Mahmud gazni's raid on the
temple of Somanatha and the destruction of the idol has become an event
of immense significance in the writing of Indian history since the last
couple of centuries. According to some writers, it has been seminal to
antagonistic Hindu-Muslim relations over the last thousand years. Yet a
careful investigation of the representation of this event and related
matters in various sources of this thousand year period suggests that
this conventional view is in itself a misrepresentation of the reading
of the event in terms of Hindu-Muslim relations.
In 1026, Mahmud of Ghazni raided
the temple of Somanatha and broke the idol. Reference is made to this in
various sources, or reference is omitted where one expects to find it.
Some of the references contradict each other. Some lead to our asking
questions which do not conform to what we have accepted so far in terms
of the meaning and the aftermath of the event. An event can get
encrusted with interpretations from century to century and this changes
the perception of the event. As historians, therefore, we have to be
aware not just of the event and how we look upon it today, but also the
ways in which the event was interpreted through the intervening
centuries. An analysis of these sources and the priorities in
explanation stem, of course, from the historian's interpretation.
I would like to place before you
five representations of this and other events at Somanatha, keeping in
mind the historical question of how Mahmud's raid was viewed. They cover
a wide span and are major representations. The five are the Turko-Persian
chronicles, Jaina texts of the period, Sanskrit inscriptions from
Somanatha, the debate in the British House of Commons, and what is often
described as a nationalist reading of the event.
Let me begin with a brief
background to Somanatha itself. It is referred to in the Mahabharata
as Prabhas, and although it had no temple until later, it was a place of
pilgrimage.1 As was common to many parts of the subcontinent
there were a variety of religious sects established in the area -
Buddhist, Jaina, Shaiva and Muslim. Some existed in succession and some
conjointly. The Shaiva temple, known as the Somanatha temple at Prabhas,
dates to about the 9th or 10th century A.D.2 The Chaulukyas
or Solankis were the ruling dynasty in Gujarat during the 11th to 13th
centuries. Kathiawar was administered by lesser rajas, some of whom were
subordinates of the Chaulukyas.
Saurashtra was agriculturally
fertile, but even more than that, its prosperity came from trade,
particularly maritime trade. The port at Somanatha, known as Veraval,
was one of the three major ports of Gujarat. During this period western
India had a conspicuously wealthy trade with ports along the Arabian
peninsula and the Persian Gulf.3 The antecedents of this
trade go back many centuries.
Arab raids on Sind were less
indelible than the more permanent contacts based on trade. Arab traders
and shippers settled along the West coast married locally and were
ancestral to many communities existing to the present. Some Arabs took
employment with local rulers and Rashtrakuta inscriptions speak of
Tajika administrators and governors in the coastal areas.4
The counterparts to these Arab traders were Indian merchants based at
Hormuz and at Ghazni, who, even after the 11th century, are described as
extremely prosperous.5
The trade focused on the
importing of horses from West Asia and to a lesser extent on wine,
metal, textiles and spices. By far the most lucrative was the trade in
horses.6 And in this funds from temples formed a sizable
investment, according to some sources.7 Port towns such as
Somanatha-Veraval and Cambay derived a handsome income from this trade,
much of it doubtless being ploughed back to enlarge the profits. Apart
from trade, another source of local income was the large sums of money
collected in pilgrim taxes by the administration in Somanatha. This was
a fairly common source of revenue for the same is mentioned in
connection with the temple at Multan."8
WE are also told that the local
rajas - the Chudasamas, Abhiras, Yadhavas and others - attacked the
pilgrims and looted them of their donations intended for the Somanatha
temple. In addition, there was heavy piracy in the coastal areas
indulged in by the local Chavda rajas and a variety of sea brigands
referred to as the Bawarij.9 As with many areas generating
wealth in earlier times, this part of Gujarat was also subject to unrest
and the Chaulukya administration spent much time and energy policing
attacks on pilgrims and traders.
Despite all this, trade
flourished. Gujarat in this period experienced what can perhaps be
called a renaissance culture of the Jaina mercantile community. Rich
merchant families were in political office, controlled state finances,
were patrons of culture, were scholars of the highest order, were
liberal donors to the Jaina sangha and builders of magnificent
temples.
This is the backdrop, as it
were, to the Somanatha temple which by many accounts suffered a raid by
Mahmud in 1026. There is one sober, contemporary reference and this
comes, not surprisingly, from Alberuni, a central Asian scholar deeply
interested in India, writing extensively on what he observed and learnt.
He tells us that there was a stone fortress built about a hundred years
before Mahmud's raid within which the lingam was located,
presumably to safeguard the wealth of the temple. The idol was
especially venerated by sailors and traders, not surprising considering
the importance of the port at Veraval, trading as far as Zanzibar and
China. He comments in a general way on the economic devastation caused
by the many raids of Mahmud. Alberuni also mentions that Durlabha of
Multan, presumably a mathematician, used a roundabout way involving
various eras to compute the year of the raid on Somanatha as Shaka 947
(equivalent to A.D. 1025-26).10 The raid therefore was known
to local sources.
Not unexpectedly, the Turko-Persian
chronicles indulge in elaborate myth-making around the event, some of
which I shall now relate. A major poet of the eastern Islamic world,
Farrukhi Sistani, who claims that he accompanied Mahmud to Somanatha,
provides a fascinating explanation for the breaking of the idol.11
This explanation has been largely dismissed by modern historians as too
fanciful, but it has a significance for the assessment of iconoclasm.
According to him, the idol was not of a Hindu deity but of a pre-Islamic
Arabian goddess. He tells us that the name Somnat (as it was often
written in Persian) is actually Su-manat, the place of Manat. We know
from the Qur'an that Lat, Uzza and Manat were the three
pre-Islamic goddesses widely worshipped,12 and the
destruction of their shrines and images, it was said, had been ordered
by the Prophet Mohammad. Two were destroyed, but Manat was believed to
have been secreted away to Gujarat and installed in a place of worship.
According to some descriptions, Manat was an aniconic block of black
stone, so the form could be similar to a lingam. This story
hovers over many of the Turko-Persian accounts, some taking it
seriously, others being less emphatic and insisting instead that the
icon was of a Hindu deity.
The identification of the
Somanatha idol with that of Manat has little historical credibility.
There is no evidence to suggest that the temple housed an image of Manat.
Nevertheless, the story is significant to the reconstruction of the
aftermath of the event since it is closely tied to the kind of
legitimation which was being projected for Mahmud.
The link with Manat added to the
acclaim for Mahmud. Not only was he the prize iconoclast in breaking
Hindu idols, but in destroying Manat he had carried out what were said
to be the very orders of the Prophet. He was therefore doubly a champion
of Islam.13 Other temples were raided by him and their idols
broken, but Somanatha receives special attention in all the accounts of
his activities. Writing of his victories to the Caliphate, Mahmud
presents them as major accomplishments in the cause of Islam. And not
surprisingly, Mahmud becomes the recipient of grandiose titles. This
establishes his legitimacy in the politics of the Islamic world, a
dimension which is overlooked by those who see his activities only in
the context of northern India.
But his legitimacy also derives
from the fact that he was a Sunni and he attacked Isma'ilis and Shias
whom the Sunnis regarded as heretics.14 It was ironic that
the Isma'ilis attacked the temple of Multan and were, in turn, attacked
by Mahmud in the 11th century and their mosque was shut down. The fear
of the heretic was due to the popularity of heresies against orthodox
Islam and political hostility to the Caliphate in the previous couple of
centuries, none of which would be surprising given that Islam in these
areas was a relatively new religion.
Mahmud is said to have
desecrated their places of worship at Multan and Mansura. His claims to
having killed 50,000 kafirs (infidels) is matched by similar
claims to his having killed 50,000 Muslim heretics. The figure appears
to be notional. Mahmud's attacks on the Hindus and on the Shias and
Isma'ilis was a religious crusade against the infidel and the heretic.
But interestingly, there were
also the places and peoples involved in the highly profitable horse
trade with the Arabs and the Gulf. Both the Muslim heretics of Multan
and the Hindu traders of Somanatha had substantial commercial
investments. Is it possible then that Mahmud, in addition to religious
iconoclasm, was also trying to terminate the import of horses into India
via Sind and Gujarat? This would have curtailed the Arab monopoly over
the trade. Given the fact that there was a competitive horse trade with
Afghanistan through north-western India, which was crucial to the wealth
of the state of Ghazni, Mahmud may well have been combining iconoclasm
with trying to obtain a commercial advantage.15
In the subsequent and multiple
accounts - and there are many in each century - the contradictions and
exaggerations increase. There is no agreement on the form of the image.
Some say that it is a lingam, others reverse this and describe it
as anthropomorphic - a human form.16 But even with this there
is no consistency as to whether it is a female Manat or a male Shiva.
There seems to have been almost a lingering wish that it might be Manat.
Was the icon, if identified with Manat, more important perhaps to Muslim
sentiment?
The anthropomorphic form
encourages stories of the nose being knocked off and the piercing of the
belly from which jewels poured forth.17 Fantasising on the
wealth of the temples evoked a vision of immense opulence, and this has
led a modern historian to describing the Turkish invasions as a
"gold-rush".18 One account states that the image
contained twenty man of jewels - one man weighing several
kilograms; another, that a gold chain weighing two hundred man
kept the image in place. Yet another describes the icon as made of iron
with a magnet placed above it, so that it would be suspended in space,
an awesome sight for the worshipper.19 The age of the temple
is taken further and further back in time until it is described as
30,000 years old. One wonders if Somanatha was not becoming something of
a fantasy in such accounts.
More purposive writings of the
14th century are the chronicles of Barani and Isami. Both were poets,
one associated with the Delhi Sultanate and the other with the Bahmani
kingdom of the Deccan. Both project Mahmud as the ideal Muslim hero, but
somewhat differently. Barani states that his writing is intended to
educate Muslim rulers in their duties towards Islam.20 For
him, religion and kingship are twins and the ruler needs to know the
religious ideals of kingship if he claims to be ruling on behalf of God.
Sultans must protect Islam through the shar'ia and destroy both
Muslim heretics and infidels. Mahmud is said to be the ideal ruler
because he did both.
Isami composes what he regards
as an epic poem on the Muslim rulers of India, on the lines of the
famous Persian poet Firdausi's earlier epic on the Persian kings, the Shah-nama.
Isami argues that kingship descended from God, first to the pre-Islamic
rulers of Persia - in which he includes Alexander of Macedon and the
Sassanid kings - and subsequently to the Sultans of India, with Mahmud
establishing Muslim rule in India.21 Interestingly the Arabs,
who had both a political and economic presence in the subcontinent prior
to Mahmud, hardly figure in this history. That there is a difference of
perception in these narratives is important to a historical assessment
and requires further investigation.
The role of Mahmud, it would
seem, was also undergoing a change: from being viewed merely as an
iconoclast to also being projected as the founder of an Islamic state in
India, even if the latter statement was not historically accurate.
Presumably, given his status in Islamic historiography, this was a form
of indirectly legitimising the Sultans in India. The appropriation of
the pre-Islamic Persian rulers for purposes of legitimacy suggests that
there may have been an element of doubt about the accepted role models
of Muslim rulers. The Sultans in India were not only ruling a society
substantially of non-Muslims, but even those who had converted to Islam
were in large part following the customary practices of their erstwhile
caste, which were often not in conformity with the shar'ia. Is
there then a hint of an underlying uncertainty, of a lack of confidence,
in the insistence on taking Islamic rule back to Mahmud, a champion of
the Islamic world? Can we say that these accounts had converted the
event itself at Somanatha into what some today would call an icon?
Let me turn now to the Jaina
texts of this period. These, not unexpectedly, associated a different
set of concerns with the event, or else they ignore it. The 11th century
Jaina poet from the Paramara court in Malwa, Dhanapala, a contemporary
of Mahmud, briefly mentions Mahmud's campaign in Gujarat and his raids
on various places, including Somanatha.22 He comments,
however, at much greater length of Mahmud's inability to damage the
icons of Mahavira in Jaina temples for, as he puts it, snakes cannot
swallow Garuda nor can stars dim the light of the sun. This for him is
proof of the superior power of the Jaina images as compared to the
Shaiva.
In the early 12th century,
another Jaina next informs us that the Chaulukya king, angered by the rakshasas,
the daityas and the asuras who were destroying temples and
disturbing the rishis and brahmanas, campaigned against
them.23 One expects the list to include the Turushkas (as the
Turks were called) but instead mention is made of the local rajas. The
king is said to have made a pilgrimage to Somanatha and found that the
temple was old and disintegrating. He is said to have stated that it was
a disgrace that the local rajas were plundering the pilgrims to
Somanatha but could not keep the temple in good repair. This is the same
king who built at Cambay a mosque which was later destroyed in a
campaign against the Chaulukyas of Gujarat by the Paramaras of Malwa.
But the Paramara king also looted the Jaina and other temples built
under the patronage of the Chaulukyas.24 It would seem that
when the temple was seen as a statement of power, it could become a
target of attack, irrespective of religious affiliations.
Various Jaina texts, giving the
history of the famous Chaulukya king Kumarapala, mention his connection
with Somanatha. It is stated that he wished to be immortalised.25
So Hemachandra, his Jaina minister, persuaded the king to replace the
dilapidated wooden temple at Somanatha with a new stone temple. The
temple is clearly described as dilapidated and not destroyed. When the
new temple on the location of the old had been completed, both
Kumarapala and Hemachandra took part in the ritual of consecration.
Hemachandra wished to impress the king with the spiritual powers of a
Jaina acharya, so on his bidding Shiva, the deity of the temple,
appeared before the king. Kumarapala was so overcome by this miracle
that he converted to the Jaina faith. The focus is again on the superior
power of Jainism over Shaivism. The renovating of the temple, which is
also important, takes on the symbolism of political legitimation for the
king. It does seem curious that these activities focussed on the
Somanatha temple, yet no mention is made of Mahmud, in spite of the raid
having occurred in the previous couple of centuries. The miracle is the
central point in the connection with Somanatha in these accounts.
Some suggestion of an anguish
over what may be indirect references to the raids of Mahmud come from
quite other Jaina sources and interestingly these relate to the merchant
community. In an anthology of stories, one story refers to the merchant
Javadi who quickly makes a fortune in trade and then goes in search of a
Jaina icon which had been taken away to the land called Gajjana.26
This is clearly Ghazna. The ruler of Gajjana was a Yavana - a
term by now used for those coming from the West. The Yavana ruler
was easily won over by the wealth presented to him by Javadi. He allowed
Javadi to search for the icon and, when it was found, gave him
permission to take it back. Not only that but the Yavana
worshipped the icon prior to its departure. The second part of the
narrative deals with the vicissitudes of having the icon installed in
Gujarat, but that is another story.
This is a reconciliation story
with a certain element of wishful thinking. The initial removal of the
icon is hurtful and creates anguish. Its return should ideally be
through reconciling iconoclasts to the worship of icons. There are other
touching stories in which the ruler of Gajjana or other Yavana kings are
persuaded not to attack Gujarat. But such stories are generally related
as a demonstration of the power of the Jaina acharyas.
The Jaina sources therefore
underline their own ideology. Jaina temples survive, Shaiva temples get
destroyed. Shiva has abandoned his icons unlike Mahavira who still
resides in his icons and protects them. Attacks are to be expected in
the Kaliyuga since it is an age of evil. Icons will be broken but
wealthy Jaina merchants will restore the temples and the icons will,
invariably and miraculously, mend themselves.
The third category of major
narratives is constituted by the inscriptions in Sanskrit from Somanatha
itself, focussing on the temple and its vicinity. The perspectives which
these point to are again very different from the earlier two. In the
12th century the Chaulukya king, Kumarapala, issues an inscription. He
appoints a governor to protect Somanatha and the protection is against
the piracy and the looting of the local rajas.27 A century
later, the Chaulkyas are again protecting the site, this time from
attacks by the Malwa rajas.28 The regular complaint about
local rajas looting pilgrims at Somanatha becomes a continuing refrain
in many inscriptions.
In 1169, an inscription records
the appointment of the chief priest of the Somanatha temple, Bhava
Brihaspati.29 He claims to have come from Kannauj, from a
family of Pashupata Shaiva brahmanas and, as the inscriptions
show, initiated a succession of powerful priests at the Somanatha
temple. He states that he was sent by Shiva himself to rehabilitate the
temple. This was required because it was an old structure, much
neglected by the officers and because temples in any case deteriorate in
the Kaliyuga. Bhava Brihaspati claims that it was he who persuaded
Kumarapala to replace the older wooden temple with a stone temple.
Again no mention is made of the
raid of Mahmud. Was this out of embarrassment that a powerful icon of
Shiva had been desecrated? Or was the looting of a temple not such an
extraordinary event? The Turko-Persian chronicles may well have been
indulging in exaggeration. Yet the looting of the pilgrims by the local
rajas is repeatedly mentioned. Was Kumarapala's renovation both an act
of veneration for Shiva and a seeking of legitimation? Was this, in a
sense, an inversion of Mahmud seeking legitimation through raiding the
temple? Are these then counter-points of legitimation in viewing the
past?
In 1264, a long legal document
was issued in the form of an inscription with both a Sanskrit and an
Arabic version and concerns the acquisition of land and the building of
a mosque by a trader from Hormuz.30 The Sanskrit version
begins with the usual formulaic symbol - the siddham - and
continues with invoking Vishvanatha, a name for Shiva. But there is also
a suggestion that it was a rendering into Sanskrit of Allah, the Lord of
the Universe. We are told that Khoja Nuruddin Feruz, the son of Khoja
Abu Ibrahim of Hormuz, a commander of a ship, and evidently a respected
trader - as his title Khoja/Khwaja would indicate - acquired land in
Mahajanapali on the outskirts of the town of Somanatha to build a
mosque, which is referred to as a dharmasthana. The land was
acquired from the local raja, Sri Chada, son of Nanasimha, and reference
is also made to the governor of Kathiawar, Maladeva, and the
Chaulukya-Vaghela king, Arjunadeva.
The acquisition of this land has
the approval of two local bodies, the panchakula and the
association of the jamatha. The panchakulas were powerful
administrative and local committees, well-established during this
period, consisting of recognised authorities such as priests, officers,
merchants and local dignitaries. This particular panchakula was
headed by purohita Virabhadra, the Shaiva Pashupata acharya
most likely of the Somanatha temple, and among its members was the
merchant Abhayasimha. From other inscriptions it would seem that
Virabhadra was related to Bhava Brihaspati in a line of succession. The
witnesses to his agreement of granting land for the building of the
mosque are mentioned by name and described as the "the big
men". They were the thakuras, ranakas, rajas and merchants,
many from the Mahajanapali. Some of these dignitaries were functionaries
of the estates of the Somanatha and other temples. The land given for
the mosque in Mahajanapali was part of these estates.
The other committee endorsing
the agreement was the jamatha, consisting of ship-owners,
artisans, sailors and religious teachers, probably from Hormuz. Also
mentioned are the oil-millers, masons and Musalmana horse-handlers, all
referred to by what appear to be occupational or caste names, such as chunakara
and ghamchika. Were these local converts to Islam? Since the jamatha
was to ensure the income from these endowments for the maintenance of
the mosque, it was necessary to indicate its membership.
The inscription lists the
endowments for the mosque. These included two large measures of land
which were part of the temple property from adjoining temples situated
in Somanatha-pattana, land from a matha, income from two
shops in the vicinity, and an oil-mill. The measures of land were bought
from the purohita and the chief priests of the temples and the
sales were attested by the men of rank. The shops and the oil-mill were
purchased from the local people.
The tone and sentiment of the
inscription is amicable and clearly the settlement had been agreed to on
all sides. The building of a substantial mosque in association with some
of the properties of the Somanatha temple, not by a conqueror but by a
trader through a legal agreement, was obviously not objected to -
neither by the local governor and dignitaries nor by the priests, all of
whom were party to the decision. The mosque is thus closely linked to
the erstwhile properties and the functionaries of the Somanatha temple.
This raises many questions. Did this transaction, 200 or so years after
the raid of Mahmud, not interfere with the remembrance of the raid as
handed down in the minds of the priests and the local 'big men'? Were
memories short or was the event relatively unimportant?
Did the local people make a
distinction between the Arab and West Asian traders on the one hand,
often referred to as Tajika, and the Turks or Turushkas on the other?
And were the former acceptable and the Turks much less so? Clearly they
were not all homogenised and identified as Muslims, as we would do
today. Should we not sift the reactions to the event by examining the
responses of particular social groups and situations? Hormuz was crucial
to the horse trade, therefore Nuruddin was welcomed. Did the profits of
trade overrule other considerations? Were the temples and their
administrators also investing in horse trading and making handsome
profits, even if the parties they were trading with were Muslims and
therefore of the same religion as Mahmud?
In the 15th century, a number of
short inscriptions from Gujarat refer to battles against the Turks. One
very moving inscription in Sanskrit comes from Somanatha itself.31
Although written in Sanskrit, it begins with the Islamic formulaic
blessing, bismillah rahman-i-rahim. It gives details of the
family of the Vohara/Bohra Farid and we know that the Bohras were of
Arab descent. We are told that the town of Somanatha was attacked by the
Turushkas, the Turks, and Vohara Farid who was the son of Vohara
Muhammad, joined in the defence of the town, fighting against the
Turushkas on behalf of the local ruler Brahmadeva. Farid was killed and
the inscription is a memorial to him.
It would seem from these sources
that the aftermath of the raid of Mahmud on the temple of Somanatha took
the form of varying perceptions of the event, and different from what we
have assumed. There are no simplistic explanations that would emerge
from any or all of these narratives. How then have we arrived today at
the rather simplistic historical theory that the raid of Mahmud created
a trauma in the Hindu consciousness which has been at the root of
Hindu-Muslim relations ever since? Or to put it in the words of K. M.
Munshi: "For a thousand years Mahmud's destruction of the shrine
has been burnt into the collective sub-conscious of the (Hindu) race as
an unforgettable national disaster."32
Interestingly, what appears to
be the earliest mention of a 'Hindu trauma' in connection with Mahmud's
raid on Somanatha comes from the debate in the House of Commons in
London in 1843 on the question of the gates of the Somanatha temple.33
In 1842, Lord Ellenborough issued his famous 'Proclamation of the Gates'
in which he ordered the British army in Afghanistan to return via Ghazni
and bring back to India the sandalwood gates from the tomb of Mahmud.
These were believed to have been looted by Mahmud from Somanatha. It was
claimed that the intention was to return what was looted from India, an
act which would symbolise British control over Afghanistan despite their
poor showing in the Anglo-Afghan wars. It was also presented as an
attempt to reverse Indian subjugation to Afghanistan in the pre-British
period. Was this an appeal to Hindu sentiment, as some maintained?
The Proclamation raised a storm
in the House of Commons and became a major issue in the cross-fire
between the Government and the Opposition. The question was asked
whether Ellenborough was catering to religious prejudices by appeasing
the Hindus or was he appealing to national sympathies. It was defended
by those who maintained that the gates were a 'national trophy' and not
a religious icon. In this connection, the request of Ranjit Singh, the
ruler of the Punjab, to the king of Afghanistan, Shah Shujah, for the
return of the gates, was quoted. But on examining the letter making this
request, it was discovered that Ranjit Singh had confused the Somanatha
temple with the Jagannatha temple. It was also argued that no historian
mentions the gates in the various accounts of Mahmud's raid, therefore
the story of the gates could only be an invention of folk tradition.
The historians referred to were
Gibbon, who wrote on the Roman empire, Firdausi and Sa'adi, both Persian
poets, and Firishta. The last of these was the only one who, in the 17th
century, had written on Indian history. Firishta was well-known because
Alexander Dow had translated his history into English in the late-18th
century. Firishta's account of the sack of Somanatha was as fanciful as
the earlier accounts, with obvious exaggerations such as the huge size
of the idol and the quantity of jewels that poured out when Mahmud
pierced its belly. Members of the House of Commons were using their
perceptions of Indian history as ammunition in their own political and
party hostilities.
Those critical of Ellenborough
were fearful of the consequences: they saw the fetching of the gates as
supporting a native religion and that too the monstrous Linga-ism as
they called it; and they felt that its political consequences would be
violent indignation among the Mohammadans. Those supporting Ellenborough
in the House of Commons argued equally vehemently that he was removing
the feeling of degradation from the minds of the Hindus. It would
"... relieve that country, which had been overrun by the Mohammadan
conqueror, from the painful feelings which had been rankling amongst the
people for nearly a thousand years." And that, "... the memory
of the gates (has been) preserved by the Hindus as a painful memorial of
the most devastating invasions that had ever desolated Hindustan."
Did this debate fan an
anti-Muslim sentiment among Hindus in India, which, judging from the
earlier sources, had either not existed or been marginal and localised?
The absence in earlier times of an articulation of a trauma remains
enigmatic.
The gates were uprooted and
brought back in triumph. But on arrival, they were found to be of
Egyptian workmanship and not associated in any way with India. So they
were placed in a store-room in the Agra Fort and possibly by now have
been eaten by white ants.
From this point on, the
arguments of the debate in the House of Commons come to be reflected in
the writing on Somanatha. Mahmud's raid was made the central point in
Hindu-Muslim relations. K.M. Munshi led the demand for the restoration
of the Somanatha temple. His obsession with restoring the glories of
Hindu history began in a general way with his writing historical novels,
inspired by reading Walter Scott. But the deeper imprint came from
Bankim Chandra Chatterji's Anandamatha, as is evident from his
novel, Jaya Somanatha, published in 1927. And as one historian,
R. C. Majumdar, puts it, Bankim Chandra's nationalism was Hindu rather
than Indian. "This is made crystal clear from his other writings
which contain passionate outbursts against the subjugation of India by
the Muslims."34 Munshi was concerned with restoring the
Hindu Aryan glory of the pre-Islamic past. Muslim rule was viewed as the
major disjuncture in Indian history. Munshi's comments often echo the
statements made in the House of Commons debate as is evident from his
book, Somanatha: The Shrine Eternal.
Munshi made the Somanatha temple
the most important symbol of Muslim iconoclasm in India. But prior to
this, its significance appears to have been largely regional. Consistent
references to it as a symbol of Muslim iconoclasm are to be found
largely only in the Turko-Persian chronicles. Possibly the fact that
Munshi was himself from Gujarat may have had some role in his projection
of Somanatha. Prior to this, in other parts of the country the symbols
of iconoclasm, where they existed, were places of local importance and
knowledge of the raid on Somanatha was of marginal interest.
On the rebuilding of the
Somanatha temple in 1951, Munshi, by then a Minister of the central
government, had this to say: "... the collective subconscious of
India today is happier with the scheme of the reconstruction of
Somanatha, sponsored by the Government of India, than with many other
things we have done or are doing."35 Nehru objected
strongly to the Government of India being associated with the project
and insisted on its being restored as a private venture.36
That the President of India, Rajendra Prasad was to perform the
consecration ceremony was unacceptable to him. This introduces a further
dimension to the reading of the event, involving the secular credentials
of society and state.
The received opinion is that
events such as the raid on Somanatha created what has been called two
antagonistic categories of epic: the 'epic of conquest' and the
'counter-epic of resistance'.37 It has also been described as
epitomising "the archetypal encounter of Islam with Hindu
idolatry."38 We many well ask how and when did this
dichotomy crystallise? Did it emerge with modern historians reading too
literally from just one set of narratives, without juxtaposing these
with the other narratives? If narratives are read without being placed
in a historiographical context, the reading is, to put it mildly,
incomplete and therefore distorted. Firishta's version, for example, was
repeated endlessly in recent times, without considering its
historiography: neither was this done within the tradition of the Turko-Persian
chronicles nor in the context of other narratives which can be said to
impinge on the same event.
We continue to see such
situations as a binary projection of Hindu and Muslim. Yet what should
be evident from the sources which I have discussed is that there are
multiple groups with varying agendas involved in the way in which the
event and Somanatha are represented. There are differentiations in the
attitudes of the Persian chronicles towards the Arabs and the Turks.
Within the Persian sources, the earlier fantasy of Manat gradually gives
way to a more political concern with the legitimacy of Islamic rule in
India through the Sultans. Was there, on the part of the Persian
chroniclers, a deliberate playing down of the Arab intervention in
India? And if this be so, can it be traced to the confrontations between
the Persians and the Arabs in the early history of Islam? The hostility
between the Bohras and the Turks, technically both Muslims, may have
also been part of this confrontation since the Bohras were of Arab
descent and probably saw themselves as among the settled communities of
Gujarat and saw the Turks as invaders.
Biographies and histories from
Jaina authors, discussing matters pertaining to the royal court and to
the religion of the elite, focus on attempts to show Mahavira in a
better light than Shiva. The agenda becomes that of the competing
rivalry between the Jainas and the Shaivas. But the sources which focus
on a different social group, that of the Jaina merchants, seem to be
conciliatory towards the confrontation with Mahmud, perhaps because the
trading community would have suffered heavy disruptions in periods of
raids and campaigns.
From the Veraval inscription of
1264, cooperation in the building of the mosque came from a range of
social groups, from the most orthodox ritual specialists to those
wielding secular authority and from the highest property holders to
those with lesser property. Interestingly, the members of the jamatha
were Muslims from Hormuz and it would seem that local Muslim
participation was largely from occupations at the lower end of the
social scale. As such, their responsibility for the maintenance of the
mosque would have required the goodwill of the Somanatha elite. Did the
elite see themselves as patrons of a new kind of control over property?
These relationships were not
determined by the general category of what have been called Hindu
interests and Muslim interests. They varied in accordance with more
particular interests and these drew on identities of ethnicity,
religious sectarianism and social status.
I have tried to show how each
set of narratives turns the focus of what Somanatha symbolises: the
occasion for the projection of an iconoclast and champion of Islam; the
assertion of the superiority of Jainism over Shaivism; the inequities of
the Kaliyuga; the centrality of the profits of trade subordinating other
considerations; colonial perceptions of Indian society as having always
been an antagonistic duality of Hindu and Muslim; Hindu nationalism and
the restoration of a particular view of the past, contesting the
secularising of modern Indian society. But these are not discrete foci.
Even when juxtaposed, a pattern emerges: a pattern which requires that
the understanding of the event should be historically contextual,
multi-faceted, and aware of the ideological structures implicit in the
narratives.
I would argue that Mahmud of
Ghazni's raid on the Somanatha temple did not create a dichotomy,
because each of the many facets involved in the perception of the event,
consciously or subconsciously, was enveloped in a multiplicity of other
contexts as well. These direct our attention to varying representations,
both overt and hidden, and lead us to explore the statements implicit in
these representations. The assessment of these facets may provide us
with more sensitive insights into our past.
References
1. Vana parvan
13.14; 80.78; 86. 18-19; 119.1
2. B. K. Thapar, 1951, 'The Temple at Somanatha: History by
Excavations,' in K. M. Munshi, Somnath: The Shrine Eternal,
Bombay, 105-33; M. A. Dhaky and H. P. Sastri, 1974, The Riddle of the
Temple at Somanatha, Varanasi.
3. V. K. Jain, 1990, Trade and Traders in Western India, Delhi.
4. Epigraphia Indica XXXII, 47 ff.
5. Muhammad Ulfi, 'Jami-ul-Hikayat,' in Eliot and Dowson, The History
of India as Told by its own Historians, II, 201. Wasa Abhira from
Anahilvada had property worth ten lakhs in Ghazni; impressive, even if
exaggerated.
6. Abdullah Wassaf, Tazjiyat-ul-Amsar, in Eliot and Dowson, The
History of India as Told by its own Historians, III, 31 ff. Marco
Polo also comments on the wealth involved in the horse trade especially
with southern India. Prabandhachintamani, 14; Rajashekhara, Prabandhakosha,
Shantiniketan, 1935, 121.
7. Abdullah Wassaf, Eliot and Dowson, op. cit. I, 69; Pehoa Inscription,
Epigraphia Indica, I. 184 ff.
8. A. Wink, 1990, Al-Hind, Volume 1, Delhi, 173 ff; 184 ff; 187
ff.
9. Alberuni in E. C. Sachau, 1964 (reprint), Alberuni's India,
New Delhi, I.208.
10. Ibid., II.9-10, 54.
11. F. Sistani in M. Nazim, 1931, The Life and Times of Sultan Mahmud
of Ghazni, Cambridge.
12. Quran, 53. 19-20 G. Ryckmans, 1951, Les Religions Arabes
Pre-Islamique, Louvain.
13. Nazim, op.cit.
14. A. Wink, 1990, Al-Hind, I, Delhi, 184-89; 217-18.
15. cf. Mohammad Habib, 1967, Sultan Mahamud of Ghaznin, Delhi.
16. Ibn Attar quoted in Nazim, op. cit.; Ibn Asir in Gazetteer of the
Bombay Presidency, I, 523; Eliot and Dowson, II, 248 ff; 468 ff. al
Kazwini, Eliot and Dowson, I, 97 ff. Abdullah Wassaf, Eliot and Dowson,
III, 44 ff; IV. 181.
17. Attar quoted in Nazim, op.cit., 221; Firishta in J. Briggs, 1966
(reprint), History of the Rise of the Mohammadan Power in India,
Calcutta.
18. A. Wink, Al-Hind, Volume 2, 217.
19. Zakariya al Kazvini, Asarul-bilad, Eliot and Dowson, op.cit.,
I, 97 ff.
20. Fatawa-yi-Jahandari discussed in P. Hardy, 1997 (rep), Historians
of Medieval India, Delhi, 25 ff; 107 ff.
21. Futuh-al-Salatin discussed in Hardy, op.cit., 107-8.
22. Satyapuriya-Mahavira-utsaha, III.2. D. Sharma, 'Some New
Light on the Route of Mahamud of Ghazni's Raid on Somanatha: Multan to
Somanatha and Somanatha to Multan,' in B. P. Sinha (ed.), 1969, Dr.
Satkari Mookerji Felicitation Volume, Varanasi, 165-168.
23.Hemachandra, Dvyashraya-kavya, Indian Antiquary 1875, 4, 72
ff, 110 ff, 232 ff, 265 ff; Ibid., 1980, 9.; J. Klatt, 'Extracts from
the Historical Records of the Jainas', Indian Antiquary 1882, 11,
245-56; A.F.R. Hoernle, Ibid. 1890, 19, 233-42.
24. P. Bhatia, The Paramaras, Delhi, 1970, 141.
25. Merutunga, Prabandha-Chintamani, C. H. Tawney (trans.), 1899,
Calcutta, IV, 129 ff. G. Buhler, 1936, The Life of Hemachandracharya,
Shantiniketan.
26. Nabhinandanoddhara, discussed in P. Granoff, 1992, 'The
Householder as Shaman: Jaina Biographies of Temple Builders,' East
and West, 42, 2-4, 301-317.
27. Praci Inscription, Poona Orientalist, 1937, 1.4.39-46.
28. Epigraphia Indica II, 437 ff.
29. Prabhaspattana Inscription, BPSI, 186.
30. Somanathapattana Veraval Inscription, Epigraphia Indica,
XXXIV, 141 ff.
31. D.B. Disalkar, 'Inscriptions of Kathiawad,' New Indian Antiquary,
1939, I, 591.
32. Somanatha: The Shrine Eternal, 89.
33. The United Kingdom House of Commons Debate, 9 March 1943, on,
The Somnath (Prabhas Patan) Proclamation, Junagadh 1948. 584-602, 620,
630-32, 656, 674.
34. British Paramountcy and Indian Renaissance, Part II, History
and Culture of the Indian People, 1965, Bombay, 478.
35. Munshi, op.cit., 184.
36. S. Gopal (ed.), 1994, Selected Works of Jawaharlal Nehru,
Vol. 16, Part I, Delhi, 270 ff.
37. Aziz Ahmed, 1963, 'Epic and Counter Epic in Medieval India,' Journal
of the American Oriental Society, 83, 470-76.
38. Davis, op.cit. 93.
This is an edited version
as published in Seminar, March 1999 (Number 475), of the second of two
lectures given as the D. D. Kosambi Memorial Lectures for 1999 at the
University of Bombay. The author is grateful to the Head of the
Department of History for giving permission to publish this version. The
complete text of both lectures will be published by the University of
Bombay with the title, Narratives and the Making of History.
(Source: Frontline, Apr.
10 - 23, 1999)