Poet Emperor of the last of the Moghuls

by Farzana Moon

  “Ah, wilderness in hearts!” Bahadur Shah Zafar declared poetically. “Every tree in Delhi lopped off. Houses leveled to the ground, or their burnt walls rigged with holes. Ruin and devastation everywhere. Skeletons bleaching under the sun. The smell and—” His thoughts were disrupted by the breezy entrance of Kendal Coghill.

  “Who gave you the permission to come here?” Kendal Coghill demanded of Ghalib.

  “Does anyone need permission to enter a prison voluntarily?” Ghalib quipped.

  “Watch your manners!” Kendal Coghill grunted menacingly. “Are you a Muslim?”

  “Half.” Ghalib muttered laughingly.

  “What does that mean?” Kendal Coghill suppressed an oath under his breath.

  “I drink wine, but I do not eat pork.” Ghalib intoned nonchalantly.

  “Your insolence would cost you your head.” Kendal Coghill couldn’t help but laugh.

  “My head has a price. Severed from its shoulders, it would cost the executioner his own head for killing a famous poet.” Ghalib hissed arrogantly.

  “We have no use for poets in this war of vengeance.” Kendal Coghill waved impatiently. “You better leave and dare not come back. I have my orders to shoot.”

  “It would be difficult to obey such orders since almost everyone has left Delhi.” Ghalib murmured in response, returning his attention to Bahadur Shah Zafar. “Goodbye, Zil-e-Subhani. It’s unlikely that I would ever see you again.” His voice was choked. Noticing that the king had drifted into his own world of half bliss, half oblivion, he plodded out of the room. Painfully aware that for the first time in his life he had neglected his usual curtsy to the king before begging leave.

  Kendal Coghill stood watching the king in contemplative silence. A shadow of annoyance crossing his brow as he shifted his attention to Ghulam Abbas.

  “Make sure, your Ex-king is in a fit state to understand the proceedings of the trial this afternoon.” Kendal Coghill resumed his tone of authority. “Don’t let him relapse into one of those passive moods on the verge of senility.” He stalked out of the room.

  “Zil-e-Subhani, how I am to defend your case?” Ghulam Abbas got to his feet, wringing his hands and expecting no response.

  “Allah’s truth! No defense needed to proclaim one’s innocence!” Bahadur Shah Zafar exclaimed suddenly, his eyes lit up with the awareness of pain and recollection. “Get ready to write down my defense while I dictate.” His voice was strong as if all illness had left him, though he closed his eyes.

  “Yes, Zil-e-Subhani.” Ghulam Abbas claimed his usual seat, retrieving his papers and inkpot.

  “Write every word, Ghulam Abbas, even when I hold you witness in my thoughts for the sake of summoning my clarity of vision.” Bahadur Shah Zafar opened his eyes, a spark of pain and madness returning to his gaze as he began to speak. “You were there when I begged the sepoys to go away. Leave my palace and gardens I told them. I never sanctioned the death of William Fraser or any Britishers for that matter. As regards to the orders given under my seal and under my signature are false accusations. The day sepoys invaded my palace, I became their prisoner. They had my seal impressed on the outside of the empty envelopes unaddressed. There is no knowing what papers they sent in to those or to whom. They used to accuse my servants of sending letters and keeping in league with the English. The officers of the army went even so far as to require that I should make over my queen Zeenat Mahal to them, that they might keep her imprisoned, saying that she maintained friendly relations with the English. All that had been done was done by the sepoys, I was in their power. Disgusted by their actions and by the impoverished state of my life I even told the sepoys that I would don the garb of a mendicant, retire to the shrine of Qutubddin Kaki and then to Mecca. The sepoys utterly lacked all kind of manners, were negligent of conforming even to the simple protocol of etiquette, didn’t even offer the mandatory curtsy and didn’t remove their shoes when entering Diwan-i-Khas. Making use of my name, they murdered English men and women, tyrannized over my servants, plundered and murdered the merchants of Delhi—” His thoughts were disrupted by the arrival of his servant and by a sudden fit of coughing.

  Inuzzur was carrying a tray consisting of poor meal and a jug of water. Ghulam Abbas was quick to hold the water of glass to the lips of Bahadur Shah Zafar as he lay there spent and exhausted. Prince Jawan Bakht had slipped in, watching his father relapse into peaceful slumber. The tray of food lay neglected while the Prince and the lawyer sat whispering as was their wont when the king slept and they had a few moments of venting out their anguished concerns.

  It was late afternoon when Bahadur Shah Zafar was hoisted inside a palanquin and carried toward Red Fort for the last day of his trial. His palanquin was heavily guarded by British soldiers. Accompanying this procession were Prince Jawan Bakht and Ghulam Abbas. Though ill and distraught, Bahadur Shah Zafar was painfully aware that his usual route of journey through underground tunnel from his queen’s haveli was abandoned this afternoon in favor of open roads leading to residential areas and markets.

  Anguished awareness was Bahadur Shah Zafar’s only companion, his gaze barely touching the destruction of the vegetable market. Mounds upon mounds of ruins were coming into view, houses collapsed or burnt walls rigged with grape shot or musket balls. Drifting in and out of fresh shock and rising bewilderment, Bahadur Shah Zafar’s eyes were pouring mists of tears over two large gallows in the Chandni Chowk.

  This devastation equally horrific as at the time of Nadir Shah’s invasion. Bahadur Shah Zafar’s thoughts were fluttering over the ruins like a wounded bird. Aloud his lips were lowering the appeal of an anonymous British poet whose words had reached him like the whiff of cool breeze to extinguish the fire of vengeance.

  “Upon the wretched slave thy vengeance feast

  There stop, let not his guilt thy manhood stain

  But spare the Indian mother and her child.”

  Giddiness and delusion were Bahadur Shah Zafar’s companions now as he became aware of the precincts of Red Fort. His mind’s vision of beauty and splendor of these surroundings was crushed by a sudden realization that nothing seemed familiar anymore, offering not even a hint of former wealth and grandeur. This was not his palace. Where were his beautiful gardens and courtyards? All he could see was ugly barracks teeming with British soldiers.

  Ah, the splendor of Diwan-i-Khas! I am home again. Bahadur Shah Zafar’s thoughts were chirping under the cloud of great delusion.

  Seated couchant against huge cushions on his bamboo bed in white muslin robe, Bahadur Shah Zafar seemed to cherish the familiar grandeur of his Diwan-i-Khas. A Pashmina shawl was draped around his shoulders, his hands clutching the silk scarf which he was reluctant to let go even in his sleep.

  Diwan-i-Khas at least was not despoiled. Engrailed arches over the central chamber appeared to embrace the magnificent floral designs inlaid with jewels. Gilded ceiling and marble pillars were greeting Bahadur Shah Zafar with utter devotion. Upon the Peacock Throne sat Major Harriat the Deputy Judge. Two gilded chairs were placed to his right and two on his left, occupied by Major Palmer, Major Redmond, Major Sawyers and Captain Rothway. The hall was packed, abuzz with cheerful arguments, but suddenly Major Harriat’s voice rose above all, summoning the court to session.

  In a flash Bahadur Shah Zafar was hurled into voids terrible and excruciating. He was transformed from that of an emperor to an abject slave. This was not his home, but his prison. That Peacock Throne upon which he sat and held court was usurped by some man alien and ruthless. This hall where men curtsied and sought his audience was now teeming with men rude and mannerless.

  The trial had begun with all the fanfare of a protocol in the British court, but Bahadur Shah Zafar sat indifferent to the proceedings. Most of the time he was listless and occasionally occupied himself by wrapping the silk scarf around his head and feeling its softness with a dint of pleasure. A spark of awareness or recognition would alight in his dull gaze at some question by the judge or
by some account of a witness, but then he would relapse into lethargic abandon. Many flames of reflections which his unseeing gaze had entertained were lodged in his thoughts like the coals of bewilderment as he sat listening, half dreaming, half absorbing.

  Ghulam Abbas had been called on the witness stand, plied with several questions, but the one registered by Bahadur Shah Zafar was: Were the women and children murdered by the consent of the Prisoner? Ghulam Abbas had replied: I have no further knowledge on the subject beyond what I heard from Ahsanullah Khan who said the king had prohibited the slaughter, but unavailingly.

  Ahsanullah Khan was recalled as a witness with a question. Did the native newspapers urge the necessity of a religious war against the English? Ahsanullah Khan replied: That no such article was printed in any newspaper.

  Witness Jat Mall was questioned. Were any guns fired as a token of joy upon the arrival of rebel troops from Meerut? His response was: No, I heard none.

  Captain Theo Metcalfe was presented as a witness with a question: Short time before the outbreak in May, was there any paper stuck up on the walls of Jami Masjid with a proclamation from the king of Persia? Captain Theo Metcalfe replied: Yes, it was a dirty piece of paper with one naked sword and shield depicted on the right side and the same pair on the left. The proclamation from the king of Persia urging the followers of Prophet Muhammad to join with him in extirpating the English infidel.

  Hasan Askari was brought to the stand and interrogated. Did you ever tell the king that you had a dream about a hurricane from the west coming upon India? Devastating the land, though the king would be lifted above the flood to annihilate the English? Hasan Askeri denied the charge saying: Allah knows I never had such a dream. I have no faith in dreams.

  Chuni Lal is brought to the witness stand: Did you witness any procession made by the king on an elephant of state? Chuni Lal boldly confessed. No, I did not.

  Lieutenant Saunders takes a stand as a witness. Was there any limit to the prisoner’s armed retainers? Lieutenant Saunder’s response: The prisoner requested Lord Aukland to be permitted to entertain as many men in his service as he deemed proper. The Governor General granted him permission that he could entertain as many men as he could pay out of his allotted income.

  Makhund Lal is brought as a witness. Was it generally supposed in the palace that Hasan Askari had great influence over the king? Makhund Lal testifies: Yes, not only in the palace, but throughout the city also. It was generally known that Hasan Askari and Mahbub Ali Khan exercised great influence over the king.

  Captain Martin takes the stand. Did you observe any difference in making complaints about forcible deprivation of their religion between Hindus and Muslims? Captain Martin’s response. Yes, the Muslim sepoys laughed at such an insinuation, but the Hindu sepoys complained in reference to losing caste.

  Witness John Everett. Are you aware whether any persons in the military service of the Company were ever solicited to go over to the king? John Everett replied briefly. Not to my knowledge.

  Bahadur Shah Zafar had grown oblivious to the trial as it dragged on, witnesses appearing and disappearing as phantoms in a play. The insolence of the members of the trial commission and the British witnesses toward Bahadur Shah Zafar was compensated by the profound respect of the native witnesses. Without exception, all of them before taking the witness stand would first approach the king’s bed with hands clasped, bowing reverently and addressing him as the Ruler of the World.

  Ruler of the World, fortunately or unfortunately was neither aware of the devotion of his subjects, nor of the insolence of the invaders. After all the witnesses had testified, Major Harriat had announced that the charges against the prisoner would be read aloud. Major Palmer was appointed to read the charges and he began pontifically.

  “The Prisoner is charged that at various times between the tenth of May to October first of the year eighteen hundred and fifty-seven, he did encourage, aid and abet Bakht Khan and other native commissioned officers of the East India Company’s army in the crimes of mutiny and against the state.” Major Palmer was about to read the second charge when Bahadur Shah Zafar’s eyes were shot open and he sat upright suddenly.

  “Mutiny! Now that’s an interesting word.” Bahadur Shah Zafar exclaimed with unusual fervor. “How can a king mutiny against his own subjects? I am the king, have never been the subject of East India Company. How could I be guilty of anything? East India Company is the guilty party, revolting against a feudal superior to whom it has shown allegiance for nearly a century. The absurdity of this trial. Have you cleared away the skeletons of my subjects littering the streets of Delhi? The domes and minars of the city riddled with shell holes—” He almost collapsed over his pillows exhausted.

  Diwan-i-Khas was swathed in a curtain of sepulchral silence as the members of the trial commission sat there gawking and speechless. Outside the hall some mad poet had begun to chant the familiar refrain written against the British soldiers during the early weeks of rebellion.

  The idiots’ stood gazing while the cities were blazing

  And all they could do was gibber and gape

  A few shots were heard and chants were silenced. Major Palmer had regained his composure and continued dutifully to finish reading the charges against Bahadur Shah Zafar.

  “The Prisoner is charged with encouraging Mirza Mughal his own son and inhabitants of Delhi and of North-West Province of India to rebel and to wage a religious war against the state.” Major Palmer was taken aback as Bahadur Shah Zafar’s eyes were shot open once again.

  “How could a religious war be proclaimed by a Muslim king when majority of his subjects are Hindus and Sikhs?” Bahadur Shah Zafar’s lips were trembling, his eyes now hermetically shut.

  The hall was plunged once again into a vacuum of silence so profound that no one dared breathe. The air itself felt heavy with sadness, yet Major Palmer managed to resume with an air of detachment.

  “The Prisoner being subject of British Government, in Delhi or thereabout, acted false and became a traitor against the State, proclaiming and declaring himself the reigning king and sovereign of India.” Major Palmer paused but briefly before continuing exigently. “The Prisoner is accused of becoming accessory to the murder of forty-nine British men, women and children on the premises of his own palace.”

  Major Palmer finished reading all charges, his expression taut and wearied. The air was charged with sadness once again and Diwan-i-Khas appeared to melt against this pressure of silence. All eyes were turned to Bahadur Shah Zafar whose eyes were open, but he was lost in a world of his own, wrapping the silk scarf over his head in a playful manner, oblivious to his surroundings. Major Harriat cleared his throat before presenting his own closing speech.

  “I have endeavored to point out how intimately the Prisoner as the head of Mohammedan faith in India has been connected with the organization of that conspiracy, either as its leader or its unscrupulous accomplice.” Major Harriat paused, becoming aware of the smoldering gaze of Bahadur Shah Zafar fixed on him. He cleared his throat once again and continued. “After what has been proved in regard to Mohammedan treachery. Is there anyone who hears me today can believe that a deep-planned and well-concerted conspiracy had nothing to do with it? If we now take a retrospective view of the various circumstances which we have been able to elicit during our extended inquiries, we shall see how exclusively Mohammedans are in all the prominent points attached to the case. A Mohammedan priest, with pretended visions and assumed miraculous powers! A Mohammedan king, his dupe and his accomplice. A Mohammedan clandestine embassy to Mohammedan powers of Persia and Turkey. Mohammedan prophecies as to the downfall of our power. Mohammedan rule as the successor to our own. The most cold-blooded murders by Mohammedan assassins. A religious war for Mohammedan ascendancy. A Mohammedan press unscrupulously abetting. And Mohammedan sepoys initiating the mutiny. Hinduism, I may say, is nowhere, either reflected or represented. Also Christianity, when seen in its own pure light, has no terrors for
the natives.”

  Bahadur Shah Zafar dozed off while the judge and the trial commission retired to decide on a verdict. They didn’t have to retire, for the verdict was pre-planned as everyone knew, for soon they returned. The verdict was read by Major Redmond quickly and dispassionately. Bahadur Shah Zafar was unanimously declared guilty of all and every part of the charges prepared against him. He was sentenced to be transported for the remainder of his days, either to one of the Andaman Islands or to such other place as may be selected by the Governor General in Council.

  Bahadur Shah Zafar seemed indifferent to the verdict, lost in his own quiet contemplations. He was still struggling with his scarf playfully as he was being transported into his palanquin. On his way back to the haveli, his mind was playing tricks, juggling his thoughts like cannon balls and being witness to the expulsion of events which had nothing to do with the horrors of the trial or awful sentence.

  He could see the dazzling colors in jewels described to him by Abdur Rahman—the great loot by English Prize Agents. Gold jewelry of exquisite design and precious stones. Rubies, pearls, emeralds and diamonds, some as large as hen’s eggs. Gold chains, necklaces, ornaments and gold bangles piled high in mounds with the glitter of sunshine. The sunshine was whisked away from his thoughts all of a sudden, as he remembered another scene described by Ahmed Beg. Roistering through Nana’s menagerie, British soldiers had carried off two bulldogs, an enormous squirrel and a wandering monkey that later took to leaping from tent pole to tent pole in Cawnpore camp. The squirrel died in Shearer’s keeping and the monkey was dispatched to London Zoo.