A forgotten book: The Dramatic History of India
The Dramatic History of India is indeed an apt title. Because the history of India is truly dramatic. However, the name is more literal than metaphorical. Drama is conveyed through drama. This book is made of twenty-nine playlets that narrate the story of India from the first advent of the Aryans to the zenith of the British Raj — written by Flora Annie Steel, a prominent and prolific colonial writer.
This short volume, narrative history as a series of small plays mark essential events in the history of the Indian subcontinent. The treatment of history is far from empirical. The first playlet “The promised land,” represents the coming of the Aryan race and the subsequent Vedic age. The second playlet — “The Mahabharat” contains several scenes inspired from the great epic. Then as the wheel of time spins, the Hindu kings, the Buddhist period, invasions, the Delhi sultans, the moguls, and then ends with the mutiny of 1857 and the establishment of the British Raj.
These anecdotes either collected or written, highlight particular periods of Indian history. These narratives are often fictional but representational, and many times mythical. And in this way, the book not only gives us a front-row seat to the theatre that is the land of India but reminds us how history ages when myths spring. This natural anthropologic tendency flows from objective truth to a subjective one. And in most case, many subjective versions. History gives way to fables and myths, and in return, the later devours the former.
Our first stop is several centuries before the birth of Christ:
The Parricides
“Of Ajatasatru this is known that he killed his father; legend says by starvation. It also asserts that the four kings after him followed his example and became parricides.”
After forcefully overtaking the kingdom from his father, after waging merciless war on his brothers, the great king seeks the council of Buddha to repent his sins. He is credited with commissioning horrendous war machines that were unseen in the subcontinent. Chariots with giant swinging blades and catapults that would kill thousands and make him invincible. Such novelty on the field would surely grant him pride that would rival even the gods. Yet he is said to be forgiven by Buddha.
In his playlet, this king is shown as a responsible and caring sovereign. He is also shown as a loving father. It is impossible to reduce and state Ajatshatru’s character. It is also quite irrelevant. Whether he tainted his bloodline or set a dangerous precedent — he killed his father and his son would kill him.
Narrative history forms the staple of our art and culture — a buffer of examples and experiences for our ever-increasing need for meaning. This history feeds paintings, songs, poetry, and theatre. And in the long run — myths, idioms, and fables.
And with this very essence history repeats itself. To write new narrative history, we need a new society, which is separated from the current by space or by time. New beliefs, new ways, a new morality, and new politics form new archetypes and biases.
This is why this book, now obsolete, is special. This is why all obsolete books are special. These are fragments of a bygone era, and historic in the true essence.
It is only through hard labour and rigour, that empirical history is written. Multiple narratives must be compiled into a single consistent one. Proofs need to materialise and be recognised. And that takes time.
The first piece, the Aryan invasion/migration, has come to be significantly disputed today; the second — the Mahabharata is mythical.
A Surgeon’s Fee
The playlet “A Surgeon’s Fee” attributes Shahjahan granting to the English — the trading charter, as a reward when an English surgeon saved the life of his beloved daughter Jahanhara. This myth that spread on for over a century was finally debunked by the East India Company Office itself, based on almost every detail it contained.
It is true that Jahanhara once suffered serious burns, but it is said that she was cured by the efforts of an hakim. As for the Royal Firman (Trading Charter), it was the unyielding efforts of Sir Thomas Roe who spent three years at the mogul court, trying to persuade the grand sovereign Jahangir and not Shah Jahan who would just not be impressed by his pale foreign visitor.
Rigorous studies have debunked many such once-believed anecdotes, in reaffirming the phrase “Truths have a limited duration”. This is where we need to remind ourselves that scholarly rigour in its divine essence, replaces stagnant water, and even history ages like fine wine.
Many of the anecdotes that are narrated and carried by generations, which are bequeathed, end up being distorted to the verge of losing all genuinity. Empirical history, on the other hand, sheds all pretence of meaning and rarely makes a compelling parable. The meaningless tragic recurrence of human stupidity and fallibility remains central. But if written well, can make a hell of a good story.
A Breathing
“A vast number of Indian people call the Great Mutiny of 1857 by the name of ‘hawa’; that is to say, a wind or breath. A spirit, in other words, swept through the land, driving men hither and thither.
What the real cause of the Mutiny was it is useless to enquire. Volumes have been written about it with-out further result than to show that nine-tenths of the people of India knew nothing whatever of a purely military mutiny.”
The playlet draws a parallel with the playlet about the invasion of Timur. A single recurrence of theme which is the only instance in the book. The well known “First War of Independence,” which might have been a militaristic mutiny is reduced to a “hawa”. A temporary disturbance in the colossal way to empire.
The stench that the hawa would eventually carry would be putrid. The mutineers would be made to lick the blood of the very masters they murdered. Their corpses would hang in the city squares for many windless days.
The Empire
The final act: a scene where the Indian natives are admiring their new emperor during the Delhi Durbar of 1911. The moment when the British Empire would be at its zenith, a gala with thousands of distinguished guests, army personal, and the king’s humble subjects. All the Rajas and Nawabs would bow to their newly coronated paramount ruler. The most spectacular happy ending to the story, a truly one of its kind historic event.
It seems like this book is compiled for this very end, and my deduction may be supplemented by the photo plate at the very beginning of the book — “The Delhi Durbar of 1911,” the only Introduction present. There were many cinematographers for this event — with stills, black & white motion picture, and Kinemacolor: the first successful colour film technology. The film produced “With Our King and Queen Through India [The Delhi Durbar] (Natural Color Kinematograph Co., 1912)” would be the first colour film produced outside of the UK. A colourful memory of the new glorious civilisation at the time when even dreams were grey.
But as the scene ends, we are reminded of the reality of the theatre. The masks that only resemble, a world made of props and faux walls. The durbar took place at the time when the Nationalist movement, though, in its low gear, would soon overwhelm the country. And the next durbar and all the rest would be permanently cancelled.
Only two reels remain of the colour film, which is now considered lost. These remaining reels feature the march of army and cavalry division on the coronation grounds, much like how the Indian masses perceive the grand civilisation of the British Raj today. Just a military rundown of the subcontinent.
There are clearly more than twenty-nine volumes in the encyclopedia of the subcontinent, and yet I hope you would discover that remembering even these twenty-nine scenes would be a challenge.
The cliché of diversity holds firm. The modern genealogist stands baffled. When a cultural heritage so extravagantly overwhelms.
Author: Yatharth Bhasin
Read the book (Archive link): Dramatic History Of India by Flora Annie Steel
