Olivia

My mother’s love for the epics was passed down to me. Legends; whether it was a kingdom  born from ashes, or mighty warriors donning their best armors blazing through battlefields  launching celestial weapons at each other, divine tales of love contested by the gods, or fire  born princesses and certainly, oracles delivering prophecies. 

The door opened and there was no turning back. 

In Arthur Miller’s essay ‘Tragedy and the Common Man’ he opposes the basic rule of all grand  tragedies advocated by Aristotle. Tragedies should not be reserved for only kings and nobles,  because an ordinary person is equally capable of achieving the tragic stature through his  struggle against an unjust oppressive system. I concur his opinion, but prefer centering my  stories around history and mythology.  

History, inside my head, was only equated to royalty. I sought more than just wars of  independence or boring dates. In my childish naïve fantasy, I lost count how many times I have  just advocated for the monarchy, vaguely unaware of what it meant living under someone else’s  control, power grab across borders and even cultural erasure. 

Most of us use fiction as an escape route. Because I write about royalty, I experience a sense  of liberation. The grinding pressure to meet daily obligations surrounding us is somewhat  subdued. When I write about people who lived five hundred years ago, a fourth wall is  automatically created between me and these stories. It is my sacred place. No gross pettiness or mundanity can reach there. I don’t suggest turning a blind eye to the problems of reality. But,  to me life must be beyond smart phones, rat races or fulfilling society’s checklist. 

It must be grand. At the same time, we can’t break free from the humdrum monotonous routine.  So, while I am being reduced to another nameless entity serving in a corporate office till my  grave, I might as well make out something out of my meagre existence.  

It is not rewarding always. When people ask, “Oh, so you are writing a book? Tell us what the  plot is about?”. I don’t quite manage to. Because while they expect a passionate romance, or a  thrilling murder mystery, I seldom write anything else apart from medieval wars, serf  rebellions, court intricacies, politics within harem walls, military strategies and marriages  sealing pacts. They stifle a yawn, and I can’t blame them.  

Later, I stay up all night curled in my bed, with a steaming mug of coffee, watching  documentaries of Cleopatra, or Katherine of Aragon, or Roxelana. Mythological retellings from  the perspectives of epic heroines- Draupadi, Sita, Helen are a particular delight. Chronicles of  women forgotten in history whether behind the lattice of the Mughal zenana or the Bengali  Andar mahal (innermost quarter of the household) have always fascinated me.  

From the beginning, domestic space was demarcated for women. Their roles were never  acknowledged in the public sphere. It merely extended to become decorative embellishments  in a man’s life. The burden of holding the sanctity and purity of not just their respective  households, but of the entire human race fell upon their shoulders. No access to  institutionalized education, no inheritance to property, no right to lend money, no right to vote, 

no right to divorce, no rights over the children they gave birth to and most of all no right to be  a human. 

Ironically, every culture across the globe has been a proud contributor to this cause. Divided  by religions but united by patriarchy.  

I am tired of male centered narratives.  

In The Mahabharata (400 BCE-400 CE), Draupadi is blamed for the war’s devastation despite  being humiliated and gambled by her husband. The war, waged for bruised egos, was falsely  labeled revenge, and she was scapegoated for the ensuing grief. 

Both The Iliad and The Ramayan depict women’s abduction and consequences. Helen, seduced by Paris, left willingly, while Sita was abducted by Ravana. Sita, though a victim, endured  repeated chastity trials, while Helen is seen as a transgressor. Sita, forced into sacrifice and  abandonment, becomes a goddess through suffering. 

As a feminist, what inspires me to study royal women is the fact that they weaponized and  turned the tools of patriarchy into power. The fundamental definition of a strong woman is  often mistaken. Most story tellers including experienced directors and authors believe the  perfect way to write a powerful female character is to strip them off their femininity.  

Because only masculinity is associated with strength. Such characters are shown hating to dress  up, to think, to feel and discard any traditionally feminine attributes. But women like Nur  Jahan, Razia Sultan, or Cleopatra never gave up their femininity. They adorned themselves  with the finest silks, jewels, and perfumes, embraced their emotions, and wielded considerable  power. They were skilled strategists, shrewd negotiators and strong politicians.  

Women can definitely march to wars. Joan of Arc, Zheng Yi Sao, Queen Nzinga, Rani  Laxmibai or even Mulan! But they can also rule empires from behind gilded curtains.  

The Sultanate of women in the Ottoman Empire, is the biggest example, started by Hurrem  Sultan the first concubine to acquire the status of the legal wife of Suleiman I to the successive  generations ending with Turhan Sultan. These women were kidnapped from their native homes  from other countries like livestock. While other ruling European dynasties still reserved the  title of a queen for the King’s wife, the Ottoman emperors never married. The concubines were  viewed nothing more than sexual symbols and only a member of the dynasty if they bore heirs.  From playing as pawns themselves, to become the master of the game, clashing with rivals to  become the emperor’s favorite and finally surviving politics, they outdid themselves. 

To conclude, why I choose to write historical fiction, particularly focusing on royal women, is  because their stories offer a unique blend of power, resilience, and untold narratives. It’s a  journey of discovery, not just for me as a writer, but hopefully for readers who encounter these  remarkable figures and their forgotten worlds.