Poet Emperor of the last of the Moghuls

by Farzana Moon

  “I am the devotee of Qutubddin

  And dust at the feet of Fakhrudeen

  A king I may be

  But a lowly servant of Fakhrudeen I seem.”

  An impromptu quatrain escaped Bahadur Shah Zafar’s lips.

  “Profound quatrain, Zil-e-Subhani! You are still mourning the death of Mahbub Ali Khan, it’s obvious.” Ghalib shot an apprehensive glance at Bahadur Shah Zafar. “I can tell since tragedies lure you to the shrines of Sufi poets, seeking inspiration and consolation. Two weeks and two days since Mahbub Ali Khan left this world. Shouldn’t the mourning period be over?”

  “I am in perpetual mourning, my Friend, for countless dead and for the ones wounded and dying!” Bahadur Shah Zafar declared suddenly. “For unspeakable atrocities and massacres by native people against the usurpers. For vile and atrocious acts of the rich and poor whose hatred for white man looms larger than their love for religions.”

  “No time for mourning, O King!” Gulab Shah began impetuously. “We need food and ammunition for the safety of our lives and for the safety of Delhi.”

  “There is no safety for us anymore, anywhere, my Brother.” Bahadur Shah Zafar’s gaze was feverish and searching. “Ceaseless shower of shot and shell have no eyes and know no barriers. I can’t even sit in my favorite garden, or by the pool in Sawan Pavilion, now round shots falling day and night. You say you came here to fight and to drive away the Christians? Can you not do so even so far as to stop this rain of shot and shell falling into our gardens?”

  “We can’t do that, O King, until we re-capture the Ridge.” Gulab Shah glared rudely. “And to do that we need funds, soldiers need to be paid. They can’t fight if they suffer hunger and deprivation.”

  “You will never capture the Ridge!” Bahadur Shah Zafar exploded against one of his rare moods of blistering anger. “All the treasures you looted you expended. The royal treasury is empty. I hear that day by day soldiers are leaving for their homes. I have no hopes of any kind of victory. Tell your men to leave the city, they are harassing my subjects.” His very gaze was spilling fire. “Shah Burj Tower destroyed by a cannonball. Our stable boy killed by another cannonball near Lal Purdah. More cannonballs landing close to the harem apartments in our palace. Our Queen’s maid Chameli killed by one of those cannonballs. So terrified is my Queen that she has left this fort of horrors and has moved into her haveli in Lal Kuan.” Fever had left Bahadur Shah Zafar’s thoughts, his features washed by pallor and anguish.

  “The Queen at least has a safe place to go, O King! But we can’t go anywhere.” Gulab Shah murmured obstinately.

  “Go now, young man, and appeal to Bakht Khan.” Ghalib intervened, noticing the pallor of the king who had closed his eyes. “The King is not well and can’t accept any more petitions.” He watched Gulab Shah stalk out of Diwan-i-Khas and then vented out his own umbrage at the sepoys. “Every worthless fellow puffed up with pride perpetrates what he will, while men of high rank once in the assemblies of music and wine by the hearth, inhaling the fragrance of roses in fire and delighting in all sorts of pleasures under the bright lamps, now lie in dark cells and burn in flames of misery. The jewels of the city’s fair-faced women fill the sacks of vile, dishonored thieves and pilferers. Lovers who never had to face anything more demanding than the perverse fancies of a fair-faced mistress, must suffer now the whims of these scoundrels.”

  “Poets are still thinking about pleasure and no one to write about Delhi falling to ruins.” Bahadur Shah Zafar’s eyes were shot open.

  “Pleasures are forgotten, Zil-e-Subhani, since bombardment from the Ridge twenty days hence, seems like twenty centuries.” Ghalib began with an abrupt animation. “Heavy billows of smoke from the fire-breathing guns and lightning-striking cannons are like dark clouds hanging in the sky and the noise is like a rain of hailstones. Cannon fire is heard all day long as if stones are falling from the sky. In noblemen’s houses there is no oil for the lamps. In total darkness they must wait the flash of lightning to find the glass and jug with which to quench their thirst. Amidst this flood of anarchy, brave men are afraid of their own shadows, and soldiers rule over dervish and king alike.”

  “Atrocities most brutal, every act must find a fit place in our royal records.” Bahadur Shah Zafar’s voice was a tremor of urgency. “Ill luck has invaded me and besieged me. Sleep is gone, comfort is gone. It is definite I shall die soon, may die next morning or evening. Who would write about these tragedies?”

  “May you live and rule to guide us, Zil-e-Subhani. I have already written much what happened in Delhi.” Makhund Lal began humbly. “If anyone present is willing to share authentic episodes from other cities I would be most grateful of the opportunity to put that in writing.” He sat wiping his jade inkpot with utmost attention.

  “Let’s begin then, before we fade into dust.” Bahadur Shah Zafar half commanded, half demurred. “You all may contribute beginning with leaders, or cities, chronologically if possible. Now is a good time, no strategies to plan, no kingdoms to rule. Besides, I have forgotten much and we all need to empathize with the victims while absorbing the shockwave of realization how cruel human beings can be.”

  “I have studied Nana Sahib’s every move, Zil-e-Subhani, and can relate every event best to my knowledge.” Abdur Rahman’s voice shook with deep emotion as if he was suffering the torments of the suffered. “In fact, four days ago June twenty-seven Nana Sahib celebrated his victory over Cawnpore, hosting a grand feast on a plain northeast of Swada House.”

  “The cries of the dead and dying I can hear, though I have not witnessed their sufferings personally.” Bahadur Shah Zafar cupped his ears, his look opiate. “Yes, Abdur Rahman, lend voice to the unspeakable. And Makhund Lal, let not a word escape your pen or memory, in case you have to amend or add more details.” He commanded.

  “Yes, Zil-e-Subhani, I would do my best.” Makhund Lal bowed his head.

  “I would try my best too.” Abdur Rahman began promptly. “For weeks Nana Sahib had been expecting a wave of unrest and anarchy in Cawnpore much like the ones at Meerut, Ferozepur, Aligarh, Etawah, Mainpuri, Roorke, Etah, Naisirabas, Lucknow, Mathura, so that he could capture Cawnpore, though on the surface professing to be friends with the British, especially with General Wheeler and Lieutenant Hilderson. Since early June he had been noticing the sprigs of rebellion with inward gloating. Three Englishmen were murdered by sowars—the Anglo-Indian soldiers during their journey to Fatehgarh. Lieutenant Fayrer was one of them who had dismounted in a village to quench his thirst when he was murdered by a sowar with a single blow at the back of his neck. His companion Lieutenant Barbour tried to flee, but was hacked to death in his saddle. Another victim of sowar’s brutality was Lieutenant Hayes, slashed across the face with an unerring sword. He was unhorsed and died with a heartrending groan, while his companion Lieutenant Carey, fortunately, managed to flee to safety. Meanwhile, General Wheeler hearing of such disturbing news from all quarters and fearing that sepoys and sowars from his regiment too might rise against them, had secured ample provisions in the entrenchment for his British soldiers and their families. Much too soon, General Wheeler’s fears proved true. Teeka Singh’s garrison was in uproar. In fact, they were feeling angry and insulted after discovering that British officers and their families, without even telling them, had moved to entrenchment. A sense of injury and betrayal had settled in when guns were taken from them and British guards were planning to empty the treasury and to mine the Magazine. The final spear of insult came from General Wheeler’s orders that sepoys and sowars come to the entrenchment to collect their pay unarmed and out of uniform. Paradoxically, the first victim of this uproar was a native sepoy of Cawnpore, Major Bhowani Singh, refusing to budge while guarding the treasury for the British. He was knocked down with a sword cut in the back of his head. Mistaking him for dead, the sowars had looted the treasury and had fled, but not before setting fire to the bungalows of the British officers. General Wheeler had then assembled his regimen
t, telling them that anyone not wishing to serve the Government is at liberty to leave. So most of them laid down their arms and left the entrenchment. The same afternoon a bullock cart was found near the entrenchment with Mr. Murphy’s corpse caked with dust and blood. The same day Teeka Singh’s regiment had reached Nawabganj to take possession of the other treasury where Nana Sahib had arrived along with Azimullah Khan. Soon, more disgruntled soldiers from Cawnpore had arrived and Teeka Singh was happy to order the gates of the treasury to be thrown open. He was drunk with success, asking Nana Sahib if he was loyal to the natives or sided with the British. To which Nana Sahib replied: It is perfectly true that apparently I have been the friend of the English and have offered them assistance, but actually I have been long at enmity with them. Satisfied by this response, Teeka Singh had the treasury loaded on to thirty-six elephants and along with the entourage of Nana Sahib had proceeded toward jail to release all the prisoners. They were jolly marauders, making bonfire of Lieutenant Hilderson’s records and setting fire to Magazine and civil establishments. Most of them took the road to Delhi, while Nana Sahib and his men and Teeka Singh and his companions stayed behind to guard the treasure and to complete the destruction of the British bungalows. Remember, Zil-e-Subhani, that sorry rabble as soldiers when they arrived here in Delhi second week of June, clamoring for attention?” He asked as if collecting his thoughts.

  “So many of them everywhere, in my palace gardens, I can’t recall who came from where?” Bahadur Shah Zafar lamented. “Though I do remember receiving reports that Teeka Singh saluted Nana Sahib as his king. And the king appointed Teeka Singh as his subhedar-major and Twala Prasad the brigadier of his army. He appointed Azimullah Khan the collector of revenues and his brother Baba Bhutt treasurer and head magistrate. Then he claimed a bungalow next to the theatre and started shooting commands. His friend Tatya Tope raised a flag near the old Residency in Nawabganj to mark the beginning of Nana Sahib’s rule. Strange, passing strange that I can remember all this, yet daily events of my own palace escape my memory. It’s all coming back to me. Nana Sahib’s inception of savage commands! His late father’s widows were blown to pieces at the mouth of a cannon. Squads of sowars were dispatched to the city to plunder and to execute all the Christians and the natives who were found harboring the Christians. The bungalows of the Europeans were torched. How noble of Nana Sahib to send a letter to General Wheeler that he should expect an attack around ten the next morning?” A ripple of nervous laughter escaped his lips before he continued. “The Church of Christ hit by cannonballs. The Christian families residing at the mission south of Nawabganj herded together and massacred. An Englishman with his wife and child discovered hiding in an abandoned house was brought before Nana Sahib and he ordered them all to be shot. The fate of Nunne Nawab I have forgotten.” He sighed, wiping away the bewildered look in his eyes with a perfumed handkerchief.

  “Sorry, Zil-e-Subhani, I have no information on that.” Abdur Rahman apologized. “All I know is that he was the wealthiest of the rich nobles of Lucknow living at Cawnpore.”

  “I know a little about the fate of Nunne Nawab, Zil-e-Subhani.” Ahmed Beg sought the king’s attention. “One young sepoy from Cawnpore told me what happened. First the homes of Nawab’s brothers were plundered and they were ordered to serve at Nana Sahib’s batteries. Then the back door of Nawab’s palace was blown away by a cannon shot, an unruly mob carrying away his lamps, hangings, paintings and furniture. Discovering an old European and his wife with their two teenage children, the men dragged them in front of the Dak bungalow and killed them. They captured Nunne Nawab and his followers and brought them to Nana Sahib at Duncan’s house. All of them were imprisoned along with the other exiled functionaries from the court of Oudh.”

  “My memory is not completely lost.” Bahadur Shah Zafar’s look was distant and unseeing. “The latest I can recall which might be old by now. A snippet at that I suppose. Nunne Nawab has regained his full authority. He has an army of one thousand Muslim soldiers and a phalanx of coated sowars.”

  “A fact or a rumor, Zil-e-Subhani, but it is believed Nunne Nawab was coerced into alliance with Nana Sahib in exchange for Cawnpore which Nana Sahib promised him, saying that he would give it to him after he returned from his ancestral capital at Poona.” Azad appeared to jog down his own memory lane for the benefit of Makhund Lal. “At the same time when Nunne Nawab was taken into favor, several Europeans were murdered by the orders of Nana Sahib. Heads of the three officers were displayed in the open in front of Rao Sahib’s home in Bithoor.”

  “A brutal king in name alone.” Bahadur Shah Zafar looked at Azad as if commiserating. “You are too young to witness the savagery of the ruling class who have been deprived of authority for so long.” He shifted his gaze to Abdur Rahman. “Continue with the Cawnpore story, it might offer us some clues as to the mindset of the deposed kings and rajas.”

  “Must share this rumor before I continue, Zil-e-Subhani.” Abdur Rahman murmured apologetically. “Nana Sahib is proclaim-ming with the beat of drums that you, Zil-e-Subhani, have conferred titles upon him which the Company had denied him for so long? So he has styled himself as the king of Bithoor and Cawnpore.”

  “False allegations and counterfeit commands, though where such rumors come from I cannot fathom.” Bahadur Shah Zafar waved his arm desperately. “All canards, don’t believe a word.”

  “Yes, Zil-e-Subhani.” Abdur Rahman bowed his head again. “Fatehgarh is the next scene of unrest chronologically. Rebellion started in the prison. A British by the name of Teddy Vibrat was hit by a brick by one convict Burriar Singh. Bloody and wounded, Vibrat had managed to control the rebellion by opening fire on the prisoners. Sixteen prisoners were killed and Burriar Singh was executed. Hearing such reports, four American missionaries with their families and neighbors—fearing mass rebellion, had fled Fatehgarh on a boat under the command of Briely toward Cawnpore, not even knowing that this town was under siege by Nana Sahib. Reaching close to Cawnpore they were confronted by countless sepoys with murderous intent. They had no choice but to throw themselves at the mercy of the sepoys. The sepoys herded them together with a long rope, tied their hands behind their backs and took the prisoners to Nana Sahib. Nana Sahib, some profess, ordered the massacre of all prisoners, yet others say it was Bala Rao or Azimullah Khan. But as the story goes, the prisoners were brought to a ditch guarded by sepoys and sowars. Bala Rao was seen perched on a platform quarter a mile north of Swada House to watch and issue orders. Above the din of missionaries praying and children weeping and men shouting, Bala Rao called out loud. By Nana Sahib’s orders all the Europeans are to be massacred. The soldiers opened fire and it took them two volleys to still but a few prisoners. Then the sowars skidded down the ditch with swords. Murdering all most brutally and children were dragged shrieking from under the corpses of their parents and cut in halves. Later, the massacre at Sati Chowra, Zil-e-Subhani, and how the besieged were tricked into leaving the entrenchment I learnt from Ahmed Beg. If he could tell the rest, it would be more complete and accurate, for I might forget or misquote.”

  “So be it, cruelty has a speech of its own which loses its sting when repeated often.” Bahadur Shah Zafar appeared to be startled out of his nightmarish reality, his gaze falling on Ahmed Beg. “The task of recounting gruesome details is left to you, my good man, so continue the tale of horrors. And how do I know this is a tale of horrors, because I have heard it in my sleep, waking up trembling.”

  “Yes, Zil-e-Subhani, I will try my best.” Ahmed Beg took a deep breath as if preparing himself for a long ordeal. “Almost twenty days of siege and sufferings of the British inside the entrenchment were horrific and maddening. The onslaught of heat, dust and flies. The wounded groaning from the torment of amputations. Pangs of hunger and thirst. Children dying of hunger in the arms of their mothers, or hit by shrapnel. Odor of sweat and the stench of dead bodies in the nearby well piled high. A few cases of dysentery and smallpox were also reported. One Eng
lishman in the entrenchment by the name of Jonah Shepherd got permission from General Wheeler to venture out to ascertain the condition of Nana Sahib’s army, but of course he was captured. The reason Nana Sahib’s troops had not come close to the entrenchment was that they feared it was mined. Jonah Shepherd was questioned about this and he lied most convincingly that the entire area of the entrenchment was mined. So Nana Sahib sent a deputation to General Wheeler, proposing that in exchange of surrendering their guns and armaments they would receive a safe passage to Allahabad. Reluctantly and after much deliberation, General Wheeler agreed. He had secured the promise of boats and provisions from Nana Sahib. That’s where the horror begins.” He took a deep breath. “Horses and elephants were provided for Europeans to ride to Sati Chowra where boats waited for them in their passage to Allahabad. A few wounded were hoisted on palanquins, but there was not enough transport for all. So many of them walked on foot under the scorching glare form the sun. The very first act of cruelty on the land sent a spark of fear into the hearts of the Europeans when sepoys offered to carry a wounded colonel as if to help him, but dropped him on the ground and chopped him to pieces with their sabers, also killing his wife Emma after confiscating her jewels. Down at Sati Chowra with river Ganges at its lowest when the wounded and half starved men, women and children were loaded into the boats and rowed into the middle of the stream, the native boatmen were summoned to receive their pay. So swift was this order and so sudden the commotion that everything seemed to happen in blink of an eye. Boatmen jumped off the boats and made for the shore. A volley of shells was aimed at the boats, cannon fire booming from bank to bank across the Ganges. Boats were aflame and many sank along with their pitiful cargo. Some women and children, their hair ablaze tumbled over the sides of the boats into water. Survivors from the boats were shot mercilessly. Then by the explicit orders of Tatya Tope, sepoys and sowars stormed the shallow waters to finish off the wounded and the stragglers. Blunt swords and awkward blows made many suffer agonies beyond description before they succumbed to death. One reverend by the name of Moncreiff was struck across his neck with a rusted sword. A drummer’s face was cut with a knife and his pregnant wife stabbed in the stomach. Another woman in throes of delivery was struck in the stomach, her newborn child cut to pieces on the spot. Georgiana, a teenage girl’s head was smashed with a club. Two brothers, five and twelve year old were cut down with sabers. Sepoys tore away earrings from the ears of the women and yanked rings off their fingers already dead or dying in bloodied waters. Seventeen men who had escaped slaughter were captured late in the afternoon. They were brought before Nana Sahib at Swada House and by his orders were immediately executed. Sergeant Matthew was killed while trying to escape into the countryside. Lieutenant Saunders was captured while swimming desperately to get away. He was brought before Nana Sahib, but he had concealed a revolver under his shirt and shot five of his captors before aiming a shot at Nana Sahib. He had no chance though, was quickly seized and then nailed to a plank, his hands and feet chopped off before he was hacked to pieces, pulled by horses in opposite direction. General Wheeler and more men with their families were also captured. General Wheeler was to be shot by Nana Sahib’s orders, but sepoys refused to shoot this kind general. Neither would they agree to shoot Captain Currie. Nana Sahib summoned the Oudh irregulars who were ready to obey his orders promptly. With muskets drawn when Oudh irregulars were about to shoot General Wheeler and other officers, all the wives stepped forward to be shot along with their husbands. All those captives were shot and if they were not killed, their heads were severed with swords.”