A Gosain Walks into the Council

Warren Hastings, the first Governor-General of Bengal, was a very worried man in the year 1774. While the English East India Company (henceforth EIC) had successfully established its military control over Bengal through the Battle of Buxar in 1764, and legitimized it through the grant of the ‘Diwani’ by Mughal Emperor Shah Alam II in 1765,1 there were several challenges still lying ahead in the path of British expansion in India. Tensions with Mysore, Awadh and the Marathas were recurrent, and the prospect of war with all of them was looming on the horizon.2 News from the American colonies on the other side of the Atlantic was not welcoming either, with the colonists defying British authority through the Boston Tea Party of 1773. Besides harming the legitimacy of the British Parliament, this was a damaging blow to the financial health of the EIC as well,3 for reasons which we shall soon discover.

On 29^th March, 1774, however, Hastings was to receive news which was not directly related to any of these developments. Much to his pleasant surprise, a ‘Hindoostanee pilgrim’ named ‘Porungheer Gossein’ (Purangir Gosain) met him in Council and delivered a letter from the highest authority in Tibet at that time, the Panchen Lama.4 This letter was to change the course of history, for it paved the way for not just the establishment of diplomatic relations between British India and Tibet, but laid the foundations for the future Himalayan policy of the British Raj; which continues to have significant repercussions till this day in the form of Sino-Indian tensions over border disputes.

But why was this letter written, and what was it all about? Why was a Hindu monk, a Gosain, carrying letters for a Buddhist Lama from Tibet?

A Kingdom in Crisis

Cooch Behar, a district currently situated in the extreme north-eastern corner of Bengal in the foothills of the Himalayas, was once a considerable kingdom with an enviable historical legacy. Its founder was Vishwa Singha, the son of a Mech chief and his Koch wife, who established his sway over a vast portion of territory in North-Eastern India – from the foothills of Bhutan to the Karatoya river in the south, from the eastern portions of the Nepalese Terai in the west to the Garo Hills in the east.5 His two sons — Nara Narayan and Shukla Dhwaj (popularly known as Chilarai) — took Cooch Behar to its greatest height. They not only defeated the Afghan Sultanates of Bengal repeatedly and protected the frontiers of the state, they also expanded it by defeating the rulers of the Ahom, Tripuri and Jaintia kingdoms.6 The rise of the Cooch Behar kingdom in the 16^th century was a major political development which shook Eastern and North Eastern India, forcing all major powers in the region, including the mighty Mughal Empire, to take notice.

By the 18^th Century, however, this once mighty dynasty was merely a shadow of its former self. Most of its territory had been lost due to the expansion of the Mughal Empire from the south and the Ahom State from the east.7 This decline had occurred over the course of the 17^th Century, the period in which Bhutan emerged as a militarily and politically unified state under the leadership of Zhabdrung Ngawang Namgyal -- venerated and officially recognized as Bhutan’s founding father.8 As Cooch Behar descended into political chaos due to internecine rivalry among different factions of the ruling family, Bhutan saw an opportunity and exploited the situation by offering support to one faction against the other. For example, in the 1730s, when the incumbent and childless ruler Upendra Narayan (c. 1714-63 CE) refused to announce the name of his nephew Dina Narayan as the future king, Dina Narayan allied with the Nawab of Murshidabad and conspired to take over the kingdom. Upendra was able to thwart this conspiracy and the Nawab’s military, only through the help rendered by the Bhutanese army.9

It is quite evident that the rulers of Cooch Behar had become helplessly dependent upon Bhutan in the late 17^th and 18^th Century for their own defence, and they repaid their debt to Bhutan through substantial territorial concessions in what is now known as the ‘Duars’, roughly corresponding to the Alipurduar and Jalpaiguri districts in today’s West Bengal. Bhutan, therefore, did not just territorially expand; it made Cooch Behar its vassal state. A Bhutanese representative was attached to the Cooch Behar court with a military escort for ostensibly diplomatic purposes, but he actually functioned as an instrument of Bhutan to crush any challenge to Bhutan’s power in Cooch Behar.10

Things came to a head in 1770 CE, when the Raja of Cooch Behar, Dhairjendra Narayan (1765-70, 75-83 CE), had his brother and minister, Ram Narayan, assassinated. Ram Narayan was a trusted ally of Bhutan in the Cooch Behar court, and therefore Bhutan decided to punish the Raja. The Bhutanese forces captured Dhairjendra Narayan along with some of his other ministers. He was taken to Bhutan and imprisoned, and another member of the family, Rajendra Narayan, was coronated as Raja.11 In 1772 CE, even this ruler passed away, and when time came for the installation of a new king, there was a complete breakdown of relations between the two states. While Bhutan favoured the installation of a distant cousin of the deceased king, named Brijedra Narayan, who was in Bhutanese custody and would thereby function effectively as a Bhutanese puppet; the royal family favoured the coronation of Dhairjendra’s son, Dharendra Narayan (1772-75 CE), as the next Raja of Cooch Behar. When the royal family ignored Bhutan and proceeded to implement its wish, a massive Bhutanese army invaded the Cooch Behar kingdom in 1772 CE. The kingdom was captured and a puppet ruler installed on the throne; with the Bhutanese commander acting as the real authority behind the throne. The royal family had to flee Bhutan and take refuge in adjacent Rangpur, which was British-controlled territory. They sought the help of the British for expelling the Bhutanese.12

The Fall of Cooch Behar

The British, following their conquest of Bengal in 1757, had been looking for an opportunity to expand their commercial interests. The Himalayas, as we shall see in the subsequent section, became extremely crucial for the EIC given its vibrant trade and the connectivity it promised with Tibet and China. As a region located in the foothills of the Himalayas, therefore, Cooch Behar became critical to the pursuit of the EIC’s Himalayan policy; this was especially true given Bhutan’s involvement with the conflict. The British hoped that by helping Cooch Behar they might get to open a diplomatic channel with the Himalayan polities like Bhutan and Tibet. Therefore, after a prolonged negotiation, the Anglo-Cooch Behar Treaty was concluded in 1773 CE. As per this treaty, Cooch Behar acknowledged the paramountcy of British power and agreed to fund the British military expedition to evict the Bhutanese. Cooch Behar also agreed to pledge half of its revenues, in perpetuity, to the EIC. In return, the British promised to undertake the responsibility for defending Cooch Behar anytime called upon to do so by the Raja, provided he paid for such future expeditions. Therefore, this treaty ended up making Cooch Behar a subsidiary power, or a protectorate of British India.13

Warren Hastings sent a company of troops under the command of Captain Jones to expel the Bhutanese from Cooch Behar. The ensuing conflict, which is now known as the Anglo-Bhutan War of 1773-74, resulted in a crushing defeat for the Bhutanese,14 who were then forced to rope in the Tibetan Government to mediate in the dispute. The Third Panchen Lama of the Tashilhunpo monastery at Shigatse, who was known to the British as ‘Teshoo Lama’, was the senior-most authority and the Regent in Tibet back then – given Dalai Lama’s minor age.

Named Lobsang Palden Yeshe (1738- 1780 CE),15 this remarkable individual was known for his extensive trade operations and widespread intelligence and diplomatic networks. Quite eager to open up relations with the new and ascending power in India, while also trying to curb their influence in the Himalayan backyard of Tibet, the Panchen Lama wrote to Hastings on behalf of the Bhutanese. Through this letter, which was conveyed to the British by Purangir Gosain, the Panchen Lama agreed with the British view on Bhutan’s conduct and mentioned that he had reprimanded the rulers of Bhutan for the invasion. At the same time, he also sought some reprieve for Bhutan and indicated to the British in a subtle way that Tibet would not tolerate any further British encroachment upon Bhutan’s territory, particularly in the Hills. He presented himself as a peacemaker or arbitrator between both the parties.16

Through this letter, Warren Hastings saw a chance to implement his own ambitious policy. Therefore, at the Tibetan request, he decided to treat the Bhutanese with ‘leniency’. Following this, a treaty was negotiated between Bhutan and the EIC on 25 April, 1774. Under its terms, all lands belonging to Bhutan, which had been conquered by the British during the war, were returned to Bhutan. Bhutan was required to release Dhairyendra Narayan, the former Raja of Cooch Behar. Bhutan also agreed to not encroach upon British territory, or territory under British protection. Finally, the treaty also called for trade to be re-established with the Bhutanese.17

Monks, Merchants, and Mountains

The British desire to open up commercial relations with Bhutan, and thereby with Tibet, can be rightly understood as the driver of its diplomatic and military intervention in the dispute between Cooch Behar and Bhutan. However, without an understanding of this trade and its connections with diplomacy and religion in the first place, we will never be able to comprehend the British efforts to craft its Himalayan policy along such lines.

Cooch Behar and Bhutan enjoyed close relations of trade, diplomacy, and culture in the pre-colonial period. In the 18^th century, there are reports of a grand annual fair taking place in Rangpur (now in Bangladesh), where Bhutanese traders came in caravans to trade with Bengal. The Duars or hill passes, in the foothills of the Himalayas, were used as commercial highways. This fair took place usually in the months of January-April, when it was conducive for the Bhutanese to travel to and from the hills due to the hospitable climate. The Bhutanese imported cotton and silk textiles, spices, tobacco, indigo, dried fish, betel leaf, and areca nuts from Bengal, and exported to Bengal horses, musk, yak tails, gold dust, Tibetan wool, Chinese silk and even silver.18

As can be evident from the list of the commodities that Bhutan exported to Bengal, the products were primarily Tibetan and hence, Bhutan was a crucial carrier of Tibetan trade during this period. This gave rise to a triangular trade between Tibet, Bhutan and Bengal, which was primarily conducted through the current-day Kalimpong District. Tibetan merchants from Lhasa, Shigatse, Gyantse and Phari exchanged products like sheep, ponies, wax, soda, blankets, Chinese tea, salt, wool, musk and yak tails for the Indian products, primarily cotton and silk textiles, which the Bhutanese brought from the plains of Rangpur and Cooch Behar.19

Such trade relations of Bhutan, both with Tibet and Cooch Behar, were closely connected to diplomacy. For example, in 1690, Prince Rupa Narayan (1693-1714 CE) of Cooch Behar visited Bhutan and was officially received by the 4^th Temporal ruler of Bhutan, Tenzin Rabgye, and on this occasion, presents comprising gold, silver, silk and horses were exchanged as a sign of goodwill.20 Bhutanese monks also went to Tibet regularly in search of the reincarnated soul of their spiritual leader, the Zhabdrung or Dharma Raja.21 Such occasions involved trading with the Buddhist monasteries of Tibet, and a colonial official, named Francis Buchanan-Hamilton, speaks of a caravan sent every year by the Deb Raja of Bhutan to Lhasa by which goods to the value of thirty to forty thousand Rupees, chiefly cloth, pearls, and corals from Bengal, were exchanged for tea.22 This tea, in turn, was procured by Tibet from China. In the market town of Xining, on the western frontier of China, Tibetans exchanged their own and Indian products, as listed above, with Chinese tea, silk and porcelain.23 There was a popular culture of tea drinking in Bhutan and Tibet as testified by contemporary British observers.24

This example of Bhutanese trade and diplomacy also shows how religion was connected to the process. Shigatse in Tibet, which is the site of the famous monastery of Tashilhunpo and is also the seat of the Panchen Lama, the second highest religious authority in Tibet after the Dalai Lama, was known for its vibrant trade. It served as a major centre of the Trans-Himalayan trade because of its favourable location, with roads from here connecting Lhasa (the Tibetan capital) with Punakha (the Bhutanese capital) and even the Kerong Valley (Nepal). It was known for its fine bazaar which saw the active presence of merchants from China, Tibet, Bhutan, Central Asia, Nepal, Afghanistan and even Kashmir.25

Similarly, in Cooch Behar, temples and festivals functioned as conduits of trade. For example, during the Shiv Ratri Festival of February/March, a fair was organized in Jalpesh, where the Shiva temple of Jalpeshwar is located. Traders from across North Bengal and Bhutan gathered in the fair and exchanged their commodities, the Bhutanese being particularly known for bringing their ponies, yak tails, blankets, and silver knives for trade.26

Given the presence of Tibetan Buddhist monasteries as active participants in this trade, and the critical role played by Shigatse as a trading entrepot, it was no wonder that one of the protagonists of our story – Lobsang Palden Yeshe (1738-80 CE), the 6^th Panchen Lama of Tibet – took an active interest in it. The trade was important to the Panchen Lama not just for the revenue it yielded to him; it also gave him an incentive and a conduit to conduct diplomacy with several polities. For example, he was in active correspondence with Chait Singh, the ruler of Varanasi, with whom he maintained diplomatic channels via two Gosain monks, named Gosain Kishenpuri and Sobha Ram.

The Panchen Lama was interested in the Buddhist holy site of Bodh Gaya and had a commercial interest; besides, he wanted to gain information about the new political developments in India, like the rise of the British power. Chait Singh was equally eager to balance both the British and the Gorkhas to survive politically, and reap dividends from the pilgrim and commercial traffic.27 Singh’s rebellion against the British in 1781, which resulted in the British losing control over the Varanasi region for some time, reveals his political acumen in the face of adversity.28 We witness the same diplomatic skills in the Panchen Lama, who was adept in conducting diplomacy with both the British and the Chinese Qing Empire.

The Secret Lives of Hindu Monks

On the Indian side, the Hindu Gosain monks closely paralleled the role played by Buddhist monasteries in this trans-Himalayan trade. Widely known for going on pilgrimages to sites across the subcontinent, especially during ritual occasions like Kumbh Mela, the Gosain monks were not mere spiritual mendicants. As part of the wider network of Dasnamis who are more popularly known as Naga Sanyasis,29 they carried out extensive trade and commerce during their pilgrimages.30 Their extensive travels and contacts, moreover, gave them knowledge about different societies and polities – which could be utilized for purposes of both political and military intelligence, as well as for diplomatic negotiations.

GW Forrest, British official and historian, who edited three volumes of documents related to the foreign policy of the early colonial state, described the Sanyasis in similar terms as follows:

The Tibetan monastic heads, like the Dalai Lama and the Panchen Lama of Shigatse, recognized the immense potential of the Gosains and lavishly granted them hospitality. When the British initiated contact with the Tibetans, for example, they saw that “no less than 300 Hindoos, Goseins, and Sunniasses” were fed daily by the Panchen Lama.32 Therefore, if the British were to establish commercial relations with Tibet and China, they had to resort to the help of Gosains and the Lamas who could be the only crucial intermediaries in such affairs.

The Rise of Purangir Gosain

The British were aware of the Trans-Himalayan trade from the moment they set foot in the Indian subcontinent. The EIC perceived it as an alternative source of revenue to redress the adverse balance of the China trade.33 The increase in consumption of tea in Britain from 100 lbs in 166434 to 22 million lbs by 1800,35 and the lack of any demand in China for British products which were being manufactured in greater quantities due to the Industrial Revolution, resulted in a massive outflow of silver to pay for this Chinese tea.36 The EIC, which had a monopoly over the China trade, realized that to prevent the outflow of silver they could either come up with a product that the Chinese needed, or, they could gain the silver from other sources. A need was also felt for establishing direct diplomatic relations with the Imperial Court in Peking (current-day Beijing) to negotiate favourable trade concessions at the port of Canton. Access to the Trans-Himalayan trade and the interior markets of China could be a catalyst to both these processes.37

This realisation convinced the Court of Directors of the EIC of the need for opening some kind of commercial and diplomatic relation with the hill states which lay on Bengal’s northern frontier. In 1771, the Court of Directors approved EIC’s plan for participating in the Trans-Himalayan trade and suggested ways through which the markets in places like Northern Bengal and Assam could be utilized to find a market for British products, like broadcloth, copper, iron, lead, etc., in Bhutan and Tibet.38

Purangir Gosain was one of the few individuals who could enable the British to implement this program. His life provides an insight into the activities and nature of Sanyasis in 18^th Century India. As his name indicates, he was initiated into the Giri sect of Dasnami Sanyasis, who also are known by the honorific Gosain;39 and some historians have argued that he probably came somewhere from the Gangetic Plains and was initiated into the order at Joshi Math in present-day Uttarakhand.40 He probably became acquainted with the Panchen Lama through his pilgrimage and trading activities in Tibet, because of which, he was chosen as the emissary through whom the Panchen Lama wrote the letter to Warren Hastings. Purangir not only fulfilled his mission, but subsequently guided the Bogle (1774-75), Hamilton (1776-77) and Turner (1783-84) Missions to Bhutan and Tibet. These missions were both diplomatic and commercial in nature, for the EIC hoped to not just establish a secure frontier with its Himalayan neighbours but to also expand commercial opportunities by trading with them. No one could have been better in guiding such missions other than a Gosain, who possessed these diplomatic and trading connections. Commenting on Purangir Gosain’s abilities, Samuel Turner, who was appointed to lead the 1783-84 Mission to Tibet, made the following observations:

Purangir’s success was so phenomenal that he even accompanied the Panchen Lama in 1779-80 to Beijing, in order to make representations on behalf of the British to the Chinese Emperor Qianlong;42 and he led a commercial mission to Tibet in 1785 as a British envoy in his own right.43 The amount of trust that he gathered from both sides is evident in the fact that when the British gave land to the Tibetans near Calcutta for construction of a monastery and dormitory for Buddhist traders and pilgrims coming to India, the responsibility of maintenance of the property was vested in Purangir Gosain.44 Till his death in 1795, which occurred during a raid on the monastery by a band of dacoits, Purangir remained dedicated to the diplomatic and commercial responsibilities that he was entrusted with by both the Tibetans and the British.45

The First Briton in Tibet

The achievement of the successive missions which were sent by Warren Hastings to Tibet were modest but nevertheless significant. The objective of these missions was to open trade and communications with Bhutan, and through it, if possible, with Lhasa. In the process, these Missions also ended up revealing much about the geography and society of the Himalayas to the Europeans, many of whom were not even sure about the exact location of Tibet and its contours. George Bogle’s Mission, which set out for Tibet in May 1774, and reached the Panchen Lama’s palace in December 1774, was the most remarkable from this perspective.

Though other Europeans had been to Tibet, this was arguably the first interaction of the British with Tibet. Bogle remained in Tibet for five months. The Lama was interested in all that Bogle had to tell of the outside world, especially about the rise of British power in India and the scientific and technical developments of Europe. Bogle, in turn, was impressed by the sanctity and wisdom of the Lama, particularly his keen knowledge of political affairs and trade. Building this relationship was the greatest achievement of Bogle’s mission.46 The Panchen Lama’s mediation was crucial in reviving the Indo-Tibetan trade, particularly in terms of convincing the Bhutanese to effectively play their role as intermediaries. As a result of this mission, a commercial treaty was signed between EIC and Bhutan in 1775 CE, allowing Indian merchants to freely travel through Bhutan while moving from Bengal to Tibet, and vice versa. As an additional concession to Bhutan, the EIC promised that no European merchants will be allowed to enter Bhutan.47

Bogle’s Mission and the new commercial treaty, therefore, ignited a warm phase in Anglo-Bhutanese and Anglo-Tibetan relations. The rapport which Bogle had established with the Panchen Lama of Tibet and the Deb Raja of Bhutan pleased Hastings, and he was determined to sustain the momentum. This was evident in the grant of land to the Tibetans near Calcutta, which was placed in charge of Purangir Gosain as we have already discussed. In 1779, Bogle was sent to Shigatse for a second time, not so much in the immediate hope of improving Indo-Tibetan trade than to exploit the relationship existing between the Panchen Lama and the Emperor of China. The Panchen Lama tried to intercede on behalf of the British with the Chinese Emperor during his visit to China next year, with Purangir as a representative of the EIC. However, the Panchen Lama died in China in 1780, and the following year Bogle, whose friendship with the Panchen Lama had given Hastings hope that this would open the door to Lhasa, also died.48

Despite the loss of an experienced man like Bogle, Hastings’ policy towards the Himalayan states did not radically change. In 1783, on the occasion of the installation of the new Panchen Lama, Samuel Turner was despatched to Shigatse, along with Purangir Gosain, and entrusted to carry the good wishes of the Company.49 On his return, and acting on his advice, Hastings circulated an advertisement inviting Indian merchants to join in an ‘adventure’ in trade with Tibet through Bhutan. The party of merchants were asked to assemble in Rangpur in February 1785, with goods likely to find a suitable market in Tibet. In 1785 the ‘adventure’ took place under the leadership of Purangir Gosain, and from it a reasonably profitable trade resulted. By the time the merchants and Purangir Gosain returned to India to report on the success of their venture, Hastings had already left for England.50

Even after the departure of Hastings, the EIC did not give up its attempts of establishing a commercial and diplomatic relationship with Tibet. The possibility for opening up direct contacts with China was increasing gradually, and this is evident from the fact that in 1789 there was a proposal to send Purangir Gosain to China with instructions for “obtaining either the seed or plant of the Tea, with promise of a suitable reward in case of success in procuring the proper kind and delivering it in a state of vegetation to the Chief at Rungpoor, and if possible, with a native practised in the cultivation.”51

And the Doors Closed…

Unfortunately, these developments were impeded by the Tibet-Gurkha War of 1788-92. The war led to Chinese power expanding in the Himalayas, after the Tibetans appealed to Peking for help.52 The Tibetans had initially appealed to the EIC for help, keeping in mind the promises of friendship and cooperation that had been made by the previous British Missions, but the incumbent Governor-General, Lord Cornwallis, refused to be dragged into a potential Himalayan war for fear of antagonizing the Gurkhas.53 The consequences of these geopolitical developments were to the disadvantage of British diplomacy. The Chinese were able to defeat Nepal and make it their tributary.54 Moreover, the Chinese suspected the British of having helped the Gurkhas while the Tibetans resented the lack of help from the British side. The Chinese also managed to establish a series of military posts along the Himalayas, thereby causing a decisive shift in the political alignment of the Himalayan states, including Bhutan.55

As a result of these developments, the Indo-Tibetan trade came to a complete halt. Suspicious of British intentions, the Chinese blocked the passage of Indian goods and travellers through the Himalayan passes which were now under Chinese control. Even the Hindu Gosains, who had been so active in the Trans-Himalayan trade and enjoyed much respect from the Buddhist establishment, were seen as British spies and thereby barred from entering Tibet.56

Though the early efforts of the EIC at establishing commercial relations with Tibet failed due to such developments, the Missions and, most importantly, the actions of Purangir Gosain himself, continued to remain invaluable for the future formulation of the British Raj’s policy on the Himalayas. Without having access to critical information on the geography, society and even politics of these regions through local intermediation, the British could never have ‘explored’ the Himalayas.

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Sukrit Banerjee is from Kolkata, West Bengal, India. He is currently pursuing PhD in Modern History from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. His research focuses on the process of colonial border making and frontier policy in the Eastern Himalayas from 1772-1947.

Bibliography

Primary Sources (Unpublished)

• National Archives of India (NAI), External Affairs, 1864, File No. 198, ‘Letter from Ashley Eden, late Envoy to Bhutan, to HM Durand, Secretary to Govt. of India, Foreign Dept.’, 20^th July, 1864.

• NAI, Bengal Public Consultation No. 17 of 13 Jan. 1790, enclosing Lt.-Col. R. Kyd to E. Hay, 21^st Dec. 1789.

• West Bengal State Archives, Govt. of Bengal, Revenue Department, August 1868, Pro. No. 96.

Primary Sources (Published)

• Munshi Joynath Ghosh, Rajopakhyan or The History of Kooch Behar, Translated by R Robinson, Baptist Mission Press, Calcutta, 1874.

• CU Aitchison, A Collection of Treaties, Engagements and Sanads: Relating to India and Neighbouring Countries, Vol. 2, Office of the Superintendent of Government Printing, Calcutta, 1929.

• CR Markham (Ed.), Narratives of the Mission of George Bogle to Tibet, Trubner and Company, London, 1876.

• RH Phillimore (Ed.), Historical Records of the Survey of India, Vol. I (18^th Century), Surveyor General of India, Dehradun, 1945.

• GW Forrest (Ed.), Selections from the Despatches, Letters and other State Papers preserved in the Foreign Department of the Govt. of India (1772-1785), Vol. I, Superintendent of Government Printing, Calcutta, 1890.

• Kishen Kant Bose, An Account of Bootan (1816), Translated by D Scott, in Political Missions to Bootan, Calcutta Secretariat Press, Calcutta, 1865.

• Samuel Turner, An Account of an Embassy to the Court of Teshoo Lama in Tibet, W Bulmer and Co., London, 1800.

• John F Gruning, Eastern Bengal and Assam District Gazetteers: Jalpaiguri, Pioneer Press, Allahabad, 1911.

Secondary Sources

• Sekhar Bandyopadhyay, From Plassey to Partition and After: A History of Modern India (2^nd Edition), Orient Blackswan, 2015.

• Nick Robins, The East India Company: The World’s Most Powerful Corporation, Pluto Press, 2012.

• Karma Phuntsho, The History of Bhutan, Penguin Random House, 2013.

• Luciano Petech, ‘The Missions of Bogle and Turner According to the Tibetan Texts’, Toung Pao (Brill), Vol. 39, No. 1, 1950.

• GD Bysack, ‘Notes on a Buddhist Monastery at Bhot Bagan in Howrah’, Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, Issue No. 1, 1890.

• Alastair Lamb, Britain and Chinese Central Asia: The Road to Lhasa, 1767-1905, Routledge and Kegan Paul, London, 1960.

• Roy Moxham, A Brief History of Tea: The Extraordinary Story of the World’s Favourite Drink, Constable and Robinson, London, 2003.

• Jadunath Sarkar, A History of Dasnami Naga Sanyasis, Sri Panchayati Akhara Mahanirvani, Allahabad.

• Bernard S. Cohn, “The Role of the Gosains in the Economy of Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century Upper India,” The Indian Economic and Social History Review, Vol. 1, Issue No. 4, 1964.

• Françoise Pommaret, ‘Ancient Trade Partners: Bhutan, Cooch Bihar and Assam (17^th-19^th Centuries)’, Journal Asiatique, Vol. 287, 1999.

A disfigured and grotesque corpse of an old man lay suspended from the walls of Madurai, inviting relentless, buzzing swarms of flies around its rotting form. The corpse bore the marks of an unimaginable cruelty and torture inflicted upon the helpless old man before his breath was stolen. His flesh had been meticulously flayed from his bones and his organs were hollowed out of its abdomen and crudely stuffed with coarse straw before being roughly stitched back together. Pinned on the city walls like a horrific war trophy, it was tied with a heavy rope and left to swing mercilessly in the air.

Ibn Battuta, who stumbled upon this agonizing spectacle in 1342, recoiled in absolute horror and revulsion. Yet, beneath the flies and the straw lay a terrible truth buried in a long layered history carried by the mutilated body. This helpless skeleton was none other than Vira Ballala III, the last sovereign of the Hoysala Empire, who had perished fighting the Madurai Sultan, Ghiyath-ud-din Shah, during the catastrophic Battle of Kannanur.

It was a shattering end for a man who belonged to the proud Hoysala dynasty, a royal house that had ruled a majestic realm stretching from the banks of the Krishna River in the north all the way down to the sacred lands of Srirangam in the south during its heydays. Yet the last great monarch of the Hoysalas was denied even a funeral pyre, his body was left hanging instead as a trophy of conquest and a warning to the conquered. The same dynasty that had raised the unrivalled temples of Somnathpura, Belur, and Halebidu, architectural wonders that no neighbouring power could match, failed to save its own king from this fate. This is the story of that fall: How the Hoysalas, for all their splendour, met an adversary sharper and more resolute than themselves, and vanished from the history of peninsular India.

Strike it, Sala!: The Origins

The Hoysalas began as a hill-dwelling group living in the Malenadu region of Karnataka. They rose into prominence during the 10th century as attraction for a settled life in the plains arose in their heart. They started taking control of the plain area, limiting themselves to the region of South Karnataka in their initial days. However, the rustic hill-leaders soon gained prominence over the local farmers and merchants of the plains. As fortune smiled on them, they claimed illustrious descent from the legendary Yadu declaring themselves as belonging to the legendary Yadava race and referred to themselves as “Lords of the excellent city of Dvaravati (Dwaraka)”.

The historical record of the Hoysala’s early phase is obscure but one legend appears in every account of their origin. It went on to become the defining feature of Hoysala temple architecture. The tale is related to a heroic deed of king Sala, believed to be the founder of the dynasty. When the young prince named Sala was studying under a Jain guru at Sosavur (Saśakapura), in the modern day Chikamagalur district in modern-day Karnataka, a fierce tiger attacked the hermitage. The Jain ascetic handed Sala a rod or wand, commanding in Old Kannada: “Hoy, Sala!” (“Strike, Sala!”)1. Sala struck and killed the beast, and the family adopted this as their name and emblem. The sculpture depicting Sala slaying the tiger can be seen in almost every temple built by the Hoysalas.

The Destroyer of Dhara

After the demise of the mighty Rahstrakutas, Western Chalukyas became the dominant power in southern India under their ambitious king Tailapa. The Hoysalas served them as loyal vassals in their early years, fighting to expand their overlords’ frontiers. During these years, one of the major military feats most celebrated in Hoysala records, was sacking of the Paramara capital of Dhara, near Ujjain in modern-day Madhya Pradesh. This daring raid was led by Hoysala prince Ereyanga, son of Vinayaditya, on the orders of Chalukyan monarch Someshvara II who was facing a military threat from his northern neighbour Jayasiṃha, the successor to the celebrated Paramara King Bhoja of Malava.

Ereyanga marched his battle-hardened Kannadiga forces out of the Mysorean plateau traversing the Deccan to reach the Paramara capital of Dhara situated almost 800 miles north of the Hoysala homeland. He successfully laid siege to the fortress, breached its defences and razed it to ground. It was not a small feat as Dhara was considered an almost impregnable fortress and the ultimate “pride of Bhoja”. This spectacular exploit broke the back of the Paramara offensive and provided the absolute foundation for the Hoysala military reputation across the medieval peninsula. This daring exploit was celebrated in several Hoysala inscriptions, the spectacular triumph was echoed in an inscription, thus2:

Ereyanga was crowned king of Hoysalas after the demise of his father Vinayaditya, but his reign was short-lived and he died in 1102. His death coincided with the final collapse of the old, cautious policy of remaining a passive vassal under the Western Chalukyas. Emboldened by their growing military might, Hoysalas began to entertain the temptation of being an independent and sovereign power. However, the Chalukyas of Kalyani were still strong enough to prevent any such misadventure. They grew increasingly wary of the rising Hoysala power.

The first attempt to shake off Chalukyan allegiance came under Vishnuvardhana, son of Ereyanga, who ruled the Hoysala territories until 1142. He liberated the southern plateau of the Kuntala country from the centuries-old yoke of the Tamil Cholas in 1116, defeating the Chola forces in battle of Talakad. The Hoysala army completely routed the Chola commander and Vishnuvardhana proudly assumed the title of Talakadu-gonda (“Taker of Talakad”) and minted gold coins celebrating the victory. He marched further east and captured Avani, Kolalapura (Kolar), and Nangali expanding the Hoysala frontier. It appeared that the Hoysalas were now formidable enough to assert their complete sovereignty.

However, with the death of Vishnuvardhana, Hoysala’s ambitions were plagued by passivity and dejection. The new monarch, Narasimha I, lacked the military foresight required to carry forward his father’s legacy. His reign was a deeply disappointing period marked by internal unrest, feebleness, and deference. Naramsimha’s son, Vira Ballala II, was so annoyed by his father’s meekness that he launched a rebellion against him in 1173. He raised a massive independent militia, marched on the capital, and forced his aged father to abdicate.

The Refuge of the Entire Earth

The reign of Vira Ballala II was arguably the golden period for the Hoysala dynasty. He played a patient game of diplomacy with the Chalukyas. When the last Chalukyan monarch Someshwara IV proved entirely incompetent and feeble, the Maratha dynasty of the Sevunas (Yadavas of Devagiri in modern day Maharashtra), who were earlier vassals to the Chalukyas, threw off the vassalage and annexed their capital, driving the weak Emperor into permanent retirement.

The decline of Chalukyas proved to be a boon for Hoysalas, but they were soon threatened by the mighty Yadavas of Devagiri, under their king Bhillama V, who sought to claim sovereignty over the Kuntala country. Bhillama marched his large army towards the Tungbhadra river to seal off the northern Karnataka region. Ballala II marched north to meet them which led to a pitched battle between two former vassals of the Chalukyas near the village of Soratur, in Gadag district. The Hoysala forces completely crushed the Yadavas, and Ballala II pursued the retreating yadava general all the way till Lokkingundi, in Gadag district. Following this triumph, Ballala II crowned himself as sovereign of the independent Hoysala empire and assumed a grand title befitting an independent Emperor: Samasta-Bhuvanāśraya (“Refuge of the Entire Earth”).3 He established Dwarasamudra as the undisputed capital of the Karnataka Empire, asserting supreme rule over the entire territory spanning from the Arabian Sea across to the Raichur doab, with the Krishna River serving as his recognized northern imperial boundary.

A Kingdom Divided

The rising fortunes of the dynasty fell into slumber with the death of Vira Ballala II. The declining Chola power enticed the Hoysalas towards the Tamil plains, where they began meddling in the bitter rivalries between Cholas and Pandyas, often providing military support to the former. The Hoysala king, Someshwara, found himself so drawn to his Tamil territories that he established a new capital at Kannanur, in Tiruchirapalli district. Before his death, he divided his vast kingdom between his two sons. The Southern/Eastern Kingdom centered around Kannanur, comprising Tamil Plains was given to his son Ramanatha. Meanwhile, the traditional home-lands of the Hoysalas, governed from the old capital of Dwarasamudra, was given to his other son Narasimha III.

The division proved catastrophic for the Hoysala dynasty, triggering a prolonged civil war among the two brothers. The conflict took a toll on the empire’s military strength, prompting several ambitious chieftains to launch open rebellions. The reign of Narasimha III was marked by gradual rupture of the Hoysala authority. He died in September 1291, passing a fractured and economically exhausted kingdom to his 28-year-old son, Vira Ballala III.

Vira Ballala III, the protagonist of our story, was a youthful and resilient king who achieved the reunification of his empire. He united the Tamil plains of the Hoysalas with their ancestral region centred at Dwarasamudra without a bloody confrontation in 1301. Ballala III must have felt an immense sense of pride in this feat, perhaps believing that the glorious days of the Hoysala dynasty were finally returning. However, little did he realize that the ultimate fate of his kingdom was already being decided by a rapidly changing political landscape far to the north in Delhi.

Coming of the Storm

The new Sultan of Delhi, Alauddin Khalji had raided the Devagiri(present-day Daulatabad in Maharashtra) kingdom in 1296, acquiring enormous wealth that ultimately helped him to overthrow his aged uncle and crown himself emperor. He was informed that the southern kingdoms had accumulated vast fortunes within their temples and palaces. He ordered his trusted slave general, Malik Kafur, to launch an invasion against the Yadavas of Devagiri. Malik Kafur crushed the Yadavas and laid their country to waste, gaining enormous wealth from the defeated monarch. He again returned to Southern India in 1310, this time striking the Kakatiyas of Warangal. After a prolonged siege, the Kakatiyas(present-day Telangana), led by Pratap Rudra, finally submitted to the might of Khaljis. He surrendered his entire accumulated ancestral treasury, 100 strong war-elephants, 12,000 horses, and agreed to transmit a heavy annual tribute (Jizya) to Delhi. Malik Kafur once again marched back north with an immense booty laden on hundreds of camels.

Following the subjugation of Yadavas of Devagiri and Kakatiyas of Warangal, the Hoysalas remained the only dominant power in southern India that had not yet encountered the Khalji menace. The northern borders of the Hoysalas kingdom were unprotected and even after the fall of their neighbours Vira Ballala III failed to make any adequate preparation for the defence of his capital. He seemed to be unaware of the developments taking place in his vicinity and made no efforts to enhance either his strategic intelligence or defence. The inevitable campaign was about to come. Alauddin ordered Malik Kafur to once again march into the deep south to strip the independent Hindu kingdoms of their legendary temple wealth.

At this precise juncture, the Hoysala Emperor Vira Ballala III had marched his main army south into the Tamil plains to exploit a bloody civil war raging between the Pandya brothers, Sundara and Vira Pandya. In doing so, he displayed clear military ineptitude and was caught completely off guard. Upon hearing that Malik Kafur was marching towards Dwarasamudra, he immediately rushed back towards his capital, but it was too late. Though Ballala III managed to reach his capital in time, his main army was still stationed faraway in the Tamil plains. After a rapid 12-day journey from Devagiri, Malik Kafur reached Dwarasamudra on 26 February, 1311. He promptly besieged the local fort which was surrounded by a large protective water body. Ballala’s officers urged him to put up a fight, but the king, upon learning that the invading Muslim army had already subdued every other monarch on his frontier, decided to opt for diplomacy.

Spare My Janeu

Ballala was left with no viable choice but to surrender, knowing that resistance would mean the trampling of his temples and the potential extinction of the imperial family. Helpless, he sent his ambassador to the Muslim camp offering submission. Malik Kafur offered few terms to the Hoysalas king: they could accept Islam, or they could pay a tribute (Jizya) under the protection of the state (zimmah). If they accepted neither of these choices, they would be killed. Mortified by the idea of abandoning the faith of his ancestors, Ballala agreed to pay all his accumulated wealth and an annual tribute to the Muslim monarch. The old king, who was now nearing 50 years of age, spoke meekly to Malik Kafur, “I will keep nothing except my Hindu faith and the sacred thread (zunnar), which I wear round my body.”4 To ratify the peace treaty, son of Vira Ballala traveled to Delhi. Alauddin treated the Hoysala crown prince with leniency and returned him with robes of honour in 1313.

The primary objective of Malik Kafur was completed, he left Dwarasamudra and marched further south to Malabar, but the fate of Hoysalas was effectively sealed. This sudden raid produced abject terror among all Hindu kingdoms in southern India. Such incursions became frequent, and succeeding muslim monarchs continually crossed the Vindhyas to replenish their depleted coffers. The Hoysalas, like their neighbours, were unable to face the wrath of mobile Muslim cavalry that danced down from Delhi time and again. The obsolete defence techniques and the geographical advantage could no longer be used to protect the rich domains of the south.

The house of Khaljis fell into great confusion after the death of Alauddin, and for some years, the troublesome raids into southern India ceased. Veer Ballala III utilized this opportunity to rebuild his capital which had faced destruction during the siege in 1311, and dedicated himself to restoring law and order throughout his kingdom. He may have believed that the northern menace was drawing to a close, but this was far from the case.

The Tughlaqs, who rose into prominence after the fall of Khaljis, could not afford to lose the lucrative wealth that Southern India promised. Muhammad bin Tughlaq ascended the throne of Delhi in 1325 and fundamentally altered the policy that Alauddin had previously maintained toward the southern peninsula. Unlike the Khaljis, who were content to leave the southern kingdoms in possession of their dominions so long as they acknowledged the suzerainty of Delhi, Tughlaq followed the policy of exterminating Hindu rule in the south. He annexed Devagiri completely and renamed it to Daulatabad. He also conquered Warangal and got rid of the Kakatiya rule bringing the Telangana region under the direct administration of Delhi. The Hoysalas remained the only prominent Hindu power left in the south that had not been entirely wiped, though considerably weakened by recurring raids.

The Skin of a Rebel

Southern India was in a state of utter chaos and tumult by this time. Muhammad bin Tughlaq had established several Muslim garrisons in all prominent cities of the region. Veer Ballala III, who was over 60 by then, must have been thoroughly exhausted as he was constantly changing his location to save himself from the imperial wrath. He exercised caution, but he nevertheless was caught amidst a political storm that directly embroiled him with the Tughlaq sultan. In 1326–27, Malik Bahadur Gurshasp, a high-ranking officer in the army of Delhi, broke into open rebellion against Sultan Muḥammad bin Tughluq. After being soundly defeated by the Sultan’s general, Khwaja Jahan, Gurshasp fled southwards across the Tungabhadra River to the mountain state of Kampli, located in northern Karnataka, where Kampiladeva received him with open arms and granted him political asylum. The Sultan’s imperial army swiftly pursued the rebel, completely investing the royal forces at the strategic hill-fortress of Kummata. Recognizing that his garrison was on the verge of starvation, the fiercely honourable Kampiladeva ordered the palace women to commit sati and arranged for Gurshasp to be conveyed via a secret route to the Hoysala court, assuring him that King Vira Ballala III would protect him.

Kampiladeva then rushed out into the battlefield to perish heroically, and his historic fortress was entirely demolished by the imperial forces. When the fugitive Gurshasp arrived at the Hoysala court, Vira Ballala III was too terrified of the overwhelming destructive power of the Tughluq army to assume the dangerous responsibility of keeping him. He knew that if he chose to offer refuge to the rebels, his clan would face complete annihilation. He arrested Gurshasp and returned him in chains to the advancing Tughlaq general. Thus betrayed, the captive Gurshasp was escorted back to Delhi where he met a ghastly and brutal end. He was flayed alive, his skin was stuffed with straw to be paraded across the provinces, and his cooked flesh was served to his own traumatized wife and children.

The cruel actions of Muhammad bin Tughlaq deeply terrorized his own governors, ultimately backfiring as rebellions broke out in several of his distant provinces. The powerful Muslim governor of Malabar Jalaluddin Ahsan Shah, revolted in 1335 and established the Madurai Sultanate as an independent Muslim power in the deep south. Exploiting the vast, six-month traveling distance from Delhi and the domestic distractions plaguing the Tughlaq central government, Ahsan Shah established himself at Madurai and began ruling the southernmost parts of Tamil land. This expansion brought him into direct, inevitable confrontation with the Hoysala ruler Vira Ballala III, who still controlled large portions of northern Tamil Nadu.

The Final Struggle

Ballala saw a final hope to revive the fortune of his illustrious lineage, he started making arrangements to completely banish the muslim yoke from southern India. Repeated destructive Tughluq invasions left the ancestral capital of Dvarasamudra heavily fractured and ruined. The presence of a strong Muslim garrison in Maharashtra prevented him from any northward expansion. Though now nearing eighty years of age, Ballala still dreamt of recapturing the golden days of his dynasty. He decided to leave his ancestral capital and shifted to Tiruvannamalai, in Tamil Nadu, to deal with the growing power of the Madurai Sultanate. He started making extensive military preparations to prepare for a final struggle with the Madurai Sultan. Ballala had lived a long and full life, witnessing the sudden upheavals that had taken southern India by surprise. He must have cherished the memories of his ancestors and heard stories of the great exploits of Hoysala king Ballala II. The enduring prestige of his clan was motivating him to undertake a major military expedition at the age of eighty.

Ibn Batutta provides us with a vivid description of the confrontation between Veer Ballala III and the Madurai Sultan Ghiyath-ud-din Shah, as he visited Madurai shortly after the battle. He informs us that Veera Ballala Deva laid siege to the fortress of Cobban (Koppam), one of the grandest and strongest positions the Madurai Sultanate held on the Coromandel Coast. His objective was to retake the entire coastal area from the Sultanate. Hoysala’s army heavily outnumbered the Muslim garrison inside the fort and the victory appeared well within their reach.

He is the Hindu King!

Ballala held the siege tenaciously for ten months and ultimately the garrison’s provisions had dwindled to fourteen days’ supply. The besieged defenders wrote desperately to Sultan Ghiyath-ud-din, pleading for reinforcements. Ballala, sensing their desperation, offered them a truce. He promised a safe conduct out of the town for the Muslim garrison in exchange for the peaceful surrender of the fort, granting them a duration of two weeks to consider the proposal. The besieged soldiers referred the terms of the truce to the sultan at Madurai through a letter. The letter was read out and the Muslim soldiers wept after knowing the hardships faced by their brethren at the hand of Balalla. They knew that if Ballala succeeded in capturing the fort, he would soon march upon Madurai itself. They resolved to sacrifice their lives for victory and marched swiftly toward the fortress of Koppam near Kannanur.

Meanwhile, Ballala’s vast military camp lay carefree during their afternoon rest, having sent their horses out to graze. The Hoysala soldiers stumbled out in disorder after seeing the massive muslim army advancing toward them. They mistaken the imperial army for regular robbers. The Hoysala army was quickly overwhelmed, and chaos prevailed throughout the camp as soldiers fled to save their lives. When the Madurai Sultan himself arrived at the vanguard of his force, the Hoysala army sustained the worst defeat in its history.

Veer Balalla III attempted to mount his horse and escape, but Nasiruddin, the Sultan’s nephew, overtook him and would have killed him on the spot, not knowing who he was. Perhaps such a swift end would have been fortunate for the old king. Instead, a slave yelled out: “He is the Hindu King!”5. Ballala was taken alive to Ghiyath-ud-din who received him with apparent consideration and promised his release. However, the cruel Sultan had other motives. After extorting the king’s remaining wealth, elephants and horses, the Sultan had him killed and flayed. His skin was stuffed with straw and the old king was hung upon the walls of Madurai where Ibn Battuta later saw it suspended.

The Father of Shiva

Thus ended the illustrious house of Hoysalas, a dynasty once renowned for its immense wealth and architectural splendour. Veer Ballala III was survived by his son, who ruled for a short and turbulent reign, but the execution of Ballala III dealt the ultimate fatal blow to the Hoysalas. They would never recover from this shock. Today, they are remembered primarily for their magnificent temples that continue to amaze visitors, though few are aware of the tragic fate that befell the last monarch of the family that built those sacred shrines.

Yet, even after several centuries, King Ballala still lingers in the popular memory of the people through architecture and rituals. Veera Ballala III built the Vallala Maharaja Gopuram, an ornamental gateway, between 1328 and 1331 CE in Arunachaleshwar Temple in Thiruvannmallai. A statue of him still stands inside that gateway and flowers are offered to the great king every day. This is a remarkable instance of a medieval warrior-king receiving devotional honour.

He survived in the legendary imagination that still honours him in the environs of Thiruvannmallai. The Arunachala Puranam, composed two centuries after his death, tells that the ageing king, victorious in a hundred battles yet troubled by the absence of a worthy heir, was visited by a wandering ascetic who was Siva himself in disguise. The god, moved by his devotion, appeared briefly as an infant in the queen’s arms before vanishing and promised him: “I myself became your son. Hence, at the time of your death, I will perform the vedic ritual for you.” It is a vow the temple has never allowed to lapse. Every year, in the month of Masi (February), the priests of the Arunachaleswara Temple still gather to announce anew the death of King Vallalan, and his image is borne in procession to the village of Pallikonda Pattu, where Lord Shiva himself had once presided over his funeral rites.

Nearly seven centuries after his flayed body hung from the walls of Madurai, the warrior-king who defied sultanates and held the dharma against the tide of empire has not been reduced to an inscription on stone. He lives in our long memory as a king so profoundly beloved that Shiva himself fulfils his ancient promise year after year, performing a father’s rites, honouring the fallen monarch amidst the same mountains and temples he died to protect.

Acknowledgement note: I am grateful to Dr. Jay Vardhan Singh, PhD in Ancient Indian History from Jawaharlal Nehru University, for his generous help in locating valuable sources on the Hoysala dynasty. His insights and fascinating anecdotes on the expansion of Muslim rule into the Deep South added considerable depth and richness to this article.

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Pushkar Chaudhary is from Bihar, India. He is currently pursuing M.A. in Persian Language from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. He takes a keen interest in Indo-Persian literature, socio-religious movements, identity formation, and Indic historical narratives. He has built a substantial body of research grounded in primary sources, archival study, and multilingual scholarship across Hindi, English, Urdu, and Persian.

Further Readings

• South India and her Muhammadan Invaders by S Krishnaswami Aiyangar (1921)

• The Early Muslim Expansion in South India by N Venkataramanyya (1942)

• The Hoysalas: A Medieval Indian Royal Family by J Duncan M Derrett (1957)

• The Hoysala Vamsha by William Coelho (1949)

• Karnataka through the Ages by RR Diwakar (1968)

• The Hoysala Dynasty by B Sheikh Ali (1972)

• Khazainul Futuh, translated with notes by Muhammad Habib (1931)

• History of Khaljis by Kishori Sharan Lal (1950)

• History of the Rise of Mohamedan Power in India by John Briggs (1829)

• The Rehla of Ibn Batutta, translated by Mahdi Husain (1953)

  Footnotes

I remember that when I was a small kid, I used to narrate a brief account of Rāmāyaṇa for all the guests who came to our home. My mother narrated it to me once, and it became an inherited memory. A long civilisational memory that has stayed with me since then in multiple ways and practices. As individual memory acts as a guide for the individual, civilisational memories are a compendium of experiences and realisations from hundreds of millions of people who have lived before us. They reach us as generational lessons and (in our case) rituals that have filtered through the cruel sieve of the past. Eminent scholar Vidyaniwas Mishra notes that the characters in Itihāsa-Purāṇa narratives are not merely historical figures; rather, they become ‘Bhāva Puruṣa-s’ for eternity. They live among us, for we do not celebrate the birthdays of Rāma and Kṛṣṇa. Rāma and Kṛṣṇa are born every Rāmanavamī and Janmāṣṭamī. What does this mean? Let me explain this with the help of an experience of mine in Ayodhya.

I was in Ayodhya for a week during the Rāmajanmabhūmī Prāṇa-Pratiśṭhā with my suhṛid, Pushkar Raj. In the Kanak Bhawan Temple, my fellow traveller asked (more like told) me, “Do you know that Rāma jī’s court used to be held here?” An elderly man dressed in a dhoti, passing by, remarked, correcting him with a calm demeanour. “His court is still held here. Rāma still resides here.” The gentleman disappeared in the crowd. I even wrote a research paper to make sense of this experience. But that does not concern us now. The long memory of Rāma as the king of Ayodhya and his journeys has served many purposes for the Indian people. However, none of these purposes has allowed homogenisation of that long memory. The Rāmāyaṇa has been told and retold in countless recensions and varying deśa-kālas.

Itihāsa-Purāṇa tradition is a living entity that thrives on memory, allied with the cultural apparatus of tīrtha (pilgrimage), art forms, etc., rather than plain nostalgia without cultural continuity. Hence, the tradition did not facilitate monolithic utopian visions like those of the contemporary Western historiographies. Monolithic ideologies breed nostalgia. Nostalgia breeds pangs of separation which many a times result in systemic violence. The subject starts to look for permanent solutions in a utopian future rather than in her/his own deśa-kāla-paristhitī (spatial-temporal contextualities). I may be generalising too much, but please bear with me. These statements may ring some bells…

Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden. Now the Son of God, who died for our sins, will come again for the judgement day, and the believers will go to eternal heaven. (The same story, with a few variations, applies to Islam.)

The march of civilisation from a primitive society to the capitalist system has put the “noble savage” in chains. The socialist system (like the second coming of Christ) will facilitate a permanent change, ushering in an eternal communist society (heaven on earth).

Every kind of erasure, cultural or ecological, is justified in the name of a utopian future. This has been a feature, rather than a bug, of contemporary Western historiography. An aspirational future (coupled with a specific narrative of the past which justifies it) which no one can decipher but the theory or the theology. The march of history becomes the God on whose altar every ideal, tradition and god can be sacrificed. Historiography, in contemporary India, also seems to be constrained by the chains of the same worldview. Hence, in today’s world of normative crossroads, the study of the Indian pasts with a novel, yet grounded, approach becomes indispensable. We need a systemic solution to a systemic problem.

However hard to believe, given the contemporary ideological desecration of history as a discipline in India, writing about the past is a responsible enterprise. Kalhaṇa, in his 12th century work Rājataramgiṇī, compares a poet-creator (historian) with Prajāpatī (the Cosmic Creator) because “Who else but the kavi-prajāpatīm, who are skilled in producing beautiful creations, are capable of bringing the past times back before the eyes of men?” Kalhaṇa was a 12th-century Kashmiri historian and poet, one of the earliest and most significant historical chronicles of the Indian subcontinent, documenting the rulers and history of Kashmir from ancient times to his own era. Kalhana notes that time devours everything, and the only force capable of defeating time is the memory preserved by the poet-historian. But works of such importance demand particular qualifications of the one who undertakes them. Kalhaṇa explains:

Historical study in India needs to be brought out of the silos of emotional and modern political contexts. It needs fieldwork-based research corroborated by popular memory as well as primary sources. Acharya Hazari Prasad Dwivedi shares an interesting anecdote that points to a prominent feature of traditional Indian historical sense-making: the tendency to assimilate the unfamiliar into known mythic narrative. This feature may aid in the attainment of the four Puruṣārthas, but it is a serious impediment to the study of history. Al-Beruni had noted the same tendency centuries earlier. In his essay Purānī Pothiyā̃, Dwivedi narrates:

Sir William Jones sent an impression (a copy) of Ashoka’s inscriptions to the then governor of Banaras, asking that he have it read by some pandit there. One pandit read out the inscription, declaring it to be a record of Yudhishthira’s secret exile, and even prepared a forged manuscript in the old scripts. For a long time that forged manuscript misled scholars.

We need to recognise and document memory as it exists in India, in its own idiom and cultural world. Ours is not an antiquarian endeavour, for, whether visible or not, the past survives in the present. Memory ensures that the past has not passed. It lives on as rituals, journeys, stories, gatherings, habits, writings, art forms, beliefs, and language. It exists as an entity which is as true or as mystic as the phenomenon of time. The essays/research articles on history we wish to publish would not merely be chronological accounts of dry historical facts. They may include them, but they are not constrained by the shackles of deśa-kāla alienating historicism. Grounded as they are in a living tradition, such narratives might be called ever-contemporary – sanātana.

This initiative is not an orgy of pain, alienation, anger, hatred and revenge. It is surely difficult to overcome the pain of loss that cultural colonialism endures, but not impossible. In an academic visit to Cape Town (RSA) a few years back, I noticed something revelatory. In the International Conference on Indigenous Knowledge Systems, the African participants, while reading a paper, reciting a poem or singing a song, were very passionate about the whole affair. They were making loud ‘humm’ noises whenever some painful experience of cultural loss was narrated. They were singing songs of cultural pain together. It was an amazing experience. At first, I felt a bit disappointed at the academic situation back in India. Why aren’t we that passionate? Why don’t we feel such uncontrollable bursts of pain? Why do we not sing songs of cultural loss in our academic events? I guess I know the answer now.

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It was my last evening in Cape Town. While sitting on the slopes of Signal Hill during sunset, with Table Mountain and the Lion’s Head peak to my left and the vast horizon of the oceanic convergence of the Indian Ocean and Atlantic Ocean straight ahead, I started reading an essay by Nirmal Verma. I was alone on that spot of the hill. Some teens were sitting some 50 metres down to the left on the slope. The sun was setting on the western horizon slowly. It was a heavenly experience. I wanted to catch a glimpse of the sun while it touched the sea. There was time. I was going through the pages while catching glimpses of the panoramic view in between. Verma wrote that the cultures that are one with nature think in terms of symbols and myths, and the cultures that alienate ecology think in concepts and theories. It struck an epiphany.

Between the Lion’s Head and the ocean was the affluent, upscale suburb of Camps Bay – the den of Western modernity. The sun sets there. Interestingly, Table Mountain and the adjoining Lion’s Head have been sacred spaces for the indigenous people of the southern tip of Africa – the Khoisan tribes. They were uprooted and exploited by the Dutch and the later British colonisers. There survives a negligible trace of their culture. Their symbolism survives as artefacts like the stone paintings Natalie does and sells outside the old Parliament building. She says she learnt the art form from her grandfather. She even narrated that there are sacred water bodies on the top of the Table Mountain range that very few people know about. A negligible number of Khoisan people are allowed to visit there. You need a special permit to do so. Natalie had that permit. Nonetheless, the native culture was gasping for breath. Western modernity remained the only true God.

Hence, barring a few scholars, most of the participants in the conference were presenting theories and concepts to make sense of colonisation and decolonisation. There were no stories, no gods, and no aspirations (other than the political ones). They were sad because they had lost something which they knew they would never get back. It was an emotion grounded in nostalgia. The same is not true for the Indian situation. Here, the culture is not lost. We are a wounded civilisation, as enunciated by Naipaul, for sure. But we are living. From Amarnath to Kanyakumari, and from Hinglaj to Tipureshwari, India still speaks in myths and symbols. Modernity is not the only God. It is one among many. This is why we do not witness such strong emotional outbursts in our IKS events or traditional settings. The continuity of tradition gives assurance and calmness to the practitioner.

However, that does not mean that there is no work to be done. There is rampant cultural erasure and misrepresentation in Indian academia and popular media regarding our pasts. The Long Memory is thus the active documentation of the ongoing transmission of our civilisational consciousness. The juxtaposition of these two words is deliberate. ‘Long’ signifies the deep antiquity and the unbroken continuum of the Bharatiya civilisation, which stands in stark contrast to the ‘short memory’ of modern political timelines, electoral cycles, or alienating historicism. Furthermore, we consciously choose the word ‘Memory’ (Smṛti) over ‘History’ (Itihāsa in the purely empirical, modern sense). Modern history often preoccupies itself with the dead, archived past (a past that has definitively passed). Memory, however, is lived, embodied, and inherited. It is the conscious retention of a civilisation’s soul across aeons. Sanātanam Punarnavaḥ.

The Long Memory is a Substack platform recovering India’s understudied histories and historical epistemes. Most historical writing is either too academic to reach general readers or too polemical to inform them. We aim for the middle: rigorous research into neglected chapters of India’s past, written with depth but made for the lay reader. Academic rigour and good writing belong together. Emerging Indian historians need the craze for methodological and analytical rigour like a James Prinsep, in addition to sahṛdayatā for Indian traditions like an Ananda K. Coomaraswamy and empathic criticality for its peoples (living and dead) like a Dharmapal. We aim to bring about a long-awaited change in Indian historical scholarship.

Placing memory at the centre of this enterprise is not a modern imposition on the tradition. The tradition begins there. Consider how the canon is arranged: beside śruti, ‘that which is heard’, sits smṛti, ‘that which is remembered’. The eternal is kept alive in time by the whole remembered body of Dharmaśāstra, Itihāsa and Purāṇa. To say ‘tradition’ is already to say ‘memory’. This project understands that what holds for ātman holds for a civilisation as well. A people is not freed by becoming something new. It is freed by remembering what it never stopped being. The Long Memory is an intellectual initiative designed to fill the gap in rigorous, accessible scholarship devoted to recovering India’s forgotten or neglected narratives. It serves as a serious platform for emerging scholars committed to investigating history through context-sensitive lenses. The name ‘long memory’ is a reminder that despite colonial disturbances and reconstructions, the native genius lives on.

For India, decolonisation cannot necessarily mean revivalism. We want the readers and writers of ‘The Long Memory’ to be part of a journey of recognition, of Pratyabhijñā (self-recognition). “Upon regaining memory”, proclaims the Chāndogya Upanishad (7.26.2), “there is complete liberation.” In Bhagavadgītā (10.34), Kṛṣṇa names memory among His own splendours – smṛtir medhā dhṛtiḥ kṣamā – counting it with fame, speech and intelligence as a glory of the divine. We are legatees of a living civilisation, of living memories. We understand that a culture is lived, hence preserved, and not the other way around. The recognition of the memories that still live, of the traditions and spaces that have continued despite all barbaric desecrations, is our sole prerogative. This project is a celebration of the living memory, not a bereavement of the dead past. Why celebrate? Because Rāma still resides here. We need the eye to see him.