There are only two instances in the subcontinent’s history where universal pan-Indian political unity was achieved. The first instance was that of Asoka of the Maurya Dynasty. The second, and perhaps more successful in terms of area, was that of Aurangzeb of the Mughal Dynasty. Both these pious men, rising to the top through violence and controversy, sought to establish their empires around the idea of religious and cultural unity. For Asoka it was Buddhism that he imposed and for Aurangzeb it was puritan Sunni Islam of the ruling class.
Aurangzeb has been rightly taken to task for his bigoted policy, which alienated a great mass of his population and led to the decline of the Mughal Empire. In the annals of Muslim rule in India, Aurangzeb was not an extraordinary bigot though. Even if we discount Mahmud Ghaznavi, Muhammad Ghori and Tamerlane as merely adventurers from the west driven by greed, the Delhi Sultanate is full of examples of religious bigotry and exclusivism. Feroze Shah Tughlaq, otherwise considered a humane emperor having ended the use of torture in his empire, made every effort to wipe out Hinduism and convert his subjects to Islam. He also ordered the massacre of Shias in his realm. Sultan Sikandar Lodhi razed temples all over north India. Even Babar — taking a cue from his illustrious greatgrandfather Taimur — declared a war on infidel “idol worshippers” when attacking India. Akbar is seen to be a general exception to this trend but then his ruthless suppression of Muslims was equally disturbing. Though named and styled Jalaluddin Muhammad Akbar, the Mughal emperor declared his own person infallible and also forbade the name ‘Muhammad’ amongst his subjects. This — one may point out in all seriousness — sounds ironically similar to the 1984 Ordinance XX by General Ziaul Haq.
What is amazing though is that Indian historians in particular, and other historians in general, do not subject Asoka to the same criticism. If the decline of the Mughal Empire from 1707 to 1857 is to be blamed on Aurangzeb’s narrow-minded religious policy, should the even quicker decline of the Maurya Empire within 50 years of Asoka’s death not be laid at his door? Contrary to the sanitised versions of history that have been handed down to us, Asoka was second to no Muslim sultan or emperor in his bloodlust. Even if we discount the fratricide (like Aurangzeb, Asoka also killed his father’s favourite heir Sushim and, like the Mughal emperor, later executed a brother for being a heretic), he is excused of the violence he inflicted on Kalinga as early errors before he converted to Buddhism. Asoka’s generally intolerant religious policy is self-evident in the fact that he executed 18,000 members of the Ajivika sect because one of them allegedly made a picture disrespecting Lord Buddha. This was not an isolated incident. The ‘non-violent’ Buddhist emperor also burnt another Jain subject and his entire family as punishment for elevating Mahavira over Buddha.
All of this points to selective interpretations of looking for heroes versus villains with partisans in these debates to raise various historical figures onto a pedestal. Many Sunni Muslims extol the simplicity and selflessness of Aurangzeb Alamgir as an example of what an ideal Muslim ruler should be. The fact that he mistreated his family and killed off his brothers is swept under the carpet in this narrative. The grand Indian narrative seeks to find roots of Indian nationalism in Asoka, forgetting that Asoka was not a paragon of virtue. Indeed, this narrative is taken up wholesale by our own self-styled Pakistani liberals who write nauseating pieces singing hymns to the superiority of the Asokan ethic. This attempt to find heroes and villains in history to justify political positions here and now is a detestable exercise whether undertaken by the right or the left, by Muslims or Hindus, by conservatives or liberals.
Both Asoka and Aurangzeb are a part of our history and, in part, something we have rebelled against: the ancient notion of a Pan-Indian empire based on cultural unity. Neither Asoka nor Aurangzeb have the answers to our future nor should we selectively interpret the legacies of these two formidable emperors — the super maharajas — to our benefit. On Pakistan’s part at least, both Taxila’s magnificent stupas and the imposing Badshahi mosque are part of our cultural heritage, as is Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s mari and the magnificent Kitas Raj temples. These should be taken for what they are: relics of a magnificent ancient past of the region that we live in, nothing more and nothing less.
By making Asoka’s wheel the central feature of its flag (instead of the less virile Gandhian spinning wheel), modern India did precisely that. By focusing selectively on Muslim rule in looking for deep structures of identity, Pakistan followed suit. Both countries should revisit these exclusivist cultural narratives that they have inflicted upon themselves and maybe there will be the possibility of India and Pakistan living as peaceful neighbours with the same history, remembering the past, honouring it for its worth but not letting it define our future.
The writer is a lawyer based in Lahore and the author of the book Mr Jinnah: Myth and Reality. He can be contacted via twitter @therealylh and through his email address [email protected]