[two opeds on the history of Padmavati and also the noise over Bombay film Padmavati ]
http://indianexpress.com/article/opinion/columns/padmavati-alauddin-khalji-rana-ratan-singh-chittor-rajasthan-stories-of-a-rajput-queen-4940877/
Stories of a Rajput queen
The Padmavati story, like many others, has undergone several mutations. Ramya Sreenivasan has traced the wide circulation and mutation of the story from North India and Rajasthan to Bengal from the 16th to the 20th century in her magnificent book, The Many Lives of a Rajput Queen.
Written by Harbans Mukhia
Published:November 17, 2017 12:00 am
To begin with, in Jayasi’s version and its several Urdu and Persian translations between the 16th and 20th centuries, Khalji was courting Padmini with a view to marrying her. File photo
The Mewar royal descendant Vishwajeet Singh’s recent differentiation, in a newspaper article, between history and fiction with regard to the film Padmavati, came as a refreshing surprise. I recount here the historical facts and the popular versions of the story.
Sultan Alauddin Khalji had earned a reputation among contemporary and modern historians for several achievements: Successfully thwarting Mongol invasions of India, conquest of large territories, strictly enforcing low prices of commodities in the markets for the common people’s daily purchases, declared defiance of the Shariat in matters of governance etc, but not for lustful pursuit of women. So how does he get tied up with Padmavati?
Khalji defeated the Rana of Chittor in 1303 and died in 1316. No one by the name of Padmini or Padmavati existed then — or at any time — in flesh and blood resembling the story. She was born in 1540, 224 years after Khalji’s death, in the pages of a book of poetry by Malik Muhammad Jayasi, resident of Jayas in Awadh, a very long way from Chittor. Jayasi was a Sufi poet and followed the poetic format where God is the beloved and man is the lover who overcomes hurdles to unite with the beloved. Khalji embodied the many hurdles. There are just two historical facts relevant to the story: Khalji’s attack on Chittor and Rana Ratan Singh’s defeat.
But then, besides recorded and verifiable historical facts, there is another set of facts too, culturally constructed and embodied in popular memory, told, retold and retold yet again. Untrained to distinguish historical facts from cultural memory, these acquire the status of history for common people. Jawaharlal Nehru was particularly sensitive to this blurring in people’s minds. As memory does not follow the norm of verifiability, it is subject to quick metamorphoses.
The Padmavati story, like many others, has undergone several mutations. Ramya Sreenivasan has traced the wide circulation and mutation of the story from North India and Rajasthan to Bengal from the 16th to the 20th century in her magnificent book, The Many Lives of a Rajput Queen. To begin with, in Jayasi’s version and its several Urdu and Persian translations between the 16th and 20th centuries, Khalji was courting Padmini with a view to marrying her. In Rajasthan, during the same period, the emphasis changed to the defence of Rajput honour which had come to be invested in Padmini’s body. It was in Bengal in the 19th century that Padmini acquired the persona of a heroic queen committing jauhar in order to save her honour against a lusty Muslim invader. Concealed in it was a vicarious patriotic resistance to colonial dominance which also characterised other literary productions in the region such as Bankim Chandra’s celebrated Anand Math.
It is this memory in Rajasthan that has been turned into a hard, unambiguous historical fact which brooks no disputation. The inversion of a character imagined by a Muslim poet into the defender of Hindu honour can pass quietly unnoticed.
This brings us to the present-day political context. While communal conflict is not a late entry into the Indian social and political scenario, for it has often been used as a form of electoral mobilisation, what is new is its propagation with the use of state power almost as an inalienable attribute. If the Congress tactically flirted with the communal card at times to corner the minority vote and at others to win the majority support, as Indira Gandhi did in Kashmir in 1983, for the Sangh Parivar this lies at the very heart of its ideology and is now flaunted openly as Hindutva.
The Parivar has long envisioned a consolidated Hindu vote bank. M S Golwalkar had sought to accomplish this by restricting the franchise to the Hindus alone. That is also the target of the present regime, by implicitly disenfranchising the largest minority, the Muslims — to begin with, by making its vote irrelevant to their electoral strategy. Social acceptance of this irrelevance is promoted by a demonisation of Muslims, past and present, in which each individual, and by extension, the community, is projected as cruel, lusty, and above all, an enemy of the Hindus.
It is strategic for it to create the image of the 80 plus per cent Hindu community under siege by the Muslims and to create a long “history” to back it up. If historical facts point to a more mixed picture of interaction, one where Hindus and Muslims do not stand in exclusive, opposing camps, manufacture a dispute, change the text books and let MLAs and ministers have the final word on what constitutes true history. There is the popular memory to be mobilised as its authentic version.
It is notable that no professional historian of the Parivar, if there is one, has come forward to engage in a discussion of what the Parivar claims is the wrong, left-liberal history, whatever it means. No serious book, or even an article, has been written on this theme so far. All we have are loud screams on TV channels and periodic declarations by non-historians that all history has so far been a single distorted version; no one has taken note of the fact that there is not one but innumerable “left-liberal” and other versions of history and that often “left-liberals” have been sharply critical of one another; nor has anyone unearthed any new facts hitherto ignored or proposed a clear new nationalist version of how history should be written.
There is much to be gained by the Sangh Parivar from this strategy. Whether the BJP wins or loses the next election, the social discourse will remain fixated on the Hindu-Muslim question, from Akbar and Aurangzeb to Taj Mahal and Padmavati, and the questions of economy, development, equality, Dalits, caste oppression, cleavages within communities etc will remain on the sidelines — the very colonial strategy of divide and rule.
The writer taught medieval history in JNU
o o o
http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/lead/the-many-padmavatis/article20492672.ece
The many Padmavatis
There is no historical record that she existed — and her story has been reshaped in diverse ways over time
As the release of the Bollywood film
Padmavati draws near,
protests against it
are reaching a fever pitch. Claiming to speak on behalf of all Rajputs,
several political figures have objected to the portrayal of the title
character of the film for two reasons — that it is a distortion of
history and that it is disrespectful towards Queen Padmini (appearing in
some texts as Padmavati), who is deeply revered by the Rajput
community. Recent scholarly work on the
Padmavat, such as that
of Thomas de Bruijn, Shantanu Phukan and especially Ramya Sreenivasan,
makes possible an informed engagement with these claims.
The earliest tale
The earliest known composition of the Padmini tale is Sufi poet Malik Muhammad Jayasi’s
Padmavat, dating to 1540. This tale is part of a new genre, the Sufi
premakhyan
(‘love story’), that flowered from the 14th to 16th centuries in north
India. Most of these tales feature a hero-king’s quest for union with
supreme truth and transcendent beauty — embodied in the texts by a woman
of unparalleled physical beauty — and the difficulty of navigating the
contradictory pulls of the spiritual and worldly domains. The
Padmavat
is perhaps the only one of these texts to be grafted upon a historical
event, Delhi Sultan Alauddin Khilji’s siege of Chittor in 1303. Writing
more than 200 years after the event, Jayasi’s tale bears little
resemblance to surviving historical accounts of the siege and instead
appears to draw in details from contemporaneous events and places.
In Jayasi’s composition, a parrot, Hiraman, tells the king of
Chittor, Ratansen, of the unequalled beauty of the princess of Sinhal,
Padmavati. Hiraman’s description is enough to trigger in Ratansen the
desire to attain Padmavati. He leaves behind his wife, Nagmati, becomes a
yogi, and heads out, along with his men who also become yogis, on the
arduous quest to the faraway Sinhal. With great difficulty, and only
after he is ready to give up his life for the quest, Ratansen is united
with Padmavati and marries her. Due to the pulls of his natal home and
the suffering of his first wife, he returns to Chittor, bringing
Padmavati along with him. While Ratansen works on building peace between
Padmavati and Nagmati, a deceitful brahman, expelled from Ratansen’s
court, seeks revenge by going to Delhi and informing Khilji of
Padmavati’s stunning beauty. Piqued, Khilji decides to march upon
Chittor to demand Padmavati. Ratansen refuses to part with her. With the
Sultan’s forces closing in, Ratansen dies of injuries sustained in a
fight with a Rajput rival. Padmavati and Nagmati commit sati on
Ratansen’s funeral pyre while the remaining Rajput men go into the
battlefield to be martyred. When Khilji manages to finally conquer the
fortress, all that remains of Padmavati are her ashes. His victory is
thus rendered hollow.
Some manuscript copies explain the Sufi
import of the tale by referring to Chittor as the body, Ratansen the
spirit, Padmini the mind, Hiraman the spiritual guide, and Khilji as
illusion (‘maya’). Literary representations of Khilji in a polyvalent
text such as the
Padmavat and in future iterations of the tale
then should not be taken as historical. The historical Sultan Alauddin
Khilji, as we know him from accounts of his time, was a gifted statesman
who strengthened the fisc of the Delhi Sultanate, expanded the
frontiers of his kingdom, and capably protected north India from the
expanding Mongol domain, a feat that many of his contemporaries could
not accomplish.
As for Padmavati, there is no historical evidence
that there was such a figure in Chittor when it was besieged, or that
desire for a woman played any role in Khilji’s interest in conquering
the fortress. Padmavati/Padmini, then, is a literary artefact, as is the
entire story of love and sacrifice at whose heart she is placed. Any
depiction of Padmavati thus cannot be a distortion of history since, in
our current state of knowledge, she never existed. Born as a figment of
poetic imagination, she is free to be reshaped in the hands of a
different creator.
Padmini, recast
And indeed, the
Padmavat was told and retold over the centuries and across the land. As the historian Ramya Sreenivasan has carefully shown in her book,
The Many Lives of a Rajput Queen,
in each retelling, the contours of the story and the key characters
within it, including Padmini, changed. Starting a few decades after the
original composition, the
Padmavat was adapted into Persian
forms in north India and Gujarat, and Jain literati and bardic groups
composed versions of it for Rajasthani courtly elites. In the 17th
century, professional genealogists wove the Guhila house of Ratansen
into the genealogy of their patrons, the Sisodia rulers of Mewar. By the
18th century, after the decline of the Mughal empire but before
colonial conquest, the tale of Padmini was refashioned in Mewar to
demonise Alauddin Khilji, also emphasising his Muslim identity and
presenting the clash between the Rajputs of Chittor and the Sultan of
Delhi as the resistance of Hindus against an encroaching, ‘impure’
Islam.
In the 19th century, Colonel James Tod, Political Agent in Rajputana
of the English East India Company, was guided in his attempt to write
the first authoritative history (by contemporary European standards) of
the region by the philological, historiographical, and intellectual
frameworks of his age, as well as by the political goal of stabilising
the region by strengthening the hands of kings against rebellious
chiefs. He selectively chose information from the range of pre-colonial
sources at his disposal. He incorporated the courtly Rajasthani Padmini
narrative into his early 19th century history of Rajasthan, using it,
along with other material, to cast Rajputs as a valiant, pure fighting
race of Hindus that resisted Islamic conquest, just as Christians had
done in the West. Bengali intellectuals of the nascent bhadralok were
deeply impressed with the figure of the Rajput as presented in his
account, not just for his selfless bravery but also for his resistance
against a Muslim conqueror. As the earliest imaginings of an Indian
nation — and a Hindu nation — began to take shape, Padmini became a
token of the self-sacrificing, virtuous, and chaste Hindu woman that was
to be at its heart. In this idealised form, her decision to annihilate
her own body was celebrated for the preservation of her ‘honour’ (read
‘chastity’) through which was indexed the honour of her husband, her
family, her community, and now, her nation.
In her journey from
the 16th to the 21st century, Padmavati appears to have become
increasingly shackled in the confines of patriarchy. In Rajasthani
versions, Padmavati lost her autonomous voice, reduced to a prop on the
edges of a scene largely occupied by the king and his courtiers. It was
this Rajasthani Padmavati who was celebrated in 19th century bhadralok
plays beginning to imagine a Hindu nation and who is today deified as
the apotheosis of Rajput, and even Hindu, valour, purity, and
sovereignty. Padmavati has been recast as adhering strictly to codes of
conduct applied to elite Rajput women. Allegations of disrespect and
inaccuracy being levelled against the film are thus rooted in the
expectation, by those familiar only with the Rajput or early Hindu
nationalist adaptations, of a silver-screen Padmavati who observes the
purdah and does not display any trace of sexuality. The current row over
Padmini’s portrayal only underscores that in the long arc of its
history, the imagined Hindu nation holds in its heart the dutiful,
chaste Hindu woman, who acquiesces to patriarchal controls and only
exercises her agency within their bounds.
No exclusive legacy
It
is important to bear in mind, as Ms. Sreenivasan has shown, that at the
same time that the Rajputs were articulating a new claim upon the
Padmavat in
the 17th century, other Padmini tales continued to be composed. A Sufi
migrant from Bengal to the Arakan court (in today’s Myanmar) composed
his own version of the text in Bengali. In the 19th century, there were
multiple Urdu adaptations of the tale printed in north India and an
opera performed in 1923 in Paris. There have then been many Padmavats,
just as there were many Ramayanas. The tale, and its heroine, are then
not the exclusive legacy of any single community. The effort of
spokespersons of a single community, one that continues to exercise
tremendous sociopolitical power, to freeze the text into a single,
authorised version, will rob it of the vitality that has allowed it to
thrive over the ages.
Divya Cherian is an assistant professor at the Department of History, Princeton University, U.S.
Uttama Villain is not the first film to be embroiled in problems. Controversy courts Kamal Haasan everytime he makes a film. 
