How can she save him? Hazrat Mahal had spent hours discussing the various options with the Rajah of Mahmudabad. They had arrived at the conclusion then they had to find an accomplice inside the place who would help him escape, just when they would be attacking Lucknow with all their troops.
The campaign was initially planned for the second week of June but, on the begum’s insistence, as she argued that each passing day brought the rajah closer to death, they do their utmost to advance the date.
Now that she knows he is alive, as soon as she is alone, Hazrat Mahal tries to enter into communication with the man she loves. An ancient skill, mastered by sages, asserts that time and space is but an illusion and can be transcended by a focussed mind. Gathering all her energy, she concentrates, trying to transmit hope and strength to her lover, evoking the happy moments spent together, the long conversations during which they shared stories of their childhoods and their plans for a country that would soon be free.
By observing Jai Lal day after day, Hazrat Mahal had understood the value of an individual’s role. If gifted with a clear mind and unflinching determination, a man or a woman can change the course of history, just by giving the lost and discouraged masses a focus. However, she had also understood another essential fact: the population must recognise in this individual something they themselves have been searching for confusedly. For a true leader is not someone who gives orders, it is someone who identifies a deep desire, knows how to mould it, make it real, and for that he must be very close to the people.
This is true for Jai Lal, as it is for her. Both of them come from simple backgrounds, unlike the Court aristocrats and all the elite, who are so far removed from reality that they are incapable of understanding the manner in which common mortals react.
Jai Lal, my love . . .
She will do everything possible to save him.
* * *
For a while now, General Hugh Rose has been reconquering central India. This ex-consul general, formerly stationed in Beirut, at first viewed with scepticism, has turned out to be a charismatic leader. Always at the forefront, he has rapidly won his soldiers’ support.
In March 1858, while Lucknow was falling, Sir Hugh Rose had begun the siege of Jhansi.
The impressive fortress, built on a rocky peak and surrounded by high fortifications, was defended by ten thousand men led by Lakshmi Bai, the Rani of Jhansi, whom everyone described as “a marvel of beauty and courage.”
After a few days, Rose had launched the attack and set fire to the fortress. Trapped, the rani, disguised in men’s clothing, had managed to escape with some of her troops, while the British army moved in to occupy the now defenceless city.
Although the major cities of Delhi, Lucknow, Kanpur, and, lastly, Jhansi, have been recaptured, fighting continues everywhere else under Begum Hazrat Mahal’s impetus. British reports described her as the “soul of the revolt.”
The rebels are particularly active in the north and in central India. Nonetheless, many of the taluqdars hesitate, waiting to see which is the winning side, as it is said that London is soon to send further reinforcements.
Second-guessing their calculations, the begum has it proclaimed that the soldiers and the civilians will show no mercy towards those who choose the occupier’s side.
“How can you still be naive enough to believe the promises the British make you?” she asks sarcastically. “Rest assured, they will take revenge!”
She has changed so much since she fled Lucknow. She has hardened into a war leader ready to use any means at her disposal to win, including blackmail. Henceforth, she is no longer fighting only to restore the dynasty, but for herself and her son’s life.
* * *
In Lucknow, the Chief Commissioner, Sir Robert Montgomery, has assembled his main collaborators, some of whom, like Martin Gubbins, the financial commissioner, have extensive experience in the region.
“This cannot go on any longer. We have taken the major towns, even if in a few of them deliberate fires still break out sporadically, but we are getting nowhere in the rest of the country. Our armies are powerless against these thousands of men who fight fearless of death.”
“They are all the more courageous because they look forward to a future in the afterlife, which will bring them all the happiness they were denied during their miserable existence,” comments an officer.
“Nonetheless, have you noticed how the prisoners who so proudly brave the gallows or the execution squad, literally collapse when we attach them to the mouth of a cannon?” asks a colonel who has been posted in India for about ten years now.
“You must admit it is an abominable sight. Seeing these young men pulverised into a thousand bloodstained scraps of flesh . . . ”
“We are employing this method increasingly frequently, not out of cruelty or a desire for revenge, but because it has proven to be the most efficient method,” clarifies the colonel.
“How so? A dead man is a dead man!”
“Not in this country! Without a funeral or cremation rites, there is no future life possible. For both the Hindus and the Muslims, this is a thousand times worse than death itself. It is so important to them that some prisoners agree to talk if we will grant them the mercy of shooting them!”
This declaration is received with laughter, soon arrested by the chief commissioner’s frown.
“Show some decency, gentlemen!”
And, turning to Gubbins:
“You have received a message from Rajah Man Singh, it seems?”
“Yes sir. As you know, before the mutiny the rajah was a friend. It is true he has made mistakes, but since then he has been doing all he can in an attempt to redeem himself. He sent me a message saying we were going about things in the wrong manner, and if none of the taluqdars had responded to our advances, it was not because they do not want to. Given the population’s mood and the begum’s threats, it is quite impossible for them to meet us or to swear loyalty to us publicly. They have asked us to find a way, either through a discreet intermediary or a signal agreed upon in advance, to confirm that in the event of their rallying to our side, we will grant them a pardon and make sure to leave them all their properties. Man Singh assures me that if this were the case, we would see most of them joining us.”
“Just words! We know them, these artful devils! They are playing a double game, waiting to see which way the wind blows,” protests an officer.
“No doubt,” admits Sir Robert, “but the situation is likely to turn in our favour quite soon. I have good news for you: we have obtained the support of Maharajah Jung Bahadur, Nepal’s prime minister and de facto sovereign since he deposed the king. He is placing his thousands of Gurkhas at our disposal to reinforce our troops. In return, we have promised him the territories in northern Awadh that adjoin his country . . . which we will be able to reconquer with his help.”
“Bravo! Between his Gurkhas and our Sikhs, it will be a competition as to who is the fiercest of the lot. The rebels fear them like the plague; their support will demoralise them completely.”
Nothing remains secret for long in India. The Queen Mother’s spies soon hear of the negotiations between Jung Bahadur and the British, and they rapidly apprise her of the situation.
At his mother’s instigation, Birjis Qadar sends a message to the maharajah. He does not refer to their dubious solidarity but explains the situation in the field, which is, for now, clearly in the Indians’ favour.
“How could these British,” he writes, “who cannot secure control anywhere, possibly allocate you any land? We are the dominant force in the country, and in exchange for your allegiance, we offer you territories twice as vast as those promised you, of which they currently do not possess even an acre!”
The letter was entrusted to a messenger. Was it intercepted? The fact remains, Birjis Qadar is never to receive a reply.
Neverthel
ess, at the end of this month of May, at the time when, preceding the monsoon, the unbearable heat crushes the Europeans, the begum and her allies control the whole of Awadh up to fifteen miles from the capital, Lucknow.
34
Sixteen thousand fighters are assembled eighteen miles from Lucknow, at Nawabganj, where, a year earlier, the sepoys had gathered before successfully defeating the British during the famous Chinhat victory.
They plan to recapture Lucknow by attacking on three fronts simultaneously. The begum has sent the greater part of her troops, but this time she is not taking part in the campaign personally. At the Rajah of Mahmudabad and all the generals’ insistence, she has resigned herself to remaining in Bhitauli: the battle promises to be fierce and the Queen Mother does not have the right to risk her own life or that of her son. They represent the last royal dynasty with incontestable legitimacy, opposing the occupiers. Under pressure from his men, even Maulvi Ahmadullah Shah was forced to work closely with the Queen Mother. If anything were to happen to her, the movement, already beset by multiple rivalries, would disintegrate.
Hazrat Mahal gave in to their arguments, but now that they have left, she finds herself pacing up and down inside the fortress, incapable of concentrating on anything, plagued by doubts. Why did she relent? She feels as if she is abandoning her troops at the crucial moment . . . And deserting Jai Lal.
Her high command has promised their first task upon entering Lucknow will be to free the rajah, but she knows their individual interests and jealousies only too well to be convinced. To say nothing of the fact that making their way as far as the prison, at the heart of the town, will be no easy feat.
And so, in secret, she decides to summon the leader of one of her regiments—a young man who admires her unconditionally.
“I have a mission for you that requires your complete loyalty,” she declares. “As you approach Lucknow, you will bypass the combat zones and go directly to the prison accompanied by your best men. There, you will ask for an officer called Amir Khan—he is one of ours—and you will give him, in the presence of his colleagues, Rajah Jai Lal Singh’s transfer orders, signed by the Chief Commissioner Sir Robert Montgomery himself.
“Forgery is a highly developed art in our country,” she adds, smiling. “Above all, take care not to stay too long. Only engage in combat if absolutely necessary and bring the rajah straight back here to Bhitauli.”
“But what if he refuses? Perhaps he will choose to participate in the battle?”
“Then you will tell him . . . that the Queen Mother is ill and has asked to see him . . . Yes, I am asking you to lie. It is for our cause. After months in prison, the rajah is in no state to fight. We are not going to save him just to lose him again. The army needs him, the war is not won yet.”
The attack on Lucknow is planned for the morning of June 2nd.
General Hope Grant is in the capital having a well-deserved rest after weeks spent pursuing the rebels all over the state of Awadh. Informed that Rana Beni Madho is threatening the Kanpur-Lucknow road, having already destroyed several military posts and attacked several convoys, the general is forced out of his rest. He spends ten days travelling the region looking for the rana, but the latter seems to have vanished.
It is during this expedition that he learns that a vast number of troops have assembled at Nawabganj, and are preparing to attack Lucknow.
Would Beni Madho have acted as a diversion to draw him away from the capital? If that is the case, he has underestimated the speed with which the British can take action. Hastily, Grant reinforces his troops, adding a thousand Sikhs and a heavy artillery unit, and he calls on the Maharajah of Kapurthala for help. The latter immediately rushes to join him with his army. Together they bear down on Nawabganj, cutting the rana off from his men, and they surround the town. Trapped and disconcerted by their leader’s absence, the Indian army is paralysed.
On June 12th, at dawn, the British troops launch their attack. The Indians react with a courage that inspires their adversary’s admiration. Their counter-attacks are so fierce that the British have the greatest difficulty repelling them. Assembled under the green banner of Islam and the white banner of Hinduism, the sepoys fall in waves, cut down like the harvest.
“I have seen many battles and a lot of brave men determined to conquer or die, but I have never witnessed such heroic behaviour as that of these men,”* declares General Grant, impressed.
This battle will be the last attempt to free Lucknow. The rebels will never be able to assemble enough men again to conduct such a large-scale campaign.
In Bhitauli, Hazrat Mahal is distraught. This is the first serious setback since the fall of the capital, and everybody’s morale is affected. She also suffers this defeat at a personal level: she has not been able to save Jai Lal.
Oh, why did I listen to the generals? If I had gone there myself wearing any kind of disguise, accompanied by a few loyal men, I would certainly have found a way to reach the prison. And once there, with our accomplices inside and the letter, I would surely have been able to get him out . . .
She is overwhelmed by remorse; she had allowed others to influence her, while she should only have listened to her intuition: to go herself and free her lover. Has she not placed him in even greater danger? The British too have lost men in this campaign. Are they going to take their revenge on the prisoners?
The rising doubt she has always warded off creeps its way into her thoughts with increasing insistence: will she ever see the man she loves again?
She cannot discuss it with the Rajah of Mahmudabad. They have only ever spoken of Jai Lal as a loyal friend, although the rajah had realised a long time ago that Jai Lal means much more to the begum. She will speak to him of nothing but her distress about all the victims. Does she have the right to send these thousands of young men to their deaths? What cause can justify a massacre of such a magnitude?
“It is war, Huzoor!” the rajah reprimands her gently. “Failures and deaths are unavoidable! As for the justification for a war, we could discuss it for hours. For some sceptics there is none, as nothing is more valuable than life itself. For others like myself and the majority of our supporters—officers and simple peasants alike—it is fully justified by its goal: getting rid of a foreign power, regaining our freedom and our dignity.”
“You are speaking, as I do, of freedom, independence. In reality, from time immemorial, Indians have been subjected to foreign powers—the latest being the Mughals, who reigned over this country for over three centuries!”
“Indeed, but the Aryan, Arab or Mughal invaders always assimilated and even became Indianised. Unlike the British, they intermingled with the population. India was their country, and they were constantly striving to increase its power. They took Indian art and crafts to unrivalled heights of perfection. The Mughal emperors led the country to far greater prosperity than even that of Europe. British domination has ruined us. By exporting our resources to feed their nascent industry and imposing their cheap products on us in return, they have reduced our weavers, carpenters, ironmongers, leather workers, embroiderers, to misery . . . ”
Seated side by side in the begum’s drawing room—a familiarity they could never have allowed themselves at the Lucknow Court—the Rajah of Mahmudabad and the Queen Mother converse as old friends. She increasingly appreciates this man to whom Jai Lal entrusted her. At the age of thirty-five, he has the foresight and maturity of a wise man. He supports and advises her in every decision she makes. For his part, the rajah admires the young woman’s courage and her refusal to accept lies and injustice at any cost.
This explains her extraordinary influence over the fighters, who would allow themselves to be torn to pieces for her, he thinks. She inspires as great a devotion as does the maulvi, without ever using religion the way he does . . .
For a while now, the maulvi has been accumulating victories. On May 3rd, he conquered Shahjahan
pur, midway between Lucknow and Delhi, where a large British garrison was based. Driven out a week later by Campbell’s troops, he takes advantage of the fact that the British are occupied fighting further north to recapture the town and force the rich inhabitants to pay him a tax for the upkeep of his forces.
Infuriated at being ridiculed by this man who constantly taunts him, Sir Colin hastens back. From May 14th to the 19th, the battle rages on. Armed forces rush in from all sides to save the maulvi, including the begum and Prince Firoz, each at the head of their regiments. Even Nana Sahib agrees to send his men, convinced to do so by his advisor Azimullah, who has decided to return to his master’s side and to keep an eye on him, as he suspects Nana Sahib is prepared to rejoin the British side in order to obtain a pardon.
With so much support, the maulvi, along with a large number of his followers, will manage to escape during the night, to return triumphant to Awadh, from where he had been driven out a short while before.
How to catch this devil? Where weapons have failed miserably, the British are going to try treachery.
Ahmadullah Shah needs to build up his effectiveness. Now, he has been informed that the Rajah of Powain,103 a small state situated between Awadh and Rohilkhand, is thinking of joining the rebellion. He immediately sends the rajah a message, but the latter wants to talk to the maulvi in person.
When Ahmadullah Shah arrives at Powain on June 15th mounted on his elephant and accompanied by a small escort, to his great surprise he finds the gates to the town locked and guarded by soldiers. The rajah and his brother are standing up above, on top of the ramparts.
Although he senses danger, Ahmadullah Shah does not give up and commences a discussion with the rajah. He does not notice that the brother has disappeared and that, hidden behind a firing slot, he has him in his sights. The exchange is lengthy; it becomes evident that the rajah has no intention of letting him enter. Incensed at having been tricked, the maulvi signals to the mahout to coax his elephant to break down the gates. At this very moment, the rajah’s brother fires, killing him instantly.
In the City of Gold and Silver Page 31
