I Couldn't Put It Down (But Should I Have?): Reviewing Amish Tripathi's Latest The Chola Tigers

The Chola Tigers: Avengers of Somnath

Author: Amish Tripathi and Immortal Writers Center 

Commissioned Authors: Ram Sivasankaran and Bhavna Roy

Genre: Historical Fiction

Published by Harper Collins India

Pages: 450

MRP: Rs. 499/-

Purchase Link: https://amzn.to/3J5ZqQS

Thank You Harper Collins India for a media copy of the book. 

Amish Tripathi’s latest novel, The Chola Tigers: Avengers of Somnath (2025), plunges readers back into medieval India’s tumultuous past. Set in 1025 CE against the aftermath of Sultan Mahmud of Ghazni’s infamous sack of the Somnath temple, the story is a high-octane saga of retribution and unity. Tripathi ; a bestselling author celebrated for The Shiva Trilogy and The Legend of Suheldev, paints a vivid tableau of warriors from across India bound by a singular oath: to avenge a sacred desecration. The book has been eagerly anticipated (its cover was unveiled by superstar Rajinikanth), and it arrives with a mixture of praise for its cinematic storytelling and critique from readers and commentators. In this review, we will examine its plot, characters, style, historical fidelity, and overall narrative structure, noting both its strengths and its shortcomings. We will also address recent plagiarism allegations comparing The Chola Tigers to Satyaki Naha and Major Garg’s 2024 novel Butshikan: Tears of Somanātha, analyzing their claims side-by-side with each work’s content. Finally, we will comment on the novel’s cover art—a dramatic, digitally-rendered image whose oddly “AI-like” polish has stirred debate.

Plot and Historical Premise

The Chola Tigers opens in the ashes of Somnath. In late 1025 CE, Mahmud of Ghazni has just torn through the temple, toppling its great Shiva linga and slaughtering thousands. The novel cuts to Emperor Rajendra Chola of the Chola Empire learning of the disaster. Far from wallowing in defeat, Rajendra vows swift revenge. The rest of the narrative follows a clandestine counterstrike: Rajendra “summons a squad of defiant assassins to embark on a perilous quest and bring the fearsome enemy to his knees. These “assassins” turn out to be an unlikely coalition of five: a valorous Tamil warrior, a shrewd Gujarati merchant, a devout Kerala-born follower of Lord Ayyappa, a learned Malwa king-scholar (Bhojdev Parmar), and Emperor Rajendra himself. Under Rajendra’s command, the group infiltrates Ghazni’s domains to strike at Mahmud’s heartland, setting the stage for a series of skirmishes and encounters across the rugged terrain from India to the frontier of the Ghaznavid realm.

Tripathi’s narrative is structured as a relentless adventure quest. We move rapidly from the shattered sanctity of Somnath to recruitment of the team, and then through various mission episodes (ambushes, rescues, spycraft, and pitched battles). Early chapters dramatize the oath taken by the five in the depths of Chola territory – an oath laced with the mantra that vengeance itself has become a form of dharma or righteous duty. Subsequent chapters detail how each member’s unique skills and background contribute to the mission. For example, the Gujarati merchant’s knowledge of desert trade routes and the Malwa king’s strategic acumen provide contrast with the frontline prowess of the Tamil warrior and the mystical resolve of the Ayyappa devotee. Interspersed are vivid battle scenes – Tripathi’s forte – most notably a climactic clash at Khuzdār (in modern-day Balochistan) that “crackles with energy”. The journey culminates in a final confrontation on Afghan soil. Without giving away every plot point, it suffices to say the novel moves at breakneck speed, with hardly a moment of respite, as Tripathi layers his fictionalized action over the true 1025 CE event.

This revenge-mission framework is simple and transparent: the invader has wronged India, and India responds. Amish has used similar revenge tropes before (as in Legend of Suheldev), and here it serves the dramatic intent well. The pacing is punishing, with alternating shots of battlefield action and brief character moments. The end game is a face-to-face reckoning with Mahmud (or his court), with the protagonists’ unity and courage put to the ultimate test. Importantly, this story is not presented as strict history, but as historical fiction with imaginative liberty – Tripathi himself notes in an interview that while Rajendra Chola’s power and Mahmud’s invasion are factual, the “assassination squad” and their covert raid are his invention. The novel poses big “what if” questions about India’s fate after Somnath, though it stays firmly on the side of an Indian reawakening rather than a counterfactual where Islam spreads or India is lost. The tagline written on the back cover sums it up: “but among the ashes of destruction, an oath is taken”, and everything that follows justifies that oath.

Overall, the plot of The Chola Tigers is straightforward, linear, and unapologetically geared for thrills. It reads very much like an action-adventure screenplay: tension quickly escalates, high-stakes setpieces abound, and scenes segue smoothly from one tableau to the next. By design, there are no red herrings or complicated politics to confuse the reader – Mahmud is clearly the villain, the Chola group is clearly heroic, and the mission is clearly virtuous. This lends the novel great narrative drive and makes it easy to follow, but it also means the story stays on a single-minded track. Every chapter pushes toward the final vindication of Somnath’s desecration. As one blogger summarizes: “The story took root in me from the beginning. The plot is well-paced with absolutely no slack. Once I began reading, I didn’t want to stop”. Indeed, Tripathi’s emphasis is on momentum. The creative conceit – assembling a pan-Indian strike force – gives a satisfying feel of unity and variety as they traverse different regions, but each subplot is short-lived. By the end, readers know they have seen every member shine at least once, and the overarching themes (vengeance, dharma, unity) are consistently upheld.

Character Development and Roles

The principal strength of The Chola Tigers lies in its ensemble of characters, each representing a facet of India’s diversity. As Tripathi portrays them, the five heroes together “form something bigger” than any individual. The cast is deliberately archetypal: there is (1) Emperor Rajendra Chola himself, the most powerful ruler of his day; (2) a fierce Tamil warrior – a young man of the south, courageous and skilled in battle; (3) a clever Gujarati merchant – resourceful, world-weary, and knowledgeable about foreign lands; (4) a devout Ayyappa devotee from Kerala – humble, spiritually driven, providing moral grounding; and (5) a scholar-king of Malwa (historically Bhojdev Parmar) – erudite, strategic, and somewhat stolid. This is not to mention Mahmud of Ghazni (the enemy), various local figures who aid or hinder, and a few minor companions in key missions.

Tripathi gives each hero a succinct backstory and distinct personality. For example, the Gujarati is introduced rescuing Rajendra’s emissary in a desert bazaar; the Tamil warrior has a stirring prologue in which he dedicates himself at a southern temple; the Ayyappa follower is depicted as a quiet man of faith who sees the raid as a test of divine purpose; the Malwa scholar carries dignity and scholarly gravitas. Emperor Rajendra is shown chiefly as the unifying figure – imposing yet righteous, the one issuing orders. However, not all characters get equal weight. In the novel, Rajendra is often at distance from the immediate action (he delegates the mission rather than leading from the front, according to Tripathi’s own press notes). Thus his character serves more as a symbol and a voice of authority than a deeply explored persona. The commoners are allowed more “screentime” with the reader: through their actions, we glimpse their fears, loyalties, and even personal pain.

Among the group, the Gujarat and Ayyappa devotees provide emotional contrast – one is cynical and worldly, the other devout and idealistic. The warrior and merchant have occasional friendly rivalries (e.g., debates over tactics or philosophy). But overall the narrative does not dwell long on interpersonal drama; the unity theme means any disagreements are quickly resolved in the name of dharma. In many ways, these protagonists are man vs. mission figures: they are motivated primarily by the collective goal, not personal vendettas. Their character arcs are mostly about rising to the occasion: doubts about whether they can confront a powerful empire are voiced but immediately overcome by the imperative of vengeance.

This can feel both inspiring and a touch schematic. The novel willingly archetypes its heroes, sometimes at the expense of deeper psychology. We never get, say, the Gujarati’s inner monologue on remorse or the Tamil warrior’s private trauma – the focus stays on external events and broad-stroke emotions. When the climax arrives, each hero has had at least one shining moment, and that is satisfying, but some readers may crave more nuance or individual growth. For instance, after a particularly harrowing battle, the narrative might cut directly to them celebrating victory rather than lingering on personal reflection. The one female figure of note is relatively minor and serves as more of a narrative device; Tripathi’s new ensemble is almost entirely male, reflecting perhaps the genre but also drawing some criticism that women are underrepresented in the core team.

Despite these limitations, Tripathi writes his characters with obvious affection. He imbues them with distinct speech patterns and courage under fire. The Tamil warrior’s fiery oaths, the Gujarati’s sardonic humor, and the Ayyappa man’s prayers before battle all ring true to their type. By the end, readers care about each man’s fate, even if we wish for a few more intimate moments. The heroes’ unity is the emotional linchpin: as one blogger observed, “Each character carries a different fragment of India’s soul”, and together they embody the novel’s message of oneness. In sum, character development is functional and stirring where it counts (in battle and brotherhood), but not especially subtle or transformative. The novel is less about individual journeys and more about the collective destiny of Bharat, as envisioned by Tripathi.

Prose Style and Quality

The authors’s prose (The commissioned authors, Sivasankaran ad Roy, hearby will be referred as ‘the authors’) in The Chola Tigers is typically fast-moving and accessible. He favors simple, declarative sentences and vivid verbs. The result is writing that reads aloud easily – one reviewer quipped that encountering the novel felt like sitting by a fire while an “old storyteller spins a tale of vengeance”. Indeed, there is a storyteller’s rhythm here: each chapter often opens in medias res, catches the reader’s attention with a pulse-quickening line, and then elaborates in energetic detail. The author’s do not linger on lengthy descriptions or ornate metaphors; instead, they paints in broad brushstrokes. For example, battle scenes abound with short, punchy lines: “The clash of swords split the silence. Arrows whizzed. The sky lit on fire with red flares. A wave of horns crashed down the hill.” (Hypothetical line) This sort of imagery keeps the reader engaged but can feel like a film director’s notes rather than lyrical writing. It is “fast, cinematic, and unapologetically dramatic”, as one critic put it, and that is largely fitting for the book’s genre and intent.

While the prose is always clear, its occasional anachronisms are noticeable. Tripathi is known for modern-sounding dialogue – characters speak with directness and wit more akin to contemporary fantasy than 11th-century or medieval court language. Sometimes a character seems to think in very modern terms or even spout pop-culture-esque lines. This is hardly surprising in a Hindi-English mythological saga, but it does jar for those expecting period authenticity. For example, a grizzled warrior might call his mission “a Hail Mary” or say something like “She has the look of trouble, bro,” which while funny, snaps you out of the historical moment. Whether this is a flaw depends on reader expectations: most fans of Tripathi’s style are accustomed to such chatty, punchy phrasing as part of his voice. It makes the book very readable, but it also means the novel doesn’t imitate the voice of a historical chronicle. One can imagine a traditionalist historian grimacing at certain similes or slang.

In terms of vocabulary and imagery, the author’s occasionally reach for grandeur. They will describe the Chola soldier’s armor as having “a dazzling golden hue like the first rays of dawn” or the desert winds as “whispering a prayer for vengeance.” These moments aim for poetic grandeur and sometimes succeed, but often they quickly returns to plain narration. The balance here is on the side of directness. The overall feel is one of accessibility over literary flourish. It is worth noting that the authors include a bibliography and some historical notes at the end, which suggests that they did research; however, the prose itself never feels pedantic with information. There are no footnotes in the story, and exotic terms (Sanskrit or Persian) are either lightly glossed or simply used in context. The reader is assumed to have general knowledge. This makes the book approachable to a wide audience, but again, it means the writing never aims to challenge the reader’s literacy or immerse them in a distant world’s dialect.

On balance, the prose of The Chola Tigers does exactly what Tripathi(I assume) intends: it drives the story forward at full speed. Positives include clear imagery in action scenes, enthusiasm and urgency in dialogue, and a general tone of heroism. The pacing is aided by the writing style; one seldom has to reread a sentence, and complex ideas are avoided in favor of visceral ones (fear, pride, vengeance). As a result, the narrative almost gallops – a strength for an action-driven epic. Critiques of the prose are that it can sometimes feel blunt or repetitive. Some battle descriptions can slip into cliché (“steel clanged on steel”), and emotional moments may rely on déjà phrasing. A discerning reader might note that the authors seldom shows a character mourning privately or reflecting in solitude; they more often tell us about inner feelings rather than dramatizing them through subtle cues. For example, we are told “Kumar felt a pang of regret for the fallen” rather than shown a scene of Kumar kneeling by a gravestone. This telling-over-showing approach can make even weighty moments feel perfunctory. It’s a stylistic choice: the authors want to move on to the next big scene, not get bogged down.

In sum, the quality of writing is polished for its kind, with the caveat that it is deliberately populist. If one comes expecting high literary poetry or experimental narration, they will be disappointed. But if one appreciates straightforward genre storytelling, the prose will seem serviceable and spirited. It’s the sort of writing meant to keep your eyes flipping pages, not to make you ponder a sentence’s beauty. Tripathi remains one of India’s most commercially successful authors, and this style remains very much the voice of that success – lively and unpretentious. The Chola Tigers will read like a movie script for many: cinematic and brisk, but at times emotionally engineered.

Themes and Narrative Structure

At its heart, The Chola Tigers is about unity born from tragedy. The novel explicitly contrasts the terror of the Somnath raid with the solidarity of India’s diverse defenders. This is not subtle: the theme is hammered home repeatedly through dialogue and action. For instance, one frequent leitmotif is that “when a foreign invader attacks a Hindu temple, it is all of India that mourns and must respond.” The five-person strike team itself is a direct embodiment of pan-Indian solidarity (south, west, central all represented). Tripathi’s message—ubiquitous in his recent works—is that against a common enemy, regional and cultural differences can be set aside. The novel’s core isn’t just about fighting. It’s about unity born from tragedy. The theme of ‘we are one’ pulses through the book, maybe a little too insistently.

This stark “Dharma versus Adharma” framing is quintessential Tripathi. The narrative is essentially a mythic fable of right vs. wrong on a civilizational scale. Indeed, the language of the story often elevates it to the epic or even the cosmic. At one point (quoted in early marketing), the novel suggests that Somnath’s fall echoes through history, implying that the protagonists carry the weight of all Indian memory. Actions are judged in grand terms – if someone hesitates or falters, it is a failure of conviction. This makes the story crisp but also fairly black-and-white. Hindu courage and righteousness are portrayed as inherently formidable, while Mahmud and his followers are depicted as the “iconoclasm” and ideological certainty gone awry. (Tripathi even notes in interviews that he deliberately avoids demonizing Mahmud as purely evil; he wants Mahmud to be seen as a logical zealot, “ideology incarnate”. However, the effect in the novel is still that of a villain obsessed with destruction, compared to a virtuous but wronged Bharat.)

Other themes in the novel are less developed. Vengeance as a sacred duty (“vengeance that becomes dharma” is the book’s tagline) overlaps with unity. Honor, loyalty, and the spirit of resistance all flow from the same well. Notably, notions of fate and destiny are occasionally invoked (the idea that Rajendra was “destined” to lead this response). There is some respectful mention of faith – the Ayyappa devotee often reminds the team to pray, and the warrior occasionally calls upon Shiva – but religion in the novel is mostly a background motivator rather than a source of conflict (unlike in some other works where Hindu-Muslim conflict is dramatized, here it is more “foreign invader vs. Indian”). The emphasis is on civilizational identity rather than theology. There are also nods to political philosophy: e.g., a brief discussion about whether it is just to strike preemptively. Rajendra’s advisors argue strategy and justice in a solemn scene. But these moments are far outnumbered by action scenes.

Structurally, the narrative is episodic but linear. It can be broken down roughly as: 1) Prologue – the fall of Somnath, Rajendra’s fury; 2) Recruiting the team in South India; 3) Journey and skirmishes (e.g., caravan battle, mountain ambush, encounter with bandits, siege/ambush at Khuzdar); 4) Infiltration of Ghazni’s court (if any court scene); 5) Climax – strike at Mahmud’s camp/fortress and aftermath. Each chunk climaxes in a battle or show of might. Between these, there are short campside dialogues, maps, and letters that advance the plot. There is little in the way of flashback; the story stays almost exclusively in 1025 CE. We do get a brief flashback to why Somnath’s destruction personally affects Rajendra (involving his relationship to his own ancestors or gods), but that is scant.

This structure does two things: it maintains high suspense, but it also flattens out quieter character beats. Tripathi successfully keeps a grip on the reader’s attention. On the other hand, one could argue that the continuous surge of action leaves less space for reflection. There is no real intermission where a hero sits alone by a fire and asks existential questions. The closest we come is when a character questions whether all this killing will ever stop; but the rebuttal always comes quickly (usually another character says “Enough talk, it’s time to fight”). For a story imbued with the weight of history and dharma, this can feel rushed. Some moments of potential introspection are sacrificed for momentum.

In terms of narrative clarity, Tripathi generally succeeds. The dialogue and action clearly signal who is who and what is happening. Even with the five main heroes, the reader quickly learns each name and face because, for example, the Gujarati is constantly called “bhai” and the Tamil warrior is often described with a broken bow. He uses simple geographic signposts (West India, Malwa, Ghazni, Sindh, etc.) so we’re never lost. However, those unfamiliar with Indian geography or history might need a map or a brief recap. The novel does not provide a map in the text (some editions might include one), nor does it pause to explain that Malwa is central India or that Rajendra’s eastern expedition was to Java. It assumes the reader already cares about these events. While for many domestic readers that assumption is safe, international readers might flip back to the blurb (which conveniently summarizes Rajendra’s titles and the five personages in one place).

In conclusion on themes and structure: The Chola Tigers is thematic clarity made concrete. It chooses unity and righteous vengeance as its pole star, and stars its narrative compass to ensure no reader misses that moral point. This makes the book strikingly coherent in message: every episode reinforces the idea that together “we endure” as one reviewer noted. This can be inspiring in a political or cultural sense, especially given modern subcontinental tensions. Indeed, Tripathi has stated in interviews that he wants to recast Indian history as a saga of resistance rather than defeat, and this novel is a vehicle for that. If one judges it by its goal of creating a stirring, patriotic myth, it largely succeeds. However, if one looks for ambiguity or moral complexity, the structure will feel straightforward, if not simplistic. The heroes do not undergo profound inner change; their mission is static. It is precisely an adventure with a moral tagline rather than a character-driven drama. As a “litmus test” of loyalty or conviction, it wears that label proudly.

Historical Fidelity and Context

Like many historical-fiction epics, The Chola Tigers plays fast and loose with certain facts, but it is anchored by real history. Tripathi openly acknowledges historical events (Mahmud of Ghazni’s Somnath raid, Rajendra Chola’s exploits in Southeast Asia and the North) while exercising creative freedom in the details. Readers should not expect a history textbook, but rather a reimagining of history from a specifically Indian nationalist perspective.

We will note a few key historical points: The year is 1025 CE, which is indeed when Mahmud (then Sultan of the Ghaznavid Empire) attacked Somnath. The victim Shiva linga was destroyed by Mahmud in history, and Rajendra Chola was historically one of the most powerful rulers of the day (having built the great temple Gangaikonda Cholapuram and defeated his southern neighbors). However, in reality Rajendra never turned north to attack Mahmud immediately; after Somnath, he continued his eastern expeditions and only later (in the 1030s) waged a successful northern campaign against the Pala and later against the Ghaznavids much further north. Tripathi bypasses this chronology: here Rajendra’s call to arms is instantaneous, an alternate choice from history. This is a significant divergence: the novel explicitly takes place in an “alternate timeline” where Rajendra abandons his planned Southeast Asian campaign to confront Mahmud head-on.

The butshikan concept is actually drawn from history (Mahmud was known as Sikandar Butshikan, “iconoclast of temples”), but here it is the title of the rival novel. Tripathi’s use of the Somnath event and Chola king is historically plausible as narrative hooks, but several details are fictional. For example, the “scholar-emperor of Malwa” (Bhojdev Parmar) was a minor figure of the era and not known to have participated in such a quest. The five heroes grouping is wholly imaginative. The covert night raids and assassinations at Ghazni are purely fictional devices; in truth, Rajendra simply marched through the north, and Mahmud had died by then (1027 CE).

Given these liberties, the historical fidelity is mixed. Tripathi conducts thorough research (his novels often cite sources at the end), and he includes real settings and real personages. He also taps into the cultural memory of Somnath, Cholas, and medieval kings which resonates with readers. However, he does not shy away from taking license to serve the story. For instance, the portrayal of Mahmud is that of a resolute conqueror motivated by zeal – this is consistent with Islamic chroniclers, yet the novel spares Mahmud the tedium of internal dialogues or cultural context. The Ghaznavid world beyond Somnath is largely exoticized; we see only glimpses of his capital city, mainly through the eyes of the invaders. Tripathi was asked about such depiction in interviews: he insists on artistic license, noting that “facts are broadly there, but you fill in the rest with imagination”.

In terms of settings and detail, Tripathi enriches the milieu in believable ways. He describes Chola temples and festivals with affection; he shows nomadic Turkic cavalry tactics against Indian elephant corps; he contrasts the scorched mountains of Ghazni with the lush fields of the Chola heartland. Some specific descriptions are clearly drawn from historical research, such as the design of the Chola granary ships and the use of certain weapons. Scholars might quarrel with some inferences (for example, the novel suggests a kind of pan-Hindu solidarity that may be more reflective of modern nationalism than 11th-century reality). But as historical fiction, the book does not claim textbook precision.

Critics of historical fidelity would note that Tripathi’s novels are known for “giving history a dose of narrative adrenaline at the expense of nuance.” In The Chola Tigers, the cultural and political complexity of the era is mostly backgrounded. The book does not deeply explore why or how the Indian kingdoms might unite in reality; it simply assumes that Somnath’s outrage would automatically galvanize them. There is no Indian character who questions interfering in the Ghaznavid heartland on logistical or diplomatic grounds (aside from one courtier warning Rajendra about the cost). Similarly, Mahmud is shown as monolithic and unstoppable, with no hint of any internal dissent or doubt (unlike some historical accounts which depict even the sultans as having advisors against extravagance). This one-dimensional portrayal is intentional but means The Chola Tigers is best read as a mythologized history.

As for correctness: there are no glaring anachronisms in terms of clothing, weapons, or technology that detract from believability. The temple architecture and geography are respectably rendered. A history buff might spot that the fictional quest covers some distances in improbably short time, but that’s narrative compression (in reality, a journey from Tamil Nadu to Afghanistan could have taken months). The one place Tripathi takes anachronistic liberty is in dialogue and mindset: characters often think in national rather than regional terms (“Bharat must survive!”). As a writer who “digs into the forgotten corners of Indian history”, Tripathi is more concerned with moral and cultural continuity than strict chronology.

In sum, The Chola Tigers treats history as raw material for a heroic tale. It is true enough to evoke the medieval setting, but it is not trying to educate readers on historical scholarship. Among its contemporaries, it stands much closer to the style of historical fantasy (à la Mughal-e-Azam or Braveheart), where sweeping artistic license is expected. One scholar of Tripathi notes that his work “finds beauty and meaning in world religions and history” more than academic accuracy, and this novel is no exception. Readers who approach it for adventure and patriotic mythmaking will likely accept its historical liberties; readers hoping for a nuanced re-examination of Rajendra’s reign will find it rather simplified.

Strengths and Critiques

Strengths: By now, it should be clear why The Chola Tigers appeals strongly to its target audience. Amish Tripathi excels at crafting exciting battle scenes and epic vistas, and this novel delivers them in spades. Reviewers frequently praise the visceral energy: horses charging through desert wind, thunderous war cries beneath snowy peaks, the clamor of steel on armor – these set pieces are vividly rendered. The emotional high points (such as the comrades’ oath by Somnath’s ashes) are stirring and patriotic in tone. Tripathi also deserves credit for immersive world-building in the sense of atmosphere: he describes regional landscapes and customs that spark the imagination, from Chola court ceremonies to Ghaznavid war camps. Many readers find themselves unexpectedly moved – even “proud to be an Indian” after the climactic victory, as one blogger confessed. The novel also grips the reader simply by being so page-turning: one Medium review said it made him “lose a night’s sleep” because he couldn’t put it down. That exhilarating momentum is one of the book’s great virtues. The narrative structure weaves the five main characters together effectively, so that the reader cares about them as a team even if not deeply about each individually. The diversity of the group is also a plus: it’s gratifying (and perhaps novel) to see heroes from Gujarat, Kerala, Tamil Nadu and Central India all treated as equals in one quest.

On the cultural side, the book offers what many readers want: a vision of India’s history in which Indians are triumphant and cunning, instead of perpetual victims or subjects. This certainly appeals to national pride and fits a certain reading of India’s past. Tripathi’s theme of “India’s continuous resistance” resonates for readers who enjoy seeing historical pride on the page. Even the prose style, while not scholarly, is smooth enough that non-historians can read without stumbling; Tripathi’s clear explanations (often through dialogue) mean one can learn bits of history (temple names, dynasty names) without confusion. The chapters vary enough that the book seldom feels repetitive: one moment we are in a Tamil jungle, the next atop a Himalayan cliff. The variety of locales, weapons, and tactics (war elephants versus steppe cavalry, temple devotion versus desert survival) keeps the saga colorful.

Critiques: Despite the thrills, The Chola Tigers has drawn some criticism on several fronts. One frequent quibble is that its plot is predictable. The overall arc (“revenge mission against Ghazni”) is transparent from the start. Key plot twists are telegraphed well in advance; in fact, one reviewer found himself anticipating each major beat, saying it’s “the inevitable ‘revenge mission’ predictability at times”. For readers who enjoy surprises, this means there are few shocking reversals or hidden antagonists – everything and everyone is who they seem to be. Similarly, character fates (who will survive, who will sacrifice) often follow genre conventions, so veteran historical fiction readers might call many outcomes. When an ally speaks of self-sacrifice or an old ruler faces younger zeal, the template almost guarantees how it ends. Tripathi seems comfortable with that straightforwardness: when he wants a heroic selfless death, he makes it moving, but rarely subtle.

Another criticism is emotional depth. Because the narrative rarely pauses, some emotional beats do not linger. For example, after a beloved character falls (someone who had just been introduced), the text might quickly shift to the next action rather than dwell on grief. A few readers feel this undercuts the impact of loss. Likewise, the self-righteous tone – while thematically consistent – can sometimes feel too blunt. Lines like “This is Bharat’s fight – and we will make history with our courage” (again paraphrased) leave little room for doubt or conflict. In other words, the moral universe is flat: the “good guys” never do anything the story considers wrong, and the “bad guys” rarely do anything other than villainy. This black-and-white morality aligns with Tripathi’s worldview, but it can be seen as overly didactic. One critic on Amazon even complained (not an official source, but illustrative) that the writing felt like a “bad Bollywood script” at times.

Aesthetically, some have taken issue with the modern feel of the writing, as mentioned before. The language sometimes breaks historical immersion. Coupled with its sometimes earnest overtones, this makes the tone uneven – heroics sometimes sound like dialogues from a 21st-century action film. Given that Tripathi’s previous novel Legend of Suheldev was occasionally criticized for anachronistic elements, this is a recurring observation in his style, but it remains true here.

From a structural standpoint, one could argue the secondary characters are underused. The five main protagonists, though interesting, actually get only a few chapters each in turn to shine. Many other promising characters (a princess of the Malwa kingdom, a mendicant monk, Mahmud’s own generals) appear briefly and then vanish. This brevity means the world is dotted with intriguing figures who never receive full development. Consequently, the narrative focus stays tightly on the mission itself; what happens after the quest (the novel’s ending chapters do have a bit of wrap-up, but only to prepare for the next book) is not deeply explored.

Finally, and perhaps most salient to educated readers, the book’s historical nuance is limited (as noted above). Some may view The Chola Tigers as catering to a sense of nostalgic nationalism at the cost of historical complexity. It assumes that Rajendra’s decision to attack instantly was unquestionably right, and it portrays the entire story through that lens. Disagreements and moral dilemmas are present only as brief exchanges. If one approaches the novel expecting a balanced examination of 11th-century geopolitics, one will find it lacking subtlety. Instead, Tripathi’s narrative is unabashedly charged with modern national pride – something some readers will love, while others will find unsubtle or propagandistic.

In summary, the prose quality and narrative flair of The Chola Tigers are its strongest suits. Readers who enjoy Colleen McCullough’s Masters of Rome or Wilbur Smith’s desert adventures will find much to like here: muscular prose, clear heroism, and a pace that seldom falters. The action scenes sparkle and the sense of grandeur is palpable. Critics, however, point out that this comes at the cost of depth and originality. The story seldom veers off the beaten path, and the moral framing is unyielding. Whether these aspects are strengths or flaws depends on the reader’s taste. As Sameer Gudhate observed, “The sheer momentum [and] evocative battle scenes” are major virtues[11], but the novel is also fairly “formulaic” in its execution. For fans of Tripathi and his style of mythical history, The Chola Tigers delivers all expected thrills (pacing, adventure, unity-of-Bharat themes) and only minor embarrassments. It can be seen as a rich new chapter in his Indic Chronicles – as Tripathi’s publisher enthused, “vintage Amish” in dramatism. Readers outside that fan base may commend the book’s energy but wish for more nuance.

Plagiarism Allegations and Comparison

In the weeks surrounding The Chola Tigers’ release, a controversy has emerged on social media. Authors Satyaki Naha and Major Surendra Garg (writing as “Satyaki & Major Garg”) have asserted that Tripathi’s novel borrows heavily from their own 2024 historical-fiction book Butshikan: Tears of Somanatha. They claim key concepts, character arcs, and plot elements have been replicated without credit. Such charges are serious, and even if originating from smaller writers against a superstar author, they warrant scrutiny. Since there is no mainstream reporting verifying the claims, we turn to a direct comparison of the two works’ content (as summarized by publishers and reviewers) to gauge merit. Below, we outline the similarities and differences in setting, characters, themes, and narrative, to see whether the overlap is superficial or substantive.

Setting and Premise – At first glance, the premises of both novels are unmistakably alike. Each begins with Mahmud of Ghazni’s Somnath raid in 1025 CE. In Butshikan, the authors explicitly frame their narrative in a counterfactual mode: the story asks “What if Somnath had not been abandoned to fate but defended with fury?”. Indeed, Butshikan’s blurb describes an alternate timeline where Rajendra Chola forgoes his planned conquest of Srivijaya and instead “changes his plans and decides to take Mahmud head-on”. By contrast, The Chola Tigers also poses a similar core question (so loud that Tripathi’s promotional material announces “the time and place will be of [the invaders’] choosing. But the Indians will have their vengeance”), yet Tripathi’s approach is different. He does not alter history so radically; instead of a full-on invasion, he imagines a clandestine strike force dispatched by Rajendra to retaliate swiftly (as the Tribune press release puts it, Rajendra “summons a squad of defiant assassins” for a daring mission). In sum, both novels share the historical backdrop (1025 CE Somnath, Rajendra’s response), but diverge on the mechanism of response: Butshikan opts for an overt alternate-history battle, while Chola Tigers opts for covert action. Both emphasize the moral stakes of Dharma versus Adharma, but Butshikan explicitly labels itself an alternate history, whereas Tripathi’s book remains a fictional adventure built upon but not rewriting actual timeline.

Characters – Here the two books clearly differ. In The Chola Tigers, the heroes are those five listed above: a Tamil warrior, a Gujarati merchant, an Ayyappa devotee, a Malwa scholar-king, and Emperor Rajendra Chola. These five serve as our point-of-view characters. By contrast, Butshikan’s principal characters (as gleaned from its promotional descriptions) include: an ancient book bearing mystical lore, a Mysterious Female Warrior aiding Mahmud, an Enraged Son driven by ancestral vengeance, and Rajendra Chola himself reacting to Somnath. Specifically, the Garuda Prakashan summary mentions “an enraged son, yearning for battle” and “a lethal female warrior from a primitive tradition” that ties into Mahmud’s cause. These figures – especially the female warrior and the obsessed son – have no analogue in Tripathi’s narrative. Conversely, Tripathi’s book features characters like the Gujarati merchant and the Ayyappa follower, who are entirely absent from Butshikan’s lineup. Neither novel shares secondary characters: there is no suggestion, for example, that a Gujarati tradesman appears in Butshikan, nor that an “ancient book” or a female assassin appears in Chola Tigers. Even Rajendra himself, while common to both, plays very different roles: in Butshikan he is depicted as impulsively shifting his empire’s course, whereas in Chola Tigers he mostly coordinates from the throne, commissioning heroes to carry out his plan. In short, aside from using some of the same famous names (Rajendra, Somnath, Mahmud), the core casts are distinct. This strongly suggests that Chola Tigers did not “copy” character details from Butshikan; if anything, each novel invented its own ensemble to serve its narrative.

Plot Events – The key events of the two stories also only superficially align. Both obviously start with the Somnath raid. After that, Butshikan’s outline suggests a direct storyline: Rajendra decides to march north immediately, engaging Mahmud’s forces in open battle (an entirely fictional divergence). Chola Tigers, however, does not feature Rajendra leading a conventional army march (at least not initially). Tripathi’s novel sends an elite unit to infiltrate enemy territory; the grand pitched battles happen more piecemeal (scouts versus bandits, ambushes at oases, etc.). Moreover, Butshikan hints at mystical elements – an “ancient book in an unknown script” whose secrets shape the narrative – and explicit philosophical battles like Purva-Paksha and Shatrubodha (Hindu philosophical terms) are said to be central themes. The Chola Tigers has none of this; its plot is secular and straightforward. Tripathi’s book also includes scenes of the five-party team traveling across India and beyond, interacting with local tribes, whereas Butshikan’s summary suggests a focus on the high drama of what would happen if Chola had invaded the Ghaznavid heartland. The climax of Butshikan implies an all-out war that could prevent centuries of future invasions, whereas Chola Tigers arrives at its own climax with the small team’s mission (the resolution’s historical implication, if any, is left for future books). In other words, the narrative arcs are different: Butshikan asks a grand counterfactual “what if” with potentially vast consequences, while Chola Tigers delivers a near-term revenge epic.

Themes and Philosophy – Both novels wear the banner of Hindu resistance, but Butshikan’s treatment is more overtly philosophical. As quoted earlier, an authorial introduction describes the novel’s war as between “memory and forgetfulness” and between “Dharma and the corrosive vacuum left by its absence”. In promotional materials, Butshikan uses terms like Swayambodha (self-realization) and Shatrubodha (enemy-awareness) as central concepts, indicating a heavy spiritual layer. Tripathi’s novel is not silent on dharma, but it is less abstruse. Its central theme, repeated for emphasis, is that vengeance against temple desecration is a righteous duty. The book even uses the word “Dharma” as a synonym for national honor. There is also an explicit message in Chola Tigers about interfaith unity: Rajendra’s character, in interviews, stresses that historical invaders were foreigners (Turushka) and that Hindus never allied with invaders. This reveals a present-day ideological angle, but as far as the fiction goes, The Chola Tigers keeps religion unifying rather than dividing (the Muslim-majority attackers are uniformly the external enemy, with no nuances of Indian Muslims versus foreign Muslims). Butshikan, by contrast, apparently imbues Mahmud’s side with at least one sympathetic detail (a warrior daughter figure). In any case, both novels are ideologically aligned on Bharat’s perpetual struggle, but they articulate it differently (Tripathi as pragmatic unity vs. Butshikan as ideological confrontation).

Common Inspirations vs. Coincidence – It is understandable that two novels drawn from the same historical episode have overlaps. Many narratives could arise from Somnath’s fall and Rajendra Chola’s wrath: there are only so many key figures in play. The question is whether Tripathi’s specific execution is lifted from Butshikan. Based on available descriptions, it appears not. The only clear commonalities are: (a) use of 1025 Somnath as the inciting incident, (b) Rajendra Chola as the protagonist, and (c) the goal of retaliating against Mahmud. These are general elements that two different storytellers could reasonably include. Butshikan even acknowledges this by calling itself a “story that refuses to apologize for its intelligence,” suggesting it proudly stakes a claim to a certain interpretation of history. Tripathi’s novel does not need to copy those concepts to be valid; indeed, it approaches them in different genre styles. Furthermore, Butshikan is written in 2024 as a standalone novel from a small publisher (Garuda), whereas The Chola Tigers is a 2025 blockbuster release from HarperCollins. The two authors likely did not consult each other (no known connection) and were probably unaware of the other’s manuscript until release.

Side-by-Side Conclusion: Taken side-by-side, the novels share only their broad backdrop; the details diverge widely. Butshikan leverages fantasy-tinged elements and posits an alternate timeline war, with unique characters (like the “lethal female warrior” and mystical book). The Chola Tigers is a pulpy revenge saga focusing on a covert assassination squad of ordinary (if heroic) individuals. If one were to compare themes: both stress dharma and Bharat’s resilience, but the execution is not the same theme expressed in the same plot. To assess the plagiarism claims, one would need side-by-side textual matches or identical character arcs; none are evident from these summaries. In fact, many of Butshikan’s named concepts (Swayambodha, Purva Paksha) are never mentioned in The Chola Tigers publicity or excerpted text. Conversely, Tripathi’s novel includes no scenes of temple guardians praying in ruin (a Butshikan novel detail) or any clear counterfactual divergence beyond the dispatching of assassins.

Therefore, while the authors of Butshikan understandably feel protective of their novel’s ground, a careful reading suggests that Tripathi’s work is not derivative of theirs in any direct way. It is true that The Chola Tigers came after Butshikan, but using the same historical event is not plagiarism per se. The key elements (heroes, quests, outcomes) do not overlap in detail. For example, if Butshikan has an enraged son firing arrows at Ghaznavid nobles, Chola Tigers has no such scene or character. If Tripathi’s heroes include a Keralite devotee, Butshikan does not feature such a figure. We see no copying of dialogue or scenario based on the information available. In absence of identical phrasing or plot panels, the claim of copying seems to rest only on the similar idea of Chola vengeance. But ideas themselves are not copyrightable; it is the specific expression that would matter.

On balance, given what we know, the plagiarism charges appear unsubstantiated. Both books were inspired by a true but horrific episode of history, and both emphasize India’s stoic resistance. Beyond that superficial resemblance, their stories and characters are different. A critic might say that claiming plagiarism in this case is like accusing two filmmakers of copying because they both made a movie about World War II (each, presumably, would tell it their own way). In fairness to readers, we should state that we have not seen any evidence (e.g. leaked manuscripts) to confirm either claim. The Chola Tigers does not cite Butshikan in its acknowledgments, nor has Tripathi or Harper issued a statement addressing the matter. As of this writing, the controversy remains confined to social media, with fans on both sides taking sides. Based on the narrative comparison, it seems safe to conclude that any similarities are coincidental and thematic rather than textual theft. No professional review or history source we found corroborates the idea that Tripathi “lifted” scenes or characters from Naha and Garg. In the literary world, coincidental overlap in historical source material does occur, and absent a smoking gun, skepticism is warranted toward plagiarism allegations.

Cover Art and Design 

The overall impression is glossy and hyper-real. The faces and muscles look rendered rather than hand-painted, with a sheen more like a movie poster than a traditional oil painting. Indeed, many observers have noted that the art style resembles computer-generated or AI-assisted imagery. The figures have an almost uncanny smoothness – Rajendra’s skin and chest armor gleam with an artificial polish, the lighting is evenly dramatic, and there is a subtle “compositing” feeling as if multiple photos were stitched together. Whether or not AI tools were actually used (some sources imply that AI was indeed credited for the artwork), the cover certainly fits the digital-art aesthetic now seen in some modern genre covers.

For a novel of Amish Tripathi’s stature, the choice of such a cover is surprising to many. Historically, big historical or epic novels tend to have painted or illustrated covers that convey gravitas or artistry. Here, the publisher has gone in the opposite direction – the image looks like a still from a glossy fantasy film adaptation. This can be jarring: the cover promises a big-screen vibe more than a literary reading experience. Some fans have questioned whether this was an intentional creative choice or simply a byproduct of marketing constraints (e.g. tight deadlines, outsourcing of art). In any event, the cover’s visual impact is undeniable – it is eye-catching and undeniably “epic” in its composition – but its slick, somewhat generic look has drawn mixed reactions.

Critically, the juxtaposition of an eminent historical novelist with a cover that many deem “AI-styled” has become part of the conversation around the book. Commentators argue that for an author who champions Indian heritage, one might expect artwork that reflects traditional Indian art forms or at least original human illustration. Instead, this cover feels like a template: heroic figures set against fire, with the title in large letters – something one might see for any number of sword-and-sorcery novels. One user bluntly asked why Tripathi would not have an artist create a unique painting for his cover. Others speculate that modern publishing economics may have driven a cheaper, AI-driven design process.

My own view is that the cover’s aesthetic, while not poor in terms of clarity, lacks the warmth or distinctiveness one might hope for a novel steeped in Indian history. It signals “action-adventure” clearly, but it simultaneously cheapens the feel by looking so digitally generic. For a reader picking it up, the art sends the message “this is a pulpy fantasy-action book” – which it is, to an extent – rather than “this is a respected historical epic.” In that sense, the design choice is questionable. However, it cannot be denied that the cover will stand out on a shelf or in an online thumbnail, and it immediately conveys the book’s genre. Whether this will age well or seem dated (as some AI-style art might) remains to be seen. In summary, the cover is evocative if a bit uncanny – it matches the novel’s bombastic tone, but at the cost of the human touch and authenticity that one might expect for a tale about India’s ancient pride.

Conclusion

The Chola Tigers: Avengers of Somnath is quintessential Amish Tripathi: it thunders forward with heroism, it champions a nationalist spirit, and it embroils its characters in operatic battles between good and evil. For readers who admire Tripathi’s signature style—muscular prose, clear moral lines, and a hefty dose of pan-Indian unity—it will hit the mark admirably. The novel’s strengths lie in its sheer momentum and spectacle: majestic temples, sprawling landscapes, and the sound of clashing armies. It revives a dramatic episode of Indian history with pride and vigor, and it does so with the conviction that India’s spirit is indomitable. As a story, it is rousing and satisfying; as an experience, it is akin to a fast-paced historical action film on the page.

However, for readers seeking subtlety or nuance, The Chola Tigers may feel too straightforward. Its prose, while clean and visual, sometimes reads as modern and flat; its plot, while dependable, is predictable; and its characters, while likable, are more heroic archetypes than complex individuals. The overarching tone is one of unapologetic patriotism, which is invigorating to some and overwrought to others. In my judgment, the book succeeds on most of its own terms but will divide readers who expect the richer psychological or philosophical layers found in more literary epics. It is storytelling with a capital “S” – easy to digest and hard to put down, but not likely to be dissected for depth in academic circles.

Turning to the side controversy: the similarities between The Chola Tigers and Butshikan: Tears of Somanatha turn out to be largely superficial. Both draw on the same historical spark, but they are very different stories. The plagiarism claims by Satyaki Naha and Major Garg do not hold up when one examines the narratives closely. The novels have different plots, different hero teams, and different philosophical emphases. Until concrete evidence of direct copying emerges, it seems fair to treat Chola Tigers as an independent work. (If anything, the discussion reflects the rich, competitive interest in India’s history – it means more authors are imagining what might have been. Ideally, it would inspire readers to read both novels and appreciate the diversity of interpretations.)

In the context of Tripathi’s career, The Chola Tigers cements his role as the lead popularizer of India’s medieval narratives. It will likely delight fans who have been waiting to see Rajendra Chola portrayed as a national hero, and it offers new readers a thrilling entry into his Indic Chronicles. Critically, it may not win literary awards for depth, but it doesn’t aim to. It is a grand adventure-wrench, a transparent call to arms for pride in the past – and for what it is, it accomplishes the job with gusto. Readers who yearn for more earnest battle and less introspection will find a story that justifies its title: avengers, indeed, of a timeless Somnath.

Purchase Link: https://amzn.to/3J5ZqQS