‘Truths of fiction should not be underrated’
On his new historical novel woven around the life of the Mauryan emperor
1 How did the process of writing Asoca: A Sutra transform you?
Writing a historical novel issues you a kind of visa to that distant country, the past. I came to inhabit that country for long periods of time. I had already lived in medieval India with my last book on Akbar. This time, the land I visited was vastly different. Compared with the beautifully preserved ruins at Fatehpur Sikri, there’s less on the ground from the ancient period. You’re obliged to imagine a lot more, to dig down. I was always a closet archaeologist and this book allowed me to indulge that urge. The levels of your personal past live in you and determine your present; in the same way the recovery of vanished histories transforms your view of the world.
2 Were you more open to legends that have grown up around this historical figure because you are not constrained by the disciplinary compulsions that a historian would have to worry about?
A novelist has carte blanche; but he has his constraints as much as the historian. My Asoca ends in exile in “the land of jade and fragrant rice” that borders China. Call it Burma. There are excellent reasons why such an end is possible; it doesn’t strain historical credibility. At the same time, you’re taking a liberty; you’re constantly taking liberties. Your primary liberty is the fictional universe you’ve set in motion; within that gravitational field your legends must cohere and persuade, if not convince. The truths of fiction should not be underrated, any more than the “facts” of history (or science) should be overrated. Writers are often considered shiftless Brahmins who depend on Sudra purveyors — historians? — for their facts; in my upside-down Dalit view, they’re lowly image-makers who run the world.
3 The story of Ashoka is often told as a parable about atonement. In that respect, he reminds me of Angulimala, who was also transformed by the teachings of the Buddha. Have you thought of these two in connection with each other? When a story is condensed into a sort of takeaway, perhaps ahimsa is what comes to mind. What else do you hope for contemporary readers to take from these stories?
Truth to tell I didn’t make the connection with Angulimala. But the sensational metamorphosis described in the Mahayana Buddhist tradition, where the evil Chandashoka turns into a pious king upon his conversion to Buddhism, is a little hard to swallow. Ashoka’s change of heart at Kalinga is more credible. Ahimsa is certainly a valuable lesson to learn from this king, but in this complicated world non-violence is at best an ideal; tolerance is probably a more compact and portable virtue. SAMI MITRA