In a search of the history of my own family and village, an urban village in Delhi – Khirki village – I had ended up at the doorstep of Nathuram Bhatt in 2018 in his village near Sonipat, Haryana. As the traditional genealogy and record keeper, he was in possession of some rare family trees from my village. He, however, started the conversation with reprimanding me for using my surname “Chauhan “and not my correct gotra name “Bhal”. According to him, Rajputs in the Delhi belt started using the last name “after” Prithviraj Chauhan became famous for his bravery.
While his words cannot be constructed as a reliable historical source on Prithviraj Chauhan and his explanation for some communities using the “Chauhan” last name can be contested, what they indicated was the imagination of the idea of the legendary Rajput ruler. Bhatt, in his own words, belongs to the tradition of royal bards such as Chand Bardai, who is credited popularly for composing Prithviraj Raso (or Rāso). Both Bhatt (whose manuscripts were present in front of me) and Bardai’s canonical poems shared the same feature of bardic literature: produced for an elite (upper caste) patron, transmitted as a part oral and part written text, and composed as a poem filled with vir rasa (heroic sentiment).
A layered past
Pierre Nora puts forward the idea of “sites of memory” which refer to “any significant entity, whether material or non-material in nature, which by dint of human will or the work of time has become a symbolic element for the material heritage of a community”. Thus, what Nora emphasises is not so much the reconstruction of the past but understanding how the past is remembered today and how these sites relate to the present. His thesis comes in handy in understanding the current wave of re-interpretation and re-writing of Indian history, which is not so much a scholarly exercise as an attempt to re-cast the past to suit the needs of the present.
With a new Hindi movie releasing on Prithviraj Chauhan led by a self-proclaimed nationalist actor, the memory of the 12th–century ruler is once again up for grabs. The actor in question has also made an appeal to show his movie in schools as part of history lessons, as if a cinematic rendering of a historical figure made for commercial profit is the best way to educate.
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While the historicity of Prithviraj is not in doubt, the limited information we have about him from contemporary sources paints a hazy and often contradictory picture. Much of what is popularly known (or at least claimed) about Prithviraj comes from Prithviraj Raso, an epic poem composed by his friend and court poet, Chand Bardai, who himself appears in the story. According to historian Cynthia Talbot in her book The Last Hindu Emperor, the written version of the epic appears some 400 years after Prithviraj’s death in 1192 CE. Its primacy as a source of “history” over other works composed during the lifetime of Prithviraj or immediately after his death (Prthvīrāja Vijaya in 1191 CE and Tāj al-Ma’āsir in 1217 CE among others) is due to the favourable treatment it received first by the ruling elites of Rajasthan and then by James Tod. Tod was a colonial historian who produced the first western work of scholarship featuring Prithviraj in 1829-32.
Tod labels Prithviraj as “the last Hindu emperor” in his Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan; a label that is used time and again to rouse communal sentiments. Tod’s use of the term “last” alludes to the 19th-century Western conception of Indian history into three distinct periods – Hindu, Muslim and British. This is despite the fact that the victory of Mahmud of Ghori over Prithviraj Chauhan in 1192 CE only led to the establishment of the Delhi Sultanate and Hindu rulers continued to rule several parts of India well after 1192 CE . In fact, it would be crude to say that this one change of regime had a uniform effect over the entire subcontinent.
This division served the British politics of divide and rule well, and unfortunately continues to dictate the modern Indian view of its past. Talbot argues that it was this stamp of legitimacy by a western scholar to a particular version that allowed Prithviraj to become popular first as a Rajput hero, then as a nationalist hero during the anti-colonial struggle and ultimately a Hindu hero. However, Indian past requires a nuanced understanding rather than a simplistic portrayal of a primordial Hindu-Muslim enmity that has been appropriated and adapted for new uses.
Primacy given to Raso eclipsed other regional variants of the story. A popular oral legend in fact portrays Prithviraj as the aggressor. The legend of Alha and Udal portrays Prithviraj as foreign king who attacks the kingdom of Mahoba unprovoked. According to George A. Grierson writing in the 19th century, the tale of Alha and Udal “without doubt, (is) the most popular poem of its kind in Hindostan” being told from Delhi to western Bihar and southward into the Bundelkhand region. For the heroes of Mahoba, Prithviraj represented imperial oppression from Delhi and their voice found prominence among non Rajputs of Rajasthan. The central heroes belong to the Banaphar clan, whose credentials as ‘high-born’ Rajputs is questioned and thus they represent the voice of low-ranking warriors.
What is interesting to note is that in a particular telling of the tale, an appeal is made to protect the dola (palanquin) of the women against the ruthlessness of Prithviraj. In the right-wing imagination, women often are viewed as targets of the Muslim invader who need to be protected by heroes such as Prithviraj. The contemporary urge to divide historical figures into heroes and villains, native and foreigners, Hindu and Muslims, thus, is at best a colonial construct.
Past for the present
Talbot argues that when representations of the past are adjusted to make sense of the present, they can be deployed for contemporary objectives. The appropriation of Prithviraj as a nationalist hero is, however, not new. It began during the colonial period where he was positioned as a native hero against foreign invasion. The foreigner, however, quickly transformed into the Muslim. Let’s look at two examples.
1. Park politics
A statue of Prithviraj Chauhan was inaugurated in Delhi’s Mehrauli area in 2002. The 18-feet statue is surrounded by a park named Qila Rai Pithora, the supposed capital of the king (though historians differ in their opinion on whether he ruled from Ajmer or Delhi. His positioning as a king of Delhi itself appears to be a Mughal-era idea when Delhi became the seat of imperial power).
A press release from the time of the inauguration attributed these words to L.K. Advani, the then home minister: “The international community has realized that pressure should be exerted on Pakistan to put a stop on the export of terrorism to India. He further stated that “from Agra to Almaty”, the world opinion has undergone a sea change in India’s favour and that Pakistan is now being asked to stop training and sending militants to India.”
A complex medieval ruler was thus caricatured and reduced to serve the political needs of the time.
2. Love duets and perfect abs
Even before the forthcoming movie on the king, several popular versions of the tale have been spun. These include an Amar Chitra Katha comic, an animated movie and the very popular Star Plus show Dharti ka veer Yodha Prithviraj Chauhan that ran from 2006 to 2009 and completed 382 episodes.
As a pre-teen girl, I was hooked to the show; it had all the elements of spicy Bollywood fare – a handsome and brave hero, a meek but beautiful girl, family members plotting against their love and eventually a ruthless villain (Mahmud of Ghori). I eventually gave up watching the show as the dramatisation became intolerable even by the standards of a teenage girl. The very first episode of the shows Ghori as an uncivilised ruler whose armies are raiding the countryside mercilessly. Thus, even before the goodness of hero is established (or our hero is even conceived), the Muslim enemy is othered and vilified in the show. According to the show disclaimer, it was inspired by raso with fictional elements added. The fictional elements, of course, ran wild with love duets between teenage Prithviraj and his love interest in the Himalayan valleys, heartbreak and a lot of screen time given to our bare-chested hero.
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Separating fact from fiction
Prithviraj and Samyogita’s love story has been part of several pop culture references including a short appearance in the song “Chali Kahani” in the movie Tamasha. The lyrics “sarpat daudti hai fakt jubaani…aati kahaan se hai ye jaati kahaan kya pata”, while capturing the essence of storytelling also describe the tale of Chauhan in recent times – a tale that is very “real” for its listeners who are seldom concerned with factual accuracy. The tale is transmitted “jubaani” or orally, and no one really knows where it comes from or where it will lead.
While the many tales of Prithviraj make for a great story and interesting theatrical retellings, their treatment as history layered with meanings, contexts and political motives is problematic. Audiences are now being fed a specific version of the tale by those in power and often are unwilling to even admit alternative versions. The echo chambers are only getting stronger.
Coming back to my own relationship with the figure, I continue to use thee last name “Chauhan” purely out of administrative convenience, though our respected Bhatt disagrees with me. I cannot comment on why others in my family or village use the surname, perhaps in search of a legitimate ancestor. The current fanatic search for the glorious Hindu past is, however, threatening the syncretic architecture and heritage of my village (among several other historical sites). The Tughlaq-era mosque, Khirki Masjid, which lends its name to the village and is situated here, is increasingly credited to Prithviraj (or even Maharana Pratap or a mythical hero Kharak Singh) even though no historical proof exist. The ASI-protected monument which was once a shared community space for the village is now increasingly contested and vandalised.
I shudder to think about its precarious future.
Ekta Chauhan is pursuing her PhD in heritage studies and researches at the intersection of heritage and communities. She runs an oral history archival project titled Dilli ki Khirki along with The Citizens’ Archive of India, to record the personal histories of residents of Khirki Village, New Delhi.