This series of articles is inspired by the usage of the phrase “loving [our] tormentors” in an
editorial published in newspaper on June 1. Pakistanis today, it is true, simply fail to see an enemy if he wears a long beard and skullcap (or turban) and speaks Arabic. This is true for us since the beginning of the Afghan war in 1980.
Looking back, however, we find that we have forever been famous for celebrating foreign tormentors. It has gone on so long that this disease is now a part of the collective psyche of the Muslims of the Indian subcontinent. Now, appreciation for post-Hijra outsiders (read Muslims) was kosher for us, whose ancestors converted (and damn the assertions about everyone having arrived from Arabia duly converted), but there is at least one aberration.
On the post-Hijra freebooters of the 10th century and onward at another time. But consider
Alexander. He has been our great hero since all times. We celebrate him — especially his victory over Pauravan — name sons after him, even claim descent from him and, for the greater glory of religion, have also converted him to Islam. Never mind that the conversion is posthumous by two millenniums.
Back in 2001, I did a
thirteen-part documentary on Alexander’s Indian campaign for Pakistan Television. Following the Macedonian from Bajaur (where he entered modern Pakistan) through Swat, Punjab and Sindh to
Makran, I met with some bizarre viewpoints on the man. All of them were laudatory. In Taxila, we met the local ‘intellectual’, a beaver more than eager to show off his knowledge of Alexander’s exploits. Needless to say, it was all hogwash, part of the spurious ‘seena gazette’. As he was parting from us, he raised up his hands in orison and prayed for the success of our ‘religious undertaking’. I was taken aback. This was something entirely secular, so what, I asked, did he mean. “You are making a film on one of the greatest heroes of Islam and thus glorifying religion,” said the modern-day sage of
Taxila. Upon learning that Sikander was not a Muslim, the man was dumbfounded. After a moment of reflection he blurted out, “Was he a Hindu?”
In his world of black and white, there was no gray of any other religion. Nevertheless, this new found knowledge did not take away the man’s love and admiration for Alexander for having done in the Hindu kingdoms of the subcontinent.
Throughout the journey for the documentary, we only found admiration for Alexander alike among the educated and the illiterate. This had nothing to do with an understanding of his character and his military genius. It had everything to do with the most wacky sort of fiction invented by ignorant ‘intellectuals’ in small provincial towns.
Only some years earlier I had seen a four-hour documentary on Alexander by British historian Michael Wood. In Iran, Wood came across street performers in a number of towns who recounted tales of the Macedonians. The spiel was almost identical and it vilified Alexander and lionised Darius.
Now, a reading of history will show that Darius was a craven coward. From the first engagement with Alexander’s army on the Granicus River (now Biga Cayi, pronounced chaie) in Turkey to his final rout in Mesopotamia, the Persian king bolted the minute he set eyes on Alexander’s army. Indeed, Darius’ cowardice is vividly preserved in the famous Pompeii mosaic in the museum at Naples. It shows a very determined looking Alexander pursuing a terrified Darius, his eyes wide with fright.
However, as in Pakistan we have invented lies and lies to glorify the Macedonian as a great Islamic hero, the Persians have their own yarns about his cowardice and the unstinting courage and heroism of their own king. More times than Darius shamefully fled the battlefield, modern Persians make him face up to the invader and discomfit him. I wonder what the Persians would have made of a king truly as heroic and majestic as our
Raja Paurava.
Historically speaking, this is the first instance of our love for our tormentor. I do not mean to say that this admiration for outsiders goes back to ancient times. Alexander gained our appreciation posthumously, at a time when conversion to Islam split us from our subcontinental family.
Labels: Alexander, History, Raja Paurava
posted by Salman Rashid @ 00:00,
6 Comments:
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At 3 August 2016 at 13:22,
said...
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An excellent article. Pakistanis seem to praise everyone except themselves. An English taxi driver may turn up at Islamabad Airport and, immediately, he is treated as a bygone Demi-god of a DC.
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At 4 August 2016 at 09:04,
Salman Rashid said...
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We are slaves to every outsider. Coincidence that we cherish the accursed Slave Dynasty of the Middle Ages?
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At 5 August 2016 at 14:07,
said...
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We also have a misnomeric fascination of identifying everything pre-Islamic as surely Hindu, least knowing that word Hindu originally did not represent any form of religiosity. It has been numismatically proven that Porus was not a Hindu - he was a Buddhist. And was he a Paurava .... I wonder if he was.
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At 8 August 2016 at 17:09,
Salman Rashid said...
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Anonymous, we hate everything pre-Islamic. Point.
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At 2 February 2019 at 22:06,
said...
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Sir,
Having ancestory from Alexander is not bound to Pakistan. I have a coorgi friend. After attending his marriage i asked for the rituals which are quite different from traditional hindu customs.
He replied we hv difference as when Alexander came to India one of his battalion decided to stay in coorg ( Karnataka near Mysore ). Rest of the army returned. And he claimed ancestory from the same battalion. I accepted the same as was not knowing bit about the same. After reading your articles now I think how moronic he was and myself accepting the same.
Thanks a lot once again Sir for the knowledge you make available to us.
Next that fundoo Mr. Achaiah palekanda ( My Coorgi friend ) is going to have bash from my side.
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At 3 February 2019 at 12:57,
Salman Rashid said...
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I've known idiots, but your friend seems to be a special kind of them. Sir, what soldiers would remain in enemy country during war? Or even after it? This is the greatest stupidity any human can ever dream of.
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