Category: History

Twilight or Dawn? America and the Paradox of Empire


Abstract

Empires are rarely undone by external invasion; they corrode from within. The American project, like Rome, Britain, and Persia before it, now faces the timeless paradox of imperial overreach: wealth without equity, dominance without renewal. This article situates America’s trajectory within the historical cycle of imperial rise and decline, drawing upon both philosophical reflection and historical precedent. The central question is whether the United States will recognize decline as an opportunity for renewal, or whether, blinded by illusions of permanence, it will follow the path of its predecessors into twilight.

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Introduction: The Cycles of Empire

Over the last few months, especially as the American tariff challenge for the rest of the world heated up, two distinct narratives have emerged in the public space. The first dwells on the unfairness—indeed the shortsightedness—of U.S. tariff policy and how it is being differentially applied to target certain countries while sparing others. The second narrative takes a step back and enters the philosophical domain: What makes America act the way it does? The symptoms, they argue, are those of an empire in decline.

In this piece I attempt to make sense of the unfolding moment through a historical lens of past empires. From the Achaemenid Persians to the British Raj, empires rose not only on military might but on the promise of order and prosperity. Yet, as Gibbon observed in his monumental study of Rome, empires collapse when external expansion conceals internal fragility. ¹

Toynbee later refined this insight, suggesting that civilizations do not perish from conquest but from their failure to respond creatively to crises. ² America, with its wealth concentrated in elites and its politics increasingly polarized, today finds itself at a similar point of reckoning.

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The Illusion of Permanence

Decline is often hastened by the presumption of permanence. The British Empire, enriched by its Indian possessions, clung to naval supremacy long after its economic foundations had weakened. The Qing dynasty, flush with silver inflows, remained blind to the destabilizing flood of opium that hollowed out its society. The Ottomans celebrated elaborate military ceremony even as their agrarian base stagnated. In each case, the empire was undone less by external enemies than by its inability to adapt.³

The United States mirrors these patterns. Its massive trade deficits, spiraling national debt, and persistent militarism signal not strength but imbalance. Each dollar allocated to foreign wars secures corporate gain more than civic renewal. Bridges crumble, schools falter, healthcare divides communities, and social trust erodes. Yet the spectacle of global dominance continues—an aircraft carrier here, a sanctions regime there—masking fragility at home. This, too, is the illusion of permanence.

Rome thought itself eternal, describing itself as the urbs aeterna, the eternal city. Britain assumed that the sun would never set on its empire. America today speaks of “exceptionalism” with the same conviction, believing its dominance to be destiny rather than circumstance. The danger lies in mistaking temporary advantage for permanent security.

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The Anatomy of Overreach

The trajectory of great powers often follows a recognizable arc: expansion, consolidation, overreach, and decline. Paul Kennedy, in The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers, describes how military commitments abroad eventually outstrip economic capacity at home.³ For Rome, it was the expense of garrisoning distant frontiers. For Spain, the drain of endless wars in Europe. For Britain, the unsustainable costs of two world wars.

For the United States, overreach is visible in both economic and military forms. The U.S. spends more on defence than the next ten countries combined, maintaining hundreds of bases across the globe. Meanwhile, its domestic economy is marked by widening inequality, stagnant wages, and crumbling infrastructure. The paradox is stark: a nation capable of projecting power thousands of miles away struggles to repair its own highways or ensure equitable healthcare.

Tariff wars, trade imbalances, and fiscal deficits echo earlier imperial mistakes. Protectionist policies may secure short-term bargaining chips, but they also reveal a deeper anxiety: the fear that economic primacy is slipping away. History suggests that such reactive measures rarely restore strength; they merely postpone the reckoning.

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Philosophy of Decline and Renewal

At its core, the phenomenon of empire offers a philosophical lesson in impermanence. Heraclitus, writing in the sixth century BCE, reminded us that “all things flow,” that permanence is an illusion.⁴ To mistake hegemony for destiny is to deny this truth.

Toynbee argued that the decisive moment for civilizations lies in their response to challenge: renewal through creativity or collapse through inertia.² Renewal requires humility, the willingness to recognize that decline is not failure but an opportunity for rebalance. For America, such renewal would mean abandoning the imperial reflex and returning to the foundations of civic life—justice, education, community, and sustainability.

True security lies not in endless war or technological spectacle but in balance: between wealth and justice, expansion and reflection, ambition and humility. Without such rebalancing, the American century risks being remembered as another brilliant but fleeting flame in history’s long night.

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Lessons from History

The cycles of history caution against complacency. Rome endured for centuries, but its collapse was sudden when it came. The Qing dynasty appeared invulnerable until it unravelled within a few decades. The Soviet Union, projecting strength one year, disintegrated the next. Empires rarely decline in a linear, predictable fashion; instead, they erode silently until an external shock exposes their fragility.

For the United States, that shock could come from multiple directions: financial crisis, climate catastrophe, technological disruption, or internal political fracture. Already, polarization corrodes trust in institutions, while economic inequality breeds resentment. These fissures, if unaddressed, could accelerate decline.

Yet history also shows that renewal is possible. Japan, devastated by war, reinvented itself as an economic powerhouse. Post-imperial Britain, though diminished, adapted into a service economy and retained cultural influence. Even Rome, in its Byzantine continuation, transformed decline into resilience. America, too, could reimagine itself—not as empire, but as a republic recommitted to equity and balance.

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Conclusion

The setting sun is not fate; it is metaphor. Empires end not because history commands it but because they fail to heed its rhythms. Whether America confronts its inner distortions or clings to the illusion of permanence will decide whether twilight yields dawn—or darkness.

The challenge, then, is not to deny decline but to interpret it rightly. If decline is seen as failure, America will cling to militarism, exceptionalism, and spectacle until resources are exhausted. But if decline is embraced as a chance for renewal, the American project may yet rediscover vitality—proving that twilight need not always lead to night. Sometimes, it can be the hour before a new dawn.

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Notes

  1. Gibbon, Edward. The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (1776–1789).
  2. Toynbee, Arnold. A Study of History. Oxford University Press, 1934–1961.
  3. Kennedy, Paul. The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers. Random House, 1987.
  4. Heraclitus. Fragments. c. 500 BCE.

In musing……..                                            Shakti Ghosal

Tomar and the legend of the Knights Templar


“Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed Nomini tuo da gloriam“ ( Latin). In English it translares to : Not to us, Lord, not to us, but to Thy name give the glory

Tomar in the heart of Portugal, is a town steeped in history, mystery, and legend. During our recent visit, it transported us back to the era of the Knights Templar, the Crusades, and the Church Order. 

The Convent of Christ, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is a masterpiece of medieval architecture. A Templar stronghold, it was both a church and a fortress with a unique blend of Romanesque, Gothic, and Renaissance styles.

We entered the Convent and as we walked through the corridors, we could almost see in our mind’s eye the knights riding in. As the legend goes, the knights would even pray while on horseback as they chose never to be caught off guard and remained ever ready to fight on behalf of the church. This was the reason for the spectacular Templar’s round church with its high archways being built in the heart of the convent.

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The Convent of Christ and its structure was inspired by the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. The latter had been built at the traditional site of Jesus’ crucifixion and burial and thus it is no surprise that it was in this city that the legend of the Knights Templar started.

The Knights in their white mantles and a Red Cross emblazoned on the chest were arguably the best fighting units on the side of Christianity in the Crusades. For centuries they remained committed to defending Jerusalem as also offering safe passage to Christian pilgrims travelling to the Holy Land.

The Knight Templars achieved the zenith of their fame in the 12th century when in the Battle of Montgisard, six hundred odd knights beat the redoubtable Muslim general Saladin and his army numbering twenty-six thousand!

The other noteworthy aspect of the Templars Order was that it became the banker to Europe from a Papal sanction. Knights desirous of joining the order donated large amounts, nobles going to Crusades would place their wealth and businesses with the Templars for safe keeping. This huge aggrandizement of wealth though led to its eventual downfall. It is said that in the early fourteenth century, the French Monarch Philip IV, deeply indebted to the Templars and unable to pay back, started to arrest, torture, and execute the French knights.

After the dissolution of the Order, the Templars found refuge in Portugal under a new ‘Order of Christ.’ Our guide spoke of the secret knowledge the order brought in and how that influenced Portugal’s Age of Discoveries, including Vasco da Gama’s travel to India. Ostensibly, much of the so called ‘secret knowledge’ of the Templars had been acquired from Arabs during their travels to Jerusalem and beyond.

For us, Tomar wasn’t just about history; it was more about the Knights Templars’ valour and enduring legacy. Their closely guarded secrets included that of the Holy Grail which forms the basis of Dan Brown’s famed thriller ‘The Da Vinci Code’. In the book, the Knights Templar order is portrayed as the guardians of vital information relating to Christianity spanning over one millennia.

In learning…….                                                 Shakti Ghosal

#tomarvisit #traveldiaries2024 #davincicode #knightstemplar #DanBrown #portugaltravel #conventofchrist #crusades

Palestine


As the current Israel Hamas war spirals up into the stratosphere, amidst the 24X7 clash of words and images on social media and TV channels, I turn to that iconic graphic novel ‘Palestine’ by Joe Sacco to re-read some parts. The American Book Award winner of 1996, the nine series compilation was based on the author spending months in the Gaza strip in 1991-92. For no amount of ‘from the stands’ perspective of a situation as articulated by news readers sitting in London, New York or even Tel Aviv can match a ‘on the court’ as lived feelings and impressions.

In 1849, French writer Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr wrote, “plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose”, which in English translates to “the more things change, the more they stay the same.” Three decades on after Joe Sacco’s as-lived experiences, perceptions and writings, these words seem so prophetically apt when it comes to Palestine.

I remember the six-day Arab Israel war in 1967 in which the latter came out on top, annexing the Sinai Peninsula and the Golan heights, even though it fought the war on three fronts with Egypt, Jordan and Syria. As a school kid in Delhi at that time, I recall being influenced by how the conflict was being projected in the newspapers, majorly a stance of the Indian Government being an Arab supporter. To my mind it was the Arabs who were fighting a just war! My childlike awareness failed to realize that here was a tiny country fighting for its very existence.

The 6 Day Arab Israel war 1967

And a consequence which would hold huge implications for the future (and what we are evidencing today as Israel asks Palestinians to vacate North Gaza before the tanks roll in) was the displacement of three hundred thousand Palestinians and an additional hundred thousand Arabs. With victory came arrogance and this was aptly on display when the Israeli Premier Golda Meir remarked, ‘Palestinians did not exist!’

Palestenian Movement of 1967

Much water has flowed down the Suez since then. And with the water has flowed a succession of images (were they reflections of something deeper?), geo-political initiatives and newsbytes.  The shifting of the Palestinian militancy into Lebanon and the Lebanese Civil war of the Nineteen Seventies. The Oslo Peace accord of the Nineties which led to the establishment of the Palestinian National Authority on the West Bank and Gaza. The Palestinian Parliamentary elections in Gaza in 2006, which Hamas won and took over control.

What is ironical is that in its early years, Hamas and its founder Sheikh Ahmed Yassin received patronage of Israel who saw the organisation as a counterweight to the other Palestinian movements. A déjà vu’ situation akin to the US support to the Afghan Mujahideen during the Soviet occupation years, leading to the rise of Osama Bin Laden who then became the former’s nemesis. In the nineteen seventies, Indian PM Indira Gandhi of the Congress party allowed, nay supported, Bhindranwale and his cult to become a Frankenstein’s monster, in a bid to weaken the Akali Party’s hold in Punjab. A horrible decision which spun out of control and sowed the seeds of the Khalistan movement. History is replete with such situations, spawned by political expediency, gone horribly wrong.

As I sit re-reading parts of Sacco’s Palestine, the graphics and the words seem to detach and swirl around, before coalescing with the world news’s images I have been seeing on the screen over the last week.

The more things change, the more they stay the same…….

A Narrative which seemed to be both connected and disconnected from the societal prejudices of race, class and religion. Be it the image of the Palestinians as rock and missile throwing fundamentalists. Or that of the Israelis as a harsh and superior force with an apartheid mindset.

The perception of the Gaza strip of being an intolerable world of quasi freedom, military occupation, demolished houses, torture and brute force to ensure compliance of arbitrary Do’s and Don’ts by the Palestinians. What do you say to the people when this happens to them at the place which they consider their home?

To be a Palestinian in Palestine…..

The Palestinians’ scanty existence, anxious with uncertainty and deprivation. A life without a seeming purpose within Gaza’s inhospitable confines, waiting for a better tomorrow which never comes.

In the book’s preface, Edward Said writes tellingly about the existential lived reality of the average Palestinian in Gaza:

“ ….The vacancy of time , the drabness not to say sordidness of everyday life in the refugee camps, the network of relief workers, bereaved mothers, unemployed young men. Teachers, police, hangers- on, the sense of confinement, permanent muddiness and ugliness conveyed by the refugee camps which is so iconic to the whole Palestinian experience….

….. the scrupulous rendering of the generations, how children and adults make their choices and live their meager lives, how some speak and some remain silent, how they are dressed in drab sweaters, miscellaneous jackets, and warm hattas of an impoverished life, on the fringes of their own homeland, in which they have become the saddest and most powerless and contradictory of creatures….”

The imagery created by the words in my mind are at once frenzied and halting.

“….. how some speak and some remain silent….”  The telling graphic of the ubiquitous Israeli soldier refusing to let Palestinians through a roadblock at his whims and fancy because of a set of enormous, threatening teeth and a M-16 gun that he brandishes, flashes in my mind.

How some speak and some remain silent……

Images swirl on that daily screen in my bedroom. A detached view, I realize, is a blessed state. A state far beyond the reach of the Palestinians and the Israelis.  A young Israeli girl being abducted from a Rave festival and taken away on a motor cycle by masked Hamas gunmen. The naked body of a female tourist being displayed on the back of a truck. The swerving billowy streaks of rockets and missiles. Neighbourhood after neighbourhood in Gaza being bombed out of existence by Israeli firepower. The danger of the entire Middle East region getting engulfed in the conflagration.

The abductions and the terror …….

Rockets & Missiles….

The bombings…….

What is it that has led to the situation spiraling out of control like this, I wonder.

Is it that slow but relentless turning of the screw by Israel on the hapless Palestinians by inflicting insults and hardships on an already miserable existence? Is it the Palestinian mindset that perceives only a hopeless and ‘no light at the end of the tunnel’ existence because of a world order which has turned its back on their right to a respectable and decent life? Has the Palestinian society being pushed to a point when life or death no longer matter, as long as they can hit back at their tormentors?

Or is it a surge of anger in Israel of having been outmaneuvered and upstaged by someone who has been perceives as weak and unequal all these decades? Is it frustration of being ‘caught with one’s pants down’ with one’s vulnerabilities on display?

Be as it may, methinks a way forward can never be achieved through horrendous acts of terror as a last-ditch attempt to gain the world’s attention. Nor through a revenge war to carpet bomb, smoke out and eliminate embedded ‘terrorists’. Both ways unfortunately lead to innocent citizens suffering collateral damage with unimaginable hardships and sorrow all around.

A way forward would require both Israel and Palestinians to eschew Amygdala hijacks, accept the ground reality of each other’s existence through negotiated give and takes. A complex and politically difficult task but not impossible if there is a will and vision. But will the world display such a will and Leadership at this juncture?

God of Comfort
Send your Spirit to encompass all those whose lives
are torn apart by violence and death in Israel and Palestine.
You are the Advocate of the oppressed
and the One whose eye is on the sparrow.
Let arms reach out in healing, rather than aggression.
Let hearts mourn rather than militarize.

Rose Marie Berger, Oct 9th 2023

In musing….. Shakti Ghosal

Acknowledgement : Palestine by Joe Sacco. Random House, London

When a Jail speaks to you


“No one truly knows a nation until one has been inside its jails. A nation should not be judged by how it treats its highest citizens but its lowest ones.” – Nelson Mandela

Alipore Jail in Kolkata has recently been converted into a museum and we made a visit. I found the place refreshingly well laid out with directional signs to the various highlights.

Though not well known, there are actually two Alipore Jails. The first Alipore jail, later called the Presidency jail, was built more than two hundred years back. The newer one, which continued to be known as the Alipore Jail, was built close to the earlier one in the early twentieth century. Known as a ‘correctional home’, it was used by the British to hold political prisoners.

A few miles away from Alipore jail is Dalhousie Square. Named after Governor General Lord Dalhousie, who held office in the mid-nineteenth century, it was and continues to be the administrative and Business epicenter of Kolkata. Standing majestically at the center is the Writer’s Building with its French renaissance style architecture, Roman facade and rooftop statues.

Dalhousie Square is today known as Benoy Badal Dinesh (BBD in short) Bagh and therein hangs a tale of an interesting connect it has with Alipore Jail.

It was 1930. With the Indian freedom struggle at its peak, Alipore Jail was bursting at its seams with political prisoners. Colonel N. S. Simpson, the Inspector General of Police, had become the epitome of brutality when it came to dealing with political prisoners. Seeing himself as an able administrator, Simpson had devised an efficient and brutal system to force the prison inmates to reveal their political ideologies and ‘terrorism’ plans.  Merciless beatings while hung from a tree, putting chilli powder on the genitals etc. were commonplace.

Three Bengali revolutionaries Benoy, Dinesh and Badal, aged twenty-two, nineteen and eighteen, chanced to come together. Members of the Bengal Volunteers, a group set up by Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose a couple of years earlier, they had found their life’s calling in revolutionary activities. The threesome, having heard horror stories about Colonel Simpson’s notoriety, decided to take the fight to the British administrator.

To gain access to the Writer’s building the three youngsters entered Writer’s building wearing immaculate western attire. Asking to meet Colonel Simpson, they shot him dead point blank. BBD Bagh today stands testimony to the courage of this threesome.

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As I stood looking at the Alipore jail gallows, I heard a sound and turned around to see an old tree standing forlornly in the courtyard. The rustling leaves seemed to be whispering to me about the killings and the merciless beatings it had been witness to. Did I hear Dinesh shout ‘Vande Mataram’ as he was being taken to the gallows?

Dusk fell and I watched the red-bricked Jail walls come alive and take on the colour of blood. The coloured lasers of the ongoing Light and Sound show pranced to and fro. A multitude of voices ebbed and flowed, from various directions.

Netaji Subhas Bose protesting against brutal assaults on other inmates, just before he was knocked unconscious from a head blow.

Subhas Bose inviting Deshbandhu Chittaranjan Das to a frugal meal that he had painstakingly cooked himself.

Young Indira ‘Priyadarshini’ Gandhi meeting her father Jawaharlal Nehru ( first Prime Minister of independent India) when he was incarcerated in a cell for participating in the civil disobedience movement.

Dr. Bidhan Chandra Roy ( a future Chief Minister of the state of West Bengal), himself serving a sentence, treating sick and injured prisoners in the jail hospital.

The whisperings of the guards on watch tower duty.

The tales that the jail was relating to me were of innumerable shades. Of sacrifice and suppression. Of idealism and brutality.

Night had fallen when I stepped out of the Alipore Jail complex to return home. 

As I got into the cab, I mused on the dichotomy of the Western civilizational ethos about freedom and bondage. Did that ethos emanate from a deep-down racial distrust of ‘non-western’ people and their purported non-adherence to western civility and norms which had justified Europe’s colonization ( it was never termed conquest!) of almost all of the planet?

 When it came to India, The British parliament and administration had gone to great pains to justify its ‘colonial intervention’ in the name of the rule of law, human rights and upliftment of the natives. An image of a benign Raj was fostered, a righteous mask was worn through setting up parliamentary commissions and inquiries every time there were reported cases of extortion and torture. The British would always take the moral high ground claiming ignorance of torture and beatings indulged in by the indigenous havildars and policemen a category which was illiterate, poorly paid and only too happy to curry favours with the British Sahebs.

In 1854, the Madras torture commission, which had been set up to investigate allegations of torture in the police department, had scathingly observed:

‘The police establishment has become the bane and pest of society, the terror of the community, and the origin of half the misery and discontent that exist among the subjects of Government. Corruption and bribery reign paramount throughout the whole establishment; violence, torture, and cruelty are their chief instruments for detecting crime, implicating innocence, or extorting money. Robberies are daily and nightly committed, and not unfrequently with their connivance; certain suspicious characters are taken up and conveyed to some secluded spot far out of reach of witnesses; every species of cruelty is exercised upon them; if guilty, the crime is invariably confessed, and stolen property discovered; but a tempting bribe soon release[s] them from custody….’

A hundred and seventy years on, does the above sound eerily familiar? As I sat thinking of all this in the cab, the irony of the situation did not escape me. The British have long gone, our tryst with destiny is now three-quarters of a century old. But our governance and law-enforcing structures seem to perpetuate those very aspects which our forefathers had fought against.  

Would the shifting of the jail facilities away from British structures like the Alipore Jail finally allow for fresh thoughts and mindsets to set in? I wondered.

The museum boasts an excellent coffee shop which we thoroughly enjoyed. A visit is recommended.

In Musing…….                                                                                 Shakti Ghosal

Acknowledgement : “Very wicked children”: “Indian torture” and the Madras Torture Commission report of 1855: by Anuj Bhuwaniam Replicated from Sur – Revista Internacional de Direitos Humanos, São Paulo, vol.6, n.10, pp. 6-27, 2009

Legends


I built me a castle
With dragons and kings
And I’d ride off with them
As I stood by my window
And looked out on those……

I walked leisurely on the pedestrian path.

Walkers and tourists milled around me, like me all moving at a leisurely pace. No one seemed to be in a hurry. A family led by Dad with the son on his shoulders passes me in the opposite direction. Just in front, a group of giggling young women were taking a barrage of selfies. It seemed one or the other was not satisfied with the result, be it one’s expression or the way the long cables and the end tower showed up in the photo. A quick joint review, some more giggles and someone in the group would volunteer to take a new selfie. I watched this microcosm of humanity flowing around me.

It was a beautiful sunny morning which had prompted us to venture out on a spot of sightseeing. I was on the pedestrian walkway of the legendary Brooklyn Bridge. Below me on both sides were the motorways with cars and SUVs moving in either direction between lower Manhattan and Brooklyn.

One had glorious views of the New York skyline as well as the leisurely flow of the East River below. To the right one could spot Governor’s Island and in the distance the Statue of Liberty. But as I stood looking around, my mind’s eye wandered off to another unforgettable vision involving the Brooklyn bridge. Powerful searchlights frantically flashing, sounds of helicopters, people jumping off the bridge into the waters below as a terrified News Reporter announces that all of us are going to die! One of the most emotional scenes from the blockbuster ‘I am Legend’ in which scientist Robert Neville (Will Smith) tries to evacuate his wife and daughter from pandemic ridden Manhattan, only to see them die as another helicopter crashes into theirs in the chaos. In the background, the Brooklyn Bridge is being blown up by military aircraft to contain the spread of the disease.

An iconic film showing visuals of an iconic bridge.

A hundred and forty years old structure, the Brooklyn Bridge was the world’s first and longest steel-wire suspension bridge at the time of its opening. What further distinguishes the bridge are the pair of gothic towers standing tall on either side, holding the steel wires in place. Legend has it that when the lead engineer and architect Washington Roebling, became sick and bedridden, his wife Emily, who knew nothing about engineering or architecture, took over the project. For the next ten years, till the project got done, she studied Engineering design and project management on her own and became the first person to cross the bridge upon completion. The following was said about Emily and the Brooklyn bridge:

“…an everlasting monument to the self-sacrificing devotion of a woman and of her capacity for that higher education from which she has been too long disbarred.”

A sad reminder of the fact that during Emily’s time, women were not allowed into Engineering institutions in the US.

Having walked the mile long stretch of the Bridge, we stepped onto the roads of Brooklyn. The neighbourhood in which Neil Diamond had grown up six decades back. With his baritone voice and wonderful songwriting capabilities, Neil Diamond has been my favourite pop and country musician and singer since youth. The singer reminisces about his childhood in that wonderful number, ‘Brooklyn Roads’:

‘Two floors above the butcher
First door on the right
Life filled to the brim
As I stood by my window
And I looked out of those
Brooklyn Roads……’

Neil Diamond

The place we were walking through had the curious name of DUMBO. I was left wondering whether it had anything to do with Disney’s Dumbo the flying elephant. Or was it about some presumed dumb folks who might have resided there in the past?

‘And report cards I was always
Afraid to show

Mama’d come to school
And as I’d sit there softly crying
Teacher’d say, “He’s just not trying
He’s got a good head if he’d apply it”
But you know yourself
It’s always somewhere else’

 I learnt that DUMBO was really the short nomenclature for ‘Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass’. Ironically, the neighbourhood today is home to a large number of technology start-up companies with the earlier warehouses on the riverfront converted into quaint eating houses and pubs overlooking the waters.

A bridge, a musician and a neighbourhood came together as legends for me that morning. They came with tales that were anecdotal, possibly unverifiable but nonetheless remain ingrained in my mind.

In musing…………                                                       Shakti Ghosal

Acknowledgement: ‘Brooklyn Roads’ by Neil Diamond

The Peacock Throne and today’s date….


Did you know that close to four centuries ago, on 22nd March 1635 AD, the Peacock Throne was inaugurated by Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan and unveiled to the world?

Did you know that the Peacock Throne took seven years to build and cost twice as much as the world-famous Taj Mahal, made as it was of solid gold, diamonds and pearls? Kohinoor, one of the largest cut diamonds in the world weighing more than one hundred and five carats, today takes pride of place in the British crown jewels but was originally part of the Peacock Throne. In some ways, the inauguration of the Peacock Throne represented the zenith of the Mughal empire.

The Peacock Throne remains a masterpiece of Moghul creation, unsurpassed in opulence and extravagance before or after. The throne creator and master goldsmith Said Gilani wrote this couplet on the occasion of the throne’s inauguration.

“Towards India he turned his reins quickly and went in all glory,

Driving like the blowing wind, dapple-grey steed swift as lightning.
With bounty and liberality, he returned to the capital;
Round his stirrups were the heavens and angels round his reins.
A thousand thanks! The beauty of the world has revived

With the early glory of the throne of multi-coloured gems“

A century later in 1739, the Mughal Empire’s decline was precipitated by its defeat at the hands of the Iranian ruler Nader Shah. What had attracted Nader Shah were stories of the Peacock Throne and the wealth of the Mughal empire. Interestingly, it was again on 22nd March 1739 AD that the Mughal capital of Delhi witnessed one of its worst mass killings and slaughter. As the invader Nader Shah ordered Qatl-e-Aam, an estimated twenty thousand men, women and children were butchered in a spell of six hours- the single bloodiest massacre in the shortest time in recorded history. In many ways this sacking of the much-venerated capital city represented the demise of the Mughal empire.

And what happened to the magnificent Peacock Throne? Well, it along with other treasures was taken away by Nader Shah and his army as they went back to Iran. The total wealth carried in today’s value terms was a stupendous eleven billion dollars.

The throne then disappeared! It is rumoured of being dismantled and literally destroyed after Nader Shah’s assassination in 1747, most of the gold and precious stones looted. It is also said that parts of the Peacock throne were used in the construction of the Persian emperor’s Sun throne.

Fascinating is it not that the zenith and the demise of the Mughal Empire in India are linked to the Peacock Throne and the date 22nd March.

In Learning………Shakti Ghosal

An encounter with the witnessing tree


The Witnessing tree…..

I saw this tree standing forlornly in one corner of the Red fort complex in Delhi a couple of days back.

I asked, ‘ So, what have you been witness to?’

The tree replied, ‘ I was born to witness the stars above Shahjahanabad.

Diwan-i-Am (Hall of Audience) at the Red Fort in New Delhi, India.

But what I witnessed was the ebb and flow of the history of this land.

Of the ebbing of the Mughals as the blinded emperor Shah Alam II sat forlornly in his ravaged palace……

Of the ebbing of the Marathas after the defeat in the third battle of Panipat…..

The third battle of Panipat…..

Of the ebbing of the Jats in the late eighteenth-century……

Of the ebbing of the British empire with their departure from India in the twentieth century……

Indian Flag on the ramparts of Red Fort….

And with each such ebb, the plunder of this fort’s riches and the conscience of Man.’

India’s 75th year of Independence


‘Came the partition of the country and the independence speech of the first Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru in which he proclaimed, “At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom”.

What followed was something quite the contrary.

Rather than awakening to life, people were awakening to bloodshed, killings, rape and pillage. Rather than awakening to freedom to live where they chose to, people were being forced to leave behind everything they possessed and cross a newly created artificial border, homeless and penniless.‘

The above is an excerpt from Ashtami, one of the stories in ‘The Chronicler of the Hooghly and other stories’ which recently received the Nazm-e-Sahitya award for 2021.

On this day, as we mark the 75th year of India’s independence, the following excerpt from the section ‘Hebrews’ in the New Testament comes to mind.

“So since we stand surrounded by all those who have gone before, an enormous cloud of witnesses, let us drop every extra weight, every sin that clings to us and slackens our pace, and let us run with endurance the long race set before us.

We may feel alone, but we aren’t. We are surrounded by an army of witnesses. They have run the race of faith and finished well. It is now our turn.“

Let us not forget all those who have gone before. Indeed, now it is our turn.

www.shaktighosal.com

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Like a beast awakening…..


Like a beast awakening, the British Howitzers and cannons roared to life. The searing flame moved from right to left as the guns fired in sequence. Ram Prasad saw the charging infantry getting mowed down as he saw the General himself getting hit and toppling from the horse.

“Charge!” Ram Prasad heard his own voice calling. He saw his men as they rose from behind the embankment and moved forward. The unforgiving howl of the British guns erupted again and he saw his brave men falling all around him.

But why was a large part of the Bengal army not moving? He felt a searing pain in the left shoulder and then in the abdomen. Blood erupted from his body, he had been hit. But still, the main flank of the army remained stationary. Indeed, they seemed to be mute spectators of the massacre.

The Battle of Plassey was a decisive victory of the British East India Company over Nawab Siraj Ud Daulah of Bengal on 23 June 1757.The battle took place at Palashi on the banks of the Hooghly River, about 150 kilometres north of Calcutta and south of Murshidabad, then capital of Bengal.The outcome of the battle was to change the history and shape of things to come for ever not only for India, but as some say, for the world, in terms of ascendancy of the British Empire.

The battle of Plassey features in the story ‘The Chronicler of the Hooghly’, part of my forthcoming book of the same name.

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The Black Hole of Calcutta


Fort William on the Hooghly 1757 Artistic depiction

“Jim with a few of his soldiers stood surrounded by a large contingent of the Nawab’s forces. Soon Jemmaatdaars shepherded the Captain Commandant with soldiers and civilians into a small room. This is when the horror began.

Packed like sardines in the room, delirious from lack of air and acrid smoke from the burning godowns filling their lungs, the prisoners started feeling suffocated and begged the guards for water. In their despair, they started offering whatever money they had to the Nawab’s guards outside. “One thousand rupees! Two thousand rupees!”

Though finding it difficult to breathe himself, Jim passed the little water that was brought in to others using his hat. But in the frenzy that ensued with the prisoners struggling to get to the window, most of the water was spilled. Worse, people were getting trampled.

Jim shouted over the ravings and rantings, “Gentlemen, we need to help each other, we need to keep our heads if we are to survive this night”.

He could dimly see a Captain frothing at the mouth and collapsing. Jim himself was losing consciousness from the heat and exhaustion. As he slowly crumpled in a heap on the ground, strangely enough the last image which fluttered across his mind’s eye was the suffused glow of the pearl and emerald necklace he had glimpsed briefly the previous night.”

Snippet: After the fall of East India Company’s Fort William to Nawab Siraj Ud Daulah’s forces on 20th June 1756, the surviving English soldiers, Indian sepoys along with some civilians were rounded and locked up in a small room for the night. Next morning only twenty odd prisoners had survived, the remaining around forty to sixty having perished from exhaustion, suffocation and stampede. The incident came to be known as the Black Hole tragedy of Calcutta and directly led to the British seeking revenge by overthrowing Siraj Ud Daulah as the Nawab of Bengal by defeating him at the Battle of Plassey the following year.

The fall of Fort William and the Black Hole Tragedy feature in the story ‘The Chronicler of the Hooghly’, part of my forthcoming book of the same name.

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