get distorted in many ways even before the East India Company staged its inquilab or revolution in eastern India. The emergence of the Company as the sovereign government of Bengal after 1772 seemed to make the restoration of government and administration to its former ideals almost impossible, unless the Company altered the way it ruled its territories in eastern India.

The terms of the critique formulated by tarikh writers against the English regime are significant because they drew upon the philosophy of political power and values contained in their narratives. Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai and Karam Ali sought to distinguish between the signs of misgovernance as well as the deeper, more fundamental principles from which they were derived. To both these authors, the most powerful signs of misgovernance lay in the declining prosperity of Bengal and in the suffering and oppression of a wide cross section of the people of these regions. These signs of malaise were diagnosed as springing from the fact that the company as sovereign betrayed a lack of commitment to certain moral and ethical principles upon which, the tarikh writers believed, indigenous governments in their uncorrupted forms had traditionally been based.59

The Company's lack of concern, or ‘affection’ as Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai termed it, for the people of their dominions in eastern India was regarded as a serious deficiency in its administration. Karam Ali pointed out that the company's callous and apathetic behaviour during the famine of 1769–70 was sufficient testimony of such unconcern.60 Secondly, these critics also alleged that the British gave a degree of primacy to the goal of extracting a financial profit from their kingdom that was incompatible with the ideals of a just and caring administration. The imposition of the East India Company's ‘monopoly’ over the opium and saltpetre trades, for example, was attributed to this motive, as was the fact that every Company employee used his official position in order to secure advantages in trade.61

The paramount reason that rendered the East India Company's government an undesirable regime was the fact that it did not regard the adherence to and support of virtue as its guiding philosophy. Previous regimes in Bengal had followed the practice of granting revenue-free lands to holy men, scholars, and nobles who had rendered valuable service to the state. To the authors of the Bengal tarikhs, such people embodied virtues which the government ought to recognize and support. In fact, many of the tarikh writers and their families had enjoyed such estates for generations. Writing at a time when the Company's government launched a programme of relentlessly resuming various forms of revenue prerogatives (income from markets, shrines, revenue-free lands, jagirs, and other such) enjoyed by these kinds of people, Karam Ali came out with a stinging reprimand:

Even if they [the East India Company] had left these people a land carrying revenue of rupees one lakh, they would not have starved. The just rulers [of the past] had been doing this. The considerate rulers have been looking after such honourable persons of society as may not have the capacity to earn their livelihood; the rulers have been giving them a loaf of bread. The English however are completely indifferent.62


Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai and Karam Ali also condemned the Company for its seeming incapacity to understand the noble principles on which certain institutions of indigenous government were based. This resulted in the debasement and corruption of certain crucially important administrative offices like that of the judge (qazi), the supervisor of revenue-free lands (sadr-us-sadr), and several others. These offices were now reduced to instruments of oppression over the subject body.63

But this tragic failure to understand the principles of government was attributed sometimes openly, sometimes implicitly, by the tarikh writers to the fact that the English were alien to India and its customs and did not seem to wish to overcome this alienness. The later eighteenth century was a time when several of the Company's officials were known to interact socially with the nawabi upper class, and noblemen like Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai stood on terms of personal friendship with several of them. Recent scholarship acknowledges the existence of such social relationships, but also points to the obvious boundaries and limitations of such social interaction which derived from considerations of race, class, the growing awareness of the difference in status between the rulers and the ruled and other factors.64 Contemporaries like the author of the Siyar were more than conscious of the boundaries which separated him from the new rulers. He thus categorically stated that the problems between ruler and ruled lay in a sea of differences comprised of divergent political values and cultural practices that had yet to be bridged.65

According to Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai the real defeat of Indian society vis-àvis the English lay in the fact that the former had failed to make the latter succumb to its ‘customs’ as it had apparently succeeded in doing with earlier groups of foreign conquerors.66 The net result was the emergence of a sovereign power that preserved its alien character and betrayed no desire to understand either Indian society or to care for its Indian subjects. Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai felt that the only reason the English maintained some kind of contact with people like him was because the latter needed information about Indian society and government from them. The self-imposed cultural alienation of the English and the economic devastation of the country due to the wealth the company drained away from India did not ‘fertilize’ the Indian economy.67 Several of the tarikh writers were critical of the East India Company's style of governance. But nobody possessed the clear-sighted perception of Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai who had lived through the momentous events which led to the termination of the Murshidabad niabat and the concomitant rise in the political power of the English company. He recognized the elements which constituted the misgovernance of the Company. Quite remarkably though, he was able to transcend the many instances of misgovernance and to form the much wider notion that the East India Company's government was primarily different because it was a form of colonial rule. In doing so, the author of the Siyar may well have formulated one of the earliest coherent indigenous critiques of colonial rule in India.

The Timing and Function of the Bengal Tarikhs

A feature whose importance cannot be emphasized enough is the timing of these texts. Almost all the Bengal tarikhs were composed during the period which was positioned between two political processes—the decline of the nawabi and the accession in the political power of the English Company. What renders the Bengal tarikhs even more significant is, as Sir J.N. Sarkar pointed out, that these narratives constituted in all probability the main corpus of Persian tarikhs to have been composed in Bengal, not just during the period of nawabi rule, but also during a century or more of Mughal rule and about three centuries of rule by successive Turkish and Afghan rulers over this region.68 Sarkar's statement overlooks the Baharistan-i-Ghaibi of Mirza Nathan and the Fathiyah-i-Ibriyyah of Shihabuddin Talish—both composed in the seventeenth century.69 But these narratives are much more preoccupied with military exercises and less with longer-term imperatives of governance and political culture as viewed from the vantage point of the various permanent centres of administration in Bengal. Also, neither Mirza Nathan, nor Shihabuddin Talish betray any strong sense of connection—whether familial or professional—to Bengal as tarikh writers like Ghulam Hussain Khan Tabatabai did.

It is true that the currency of Persian under the Bengal sultanate was not as great as it was to become under Mughal rule. But as seen in Chapter 1, it was not insignificant either. This renders truly surprising the fact that we do not know of any Persian tarikhs (barring the works of Mirza Nathan and Shihabuddin Talish) having been composed by the Persianized aristocracy or gentry of this region either at their own initiative, or at the command of the nawabs who sat on the masnad at Murshidabad. One would have expected the architects of a new kingdom to have shown much greater attention and interest in the commissioning of written accounts about their accomplishments. Perhaps the arduous task of building an autonomous kingdom had sufficiently occupied the energy and attention of the first few nawabs to preclude any active programme of commissioning or encouraging tarikhs. This is particularly true of Nawab Ali Vardi Khan whose energies had been directed solely to defending the physical survival of the kingdom from the Bargis. Chapter 7 suggests that perhaps the Murshidabad nawabs, aware of the need to cement closer ties with sections of the local population of Bengal, may well have toyed with the prospect of encouraging the production of narratives—historical and otherwise—in the region's vernacular language in emulation of the pre-Mughal sultans. Much more research is needed to support this line of thinking. Besides, even if the nawabs were beginning to get interested in patronizing the composition of Bengali literary works, it need not necessarily have precluded the commissioning of Persian tarikhs. As recent research shows, the Mughal tradition involved an active cultural patronage of multiple languages and literary traditions.70 Thus, at this stage, the non-production of Persian tarikhs in Bengal, despite the existence of a Persianized ruling class, nobility, and gentry must remain somewhat of a paradox.

Fortunately, the unsatisfactory exploration into the possible reasons for the nonproduction of tarikhs in Bengal prior to the late eighteenth century does not exclude a more thorough discussion of the factors that lay behind the composition of a range of such narratives here during the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Some of these tarikhs had been directly commissioned by the new English rulers of Bengal. Ghulam Hussain Salim was an employee of George Udny, who was in charge of an indigo concern in Malda in northern Bengal and composed the Riyaz-us-Salatin at the request of the latter.71 Ghulam Hussain Tabatabi dedicated his comprehensive, multi-volume work entitled the Siyar-ul-Mutakhirin to Warren Hastings, the Governor-General of Bengal, though it followed the latter's departure from India. The Bengal tarikhs embody above all the endeavour of a segment of the nawabi aristocracy to represent the political ideals of the old Mughal order to their new masters and at the same time to convince the latter of the need to continue to provide bureaucratic offices to people like them. The Company employed some of these nawabi officials during the first few years of its association with the Bengal administration because their experience and knowledge were deemed indispensable for a new and fledging regime. But by the mid to late 1770s, nawabi bureaucrats were being eliminated from the company's administration and replaced by English officials. This affected these people severely as they were simultaneously faced with severe pressure due to the loss of hereditary landed estates and other forms of income guaranteed to them and their families by earlier governmental authorities. Even during the brief period when the East India Company retained the services of many of the high level nawabi officials, some of them were accused of corruption and were publicly humiliated and tried. The highly publicized trials of people like Syed Mohammed Reza Khan, Maharaja Shitab Rai, as well as the trial of Maharaja Nanda Kumar must have given people of the social class and background as the tarikh writers serious concern about employment prospects in the East India Company's government.72 Yet these were the jobs for which people like Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai or Yusuf Ali Khan and their families had been trained for many generations. Their emphasis on the role of the nobility as protectors of the empire represented a recasting of the Mughal political philosophy; it also represented the anxiety and dire need felt by the scholar-officials of the niabat for bureaucratic offices in the Company's administration. Yet, as seen above, some of the tarikh writers were open critics of the Company's style of governance. Thus many of these texts bear the signs of a strain that derived from the fact that these works had been written in the hope of securing the Company's patronage and yet they were also the means through which some of the earliest critiques of early colonial regime were expressed.73

Thus the function of these Bengal tarikhs is directly related to the political and social context from which they were derived. The tarikhs advanced a political philosophy which depicted the Mughal institutions of government to be timetested and beneficial ones. Yet the contingent contemporary concerns of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries necessitated a redefinition of an earlier political tradition. The Bengal tarikhs used the narratives of the past to formulate the first coherent critiques of early colonial rule and attempted to point out to the new rulers of the region what alternative methods of government they should adopt instead.

The Bengal Tarikhs and Colonial Knowledge

Although the company had functioned in Bengal for more than a century, its sudden elevation to the position of sovereign in the late eighteenth century compelled it to acquire a thorough knowledge and understanding about matters which had hitherto fallen beyond the scope of their operations. This constitutes one of the best known phases of early colonial rule in India and is associated with the orientalist project launched in particular by Warren Hastings and carried to fruition by people like Sir William Jones, Henry Colebrooke, and many others.74 This aspect of British orientalist scholarship of the late eighteenth century has received the maximum attention from scholars and involves the deliberate endeavour of East India Company functionaries to use Indian scholars —typically Brahman pundits and maulavis—to gather information about the customs and traditions of Indian society. The ‘tradition’, which figures mostly in contemporary scholarship on this topic, involves laws and social customs which were connected to the religious traditions of Hinduism and Islam.

As this chapter demonstrates, a segment of the nawabi bureaucracy—high, middle, and low level—also participated in this programme of knowledgeacquisition about Indian society pioneered by the East India Company. The knowledge that people like this could communicate to their new masters was less directly concerned with social customs and laws regarding marriage, inheritance, and others. Instead, in the hands of educated and refined aristocratic writers who were positioned close to centres of governmental authority and power, such ‘knowledge transfer’ assumed the form of narratives of past empires and rulers together with a discussion of their institutions and principles of governance. The more subordinate bureaucrats like Atmaram communicated very detailed information about the finer nuances of revenue collection and the maintenance of revenue records. Yet the transmission of such governmental knowledge to the Company by segments of the nawabi bureaucracy is barely acknowledged in existing secondary literature.

As incumbents who had very recently been elevated to the status of sovereign, the East India Company in Bengal exhibited an intense hunger for information about various aspects of their kingdom's past. This urgency often found expression in exasperation and frustration with their Indian ‘informants’ who, they believed, were withholding critically important information from them. Ranajit Guha characterizes this as a form of resistance to British rule.75 Indeed there may well have been nawabi officials who chose to deny the company such information. As the discussion in this chapter has shown, there were also nawabi bureaucrats who used their tarikhs to represent to the British colonial regime the ideals and institutions of the political order with which they had been associated and to compare the current regime unfavourably with it. In a sense, the Bengal tarikhs also constituted a form of scholarly resistance or contestation because they became mediums of self-representation vis-à-vis the colonialist commentaries on India (the topic of the following chapter) which were also being composed during the same time.

_______________

Notes:

(1.) These processes are described in Sir Jadunath Sarkar, History of Bengal, Patna, 1973; Abdul Karim, Murshid Quli Khan and his Times, Dacca, 1963; K.K. Datta, Ali Vardi Khan and His Times, Calcutta, 1963; K. Chatterjee, Merchants, Politics and Society in Early Modern India, Leiden, 1996.

(2.) J.F. Richards, ‘Norms of Comportment among Imperial Mughal Officials’, in Barbara Metcalf, Moral Conduct and Authority, The Place of Adab in South Asean Islam, Berkeley, 1984, p. 267.

(3.) Ghulam Hussain Khan Tabatabai, Seir Mutaqherin, Nota Manus (tr.); Yusuf Ali Khan, Tarikh-i-Bangala-i-Mahabat Jangi, Abdus Subhan (tr.), Calcutta, 1982; Karam Ali, Muzaffarnama, Shaista Khan (tr.), Patna, 1992; Frederick Louis Lehmann, ‘The Eighteenth Century Transition in India: Responses of Some Bihar Intellectuals’, unpublished PhD dissertation, Madison: University of Wisconsin, 1967.

(4.) Maharaja Kalyan Singh Ashiq (tr. Sarfaraz Hussain Khan), ‘Khulasatu-tTawarikh’, Journal of the Bihar and Orissa Research Society, vol. 5, 1919, part 2, pp. 218–35, part 3, pp. 334–63, part 4, pp. 604–17; vol. 6, 1920, part 1, pp. 124– 9, part 2, pp. 302–17, part 3, pp. 424–42, part 4, pp. 540–61; vol. 9, 1923, part 2, pp. 209–61; also Lehmann, ‘Eighteenth Century Transition’.

(5.) Ruby Lal, Domesticity and Power in the Early Mughal World, Cambridge, 2005, contains a broad treatment of the roles played by Mughal women.

(6.) Richards, ‘Norms of Comportment’, pp. 262–76.

(7.) ‘Substance of a Persian Treatise on the Revenues of Bengal’, undated and by an anonymous author in, ‘Mr Murray's Papers on the Revenues of Bengal’, also undated in Home Miscellaneous, vol. 68, Oriental and India Office Records (OIOR), London: British Library (hereafter, ‘Persian treatise’); ‘Abstract of Accounts Relative to the Soubeh of Behar Prepared and Delivered by Canongoes of Several Parganas, Fasli 1180 AD’, in Home Miscellaneous, vol. 387, OIOR, London: British Library (hereafter, ‘Atmaram's Account’). Both commentaries may have been authored by the same person.

(8.) These observations are based on Tabatabai, Seir; Khan, Tarikh; Ali, Muzaffarnama; Zaidpuri, Riyazu-s-Salatin.

(9.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Siyar, vol. 1, p. 25.

(10.) Ibid., p. 24.

(11.) Ghulam Hussain Salim, Riyaz, p. 1.

(12.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol.1, p. 24.

(13.) Ghulam Hussain Salim, Riyaz, pp. 4–5.

(14.) Akshay Kumar Maitra, ‘Khurshid Jahan Numa’, Aitihasik Chitra, vol. 3, nos 5 and 6, 1901 (?) pp. 275–9; Henry Beveridge, ‘The Khurshid Jahan Numa of Ilahi Baksh al Hussaini Angrezabadi’, Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, vol. 64, no. 1, 1895, pp. 194–229.

(15.) Ghulam Hussain Salim, Riyaz, pp. 2–3.

(16.) Francis Gladwin, A Narrative of Transactions in Bengal. A Translation of Salimullah's Tarikh-i-Bangla, 1906, Calcutta, p. 3.

(17.) Ghulam Hussain Salim, Riyaz, p. 7; Thomas R. Trautmann, Aryans and British India, pp. 28–61; Benjamin Braude, ‘The Sons of Noah and the Construction of Ethnic and Geographical Identities in the Medieval and Early Modern Periods’, William and Mary Quarterly, vol. 54, no. 1, 1997, pp. 103–11.

(18.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 1, p. 25.

(19.) Kalyan Singh Ashiq, ‘Khulasatu-t-Tawarikh’, vol. 9, no. 2: pp. 234–5.

(20.) Yusuf Ali Khan, Tarikh, pp. 41–2.

(21.) Ghulam Hussain Salim, Riyaz, pp. 4–5.

(22.) Maitra, ‘Khurshid Jahan Nama’; Beveridge, ‘The Khurshid Jahan Numa of Sayyid Ilahi Baksh al Hussaini Angrezabadi’.

(23.) Ghulam Hussain Salim, Riyaz, p. 137.

(24.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 1: pp. 41–2.

(25.) Ghulam Hussain Salim, Riyaz, p. 137.

(26.) Ibid., pp. 53–5, 56.

(27.) Ibid., p. 167.

(28.) OIOR, Home Miscellaneous, vol. 68: ‘Mr Murray's Papers on the Revenues of Bengal’; Coast and Bay Abstracts, Fort William General Letter dated 29 January 1726. The term ‘revolution’ occurs very frequently in almost all eighteenth and early nineteenth century materials consulted for this chapter.

(29.) Lehmann, ‘Eighteenth Century Transition’; also see Chatterjee, Merchants, Politics and Society, pp. 205–30.

(30.) Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 3: pp. 159–60.

(31.) ‘Atmaram's Account’.

(32.) For this tendency in late Mughal historiography in general (that is, in works not relating to eastern India) see Ali Mohammed Khan, Mirat-i-Ahmadi, M.F. Lokhandwala (tr.), Baroda, 1965; Zahiruddin Malik, ‘Persian Historiography in India During the Eighteenth Century’, in Historians of Medieval India, Mohibbul Hasan (ed.), Meerut, 1968, pp. 147–9. References to causes/symptoms of decline in works of Eastern India-based authors occur in Tabatabai, Seir; Ali, Muzaffarnama; ‘Atmaram's Account’, and others.

(33.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, and Ghulam Hussain Salim, Riyaz contain generous praises of the Murshidabad nawabs Murshid Quli Khan, Shujauddin, and Ali Vardi Khan.

(34.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 2, p. 113.

(35.) For example, Gladwin, Narrative of Transactions, p. 109.

(36.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 3, pp. 189–90.

(37.) The repeated praises of the personal qualities of nawabs Murshid Quli (Gladwin, Narrative of Transactions, p. 109), Shujauddin (Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 1, p. 279; Rustam Ali, ‘Tarikh-i-Hind’, in H.M. Elliot and J. Dowson, The History of India as Told by its Own Historians, vol. 8, New York, 1966 (rpt), p. 67; and Ali Vardi Khan (Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 1, p. 341), for example, indicate this as do open criticisms of the later Mughal emperors.

(38.) J.F. Richards, ‘The Formulation of Imperial Authority under Akbar and Jehangir’, in The Mughal State, 1526–1750, New Delhi, 1998, pp. 126–67; Muzaffar Alam, The Languages of Political Islam: India 1200–1800, Chicago, 2004.

(39.) Stephen P. Blake, Shahjahanabad: The Sovereign City in Mughal India 1639–1739, Cambridge, 1991.

(40.) ‘Atmaram's Account’.

(41.) Ibid.

(42.) Cornell Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Ottoman Empire, Princeton, 1986.

(43.) Translation of Tarikh-i-Dilkasha: Memoirs of Bhimsen Relating to Aurangzeb's Deccan Campaign, Sir Jadunath Sarkar Birth Centenary Commemoration Volume, V.G. Khobrekar (ed.), Bombay, 1972, p. 1.

(44.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 1, pp. 58–60.

(45.) Ibid., pp. 36–7.

(46.) Lehmann, ‘Eighteenth Century Transition’.

(47.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 1, pp. 114–15.

(48.) Ibid., pp. 36–7.

(49.) Ibid.

(50.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, Ghulam Hussain Salim, Riyaz, Gladwin, Narrative of Transactions, and Yusuf Ali Khan, Tarikh, all contain scattered references which reveal positive opinions held by these writers.

(51.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 1, p. 342.

(52.) Ibid., pp. 341–2.

(53.) Ghulam Hussain Salim, Riyaz, pp. 363–4; Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 2, pp. 186–7, 193.

(54.) ‘Atmaram's Account’.

(55.) ‘Atmaram's Account’; ‘Persian Treatise’.

(56.) ‘Atmaram's Account’.

(57.) ‘Atmaram's Account’; ‘Persian Treatise’.

(58.) ‘Atmaram's Account’.

(59.) Karam Ali, Muzaffarnama, p. 43; Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 3, pp. 158–213.

(60.) Karam Ali, Muzaffarnama, p. 36.

(61.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 3, pp. 158–213; also Chatterjee, Merchants, Politics and Society.

(62.) Karam Ali, Muzaffarnama, p. 43.

(63.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 3, pp. 158–213.

(64.) Durba Ghosh, Sex and the Family in Colonial India, Cambridge, 2006. It contains an insightful commentary on the boundaries restricting social and other types of interactions between Indians and the British in eighteenth century Bengal.

(65.) Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Seir, vol. 3, pp. 158–213.

(66.) Ibid.

(67.) Ibid.

(68.) Sarkar, History of Bengal, p. 501.

(69.) Mirza Nathan, Baharistan-i-Ghaibi; H. Blochmann, ‘Koch Bihar, Koch Hajo and Asam in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries according to the Akbarnamah, the Padishahnamah and the Fathiyah-i-Ibriyah’, Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, 1872, vol. 41, no. 1, pp. 49–113.

(70.) Sumit Guha, ‘Transitions and Translations: Regional Power and Vernacular Identity in the Dakhan, 1500–1800’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, vol. 24, no. 2, 2004, pp. 23–31; Allison Busch, ‘The Anxiety of Innovation: The Practice of Literary Science in the Hindi/Riti Tradition’, Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, vol. 24, no. 2, 2004, pp. 45–59.

(71.) Ghulam Hussain Salim, Riyaz, p. 3.

(72.) For a description of these processes, see Abdul Majed Khan, The Transition in Bengal, 1756–65: A Study of Muhammad Reza Khan, Cambridge, 1969; Lehmann, ‘Eighteenth Century Transition’; K. Chatterjee, Merchants, Politics and Society.

(73.) Hari Charan Das, ‘Chahar Gulzar Shujai’, in Elliot and Dowson, The History of India by its Own Historians, vol. 8, pp. 223–5, 229.

(74.) S.N. Mukherjee, Sir William Jones: A Study in Eighteenth Century British Attitudes to India, Bombay, 1983; David Kopf, British Orientalism and the Bengal Renaissance: The Dynamics of Indian Modernization, 1773–1835, Berkeley, 1969; Trautmann, Aryans and British India, and others.

(75.) Guha, An Indian Historiography of India, pp. 4–8.
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Re: The Cultures of History in Early Modern India, by Kumkum

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Part 1 of 2

6. The English East India Company

Reflections on Mughal Traditions of Governance


This chapter focuses on a range of English language accounts of India's and Bengal's past which were composed during the mid to later eighteenth century. Chronologically they occupy the same period as many of the Persian tarikhs, the Mangalkavyas, and the Bengali prose narratives discussed in the preceding chapters. The English narratives in question can also be located within a broad spectrum of colonial discourses and commentaries about India, which stretch from the eighteenth into the twentieth century. British colonialist discourses about India, spanning several centuries, and various phases of colonial rule, exhibit different features and concerns befitting a body of narratives which practically parallel the duration of the British Raj in India. The focus here is on the English language accounts which were produced mostly during the period of decline of the later Mughal political order in Bengal and the transformation of the English East India Company into the sovereign ruler of a large part of eastern India as a prelude to the extension of its empire to other parts of the subcontinent. Many of these English accounts of the late eighteenth century were based on Persian tarikhs and Sanskrit texts and their authors interacted closely with Indian scholars familiar with Persian as well as pundits well-versed in Sanskrit. Several Englishmen who composed these narratives had acquired a familiarity—in cases even a degree of proficiency—with Sanskrit, Persian, and contemporary regional vernaculars, especially Bengali and Hindustani. Much of the attention devoted to colonialist accounts of Indian historiography by current scholarship focuses on nineteenth and twentieth century colonialist narratives about (p.188) different aspects of India's past. The narratives which are central to this chapter are significant because they present a contrast to the colonialist historiography of the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries. They also embody a phase in the evolution of colonialist discourse about India when the tendency to marginalize and look down upon Indian traditions of writing about the past had either not crystallized, or had not yet acquired the strength and conviction that it did later.

Context and Imperative

Thomas R. Trautmann was probably right when he cautioned that the too facile tendency to equate knowledge and power carried the risk of devaluing the intellectual pursuits undertaken by the English in India together with the results of these pursuits.1 But, it is equally true that the spate of colonialist narratives about India produced during the later eighteenth century were predicated on the conviction that the dramatic transformation in the nature of the Company, from merchant to ‘merchant-sovereign’, made it much more imperative to have knowledge about its newly acquired dominion in India.2 The systematic intellectual exploration by the East India Company's employees of the languages, literatures, philosophy, and religion of ancient India, especially during the Governor-generalship of Warren Hastings (1773–85), comprises one of the most-studied aspects of British colonial history in India. These scholars focused their intellectual endeavours mainly on ancient Indian judicial and cultural traditions which could be drawn upon as the Company grappled with the task of developing a judicial code and cultural policy for its subjects in Bengal. What is very rarely acknowledged by current scholarship is that this scenario in Bengal also generated an intense scrutiny and exploration by East India Company employees of the purely political and governmental dimensions of India's past.

This particular strand of intellectual exploration, in many cases, slightly predated the celebrated findings of orientalists such as Colebrooke, Halhed, and others who were primarily interested in gaining insights and knowledge about ancient India. It is not as though the English authors who were interested in the governmental aspects of India's past kingdoms and empires were indifferent to the need of knowing and understanding better the religion, philosophy, and social customs of the vast majority of ‘gentoos’. In fact, as will be seen later, it was quite the contrary. Many of the earliest colonialist authors about (p.189) India's past such as Robert Orme, Alexander Dow, William Bolts, Luke Scrafton, and others, however, attached greater weight and importance to accounts of India's past rulers in their narratives—especially Mughal rulers and their principles and institutions of governance. According to these writers, the East India Company, on the verge of taking up the reigns of government in Bengal, needed a clear insight into the political and governmental aspects of India's more recent past, particularly the Mughal empire and Mughal successor states in eighteenth century India, together with other regional kingships (for example, the Marathas) which existed in the subcontinent at that time. It was particularly important for the Company's authorities to have knowledge about the governmental and administrative institutions which these regimes had used and, in some cases, still continued to use. The Company also needed a perspective about where they stood in relation to emperors and rulers who held sway during India's medieval and early modern past. Some of these eighteenth century Indian states had recently been demolished or neutralized by the English Company; in others the English were still fashioning the modalities of political, military, and diplomatic engagements at multiple levels.

As the East India Company transformed itself rapidly from merchant to de facto ruler and eventually to the sovereign government of Bengal, intense and passionate debates were generated within Company circles in India and London about the reshaping, reform, and readjustment of its corporate structure and organization with regard to its changed status. The intra-Company debates and controversies were matched by equally tense debates about the Company within governmental circles in Britain.3 In this highly charged and tense atmosphere, authors like Orme, Dow, Bolts, and others produced narratives about India's Mughal past with a view to using such information as ammunition to formulate arguments and views about the nature and future course of the East India Company in Bengal.4 As will be seen below, some of these opinions were formed by a genuine admiration of and interest in Mughal and later Mughal history, but others, not surprisingly, had personal axes to grind.5 The principal relevance of these English language narratives for this work lies in the fact that they provide accounts of Mughal systems of governance and, more importantly, in the conclusions that were derived from these.

Many (but not all) of the authors of these narratives regarded the advancement of the East India Company's interests in India as part of a much wider process of the expansion of European military, commercial, (p.190) and political power worldwide.6 The awareness of a global/European context for the Company's achievements in India meant that its emergence as a political entity in India was perceived as a victory against European competitors and rivals such as the French and Portuguese, and also against Indian political regimes represented by the nawabs of Murshidabad in Bengal, for example. These Company employees also sought to locate the story of Islamic rule, and particularly Mughal rule, in India in the context of a much broader theme of the expansion and proliferation of the military/political power of Islam. The specific origins of Mughal rule in India and their tradition of governance were repeatedly traced back to the Mongols under Chengiz Khan. Thus the Mughals and their accomplishments in ‘Indostan’ were a regional chapter in a bigger story of how the Mongols and the various kingdoms and principalities which had originated from Mongol conquests were governed.

A Preoccupation with the Mughals and their ‘Institutes’ of Government

Almost all the English language narratives of the late eighteenth century which were preoccupied with governmental issues expressed unqualified admiration for the Mughals and their system of governance. William Bolts described the Mughal government as ‘moderate and mild’ and highly praised the Mughals for their support of trade and manufacture.7 What especially impressed him was the fact that the Mughal emperors encouraged ‘the commercial intercourses of other nations with the natives of Hindostan’.8 Other aspects of Mughal rule which impressed Bolts were the ‘just and humane’ laws of the empire, its reasonable rates of taxation, and the concern of the rulers for the welfare and prosperity of their subjects. Other writers like Harry Verelst, William Kirkpatrick, Luke Scrafton, and Francis Gladwin also expressed their admiration for the ‘high’ age of Mughal rule which was usually identified as the period which began with Babur—and more particularly with Akbar—and ended more or less with the death of Aurangzeb.9 In Scrafton's words, ‘there was scarce a better administered government in the world’.10 One particular feature which stood out and impressed the English authors was the policy of religious tolerance introduced by Akbar. Bolts, writing from the perspective of someone who was associated with a European trading company, remarked that the Mughal rulers did not concern themselves much about ‘the religion either of their own Indian subjects or of those who traded with them’.11 (p.191) The interest of the East India Company observers in the policies and principles of Mughal imperial governance, or the ‘institutes’ of Mughal rule can provide grounds for a modification of prevailing notions of not only Mughal but also, more broadly, ‘Asiatic’ or ‘oriental’ governance. This issue has been discussed further in the chapter.

A recurring feature in some of these narratives is the tendency to refer to the Mughals as people who were not indigenous to India. Robert Orme, for example, repeatedly treats the Muslims or ‘Moors’ of India separately from the ‘Gentoos’ and refers to the former as settlers and conquerors.12 One wonders whether the references to the Mughals as settlers, conquerors, and outsiders may also have had something to do with English concerns in India during this period. The characterization of the Mughals as outsiders, who nevertheless successfully created an empire in India, carried with it an implicit reassurance that perhaps, though not indigenous to India, the English Company too might succeed in laying the foundation of a viable empire here. Moreover, the success of the Mughals in winning the affection and loyalty of their subjects (at least during the heydays of the empire) was a good portent for the English Company since it also carried the suggestion that Indians had prior experience of being ruled by ‘outsiders’ and, therefore, might be amenable to accepting the Company's rule.

In most of these colonialist accounts the interest and admiration for the Mughal empire, at the peak of its power and prestige, was intended to be a background to the topic of greater immediate relevance and interest to them—the decline of the empire. In this regard, the cluster of early colonialist accounts comes very close to the Indian authors of the Persian tarikhs who have been discussed in Chapter 5. These two groups of writers also betrayed another common preoccupation (though not necessarily identical perspectives) in their writings, that is, the rise of the English East India Company's empire in India. In fact, these two processes were seen as connected to each other. A perception which looms large in most of the English language narratives of the mid-eighteenth century is that the weakness and decline of the Mughal empire created conditions which facilitated—indirectly at least—the ascension of the Company to the position of political and territorial power. As these English employees of the Company saw it, the process of Mughal decline and the consequences generated by it were still playing themselves out in late eighteenth century India, and the Company had become both a participant in this complicated political scenario as well as an arbiter of sorts in it. So, the current and (p.192) ongoing relevance of Mughal imperial decline generated considerable analysis and discussion.

There are interesting similarities in the efforts of English commentators like Orme, Holwell, Dow, and others to delineate the causes of Mughal decline with that of the Persian tarikh writers of the eighteenth century. Like the latter, these English authors also identified the incompetence of the later Mughal emperors as one of the prime reasons for decline.13 The other equally important cause was the cessation of different parts of the empire as autonomous states. Dow and Orme were strongly censorious of high-ranking Mughal noblemen such as the Nizam-ul-Mulk, Saadat Ali Khan, and the Bengal nawabs14 whose pursuit of selfinterest as well as their disloyalty and treachery towards the empire resulted in the autonomy of large and important Mughal provinces in the Deccan, Awadh, and Bengal.15 He also viewed the nawabs of Bengal as usurpers and operators who did not have distinguished family or career backgrounds prior to their seizure of control over Bengal.16 Most of the colonialist narratives date the beginning of Mughal decline to the period following Aurangzeb's death in 1707; or to the invasion of India by Nadir Shah in 1738. These English authors also clearly recognized that Mughal decline made possible the emergence and strengthening of regional powers whose origins were different from those of Mughal breakaway states such as Awadh or Bengal. Among such powers were Haider Ali in Mysore, and the Marathas who were regarded with good reason as the most formidable Indian power of that time. As seen in the previous chapter, many of the tarikh writers also regarded the formation of autonomous states by former Mughal mansabdars as one of the chief causes of imperial decline. The difference lay in the fact that most tarikh writers did not view the consequences of this development to be uniformly negative; whereas most—but not all—of the English language commentators did.

The Concept of Asiatic/Oriental Despotism: A Modification

A strong theme that runs through the narratives of these English authors and their reflections about the Mughal empire is that of Oriental or Asiatic despotism. Despite the positive evaluation given by most of them to the system of governance under the great Mughals, the authors of these accounts almost always identified Mughal governance specifically—and ‘Asiatic’ or ‘oriental’ modes of governance more (p.193) generally—as despotic. William Bolts, as noted above, had nothing but strong admiration for the Mughal government, particularly till the rule of Aurangzeb. Yet he also referred to the fact that there was a long tradition of tyranny and ‘extreme despotism’ flourishing in Hindustan.17 In fact, when placed beside the many glowing tributes paid to Mughal rule, the concurrent characterization of it as despotic does indeed appear contradictory. This contradiction can perhaps be unravelled at one level by examining the modified interpretation of despotism offered by many of these authors. The endeavour to offer a modification to prevailing European notions of oriental despotism is discussed below. The second factor which could explain the overarching conviction that most forms of government prevailing in Asia were despotic in nature is the tradition of discourse on this subject among European intellectuals. As is well known, the concept of oriental despotism had a long genealogy in Europe and can be traced as far back as Aristotle. As Thomas Metcalf writes, ‘this concept became a way of setting off people like themselves, conceived off as “Europeans”, from those conceived off as “Asians”, who, in their view, willingly submitted to “absolutism”.’18 This concept resurfaced in European intellectual discourse during the eighteenth century when philosophers like Montesquieu and Voltaire sought to use the notion of oriental despotism as a framing device to characterize ‘oriental’ societies and their governments, but also as something that very crucially distinguished Europeans from people in Asia. As thinkers like Montesquieu and Voltaire sought to fight the growth of royal absolutism, they deployed the concept of oriental despotism as something that also had to be feared and prevented from rearing its ugly head in Europe. Thus, for writers like Dow, Orme, Bolts, and others the association between India and despotism was probably something they had derived from the prevailing intellectual climate in Europe.

Despotism represented a form of government which had ‘no laws, no [institution of private] property, and hence its peoples no rights’.19 In other words, despotism by itself was seen as a scenario in which an absolute ruler wielded complete and arbitrary authority unchecked by a legal system, a written constitution, or other considerations. There were some efforts to explore the possible reasons for the proliferation of despotism in India and more widely in the ‘orient’. Some eighteenth century English commentators attributed despotism to India's enervating climate and the religious principles of both Hinduism and Islam.20 In the perception of some of these writers—Robert Orme and Alexander Dow, for example, the culture and teachings of Islam in particular encouraged despotic forms of government.21 The despotism prevalent in the political and public spheres was further reproduced within the family where it was manifest in practices such as slavery, the suppression of women, and a host of other customs.22 The proclivity to link despotic tendencies in Indian political systems to Indian religions and climate, and other factors, continued to recur in British colonialist discourses about India long after the eighteenth century was over. The narratives discussed here represent some of the early colonialist speculations on the origins of despotism in this part of the world. Theories regarding despotism, particularly the tendency to link it to the culture and teachings of Islam, can also be traced back to European views on Islam going back to medieval times.23 But in the context of Mughal India, they did not go unchallenged by English commentators who professed different views on this topic.24 But, it is significant that positive evaluations of classic Mughal governance were counterposed to the conviction that it was nevertheless a tyrannical, despotic mode of rule.

Despite the strong conviction that pre-British traditions of governance in India were inevitably authoritarian and despotic, one of the most significant byproducts to emerge from this cluster of eighteenth century English language narratives was a much more modified and nuanced notion of Oriental or Asiatic despotism, especially as applied to the Mughal empire and to Mughal successor states in India. While the idea of oriental despotism as a central trope of British colonial characterizations of Indian political culture (or rather, its lack) is wellknown, the modification of this concept by a group of early colonialist commentators has gone unacknowledged for the most part.25 The Sanskritproficient orientalism of Halhed, Colebrooke, and others has come to be seen as representative of the dominant face of British orientalism in India; whereas the Persian-proficient orientalism of Alexander Dow, Francis Gladwin, William Kirkpatrick, and others has received remarkably little scholarly attention. Yet it constitutes an important strand in the evolution and crystallization of British colonial understanding of India. Secondly, it illuminates a category of orientalist learning which was distinct from the ancient Indian culture and history-oriented Sanskritic learning of Halhed, Colebrooke, and others.

It is true that the modified, nuanced, and sympathetic interpretation of Oriental/ Asiatic despotism and its application to Mughal institutions was not long-lived. This is eloquently illustrated by the comments made (p.195) about Muslim/ Mughal rule in India by James Mill and by Sir Henry Elliot.26 But, the demise and atrophy of this strand of Persianized orientalism and the Mughal-centric preoccupation of its authors by the early nineteenth century actually tells us a lot about the evolution and change in the circumstances and attitude of the English in India towards India's Mughal past and the political and cultural traditions associated with it. The Company's success in expanding and consolidating its status as a political/territorial power in India by the early decades of the nineteenth century meant that its policy makers no longer felt it necessary to refer to their precursor empires and kingdoms in India for guidance regarding the shaping of colonial governance. Besides, the first round of institution-creation by the English Company for its early dominion in eastern India had been accomplished for the moment by the early nineteenth century, and as Ranajit Guha, Robert Travers, and others have shown, these were not predominantly shaped by Mughal precedent.27 Travers' work has established that there were English voices which had articulated the need to refer to Mughal precedent, but such voices had not always prevailed when the institutions characteristic of the early colonialist regime had actually been formed and implemented.

The actual arguments advanced by English writers in their modified and nuanced understanding of oriental/Mughal despotism fall under two broad heads. The first argument was that all Indian governments, Hindu as well as Muslim and certainly the Mughal form of governance, were despotic. But, such despotism could be tempered and its ill-effects could be neutralized by the individual ability and judgement of a good and upright, but absolutist ruler. Alexander Dow thus wrote, ‘the misfortunes of half an age of tyranny are removed in a few years under the mild administration of a just prince’.28 According to this line of argument, many of the Mughal rulers, especially between and including Akbar and Aurangzeb, had provided good, humane, and benign rule over their vast empire. Such sentiments were also echoed by Francis Gladwin and by William Kirkpatrick.29 Thus, despotism by itself was not at all a desirable form of government; however, an enlightened despot could render it efficient and humane. The second line of argument advanced by these writers was that in addition to having had the good fortune to experience the reigns of a series of just and capable rulers, Mughal rule was actually founded upon certain ‘institutes’ of governance and perhaps even a ‘constitution’. Proponents of this view actually situated Mughal rule against a longer and broader tradition associated with the (p.196) Mongols and their descendants in other parts of Asia, to conclude that the governments formed by these people could not actually be called despotisms since they were all characterized by identifiable principles of governance as well as customs. Since the Mughals saw themselves as descendants of the Mongols, they too valued the importance of ruling according to prior precedents and customs.30

Gladwin eulogized the achievements of Akbar as well as the latter's ‘most able minister’ Abul Fazl in recording the foundational ‘institutes’ of Mughal rule. Gladwin identified the most important principles behind such institutes as regard for the security of life and property of the humblest peasant, religious tolerance, and concern for ‘the rights of humanity’.31 In Gladwin's estimation, it was especially remarkable that Akbar had been able to transcend what the former described as the ‘intolerant spirit’ of the Islamic faith and instead demonstrate his commitment to publicizing the foundational principles of his government via the Ain-i-Akbari.32 In doing so, Akbar transcended the ‘prevailing maxims of despotism’.33 These principles, according to Gladwin, were adhered to overall by Akbar's successors on the Mughal throne until the time of Aurangzeb, when again major innovations and reforms were carried out with regard to the principles of governance. Alexander Dow also referred to ‘the constitution of Hindostan’34 and by it he denoted the system of governance which had prevailed under the Mughals together with its clearly defined principles, institutions, offices, and customs.35 The testimony of the French traveller Francois Bernier, who had travelled through the Mughal empire during the seventeenth century, was believed to have publicized the view that no private property rights existed in Mughal India because the emperor was the sole proprietor of all the land.36 As noted above, the absence of a secure right to private property was regarded as one of the defining features of a despotic and arbitrary government. This view was vigorously challenged by several of the eighteenth century English commentators on India including Gladwin37 and Scrafton.38 Thus there was a vigorous effort to modify the picture of an uncontrolled and absolutist government in India under the Mughals. Other writers pointed out that there were clear constraints on the abuse and misuse of power even by absolute rulers. Kirkpatrick referred to the danger of ‘seasonable insurrection’ if absolute rulers rode rough-shod over the wishes and sentiments of their subjects.39 Dow believed that there was a very high degree of respect for men of letters in Mughal India and the Mughal emperors themselves ‘stood in awe of their pens’.40 From (p.197) this premise Dow came to the rather significant conclusion that in Mughal India despotic government was constrained up to a point by the power of scholars and writers who could record for posterity the actions and policies of rulers.41 ‘It is a proverb in the East,’ observed Dow, ‘that the monarchs of Asia were more afraid of the pen of Abul Fazil than they were afraid of the sword of Akbar’.42 Dow may have overstated his point. But it is certainly significant that Dow and many other East India Company-affiliated writers had formulated a spirited rebuttal and modification of the concept of despotism particularly with regard to its application to Mughal India. Despite the rebuttal, however, Dow himself would make a retreat of sorts from his above-mentioned views to lament the fact that in the last analysis the laws and institutions of the Mughal empire, although not non-existent, were not strong enough. They could not compensate for the weakness and incapacity of individual rulers. Dow pointed to the specific case of the Mughal emperor Muhammad Shah and said that the latter's reign may not have turned out to be such a disaster if the institutions of Mughal rule had been stronger.43

The articulation of a nuanced understanding of despotism in the Mughal empire was combined by these English commentators with an attempt to provide a historical grounding for Mughal administration through an attempt to reconstruct traditions of governance under the Mongols and Mongol-derived kingdoms in other parts of the Islamic world. This further reinforces the view that the Mughals, as well as the Mongols from whom they were descended, had never been practitioners of unchecked and oppressive absolutism. William Kirkpatrick's contribution to the New Asiatic Miscellany (1789) embodies a strong endeavour in this direction. Kirkpatrick starts out by first refuting the view that Islam as a religion did not encourage a proclivity towards despotism. In his view neither the Koran, nor commentaries on it, endorsed despotic rule. On the contrary both emphasized the need to sustain social harmony and the rights of individuals together with the authority of rulers. Kirkpatrick went so far as to say that the importance given to these objectives by Islamic tradition were stronger than ‘the jurisprudence of some nations of Europe which boast to be infinitely more enlightened and refined’.44 Secondly, he points out the tradition of scholarship in Islamic societies which placed a high degree of importance on the reciprocal duties of the subject and the ruler. This tradition assigned particular weight to the need for the ruler and his government to conform to previous usages and regulations since they (p.198) had acquired the status of political traditions.45 Kirkpatrick believed that there were also concrete examples of written laws which had been promulgated in Asia or the East by various ruling regimes of the past. He refers specifically to the Yassa of Chengiz Khan, the ‘institutes’ of Timur, and the ‘regulations’ of Akbar46 and suggests that the first two, in particular, might have been framed in a sort of ‘diet or general assembly’, and that all of them were diffused as widely as possible in an age when printing was unknown.47 The focal point of his essay is a discussion of the ‘institutes’ of prince Ghazan Khan, a descendant of Chengiz Khan, who ruled over Persia during the late thirteenth century.48 The ‘institutes’ of Ghazan Khan referred to by Kirkpatrick include declarations about the need to ensure an incorruptible and fair judicial system, the need to appoint learned and wise persons as judges, the need to reduce the power and influence of the nobility on judges, and the need to prevent royal officials from extorting the subjects.49 The examples of the ‘institutes’ of Ghazan Khan need to be seen in the context of the ‘institutes’ of Akbar (the Ain-i-Akbari of Abul Fazl) which were translated into English, probably for the first time, by Francis Gladwin. As seen above, Gladwin had highly praised Akbar's efforts to publicize the principles of his government among his subjects through authorizing Abul Fazl to compose the Ain-i-Akbari. Kirkpatrick, however, seeks to draw a line connecting a Mughal ‘constitution’, which he believed existed, to the ‘regulations’ or ‘institutes’ of Ghazan Khan, and then linking both to the institutes of Timur. Timur's institutes, according to this author, functioned as ‘the code of ancient usages so often recognized by the later monarchs of Hindostan as a constitutional rule of conduct’.50 It is also significant that English writers like Dow, Gladwin, and Kirkpatrick who spoke in terms of a Mughal constitution were all Persian scholars of considerable ability. They were familiar with Persian literature, including accounts of past rulers and their modes of governance, and their views on the existence of written ‘institutes’ of Mughal or Mongol governance were derived directly from the authors of Persian accounts.

These English narratives, however, made a distinction between the classic or ‘high’ Mughal age, which most of them identified as having ended with the reign of Aurangzeb and if not, then definitely with Nadir Shah's invasion in 1738 and the period following it. There seems to have been a consensus in these narratives that factors which had acted as deterrents to despotic behaviour by emperors during the peak period of Mughal prestige and glory had effectively dissolved during (p.199) the eighteenth century when the empire itself was in decline.51 In the perspective of several English writers such as Alexander Dow, William Bolts, and Robert Orme, it was the new rulers in many of the Mughal successor states who indulged in the rampant and unchecked practice of despotism during the eighteenth century.52 Dow called Mughal successor states like Bengal a ‘mock form of empire’ and persisted in calling its rulers ‘usurpers’.53 Bolts too discussed in detail how the autonomous nawabs of Bengal had actually subverted the Mughal mode of governance and disturbed the balance which had existed among different branches of administration according to the classic tenets of Mughal rule.54 Thus, even if despotism had been tempered and made humane under the rule of the great Mughal emperors, particularly from Akbar to Aurangzeb, it reigned unchecked in the conditions created by Mughal decline.

But here too, Bolts and Dow, while sticking to their conviction that eighteenth century India was a fertile ground for the proliferation of despotism, offered significant modifications—amounting almost to revocations—in their evaluation of the Bengal nawabs whom they had earlier branded as corrupt and tyrannical usurpers. The reason for this shift in judgement was tied ultimately to the political agendas of both Bolts and Dow vis-à-vis the presence of the East India Company in Bengal and to the motivations that led both of them to write their respective narratives in the first place. Both men had reasons to paint the East India Company's regime in Bengal in a negative light, and to drive that point home, both were prepared to concede that the Bengal nawabs who had ruled the region prior to the Company may have had some redeeming accomplishments. Dow admitted in contradiction to his prior statements that the Bengal nawabs practised the ‘mild despotism’ associated with the Mughals and that Bengal had prospered greatly while they sat on the masnad at Murshidabad.55 He admitted too that although despotism was not supposed to be conducive to it, trade and commerce had flourished under the reigns of the autonomous nawabs of Bengal.56

There were many points of similarity in the issues that preoccupied the Indian authors of Persian tarikhs discussed in the previous chapter and those embodied in the English language narratives discussed here. The tarikh writers took as their premise the conviction that the classic Mughal tradition of governance had been based on just and noble principles and their narratives were intended to persuade the new masters of Bengal, that is, the English Company, of the need to emulate (p.200) Mughal precedent. The English authors of the eighteenth century narratives also deployed Mughal history and their nuanced/modified interpretation regarding the existence of a Mughal ‘constitution’ to fight their political and ideological battles within and around East India Company circles both in Britain and India. Many of the tarikh writers, however, were inclined to view the rulers of Mughal successor states of the eighteenth century as custodians of Mughal political ideals rather than predominantly as usurpers and subverters. But here too, as seen above, English views were not entirely consistent.
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Re: The Cultures of History in Early Modern India, by Kumkum

Postby admin » Mon Mar 13, 2023 4:34 am

Part 2 of 2

Despotism, the Mughal Precedent, and the Company's State

The invocation of a Mughal past was intended as a reference point to determine the shape and contours of the emergent East India Company's state in the region. Commentators such as Dow, Gladwin, and Kirkpatrick used their conviction in the existence of a Mughal ‘constitution’, which was grounded in principles of just governance, to advocate the argument that the Company's administrative institutions in Bengal should be shaped with reference to those of Mughal times.57 They did not necessarily advocate that any governmental practice that could be tracked to the Mughal system needed to be implemented in the Company's state without modification or reservation. Kirkpatrick, for example, argued for a thorough and open-minded review of Mughal practices. This would allow the Company to determine if certain Mughal institutions could be introduced into its recently acquired dominion and also to ascertain what modifications and alterations needed to be made to them.58

Other writers such as Dow and Bolts, in particular, used their studies to formulate arguments ranging from the takeover of the East India Company's dominions in India by the British government to the outright conquest of all of India by the East India Company. Interestingly the spectre of oriental despotism was invoked now in order to buttress all these different shades of opinions. These writers—and Orme too can be counted with them in this regard—were all stringent critics of the East India Company's behaviour in Bengal ever since it acquired political dominance in 1757, but more particularly after its acquisition of the diwani of Bengal from the Mughal emperor in 1765. There were definitely political reasons for Dow and Bolts to publicly lash out at what they represented as the East India Company's gross misgovernment and corruption in Bengal.59 All of them agreed that Bengal's economic prosperity had plummeted, especially since 1765, because of the unchecked rapacity of the Company's servants there, particularly with regard to their aggressive and uncontrolled conduct of private trading.60 Other instances of misgovernment by the English Company were also strongly denounced. These ranged from the virtual obliteration of the principle of free trade (also regarded as one of the crucial elements in a system of enlightened government) and the total ‘eradication’ of civil justice.61 From this basic premise of the Company's misrule in Bengal, Dow and Bolts made very different, but equally bold suggestions about the future course of action where India was concerned. Both suggestions involved invocations of the notion of despotism.

Alexander Dow believed that in the anarchic and unstable state of affairs which prevailed in eighteenth century India, the most desirable course of action in terms of the interests of the British nation lay in the outright conquest of all of India by the English East India Company. Dow presented a knowledgeable and remarkably insightful sketch of the political configuration of eighteenth century India62 which included the various regional states as well as the moribund Mughal empire which existed, at this time, practically in name only and argued that in political and military terms such a conquest was ‘not only practicable but easy’.63 In Dow's vision, following such a conquest, the Company could ‘maintain it [that is, India] for ages as an appanage of the British crown’.64 Dow listed the great material benefits which would accrue to the British nation from the Company's conquest of the Indian subcontinent (it would help to pay off Britain's national debt, cause an influx of wealth into Britain, and such others). The moral rationale for this plan of conquest, however, returned to the issue of despotism. In Dow's opinion, a plan for the conquest of the Indian subcontinent would not amount to an immoral act since it would result in the liberation of Indians who were being oppressed by tyrannical and despotic rulers who had seized power during the decline of the Mughal rule. As subjects of the East India Company's rule, Indians would experience the benefits of a government ‘founded upon the principles of virtue and justice’.65 These pronouncements of Dow which occur in the second volume of his History of Hindostan run counter to his statements in volume three of the same work where he depicted the Company's regime in Bengal in far from positive terms. These contradictions in the views expressed in the three separate volumes of Dow's History of Hindostan reflect the changing priorities of Dow himself over the course of a few years. What is significant for us here is to take note of how the trope of despotism was being utilized to advocate a blueprint for an East India Company empire not just in Bengal, but including all of India during the later eighteenth century.

William Bolts also fell back on the trope of despotism, but he did so in very different terms from those espoused by Alexander Dow. Bolts used his powerful critique of the Company's regime in Bengal to advance the thesis that the Company's political position in Bengal was itself politically dubious. Secondly, the English Company in Bengal was itself behaving like an oriental or Asiatic despot, and it was therefore necessary for the British government to step in and put a terminal halt to this state of affairs. Bolts depicted the nawabs of Bengal as illegitimate usurpers who had seized power over the region in questionable ways; he also portrayed the ‘grand Mogul’ as emperor only in name and as someone who was essentially a puppet in the hands of the English Company.66 Thus any political status or rights bestowed on the Company by the Mughal emperor (this was an obvious reference to the bestowal of the office of diwan on the East India Company by the Mughal emperor Shah Alam in 1765) were politically invalid.67

Bolts also advanced the view that there were no serious problems as long as the English Company was a purely trading corporation in India and was required to abide by the laws of various Indian governments who were strong enough to enforce them. The genesis of the current problem lay in the transformation of the Company into a political entity in India during the later eighteenth century.68 Thus, the despotism deemed to be endemic to Indian governments was now being practised by an English corporation-cum-ruling power. Bolts sought examples from other parts of the world to assert that trading aristocracies (he identified the English East India Company in these terms) were wont to abuse power and referred to examples of Venice and Genoa during the medieval and early modern periods for confirmation.69 He went on to further raise the spectre of the East India Company and its politics, factionalism, and corruption leading up to a situation in which British national interests might be jeopardized.70 Bolts painted a scenario in which rich and unscrupulous people (a thinly veiled attack on rich ‘nabobs’ such as Clive, for example, who had become the subjects of much controversy and scandal in eighteenth century Britain) might seize control over the affairs of the East India Company; worse still, ‘foreigners may combine and by engrossing much [Company] stock…endanger the Asiatick territorial possessions and therewith the India trade of this nation’.71 Thus the despotism and corruption of the Company, in Bolts's representation, could stretch to a point where British national interests were actually threatened. Bolts did not say so explicitly, but in touching upon such a concern he was deliberately perhaps stoking current fears in certain British circles that the corruption and immorality of the East India Company's government in Bengal might corrupt and taint the British body politic as well. Bolts's ultimate condemnation of the East India Company in Bengal was embodied perhaps in his description of it as the ‘worst of the ancient Black nabobs’.72

Ancient India: Culture, Ethnography, and Historiography

As noted at the outset of this chapter, early colonialist explorations of ancient Indian religion and culture, as well as other ethnographic aspects of Indian society, are extremely well-known. A large body of scholarly literature has not only enriched our understanding of the findings of colonialist officials in India during the eighteenth century, but has also raised important questions about the nature and content of colonial knowledge about India as well as the character of the interactive dynamics between Indian scholars and British orientalists during this period.73 The work of particularly well known Sanskrit-proficient orientalists such as William Jones and others of the Warren Hastings era are too well known to merit repetition here. It is relevant though to briefly review the views of Persian-proficient East India Company officials about ancient India. The Mughalcentric interests of these English authors occupied the central focus of their narratives. But almost all of them made observations about Indian society and culture, that is, mainly Hindu society and culture, because they felt that such knowledge was indispensable not just for English territorial acquisitions in India, but also for the conduct of its valuable trade in India.74

The interest in Indian or Hindu philosophy, religion, and culture derived mainly from Sanskrit materials or from the Sanskrit-proficiency of orientalist scholars. But the entry of yet another group of British orientalists into studies and commentaries about the religion, culture, and social practices of Hindu Indians occurred through Persian language materials as well as materials in various Indian vernacular languages. A good example of this is Alexander Dow. He studied Sanskrit in Benares but then stopped it to commence the study of Persian.75 It is quite obvious that he had considerable familiarity with Persian literature and his access to insights about Hindu society, religion, and accounts of past kings occurred via translations of such materials into Persian.76 Halhed also apparently knew Persian well and his best-known achievement— the translation into English of ‘A Code of Gentoo Laws’—had resulted from a circuitous process whereby the Sanskrit compilation of the code by indigenous scholars, well-versed in Sanskrit, was translated into Persian. Halhed had then translated the Persian version of the code into English.77

Officials of the Company who were Persian-proficient identified Sanskritlanguage texts (often identified by them in general terms as shastra) as repositories of information about and insights into the ‘civil history’ of ancient, or Hindu, India which was deemed to include the ‘language, literature, philosophy, religion, law, ethics, sciences, architecture and the arts’ of that period.78 Secondly, their views showed a degree of respect and admiration for these aspects of ancient Indian society and culture. This is seen in the narratives of J.Z. Holwell, William Bolts, Alexander Dow, and others. The obvious antiquity of Indian civilization greatly impressed commentators such as these and they were keen to make comparisons of it with other antique civilizations such as those of Egypt and Greece.79 The religious and philosophical traditions of India were an obvious area of interest for these scholars, and topics such as the concept of the transmigration of the soul and the different schools of Indian philosophy were discussed, as were forms of Indian social organization— particularly, the caste system and social practices such as sati. Many of the same English authors had identified a ‘constitution’ which they held the Mughal rulers had given their Indian subjects; they also identified a ‘constitution’ associated with ancient or Hindu India which embodied the civil laws and principles of that society. Dow associated the Hindu code of laws with the nyaya shastra.80 Halhed proclaimed that there was a ‘gentoo juripsrudence’ which belied the common European view that Hindus had no written law codes.81 As is well known, this notion of an ancient Hindu ‘constitution’ was to play an instrumental role in the type of judicial system introduced by the East India Company's regime in Bengal. What stands out, however, is the absence in these eighteenth century commentaries of the type of negative characterizations such as the ones found in the writings of Charles Grant or James Mill in the early decades of the next century. Actually, English authors such as Holwell took pains to emphasize that Hindus were not ‘a race of stupid and gross idolators’.82 There was also an effort to point out that stories of the idolatry and superstition of the Hindus had been disseminated particularly by European travellers to India and that these proved nothing but ‘their [European travellers’] talent for fable upon the mysterious religion of Hindostan'.83 Indeed as P.J. Marshall points out, the views of British orientalist commentators of the eighteenth century about various aspects of Hinduism stand out in their distinction from those of the great mass of Europeans (mainly travellers) whose attitudes on Indian religion and culture were strongly coloured by ridicule or disgust.84 Holwell remarked that the tendency to profess negative views about ancient Indian/Hindu culture could be attributed to those Europeans ‘whose knowledge of states and kingdoms extends no further than the limits of their native land, often imagine all beyond it, scarce worth their thoughts or at least greatly inferior in comparison with their own…’.85

Although the quest for purely governmental traditions was not predominant in these early orientalist investigations into ancient Indian culture, this topic surfaced nevertheless as a by-product of the former: accounts of ancient Indian kings were seen as part of the religious traditions or ‘shaster’ of the Hindus. Several of the eighteenth century orientalists including Alexander Dow and William Jones, referred to genealogies or ‘catalogues’ of ancient Indian kings.86 Ancient Indian or Hindu notions of time and chronology were also discussed and commented upon by several of these writers.87 This notion of chronology which was characterized by enormous spans and units of time such as manus, yugas, and the like amazed and overwhelmed scholars such as Jones and Halhed. But they were neither dismissive nor belittling of this scheme or of the Hindu concept of the world's origin and the configuration of its geography. On the other hand, Halhed believed that the ancient Hindu notion of the earth's chronology tallied very exactly with those mentioned by Moses.88 These attitudes contrast significantly with the well-known views of James Mill and Macaulay in the nineteenth century. Mill for instance characterized the ancient Indian concept of time as ‘fable’ which stood in the ‘place of fact’.89

Concept of History and Methodology

The eighteenth century narratives produced by English authors associated with the early colonial regime in India seem to have mirrored several of the dominant trends in history writing prevalent at the time in Britain and more generally in Europe. Their explorations into Mughal and later Mughal history, as we have seen, emphasized the chronological reigns of kings and their governmental accomplishments. This tendency establishes a connection between these Mughal-centric writings about India and what has been described as the tradition of annalistic writing which characterized historical writing in seventeenth and early eighteenth century France and Britain. The English commentaries discussed in this chapter are marked most strongly by a commitment to recounting strictly linear chronological events of past times and, secondly, by the conviction that history was primarily a record of kings and their governmental activities. J.S. Grewal establishes a link between this feature and the philosophy of Gibbon that ‘wars and the administration of public affairs were the principal subjects of history’.90 Such views were also often reiterated in English journals of the eighteenth century.91 The narratives of Robert Orme, Alexander Dow, and several other eighteenth century authors who wrote commentaries on India bear testimony to this feature. The strong emphasis on chronology was paralleled by the concern that historical records would be flawed and incomplete if there were gaps in the chronological records of past times. Chronology was intended as the structuring device of history—it would provide the framework for the facts which would supply its substance. A great deal of care was taken to ascertain the accuracy of facts, usually in the form of references to authorities or sources from which they had been derived. The type of narratives showcased in this chapter tended to identify their authorities as accounts of earlier European travellers to India (for example, Francois Bernier), as well as near-contemporary European and British orientalists such as Anquetil du Perron, Herbelot, and James Fraser. Materials that today's historians describe as ‘primary sources’ were also invoked —these ranged from actual documents such as treaties and charters to copies of correspondence among personalities who played key roles in the events—the commentaries of William Bolts and George Vansittart comprise apt examples of this. Sometimes factual information had been derived through personal communication—including possibly verbal communication—between the authors of these commentaries and persons who were knowledgeable about the topics featured. Orme's History of the Military Transactions of the British Nation in Indostan, according to Tammita-Delgoda, owed some of its factual foundation to Orme's personal friendship with Robert Clive.92 Yet British and European historical writing of the eighteenth century also embodied a philosophy which was different from the annalistic tradition. The historical philosophy of Enlightenment writers such as Voltaire and Montesquieu aimed at transcending the mere cataloguing of events (p.207) and actions and instead laid emphasis on the ‘underlying principles of human nature which they revealed’.93 The authors of several of the Mughal-centric narratives in English explicitly acknowledged their debt to Persian language materials in composing these works.

Some of these narratives were direct translations from Persian materials—the best-known example perhaps was Alexander Dow's History of Hindostan, of which the first and second volumes were supposed to be a direct translation of Firishta's history. One can also mention in this context Francis Gladwin's translation of Akbar's ‘institutes’, among others. There were other works which were based largely on Persian accounts without necessarily being direct translations of the latter.94 Those narratives which are direct translations from Persian materials are nevertheless extremely significant because of the valuable commentaries made by the English authors/translators about their understandings of history as well as about the historical value of the Persian materials they used as sources and authorities.

The cluster of English language narratives focussed on Mughal and late Mughal rulers and kingdoms, therefore, affords us an extremely significant glimpse into how two traditions of writing about the past—the Persian tarikh tradition and the eighteenth century English tradition of annalistic history—were brought into close interaction with each other, due to the circumstances surrounding the English presence in eighteenth century India and Bengal. It is difficult to find instances of a Persian tarikh or the author of a Persian tarikh commenting on the English ‘style’ of writing about past kings and their governments. The English writers, however, made valuable remarks about the Persian tarikhs used by them. What stands out is that the eighteenth century English writers arrived at the consensus that the Persain tarikhs containing chronological records of past kings and their governmental accomplishments constituted ‘history’. The term ‘history’—and not fable or myth—was actually used repeatedly to describe these Persian language materials. Alexander Dow described Firishta's work as ‘the authentic history of a great empire’.95 As seen in the previous chapter, the tarikh style was characterized also by a chronological arrangement of the reigns of kings and a discussion of their governmental and administrative accomplishments. Dow had some criticisms to offer about Firishta's writing—he felt that Firishta had overburdened his history with too many facts and it was not sufficiently counterbalanced by ‘those reflections which give spirit and elegance to works of this kind’.96 But nevertheless, in Dow's final evaluation, Firishta's work was characterized by a ‘scrupulous attention to truth and that manliness of sentiment which constitute the very essence of good history’.97 He further praised Firishta's strength of judgement and his being ‘divested of religious prejudices as he is of political flattery or fear’ and declared that Firishta could be ranked among the ‘best writers of the West’.98 Thus, eighteenth century Persian-proficient British orientalists unreservedly described Persian traditions of writing about past rulers and governments as history.

There was nevertheless one major factor which, in the opinion of these English writers, separated European history-writing from the Indo-Persian style of history. Presaging by many centuries the views of Hayden White and others of his ilk, Dow proclaimed this factor to be the question of literary style. In his opinion, one of the principal differences between the ‘correct taste of Europe’ in matters of historical composition and what he had no hesitation in describing as the historical endeavours of Indo-Islamic authors lay in the matter of literary style.99 There was an acknowledgement of the view prevalent among Western writers that poetry was not a suitable genre for historical composition, but neither was ornate and ‘poetic prose’.100 Tammita-Delgoda refers to a strand of opinion in eighteenth century Britain which frowned upon ornate prose as a suitable style for writing history.101 Dow, although an admirer of Indo-Persian historiography, admitted that ‘the diction of their historians [is] very diffuse and verbose.…’102 He certainly felt that Firishta's writing was marred by this trait, but so was Abul Fazl's prose.103 But the issue of a problematic literary style did not, in Dow's view, create an insurmountable obstacle to the appreciation of Indo-Persian historiography. As he put it, he had ‘in many places clipped the wings of Firishta's turgid expressions’ to render the translated version of the latter's work more palatable for the English audience for whom the project had been undertaken in the first place.104

Many of these same writers, although quite admiring, respectful, and curious about ancient Indian historiographical traditions, espoused views about them that were different from their views about Indo-Persian historiography. The remarks of eighteenth century orientalists about ancient Indian historiogarphical traditions in particular tended to foreshadow later British colonialist scepticism and disdain about ancient Indian ability—or rather the lack of it—to write proper history. But these views still lacked the biting, sarcastic, and negative tone reminiscent mostly of nineteenth century colonialist discourse.

But others were far more sceptical about bestowing on ancient Indian historiographical traditions the label they had unhesitatingly given to (p.209) Indo-Persian tarikh tradition.105 The issue of literary genre posed an even more serious problem when it came to viewing ancient Indian materials from a historiographical perspective. These materials too were often in the form of poetry and the objections regarding the use of poetry for historical writing have been noted above. As Dow remarked about the Mahabharata—‘that work is a poem and not a history’.106 Yet Dow had depended on Persian authorities for explanations about ancient Indian materials and believed that Indo-Persian authors often did not know enough about ancient Indian historiographical and cultural traditions and their commentaries might not be the most reliable ones.107 He found it hard to believe that Hindus had no ‘authentic history’ and implied that perhaps a direct scholarly access to Sanskrit textual materials (which he did not possess) might yield a different impression.108 Through the nineteenth century, even this attitude—that is, of trying to doubt the allegation that ancient India had no genuine historiographical tradition—would become increasingly scarce.

Thus, the English language narratives of the eighteenth century demonstrate an interesting bifurcation in their views on Mughal and late Mughal traditions of history writing and ancient Indian traditions of the same. The characterization of Indo-Persian tarikh traditions as ‘historical’ by several English commentators of this period provides for a dialogue of sorts between this chapter and its immediately preceding one. Also, both chapters uphold the striking similarities in the concept of history entertained by eighteenth century English authors and the Persianized Indian aristocrats who composed tarikhs.

Through the nineteenth century, the overall tendency in British colonialist discourse about India was to characterize Muslims—especially Muslim rulers— as particularly barbaric, brutal, and tyrannical.109 The Mughals, though, sometimes merited a more generous and positive evaluation as, for example, at the hands of James Mill and Elphinstone.110 But neither the interest in the Mughals, nor the overall positive view of their political achievements as well as traditions of history writing associated with them, were markedly noticeable in colonialist discourses about India in the later nineteenth century or in the period following it.

As the remark made by Sir Henry Elliot in the introduction to the multi-volume work associated with him shows, Muslim rule, including Mughal rule in India, was by now strongly associated with barbarity, despotic rule, and tyranny;111 yet, interestingly enough, the Indo-Islamic tradition of historiography was rarely condemned as pure (p.210) fable or myth. Charles Stewart's history of Bengal published in the early nineteenth century was regarded as a landmark in its status as one of the first ‘modern’ histories of this region. Yet, as Stewart clarified at the very beginning of his work, his history was based on Persian tarikhs including the Tabaqat-i-Nasiri, Nizamuddin's Tabaqat-i-Akbari, Mohammed Qasim's (or Firishta) Tarikh-i-Firishta, Mirza Mohammed Kasim's Alamgirnama, and Ghulam Hussain Salim's Riyaz-us-Salatin.112 Stewart's History of Bengal also became the model for some Bengali authors of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries who wrote ‘modern’ histories of this region in the Bengali language.

______________

Notes:

(1.) Thomas R. Trautmann, Aryans and British India, 1997, Berkeley, pp. 19–27.

(2.) William Bolts, A Consideration of Indian Affairs Particularly Respecting the Present State of Bengal and its Dependencies, London, 1772, p. vi.

(3.) H.V. Bowen, Revenue and Reform: The Indian Problem in British Politics, 1757–1773, Cambridge, 1991; P.J. Marshall, Problems of Empire: Britain and India 1757–1813, London, 1968; P.J. Marshall, Bengal: The British Bridgehead, Cambridge, 1987.

(4.) Robert Orme, A View of the Military Transactions of the British Nation in Indostan from the Year MDCCXLV to which is Prefixed a Dissertation on the Establishments Made by Mahommedan Conquerors, in Indostan, 3 vols, London, 1775–8; Bolts, A Consideration; Alexander Dow, A History of Hindostan: Translated from the Persian, 3 vols, London, 1792 (rpt).

(5.) A good example of this is provided by William Bolts, A Consideration; also Harry Verelst, A View of the Rise, Progress and Present State of the English Government in Bengal, in Patrick Tuck (ed.), The East India Company: 1600– 1858, vol. 3, New York, 2000 (rpt), pp. 1–148.

(6.) Bolts, A Consideration, pp. 72–4; Ashoka Sinha Raja Tammita-Delgoda, ‘Nabob, Historian and Orientalist: The Life and Writings of Robert Orme (1728– 1801)’, unpublished PhD dissertation, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, no date.

(7.) Bolts, A Consideration, p. 13.

(8.) Ibid.

(9.) Verelst, A View, p. 1; William Kirkpatrick, ‘The Institutes of Ghazan Khan Emperor of the Moguls’, in Francis Gladwin (ed.), New Asiatick Miscellany, Calcutta, 1789, pp. 167–9; Luke Scrafton, Reflections on the Government of Indostan with a Short History of Bengal from MDCCXXXVIII to MDCCLVIII, London, 1770; Francis Gladwin, The History of Hindostan during the Reigns of Jehangir, Shahjehan and Aurangzebe, vol. 1, Calcutta, 1788.

(10.) Scrafton, Reflections, p. 24.

(11.) Bolts, A Consideration, p. 13.

(12.) Robert Orme, Historical Fragments of the Mughal Empire: Of the Morattoes and of English Concerns in Indostan from the Year MDCLIX, London, 1805.

(13.) Orme, Indostan, vol. 1, p. 20.

(14.) Dow specifically names Ali Vardi Khan. See Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 2, pp. 327–69.

(15.) Orme, Indostan, vol. 1, p. 20; Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 2, pp. 327– 69; Bolts, A Consideration, pp. 3, 22, 32, 36.

(16.) Ibid., vol. 2, pp. 327–69.

(17.) Bolts, A Consideration, p. 16.

(18.) Thomas R. Metcalf, Ideologies of the Raj, Cambridge, 1995, p. 6.

(19.) Ibid., p. 7.

(20.) Bolts, A Consideration, p. 16.

(21.) See Orme, Historical Fragments of the Mughal Empire in particular.

(22.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 3, pp. ii, vi, xxii; Gladwin, The History of Hindustan., vol. 1, p. iii.

(23.) Metcalf, Ideologies, p. 8.

(24.) See Kirkpatrick, ‘Institutes of Ghazan Khan’ and Gladwin, History of Jehangir et al. on this point.

(25.) Nicholas B. Dirks, The Scandal of Empire: India and the Creation of Imperial Britain, Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of the Harvard University Press, 2006, contains some discussion of late eighteenth century colonialist histories, but does not recognize their ‘dialogue’ with Persian historiography. Exceptions to this tendency are J.S. Grewal, Muslim Rule in India: Assessments of British Historians, Calcutta, 1970; Robert Travers, Ideology and Empire in Eighteenth Century Britain: The British in Bengal, Cambridge, 2007.

(26.) James Mill, History of British India with Notes by H.H. Wilson and Introduction by J.K. Galbraith, vols 1 and 2, rpt, New York, 1968; H.M. Elliot and J. Dowson, The History of India as Told by its Own Historians, vol. 1, New York, 1966, pp. xv–xxvii.

(27.) Ranajit Guha, A Rule of Property for Bengal: An Essay on the Idea of Permanent Settlement, New Delhi, 1982 (rpt); Robert Travers, Ideology and Empire in Eighteenth Century India, 2007, Cambridge.

(28.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 1, p. xii.

(29.) Gladwin, The History of Hindostan; Kirkpatrick, ‘The Institutes of Ghazan Khan’.

(30.) Ibid.

(31.) Gladwin, The History of Hindostan, pp. i–iii.

(32.) Ibid., p. ii.

(33.) Ibid., p. iii.

(34.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 1, p. xii.

(35.) Ibid., pp. xii, xiv, xv.

(36.) Kirkpatrick, ‘The Institutes of Ghazan Khan’, pp. 149–51.

(37.) Gladwin, The History of Hindostan, p. v.

(38.) Scrafton, Reflections, p. 24.

(39.) Kirkpatrick, ‘The Institutes of Ghazan Khan’, p. 167.

(40.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 1, p. viii.

(41.) Ibid.

(42.) Ibid.

(43.) Ibid., vol. 2, p. 369.

(44.) Kirkpatrick, ‘The Institutes of Ghazan Khan’, p. 151.

(45.) Ibid.

(46.) Ibid., p. 166.

(47.) Ibid.

(48.) Ibid., pp. 170–1.

(49.) Ibid., pp. 175, 180, 184.

(50.) Ibid., p. 170.

(51.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 1, pp. xi–xii.

(52.) For Orme's view, see Indostan, vol. 1, p. 28.

(53.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 3, p. xlv.

(54.) Bolts, A Consideration, pp. 33, 36, 48.

(55.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 3, p. xlvii.

(56.) Ibid., p. xlii.

(57.) Dow, A History of Hindostan; Gladwin, The History of Hindostan; Kirkpatrick, ‘The Institutes of Ghazan Khan’.

(58.) Kirkpatrick, ‘The Institutes of Ghazan Khan’, p. 151.

(59.) The political reasons for Bolts's polemical attack on the English East India Company have been discussed above. Dow's strongest criticism of the Company is contained in vol. 3 of his A History of Hindostan. By the time Dow was writing vol. 3 of this work, he had joined forces with disgruntled English officers of the Company's army who revolted against Clive's efforts to implement ‘batta reform’—see Tuck, The East India Company, vol. 3, p. xiii.

(60.) Orme, Indostan, vol. 2, p. 154.

(61.) Bolts, A Consideration, pp. 64, 195, also see ‘Preface’.

(62.) Orme attempted something of the kind in his Historical Fragments of the Mughal Empire.

(63.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 2, p. 427.

(64.) Ibid.

(65.) Ibid., p. 429.

(66.) Bolts, A Consideration, p. vii.

(67.) Ibid.

(68.) Ibid., p. 210.

(69.) Ibid., p. 209.

(70.) Ibid., pp. 210–11.

(71.) Ibid., p. 211.

(72.) Ibid., p. 109.

(73.) This point was raised earlier in Chapter 4. For some references relating to the large literature on this subject, see endnote 19, Chapter 4.

(74.) P.J. Marshall (ed.), The British Discovery of Hinduism in the Eighteenth Century, Cambridge, 1970, p. 142.

(75.) Ibid., p. 108.

(76.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 1, pp. v–viii and ‘Advertizement’.

(77.) Marshall, The British Discovery, p. 143.

(78.) Ibid.

(79.) Ibid., p. 46.

(80.) Ibid., p. 117.

(81.) Ibid., p. 142.

(82.) Ibid., p. 48

(83.) Ibid., p. 107.

(84.) Ibid., p. 20.

(85.) Ibid., p. 48.

(86.) Ibid., pp. 114, 126.

(87.) Ibid., pp. 262–3, pp. 157–8.

(88.) Ibid., pp. 158–9.

(89.) Mill, The History of British India, p. 112.

(90.) Grewal, Muslim Rule in India, p. 49.

(91.) Tammita-Delgoda, ‘Nabob, Historian and Orientalist’. pp. 223–6.

(92.) Tammita-Delgoda, ‘Nabob, Historian and Orientalist’.

(93.) Ibid., p. 192.

(94.) Francis Gladwin, The History of Hindostan During the Reigns of Jehangir, Shahjehan and Aurangzebe, vol. 1, 1788, Calcutta.

(95.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 1, pp. ii–iii.

(96.) Ibid., vol. 1, p. vi.

(97.) Ibid., vol. 1, p. ii.

(98.) Ibid., vol. 1, p. vi.

(99.) Ibid., vol. 1, p. ii.

(100.) According to Dow, ‘all the oriental historians write in what they call in Europe, “poetical prose.”’ Dow, History of Hindostan, vol. 1, p. vii.

(101.) Tammita-Delgoda, ‘Nabob, Historian and Orientalist’, p. 223.

(102.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 1, p ii.

(103.) Ibid., vol. 1, p. vii.

(104.) Ibid., vol. 1, p. viii.

(105.) Marshall, The British Discovery, p. 127, Orme, Indostan, vol. 1, p. 3.

(106.) Dow, A History of Hindostan, vol. 1, p. iii.

(107.) Ibid., vol. 1, pp. iii–iv.

(108.) Ibid., vol. 1, p. iv.

(109.) Grewal, Muslim Rule in India, pp. 65–9.

(110.) Mill, The History of British India, vol. 3, pp. 165–367; Grewal, Muslim Rule in India, pp. 130–64.

(111.) Elliot and Dowson, The History of India as Told by its Own Historians, vol. 1, pp. xv–xxvii.

(112.) Charles Stewart, History of Bengal from the First Mohammedan Invasion until the Virtual Conquest of the Country by the English AD 1757, Delhi, 1971 (rpt); ‘List of Persian Works Used in the Compilation of this Work’.
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Re: The Cultures of History in Early Modern India, by Kumkum

Postby admin » Mon Mar 13, 2023 4:36 am

Part 1 of 2

7. Mughal Culture and Persianization in Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century Bengal

A recurrent theme in the previous chapters of the book has been the influence of a Persianized culture on the production of historiographic narratives in Bengal during the early modern period. This chapter discusses Mughal political culture in general and its prevalence in Bengal in particular. It creates a broader context for the prevalence of a Persianized culture in Mughal (and pre-Mughal) India by describing its status and currency in the Eastern part of the Islamic world. Secondly, it describes the elements that composed Mughal political culture in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Finally, the chapter explores the general prevalence of Mughal political culture in Bengal together with its limitations in order to provide a context for the understanding and appreciation of the long shadow cast by the Indo-Persian tradition of tarikh writing on a range of narratives composed in early modern Bengal.

The World of Islam and Persian

The world of Islam, in the post-thirteenth century in particular, was a transcontinental, global civilization that stretched territorially from Spain to China and shared many attributes such as a common religious culture, artistic and architectural styles, and a public sphere imbued with many similar features.1 This is not to suggest, however, that in this dar-al-Islam, regional and local interpretations of Islam and its associated culture of religion, politics, and art, had been sublimated in (p.216) favour of a homogeneous civilizational system. This chapter, in fact, discusses a very local adaptation of a variety of Islamicate culture—that is, Mughal courtly or political culture during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The point about the existence of an Islamic world is intended to draw attention to the fact that in tandem with a rich variety of local and regional ‘translations’2 of Islam and its culture, there existed certain overarching commonalities which in no way weakened or cancelled out the former. On the contrary, as a significant body of scholarship has shown, the local and global aspects of the Islamicate world nurtured and complemented one another.3 It is undoubted that the spread of Islam was primarily instrumental in the wider radiation of Arabic, both as a spoken language and as a written one.4 In the Eastern part of the Islamic world (from Iran eastwards into Afghanistan, India, and beyond, and northwards into central Asia), Arabic, in Hourani's words, ‘came up against a frontier in Iran where the use of the Persian language was continued’5 From about the tenth century CE onwards, Persian underwent a period of ‘Arabization’ or Islamization, that is, it was not very different in grammatical structure from Pahlavi, but was written in Arabic script with a vocabulary enriched by words taken from Arabic. This ‘new Persian’ or Arabized Persian became the vehicle of a high literary culture which prevailed in Iran certainly, but also in Central Asia, Afghanistan, South Asia, and beyond for almost an entire millennium. E.G. Browne describes it as a ‘Persian renaissance’.6 As Ehsan Yarshater points out, this literary culture in addition formed part of a broader range of political and cultural practices, ideas and traditions comprising ‘religious thought, political theory and practice, administrative models…, the sciences, and morals and manners’7 A Persianized culture became an important element in Islamicate culture and especially courtly culture in these areas of the Islamic world. Islamic dynasties such as the Ghaznavids, Ghurids, Seljuqs, and others were well known for their patronage of Persian as were ruling families which had descended from Timur. In varying degrees, the four Turkish-speaking Muslim rulers who founded major states across Asia in the later fifteenth and sixteenth centuries (the founders of the Ottoman, Safavid, Uzbeg, and Mughal empires) shared this overarching cultural orientation, that is, a Turko-Mongol cultural heritage paired with an Islamic-Persian culture. Babur was a descendant of both Chengiz Khan and Timur and he perfectly exemplified this melange of cultural elements.8

In these Persianized zones too, Arabic held its own as the language of the Koran, and religious/theological and legal literature, whether produced in Iran or northern India, was written in Arabic. Persian was primarily reserved for the production of what has been termed ‘secular’ literature, creating what Hourani terms a ‘double culture’.9 This double culture refers to the broad, transregional linguistic and cultural traditions associated with Arabic and Persian that characterized a large segment of the Islamic world for a millennium. This double-culture in turn coexisted and interacted in creative and complex ways with myriads of regional languages and cultural traditions that existed throughout dar-al-Islam.

The currency of a Persianized culture among the ruling classes and aristocracy of the eastern Islamic lands extended into the South Asian subcontinent—both its northern and southern parts. The use of Persian in the Delhi Sultanate and in various Islamic polities in pre-Mughal India (including Bengal) has already been noted in Chapter 1.

Sanjay Subrahmanyam has shown that the diffusion of a Persianate culture in regions along the Indian Ocean littoral was aided in part through maritime trade and contacts. He tracks this phenomenon through a series of kingdoms bordering the Bay of Bengal during the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries such as the sultanates of Golconda and Bengal, Roshang in the Arakan region, and Melaka on the Straits of Malacca. Persianization in these regions was comprised of the use of the Persian language for diplomatic correspondence, the existence of a Persianized literary taste among the elites, and in ‘comportments and conceptions of statecraft’.10 In contrast to landlocked regions such as Central Asia and Afghanistan, the Persianate culture visible around the Bay of Bengal was seen in the participation in the Bay of Bengal and Indian Ocean maritime trade by powerful court officials and merchants of Persian origin.11 Phillip Wagoner's much cited article has established that elements of Islamicate—if not clearly Persian—culture were assimilated and emulated by court circles in the Vijayanagara kingdom in southern India during the late medieval period.12 In all these places adherence to Persianization was perceived to be an aspect of Islamic culture; its Iranian associations were no less significant. Iran was associated with ancient, royal traditions, and the Iranian mode of titulature for bureaucratic personnel as well as concepts of sovereignty drawing upon ancient, pre-Islamic Iranian notions of the same, came to be embraced by royalty in many polities within this (p.218) world. Iran's association with Shii Islam as well as the fact that Iran was the originating place for many Sufi sects, created further connections between Iran and a variety of Islamic and Islamicate polities ranging from landlocked Central Asian kingdoms to entrepot, maritime citystates such as Melaka.

Sheldon Pollock has hypothesized the existence of what he calls a ‘Sanskrit cosmopolis’ which was alive for practically an entire millennium preceding the one in which Persianization created its trans-regional web across vast expanses of territories. The Sanskrit cosmopolis, extending from the South Asian subcontinent through parts of Central Asia and Southeast Asia, created a Sanskrit-based literary style and an aesthetic culture which was subscribed to by kings and elites throughout this world.13 This cosmopolis was, however, not associated with a project of conquest and military-political domination. But the Persian cultural sphere was, for the most part, created through the linked projects of conquest and empire building. In this respect it shares a very general similarity with the Hellenistic, the Roman/Latin, and the Chinese cultural spheres.14 The prevalence of a Persianized political culture within the South Asian subcontinent was thus part of a broader Persianate cosmopolis.

Persian in the Mughal Empire and Mughal Bengal

Despite the considerable cultivation of Persian in pre-Mughal India, it was undoubtedly the Mughal imperial state which presided over the ‘most productive —perhaps even incomparable—efflorescence of Persian literary culture’ in India.15 The centrality of Persian for Mughal political culture was established firmly by Akbar and his successors until at least the earlier years of the eighteenth century. Mughal patronage of Persian was manifest among other things in the generous support offered to poets and writers who wrote in that language, and in the translation of works representing Hindu religious and cultural traditions in Persian. More importantly, as Muzaffar Alam's insightful work demonstrates, Persian was pressed into the service of the ideological and cultural agenda of the empire. The Mughals, for the most part, sought to build and sustain an imperial polity which was non-sectarian and one in which people affiliated with different religious and cultural communities could coexist peacefully. Though it had its limitations, Persian held the potential to function as the most effective and accomplished vehicle of communication in such (p.219) circumstances. Sanskrit, the classical, sacred, and prestige-language of the Indian subcontinent, might not have been deemed suitable as a language of governance for a Muslim dynasty; the various regional Indian vernaculars which had evolved from Prakrit were alternately perceived as being too ordinary to serve as a medium of imperial communication. Alam suggests that Persian poetry, which had integrated many themes and ideas from pre-Islamic Persia and had been an important vehicle of liberalism in the medieval Muslim world, helped in no insignificant way in creating and supporting the Mughal attempt to sustain a broadly tolerant regime accommodative of diverse religious traditions. ‘Persian’, Alam explains, ‘thus facilitated the Mughal cultural conquest of India’.16

Two facets of Persian literary culture are particularly relevant for this work—its entrenchment as the language of government and also its association with elite, courtly society. The institutionalization of Persian as the official language of governance and administration, from the time of Akbar, played a critically important role in widening the currency of the language well beyond a circle of Muslim nobility and gave it a professional and utilitarian appeal for many Hindu literate, gentry communities with traditions of bureaucratic service under various governments. This feature actually pre-dated Mughal rule since Sikandar Lodi is believed to have introduced the use of Persian as the state language in the early sixteenth century. This development inaugurated the trend among many Hindu scribal/professional communities to take up the study of Persian on account of career-related opportunities associated with it. However, Akbar's decision in the same direction produced more widespread results since the territorial extent and administrative penetration of Mughal rule was much greater and deeper in comparison to that of the Lodi sultans. Thus, the institutionalization of Persian as the state language under the Mughals led to the emergence of a Persian literary sphere which was not restricted to immigrant, elite Muslim lineages only. The viability of Persian as a language of governance was such that the English East India Company, upon taking over sovereign political power over parts of India in the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, used it too in much the same way until its decision in 1835 to replace it with English. Yet another very important factor which had helped non-Muslim communities and lineages to take up the study of Persian was the reform of the school curriculum by Akbar. The introduction of non-religious themes into the syllabi of middle-level madrasa schools made (p.220) the pursuit of Persian studies more culturally acceptable to Hindus in Mughal India. Initially, the teachers in charge of these madrasas were Iranian. But in time, Indians, including Hindus who were proficient in Persian, also became teachers at such institutions. Thus, the greater accessibility of a kind of non-religious Persian education in madrasas and opportunities of official employment for those who had Persian proficiency, served to ensure the association of certain literate Hindu communities with traditions of government service to the Mughal regime, particularly since the seventeenth century. Often, a particular office became hereditary in a certain family for generations. This ensured, among other things, the continuation of the study of Persian among such lineages for several generations. Some of these munshis, such as Anand Ram Mukhlis and Brindabandas Khushgo for instance, became famous for their elegant Persian compositions and their writing samples were treated as models by other munshis. Studies of the bureaucratic and administrative cultures of other contemporaneous Asian empires such as the Ottoman and the Ching have contributed greatly to our understanding of the workings of these imperial systems. A lacuna which had existed in this regard for Mughal India has been filled thanks to the work of Alam and Subrahmanyam, particularly in their vivid description of munshi Nik Rai and his cultural, professional, and technical accomplishments during the later seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.17 Rao-Shulman-Subrahmanyam have highlighted similar elements for the south Indian karanam during the early modern period.18 Perpetuating the potency of Persianization was the large influx of Iranians into Mughal India and the disproportionately big role played by Iranian émigrés in the Mughal nobility.19

Much of the existing scholarly discussion about Indo-Persian culture in Mughal India places special emphasis on and privileges a Persian literary culture. This is indeed appropriate. However, Indo-Persian literary culture was a part of a larger constellation of cultural practices, also imbued with Persianate elements. Such practices spanned a vast spectrum ranging from painting and architectural styles, the ‘arts’ of the book, modes of book illustration, norms of attire, and even gastronomic tastes to name only a few.20 It would thus be somewhat inaccurate to refer to an Indo-Persian literary tradition in isolation from these. The power of this literary tradition may well have been reinforced and further buttressed by many other practices, also inflected with Persianate elements, which collectively constituted Indo-Persian culture in Mughal India.

Mughal Political/Courtly Culture and Persianization

Persianized culture in Mughal India was primarily a part of the political culture associated with the state and the ruling classes who embodied and/or served it. When pared down to its most fundamental essence, courtly culture is seen also to be linked to the moral foundations of governance. A large body of literature on the subject of courtly culture and manners in medieval and early modern Europe underscores its importance in the formulation of notions about ethical conduct, self-discipline, and the very attributes of what was considered civilizational.21 Daud Ali's study on courtly society in early medieval India affirms that a court culture ultimately sought to produce a moral and ethical subject.22 Governance was not regarded just as administrative and bureaucratic competence, but essentially an exercise in ethical judgement and action. Thus, in Islamic and Islamicate contexts, discourses on principles of governance and sovereignty were most often found in ethical literature (akhlaq, adab and other kinds of ‘advice literature’).23 Therefore, theoretically at least, it was very important that persons imbued with the right kind of ethical values were recruited into the project of governing the empire. These values were believed to be manifest in a certain moral superiority, nobility, and refinement of mental proclivities as also in physical behaviour. The material, worldly, cultural expressions of such nobility and moral superiority were perceived to be manifest in norms of social deportment, cultural (literary and musical) tastes, and personal accomplishments of such people. Thus ethical awareness and the associated package of cultural accoutrements (manners, protocol, taste, and the like) were manifest, in the case of the Mughal ruling class, its aristocracy and higher officials, in a Persianate idiom. In the Mughal context, this Persianized culture also functioned as a cosmopolitan, elite culture to which non-Muslim Mughal aristocrats subscribed.

In the Mughal milieu, the sophistication and refinement necessary for a ‘noble status’ were associated with a range of personal qualities and accomplishments. As seen earlier, by the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries top priority was assigned to a tradition of utmost loyalty to the emperor and dedicated service to the empire.24 This culture, which suffused the higher mansabdari cadre in particular, represented what Barbara Metcalf identifies as the cosmopolitan facet of the Islamic ideal of adab.25 The people who held higher ranks in the Mughal service (p.222) and constituted the aristocracy were also expected to possess qualities such as courage, manliness, and martial prowess.26 The refinement necessary for a courtier or nobleman was strongly linked to norms of personal etiquette and conduct expected at court as well as matters of attire, diet, literary, musical, and gastronomic tastes.27 Mughal courtiers were expected to be connoisseurs of Persian literature—better still, to be poets and writers themselves. They were also expected to be patrons and connoisseurs of music. In other words, Mughal political culture, especially in its courtly aspect, was believed to be a vehicle of civilité. It served as an integrative phenomenon for those who subscribed to all or at least to its most important constitutive elements.28 Those outside the boundaries of this realm of civilité as constructed by the Indo-Persian milieu of the Mughals were clearly identifiable and were looked down upon.29

Yet, despite the awareness that Mughal political culture and its courtly complement marked out boundaries between the ‘high’ nobles of the court and the less refined and unrefined ‘low’ people who stood outside it, the boundaries of this cultural formation were far more permeable and porous than court treatises on manners and deportment would lead us to believe. Indeed, ‘over the long durée, the ways of the court’, writes Daud Ali, ‘formed an acculturative mechanism through which aspiring men and local elites entered into the pale of ‘good society’.30 As the following discussion on the currency of a Persianized culture in Mughal Bengal shows, the possibilities of joining a group of powerful men who commanded material resources and prestige through their service to the empire motivated segments of provincial aristocracy and gentry in Bengal to consciously cultivate aspects of the formers' lifestyle and public culture.

Finally, Mughal political and courtly culture should not be regarded as a stable, unchanging formation that endured unaltered for many centuries. Instead, it came to embody different features and traits during different phases of the Mughal imperium. More importantly, despite the presence of some predominant and characteristic elements, the perception of Mughal courtly culture and its constituent elements was often different in different regions and sub-regions of the empire at different points of time.31 Alam and Subrahmanyam as well as Daud Ali have quite correctly pointed out that there is a need to study how imperial, courtly cultures were appropriated and ‘translated’ by different groups of people in different parts of the subcontinent.32 This book showcases the ‘cultural translation’ of a Persianized Mughal political (p.223) culture in the literary culture and historiographical traditions of early modern Bengal.

Persian in Mughal Bengal

South Asia's ‘central Perso-Islamic axis’33 is regarded as stretching from Lahore through Delhi to the Deccan; in regions beyond this axis, Persianate elements were supposed to be less pronounced.34 While Persianized culture was probably more deeply entrenched and stronger in core areas of northern India and in parts of the Deccan, the discussion below demonstrates that it had made considerable inroads into certain segments of Bengali society during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in particular, lingering on into the nineteenth century as well.

Bengal's attachment to the empire meant the presence of a larger number of people of Iranian background in this region. Most of them were bureaucrats and officials appointed by the imperial government in Delhi to this newly acquired suba. The Afghan traveller Muhammad Balkhi reported that during his trip to Rajmahal in western Bengal, he had met people whose family origins lay in Balkh, Bukhara, Khurasan, Baghdad, and north India.35 Muhammad Sadiq Isfahani had moved in the bureaucratic circles of the Mughal empire since his youth. In the reign of Shah Jehan, he was assigned a jagir in Bengal and lived in Dhaka from 1629 until his death in 1650. In his work, entitled the Subh Sadiq36, Muhammad Sadiq presented a fascinating picture of the presence of a large number of people with Iranian antecedents in Bengal and Bihar during the seventeenth century. These people were associated with Mughal administration both directly and indirectly and were carriers of a Persianized culture in eastern India. In addition, large numbers of people of northern Indian origin appeared in Bengal in the train of Mughal armies and officials in order to fill clerical and scribal offices, to serve as bankers, financiers, and suppliers of food and provisions, to the incoming Mughal regime. Some among the northern Indian scribes and entrepreneurs accompanying the Mughal regime into Bengal were successful in securing superior revenue rights and thus started the process of becoming integrated into Bengal's landed aristocracy.37

On account of the demands of their profession, many of these people were literate in Persian; they also often used some form or another of Hindavi, the lingua franca of north India. Bengali literary sources for (p.224) the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries often refer to these versions of Hindavi as ‘Nagri’. To reiterate the point noted in Chapter 1, in Bengal both Persian and varieties of Hindavi (such as Awadhi for instance) were at times bracketed together as linguistic/literary and cultural influences which emanated from northern India and, during this period, were associated with Islamic/Mughal political power.38

Significant numbers of Hindu Bengali gentry and aristocracy also attached themselves to the emergent Mughal provincial regime in Bengal. Just as the sultans of Bengal had recruited and relied on capable, literate, administratively skilled local people to staff practically all levels of their administration, so also the newly established Mughal provincial government in Bengal relied on people of similar backgrounds and skills. Many of the previous chapters contain references to this phenomenon. The main purpose here is to refer to the broader implications of such service for the cultural milieu of the region's gentry and aristocracy in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The steady rise of Raja Pratapaditya's forefathers up the rungs of the administration of the Kararni sultans of Bengal and then under Mughal rule have been described in Chapter 4. This, in fact, illustrates a fairly typical professional trajectory for many gentry lineages in Bengal which were endowed with the requisite skills of revenuemanagement, account-keeping, scribal/clerical work, and proficiency in Persian, and other skills. The career path followed by Raja Rajballabh, who rose to become one of the most important public figures of nawabi Bengal, as well as his entire lineage, is also illustrative of this trend.39 Upward mobility on the career track was tied largely to proficiency in Persian. ‘Persian reigned supreme [in Bengal]’, observed Enamul Huq, ‘not only in the court but almost in every walk of life’.40 Indeed, Persian stood out as the language of public affairs, for the maintenance of revenue accounts, and in courtly circles. It was also used on coins and inscriptions. There are hardly any Arabic inscriptions dating from Mughal Bengal.41 There was therefore an expansion in the currency and use of Persian as a language of state in Bengal under Mughal rule as compared to Sultanate Bengal. Without exception, the association of Bengali Hindus with Mughal and then nawabi administration was associated with Persian proficiency. Rajballabh himself was supposed to be well-versed in Bengali, Persian, and Sanskrit, and may even have known a little English.42 The examples of such lineages and their professional careers is reminiscent of the skills and literary proficiency of the north Indian munshis and south Indian karanams during this period.43 Persian proficiency was in fact (p.225) the necessary first step for a person with ambitions in administrative service at all levels. The nawabi administration in Murshidabad and its subordinate administrative headquarters at Dhaka, Patna, and Cuttack required employees who could create, maintain, and oversee records of various government departments that were in Persian; correspondence between and among various levels of the government was also in Persian. Zamindars also had to maintain their revenue and administrative accounts in Persian and this opened up another level of scribal/clerical jobs for people possessing Persian literacy.

The acquisition of Persian was tied to a formal education. Madrasas provided training in Persian, and Hindu zamindars often took the initiative to set up schools in their own estates where boys of gentry families could be sent to master it. Persian was perceived to be an indispensable educational attainment for both gentry and aristocrats.

Ramram Basu's recounting of the family history of Raja Pratapaditya, for instance, makes this very clear. For at least two or more generations prior to Pratapaditya, the male members of his family had carefully cultivated an education which emphasized a high degree of proficiency in Persian combined with expertise in Bengali and Nagri.44 Persian literacy also provided an avenue for ambitious gentry families to establish personal and social connections with aristocrats and even royalty. Srihari and Janakiballabh (father and uncle of Pratapaditya respectively) attended the same Persian school as Bayazid and Daud, the sons of Sultan Sulaiman Karrani, ruler of Bengal. The childhood bond between Daud Karrani and the brothers Srihari and Janakiballabh enabled the latter to make substantial material and professional gains during the former's reign.45 Once Srihari and his brother acceded to a zamindari in Jessore, they made sure that the heir apparent to the estate was also schooled in the same type of education. ‘[Pratapaditya] was proficient in all kinds of knowledge [and was] a veritable scholar in the academic disciplines’ wrote Ramram Basu, ‘[and] was very well-trained in Arabic, Persian, Nagri, Bengali, Sanskrit, and other types of knowledge’.46

Persian literacy had spread so far among Hindu gentry families that often individuals from such lineages served as teachers of Persian. A branch of Rajballabh's family which lived in the village of Japsa in Bikrampur pargana consisted of noted scholars of Persian. They maintained a school where Persian was taught.47 The poet Bharatchandra Roy trained in Persian with a certain Ramchandra Munshi who lived in the village of Debanandapur, not far from the French settlement at Chandernagore. The examples so far have been (p.226) from eminent zamindar families. There are also plenty of examples of Persian literacy among much humbler gentry families of more modest means as well as rural families.48

High-status Bengali Hindu families with past (or present) traditions of government service and careers in law continued to devote themselves to the cultivation of Persian well into the mid to later years of the nineteenth century. Bengali biographical and autobiographical literature from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries contains plenty of allusions to this. As Abdul Karim pointed out, it was the tradition in Mughal and nawabi Bengal for Persian literate families—Hindus as well as Muslims—to be given the honorific title of ‘munshi’.49 The largest number of Bengali Hindus who associated themselves with Mughal administration was from the Bengali Baidya and Kayastha jatis. Ramram Basu described Persian literacy as the ‘jati vyavasa’ (hereditary enterprise of the jati) of Kayasthas during this period.50 Indeed, the association of Kayasthas and Baidyas with scribal/clerical work also finds resonance in Bengali literature from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.51 But there were other upper-caste Hindu jatis in Bengal—Brahmins included—who also participated in this kind of bureaucratic culture based on Persian literacy. The family of Maharaja Nandakumar supplies us with such an example, as do the Brahmin rajas of Nadia and many others.52

The systematic acquisition of Persian literacy comprised perhaps the single most important aspect of a Persianized culture in Mughal Bengal. The Subh-i-Sadiq of Mirza Muhammad Sadiq provides materials for a reconstruction of this environment. It illustrates, above all, the great importance assigned to literary ability and connoisseurship among Mughal officials. Mirza Muhammad Sadiq's reminiscences are replete, above all, with references to many Persian poets, calligraphists, and musicians who were found in the ranks of Mughal bureaucracy in different parts of the empire and who served in the entourages of various eminent nobles and Mughal princes. What is also striking in this account is the constant circulation of distinguished poets, scholars, and writers between Iran and Mughal India, as well as among different regions within India. For example, during the subahdari of Qasim Khan in Bengal (1613–17), Sayyid Mir, Mukhlis Hussain Tabrizi, and Hasan Beg Grami (all mid-level government officials), to name only a few, were known to be Persian poets and writers. Mirza Muhammad Sadiq's upbringing included studying literature and calligraphy with several talented Mughal officials whom he met during his youth.53 Such skills (p.227) no doubt endowed him with the cultural sophistication necessary to hold even mid-level office in the Mughal bureaucracy. As Shantanu Phukan points out, it is difficult for a modern English speaker to realize the ‘extent to which poetry was a spoken reality in the social relations of Mughal Persianate culture…in the Persianized circles of Mughal India poetry circulated like currency’.54

The courts of the Mughal subahdar and other high officials in the Bengal suba became important sites for the display of Persian literary connoisseurship. The Persianized Hindu elites of Mughal Bengal also participated in the literary culture prevailing in these courts. As early as the 1550s, the Vaishnava writer Jayananda recorded with outrage in his Bengali poetic work entitled the Chaitanya Mangal that Bengali Brahmins not only knew Persian, but were reading masnavis.55 Mirza Muhammad Sadiq in the seventeenth century referred to a certain Mathura Das as ‘an intelligent poet of Persian in Jehangirnagar [Dhaka]’.56 Mathura Das's poetic ability may even have helped him to secure his release from prison.57

Persian was perceived as an important component of Mughal courtly culture and something that was regarded—in Bengal at least—as emanating from northern India. Some varieties of Hindavi—such as Brajbhasha or Brajabuli—were also associated with a northern Indian culture and also partly with Mughal culture. The association of this language with the Braj region, gave this literary register a trans-regional currency within the Indian subcontinent as the language Krishna-centred devotionalism. As Allison Busch shows, it also functioned as a courtly vernacular that is, a literary language which was accorded patronage and appreciation by Mughal courtly circles as well as by courtly communities in northern India, the Deccan, and elsewhere.58 Brajbhasha or Brajabuli had a long association with eastern India and with Bengal as the language of Vaishnava devotional literature. Although hardly ever acknowledged by modern scholarship, it also functioned as a literary medium which was associated with elite culture practised by aristocrats in Bengal. According to Ramram Basu's biography, Pratapaditya had been dispatched to Delhi by his family when he was a young prince. By placing Pratapaditya at the Mughal imperial darbar, Basu's narrative sought to establish that the former was no rustic, unsophisticated chieftain's son from the marshy, forested region of Jessore. He was instead adept at sophisticated courtly culture and knew well how to conduct himself there. Pratapaditya's resistance thus was not so much to the elite culture of the Mughal empire but (p.228) rather to the obligation of having to pay tribute to the Mughals and accepting their overlordship in political and administrative matters. In Ramram Basu's account, Pratapaditya impressed the Mughal emperor by his quick wit and ability to compose Braj verses extemporaneously.59 This confirms Phukan's comment (cited above) about literary ability and connoisseurship being important cultural assets in Mughal official/courtly circles. In Pratapaditya's case, his ability at poetic repartee enabled him to get noticed by the Mughal emperor and the former used this acquaintance to good effect by securing an imperial order to seize the family's estates in Jessore by ousting both his father and uncle.60 There are also other examples of Bengali aristocrats—including the poet Bharatchandra Roy—composing poetry in Brajbhasha.61

Literary historians as a group have tended to acknowledge the currency of Persian in Mughal and nawabi Bengal; most of them however characterize it as utilitarian. In other words, the gentry and aristocracy needed to learn Persian because it was useful as a tool of career advancement and because one's revenue accounts, petitions to government, and such others were needed to be in Persian.62 The overall consensus among literary historians of Bengali is that Persian (and also Arabic, Turkish, Hindustani, and others) produced only a philological effect on the Bengali language and was manifest in the accretion of Persian, Hindustani, and Turkish words in it.63 Following the thesis of Suniti Kumar Chatterjee, the growing presence of Persian words in Bengali has been noted in Chapter 4. The utilitarian and practical benefits of being literate in Persian are beyond doubt. My hypothesis differs from that of existing scholarship, first in terms of emphasizing the extent to which Persian had a currency in Bengal for several centuries. Secondly, I argue that in addition to its utilitarian and practical value, Persian literacy, together with a broader Persianized culture associated with it, had come to be regarded as a vehicle of refinement and sophistication essential for all those who sought to move in high political circles. The genealogy of the rajas of Nadia, the Kshitishvamsavalicharitam, gives us an idea of this. It refers to Persian literacy as the necessary prerequisite for the office of qanungo (‘yavanikabhasha prasiddha qangoi karmani’); it also alludes to Persian as ‘shastra’ (‘parasika shastram’), a branch of learning imbued with substantive intellectual properties rather than a mere practical medium. The same genealogy also characterizes the mastery of Persian language and a Persian-style education to be one of the essential attributes of a Hindu raja (‘parasikadi-shastram-adhite-dayalu-nripalakshana-shilo’).64 (p.229) Also, the Persianate attainments of Bengali gentry and aristocracy of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and beyond were remembered with pride by their families and circles of educated gentry-subjects and kinsmen who surrounded them. Oral traditions preserved by the descendants of Maharaja Nandakumar remembered the Raja's great prowess at Persian calligraphy and letter-writing (insha); oral and some textual traditions preserved by descendants of Maharaja Pratapaditya and Raja Rajballabh also placed emphasis on their Persian proficiency.65 Maharshi Debendranath, the father of Rabindranath Tagore, enjoyed reading the Persian poets Hafiz and Rumi, just as other educated gentlemen of the earlier part of the nineteenth century still did.66

The prevalence of a Persianized culture among the political elites and bureaucracy of Bengal was manifested also in a Persianized intellectual culture in which narratives about various rajas and local chieftains came to be composed in Persian and libraries maintained by the Bengal aristocracy in their mansions and palaces were richly stocked with books in various languages, including Persian. A survey of books in the library of the nawabs of Murshidabad dating to the early years of the twentieth century reveals a collection of what the author of this survey described as ‘a large and varied collection of books and most rare and valuable oriental manuscripts’.67 This survey was undertaken at a time when the fortunes of the Murshidabad nawabs had been in free fall for almost a century and a half; moreover, the town of Murshidabad had experienced serious military-political turmoil on several occasions, particularly during the mid-eighteenth century. Neither of these conditions was conducive to the safety and security of valuable manuscript collections. Nevertheless, this survey allows us a glimpse into the types of books purchased and preserved at such libraries. According to Purnachandra Mazumdar, this library had a remarkable collection of Qurans. The books listed by Mazumdar as ‘secular literature’ (almost all in Persian) included a Timurnama which had been written in 1000 Hijri and a copy of the Khamsa of Nizami which appears to have been purchased by Murshid Quli Khan in the Deccan and then brought by him to Bengal when he assumed office there. This library also contained two volumes of the Akbarnama of Abul Fazl in his own handwriting as well as a copy of a Persian translation by Abul Fazl of the Sanskrit play Nala-Damayanti.68 Lists of Arabic and Persian manuscripts acquired by the Asiatic Society of Bengal at the turn of the twentieth century also catalogue large numbers of Persian manuscripts which were described by the compilers of this list as ‘histories’.69 Unfortunately, these lists do not mention specific libraries (p.230) from which these materials were acquired or the identities of the most recent owners of these books. Nevertheless, they convey an idea of the reading tastes and overall cultural/ literary tastes of the Hindu as well as Muslim literati of pre-colonial Mughal Bengal. The Asiatic Society catalogues in question include works such as the Tarikh-i-Firuz Shahi of Ziyauddin Barani, the Tarikh-i-Alfi, the Tarikh-i-Farrukh Siyar by Muhammad Ahsan ‘Ijad’, and relatively recent works such as the Khulasat-i-Halat-i-Maratha-wa-Jang-i-Ahmad Shah Durrani written by Nawab Ali Ibrahim Khan during the 1790s. The acquisitions drive undertaken by the Asiatic Society of Bengal also secured copies of a Persian translation by Shaikh Fyzi of the play Nal-Damayanti, a manuscript entitled the Tarjumah-i-Mahabharata, a Persian translation of the great Indian epic by Abul Fazl, Persian translations of the Sanskrit Bhagavata Purana, and Sanskrit Vishnu Purana among other manuscripts. A manuscript copy of the Pandnama of Shaikh Saadi Shirazi was found to be ‘interlined’ with concurrent translations into both Sanskrit and Hindi, and a Bhagavad Gita had been copied in Persian characters while retaining its Sanskrit text.70 Libraries of Hindu aristocrats of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were also stocked with Persian books. The library of Maharaja Nabakrishna of Shobhabazar was, for example, stocked with a large and valuable collection of Sanskrit, Arabic, and Persian books.71

Bengali zamindars also commissioned, or at any rate encouraged, the composition of Persian narratives about themselves and their families. These narratives, primarily biographies in all likelihood, charted the rise of these aristocrats up the career ladder via bureaucratic service. Among such narratives were an account of the Afghan zamindars of Birbhum by a certain Fyzullah munshi and a biography in Persian of Raja Rajballabh by Chandra Kumar Roy.72
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Re: The Cultures of History in Early Modern India, by Kumkum

Postby admin » Mon Mar 13, 2023 4:36 am

Part 2 of 2

Persianization and Islamization

The genealogy of Persianized culture connected it to political authority and to the political culture practised and cultivated by this authority. The picture in Bengal conforms to this model. As noted above, Persianization was indeed perceived to be an aspect of Islam, though it represented the political culture of Islamic civilization, sometimes described even as the ‘secular’ aspects of Islamic civilization. This however leads to the question about whether Persianization in Mughal Bengal was different from the not insignificant Persianization that had already taken root in the region during the period of the Bengal sultanate. Indeed, there does appear to be somewhat of a qualitative distinction between the two. Persianization in Mughal Bengal spread among a much larger segment of the region's literate gentry and landed aristocracy in comparison to that in Sultanate Bengal. More importantly, Persianate culture in Mughal Bengal was much more strongly regarded as an important component of Mughal imperial culture. A greater awareness of the imperial system fashioned by the Mughals and of Bengal's place in it underlined this perception. The instances of Persianization in Bengali narratives—performative poetry, prose narratives, and also English language narratives penned by a generation of Persian-literate East India Company officials in Bengal—all indicate that elements from the corpus of Indo-Persian literature (including tarikh literature) were integrated and accommodated, particularly when matters relating to kings, their nobles, issues of governance, and administration were at hand. The various facets of Persianization discussed above also reconfirm the fact that it was most germane in the cases of those segments of the region's society which were closely linked to the system of Mughal/nawabi governance and had imbibed its political culture. This point also raises the broader question of whether Persianization was distinct from Islamization in Bengal generally and in Mughal Bengal in particular.

Bengal's Islamization relates to a much broader phenomenon than Persianization. In the case of Bengal, Islamic culture was manifest in the various devotional cults and traditions that sprang up around the figures of Muslim pirs and Sufi saints, as well as in the emergence of new and hybrid deities. A considerable number of Muslim saints and divines had made their way to Bengal following the Turkish conquest of the region in the thirteenth century.73 Mughal rule brought with it an even larger influx of Sufi saints to Bengal.74 Richard Eaton's masterful study illustrates the formative role played by these Sufi saints and holy men in the processes of forest-clearing and land reclamation in the eastern Bengal delta and also the gradual ‘Islamization’ of this area.75 Powerful devotional cults—in which both Hindus and Muslims participated—developed around many pirs and Sufi saints. Some of the best known among these include the cult of Khwaja Khizr or Khizr pir who was believed to have the power to save a person from drowning.76 Similar other cults included the cult of Zindah Ghazi, believed to be a legendary protector of woodcutters and boatmen all over the eastern delta, the cult of Pir Badr, and many others.77 Bengal's Sufi savants produced a significant corpus of theological literature which combined Sufi mysticism with Vaishnava, Natha, Tantric, and other religious influences.78 The presence of Islamic culture in Bengal was also manifest in the emergence of new hybrid deities—again worshipped often by both Hindus as well as Muslims— such as Satyanarayan/Satya pir, Dakshin Roy, and Ban Bibi.79 Islam in Bengal was also associated with a multifaceted and vigorous vernacular literature which included the growth of the tradition of writing Bengali biographies of the Prophet Mohammed such as the Nabi Bamsha and Rasul Bijoy of the poet Sayyid Sultan,80 the emergence of a category of panchali/performative literature centred around the miraculous powers and exploits of pirs (Pir or Ghazimangal), and the emergence of a genre of love stories concerning human characters.81 Suitable examples of such love stories include the ‘Vidya Sundar’ of Sabirid Khan, the ‘Laila Majnun’ of Daulat Wazir Bahram Khan, and many others.82 The love story of Vidya and Sundar, which also forms part of Bharatchandra Roy's Annadamangalkavya, was a favourite story that was told repeatedly by many authors—Hindu as well as Muslim—over several centuries.83

Yet, Persianization and Islamization were not totally unrelated and this could lead to a blurring of boundaries between the two. Alaol's Laila Majnun story was produced in a courtly environment with a Persianate ethos and by a poet who was familiar with the classics of Persian literature. But the audience for this story may not have been confined to a Persianized, courtly audience alone.84 The outrage of the Vaishnava poet Jayananda at Bengali Brahmins developing a taste for reading Persian masnavis has been mentioned above. The same author was also shocked that Brahmins had taken to wearing socks and had become familiar with the use of guns/cannons. Here, thus, a literary taste for Persian masnavis combined with new sartorial styles (socks) and growing familiarity with new weaponry (guns/cannons) to create for Jayananda the apprehension that Brahmins of the time were succumbing to the attractions of Islamic culture.85 Here, then, Persianization became subsumed within a broader Islamicate culture. In the end, though it may be useful for purposes of analysis to maintain a distinction between Persianization and Islamization but with the awareness that it may not always make sense to keep the two apart.

The Limits of Persianization

Having dealt with the currency and significance of Persianization in Mughal Bengal, it is equally important to be aware of its limitations. Persianization in this milieu coexisted with other cultural traditions, the single most important one of which was undoubtedly the regional version of Brahminism.86 As seen in Chapter 1, Brahminism had by default become the regional tradition—therefore, it was certainly seen as a ‘Hindu’ tradition, but also as something that was native and indigenous to the region itself. In Hindu Bengali society of the medieval and early modern periods, rajas and zamindars, often high-ranking officials of the Bengal sultanate as well as the Mughal regime in Bengal, also served as ‘leaders’ of Hindu Brahminical society. A large part of their claim to be cultural arbiters over their respective samajas as well as over their prajas (subjects) was grounded in their efforts to pose as exemplars of Brahminical social practice.

There is abundant evidence for the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, as well as earlier, to illustrate this aspect of Bengal's cultural life. This took the shape of generous support and patronage of Brahmins—particularly Brahmin scholars, the endowment of lands to Brahmin lineages, and encouragement and support of Brahminical/Sanskrit scholarship.87 Rajas and zamindars vied with each other to host assemblies of Brahmins to debate and discuss aspects of Brahminical theology and, upon occasion, social practices associated with it. Lavish feasts and gifts on occasions such as weddings, funerals, and other events in zamindar families also provided opportunities for the display of largesse as well as steadfast devotion to Brahmins.88 Even in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Bengali Hindu zamindars staged elaborate Vedic rituals. Bengali rajas were also known for endowing temples, bathing ghats, and other public and charitable institutions at places of Hindu pilgrimage like Benares and Brindavan.89 As mentioned in Chapter 1, zamindars also maintained tols and chatushpathis where Brahmin scholars provided an education in Sanskrit, Brahminical learning to boys of gentry families, along with schools, where boys from gentry families could be educated in Persian. These custodians of Bengal's Brahminical culture were also assiduous in building and consecrating temples.90

One of the most illustrative examples of the power of zamindars, especially Brahmin zamindars, to dictate social norms is evident in the case of Maharaja Krishnachandra Roy's strong opposition to the possibility of permitting widow remarriage in upper caste Brahminical society. Maharaja Rajballabh, one of the most powerful rajas and bureaucrats of nawabi Bengal made efforts to overturn the custom which prohibited widow remarriage for upper caste Hindu widows. The raja's interest in this was derived apparently from the sad plight of his own daughter who was widowed as a child.

He adopted the strategy of hosting an assembly of Brahmins—lavishly fed and paid by him—to debate this issue and then to come up with a suitable verdict. To thwart the efforts of Rajballabh, Maharaja Krishnachandra Roy of Nadia hosted a rival assembly of Brahmin scholars for exactly the same purpose. But in this case, the verdict he sought and got from the invitees to his assembly was the reverse of what Rajballabh desired. The Raja of Nadia, posturing as the greatest arbiter of Brahminism among Bengal's zamindars on account of his own status as a Brahmin, effectively scotched the tentative effort to remove the ban on widow remarriage. Rajballabh's political power by dint of his connections at the Dhaka and Murshidabad darbars was much greater than that of the Raja of Nadia. In this case, there is no indication that he sought to defy Maharaja Krishnachandra in this matter; on the contrary, Raja Rajballabh reportedly let the issue drop. There are other examples too from the eighteenth century when aggressive behaviour by the Rajas of Nadia was condoned and accepted without protest by other zamindars—especially, non-Brahmin zamindars, who shied away from open confrontation with a high-status Brahmin raja and his circle of Brahmin scholars of high reputation.91

The literary and intellectual production of medieval and early modern Bengal was largely the result of support provided by zamindars and affluent gentry to poets and writers. This feature has also been noticed in Chapters 1, 2, and 3. This literary and intellectual output, in the period under review, was overwhelmingly coloured by a Brahminical/Sanskritic/Puranic ethos. The many Mangalkavyas about Dharma Thakur, Chandi, and other deities, as well as the many Ramayanas and Mahabaharatas and other types of panchalis composed in this era are illustrative of this. This feature of Bengali literature is in fact the most widely-held conventional characterization of it and there is not much point in further belabouring this issue. However, a few examples are useful to illustrate this point. The Madanmohanbandana, a well-known verse narrative about the Bargi attack on Bishnupur, was composed in the 1750s, just before the Maharashtapurana of Gangaram. The articulation of a different kind of political sensibility (different from the kind usually mirrored in Mangalkavya-type poems of this period) and awareness in Gangaram's work has been discussed at length in Chapter 3. The Madanmohanbandana composed at about the same time also focuses on the same issue—the problem of Maratha Bargi raids into Bengal—but handles it in a manner more reminiscent of the ‘classic’ Mangalkavya or eulogies centred on various gods and goddesses. This narrative told the story of how the kingdom of Bishnupur, renowned for its strong tradition of Krishna devotion since the seventeenth century, was saved from pillage and oppression at the hands of the Bargis by Lord Madanmohan (Krishna) himself.92 Baneshwar Bidyalankar, a protégé of the raja of Burdwan, composed a Sanskrit work entitled the Chitrachampu in which the same motif of Bargi invasion was used as a central structuring device. A remarkable literary work on its own, the Chitrachampu did not mirror the political culture and awareness that is evident in the Maharashtapurana and also in a segment of Bharatchandra Roy's long poem, the Annadamangala.93

What then was the place of Persianization in Bengali culture of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries? It functioned as the public culture of the elites of Mughal Bengal, and particularly those associated with the political system. It did not supplant the regional Brahminical culture and its practices. Instead, Persianization coexisted with Bengal's own variant of regional Brahminism as a complementary cultural trajectory, each with its own perceived functions and domains. Persianate culture—whether expressed in dress, speech, or literary connoisseurship—was intended generally for the public, professional sphere inhabited by the region's landed aristocrats and gentry service lineages. Away from this sphere, in more ‘domestic’ private settings, adherence to Sanskritic/ Brahminical culture was more of a norm. Raja Pratapaditya and his family celebrated events such as accession to the zamindari or the inauguration of a new city by staging elaborate ceremonies in temples and offering generous hospitality to Brahmins.94 The same Pratapaditya was depicted as being adept in a Persianized courtly culture and sophistication during his stay at Delhi as a young prince. Raja Rajballabh's life shows a similar bifurcation between the pursuit of a Persianate culture and the pursuit of a Brahminical/Sanskritic culture. As a high-ranking official of Nawab Ali Vardi Khan's government, Rajballabh was proficient in Persian and came from a family in which Persian literacy had almost become a family tradition. His portrait depicts him attired in the mode of a Mughal nobleman, which indeed he was. Back in his ancestral estate of Rajanagar, however, he was assiduous in showing generosity and support to Brahmins and a culture of Brahminical/Sanskritic scholarship, which yielded among other things a Sanskrit play composed in his honour entitled the Raja Vijaya Natakam.95 When Rajballabh embarked on a building programme in Rajnagar, the mansions and temples he built there did not emulate the evolving Islamic/Mughal style of architecture in Bengal, but rather, a vernacular architectural idiom.96 Artistic representations from Mughal Bengal (both sculpture and otherwise) provide further corroborative testimony. The terracotta panels on the Bishnupur temples built mostly in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries also signal a separation of sorts between the public/‘secular’ and the domestic/religious spheres as it were. In panels depicting court scenes, many of the Hindu as well as Muslim male figures— presumably the aristocracy and royalty—are shown wearing the attire that had become standard, formal, courtly attire for men—Hindus as well as Muslims—in most parts of India with a history of not just Mughal rule, but Muslim rule. These figures are dressed in tight-fitting, ankle-length trousers, long tunics belted at the waist, and turbans.97 In panels not depicting court scenes, but instead depicting, for instance, scenes of Vaishnava devotionalism via music and dance, male figures are dressed differently. They are shown to be bare-bodied, wearing dhotis, sometimes with a chadar around their shoulders.98 In the remarkable collection of paata-chitras (painted wooden covers of manuscripts) produced in Bishnupur during the same period, there is a painting said to depict the king and queen of Bishnupur. The royal couple is depicted as devoted Vaishnavas which of course they purported to be. Here the king does not wear trousers, tunic, or a turban; instead he is dhoti-clad and bare-headed.99

Yet this distinction between the public and domestic spheres for early modern Bengal needs to be used with caution. The scenario described here is not an exact replica of the public/private, outer/inner domains of culture described by Partha Chatterjee. In Partha Chatterjee's formulation, the private/inner or domestic sphere emerged as a bastion of indigenous cultural practice and values in contradistinction to the public/outer sphere associated with British colonial rule and its related influences. In the case of early modern Bengal, as noted above, a Persianized culture was generally associated much more with a public, political culture.100 Yet the separation of public versus domestic cultures, associated with Persianized and Sanskritic/Brahminical cultures respectively, was neither rigid, nor absolute. For example, as Chapters 2 and 3 demonstrate, elements of a Persianized political culture were evident in the genealogies of high status jatis and lineages and Mangalkavyas written in praise of gods and goddesses. These types of narratives can hardly be regarded as cultural artefacts associated solely with a public culture. Moreover, these two cultural traditions—the Bengali, Brahminical tradition and the Persianate tradition—were not always neatly separate and serving separate cultural milieus. The analysis in Chapter 3 of the Persianate, almost tarikh-like features in the Annadamangala and the Maharashtapurana, and the juxtaposition of Puranic/Sanskritic and Persianate elements in the 1808 Rajabali of Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar, as well as in the earlier Dhaka Rajabali and in Ramram Basu's Raja Pratapaditya Charitra, underline the need to acknowledge that these constitute important examples of the interpenetration of the Sanskritic/Puranic and the Persianate literary and cultural conventions into each other's domains. Thus, the bifurcation of the public and domestic cultural spheres between the Persianate and the Sanksitic/Puranic was partial and far from absolute.

We have so far portrayed the regional manifestation of Mughal rule over Bengal as an important vehicle for the dissemination and transmission of Mughal, Persianate culture. But what relationship did the Mughal ruling class have with Bengal's indigenous culture? The received wisdom is that the pre-Mughal sultans of Bengal were enthusiastic supporters of regional vernacular literature and culture; the advent of Mughal rule reversed this trend. It is undoubted that, as a Mughal subah and later as a Mughal successor state, the ruling authorities of Bengal clearly proclaimed their dedication to preserving a Mughal political and governmental culture. As discussed in Chapter 5, in these circumstances, the absence of any known Persian language tarikh composed in Bengal, at the behest of the nawabs of Murshidabad or their nobles, or the Mughal subahdars in the later sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, remains a not yet adequately explained or understood phenomenon. It is also true that the large corpus of Bengali vernacular literature between the late sixteenth and eighteenth centuries do not contain references to Mughal subahdars or the Murshidabad nawabs as their patrons and supporters. However, there is fairly significant evidence of contacts among the Murshidabad nawabs on the one hand, and Hindu religious sects, Brahmin poets, and scholars on the other.101 Authors of Persian language tarikhs about the Murshidabad nawabs—whether Ghulam Hussain Tabatabai, Karam Ali, or the others—do not even mention such matters in their voluminous works. Yet, such relationships existed and their implications definitely need to be teased out further. No ruling regime could, of course, afford to be totally indifferent to the cultural traditions of the vast majority of its subjects. The nawabi ruling class too seems to have made gestures—the full extent of which are not yet fully known or appreciated—in this direction. The Bera-Bhashan festival developed in honour of Khizr Pir was given official recognition by Muqarrab Khan, the Mughal subahdar of Bengal during 1626–7, and by Nawab Murshid Quli Khan during the early eighteenth century.102 In the Chitrachampu, Baneshwar Bidyalankar reported that in his search for royal/ aristocratic patrons, he had first visited the court of the Raja of Burdwan and then the nawab's court at Murshidabad. Baneshwar made this observation in a matter-of-fact manner—almost as if it was commonplace for Brahmin scholars/ poets of repute to show up as supplicants at the Murshidabad darbar.103 Other Brahmin scholars were also honoured and feted at court by the Nawabs. On the death of Nawab Ali Vardi Khan, Sirajuddaula is said to have invited Brahmins to attend the funeral services of the former and the letters of invitation were composed in Bengali.104 Investigating the implications of even such snippets of information about the relationship between the Murshidabad nawabs and local, vernacular culture is a subject of utmost importance. Unfortunately, it lies beyond the scope of this book. What it means, though, is that the existing view about the indifference of the Bengal nawabs to local, vernacular culture needs to be re-examined and reformulated.

_______________

Notes:

(1.) Richard M. Eaton, ‘Islamic History as World History’, in Michael Adas (ed.), Islamic Expansion and European Expansion: The Forging of a Global Order, Philadelphia, 1993, pp. 1–36.

(2.) I do not use the term ‘translation’ here in its literal sense but rather in the sense understood and used in Tony K. Stewart, ‘In Search of Equivalence: Conceiving the Muslim-Hindu Encounter Through Translation Theory’, in Richard M. Eaton (ed.), India's Islamic Traditions, 711–1750, New Delhi, 2003, pp. 363–92, and ‘Introduction’, Ibid., pp. 1–34.

(3.) Ibid.

(4.) Albert Hourani, A History of the Arab Peoples, London, 1992, p. 48.

(5.) Ibid., p. 48.

(6.) E.G. Browne, A Literary History of Persia, vol. 2, Cambridge, 1969, p. 4.

(7.) Ehsan Yarshater, ‘The Persian Presence in the Islamic World’, in Richard G. Hovhannisian and Georges Sabagh (eds), The Persian Presence in the Islamic World, Cambridge, 1998, p. 5.

(8.) Stephen F. Dale, The Garden of the Eight Paradises: Babur and the Culture of Empire in Central Asia and India (1483–1530), Leiden, 2004.

(9.) Hourani, p. 87.

(10.) Sanjay Subrahmanyam, ‘Persianization and “Mercantilism” in Bay of Bengal History, 1400–1700’, in Explorations in Connected History. From the Tagus to the Ganges, 2004, Delhi, pp. 45–79.

(11.) Subrahmanyam, ‘Persianization and “Mercantilism”’, and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, ‘Iranians Abroad: Intra-Asian Elite Migration and Early Modern State Formation’, Journal of Asian Studies, vol. 51, no. 2, 1992, pp. 340–62.

(12.) Phillip Wagoner, ‘“Sultan among Hindu Kings”: Dress, Titles, and Islamicization of Hindu Culture at Vijaynagara’, Journal of Asian Studies, vol. 55, no. 4, 1996, pp. 851–80.

(13.) Sheldon Pollock, ‘The Sanskrit Cosmopolis, 300–1300 CE: Transculturation, Vernacularization and the Question of Ideology’, in Ideology and Status of Sanskrit, pp. 197–248.

(14.) J.N. Adams, Mark Janse, and Simon Swain (eds), Bilingualism in Ancient Society: Language Contact and the Written Text, Oxford, 2002; Erich S. Gruen, Studies in Greek Culture and Roman Policy, Leiden, 1990; Sheldon Pollock, The Language of the Gods in the World of Men: Sanskrit, Culture and Power in PreModern India, Berkeley, 2006.

(15.) Muzaffar Alam, ‘The Culture and Politics of Persian in Pre-Colonial Hindustan’, in Literary Cultures in History, Pollock (ed.), Berkeley, 2003, p. 158.

(16.) Alam, ‘The Culture and Politics of Persian’, p. 70.

(17.) Muzaffar Alam and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, ‘The Making of a Munshi’, in Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, vol. 24, no. 2, 2004, pp. 61–72.

(18.) Velcheru Narayana Rao, David Shulman, and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, Textures of Time. Writing History in South India 1600–1800, New Delhi, 2001.

(19.) Athar Ali, The Mughal Nobility under Aurangzeb, Bombay, 1966; Athar Ali, The Apparatus of Empire: Awards, Ranks, Offices and Titles in the Mughal Nobility (1574–1658), New Delhi, 1985; Afzal Hussain, The Nobility under Akbar and Jehangir: A Study of Family Groups, New Delhi, 1999. See also Sanjay Subrahmanyam, ‘Iranians Abroad’.

(20.) Muzaffar Alam, Francoise ‘Nalini’ Delvoye, and Marc Gaborieau (eds), The Making of Indo-Persian Culture: Indian and French Studies, New Delhi, 2000; J.P. Losty, The Art of the Book in India, London, 1982; Lizzie Collingham, Curry: A Tale of Cooks and Conquerors, New York, 2006.

(21.) A large literature exists on the subject of European courtly culture. While both Norbert Elias, The Court Society, Oxford, 1983, and Norbert Elias (tr. Norman Jephcott), The Civilizing Process: The History of Manners and State Formation and Civilization, Oxford, 1994 are landmark works on this subject, other representative works include Anna Bryson, From Courtesy to Civility: Changing Codes of Conduct in Early Modern England, New York, 1998; Jorge Arditi, A Genealogy of Manners: Transformations of Social Relations in France and England from the Fourteenth to Eighteenth Centuries, Chicago, 1998.

(22.) Daud Ali, Courtly Culture and Political Life in Early Medieval India, Cambridge, 2004.

(23.) Muzaffar Alam, The Languages of Political Islam. India 1200–1800, Chicago, 2004.

(24.) J.F. Richards, ‘Norms of Comportment among Imperial Mughal Officers’, in Moral Conduct and Authority. The Place of Adab in South Asian Islam, Barbara Metcalf (ed.), 1984, Berkeley, pp. 255–89; also J.F. Richards, ‘The Formulation of Imperial Authority under Akbar and Jehangir’, in Muzaffar Alam and Sanjay Subrahmanyam (eds), The Mughal State. 1526–1750, New Delhi, 1998, pp. 126– 67.

(25.) Adab means discipline/training; also good breeding and refinement. See Barbara Metcalf, ‘The Place of Adab in South Asian Islam’, in Moral Conduct and Authority, pp. 1–20.

(26.) Rosalind O’Hanlon, ‘Issues of Masculinity in North Indian History: the Bangash Nawabs of Farrukhabad’, Indian Journal of Gender Studies, vol. 1, 1997, pp. 1–18; Rosalind O’Hanlon, ‘Manliness and Imperial Service in Mughal North India’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, vol. 42, no. 1, 1999, pp. 47–93.

(27.) See for example, Maulavi M. Hidayat Husain, ‘The Mirza Namah (The Book of the Perfect Gentleman) of Mirza Kamran with an English Translation’, Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, new series, vol. 9, 1913, pp. 1–13.

(28.) Ali, Courtly Culture and Political Life, pp. 22–3, 100–2.

(29.) Subrahmanyam, ‘Persianization and “Mercantilism”’, pp. 77–9.

(30.) Ali, Courtly Culture and Political Life, pp. 22–3.

(31.) K. Chatterjee, ‘Cultural Cross-Currents and Cosmopolitanism in Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century South Asia: The Case of Bishnupur’, unpublished paper presented at the Association for Asian Studies Annual Conference, Atlanta, April 2008.

(32.) Alam and Subrahmanyam (eds), The Mughal State, pp. 70–1; Ali, Courtly Culture and Political Life, pp. 1–25, 262–71.

(33.) Eaton, India's Islamic Traditions, p. 6.

(34.) Ibid.

(35.) Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier, 1204–1760, Delhi, 1994, p. 167.

(36.) S.N.H. Rizvi, ‘Literary Extracts from Kitab Subh Sadiq’, Journal of the Asiatic Society of Pakistan, 16 (1), 1971, pp. 1–61.

(37.) John R. McLane, Land and Local Kingship in Eighteenth Century Bengal, Cambridge, 1993, pp. 130–7; Nagendranath Basu, Uttar Rarhiya Kayastha Kanda, Calcutta, 1335 BS, pp. 195–6; Nagendranath Basu, Dakshin Rarhiya Kayastha Khanda, Calcutta, 1340 BS, p. 101.

(38.) Suniti Kumar Chatterji, Origin and Development of the Bengali Language, New Delhi, 2002, pp. 202–6.

(39.) Rasiklal Gupta, Maharaj Rajballabh Sen, 1st edn, Calcutta, n.d. pp. 45–8 (two different editions of this work have been used in this book. Unless otherwise mentioned, all subsequent citations refer to this first edition).

(40.) Huq, Muslim Bengali Literature, p. 105.

(41.) Ibid.

(42.) Gupta, Maharaj Rajballabh Sen, p. 70.

(43.) Rao-Shulman-Subrahmanyam, Textures of Time.

(44.) Ramram Basu, Raja Pratapaditya Charitra, p. 5.

(45.) Ibid., p. 9.

(46.) Ibid., p. 50.

(47.) Gupta, Maharaj Rajballabh Sen, p. 73.

(48.) Saradacharan Dhar, Nabab Harekrishna, Calcutta: no publisher, 1910, p. 10; Sukumar Sen, Bangla Sahityer Itihasa, vol. 2, 1405 BS, Calcutta, p. 155.

(49.) Abdul Karim, ‘Islamabad’, in Abdul Karim Sahitya Bisharad Granthabali, Abul Ahsan Chowdhury (ed.), vol. 1, Dhaka, 1997, p. 73.

(50.) Basu, Raja Pratapaditya Charitra, p. 5.

(51.) Cited in Sen, Bangla Sahityer Itihasa, vol. 2, p. 159.

(52.) N. Bandyopadhyaya, Bhadrapurer Itibritta, Murshidabad, 1910–11; Kshitishvamsavalicharitam: A Chronicle of the Family of Raja Krishnachandra of Navadvipa, Bengal, W. Pertsch (ed. and tr.) in Mohit Roy (ed.), Kshitishvamsavalicharit, Calcutta, 1986.

(53.) Rizvi, ‘Literary Extracts from Kitab Subh Sadiq’, pp. 1–61.

(54.) Shantanu Phukan, ‘Through a Persian Prism: Hindi and Padmavat in the Mughal Imagination’, unpublished PhD dissertation, 2000, University of Chicago, pp. 8–9.

(55.) Jayananda, Chaitanyamangal, Sukhamoy Mukhopadhyaya and Sumangal Rana (eds), 1994, Shantiniketan, p. 135; J.T. O’Connell, ‘Vaishnava Perceptions of Muslims in Sixteenth Century Bengal’, in Subordinate and Marginal Groups in Early India, Aloka Parashar-Sen (ed.), New Delhi, 2004, p. 417 disagrees that these lines of Jayananda's Chaitanyamangala refer to ‘masnavis’. Following Mohammed Enamul Huq, History of Muslim Bengali Literature, 1957, Karachi, p. 42 and M.R. Tarafdar ‘Kulaji Sahityer Aitihasikata’, in Itihasa O Aitihasika, Dhaka, 1989, I interpret these lines to refer to ‘masnavis’.

(56.) Rizvi, ‘Literary Extracts from Kitab Subh Sadiq’, p. 10.

(57.) Ibid.

(58.) Allison Busch, ‘The Anxiety of Innovation’: The Practice of Literary Science in the Hindi/Riti Tradition', Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, vol. 24, no. 2, 2004, pp. 45–57; Allison Busch, ‘Literary Response to the Mughal Imperium: The Historical Poems of Keshavdas’, South Asia Research, vol. 25, no. 1, 2005, pp. 31–54. See also Cynthia Talbot, ‘Becoming Turk the Rajput Way: Conversion and Identity in an Indian Warrior Narrative’, Modern Asian Studies (forthcoming).

(59.) Ramram Basu, Raja Pratapaditya Charitra, p. 60.

(60.) Ibid., pp. 60–70.

(61.) Bharatchandra Granthabali, Bandyopadhyaya and Das (eds), p. 26; Nagendranath Basu, Barendra Brahman Bibaran, p. 163. I am grateful to Allison Busch for verifying that these compositions attributed to Raja Pratapaditya and Bharatchandra Roy were in Brajbhasha.

(62.) Bharatchandra Granthabali, pp. 25–6.

(63.) For example, see Suniti Kumar Chatterji, Origin and Development of the Bengali Language, pp. 201–6.

(64.) Pertsch, Kshitish, pp. 246–7.

(65.) Bandyopadhyaya, Bhadrapurer Itibritta, p. 20; Gupta, Maharaj Rajballabh Sen, pp. 70–3.

(66.) Maharshi Debendranath Thakur, Atmajibani, Satish Chandra Chakrabarti (ed.), Calcutta, 1927; Dinesh Chandra Sen, Gharer Katha O Juga Sahitya, Calcutta, 1969 (rpt), pp. 28, 78–9.

(67.) Purnachandra Mazumdar, The Musnud of Murshidabad, Murshidabad, 1905, p. 80.

(68.) Ibid., pp. 80, 83–9.

(69.) List of Arabic and Persian Manuscripts acquired on behalf of the Government of India by the Asiatic Society of Bengal, 1903–1907, Calcutta, 1908; List of Arabic and Persian Manuscripts acquired on behalf of the Government of India by the Asiatic Society of Bengal, 1908–1910, Calcutta, n.d.

(70.) 1908–10 list, pp. 8, 9, 14, 25, 32.

(71.) Ghosh, Memoirs of Maharaja Nubkissen Bahadur, cited in Aloke Roy, ‘Paribarik Pustak Samgraha’, Ababhash, October–December, 2003, pp. 110–11.

(72.) Rasiklal Gupta, Maharaj Rajballabh Sen, Calcutta, pp. 2–4, Mahimaniranjan Chakrabarti, Birbhum Bibaran, Calcutta, p. 16.

(73.) Huq, Muslim Bengali Literature, p. 43.

(74.) Ibid., pp. 102–4.

(75.) Eaton, Islam and the Bengal Frontier.

(76.) Huq, Muslim Bengali Literature, pp. 103–4.

(77.) Eaton, Islam and the Bengal Frontier, p. 209.

(78.) For a discussion of such religious literature, see Tony K. Stewart, ‘In Search of Equivalence: Conceiving the Muslim-Hindu Encounter through Translation Theory’, in Richard M. Eaton (ed.), India's Islamic Traditions, 711–1750, pp. 363–92; also M.R. Tarafdar, Hussain Shahi Bengal: A Socio-Political Study, pp. 182–225.

(79.) For discussions of Satyanarayan/Satya Pir, see Tony K. Stewart, ‘Alternate Structures of Authority: Satya Pir on the Frontiers of Bengal’, in David Gilmartin and Bruce B. Lawrence (eds), Beyond Turk and Hindu: Rethinking Religious Identities in Islamicate South Asia, Gainesville, 2000, pp. 2154; Girindranath Das, Bangla Pir Sahityer Katha, Barasat 1338 BS; Satyanarayan Bhattacharya (ed.), Kobi Krishnaram Daser Granthabali, see ‘Introduction’, no pp.

(80.) Huq, Muslim Bengali Literature, pp. 110–22.

(81.) Sukumar Sen, Islami Bangla Sahitya, pp. 62–87; Bandyopadhyaya and Das (eds), Bharatchandra Granthabali; Satyanarayan Bhattacharya (ed.), Kobi Krishnaram Daser Granthabali; Tony K. Stewart, Fabulous Females and Peerless Pirs: Tales of Mad Adventures in Old Bengal, New York, 2004.

(82.) Huq, Muslim Bengali Literature, pp. 64–9 and 75–7.

(83.) Bandyopadhyaya and Das (eds), Bharatchandra Granthabali, pp. 5–35.

(84.) Huq, Muslim Bengali Literature; Chowdhury (ed.), Abdul Karim Sahitya Bisharad Granthabali; Sukumar Sen, Islami Bangla Sahitya.

(85.) Jayananda, Birachita Chaitanyamangala, p. 135.

(86.) See Phillip B. Wagoner, ‘Sultan among Hindu Kings: Dress, Titles, and Islamization of Hindu Culture at Vijaynagar’, Journal of Asian Studies, vol. 55, no. 4, 1996, pp. 851–80 for a useful and relevant discussion of Islamization and Sanskritization.

(87.) Aloke Kumar Chakrabarty, Maharaja Krishnachandra O Tatkalin Banga Samaj, Calcutta, 1989.

(88.) Ramram Basu, Raja Pratapaditya Charitra, pp. 95–109; N.N. Ghosh, Memoirs of Maharaj Nubkissen Bahadur, Calcutta, 1901, pp. 178–83; Chakrabarty, Maharaja Krishnachandra; Pradip Sinha, Calcutta in Urban History, Calcutta, 1978, pp. 62–85.

(89.) Gupta, Maharaj Rajballabh Sen; Sinha, Calcutta in Urban History, etc.

(90.) See Chakrabarty, Maharaja Krishnachandra.

(91.) Gupta, Maharaj Rajballabh Sen, pp. 192–9; Chakrabarty, Maharaja Krishnachandra, pp. 49–76.

(92.) Edward C. Dimock Jr and Pratul Chandra Gupta (eds), Maharashtapurana. An Eighteenth Century Bengali Historical Text, Calcutta, 1985 (rpt), pp. 63–6.

(93.) Baneshwar Bidyalankar, Chitrachampu, Ramcharan Chakrabarty (ed.), Benaras, 1940.

(94.) Basu, Raja Pratapaditya Charitra, pp. 41–2, 94.

(95.) R.C. Majumdar and Kunja Gobinda Goswami (eds), Raja Vijaya Natakam, Calcutta, 1947.

(96.) Gupta, Maharaj Rajballabh Sen, see illustrations of the mansions and temples built by Rajballabh (no page nos). On the subject of elites, in early modern India, inhabiting and negotiating among multiple cultural spheres, see Cynthia Talbot, ‘Becoming Turk the Rajput Way’, Modern Asian Studies, forthcoming.

(97.) This kind of attire became standard for male gentry into the nineteenth century. Well-known portraits of Raja Rammohan Roy, Prince Dwarakanath Tagore, and others show them dressed in this way.

(98.) These remarks are based on observation of sculpture panels on the wellknown terracotta temples at Bishnupur, West Bengal. Art-historical studies of these temples include Chittaranjan Dasgupta, Bharater Shilpa-Samskritir Patabhumikaye Bishnupurer Mandir Terrakota, Bishnupur, 1407 BS; Pika Ghosh, Temple to Love: Architecture and Devotion in Seventeenth Century Bengal, Bloomington, 2005; and others

(99.) This statement is based generally on an observation of the paata-chitras in the possession of the Jogesh Chandra Roy Bidyanidhi Purakriti Bhaban, Bishnupur, West Bengal. The specific paata-chitra referred to here was produced at Bishnupur, and is subsequently in the possession of the Ashutosh Museum, Calcutta University.

(100.) Chatterjee, The Nation and its Fragments, pp. 116–34.

(101.) Ghosh, Memoirs of Maharaj Nubkissen Bahadur, pp. 4–7; Ghatak, Charitashtaka, pp. 13–14; Satyacharan Shastri, Maharaj Nandakumar Charit, Calcutta, 1899, pp. 207–10; Ramendrasundar Tribedi, ‘Ek Kahni Prachin Dalil’, Sahitya Parishat Patrika, vol. 6, no. 4, 1306 BS, pp. 297–301.

(102.) Huq, Muslim Bengali Literature, p. 194.

(103.) Baneshwar Bidyalankar, Chitrachampu, p. 8. (104.) Chintaharan Chakrabarti, ‘Samskrita Sahitye Musalmaner Prerana’, Sahitya Parishat Patrika, vol. 44, no. 1, 1344 BS, pp. 39–46.
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Re: The Cultures of History in Early Modern India, by Kumkum

Postby admin » Mon Mar 13, 2023 4:37 am

Conclusion and Afterthoughts

In the 1920s a bitter public controversy about the definition and substance of history divided the Bengali scholarly world into two opposing groups. This feud revolved around the body of genealogical materials that have been discussed in Chapter 2. This debate erupted at a time and in an environment which was significantly different from the Mughal period and very early colonial milieu which provide the time frame of this study. In the course of this debate, a group of scholars including eminent professional historians and archaeologists such as R.C. Majumdar, Rakhaldas Bandyopadhyaya, and others debunked the status of the Bengali kulagrantha corpus as history on the grounds that their chronology could not be determined with certainty; the claims put forward by these materials were not verifiable; and, most serious of all, the identity and background of the composers of these chronicles could not often be ascertained.1 This debate, in a nutshell, summarizes much of the burden borne by pre-modern historiography in India as unfit to be assigned the status of history. This debate also allows us an opportunity to summarize the findings of this book about the nature and function of historiographic narratives in early modern India.

The principal conclusion that emerges from an exploration of a variety of materials is that the commemoration of the past in the form of narratives was articulated via the cultural and literary conventions prevalent in the time and place where these narratives were produced and used. Thus, general, nonparticularistic, universal criteria such as rationality and empiricism, are not the most appropriate yardsticks for evaluating their historicity. Pre-modern historiographic materials do not and should not be expected to correspond completely to the modern definition of history—especially professional history— as a rational, factual discipline practised by professional scholars credentialized by universities. The common ground shared by the pre-modern South Asian notion of history, whether called itihasa, or designated through various other terms, with history in its current sense consists of the fact that both comprise the practice of engaging in a self-conscious commemoration of various aspects of the past. Secondly, both involve an interpretive engagement with the past through a presentation of sequences of events and the reconstruction of causes and connections that linked them. Any casual or random reference to an event or fact that had occurred in the past does not, in my view, qualify early modern materials to be regarded as historical. Eighteenth century Bengali authors and poets, such as Baneshwar Bidyalankar in his Chitrachampu and Bharatchandra Roy in his Annadamangala, referred to the waves of Bargi attacks that had convulsed Bengal in the mid-eighteenth century. However, both authors used these invasions as reference points to delineate the time when they composed these works. The Bargi invasions seemed to possess no further narrative utility in these compositions. As the discussion in Chapter 3 shows, this contrasts markedly with the manner in which Gangaram, author of the Maharashtapurana, used the Bargi attacks as the central lynchpin of his narrative. In the Maharashtapurana, the Bargi raids functioned as the central phenomenon that explained the actions, reactions, motives, perspectives, and counter-perspectives of the various groups of protagonists who are represented in it. Also as seen in Chapter 3, Bharatchandra did the same with his treatment of the military campaigns of Raja Man Singh in Bengal, particularly the defining battle against Raja Pratapaditya of Jessore. The biggest points of difference between early modern history writing on the one hand, and the classic modern practice of history on the other, lay in the use of a rational-positivist methodology by the latter. However, we may need to modify the conventional assumption that early modern historiography was indifferent to method and authority. The large body of scholarly commentary on the lack of proper history in pre-modern India usually points to fabulous, fantastic stories and accounts as the typical nature of such materials and the prime reason why these should not be dignified by the label of history. There is, of course, no doubt that fantastic and fabulous stories indeed constituted an important facet of these narratives. As Chapters 2 to 6 illustrate, the fantastic and the fabulous were paired with extremely worldly and material concerns regarding issues of urgency and importance to communities, kings, and others. Perhaps the more critical point this book makes is the recognition that early modern historiography did not always possess all the properties associated with modern, rational-positivist history; this should not lead to the dismissal of the former as a flawed, earlier incarnation of empirical, rational-scientific history-writing and be left at that. Early modern history writing needs to be explored as a rich and meaningful field which constituted a valuable medium of cultural expression of the societies that composed and used them.

The decisive influence of prevailing literary, intellectual, and cultural conventions in shaping the content, idiom, and style of composing history during the early modern period makes it necessary to give due emphasis and weight to the time, place, and cultural context in which the narratives studied in this book were produced. Chapter 1 establishes the political and cultural environment of seventeenth and eighteenth century Bengal and shows that Mughal rule produced a deeper cultural impact on this region than previously appreciated. With respect to certain segments of Bengal's society in particular, Mughal rule and the political culture associated with it became significant influences in shaping the composition of certain kinds of historiographic narratives.

Historiographic materials were not just textual, but often simultaneously oral and performative as well. This helped in the wider dissemination of the issues and topics contained in historiographic narratives to a bigger audience. Some types of narratives—for example, the royal charitras and the Persian tarikhs presented in Chapters 4 and 5 respectively—were probably more suitable for silent reading. But the fact that history, embedded in various kinds of literature, could be delivered through oral and performative modes meant that considerations of literacy did not restrict the size of audiences. The authors of historiographic narratives, whether village poets or sophisticated courtiers and nobles, drew upon their intellectual and cultural orientations—shaped in some measure by systems of formal education—to produce accounts of past kings and lineage chiefs, etc. In the period under discussion, systems of education as well as the culture prevalent among the gentry and nobility of Bengal favoured adherence to a Bengali vernacular, Sanskritic, and Persianized culture.

The narratives studied in Chapters 2 to 6 are about rulers of various kinds— ranging from the Mughals who were paramount within the South Asian subcontinent, to rulers who occupied positions at lower levels of the hierarchies of political power. Most types of histories studied here focus on relations among rulers with different degrees of political power and the ethical and moral foundations of governance, but from markedly different perspectives. The ubiquitousness of narratives about kings can justifiably lead to the articulation of a contrast between pre-modern histories and modern histories on the grounds that while the former were monarch-centric, the latter perceived of the people as the basis of communities, such as the nation state for example. The distinction between histories that identified the people as the basis of the nation and early modern king-centric narratives is undeniable. However, it is worth remembering that early modern historiographic narratives and chronicles about royalty, in a sense, also encapsulated the people. As many different types of histories from the early modern era—the Persian tarikhs, charitras, royal genealogies, and others—indicate, rulers not only exerted political and military power, but also embodied the moral stature of the kingdom as a whole. The king's adherence to the norms of righteousness caused the heavens to smile on the ruler as well as his subjects; the king's ethical lapses cost both dearly. This link between the king and his subjects also explains why ordinary people listened and read such historiographic narratives with attention and interest. Besides, rulers and the circles of courtiers and protégées around them were typically the patrons, authors, and sometimes the prime audiences for certain types of histories in the early modern period.

It is true that a large corpus of pre-modern historiographic materials were seemingly oblivious to methodology. They were often embedded in stories and accounts that were meant to edify and entertain people, as well as to provide them with reading and listening pleasure. The inherent connection between itihasa, katha, and akhyayika with kavya has already been explored in the Introduction. As Gautam Bhadra's insightful analysis of the meaning, concept, and functions of history, or itihasa, in pre-modern India illustrates, itihasa was meant to be suffused with aesthetic qualities (rasa) which in turn would provide enjoyment to its readers. As Bhadra writes, ‘here, the resolution of doubt [regarding the factual accuracy of the narrative] was not the principal objective, but rather, its pleasing literary qualities [‘manoharitva’]’.2 The book's study of panchali literature—particularly, its Mangalkavya sub-type—provides a confirmation of this point. Yet it would be erroneous to believe that considerations of authority, legitimacy, and proof were totally absent from these materials.

Whether speaking about the exploits of the goddess, actions of past kings, or lineage heads, such accounts needed to win the respect and belief of their audiences. Otherwise, why else would narratives of this type be composed and heard or read repeatedly over centuries? The entertainment value and pleasing aesthetics certainly go some way in explaining the longevity of certain types of historiography. However, these by themselves may not completely explain their long life and popularity. The authority of such narratives was not always derived from the careful collection of factual evidence which had been cross checked for accuracy.

I suggest that the authority implicit in narratives such as the kulajis and the Mangalkabyas were rooted in very different sets of considerations. The authority of such accounts sprang from the fact that they were perceived to be drawn from ‘aitihya’ or tradition. Previous renderings of these accounts endowed them with the authority of tradition, the credibility of which could be, in turn, traced to several factors. First, the credibility of these accounts resided in the fact that earlier generations of the same families and communities had listened to them or read them and considered them worthy of respect and attention. Secondly, these accounts were believed to be derived from the sayings and experiences of wise, honourable people who commanded respect in the community. This facet of itihasa was in fact of very ancient vintage. According to the ancient Samkhyakaras, for example, itihasa was practically synonymous with aptavakya (the sayings of persons of high moral stature, wisdom, and integrity) and not everyone could claim the status of an ‘apta’. As Gautam Bhadra points out, in ancient India, the memories of great men literally constituted smriti which can be considered to be practically synonymous with law.3 These memories formed the basis for the composition of samhitas or digests. The link between itihasa, or history, and the memories and sayings of respected members of the community becomes clearer when we consider that, by some definitions, itihasa was not necessarily associated with an identifiable author, but was regarded as a mass of hearsay and stories circulating within a community and surviving through their transmission as tradition.4

In Bengal's panchali literature in general, it was often the convention for writers to submerge their individual author-function in the generic literary/ historiographic tradition within which they located their compositions. Writers also chose to attribute their compositions to better-known authors in order to associate themselves with the reputation and legitimacy of the latter. In cases where panchali literature had identifiable authors, these composers quite commonly provided autobiographical details. I suggest that behind the plethora of family and community connections within which authors often located their individual selves, there functioned a clear purpose: to establish a respectable identity for the author in order to secure for his/her composition a degree of credibility and acceptance from those who would listen to or read it. The deliberate references to the local raja or eminent person, whose patronage often made it possible for a writer to devote time and energy to the composition of a literary/historiographic work, represented signals to associate both the author and his/her work with persons of prestige and honour within the community.

The Indo-Persian tarikh tradition too betrayed a similar concern with delineating the identity of the author together with his personal familial background, professional, and social connections, and the identities of his patrons and mentors. Such protocols were intended to convey messages regarding the credibility and qualification of authors as well as the stature and respectability of the company they kept. The Bengal tarikhs also referred to older authorities— usually earlier tarikhs—but also at times, older persons with experience and wisdom who had experienced at first hand or knew about the events which were chronicled in the tarikhs. This feature is noticeable too in the charitras composed by Ramram Basu and Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya, and in the Rajabali of Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar. These authors made explicit invocations to various pre-existing and well established traditions and authorities in order to provide validity for the contents of their works. The English officials of the East India Company depended on Indo-Persian tarikhs as their authorities.

A more self-conscious and explicit methodology is also noticeable in the tarikhs and the Bengali prose narratives discussed in Chapters 4 and 5 respectively. In these narratives, the authors revealed their knowledge about the existence of multiple versions of the same narrative and took pains to decide which one they considered valid and why. Even an author such as Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar, usually regarded as a typical, orthodox Brahman pundit, expressed his scepticism about the explanation given in the Puranetihasa tradition regarding the origin of the earth. Still, early modern protocols of writing history were different from the protocols, conventions, and institutional affiliations associated with the modern profession of history writing. But the materials explored in Chapters 2 to 6 compel us to acknowledge that early modern historiography followed protocols of authority, evidence, and method which were different, but not absent.

The historiographic materials presented in this book also bear eloquent testimony to the fact that they functioned as political statements that were attuned to the contingent material and cultural environments in which they were produced and received. The narratives analysed in Chapters 2 to 6 make it impossible to subscribe to the view that pre-modern Indian history was synonymous with ancient tradition and the compulsions of embodying such tradition rendered it formulaic, unchanging, and disconnected to current material and political contexts. The genealogical texts surveyed in Chapter 2 and the Mangalkabyas studied in Chapter 3 illustrate the ability—maybe even the need—for tradition to re-invent and re-cast itself periodically while preserving intact some hallmark features and attributes of old. The Persian tarikhs composed in Bengal during the later eighteenth century followed the generic forms and styles that were associated with the Indo-Persian tarikh tradition. Yet, in keeping with the political exigencies facing the class of Mughal scholararistocrats, the authors of these tarikhs used the history of the Mughal empire, and its reincarnation in Bengal under the nawabs of Murshidabad, to articulate a political philosophy that was an innovation on the classic Mughal philosophy of governance. A similar strategy is noticeable in the Bengali prose biography of Maharaja Krishnachandra Roy of Nadia authored by Rajiblochan Mukhopadhyaya. In this charitra, which was written during the period when the English East India Company had assumed sovereign power in Bengal, the author depicted the English as noble, ethical people and his hero, the raja of Nadia, as one of the chief enablers of English political ascendancy in Bengal.

The recognition that the traditions of history current in early modern India were sensitive to their immediate political and cultural environments makes it possible to establish a stronger connection between the various types of historiographic narratives presented in this book and the prevalent political culture of seventeenth and eighteenth century Bengal. By this period, the Mughal imperial formation had come to be associated with a courtly culture which was strongly Persianized. The Persian language and a literary culture associated with it embodied this imperial culture most typically, but it was also linked to certain modes of deportment, attire, musical tastes, and so on. As Chapter 7 shows, forming part of a trans-regional culture, Persianization was prevalent over large parts of the ‘Eastern’ Islamic world. It represented the secular, political, courtly, and cosmopolitan aspects of Islamic civilization. Within the South Asian subcontinent, the Persian language and a Persianized culture had begun to take root since the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But its most significant strengthening and dissemination occurred under Mughal rule thanks to its use as the language of administration. Provincial gentry and aristocracy in Bengal cultivated the Persian language and appropriated different aspects of a Persianized culture. The greater use of Persian in Mughal Bengal is acknowledged in existing scholarly literature and its diffusion among certain segments of Bengali society is traced to the status of Persian as a language of career advancement. Linguists attest to the philological impact of Persian on the Bengali language in the form of the entrance of Persian vocabulary into Bengali particularly during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. While these assessments are true, they overlook and ignore the fact that, for several centuries, Persian had also become a language of sophistication and cosmopolitanism among the Bengali gentry and aristocracy, particularly in the culture prevalent in the public-political sphere. The contribution of this book to the study of historical cultures in early modern Bengal emphasizes the place and role of Persianization as a medium of refinement and a link to the political culture of the Mughal empire.

In certain types of historiographic narratives composed in Bengal during the early modern period, Persianization is evident at the most basic level by the profuse use of Persian vocabulary. It is also evident in the idioms, issues and overall political parameters outlined in them. This is true of the two mideighteenth century Mangalkavyas, that is, the Annadamangala and the Maharashtapurana as well as the prose texts studied in Chapter 4. Bengal's kulagrantha corpus supposedly embodies the region's Brahmanical tradition in its most orthodox form. The kulajis retained their commitment to their most important Brahmanical priorities, but also accommodated references to the professional and social-cultural interactions between upper class, upper caste Hindus on the one hand and Muslim regimes—including the Mughal—on the other. The English language accounts composed by associates of the English East India Company used the Persian tarikhs as the basis for remarks and reflections on Mughal governance.

The endeavour to trace inflections of a Persianized culture in diverse forms and modes of historiographic materials composed in Bengal also brings us face to face with a scenario in which multiple cultures of writing history were concurrently prevalent at the same period and in the same place. Recent scholarship is cognizant of the multilingualism of many regions of early modern India and of the simultaneous currency of multiple literary and historiographic cultures in these places.5 However, the older tendency to perceive of pre-modern historiographic practice in particular as separate traditions of ‘Hindu’ and ‘Islamic’ history writing may not yet have been laid to rest completely.

This study also provides an opportunity to examine the relationship of the Mughal empire to one of its regions—and more particularly to the issue of the reception of the empire and its political culture by its provincial subjects. The relationship and interaction between Mughal imperial culture and regional, cultural traditions have yet to receive the scholarly attention and importance it deserves, particularly from historians. Contrary to the conventional picture of Mughal rule in Bengal as oppressive, violent, and ‘foreign’, the finding here is that by the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, ordinary Bengalis had come to accept the Mughals as distant, paramount overlords who were compared sometimes to divinity. The gentry and aristocracy of Bengal, who had direct contact with the Mughal provincial administration, often reaped handsome material and political benefits by aligning with the latter. Many of them sought to emulate and appropriate aspects of a courtly, Persianized culture which they saw as a form of civilité and cosmopolitanism, and one that might help to better integrate them with a subcontinental polity and its nobility. This picture is at odds with the popular notion that the Bengali territorial aristocracy remained forever alienated and rebellious vis-à-vis the Mughals. It may indeed be time to re-examine the stereotype of the warring bara bhuiyans as regional patriots. Chapter 7 also points to the manifest limitations of Persianization in early modern Bengal. Persianization coexisted with a vigorous regional, Brahminical culture which was not eroded by the former. However, it may be worthwhile to keep an open mind on the question as to whether and in what ways Brahminism in early modern Bengal may have been modified and influenced by Persianization. Persianization in early modern Bengal became an important element in the region's public and political culture, but one which may have had links also with other domains of culture. In my view, the use of materials from the seventeenth, eighteenth, and early nineteenth centuries has been critically important in reconstructing this picture both of historiographic practices in this region during the early modern era as well as the salience here —albeit with limits—of a Persianized culture. This suggests the need for the greater recognition and use of vernacular sources for the reconstruction of Mughal period history, particularly if it is to probe social and cultural phenomena.

This exercise in charting the manifestations of Persianization in certain types of Bengali historiography is valuable in terms of studying the interactions between Islamicate culture and various Indic, regional, and local traditions. For example, the 1808 Rajabali of Mrityunjoy Bidyalankar is a fascinating juxtaposition of multiple literary, historiographic, and cultural traditions in a single narrative. It combines Puranic materials, Sanskrit courtly biographies, Persian tarikhs, and popular stories about Akbar in a single kaleidoscopic chronicle. This chronicle reinforces the fact that for certain facets of early modern Indian history, it is useful to keep an open mind about a much larger variety of cultural interactions than the biases of some kinds of late nineteenth and twentieth century scholarship are prepared to recognize.

Some of the most influential scholarship on the emergence of an Indian nationalist history in the later nineteenth century was based on the premise that it marked a sharp break with early modern modes of narrating the past.6 It is undoubted that colonial education and the dissemination of the colonialist definition of history as empirical and scientific played a critical role in convincing the emergent colonial Indian literati that indigenous practices of recording the past did not deserve to be called history. But, it is over-simplifying the picture somewhat to posit that the older indigenous modes of history writing atrophied neatly and left the field open for the unchallenged practice of history as a specialized, scientific discipline. I argue that attributes associated with premodern historiography continued to make their presence felt in a variety of modes that were used to represent the past during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and continue to do so in contemporary times. The definition and understanding of history itself was highly contested even among the middle class intelligentsia. The kulagrantha controversy mentioned at the outset of this chapter sheds light on this subject.

A group of scholars represented by R.C. Majumdar and others challenged the historicity of the kulagranthas on the ground that they failed to meet rationalpositivist standards. But another group of intellectuals, including Dinesh Chandra Sen, Nagendranath Basu and others advanced the view that these genealogies had been regarded for centuries by the people of Bengal as credible accounts of the region's Brahminical society and, therefore, they deserved to be recognized as history. These scholars conceptualized history as the product of a specific culture, rather than as a circumscribed academic discipline preoccupied with the application of a rational-positivist methodology to artefacts and texts from the past. This understanding of history rebelled against formal methodology, whether rational-positivist and western, or Indo-Islamic, or Indic. In effect, Dinesh Chandra Sen and many other like-minded Bengali intellectuals of the time valorized an instinct and emotion-based, non-formal mode of remembering the past that was unfettered by methodology. We have noted above that early modern materials were not indifferent to methodology. However, early twentieth century intellectuals like Nagendranath Basu, Dinesh Chandra Sen, and others chose to de-emphasize the relevance of methodology in the materials they characterized as history. In taking such a stand, these Bengali scholars echoed the distinction between history and memory articulated by Halbwachs, Yarushalmi, and Nora which has been referred to in the Introduction. The former conceptualized history as a public concern rather than the concern of a few specialists. In this regard, they came closer to early modern notions and functions of history writing than the views of those who defined the modern practice of history as the sphere of highly specialized professionals. This romantic vision of history was not actually confined to one group of protagonists in the kulagrantha debate and had a broader appeal. It could count intellectuals of the stature of Rabindranath Tagore among its proponents.

The kulagrantha controversy projected two separate concepts of history—almost two disparate spheres of history. However, even adherents of modern, rationalpositivist history at times deliberately allowed the boundaries between what they deemed to be ‘proper’ factual history to be infiltrated by stories and various kinds of vintage traditions which could not easily be accommodated under the new and modern definition of history. The travel account of Prasannamoyee Devi, a sophisticated, elite bhadramahila writer whose narrative Aryavarta was published in 1883, showcases such tendencies.7 In the preface of her travel account, for example, Prasannamoyee Devi stated that she expected her daughter to emulate the examples of exemplary Indian women of the past such as Sita, Savitri, Damayanti, and Rani Lakshmibai. Here, a figure of the recent past, such as Rani Lakshmibai of Jhansi, was bracketed with exemplary female figures from ancient Indian tradition for whom credible chronology and verifiable factual information of the kind mandated by the modern, professional practice of history was simply not available. This example forces us to recognize that while this period witnessed the inauguration of the modern, professional practice of history in India by scholars like R.C. Majumdar, H.C. Raychaudhuri, and Sir Jadunath Sarkar to name only a few, this kind of history had to exist in fairly close communion with a vast field of what can be called popular and romantic history. Secondly, it raises the question of the function of history in a colonial society such as India during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

As Sudipta Kaviraj pointed out, history in the colonial Indian context functioned as something that could inspire a politically subordinate, morally discouraged subject people. If the past was to inspire and rejuvenate Indians, then cultural role models of the past could hardly be excluded from exercises of invoking the past for inspirational purposes.8 Prasannamoyee Devi's travel account was quite different from formal works of rational, scientific history produced by professional historians. However, it was suffused with a strong historical enthusiasm and consciousness—fragments of historical fact were combined and co-mingled, as the occasion demanded, with stories, accounts, and traditions of cultural value and antiquity. This dimension of Prasannamoyee Devi's narrative allows us to place it alongside a large spectrum of literary and cultural productions of this time which were also shot through with a strong awareness of the past, but did not constitute history as defined by professional historians and archaeologists. Such literary/cultural productions included the large body of historical novels, plays, and others that were produced in abundance in late nineteenth and early twentieth century Bengal.

These cultural artefacts can be located under the rubric of what is regarded as romantic or popular history, or, in Sudipta Kaviraj's terms, ‘fictionalized’ or ‘imaginary’ history.9 As the rich and insightful literature on the topic of romantic history reminds us, historical narratives constructed in accordance with the principles of rational positivism coexisted with other modes of representing the past as well—for example, through spectacles (such as waxworks), historical plays, novels, films, and paintings depicting scenes from history. The work of scholars such as Stephen Bann, Ann Rigney, and Maurice Samuels on the close connections between academic history and romantic or popular history in nineteenth century Britain and France demonstrates that a broader environment of historical awareness or interest had been created by and was at the same time manifest in cultural productions such as those mentioned above.10 The novels of Sir Walter Scott, Victor Hugo, Alexandré Dumas, and other French romantics enjoyed phenomenal popularity, which underscored their ability to entertain and provide pleasure to a much larger audience than just highly educated, trained professional historians or archaeologists. Thus, the historical cultures of even modern societies encapsulated academic history (or ‘historiography proper’ as many of them described it) and extended to include phenomena such as visual arts, historical novels, historical spectacles, and museums.11 In fact, popular romantic history, with its ability to reach larger numbers of people, may well have been of critical importance in creating an overall environment of interest in the past. Modern, professional history could have come into being and functioned only against this backdrop.12

This sphere of imaginary, romantic, or popular history shared with the nativist conception of history espoused by Dinesh Chandra Sen, Nagendranath Basu, and others the character of being a non-specialist field in which emotion, imagination, and romance took centre stage. As illustrated in the substantive chapters of this book, many types of early modern historiography also embodied these attributes. Interestingly enough, several proponents of scientific history in early twentieth century Bengal—including Rakhaldas Bandyopadhyaya and Akshay Kumar Maitra, who were engaged in denouncing the historicity of the kulaji literature—were also authors of historical romances, both plays and novels.13 This genre of imaginary history can be seen as a sphere in which ‘real’ historical personalities could be endowed with the nobility and virtues that rational, credible sources of history made difficult or impossible in academic history. Similarly, real historical events could be made to have imaginary, but more desirable outcomes. Yet, we must be careful not to completely blur the boundaries between professional history and archaeology, on the one hand, and popular, non-specialist, romantic history on the other. Professional historians and archaeologists, when writing for specialist, scholarly audiences, worked within the methodologies prescribed by their academic disciplines—they evaluated evidence, sought corroboration for discovered facts, and attempted to explain why one kind of evidence was more reliable than another. Even when some among them wrote imaginary history, it was kept apart from their scholarly work.

The endeavour here is to underscore the point that attributes associated typically with early modern historiographic practice have not atrophied with the advent of rational, scientific, academic history. These continue to exist in the interstices of popular historical writing, historical films, plays, and novels, sometimes challenging, sometimes corroborating the findings of professional historians.

_______________

Notes:

(1.) For a detailed discussion of this debate, see K. Chatterjee, ‘The King of Controversy: History and Nation-Making in Late Colonial India’, American Historical Review, vol. 110, no. 5, 2005, pp. 1454–75. See also Gautam Bhadra, ‘Itihase Smriti, Smritite Itihasa’, Bishwabharati Patrika, 1401 BS, SrabanAshwin, pp. 134–42.

(2.) Gautam Bhadra, Jaal Rajar Katha: Bardhamaner Pratapchand, Calcutta, 2002, p. 33.

(3.) Bhadra, Jaal Rajar Katha, p. 155.

(4.) Ibid., p. 32.

(5.) Sumit Guha, ‘Transitions and Translations: Regional Power and Vernacular Identity in the Dakhan, 1500–1800’, pp. 23–31; Allison Busch, ‘The Anxiety of Innovation: The Practice of Literary Science in the Hindi/Riti Tradition’, pp. 45– 59.

(6.) Partha Chatterjee, ‘The Nation and it's Pasts’, in The Nation and its Fragments, pp. 76–94 and ‘Histories and Nations’, ibid., pp. 95–115, as well as Ranajit Guha, History at the Limit of World-History, for instance, exemplify this view.

(7.) K. Chatterjee, ‘Discovering India: Travel, History, and Identity in Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Century India’, in Invoking the Past: The Uses of History in South Asia, Daud Ali (ed.), New Delhi, 1999, pp. 192–227.

(8.) Sudipta Kaviraj, The Unhappy Consciousness: Bankimchandra Chattopadhyaya and the Formation of Nationalist Discourse in India, New Delhi, 1995.

(9.) Ibid.

(10.) The literature on this subject is large. The works I found most useful were Stephen Bann, The Clothing of Clio: A Study of the Representation of History in Nineteenth Century Britain and France, Cambridge, 1984; Ann Rigney, Imperfect Histories: The Elusive Past and the Legacy of Romantic Historicism, Ithaca, NY, 2001; Maurice Samuels, The Spectacular Past: Popular History and the Novel in Nineteenth Century France, Ithaca, NY, 2004.

(11.) Bann, The Clothing of Clio, p. 3.

(12.) Ranajit Guha, An Indian Historiography of India; Gyanendra Pandey, ‘The Prose of Otherness’, in David Arnold and David Hardiman (eds), Subaltern Studies VIII: Essays in Honour of Ranajit Guha, New Delhi, 1994, pp. 188–225, ignore the sphere of romantic history. A growing literature addresses the coexistence and tensions between academic history and romantic history. See for example, Sudipta Kaviraj, The Unhappy Consciousness; Tapati Guha Thakurta, Monuments, Objects, Histories: Institutions of Art in Colonial and Post-Colonial India, New York, 2004; Dipesh Chakrabarty, ‘Romantic Archives: Literature and the Politics of Identity in Bengal’, Critical Inquiry, vol. 30, 2004, pp. 654–83 and others.

(13.) A.K. Bandyopadhyaya and B.N. Mukhopadhyaya (eds.), Rakhaldas Bandyopadhyaya Rachanabali, 2 vols, 1988–90, Calcutta; Akshay Kumar Maitra, Phiringi Banik, Calcutta, 1982 (rpt); Akshay Kumar Maitra, Sirajuddaula, Calcutta, 1983 (rpt).
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Re: The Cultures of History in Early Modern India, by Kumkum

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