#672
It was to be a quiet day. Not so, time says.
The past is a puzzle, and the more I read, the more I realize how little we truly know. Recently, I finished The Dawn of Everything by David Graeber and David Wengrow, a book that turned my understanding of human history upside down. It paints a picture of ancient civilizations—7,000 years ago—that were often more orderly, egalitarian, and sophisticated than we’ve been led to believe. From the planned cities of the Indus Valley to the monumental temples of South India like Tanjore, built around 1010 CE, these societies thrived with ingenuity and balance, often without the rigid hierarchies we assume defined “civilization.” Standing in Rome, marveling at the Pantheon (from 125 CE, not 10,000 years ago as I once miscalculated!), I couldn’t help but compare it to the urban brilliance of Mohenjo-Daro, crafted 4,500 years ago. How did such distant cultures, with no apparent means of communication, arrive at similar systems of governance and architecture? It’s a humbling reminder of humanity’s shared creativity.
Yet, this awe comes with a bitter truth: the stories of Asian, African, and Latin American civilizations have been overshadowed. Western powers, rising to dominance through exploration, colonization, and industrial might, rewrote history to suit their narrative. They framed their ascent as inevitable “progress,” sidelining the brilliance of older civilizations. The Indus Valley’s drainage systems, Egypt’s pyramids, or the Great Zimbabwe’s stone palaces were downplayed or erased, their artifacts looted and displayed in Western museums. Colonial powers exploited internal divisions—warring kingdoms in India or rival tribes in Africa—to conquer and control. The printing press, gunpowder, and disease gave them an edge, but their real weapon was storytelling: they controlled the global narrative through education, media, and rewritten histories.
This manipulation wasn’t just accepted; it was enabled by the chaos of the time. Fragmented societies, like post-Mughal India or pre-colonial Africa, couldn’t unite against the onslaught. Priceless records—Mayan codices, African oral traditions—were destroyed, leaving gaps that are hard to fill. Today, there’s a growing push to reclaim these narratives. Scholars and activists are unearthing archaeological evidence, amplifying oral histories, and demanding the return of looted artifacts. But it’s a long road. Internal divisions still linger, and the West’s grip on global media remains tight. As I’ve learned, history doesn’t fill stomachs, but it shapes identity and dignity—fuel for a future where these voices can rise.
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This reflection feels even more poignant as I mourn the loss of Frederick Forsyth, the master storyteller who passed away yesterday, June 9, 2025, at 86. Forsyth’s thrillers, like The Day of the Jackal, The Odessa File, The Dogs of War, and The Fist of God, weren’t just page-turners; they were windows into the murky world of power, deception, and hidden truths. His meticulous research and cold precision, as one fan put it, made his stories feel like “operations on the page.” The Day of the Jackal is a masterpiece of suspense, but for me, The Odessa File—with its hunt for a Nazi war criminal shielded by a shadowy organization—mirrors the struggle to uncover buried histories. The Dogs of War exposes the greed behind colonial exploitation in Africa, echoing how resources like platinum or diamonds fueled Western dominance. And The Fist of God, with its cunning Israeli agent posing as an Iraqi minister, captures the kind of subterfuge that reshaped global narratives during the Gulf War.
Forsyth, a former RAF pilot and journalist who covered the Biafran War, knew how history could be manipulated. His novels, selling over 75 million copies, blended fact and fiction to challenge official stories. In The Odessa File, the pursuit of justice against a Nazi network reflects the fight to restore erased truths. In The Dogs of War, mercenaries topple an African regime for profit, a stark reminder of how colonial powers exploited divisions. Forsyth’s work reminds us that history isn’t just what happened—it’s what we’re told happened.
As I reflect on ancient civilizations and Forsyth’s legacy, I see a common thread: the power of narrative. Whether it’s the West rewriting the past or Forsyth crafting a thriller, stories shape our world. Reclaiming the glory of Asian, African, and Latin American civilizations is a battle worth fighting, but it’s not just about correcting history—it’s about moving forward with pride. Forsyth’s tales of intrigue inspire us to question, dig deeper, and tell our own stories. Here’s to honoring the past and writing a future where every voice is heard.
Karthik
10th June 2025. (Anusham-2025).
9am.
Paramacharya Portrait at Gayathri Niwas,Karaikudi. 42 years completed.
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