In India, ‘the Unthinkable’ Is Printed at One’s Peril

Growing up in Texas in the 1950s, I spent many days roaming my neighborhood wearing a coonskin cap, carrying a toy rifle and singing “Davy, Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier.” I was always drawn to stories of heroes.

In western India, not just kids have heroes. In recent years, the figure of Shivaji, a 17th century Hindu king, has attained almost divine status among the Hindu population. He had long been a regional favorite, for he founded an independent kingdom against all odds in the face of the Mughal Empire to the south and other sultans in the north. There is a way to read his story as the first chapter in a tale of Indian independence -- first from Muslim rule and then from British. His portrait is everywhere and his name is always invoked with reverence, especially among Hindu fundamentalists, in a time of polarized religious politics in India.

In 1985, I began to translate the Shivabharata, “The Epic of Shivaji.” It contained a great story about Shivaji: How, as a young prince, he was attacked in a diplomatic meeting by an arrogant general but, forewarned by a goddess to wear chain mail, he instead fatally stabbed his attacker and led his troops to victory over a much larger force. I was hooked.

I began to realize that everyone knew these tales. Some were historical, some fictive, but they fell into a neat and commonly accepted narrative, reproduced in popular histories, school textbooks and comics. I decided to write about that narrative process, an account of three centuries of storytelling that produced a tale that lived in the minds of people celebrating Shivaji’s legacy today. The book came out this summer, and even ranked up with Hillary Rodham Clinton’s in the local list of English-language bestsellers in Pune, the city south of Bombay where these cultural traditions are most in evidence and where I had spent months in the library at the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. Back in Pune this summer, I saw a couple of bland but positive reviews in the Indian papers. I thought, “As long as they don’t get to the last chapter.”

And then someone did. The last chapter is where I entertained what I called “unthinkable thoughts” -- questioning “cracks” in the Shivaji narrative. I wondered, for example, why no one considered the possibility that Shivaji’s parents were estranged, given that they never lived together during the period the three were alive (1630-1664), and that the tale provided “father substitutes” for the king-to-be. Why not entertain such an idea? What made it unthinkable?

As it turned out, the “owners” of Shivaji’s story had their own set of questions, delivered with a punch: Who should be allowed to portray this history? Should an outsider, working with Brahmin English-speaking elites, have a greater say in Shivaji’s story than Shivaji’s own community?

In November, in response to protests over the book, Oxford University Press stopped distributing it in India. With the book unavailable, rumors piled on rumors. Misreadings lapped the globe by e-mail. A colleague, a man mentioned in the book’s preface, distanced himself by condemning its contents but was still roughed up by zealots, who smeared tar on his face. Another Pune scholar tore up his manuscript of a biography of Shivaji, proclaiming scholarship an impossibility in such a context. Horrified, I faxed letters to Indian newspapers, taking full responsibility for my book and apologizing for causing offense.

The furor seemed to die down, but then last week a mob stormed the Bhandarkar research institute, destroying ancient manuscripts and artifacts, reportedly numbering into the thousands. “Not a sapling was spared,” one shaken researcher said. The culprits claimed they “did it for Shivaji.”

On the other hand, I have also received many letters of support and read many condemnations of these acts. The vast majority of Indians are appalled at what happened in Pune. And yet no one has stepped forward to defend my book and no one has called for it to be distributed again. Few will read it for themselves. Instead, many will live with the knowledge that India is a country where many thoughts are unthinkable or, if thought, best kept quiet.