‘The real Akbar would be pleased with my book’

It was while researching the Spanish Inquisition that Dirk Collier first came across references to the Mughal emperor Akbar. He was surprised to discover that Akbar had invited Jesuit priests and scholars to his court so that he could learn about Christianity. “At a time when Europe found itself plagued by fanaticism, persecution and bloody religious wars, this seemed to be a remarkably tolerant and open-minded attitude for an absolute monarch,” says Collier.  So fascinated was Collier by Akbar, that he set out to write a fictional autobiography of the man. Excerpts from an email interview:

There has been a lot written about Akbar. What new insights on Akbar does your book provide?
Historical information about Akbar can, of course, be found in a number of history books, but to my knowledge, The Emperor’s Writings is the most in-depth attempt to describe him as a human being. Based on what history knows about him, I have attempted to reconstruct the thoughts that must have entered his mind, the things that preoccupied him, the way he looked at himself and the world around him, in short: the kind of man he must have been.

What role does historical fiction play in the dissemination of historical knowledge?
Books like Yourcenar’s Memoirs Of Hadrien and The Emperor’s Writings attempt to contribute to historical understanding: they aspire to bring history back to life, and in this attempt, they start where “real” history leaves off.

We know from historical records that Akbar’s favourite wife Salima personally travelled to Allahabad and brought about the official reconciliation between Salim (Jahang-) and his father. This is where “real” history ends. Historical fiction, however, wants to bring that argument back to life. How angry, frustrated, frightened were the protagonists? Which arguments did they use to convince each other?

The beginning of the book is dramatic, with the revelation that Akbar is committing suicide. What prompted you to imagine such a situation?
There is a well-known 17th century painting showing emperor Jahangir holding his father’s portrait: it is as if Akbar is talking to his son from the hereafter. Right from the start, that is how I imagined my book: Akbar talking to his son, from beyond the grave.

I could have taken a much more neutral approach, but if the letters had been written in the face of a self-inflicted death, the psychological tension and drama would become more intense. Other than that storyline, however, the events described in the book are historical. And in order to avoid any misunderstandings about what is fact and what is fiction, I have added extensive historical notes and references at the end of my book.

You were reading up on Goan history when you stumbled on to Akbar. What drew you towards Indian history in the first place?
My original plan was to write about the Spanish Inquisition, and to place the action in Goa, so that I could add a non-Western perspective. When I started reading about Goan history, I was surprised to find that the so-called Great Moghul of Hindustan had invited several missions of Jesuit priests to his court, to instruct him in the Christian faith and to debate with representatives of Islam and other faiths. At a time when Europe found itself plagued by fanaticism, persecution and bloody religious wars, this seemed to be a remarkably tolerant and open-minded attitude for an absolute monarch, and a Muslim king at that. I soon found myself fascinated with Akbar’s story, and decided that my book would be about this remarkable man.

As you mention in the preface, the book is an attempt by a 21st century Western writer to read into the mind of a 16th century Indian monarch. What were the challenges of doing this?
It takes, of course, quite a lot of study before you can even begin to write an ambitious book like The Emperor’s Writings. And as I stated in the preface to my book, fictional autobiography is arguably the most challenging genre in historical fiction. The author needs to practice the most rigorous self-effacement. Every thought, every statement in the text needs to be challenged: is this really a thought that could have crossed my subject’s mind? Would he or she really have felt this way? What could have been his or her motivation for this or that particular deed?

Alas, such an endeavour will always be, to a certain extent at least, doomed to failure. Complete self-effacement is impossible: the author’s character and personal experience will inevitably influence his or her perception of the facts at hand. Moreover, as it was pointed out so honestly and eloquently in the opening scene of Attenburough’s film Gandhi, it is impossible to fully capture a human life in a single narrative. Choices have to be made, digressions and omissions are inevitable. That being said, however pretentious this sounds, I honestly think the real Akbar would have been pleased with The Emperor’s Writings...

How important is it for such a writer to understand the cultural context of the region and the period? During your research what were the things that gave you clues about Indian society and culture?
Such an understanding is, of course, essential. I have travelled extensively. An Iranian friend of mine helped me with the Persian used at the Mughal court. I have spoken to dozens of people, from various backgrounds: Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs and Christians.  I have pestered my family and friends with countless draft chapters and fragments.

Do you feel that a book where a historical figure is the hero doesn’t quite allow room to explore the failings of the person? Did you attempt to see Akbar from his enemies’ point of view?
Admittedly, most of The Emperor’s Writings has been written from Akbar’s personal perspective and that of his most ardent supporters. It should therefore come as no surprise that the portrait painted of him is favourable, perhaps even flattering.

But I have tried to remain as open and honest as possible. Akbar was a remarkable and arguably great man, but, as I’m sure he would have readily admitted himself, he was by no means a saint: in today’s terms, he was an unashamed, ruthless imperialist, who did not hesitate to act with merciless brutality whenever it suited him. Even his well-known tolerance in religious matters was at least partially motivated by pragmatic and imperialist considerations.

Considering the conflict between Akbar and Jahangir, do you feel Akbar failed as a father?
From our 21st century perspective, he clearly failed: that is, if you consider that two of his sons drank themselves to death, and the only surviving son openly rebelled against him. Akbar appears to have been, first and foremost, an absolute monarch rather than a father: he clearly treated his adult sons as courtiers who owed him obedience. That being said, history proves that Akbar did not fail completely. For it is a well-known fact that throughout his life, Jahangir spoke about his father with the greatest reverence and respect, and that he attempted to follow in Akbar’s footsteps.