Trivialising the Sacred

ANIRUDH KANISETTI’S retelling of Chola history, Lords of Earth and Sea: A History of the Chola Empire, claims to offer a fresh perspective for modern readers.However, a close examination reveals a narrative marred by selective citation, sensationalism, ideological projection, and a lack of engagement with primary sources. Rather than illuminating the grandeur and complexity of the Chola empire, Kanisetti’s approach often trivialises, distorts, and diminishes one of India’s greatest dynastic legacies.

One of the gravest issues with Kanisetti’s narrative is the accusation of fratricide against Parantaka Chola I. Citing S Swaminathan’s The Early Cholas, he claims Parantaka murdered his half-brother to seize the throne. Yet Swaminathan’s work merely speculates on a possible succession struggle, without any evidence of murder. Inscriptions from the Chola period, the true arbiters of historical fact, make no reference to any fratricidal act. Further, Padma Kaimal’s research, which Kanisetti selectively ignores, shows Kannara Devan (the alleged victim) surviving into adulthood, even marrying into Parantaka’s family. By twisting academic sources to fabricate a dramatic narrative, Kanisetti misleads readers and does a disservice to historical truth.

Two illustrative examples of selective misquotation and inscriptional errors:

– In discussing the accession of Parantaka Chola I, Kanisetti asserts that Parantaka killed his half-brother to seize power, citing S Swaminathan’s The Early Cholas. However, Swaminathan merely speculates on a possible succession struggle and offers no evidence of fratricide. Kanisetti selectively presents a cautious academic inference as an established fact, ignoring both inscriptional silence and other scholarly contradictions.

– Similarly, Kanisetti misinterprets a Chola inscription (SII Vol 3, No 103) about a village fine and land sale, inflating the fine amount from 3,000 kalanju to 5,000 and falsely linking the fine to a subsequent land transaction. In reality, the two events were unrelated, and the transaction reflects voluntary local governance, not coercive temple land acquisition.

Kanisetti’s flippant reference to temple donors as “Mr Crazy about Holy Stone Temples” reflects a profound misunderstanding of Tamil devotional culture. The title Picchan does not connote madness but denotes deep humility and devotion to Shiva. His trivialisation mocks a profound religious sentiment embedded in Tamil bhakti traditions. Moreover, the specific figure he misrepresents—Sattan Gunabattan— was an agent acting on behalf of Queen Sembiyan Ma Devi, not a self-aggrandising devotee. Inscriptions clearly describe the sacred, communal, and royal contexts of these acts, emphasising humility and devotion over vanity.

Kanisetti’s assertion that Sembiyan Ma Devi was responsible for over 3,000 bronze Natarajas is exaggerated. Primary evidence attributes only one Nataraja at Konerirajapuram directly to her patronage. Art-historical research (for example, Sharada Srinivasan, Padma Kaimal) shows that Chola bronze traditions predate and postdate Sembiyan Ma Devi’s era. Furthermore, his consistent misnaming of her as “Sembiyan Mahadevi” ignores Tamil royal nomenclature and cultural context, betraying a shallow engagement with the sources.

Kanisetti wrongly portrays Chola temples as coercive political tools and nadu assemblies as autonomous bodies resisting royal authority. In reality, temples functioned as dynamic hubs of irrigation, education, social welfare, and religious life. Land gifts to temples were often consensual, legally ratified by village assemblies, and formed part of a vibrant redistributive economy. The depiction of fines leading to forced land sales distorts inscriptional evidence; fines and land transactions were typically separate events, reflecting a complex but stable legal system.

Similarly, the nadu assemblies, while vibrant and partially autonomous, were firmly under royal oversight. Inscriptions from Uttiramerur and elsewhere detail royal audits, fines, and intervention in assembly affairs. Kings ratified assembly decisions, ensured land registration, and maintained administrative control, revealing a sophisticated governance model rather than a fragmented polity.

Kanisetti’s depiction of Chola naval expeditions, especially regarding the Lankan campaigns, downplays the existence of a royal navy, suggesting merchant guilds handled military logistics. His misleading citation of K Indrapala’s research implies that Tamil merchants, not the Chola state, were responsible for overseas campaigns. In reality, inscriptions like the Leiden Grant explicitly mention “kappal padai” (naval forces) crossing the seas under royal command. Merchant activity in Lanka and Southeast Asia flourished after Chola conquests secured stability, not before.

Naval operations in the 10th-11th centuries focused on transporting troops and supplies, not engaging in ship-to-ship battles. The Chola state’s maritime campaigns against Srivijaya, Lanka, and the Maldives were state-sponsored, strategic expansions—a testament to imperial ambition, not merchant improvisation.

Kanisetti’s narrative falsely portrays a radical religious transformation during the Chola period. He claims the Cholas shifted from worshiping fierce goddesses like Korravai to adopting pan-Indian deities like Shiva to align with Vellala gentry preferences. This misrepresents Tamil religious continuity. Sangam literature already glorified Shiva and Murugan, and Tevaram hymns of the 7th century show widespread Shaivism in Tamilakam long before the Chola empire.

Korravai was not subsumed but continued as a vital martial goddess well into the Chola period, celebrated in inscriptions, temple iconography, and royal rituals. Tamil religious culture evolved through syncretism, integrating pan-Indian deities without erasing indigenous traditions.

Similarly, Kanisetti’s vulgar and baseless depiction of Nisumbhasudani— claiming she “crushed demons between her thighs”—has no precedent in Chola iconography or classical Tamil or Sanskrit literature. Traditional depictions show Durga (Nisumbhasudani) as a martial figure wielding weapons atop a lion, emphasising valour, not sensationalist imagery.

Rather than presenting a balanced, historically grounded account of the Chola empire, Kanisetti indulges in selective misrepresentation, exaggeration, and ideological distortion. His narrative trivialises sacred devotion, exaggerates political and economic coercion, and misrepresents Tamil religious continuity. By selectively quoting sources, misplacing citations, and sensationalising historical figures and events, he crafts a narrative that may appeal to modern tastes but does injustice to the true richness of Chola history.

The Chola empire was a sophisticated, administratively complex, culturally vibrant polity that deserves a retelling anchored in evidence, respect, and depth—not one that sacrifices historical accuracy at the altar of drama and ideology. Kanisetti’s approach ultimately diminishes the very legacy he claims to celebrate.

Anirudh KanisettibooksChola Dynastyfacts and mythsIndia history