Guardian of the Dawn, documents the little-known Portuguese Inquisition in India

Richard Zimler's novel, Guardian of the Dawn, documents the little-known Portuguese Inquisition in India, in 16th century Goa. He points out that, apart from their laws and religion, the Portuguese also imported and enforced their infamous methods of interrogation to subdue troublemakers.

Zimler has won numerous awards for his work, including a 1994 US National Endowment of the Arts Fellowship in Fiction and 1998 Herodotus Award for best historical novel. The Last Kabbalist of Lisbon was picked as 1998 Book of the Year by British critics, while Hunting Midnight has been nominated for the 2005 IMPAC Literary Award. Together with Guardian of the Dawn, these novels comprise the 'Sephardic Cycle' -- a group of interrelated but independent novels about different branches of a Portuguese Jewish family.

Intrigued by his novel, as well as his reasons for writing it, Senior Features Editor Lindsay Pereira decided to ask him a few questions.

You were born in New York and went on to study comparative religion. Why the decision to write about the Portuguese inquisition in Goa -- a whole other world?

About 15 years ago, while doing research for my first novel, The Last Kabbalist of Lisbon, I discovered that the Portuguese exported the Inquisition to Goa in the sixteenth century, and that many Indian Hindus were tortured and burnt at the stake for continuing to practice their religion. Muslim Indians were generally murdered right away or made to flee Goan territory.

I couldn't use that information for my novel but decided, a few years later, to do more research into that time of fundamentalist religious persecution. I discovered that historians consider the Goa Inquisition the most merciless and cruel ever developed. It was a machinery of death. A large number of Hindus were first converted and then persecuted from 1560 all the way to 1812!

Over that period of 252 years, any man, woman, or child living in Goa could be arrested and tortured for simply whispering a prayer or keeping a small idol at home. Many Hindus -- and some former Jews, as well -- languished in special Inquisitional prisons, some for four, five, or six years at a time.

I was horrified to learn about this, of course. And I was shocked that my friends in Portugal knew nothing about it. The Portuguese tend to think of Goa as the glorious capital of the spice trade, and they believe -- erroneously -- that people of different ethnic backgrounds lived there in tolerance and tranquillity. They know nothing about the terror that the Portuguese brought to India. They know nothing of how their fundamentalist religious leaders made so many suffer.

What were you trying to do with this cycle of novels? Did you set out, initially, to merely inform your audience about that period in history?

I always set out first to tell a good, captivating story. No reader is interested in a bland historical text. People want to enjoy a novel -- and find beauty, mystery, cruelty, love, tenderness and poetry inside it.

In the case of Guardian of the Dawn, I want readers to feel as if they are living in Goa at that time. I want them to see the cobblestone streets of the city and the masts of ships in the harbour, to smell the coconut oil and spices in the air, to hear calls of flower-sellers in the marketplace. I want them to feel the cold shadow of the Inquisitional palace falling over their lives.

In my cycle of novels, I have written about different branches and generations of the Zarco family, a single Portuguese-Jewish family. These novels are not sequels; they can be read in any order. But I've tried to create a parallel universe in which readers can find subtle connections between the different books and between the different generations.

To me, this is very realistic because we all know, for instance, that there are subtle connections between what our great-grandparents did and what we are doing.

The research involved in Guardian of the Dawn is obviously immense. Could you tell me a little about the kind of preparatory work you had to put in?

To write the book, I tried to read everything I could about daily life on the west coast of India -- more specifically, in and around Goa -- at the end of the sixteenth century. The Internet has made that sort of research much easier than it used to be, and I was able to order books about everything from traditional medical practices -- including recipes for specific ailments -- to animals and plants indigenous to that region.

When I write a novel, I want to get all the details right, so this is very important. Of course, it was also vital for me to know as much as I could about Hinduism and Catholicism. As you mentioned, I studied Comparative Religion at university, so this was pretty easy. One of the main characters in the novel is a Jain, which is a religion I have always been curious about, so I read three or four books about Jainism as well. It was wonderful to be able to learn a bit about Jain belief and practice. Writing is always a great opportunity for me to keep learning.

Tiago Zarco is a character you manage to strongly empathise with. Where did he come from? Was there factual data on someone he was actually based upon?

Yes, he's someone I really like -- and for whom I feel a strong empathy. He's a good man who is changed by his suffering and who decides to take revenge on the people who have hurt him and his family. But I did not base him on a real person. I think, in a way, he was born of my previous two novels, because I tried to make him someone who could fit into the Zarco family and yet be fully developed as an individual. With Tiago, I tried to ask the question -- how far can we bend our own moral code to fight evil?

In other words, can we use deception and even violence to try to destroy a cruel system of fundamentalist religious fervour like the Inquisition?

Re-examining the Inquisition seems apt, more so at a time like this when religious fanaticism is changing the world in ways unknown to us. What do you, as an author, believe we ought to take away from a study of it? I couldn't agree with you more, and that is one of the reasons I wrote Guardian of the Dawn. Put simply, I think we all need to be alert to the intolerance in our societies and in ourselves. We ought to maintain government and religion completely separate -- such a separation is the only guarantee we have of freedom of expression. We ought to learn from the ancient Asian tradition, which is to respect the religious beliefs of others and not impose our own Gods on them.

Did you visit Goa at any point? If not, what did you base your descriptions of the state upon?

No, I decided not to go to Goa, because I didn't want any images from modern Goa to infiltrate into the novel. I didn't want to risk inadvertently putting something from today into it. So I based my descriptions on other areas of the world I've visited that have similar flora and fauna -- Thailand, for instance. Also, I read all I could about the city so that my descriptions of the buildings, for instance, would be accurate. I then used my imagination, which is the most important thing for a writer. I now have a landscape in my head that is Goa -- and the surrounding region -- in 1600. I don't know how it developed. It's almost magical.

Portugal, today, is still a country deeply steeped in a Catholic tradition. Do you think people are aware of the Inquisition and what it meant back then? Would they look at this as a re-opening of old wounds?

No, few people here know anything about the Inquisition. Many of them would rather not examine what their ancestors did, both in Portugal and its colonies. But others are very curious about what they didn't learn in school about their own history. Yes, in a sense I am opening old wounds. But I think it's important to do that. I think that we need to face the bad things we do -- both individually and as a society. In general, the Portuguese have been very receptive to my books.

Guardian of the Dawn has been a Number One bestseller here, for instance. A great many readers tell me I have opened a door to a part of their history they know nothing about. I'm proud of that. And I'm proud of having made it possible for Indians and Jews who were persecuted and imprisoned to 'speak' to modern readers through this novel. I think that's important because I don't want their suffering -- and their heroism -- to be forgotten.

As an author -- more specifically, an author devoted to history -- you have a unique perspective on the past. As a journalist, how important is examining the past to you?

As a journalist, it's important, because I think we can change the world by exposing past injustices. By writing about atrocities, we can change policy and avoid future wars. We can get war criminals punished. We can help people win fundamental human rights. Unfortunately, so much journalism is superficial and stupid that there is little room left for important articles.

Do you plan, in future, to base your work on other periods, or religious themes? Or do you plan to break away from the genre of historical fiction?

I have written a new novel that has just come out in England called The Search for Sana, which is about two women -- one Palestinian, one Israeli -- who grew up in Haifa together in the 1950s. It's about how their friendship is destroyed by political events that lead to tragedy for one of them. I am now working on a novel set in Berlin in the 1930s, in which one of the main characters will be a member of the Zarco family. So this will bring the cycle up to the 20th century. Where I will go from there is anyone's guess

From Encyclopaedia Britannica:

Akbar, greatest of the Mughal emperors of India (reigning 1556–1605), who extended Mughal power over most of the Indian subcontinent. In order to preserve the unity of his empire, Akbar adopted programs that won the loyalty of the non-Muslim populations of his realm. He reformed and strengthened his central administration and also centralized his financial system and reorganized tax collection processes. Although he never renounced Islâm, he took an active interest in other religions, persuading Hindus, Parsis, and Christians, as well as Muslims, to engage in religious discussion before him. Illiterate himself, he encouraged scholars, poets, painters, and musicians, making his court a centre of culture.

Imperial expansion.

Akbar first attacked Mâlwa, a state of strategic and economic importance commanding the route through the Vindhya hills to the Deccan and containing rich agricultural land; it fell to him in 1561.

Toward the zealously independent Hindu Râjputs, a military race inhabiting rugged, hilly Râjasthân, Akbar adopted a policy of conciliation and conquest. Successive Muslim rulers had found the Râjputs dangerous, however weakened by disunity. But in 1562, when Raja Bihârî Mal of Amber (Jaipur), threatened by a succession dispute, offered Akbar his daughter in marriage, Akbar accepted the offer. The Raja acknowledged Akbar's suzerainty, and his sons prospered in Akbar's service. Akbar followed the same feudal policy toward the other Râjput chiefs. They were allowed to hold their ancestral territories, provided that they acknowledged Akbar as emperor, paid tribute, supplied troops when required, and concluded a marriage alliance with him. The emperor's service was also opened to them and their sons, offering rewards both in honour and in money.

Akbar, however, showed no mercy to those who refused to acknowledge his supremacy. When, after protracted fighting in Mewâr, Akbar captured the historic fortress of Chitor in 1568, he massacred its inhabitants. Even though Mewâr did not submit, the fall of Chitor prompted other Râjput rajas to accept Akbar as emperor in 1570 and to conclude marriage alliances with him, although the state of Mârwâr held out until 1583.

One of the notable features of Akbar's government was the extent of Hindu, and particularly Râjput, participation. Râjput princes attained the highest ranks, as generals and as provincial governors, in the Mughal service. Discrimination against non-Muslims was reduced by abolishing the taxation of pilgrims and the tax payable by non-Muslims in lieu of military service. Râjput princes had ruled unhampered in previous centuries, and some Râjputs and many other Hindus had cooperated with previous Muslim governments. Yet Akbar was far more successful than any previous Muslim ruler in winning the cooperation of Hindus at all levels in his administration. The further expansion of his territories gave them fresh opportunities.

In 1573 Akbar conquered Gujarât, an area with many ports that dominated India's trade with western Asia, and then turned east toward Bengal. A rich country with a distinctive culture, Bengal was difficult to rule from Delhi because of its network of rivers, always apt to flood during the monsoon. Its Afghan ruler, declining to follow his father's example and acknowledge Mughal suzerainty, was forced to submit in 1575. When he rebelled and was defeated and killed in 1576, Akbar annexed Bengal.

Toward the end of his reign, Akbar embarked on a fresh round of conquests. Kashmir was subjugated in 1586, Sind in 1591, and Qandahâr in 1595. Mughal troops now moved south of the Vindhya Mountains into the Deccan in peninsular India. By 1601 Khândesh, Berâr, and part of Ahmadnagar were added to Akbar's empire. His last years were troubled by the rebellious behaviour of his son, Prince Salîm, who was eager for power.

Administrative reform.

Previous Indian governments had been weakened by the disintegrating tendencies characteristic of pre-modern states—the tendency of armies to split up into the private forces of individual commanders and the tendency of provincial governors to become hereditary local rulers. Akbar com batted this trend by instituting comprehensive reforms that involved two fundamental changes. First, every officer was, at least in principle, appointed and promoted by the emperor, instead of his immediate superior. Second, the traditional distinction between the nobility of the sword and that of the pen was abolished: civil administrators were assigned military ranks, thus becoming as dependent on the emperor as army officers.

These ranks were systematically graded from commanders of 10 to commanders of 5,000, higher ranks being allotted to Mughal princes. Officers were paid either in cash from the emperor's treasury or, more frequently, by the assignment of lands from which they had to collect the revenue, retaining the amount of their salary and remitting the balance to the treasury. Such lands seem to have been transferred frequently from one officer to another: this increased the officers' dependence on the emperor, but it may also have encouraged them to squeeze as much as they could from the peasants with whom their connection might be transitory. Politically, the greatest merit of the system was that it enabled the emperor to offer attractive careers to the able, ambitious, and influential. In this way, Akbar was able to enlist the loyal services of many Râjput princes.

Akbar's reforms required a centralized financial system, and thus by the side of each provincial governor (sûbadâr, later called nawab) was placed a civil administrator (dîwân ) who supervised revenue collection, prepared accounts, and reported directly to the emperor. As a further safeguard against abuses, Akbar reorganized the existing network of newswriters, whose duty was to send regular reports of important events to the emperor. Akbar also seems to have instituted more efficient revenue assessment and collection in an effort to safeguard the peasants from excessive demands and the state from loss of money. But such efficiency could only have been enforced in the areas directly administered by the central government. This excluded the lands under tributary rulers such as the Râjputs and also the lands assigned for the maintenance of Mughal officers.

Yet, notwithstanding Akbar's reforms, travellers' accounts indicate that the Indian peasants remained impoverished. The official elite, on the other hand, enjoyed great wealth; liberal patronage was given to painters, poets, musicians, and scholars, and luxury industries flourished. Akbar also supported state workshops for the production of high-quality textiles and ornaments.

Personality and assessment.

Akbar maintained a luxurious and brilliant court, at which elaborate ceremonial emphasized his distance from other men, though he was careful to cultivate public opinion outside court circles. Every morning at dawn he stood at an open window to be seen and reverenced by the people. Foreign observers commented on the graceful manner in which he accepted little gifts from the people and showed himself ready to hear the complaint of any man who dared to approach him.

Physically, he was strong and could withstand hardship on campaigns. Although he seems to have been no more than five feet seven inches tall, he impressed observers as a dominating personality. Clearly, although he was illiterate, he had a powerful and original mind. His unprejudiced inquiries into Christian doctrines misled the Jesuit missionaries he invited to his court into thinking that he was on the point of conversion. He persuaded the Muslim theologiansat his court to accept him as arbiter on points of Islâmic law in dispute among them. Although this seems to have been little more than an expression of his systematic approach to problems, the orthodox were offended. He gave further offense by the religious discussions he encouraged between Muslims, Hindus, Parsis, and Christians. These discussions were continued by a small group of courtiers who shared with Akbar a taste for mysticism. Although their doctrines and ceremonies, known as the Divine Faith (Dîn-e Ilâhî), assigned a central place to Akbar himself, it would be an oversimplification to ascribe political motives to these developments.

Begun in 1570 and abandoned in 1586, Akbar's capital of Fatehpur Sîkri, near Delhi, was evidence of the resources he could command. Its combination of Hindu and Muslim architectural styles symbolized the contact of cultures that he encouraged. Similarly, he commissioned the translation of Sanskrit classics into Persian, giving illustrated copies to his courtiers. He also received with enthusiasm the European pictures brought by the Jesuits, and his painters incorporated European techniques of realism and perspective in the distinctive Mughal style (characterized by a vivid treatment of the physical world) that began to develop during his reign. Akbar's reign was an example of the stimulating effects of cultural encounter. It has also often been portrayed as a model for future governments—strong, benevolent, tolerant, and enlightened. Effective government in a country geographically as vast and socially as complex as India demands a wide measure of social support: Akbar understood this need and satisfied it.

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