The other side of Tipu Sultan:

Rohan: Dadu, everyone in Delhi calls Tipu Sultan a hero. They say he fought the British till his last breath. But you’ve written something completely different. Why?

Ananda Chandra: (smiling faintly) Ah, Rohan… history is like a river. It flows differently depending on who builds the banks. Sit down, my boy. Let me tell you about the other side of Tipu — the side you won’t find in your schoolbooks.

Rohan: I’m listening, Dadu.

Ananda Chandra: When Hyder Ali died, Tipu took the throne of Mysore and made his first declaration: “I will convert every kafir in my kingdom to Islam.” Those were his own words. From that moment, terror began.

Rohan: But are these real records, Dadu? Or British propaganda?

Ananda Chandra: Real, my boy. Very real. There’s an anthology — “Tipu Sultan: Villain or Hero?” published by Voice of India. It contains documents, eyewitness accounts, letters written by Tipu himself. Not gossip — history.

Rohan: (leaning forward) Letters written by Tipu himself?

Ananda Chandra: Yes. For instance — March 22, 1788 — Tipu wrote to one of his officers, Abdul Qadir:

> “Over twelve thousand Hindus, mostly Namboodiri Brahmins, have been converted to Islam. None must be spared.”

Then, in December of the same year, he wrote another letter to his commander in Calicut:

> “Capture all Hindus. Those below twenty must be converted. The rest must be executed. If they accept Islam, release them.”

Rohan: (shocked) He actually wrote that?

Ananda Chandra: (nods slowly) Yes. And these aren’t just letters. Portuguese historian Fra Bartholomew, who witnessed his campaign, wrote in A Voyage to the East Indies:

> “In Calicut, Tipu hanged mothers and children from the same rope. His soldiers trampled men under elephants. He burned temples, palaces, and ancient monuments.”

Rohan: Dadu… that sounds monstrous.

Ananda Chandra: It was. He destroyed over eight thousand temples across Mysore, Kerala, and Tamil Nadu. Two million Hindus — men, women, and children — were converted by force.

Rohan: Two million? That’s hard to even imagine.

Ananda Chandra: The cruelty went beyond numbers. In Melkote, a small village near Bangalore, on a Diwali night — he hanged eight hundred Iyengar Brahmins for refusing to convert. To this day, the villagers of Melkote do not celebrate Diwali. They turn off every lamp and mourn their ancestors in silence.

Rohan: (whispering) I never knew that… no one ever told us.

Ananda Chandra: Of course not. The historians who glorified Tipu never walked through Melkote’s darkness. They never listened to the silence of the temples he burned.

Rohan: But he still fought the British, didn’t he? Doesn’t that make him a patriot?

Ananda Chandra: (leans back) Rohan, fighting the British doesn’t automatically make a man noble. Tipu fought them to save his kingdom — not his people. His wars were political, not patriotic. When he lost the Third Anglo-Mysore War, he even sent his own sons as hostages to the British.

Rohan: I didn’t know that either.

Ananda Chandra: Few do. To gain sympathy, he made small donations to temples like the Sringeri Mutt and Srirangam temple. Some historians later used those acts to call him “secular.” But Hyavadana C. Rao, one of the finest researchers of Mysore’s history, wrote clearly — “Tipu’s charity toward Hindus was political and ostentatious, not born of tolerance.”

Rohan: (thoughtfully) So he wasn’t fighting for India, but for power.

Ananda Chandra: Exactly. Even in his sword was engraved the prayer: “O Lord, grant me strength to destroy all infidels.” Does that sound like a freedom fighter to you?

Rohan: (silent for a moment) Then why, Dadu, do so many still call him a hero?

Ananda Chandra: Because politics needs symbols. Every ideology wants its saints — even if they are made of blood. People forget what really happened; they remember only what suits their belief.

Rohan: (quietly) And you — what do you remember, Dadu?

Ananda Chandra: I remember the old people of Melkote. I went there once, years ago. They told me stories of their ancestors — how children were tied with their mothers and hung together. I remember their eyes when they said, “We still don’t light lamps on Diwali.” That silence told me more truth than any textbook ever could.

Rohan: (after a pause) Dadu, you’ve carried all this for so long. Doesn’t it make you bitter?

Ananda Chandra: No, my boy. Not bitter — awake. History is not about hate; it’s about remembering what really happened. Tipu was brave, yes. But bravery without compassion is not greatness.

Rohan: (softly) You’ve changed everything I thought I knew.

Ananda Chandra: That’s what truth does, Rohan. It doesn’t flatter — it transforms.

Rohan: What should I write, then? My editor wants a story titled “Tipu: The National Hero.”

Ananda Chandra: Write the truth. Tell them he was brave, brilliant, but blinded by fanaticism. Tell them his sword cut not just enemies — but innocents. Let your words be the light that Melkote never lights on Diwali.

Rohan: (looking at his grandfather with deep respect) Dadu… someday, people will thank you for preserving this truth.

Ananda Chandra: (smiling faintly) I don’t need thanks, my boy. I only need one promise — that you’ll never let politics bury history.

(A long silence. The rain continues outside. The lamp flickers softly. Rohan takes one of the old letters from the table and folds it carefully.)

Rohan: I promise, Dadu.

(The scene ends with Rohan looking at the old manuscript, his face half-lit by the fading lamp — between light and shadow, like the truth of history itself.)