The Last Hindu King of Delhi.
For decades, popular culture has shaped historical memory in India, often at the expense of historical accuracy. A striking example of this cinematic distortion is explored in The Last Hindu King of Delhi by Nitish Sharma, a compelling new book on Samrat Hem Chandra Vikramaditya, popularly known as Hemu. The book takes sharp aim at how native rulers have been systematically marginalized or mischaracterized in mainstream media, pointing specifically to filmmaker Ashutosh Gowariker's 2008 magnum opus, Jodhaa Akbar.
To understand the gravity of the film's misrepresentations, The Last Hindu King of Delhi first establishes who Hemu truly was: a towering historical figure who rose from humble beginnings to become the Emperor of Northern India. Hemu was an extraordinarily brilliant military strategist who won twenty-two consecutive battles. In a spectacular blitzkrieg, he defeated and ousted the Mughal forces from strategic strongholds including Agra, Sambhal, and Kalpi. His military campaign culminated in the capture of Delhi after defeating the Mughal governor Tardi Beg Khan in the Battle of Tughlaqabad. Following this triumph, Hemu assumed the ancient title of âVikramaditya', making him the last Hindu King to ascend the throne of Delhi.
Yet, the opening sequence of Jodhaa Akbar transports viewers to the Second Battle of Panipat (1556), with a narrative that The Last Hindu King of Delhi vehemently challenges.
In the film, Hemu is projected as an arrogant, rogue-like figure, a portrayal that stands in stark contrast to his actual legacy as a revered sovereign fighting for his homeland.
The Last Hindu King of Delhi systematically deconstructs these cinematic liberties, noting that the distortions extend across the battlefield. For instance, the film depicts the Mughal commander Bairam Khan fighting aggressively in the thick of battle like a common foot soldier. Historical records suggest a much more strategic, rear-guard positioning for the commander, rendering the film's sequence a mere fragment of cinematic imagination.
The distortion peaks during the climax of the battle. Historically, Hemu was on the verge of a decisive victory at Panipat when a fateful, stray arrow pierced his eye, rendering him unconscious. The sudden loss of their leader caused panic and an eventual, tragic rout of his army.
Yet, Jodhaa Akbar depicts a fully conscious Hemu brought to his knees before a fourteen-year-old Akbar. It is in this high-drama, historically inaccurate setting that Bairam Khan delivers a dialogue that The Last Hindu King of Delhi highlights as deeply problematic:
"Oh Azeem-o-Shaan Shehanshah, aaj pehli baar aap apni shamsheer ko miyaan se bahar saans lene ka mauka dijiye. Iss gaddar, naamuraad ka sarr qalam karke ghazi ke rutbe ko shaan bakshiye."
In the film, this translates into:
"Oh, magnificent and glorious Emperor, today for the first time, allow your sword to feel the air outside its sheath. Behead this treacherous wretch and bestow honor upon the title of a Ghazi."
The author, Nitish Sharma, argues in The Last Hindu King of Delhi that this dialogue represents a profound dishonor to Hemu's memory. The use of the word "gaddar" (traitor) is particularly jarring. The book poses a fundamental question: How can a king who had successfully freed his land from foreign occupation be branded a traitor for defending his own homeland?
Furthermore, The Last Hindu King of Delhi notes that the term "naamuraad" (wretch) used in the dialogue is a direct echo of the derogatory language employed centuries ago by biased Mughal court chroniclers like Abul Fazl and Abdul Qadir Badayuni. By repeating these specific slurs, the book argues, modern cinema simply reinforces medieval court propaganda under the guise of creative liberty.
The volume concludes with a broader critique of the Indian film industry. It asserts that Jodhaa Akbar is not an isolated incident, but rather part of a larger trend where Bollywood has conditioned audiences to view invaders as inherently superior, while native Indian rulers are reduced to arrogant foils. The Last Hindu King of Delhi serves as a call to reclaim the narrative of heroes like Hemu, urging both audiences and filmmakers to look past silver-screen myths and honor the documented truth.
