Empire of the Sikhs

by Patwant Singh

  When a victorious Ranjit Singh rode into Peshawar after wresting it from the Afghans, he provided a striking contrast to Mohammad Ghori, Timur, Nadir Shah, Ahmed Shah Abdali and all the other blood-shedding armies down the centuries. He made it an ironclad rule that his armies would not indulge in carnage, nor burn holy books, nor destroy mosques. The civilian population could, with confidence, continue its daily activities as usual, and no women would be molested, nor men flayed alive. The people of Peshawar acknowledged this rare quality in this leader, and when Ranjit Singh rode through the streets of the city the holy men of the town blessed the conquerer and prayed for his long life. The rebellious tribesman who saw the spectacle exclaimed: ‘Khuda Hum Khalsa Shud’ (‘The Almighty is on the side of the Khalsa’).

  His respect for Christianity again proved not only his abiding interest in other faiths but his deep desire to know what held the followers of those faiths in such thrall. When he asked a European visitor to his court to tell him about the holy book of the Christians and was shown a Bible, he touched it to his forehead with reverence and had passages from it recited to him. He appointed many Christian officers to his army – Italians, Frenchmen, Englishmen, Greeks, Spaniards, Russians, Americans, a German and an Austrian, and some of these he made senior army commanders and governors of provinces. Their numbers have been put between thirty-nine and forty-two.

  Ranjit Singh’s ongoing interest in other religious beliefs was born out of a genuine desire to broaden his mind and to deal effectively with the extraordinary mix of people under his rule, drawing on the wisdom of knowledgeable men of other faiths, with many of whom he enjoyed having discussions on the subject of divinity. Revering the kalgi (plume) of Guru Gobind Singh in his possession, he was respectful of the relics of others – and especially those held to be of the Prophet Muhammad himself, which he found in some of the Muslim principalities he conquered. The latter included a copy of the Koran, a cloak and a pair of shoes kept in the Royal Toshakhana (Treasure House).

  3

  Emergence of the Sikh Kingdom

  ‘Never was so large an empire founded by

  one man with so little criminality.’

  HENRY T. PRINSEP

  Once the new ruler took up residence in Lahore Fort, his days took on a more discernible pattern. An amazingly early riser for a man whose days were so full of physical and mental activity, he was usually up around four in the morning, a habit formed in early childhood. After he had bathed and dressed, he would with bowed head make his way to the hall where the Guru Granth Sahib was installed. It was a beautifully appointed room with a rich array of carpets, shawls and silks symbolic of the deep regard the Sikhs have always had for the places in which their scriptures are housed.

  Here Ranjit Singh would sit and listen for an hour or more with deep concentration to words and verses from the scriptures, which were either read or sung out to him and to all others who might be there. For in the Sikh house of prayer everyone was equal in the eyes of God, and all sat on the ground with crossed legs, folded hands and covered heads to listen to the words of wisdom from the sacred book of the Sikh scriptures.

  After the path and kirtan (readings and recitations) Ranjit Singh would respectfully and briefly cover his eyes and forehead with the kalgi of Guru Gobind Singh – a plume the tenth Guru had worn on his turban, which had always been associated with him and was an integral part of his striking personality. Ranjit Singh had bought this precious relic for 125,000 rupees from the grandsons of Bhai Sant Singh, a Sikh martyr, and the sons of Bhai Hara Singh who had migrated to Peshawar.1

  After prayers, if he was in a hurry to attend to court matters, take to the field, receive visiting dignitaries, inspect his troops or deal with any of the other demands on his time, he would have a simple breakfast and then attend to what awaited his attention. But if he had time he would go to the wing of the palace where his ladies lived and have breakfast with them, which usually consisted of quail, partridge, eggs, milk products and sweet dishes, with sometimes an exotic drink to wash down the meal.

  Attending to matters of court, although unable to read in any language, Ranjit Singh would have papers, correspondence and orders to commanders in the field, state governors and others read out to him, and his comments and criticisms would be duly incorporated and the documents once again presented to him for his approval. His ability to attend to the smallest minutiae of business was astonishing. Henry T. Prinsep, who worked with the British political agent at Ambala and who was a close observer of the Lahore Durbar, leaves this account. ‘He transacts business rapidly, is ready with a short and decided order upon any report or representation read to him, and when the draft of his instruction is submitted, after being prepared in due form, he sees at once whether it fully meets his view … his memory is excellent … his disposition is at the same time watchful and his eye quick and watching, so that nothing escapes his observation; while the perspicacity displayed in his appreciation of character, and in tracing the motives of others’ actions, gives him a command and influence over all that approach him, which have been mainly instrumental to his rapid rise.’2

  Sometimes Ranjit Singh’s day would start off with an early-morning ride in the countryside. W.G. Osborne, who was military secretary to the Earl of Auckland, governor-general of India in the later years of Ranjit Singh’s life, accompanied him on one such occasion and leaves this account of a conversation with him. (Although Ranjit Singh did not speak English, he developed an understanding of it.)

  This morning we rode with him for some miles, gossiping and chatting, and endeavouring in vain to satisfy his insatiable curiosity upon subjects of the most opposite nature. ‘Are you fond of riding?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Are you fond of shooting?’ ‘Very.’ ‘Have you been out lately?’ ‘Yes; about two months ago.’ ‘Where?’ ‘In the Terai and Dehra Dhoow.’ ‘What did you shoot?’ ‘Twelve tigers.’ ‘Are you married?’ ‘No.’ ‘Why don’t you marry?’ ‘I can’t afford it.’ ‘What’s the horse you’re on?’ ‘An Arab.’ ‘Where did you get him?’ ‘He was given to me.’ ‘How long have you been out shooting?’ ‘Fourteen days.’ ‘Do you like my wine?’ ‘Yes; but it’s very strong.’ ‘Have you breakfasted?’ ‘Not yet.’ ‘Then we will breakfast here.’3

  Osborne goes on to describe a mouthwatering breakfast. Under a beautiful canopy, promptly pitched up on the Maharaja’s orders, in a lovely green setting, rich carpets were spread out and golden chairs for Ranjit Singh and his guests were placed for breakfast which was produced minutes later – trays of curries, rice, sweetmeats, curds and quail which were spiced, seasoned and deboned.

  The rest of the morning back at the palace was spent with Ranjit Singh grilling Osborne on a whole variety of subjects, which he would do with most foreign visitors, so that he could keep himself informed about what the rest of the world was up to. His curiosity never left him and his knowledge of a vast range of subjects was phenomenal.

  At some time of the day, quite often very early in the morning, he would meet with the Sardars, ministers, viziers and chiefs who would be waiting to have a word with him. Brief though these encounters often were, they gave him a sense of what was on the minds of some of the key figures in charge of important matters, so that he was able to keep his fingers on the pulse-beat of his far-flung state and its functionaries.

  What pattern the Maharaja’s lunches followed again depended on the workload he faced and on whether he had to entertain visiting dignitaries. These two considerations permitting, his own personal preference was to lunch with the ladies in their wing of the palace, with some of them singing and dancing for him, while others served him food, often feeding him delicately with their fingers. The dishes served were sumptuous: a variety of succulent kebabs, fish, partridge and quail, pulaos, curds and varieties of vegetables curried or cooked in rich spices, followed by an array of sweets and desserts, even though the Maharaja himself was a frugal eater.

  The wines he liked were potent beyond belief, the ingred
ients used running to ground pearls, musk, opium and plants of every kind. While some of the guests were left dazed by the drinks served, Ranjit Singh took them in his stride and seemed to get even more energized and enthusiastic. Such was his soundness of mind and body that when he was in middle age one doctor of the East India Company gave him thirty more years to live provided he controlled his intake of liquor.4

  At the end of the afternoon meal Ranjit Singh would retire to his own chamber in the ladies’ wing for an hour or so of rest, and if there was work to be done he would go back to his office or the audience chamber and attend to it. Or he would go out for a ride or to the Shalimar Gardens.

  Despite what some have taken to be appearances to the contrary, Ranjit Singh never allowed himself to be distracted from the pressing problems of state. The degree of his personal day-to-day involvement in the administration of his realm can be gauged from the fact that officials at every level, from the governor downwards, of what were in due course the four provinces (subas) of the Sikh state – Lahore, Multan, Kashmir and Peshawar – were under strict orders to report to him regularly on matters of particular importance. The reports he received were carefully screened for him by a hand-picked team of officials consisting of a chief minister and a number of senior officials in charge of different departments under him. The departments consisted of revenues received, state expenditure, the state treasury, levying and collection of land revenue and taxes on incomes, customs and transit duties, tributes and other incomings, forfeitures, fines and such. An estimate of the revenues of Punjab in 1831 placed it at 30 million rupees.

  All accounts bring out that Ranjit Singh kept himself constantly and precisely informed about the affairs of his state. Aside from his strict instructions on being kept regularly in touch on every matter of importance, one chronicler has recorded in detail ‘how after 1823 Ranjit Singh devoted most of his time to visiting different districts and busying himself with the examination of decisions and hearing complaints against the corruption of officials’.5 One significant detail that has been recorded is that ‘the finances of the Sikh kingdom were regulated on the simplest basis of keeping the expenditure within the limit of revenue. If the revenue of the kingdom declined owing to some unexpected circumstances, expenses were curtailed proportionately. No effort was made to meet such deficit by means of borrowing, but the simple method of asking the State employees to accept a voluntary cut was used.’6

  One of many who witnessed Ranjit Singh’s diligence in his everyday work, Dr W.L. McGregor, a British army surgeon who was also at hand during the First Anglo-Sikh War, records that ‘should the affairs of the State require his attention, Runjit is ready at all times during the day and night; and it is not unusual for him to order his secretary and prime minister to carry the designs on which he has been meditating during the night into execution before daybreak’.7 One English traveller based in Kabul, Sir Alexander Burnes, who met the Maharaja in the latter years of his life, records that he ‘never quitted the presence of a native of India with such impressions as I left this man. Without education and without a guide he conducts all the affairs of his kingdom with surprising energy and vigour, and yet he wields his power with a consideration quite unprecedented in an Indian prince.’8

  Equally unprecedented – since most monarchs avoided it – was the enthusiasm with which he personally led his forces. According to a Captain Leopold Von Orlich, ‘In battle, he was always seen at the head of his troops and foremost in combat; he twice crossed the Indus with his cavalry, in the very face of the enemy, and gained victory. In energy, will and endurance he was unequalled by any of his people … The want of education was covered by the splendid mental powers with which nature had endowed him, and prudence and knowledge of mankind enabled him to maintain himself in his high station.’9 Charles Metcalfe, the British envoy negotiating the Sutlej Treaty with Ranjit Singh in 1808, noted the impact he made on those he led: ‘His command in his army is as implicitly obeyed as perhaps it could be among the best disciplined troops. Every private or footman is compelled to look upon him as his master, whatever Chief he may immediately be attached to, and the Chiefs are as much subject to receive orders as the private soldiers.’10

  As one chronicler pointed out, ‘Ranjit Singh rarely remains fifteen days in the same place.’ When he did stay for a stretch of time in Lahore, his evenings could be as unpredictable as the foregoing day. In fact, sometimes his days never ended, for he would go on working late into the night. On days when he was able to break away, however, he would repair to the ladies’ quarters for relaxation and revelry. Some of his favourite courtesans would serve his special wine to him as he reclined on his bolsters, while others would dance to the tune of stringed instruments, flutes and drums. It is recorded that once he was so struck by the celebrated flute-player Attar Khan that he spent almost four hours listening to him late into the night.

  His own dinner, by all accounts, was a fairly spartan affair; he avoided red meats, venison and such. For guests, on the other hand, a most impressive array of dishes and exotic foods would be served, and his wines would leave many a foreign guest literally unable to keep up. What left foreigners baffled was Ranjit Singh’s complete indifference to the drinks they presented him with, such as claret, hock, port and champagne, although he is said to have acquired a liking for whisky. His evenings with his ladies would often extend past midnight, and, since he was accustomed to wake up early in the morning, the total number of hours he slept out of twenty-four customarily numbered four to six.

  What greatly helped Ranjit Singh strengthen the nation he had just founded was his statesmanship in handling the British. It is astonishing that someone so young and unversed in the ways of colonial powers should have risen with such aplomb to the challenge of dealing with the British, with their suave ways, boundless ambition and experienced and efficient army equipped with sophisticated weapons.

  When in 1801 Ranjit Singh became head of the Punjab State, the British were already firmly ensconced in Delhi. Even though the Mughals still existed in name, they counted for very little by that time. It was Britain’s writ that prevailed over most of India up to Delhi. Beyond Delhi Ranjit Singh was the man to reckon with. Even at that early stage, when he was barely twenty-two, his designs for the future were on a grand scale. His intention was to exercise his exclusive writ over northern India, the north-western provinces, the hill states and the mountain ranges up to the Khyber Pass. This vast territory was outside British control. Nor was it under the control of any single authority, although the Sikh nation was the most powerful in that part of the subcontinent. But the Afghans possessed the most prosperous cities and towns and controlled major trade routes. They also had sizeable armies to enforce their writ. Then there were many other big and small Hindu and Muslim chiefs, aside from the tribes in the north-west who were a law unto themselves – as they have remained up to the present day.

  The only obstacle left between the British and their dominance of the whole of India was the land of the five rivers under Sikh rule. They had shrewdly observed the fighting qualities of the Sikhs, fuelled by their religious beliefs and certainties and sustained by their amazing self-confidence. So it was clearly not in the British self-interest to get involved in any military showdown with them at this stage. Ranjit Singh, too, was canny enough to appreciate the importance of creating a well-defined boundary between British possessions and the Sikh state. Both sides were perfectly aware of the advantages of this. But, as so often happens, the twists and turns of fate were to play their part in influencing events.

  When contact was established between the British governor-general Lord Wellesley and Ranjit Singh at the beginning of the new century, it coincided with developments that favoured Ranjit Singh. Wellesley, who had taken office in May 1798 at the age of thirty-eight, was the paterfamilias of the colonial expansionists. Aggressive and ambitious as they come, he publicly proclaimed that British rule was undoubtedly in the best interests of the ruled. ‘I
can declare my conscientious conviction’, he wrote, ‘that no greater blessing can be conferred on the … inhabitants of India than the extension of the British authority, influence and power.’11 True to form, Wellesley set about adding Mysore, Tanjore, Surat and Oudh to the increasing number of British holdings in India. Because these territories lay in south, central and western India, no attempt was made to show the flag in northern India or to the ruler of the new Sikh kingdom.

  But Wellesley’s enthusiasm for expansionism was not received well by the directors of the East India Company in London. They were in India to make money through profitable trading, but with the Company constantly at war because of ‘their local Manager’s persistent disregard of the spirit of his orders’, its treasury was being seriously depleted. After watching its stocks falling steadily with no dividends coming in, the Company decided to eliminate the cause of their problem. Wellesley was accordingly recalled in July 1805.

  His successor, Marquess Cornwallis, died within months of taking over his post. It was when the next governor-general, Lord Minto, assumed office in July 1807 that Ranjit Singh’s awareness of British designs on India took on a keener edge. He now realized that although their aim in India was to build up their trade, an aim which they had pursued – aside from a few hiccups – with considerable success, they were now moving on to outright conquest.