An Interview with Genghis Khan

 

Interviewer: Ladies and Gentlemen! Today, we have with us Genghis Khan, the founder of the largest contiguous empire in human history, yet history remembers him as the most ruthless person. But is that true? So, let’s talk to him and see what he has to say about himself. (Turning to Khan), Welcome Mr Khan. Hope this interview will give our readers a chance to know you better and dispel some myths attributed to you.

Genghis Khan: (Adjusts in seat and nods his head) Thank you for inviting me.

 

Interviewer: So, my first question to you is: was your rise as a warrior and conqueror, or as a Khan, predictable? What was the socio-political situation in your region that paved the way for your rise?

Genghis Khan: (Raises an eyebrow) Predictable? No way. If my rise had been predictable, my enemies would have killed me in the cradle. You know, or perhaps you don’t, I was once enslaved by Tayichiud tribe as a boy. If they knew I, Temujin, would one day become a Khan, they would have strangled me. (A smile flickers on his face) Luckily, I escaped and survived.

When I was born in 1162, the Mongols were not a united nation. We were surrounded by powerful empires: the Jin Dynasty to the south in China, the Western Xia to the southwest, and Khwarazmian Empire far to the west. The Mongol tribes were often at war with one another, and the Jin encouraged such rivalries, supporting one tribe over another. Thus, the steppes were a place of chaos. No unified law existed to keep Mongol tribes together. They raided for herds and women. A Khan’s success depended on his military success. Once defeated, he was abandoned. My father was poisoned by Tartars, and our clan abandoned us to starve.

But here is what was predictable – that eventually someone would rise and unite these fractured clans and tribes into a single nation. It was, however, still not predictable that I, Temujin, an orphan boy, would become a Khan. It took me years to identify clan weaknesses, learn tactics to turn enemies into allies, reward loyalty above bloodline, and select persons by merit rather than by birth.

 

Interviewer: History books portray you as a bloodthirsty and ruthless warrior who built towers of human skulls. Is this true?

Genghis Khan: (Frowns and leans forward) Aren’t you judging my past with the moral lens of the present?

 

Interviewer: I am sorry if I hurt you. I am not judging you. That’s what I have been taught in school and college. It would be better if you clarify your position.

Genghis Khan: (Leans back and slightly tilts his head right) I didn’t invent war. I didn’t invent cruelty. (Points finger to the interviewer) Remember, even if I had not been born, wars would have continued. Humans would have continued to shed blood and kill one another ruthlessly. Why blame me alone?

 

Interviewer: But didn’t you erect towers of skulls?

Genghis Khan: Towers of skulls. Yes, such towers existed. I will not deny that I ordered the destruction of cities that resisted me—Merv, Nishapur, Urgench—and that, in some places, mountains of skulls were raised as warnings. Understand this: I spared those who surrendered. Many of the cities that opened their gates became part of my empire without slaughter, their artisans, scholars, and merchants given protection. I gave every city a choice. Submit and live under my protection, or resist and face annihilation. The Persian chronicler Ata-Malik Juvayni, no friend to Mongols, admitted that those who submitted were treated well.

 

Interviewer: But why attack cities and build towers of skulls?

Genghis Khan: (Heaves a deep sigh in disappointment) You are a complete moron and know nothing of a conquest. In the world I ruled, fear was a weapon as sharp as any sword. The steppe taught us that if a neighboring clan raided your herds and you left them alive, they would raid again. Mercy without deterrence was weakness. In war, a single act of terror could save years of fighting. If one city’s fate convinced ten others to surrender without resistance, then the bloodshed, though terrible, was less than a drawn-out war. The skulls were a message: "This is the price of defying the universal Khan." And it worked. (Raises his tone and thumps the table) When word spread that Genghis Khan had erected pyramids of heads, cities would surrender without a fight. How many lives did this save?

Towers of skulls were not my invention. Centuries long before I was born, Assyrians in the Near East perfected displays of brutality. One of the stone inscriptions of the King Ashurnasirpal II reads: “I built a pillar over against his city gate, and I flayed all the chief men who had revolted, and I covered the pillar with their skins. Some I walled up within the pillar; some I impaled upon the pillar on stakes; and others I bound to stakes round about the pillar.” They sometimes stacked severed heads or made pyramids of skulls in front of conquered cities. This was not mindless cruelty—it was a calculated policy to terrify future enemies into submission.

Scythians and Massagetae took heads of foes and displayed them as trophies. My contemporary, Shah Muhammad II of Khwarazmia, displayed similar brutality in Gurganj and Bukhara. After my death, the Mamluks under Sultan Baybars displayed severed heads of Mongol captives in Cairo to show victory over my grandson Hülegü’s forces.

In the medieval world, slow communication meant that reputation was a weapon. If a single act of brutal retribution could frighten ten cities into surrendering without battle, rulers considered it pragmatic. Towers of skulls were a message carved in bone: “This is what awaits those who resist.”

I did not invent the cruelty of war; I mastered the psychology of it.

 

Interviewer: (Shrugs his shoulders) I cannot even imagine such brutality. How can you justify it?

Genghis Khan: Justify? I do not justify - I explain reality. You speak as if I invented cruelty, as if the world was gentle before Temüjin rode from the steppes.

(Leans forward, narrows eyes) Tell me, when Alexander of Macedon razed Thebes and sold 30,000 Greeks into slavery, was this not brutality? When he crucified 2,000 Tyrians and destroyed their city, your scholars call it "strategic necessity." When Caesar slaughtered perhaps a million Gauls and enslaved another million, Rome built monuments to his glory.

The Byzantine Emperor Basil II blinded 15,000 Bulgarian prisoners, leaving one eye to every hundredth man to lead the others home. Even your Christian Crusaders - when they took Jerusalem in 1099, they waded through blood up to their ankles, killing Muslims, Jews, even Eastern Christians.

But somehow, because I am from the steppes, because I am not Greek or Roman or Christian, I am the "barbarian."

And unlike many conquerors, I learned when to stop. Caesar kept conquering until senators stabbed him. Alexander died young, driven mad by ambition. But I? I established laws. I built systems that lasted. The Yuan Dynasty in China ruled for nearly a century after my death. The Golden Horde dominated Russia for 240 years.

Terror was my tool, not my nature. When it served, I used it. When mercy served better, I chose that. Ask the merchants who prospered under Mongol protection. Ask the scholars we patronized, the craftsmen we relocated rather than killed.

The difference between me and other conquerors? I succeeded in creating something lasting. The skulls crumbled to dust. The empire endured.

 

Interviewer: (stares at Khan for a moment, without uttering a word)

Genghis Khan: You have heard of my towers of skulls and the burning of cities. But there is another story—a quieter one—that my enemies rarely told, because it does not fit the image of the “blood-drinking barbarian.” After the flames came the peace. Historians now call it the Pax Mongolica—the Mongol Peace—that stretched across much of Eurasia in the century after I united the steppe.

When I became Khan in 1206, the steppes were a web of feuds. Raiding and retaliation wasted our strength. My dream was not endless slaughter—it was a single law (Yassa) and a single loyalty that could bind tribes and cities alike.

As I told my generals: “A leader can never be happy until his people are happy.”

To keep an empire as vast as mine from tearing itself apart, I needed more than fear. I needed security, prosperity, and predictable order from the Yellow Sea to the Caspian.

Picture this: Before my time, a merchant traveling from Venice to Beijing would face dozens of different rulers, each demanding tribute, each with different laws, different currencies. Bandits on every road. A journey that should take months would take years, if the merchant survived at all.

But under the Pax Mongolica, the same merchant traveled under one law, one protection, one imperial seal - the gerege, our passport system.

The first thing I did after a conquest was to secure its trade routes. In the steppe tradition, merchants had always been at risk from petty raiders. I reversed that. Caravanserais (rest stations) were built along major roads. Special yam relay stations with fresh horses every 25–30 miles allowed messages and goods to travel at unprecedented speed. Armed guards protected caravans, and robbers caught on the road faced execution regardless of their tribal loyalties.

Persian historian Juvayni marveled that under my rule, “A maiden bearing a golden vessel could walk from one end of the empire to the other without fear.”

In contrast to my ruthlessness in war, I gave conquered peoples freedom to worship as they pleased. Buddhists, Muslims, Christians, Taoists—all were exempt from taxation if they served as clergy. I summoned clerics of many faiths to debate at my court, not to destroy each other but to seek truth (and perhaps to test their loyalty to my authority). My general Kitbuqa was a Christian. Many of my daughters-in-law kept their faiths. This was partly policy, partly practicality: a multi-faith empire needed harmony more than uniformity.

With security came flourishing trade. Goods, ideas, and technologies moved freely. From China came silk, porcelain, gunpowder, and paper money. From the Islamic world came glassware, textiles, and medical knowledge. From Europe came silver, wool, and metalwork.

For the first time, a single political authority made it possible to travel from Venice to Beijing without crossing hostile borders. Marco Polo’s journey (1271–1295) was possible because of the Mongol peace my successors maintained.

The same reputation for ruthlessness that emptied cities also kept the roads safe. News of what happened to bandits, rebels, or those who broke oaths spread quickly. People surrendered to me not only because they feared me—but because, once inside my rule, they enjoyed stability unmatched in their lifetimes.

The Franciscan friar Giovanni da Pian del Carpine, who traveled through my empire in the 1240s, wrote: “In all the lands through which we passed we found the greatest safety and security… There is no theft among them, nor robbery; so safe are they that a man may carry a bar of gold on his head without danger.”

Europeans learned algebra from Muslims, received Chinese innovations like gunpowder and printing, encountered new foods, new ideas - all because Mongol peace connected the world. The terror lasted months; the prosperity lasted centuries. The skull towers crumbled. The trade routes endured.

 

 

Interviewer: Wow! I didn’t know this. I begin to sympathize with you…

Genghis Khan: (Interrupts…) I need no sympathies. Just correct your history and perspective.

 

Interviewer: Sure! We would. Now, let’s talk about your conquests. How much credit do your generals deserve for these conquests?

Genghis Khan: (smiles, eyes brighten) I could not be the Khan without my generals. My dream would have died in the dust without them. I was the brain, they were my arms and tools. I must say that I had the best military generals of the time. Generals like Subedei, Jebe, Muqali, Jelme, and others were my strength. Let me tell you something about them.

Subedei was perhaps my greatest strategist. He was an undefeated warrior. He served me for over 20 years. With Jebe, he led the legendary campaign of 1221–1223 that struck deep into the Caucasus and crushed Russian principalities at the Battle of the Kalka River. Later, under my successors, Subedei planned the great western invasion of 1236–1242, defeating Hungary and Poland in the same week.

Subedei could boast, “I have conquered thirty-two nations and won sixty-five pitched battles, yet I have never lost one.”

Jebe was the man who once shot me in battle—yet I spared him and made him my general. His speed, cunning, and endurance were unmatched. In the Khwarazmian campaign, Jebe and Subedei pursued Shah Muhammad II for months across thousands of miles, breaking his forces and scattering his allies. Jebe’s mobility and deep raids terrified enemies who thought themselves safe behind mountains or deserts.

When I left to campaign in Central Asia, Muqali governed much of northern China in my name. He crushed Jin resistance, captured key cities, and administered conquered lands without my direct oversight. Chinese chroniclers respected him for keeping order and minimizing destruction once control was established.

These were not just generals—they were anda (like brothers) from before I became khan. Jelme saved my life more than once; Bo’orchu was with me from the days when I hunted with only one horse to my name. Their loyalty in my early wars against the Tayichi’ud and Kereit tribes was the foundation of my later power.

My sons—Jochi, Chagatai, Ögedei, Tolui—each commanded armies. Tolui in particular was ruthless and effective, as at Nishapur and Merv. While family loyalty was important, I often trusted proven generals over my own blood in critical campaigns. I once told my men, “If my body dies, let my heart live in the hearts of my warriors.”

 

Interviewer: It’s good to hear that you admire your generals and give them due credit.

Genghis Khan: (Smiles) It’s they who made me what the world knows me for. Without them, I might have been a footnote in history books.

 

Interviewer: What was your war strategy? What tactics did you use to win a war?

Genghis Khan: (Smiles) That’s the only good question you have asked so far. Ah, my war strategy… That is the heart of why the Mongols, a people from the windswept steppes, could shatter empires that had stood for centuries.

The art of war is the art of making your enemy fight on your terms, when you choose, where you choose. Everything else is just... details.

I never rode into battle blind. I sent spies far ahead — sometimes years in advance — to map rivers, mountains, defenses, and the politics of enemy lands. We knew who was loyal to the enemy and who hated them, so we could use division to our advantage.

The horse was my true weapon, not the sword. Each warrior kept 3–5 horses, allowing us to ride for days with minimal rest, covering 80–100 km in a single day. A European cavalry moved just 30 km a day. We carried dried meat, fermented mare’s milk (airag), and even drank horse blood in dire times, meaning we never needed supply wagons that slowed us down.

Feigned Retreats were my favorite tactic. We would pretend to flee in panic, drawing the enemy into open ground or breaking their formation. Then we’d turn suddenly, encircle them, and crush them. Many armies — Persians, Rus, Chinese — fell to this trick.

We struck from multiple sides at once. Coordinated units would hit flanks, cut off reinforcements, and surround cities. Even against much larger armies, they would find themselves trapped and unable to escape.

Fear was as useful as arrows. Before attacking, I would often offer surrender. Those who submitted kept their lives and property; those who resisted faced total destruction. Stories of massacres and towers of skulls spread faster than my armies — many cities opened their gates without a fight. We would sometimes spare one man in ten from a defeated city and send them to spread word of what happened to those who resisted. Other times, we would show unexpected mercy to those who submitted quickly. The enemy never knew which Genghis Khan they would face.

Many think steppe warriors cannot take cities — but we learned quickly. I hired Chinese, Khitan, and Persian engineers to build siege towers, catapults, and fire-lances. We blocked rivers to flood cities, used flaming projectiles, and tunneled under walls.

I cared little for noble birth — a herdsman could command a thousand if he proved himself in battle. Orders were obeyed without question. Looting before victory was punished by death.

I built a Yam system — relay stations with fresh horses every 40 km — so messages could travel across my empire in days. This allowed different armies hundreds of kilometers apart to attack as one.

 

Interviewer: Great! Sounds like a great strategy! Let’s move ahead. Your key rival was the Jin Dynasty in China. Why did you attack Khwarazmian Empire, which ruled many parts of today’s Central Asia, Afghanistan, and Iran?

Genghis Khan: Yes, that’s true. The Jin Dynasty was my key enemy. I did not intend to attack Khwarazmia. It’s they who invited my wrath. Around 1218, I sent a large caravan of hundreds of camels and merchants to the Khwarazmian city of Otrar. My intent was simple: to open up the lucrative markets of Persia and beyond. But Inalchuq, the governor of Otrar and uncle to King Shah Ala ad-Din Muhammad II, accused my merchants of being spies. He seized the goods and killed the entire caravan.

I did not leap to war immediately. I sent three envoys (one Mongol, two Muslims) to the Shah, demanding justice. The Shah not only refused but humiliated my ambassadors: the Mongol was executed, and the Muslims were shaved and sent back. That was a grave insult in our world — a slap to my honor, my people, and my authority.

At that moment, I decided: if they will not respect trade, they will respect fear. My war against the Khwarazmian Empire in 1219 was born from revenge, but once begun, it became a calculated campaign of total destruction.

 

Interviewer: Too much for war! Let’s talk about women. How did you treat women? What was their status compared to the medieval world elsewhere?

Genghis Khan: Let’s be clear. I was no feminist. Indeed, no conqueror was, from Rome to Baghdad. Conquest is not courtship. We took women as spoils of war, yes, as did every army elsewhere in the world. But here is the difference: a woman taken by Mongols could rise in status. Some became beloved wives, mothers of princes. Others became valued administrators, teachers of their native customs to their new people.

My wife was kidnapped by our enemies. Though I rescued her, she gave birth to my first child soon afterwards. Some doubted the legitimacy of my child. But I did not. I loved my wife. She remained my Khatun (queen). I trusted her judgement. I believed in her integrity.

Women lived in the Mongol patriarchal structure, but they were more empowered than their counterparts in Europe, China, and the Arab world. As Rashid al-Din (a Persian historian, early 14th century) observed: “Mongol women ride horses, shoot arrows, and manage affairs when men are away.”

My Yassa code punished the kidnapping, rape, or selling of women. This was stricter than in many other medieval states. Widows could remarry, and levirate marriages (a brother marrying the widow of his kin) ensured women were not abandoned without protection or livelihood. Women could inherit property and manage household wealth. Some women became diplomatic envoys and were actively engaged in politics. My granddaughter was a champion wrestler who challenged men and remained undefeated. She refused to marry any man who could not defeat her.

A European chronicler, William of Rubruck (1254) was shocked to see Mongol women publicly commanding servants, riding freely, and even rebuking men — freedoms unimaginable in his medieval Europe.

Ibn Battuta was so horrified by the empowerment of women that he believed the next step would be “strict gender equality.”

But I must say that by modern standards, Mongol women were not equal to men. However, compared to medieval societies, Mongol women were unusually empowered. As your modern anthropologist, Jack Weatherford writes: “Without the leadership of Mongol women, the Mongol Empire could not have functioned, nor endured.”

 

Interviewer: Recently, some writers have labelled you as an eco-friendly person or a green man. What do you think about it?

Genghis Khan: (Raises an eyebrow with curiosity and then chuckles) These are modern terms, and I did not know what they meant in our time.

William Ruddiman and others have argued that the large-scale depopulation caused by my campaigns in parts of China, Central Asia, Persia, and Eastern Europe allowed farmland to revert to forest and grassland. Fewer farmers meant abandoned fields; in China, for example, after the initial wars (1211–1234), large tracts in the north reverted to wild vegetation.  Trees and grasses pulled tens of millions of tons of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. A 2011 study by Julia Pongratz and Ken Caldeira estimated that Mongol-era depopulation may have led to the sequestration of roughly 700 million tons of carbon over a century: a tiny but measurable cooling effect on the climate.

You can say, humans feared me, but nature loved me.

But let me be clear. I was no environmentalist. I did not know what carbon emissions are. I just lived the way nomads did. We lived in close rhythm with the land. Our herds moved seasonally to avoid overgrazing, we valued fresh water sources, and we knew the importance of rotating pastures. The grasslands fed our herds, our herds fed us. Destroy the grass, and you destroy yourself.

I enforced bans on cutting down trees near rivers and streams in certain areas — not for abstract “environmentalism,” but because water and shade were essential for our herds and camps. We people of the steppes lived as one with the land - this was not philosophy, it was survival.

The Yassa (my legal code) also restricted hunting during breeding seasons, a practice aimed at ensuring animal populations remained strong.

But let me speak plainly - if clearing a forest served my empire's needs, I cleared it. If a river needed damming for my armies, I damned it. The difference is we took only what we needed, when we needed it. Waste was not our way.

 

Interviewer: “Genghis Khan fathered half of Asia!” Is this claim true?

Genghis Khan: Your modern scholars are morons. They blame me for anything negative that has happened since my birth. First, environmentalism, and now, genetics. That’s nonsense.

Let me tell you what is true and what is foolish speculation. Yes, I had many wives - this was politics as much as pleasure. Each marriage sealed an alliance, united tribes, brought new peoples into my confederation. Börte was my beloved first wife, but I also wed Merkid princesses, Tangut nobles, daughters of defeated khans.

(Leans back, calculating) And yes, victorious warriors take women - this has been true since the first man picked up a stone. But your scientists, they find some genetic marker they call the "Y-chromosome of the Great Khan" and suddenly every herder from Mongolia to Iran claims descent from me. Foolishness!

(Pounds table with amusement) Here is what they miss: it was not just my sons who spread this bloodline. My brothers, my generals, my clan - we all came from the same tribal stock. Qasar, Qachiun, Temüge - my brothers also had many wives, many children. My trusted generals like Muqali and Bo'orchu, granted high positions and many wives as rewards. We elevated our kinsmen and allies, and they prospered.

But there is a deeper truth here. When we conquered, we didn't just take women - we elevated entire families who served us loyally. A herder who showed courage might be granted noble status, wives, lands. Over generations, these bloodlines spread not because of one man's seed, but because of an entire system that rewarded merit with privilege.

Think of it this way: imagine not just one wolf, but an entire successful pack. The strongest breed more, their offspring survive better, their bloodlines spread. After twenty generations, yes - much of the region might trace back to that original pack.

(Slight smile) Your scientists find the genetic echo of Mongol dominance and call it "Genghis Khan's legacy." Perhaps. But it's more likely the legacy of Mongol organization - we didn't just conquer, we built systems that allowed our people to multiply and prosper.

Though I admit, I did my part in ensuring the continuation of the bloodline. A khan must think of succession, after all.

 

Interviewer: Can I ask you a personal question?

Genghis Khan: All your questions were personal. No? OK. Go ahead.

Interviewer: Historians tell us that your first child was illegitimate. Is this true? How did you accommodate him in your family?

Genghis Khan: Oh! You touched my sensitive nerve. That’s too personal a question. Isn’t it?

 

Interviewer: I am sorry. If you don’t want to answer it, I won’t press further.

Genghis Khan: (Leans back) You are talking about my first son, Jochi. Let me tell you the whole story. When I was still known as Temüjin, around 1186, my young wife Börte was abducted by the Merkit tribe. She was held captive for several months before I, with the help of allies, attacked the Merkits and rescued her. Shortly afterward, Börte gave birth to Jochi. Because of timing, historians speculate that Jochi was not mine. But I loved my wife. I loved my son. I never denied Jochi’s legitimacy. I named him, I raised him, I gave him armies to command and lands to rule. I openly told my tribe, “Jochi is my eldest son. How can I say otherwise? As my son, he will sit at my side.” I treated him as one of my heirs and gave him significant responsibilities, including leadership in the western campaigns.

Judge me by this: I could have cast him out, denied him, made him a slave. Instead, I made him a prince. That is how I "accommodated" him.

 

Interviewer: That shows your humane side. You held an iron sword in your hand, but a soft heart in your chest. But did your other children accept him as a brother?

Genghis Khan: Not all of my sons agreed. Chagatai, my second son, was especially vocal in questioning Jochi’s legitimacy. Their rivalry grew bitter. During succession discussions, Chagatai openly said Jochi was “not truly of our blood.” To prevent civil strife, I declared that Ögedei (my third son) would succeed me as Great Khan. This decision balanced between Chagatai’s hostility and Jochi’s ambiguous position.

 

Interviewer: Historians tell us that you were illiterate. But despite that, you valued literacy. You codified the local traditional law of Yassa, but also welcomed all religions. How could you do that?

Genghis Khan: Yes, I was illiterate, but not ignorant. Don’t confuse the two terms. In my head, I held the genealogies of a hundred tribes, the grazing patterns across the steppe, the strengths and weaknesses of every khan from the Altai to the Aral Sea. I could remember every slight, every alliance, every debt of honor spanning decades.

But I was no fool. I saw the power of writing. The Jin Dynasty controlled millions with written edicts. The Khwarazmshah's bureaucrats moved gold and grain across vast distances with written orders. So I surrounded myself with those who possessed this skill. As I built an empire stretching across deserts, forests, and cities, I realized something: the sword can conquer, but only the pen can govern.

I adopted the Uyghur Script for my language and ordered my scribes to write down my law, Yassa. I ordered them to record all my edicts. I employed Muslim, Chinese, Uyghur, and Persian secretaries to draft treaties, handle taxation, and maintain records.

As regards my religion, I was raised in a shamanistic tradition. Our shamans mediated between humans and the eternal sky (Tengri). From this came my belief: the Eternal Blue Sky (Tengri) chose me, but all peoples pray to Tengri in their own tongues. I exempted clergy of all religions from taxes and corvée labor. Whether Buddhist monks, Christian priests, Muslim imams, or Daoist sages — they could practice freely. Rashid al-Din, Persian vizier, can tell you about me, “He respected all religions and protected them equally.”

That’s all pragmatism. By supporting all religions, I removed a major cause of rebellion. Imagine: if I had elevated only one faith, every other community would hate me. But by offering protection, I turned holy men into allies instead of enemies. Here is my wisdom: A Nestorian Christian soldier fought just as fiercely as a shamanist. A Muslim administrator collected taxes just as efficiently as a Confucian. A Buddhist monk's prayers for the empire's prosperity harmed nothing, even if they helped nothing.

 

Interviewer: Did you convert to any religion?
Genghis Khan: While I did not become Buddhist, Christian, or Muslim, I held that the Eternal Sky gave each people their own way. I once told my grandson, “The ways of Heaven are many, but Heaven is one.”

 

Interviewer: Your attitude towards literacy and religion reminds me of your descendant, Akbar, the Mughal Emperor. What would you say about him, and how would you compare him with yourself?

Genghis Khan: Aah! Jalal-ud-din Muhammad Akbar, Emperor of Hindustan. I never saw his reign, but historians often compare him with me. I, though illiterate, respected scribes and scholars, making writing the backbone of my state. Akbar too could not read or write fluently, yet he surrounded himself with philosophers, poets, Jesuits, Brahmins, and historians. Neither of us wrote books, but we wrote history through vision.

I, a child of the steppe, welcomed Buddhists, Muslims, Christians, Daoists, and shamans. Akbar, a child of Hindustan, created the Sulh-i Kull (“peace with all”), abolished the jizya (tax on non-Muslims), welcomed Hindu Rajputs into his court, and even convened debates in the Ibadat Khana at Fatehpur Sikri, where Muslims, Hindus, Jains, Christians, and Zoroastrians argued theology. Both of us knew that empires crumble if they crush diversity; strength lies in making all faiths safe under one rule.

My Yassa unified nomads and city-dwellers alike under one code. Akbar’s Ain-i Akbari codified administration, taxes, land surveys, and justice in India. Both of us were architects of order, though in different ways.

But let’s be clear. There is one huge difference. I built the empire from scratch, while he inherited the empire and then expanded it. My empire spanned from China to Europe, forged in fire and war.  Akbar expanded mainly within the Indian subcontinent, not to the ends of the known world. His greatness lay not in sheer size but in depth of governance.

 He deserves respect for what he built. If I ever came across Akbar, I would tap his shoulder and say proudly, “You are my true descendant. You are the philosopher king the world needed.”

 

Interviewer: A fitting remark for a fitting descendant! Well, this was a fascinating interview. I would like to thank you very much. I hope your views will help readers look at history from a different perspective. Do you have any last words to say?

Genghis Khan: Yes, I do have something to say. People call me destroyer, scourge, terror of nations. Yet I was also a builder — of laws, of roads, of trade, of peace across lands that had never known unity. My hands wielded the sword, but my vision stitched together the world. I did not write books, but I carved a chapter of history that still echoes in your time. If you judge me, judge not only the blood I spilled, but also the bridges I built. I am Genghis Khan, son of the steppe, father of an empire — and whether in awe or in fear, the world still remembers me.

 

Interviewer: Thank you, Mr Khan… of Khans