The announcement is received with a general outcry. Although the news has been awaited for a long time—Lord Dalhousie has never hidden his desire to offer the Crown this new jewel, the richest state in north India—everyone is surprised at the manner in which this is to be carried out. To annexe the state while they are still bound to the sovereigns of Awadh by numerous treaties, while the rulers of Awadh have always been loyal allies and, in difficult times, have even lent the Company considerable sums, showing good taste never to demand repayment. How could this act possibly be justified before the Indian community?
“Come, gentlemen, it is our moral duty to take control of this state! The natives will thank us for freeing them from this libertine!” exclaims Colonel Outram, indignant at his compatriots’ unexpected reluctance. “For almost ten years we have been asking the king to carry out reforms, and instead of complying, he continues to sing and dance!”
“It is just the manner in which this whole thing is being handled, sir, that may pose a problem. We all agree in substance: Wajid Ali Shah is totally unfit to govern.”
“Let us rather say that we have done our utmost to prevent him from governing,” intervenes Colonel Simpson, a white-haired gentleman.
And, unmoved by the reproving outcries, he proceeds.
“I have lived here for twenty-five years, much longer than all of you put together! I collaborated with Major Bird and Colonel Richmond, the resident of Awadh during the first two years of Wajid Ali Shah’s reign. I can testify that as soon as he came to power, the king tried to reform the army and the administration, particularly the legal system, but Colonel Richmond vetoed it. The king then declared himself ready to follow our instructions. In fact, within eight months, advised by the resident and Major Bird, his prime minister had drawn up a far-reaching reform plan that was to be tested in one part of the territory. The king was going to sign it when Colonel Richmond decided to obtain prior approval from Lord Dalhousie, the Governor General in Calcutta. Newly arrived from England, the latter did not even look at the project. He rejected it on the pretext that the reforms would serve no purpose unless they were brought into immediate effect throughout the state of Awadh.
“Exasperated, the resident handed in his resignation, as it was clear from that time onward, that no matter what the king did, Awadh was condemned. For economic reasons, the Company had already decided at the time to annexe the state, as proven by a letter Lord Dalhousie wrote, which I read in September 1848.”
His words are met with protests.
“If this is true, why did they wait eight years?”
“They still had to find a pretext! According to the treaties, we can only annexe Awadh in the event of a rebellion. As Lord Dalhousie complained, the king is ‘desperately docile.’ Thus, Dalhousie sent Colonel Sleeman here as the new resident with an official mission to evaluate the situation. In reality, he came to look for incriminating evidence.”
“Indeed, no matter what, the king did not stand a chance against him. He was damned if he did and damned if he did not. Sleeman, a puritan, detested everything Wajid Ali Shah represented and never missed an opportunity to oppose and humiliate him! To discredit him in the eyes of his subjects, he even had it publicly announced that the sovereign was prohibited from using his title Ghazi, ‘the Conqueror,’ a title held by his ancestors ever since they ruled over Awadh!”
“I worked with Sleeman myself. After forty years in India, his nerves were shot,” confirms an officer. “He was suspicious of everyone and lived in terror of being assassinated. In his dealings with the king however, he was only obeying Lord Dalhousie’s orders: he had to prove that Wajid Ali Shah was incapable of reigning and, consequently, the East India Company was obliged to step in.”
“One moment, my dear chap,” interjects Sir James Outram sharply. “The colonel left behind thousands of pages incriminating the government, on which I based my report for Lord Dalhousie. You are not going to tell me he made it all up!”
“No, but he only listened to what reinforced his prejudices. All the rumours, all the slander, were taken at face value. The Residency had become a veritable complaint bureau! He ended up creating a state within the state that increasingly infringed upon the king’s prerogatives. When Wajid Ali Shah protested, Sleeman shouted rebellion and reminded the unfortunate sovereign that according to the treaty of 1801, this was a cause for annexation.”
“Perhaps he did exaggerate,” admits Sir James, shrugging his shoulders, “but nonetheless it is undeniable that the natives will be better administered from now on. At least we will give these poor devils the benefit of justice and civilisation.”
“Forgive me, sir, who says they do not prefer their own justice and their civilisation?” retorts Colonel Simpson harshly.
These last words are received with sniggers.
“Their civilisation? Call it their customs, but please, do not speak to us of civilisation!”
“They are too ignorant to discern what is good for them,” adds an officer with a condescending pout. “They have lived under tyranny, exploited by the royal Court and the prominent taluqdars. We are setting them free and opening the doors of a just world to them. It is our mission as Christians to bring the founding values of our society to these unfortunate souls.”
Everyone approves heartily:
“The Company’s duty is to ensure the well-being of the population of India and to protect them against unworthy sovereigns. Ours is a struggle of good against evil, the annexation of Awadh is a moral duty!”*
If in passing the British Crown obtains certain advantages, so be it . . . After all, Awadh is an important producer of cotton and silk, which the factories in England have great need of, and the soil in the region is perfect for cultivating indigo that is currently selling at an incredible price.
5
In the dead of night, the king is relaxing in the zenana’s vast drawing room, celebrating with his wives and his favourite concubines. The show has been a resounding success. The people responded enthusiastically, and the select audience of aristocrats and artists seated near the stage fervently acclaimed his poems. These blessed moments of respite help him forget the resident’s constant reprimands and humiliations. Indeed, he has not met the Englishman for several days and thus feels he can breathe more easily.
While two slaves stand behind him waving large peacock feather fans, Wajid Ali Shah tastes the Mughal dishes coated with fine gold leaf brought to him by an uninterrupted stream of young servants. Although gold is reputed to be a cardiac tonic, this precious coating mainly serves to reveal the presence of any poisonous substance. Sitting next to her son, the Queen Mother does not touch any of the dishes. No one, not even she, is to dine before the sovereign. It would be an inconceivable lack of respect. Besides, in the evenings she is usually content with her favourite drink: a fresh fruit juice enhanced with a powder of finely ground pearls, excellent for her health, her hakim29 assured her.
The atmosphere is cheerful, the women banter, the night is sweet.
Suddenly, the heavy silk curtain covering the door is pushed aside, and a eunuch announces that the Prime Minister, Ali Naqvi Khan, has arrived and requests an audience.
“At this hour? Can he not wait until tomorrow?”
“He insists, Your Majesty, he says it is urgent.”
“All right. Give these ladies a moment to retire, then show him in.”
As the disappointed women gather their belongings, the king beckons to his mother:
“Do not leave, I request you to please remain behind the jalis.”
The Queen Mother agrees—her son often consults her on delicate matters—and catching sight of Hazrat Mahal, says:
“Come with me, my daughter, I have a feeling it is something important, I want to hear your opinion.”
She has had many opportunities to appreciate the young woman’s intelligence, and especially her
integrity that dissociates her from the intrigues of the harem. She is one of the few people the old lady trusts.
The prime minister enters, livid. He bows deeply and profusely, but no sound escapes his lips.
“Come now, Ali Khan, calm yourself. What is the matter?”
Making a visible effort, the man manages to articulate:
“A letter from Lord Dalhousie was delivered to the resident for you.”
Wajid Ali Shah feels an unpleasant shiver run through him, but he quickly pulls himself together:
“What an honour! And what does this letter say?”
Ali Naqvi Khan shakes his head and, with pinched lips, hands the missive over to the king.
For several long minutes Wajid Ali Shah peruses it; his hands tremble and tears slowly blur his vision. Furiously, he throws the letter as far as he can.
“How dare they lie so brazenly? To claim that it is my fault the people live in poverty when Lucknow is the richest town in the country. Awadh is known as ‘the Garden of India’ because our harvests are so abundant! On the contrary, it is precisely because of our wealth that they have decided to seize the state. Those who want to monopolise others’ riches while garbing themselves in the finery of virtue, will only see wrong in anything the others may do. I will not allow them to force my hand. I will never sign my land and my people over to foreigners!”
“The resident asked me to warn Your Majesty that in the event of a refusal on his part, battalions of British troops stationed about thirty miles30 away have orders to march on Lucknow . . . ”
“To massacre us all, I imagine! Summon the Council immediately, we must find a solution. And do not forget to send for Rajah Jai Lal Singh.”
An hour later about ten half awake advisors are gathered around the king. Indignant, none of them has words harsh enough to describe the treachery of the British who, despite their arrogance, were still considered allies just yesterday. No one, however, has the slightest idea of how to circumvent this tragic situation. They can only try to negotiate, promising to follow the resident’s and the governor general’s injunctions to the letter, if they consent to express their demands clearly . . .
“Let us not harbour any illusions, gentlemen, it will be of no use. Sir James declared that the honourable East India Company has already waited too long, and regardless of anything we might do, their decision is irrevocable. If the treaty is not signed within three days, the kingdom will be forcefully annexed and Your Majesty will lose all rights and privileges. I fear that unless we are willing to place our own and thousands of innocent lives in danger, we are obliged to comply.”
“Comply with what?”
A handsome man, about forty years old, has just entered. He is Rajah Jai Lal Singh. Respectfully, he bows before the sovereign.
“Please forgive me for being late, Your Majesty. I was not at home, a sick uncle . . . ”
Despite the gravity of the situation, the king cannot suppress a smile. The rajah is known to assiduously frequent the parties held by the famous Chowk courtesans, who squabble over his presence, for he is as witty as he is charming.
Quickly he is informed of the situation, and they hand him the governor’s letter to read. He makes no comment—unlike the other members of the Court present, the rajah has a military background—but calmly declares:
“I see only one solution: we must fight.”
His statement is received with alarmed protests.
“Fight? Against the British Army! And with what?”
“We will gather all the taluqdars. Each one has his small army and they detest the British, who try to reduce their privileges. Added to Your Majesty’s troops—about seventy thousand men, including the palace guards and the police, poorly trained I admit, but who would lay down their lives for their master—that will make up a force capable of resisting. And of course there is the civilian population!”
And, turning to the king:
“The people love you, Your Majesty, and are increasingly angered by the rudeness and arrogance of the English. They will fight to keep you and to avoid falling under the yoke of the foreigners, who intend to reform their customs and even their beliefs.”
“What can these people do against British cannons?” objects the prime minister impatiently. “As for the taluqdars’ troops, they are barely fit to fight bandits. A well-trained military force will make short shrift of them! Do not listen to the rajah, Your Majesty, he wants to drag you into a mad venture where you will lose everything. The only reasonable solution is to sign. You will enjoy a peaceful existence, a comfortable income and you will retain your titles and honours!”
“Sir, I always suspected you were a friend of the British, but your words prove you are only their minion!” exclaims Rajah Jai Lal, red with indignation.
Behind the jalis, the Queen Mother lets out a small laugh of satisfaction.
“Well said! I have often advised my son to be wary of him, this Ali Naqvi is a traitor employed by the British to spy on us.”
Hazrat Mahal does not reply; she only has eyes for the rajah. What a brave man! If the king would listen to him, instead of those servile courtiers who surround him . . . She remembers what she has heard about Jai Lal Singh: his family is Hindu and of modest origin. His father was a small landowner who had once saved King Nasiruddin Haider from a panther attack during a hunt. The sovereign ennobled him and made him his trusted confidant. As children, Jai Lal and Prince Wajid Ali Shah played together. However, fearing the Court’s atmosphere would soften him, Jai Lal’s father had sent him away to pursue a military education. The two friends had nonetheless remained very close. The king knows he can completely rely on the rajah’s loyalty.
In the Council Hall, the discussion grows heated, and if the weary king had not ordered them both to calm down, Ali Naqvi and Jai Lal would most certainly have come to blows. This confrontation is the last straw for the two men who have always despised each other. The former, an old aristocrat, astute and corrupt, has nothing but contempt for the military man of recent nobility, with his behaviour and language that are far too direct. All things considered, the corruption this greenhorn criticises him for is far more convivial, when executed elegantly, than boring, blunt honesty. As for Jai Lal, the prime minister represents everything he detests—hypocrisy and political short-sightedness, minor compromises and great cowardice, which have imperceptibly brought the carefree Lucknawi society to its present crisis.
“I have given my opinion and have nothing more to add. Would Your Majesty permit me to retire?” whispers the prime minister, hoping all the while he will be asked to remain.
But the king has heard enough for the moment; he wants to speak to his friend alone. With a sweeping gesture, he dismisses all his advisors.
Then, turning to the rajah:
“Do you really think we stand a chance?”
“I think we can win if we are united. In any event, surely you will not give in and let these bandits steal Awadh from you! We must fight, Your Majesty. Your honour is at stake, as is that of your family, who shaped this prosperous kingdom and edified this admirable town, the pearl of northern India! And then think of your people! They trust you, how could you abandon them to these foreigners, who have nothing but contempt for their values and want to force them to adopt their own, supposedly for their own good?”
The rajah has turned purple with indignation:
“The tactics are always the same! When a power has decided to invade, they accuse you of every crime under the sun: either you are a cruel dictator, or you are incompetent. Public opinion—for in these so-called ‘civilised’ countries, they prefer to have the support of public opinion—is manipulated by a press that meticulously describes the supposed vices of the man to be brought down. Of course, you know the British press portrays you as a libertine and a drunkard, although you have never touched a drop of wine, you scrupulously pra
y five times a day, and no woman lies with you without first receiving the maulvi’s blessings31!”
“I know all that, as well as how powerless we are in the face of this slander . . . But tell me, you who are a military man, how much time do you need to gather the taluqdars and prepare our forces?”
“About two weeks.”
“And I have three days to give them an answer! If I refuse, the British army will march on Lucknow, it will be a bloodbath. No, my friend, resistance is impossible. I would be sacrificing my people in vain.”
“You will agree to abdicate?”
“Never! To take control, they will have to violate the treaty and remove me by force. The whole world will see them as the aggressors they are, I am sure they will hesitate.”
“Do not delude yourself, Your Majesty, the world forgets very quickly. One event erases another, and he who is in power imposes his own version of history, which, within a few years, becomes the unquestionable truth.”
* * *
On the afternoon of February 1st, 1856, at precisely 4 o’clock, Colonel James Outram, followed by an interpreter, arrives at the entrance to one of the most sumptuous palaces in Lucknow, Chaulakhi Palace, the Queen Mother’s residence. The latter has asked to see him and he eagerly responds to her invitation. She has her son’s ear and he hopes to be able to convince him through her. If the king would only listen to reason and agree to relinquish power, it would be a thousand times preferable to an annexation, which is likely to provoke violent reactions, as he has repeatedly warned Lord Dalhousie. The governor general would not listen. After eight years in India during which he successively annexed the states of Satara, Punjab, Jaipur, Sambalpur, Jhansi, Berar, Tanjore and Karnataka, he is about to leave, and is particularly anxious to cap his efforts by offering the state of Awadh to the British Crown. To achieve this end, he is willing to use any possible means, including breaking the treaty that binds them.
In the City of Gold and Silver Page 4
