Eleven successive governors held office in Kashmir during Ranjit Singh’s time, and only coins from this province carry an initial or symbol of each individual governor. Bhim Singh (1830-31) had Bha in Gurmukhi, Sher Singh (1831-34) a small tiger. Hari Singh Nalwa (1820-21) had Har in both Gurmukhi and Nagri scripts on the coins issued during his governorship. So deep was the impression left by his rule that the Nanakshahis of Kashmir came to be known as Hari Singhjis, and the term continued long after Punjab’s annexation in 1849.
Ranjit Singh also put coinage to a more personal use. Bibi Moran, as we have seen, was the love of Ranjit Singh’s life, and at the beginning of their relationship he could deny her nothing. Moran, a romantic, had heard stories of how Emperor Jahangir loved his legendary wife Nur Jahan so much that he had coins minted in her name; Moran, too, wanted her name engraved on the coins of the realm and even laid a wager to this effect. Not wanting to give offence to his subjects, yet wanting to indulge his favourite, Ranjit Singh found a way out.
Although moran generally means ‘peacock’ in Punjabi, it also has a secondary meaning, ‘a long dry branch with twigs’.15 So Ranjit Singh gave orders that the rupees issued from Amritsar between 1804 and 1806 should have highly stylized branches and berries, replacing the leaf on the reverse side. These charming rupees were called Morashahis and were kept as curiosities after the fall of the Sikh empire.16 The 1805-6 Arsiwalashahis – mirror rings worn by brides and dancing girls – were also associated with Bibi Moran. A century later, these coins and rings were still known as Morashahis and Arsiwalashahis, immortalizing Moran and Ranjit Singh’s love for her.
Although Ranjit Singh’s successors continued the monetary system he had established, the turmoil that followed his death was reflected in the coinage of that period. With the Dogras in the thick of the battle for power and intrigues and chaos in and around the Durbar, it is no wonder that different types of symbols began appearing on the Nanakshahis. During the turbulent rule of Kharak Singh (1839-40) Rani Chand Kaur had an om, a Hindu chant, put on the obverse side of the coin where the couplet to the Gurus had been imprinted earlier. During Sher Singh’s reign (1841-3) a trishul or trident and a chhatra or royal umbrella appeared on the coinage, signifying strife and a fight to keep the throne. There are some disturbing designs on the rupees of the minor Dalip Singh (1843-9) in which religious and martial marks or symbols tell their tale of the changing times: chhatras, flags, the word sat or truth in Gurmukhi, Shiva the Hindu God of destruction in Nagri and so on.
The most intriguing Nanakshahi of this period belongs to Multan, the setting for the rebellion in 1848 which brought on the Second Sikh War. Mulraj, the Diwan of Multan, had a war forced on him by the British who wished to annex it. During the first siege of Multan on 15 and 16 September 1848 Mulraj possessed no silver to pay his troops but had a quantity of gold rupees. A letter of 24 May 1864 from the financial commissioner in Punjab, D.F. McLeod, to the finance minister in India, Sir Charles Trevelyan, throws light on this: ‘I send you one of Mulraj’s gold rupees, which you particularly wished for. It was some time before I succeeded in getting it, as they are now very rare. He had in Multan some 40 lakhs (4 million) of rupees hoarded in gold, and, being short of cash wherewith to pay his troops, he is said to have coined the whole into these pieces, which passed for one rupee. On one side, the legend is Sat-Gur-Sahai [Sahai Sat Guru] and on the other an emblem which I suppose is intended for a spearhead [it is a leaf], with the Sumbut year 1905 [AD 1848] above it, and a legend below, which reads like Sundar Kal [Mandar Ka].’17 Mulraj, a Hindu Khatri, desperate for help, inscribed Sahai Sat Guru – ‘Help from the True Lord’ – on one side and Mandar Ka – ‘Belonging to the Temple’ – on the other. This was an invocation to inspire and provide his troops with hope.
These little gold rupees weighing 0.65 g are a fascinating rarity, since an Indian rupee coin is usually made of silver. The British certainly thought so. In a letter to the editor of the Numismatic Circular dated 18 December 1895 Oliver Codrington of Clapham wrote: ‘My old friend Major Benett, formerly of the Bombay Fusiliers, who gained his commission from Sergeant at the siege of Multan for gallantly leading the storming party and placing the British Colours on the walls, told me that they found sacks full of these little coins in the treasury of the citadel when they took it, and that he remembered soldiers looting them and bringing them out off guard stowed away in their boots.’
On 22 September 1848 a Sikh document fell into the hands of a Major Edwards, who sent it from his camp to the resident at Lahore with a covering note: ‘This letter is one out of the many incendiary proclamations, with which Raja Shere Singh Attareewala and his accomplices, ever since their own desertion to the enemy, have been endeavouring to seduce those troops in my camp, which are still faithful to the real interests of Maharajah Duleep Sing.’18 The following is a literal translation of the proclamation, which expresses the sentiments of the Sikh Sardars and soldiers who were fighting to retain the homeland their fore-fathers had so desperately fought for.
PROCLAMATION:
To all the officers of the Sepoys, and Sikhs, and Mussulmans, and regiments, and others that eat the salt of the Sovereign of the Khalsa, Maharajah Duleep Sing Bahadoor … A religious war being now on foot, it becomes every public servant, whether he be Sikh or Moslem, at sight of this document, to march, without delay, and join the camp of the Khalsa, along with Raja Shere Sing Bahadoor and Dewan Moolraj, in the work of eradicating the Feringees [Europeans] from this country of the Punjab.
1st. For their own religion’s sake.
2nd. For the salt they have eaten.
3rd. For the sake of fair fame in this world.
Sealed by Raja Shere Sing, Dewan Moolraj, Sirdar Khooshal Sing, Morareea and others.19
Punjab was annexed by the British on 29 March 1849. Barely a month later the Nanakshahi mints of Amritsar, Lahore, Derajat, Multan, Pind Dadan Khan, Peshawar and Rawalpindi were abolished and the Sikh currency was withdrawn. The Nanakshahis now fell into a category classified as ‘uncurrent’ and were systematically replaced with British Company currency. All Nanakshahis were recalled from the treasuries at Moti Mundar, Lahore, Amritsar, Peshawar, Multan and from circulation within Punjab. All transactions, revenues and soldiers’ pay were now paid using Company money.
What happened to the Nanakshahis of the Gurus? And to Ranjit Singh’s currency? ‘The “dead coinages” [as the British now chose to call the Sikh currency] were called in and sent to Bombay and Calcutta to be melted down, and their equivalent was remitted to the Punjab, stamped with the mark, not of the Great Guru … but of the English Queen. The coinage of the country was thus made to harmonise with accomplished facts, and within three years, three-fourths of the whole revenue paid into the British treasury was found to be in British coin.’20 On 5 May 1851 a statement of cash held in the treasuries of the Punjab was sent from the Punjab Secretariat to the central government of India showing 6 million rupees in Punjabi coin, and it was suggested that two steamers should come up the Sutlej or Ravi in August to take the packages of coinage from Lahore to Bombay.21
With annexation the Sikhs lost their territories, treasuries, heritage, currency and their empire. The first partition of Punjab was in 1849, not in 1947 as is generally believed. In 1849 Punjab was split up into separate districts and separated into trans- and cis-Sutlej states, Jammu and Kashmir having already been made over to Gulab Singh in 1846 for 7,500,000 rupees (£1 million). The first thing Gulab Singh did in 1846 was to mint his own coinage, called Gulabi, of a baser metal content and lighter in weight than the Nanakshahi, and it was in this coinage, in small instalments, that he paid the British for a substantial piece of territory that did not belong to them.
One does wonder: what if Jammu and Kashmir had not been a separate state but still a part of Punjab in 1947? Would the Sikhs, who have repeatedly shed their blood since then to defend not only Kashmir but the whole of India as well, have allowed it to become a bone of contention?
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Flouting the Republican Tradition
Sikhs owe their spirit of compassion to the Khalsa.
The inspiration for my learning came from the Khalsa.
Our enemies were vanquished by the steadfastness of the Khalsa.
GURU GOBIND SINGH’S Dasam Granth
Is it possible that at some point an inner voice might have warned Ranjit Singh that the end of his wondrous life was near? If it did, it seems to have had no effect on him. Seeing the pace he kept until the very end, it is unlikely he would have paid attention to any premonitions. He had already seen off afflictions that might have felled the hardiest. His brush with death from smallpox at the age of six, leaving him scarred and blind in one eye, had not affected his dynamism. He was stricken once more in 1806 by an undiag-nosed illness and again in 1826 with a far more serious one which involved a paralytic stroke. But in less than five years of the latter, his excesses notwithstanding, he was fit enough at fifty to participate, during the ceremonial occasion with Lord Bentinck at Ropar in 1831, in strenuous events such as horsemanship and tent-pegging.
In 1834, at the age of fifty-four, he had another stroke even more serious than the earlier one. But he would not be deterred – perhaps because the most momentous years of his life always seemed to lie ahead of him. Of these, the year 1837 was one of the more significant because of several events that took place – some good and some bad. The first highpoint of that year was the wedding of his favourite grandson Nau Nihal Singh, son of his heir Kanwar Kharak Singh, in March at Amritsar, the celebration of which has already been described. Shortly after this event came a second highpoint, the repulse of a determined Afghan effort to take back Jamrud Fort from the Sikhs – even though the Sikh forces were outnumbered – thanks to the brilliant leadership of Hari Singh Nalwa. But this triumph, by which Jamrud looked to be well fortified against future aggressors, also brought a cruel blow for Ranjit, with the loss of his dear childhood friend Nalwa on the battlefield. Not only had the two known each other all their lives, they had fought against great odds, side by side, in countless battles. The Maharaja ranked Nalwa as one of his most dependable generals, and when news of his death reached him he first sent a contingent which included Prince Kharak Singh and other notables but unable to stay behind rode out himself – a gruelling ride of several hundred miles – to be present at the site of his friend’s death.
Six months after Hari Singh’s death in April 1837 Ranjit Singh’s other great friend Fateh Singh, Sardar of Ahluwalia, died of high fever at Kapurthala. He and Ranjit Singh had formed a formal alliance in 1802 to underscore their friendship and mutual regard for each other. They had exchanged turbans, a practice confined to very special relationships among Sikhs. Fateh Singh had been with Ranjit Singh on his cis-Sutlej expeditions in 1806 and 1807 and had also taken part in the Bhimbar, Bahawalpur, Multan and Mankera campaigns.
Ups and downs between the two had ended in a cemented relationship. In 1825, told that Fateh Singh was building a fort at Kapurthala, Ranjit Singh had summoned him to Lahore for an explanation. Fateh Singh, innocent of the charge but fearing his lands might be confiscated, had fled to the British for help and protection, and on hearing this the Maharaja had sent Faqir Aziz-ud-din to annex the Ahluwalia territories. However, through British intervention matters were settled between the two, and while lands in the Jullundar Doab remained with Fateh Singh those west of the Beas were acquired by the Lahore Durbar. Ranjit Singh then invited Fateh Singh to return, and the mistrust was put aside. Fateh Singh’s bravery and diligence in a number of their joint ventures was publicly acknowledged, and Ranjit Singh was fond of telling his officers that there was no difference between him and the Ahluwalia chief and that the latter’s orders should be obeyed along with his own.1 Fateh Singh’s death hit Ranjit Singh as hard as his other friend’s had done a few months earlier.
THE SIKH EMPIRE IN 1839, WITH CIS-SUTLEJ TOWNS
Ranjit Singh experienced a third stroke in 1838 during Governor-General Lord Auckland’s visit to Lahore. It was attributed to his robust drinking during the occasion, which came on top of the toll taken by the quantity and strength of his favourite liquor imbibed over the years.
All indications are that Ranjit Singh’s inner voice finally appeared to have convinced him around 20 June 1839 that the end was near. He confided his concern to his foreign minister Fakir Aziz-ud-din, to whom he also conveyed his wish that Kharak Singh should succeed him, with the Dogra Dhian Singh as his prime minister. On 21 June he ordered all his superior officers, European and Indian, to be assembled in his presence and take the oath of allegiance to the heir apparent, his son Kanwar Kharak Singh; this ensured that, contrary to general expectation, he succeeded smoothly and without opposition to his father’s throne.2 The following day Ranjit Singh became unconscious but rallied and went for a short outing in his litter, always available for such occasions. A British medic, Dr Steele, came from Ludhiana to treat him, but nothing much could be done. On 23 June he again went out early in the morning to the Baradari Gardens, but after giving detailed instructions about the dispensing of charities he again became unconscious – after four hours or so to be his usual self again.
His condition became increasingly serious over the next two days, and on 26 June, sensing that his time had finally come, he had passages from the Granth Sahib recited to him as he bowed deeply before the holy book. He then asked that the Koh-i-noor diamond be donated to the Hindu temple of Jagannathpuri in Orissa on the Bay of Bengal. Surprisingly, the Dogra Dhian Singh who was not in favour of the wish told Ranjit Singh that Prince Kharak Singh should be put in charge of doing this. The Koh-i-noor was sent for, but after a lot of excuses the dying ruler was told that it was in the Amritsar treasury. Dhian Singh’s view was supported by the Sardars, to whom possession of the diamond signified the independence of the Sikh kingdom; it was after all a favourite saying of the Maharaja’s that whoever owned it would be the ruler of the Punjab.3 If this last wish of Ranjit Singh’s had been carried out the Koh-i-noor would still be in India and not a possession of the British crown. During the last few days of his life Ranjit Singh gave away large amounts of cash and sundry items to a number of charities. His gifts ranged from richly caparisoned elephants, horses and cows to jewellery, gems, gold vessels and his personal weapons.
There is a moving account of Ranjit Singh’s last hours by C.H. Payne. Although he had managed to recover from yet another stroke, he had lost the power of speech, ‘and a curious and interesting sight it was now to behold the fast dying monarch, his mind still alive; still by signs giving his orders; still receiving reports; and, assisted by the faithful Fakeer Azeezoodin, almost as usual attending to affairs of state. By a slight turn of his hand to the south, he would inquire the news from the British secretary; by a similar turn to the west, he would demand tidings from the invading army; and most anxious was he for intelligence from the Afghan quarter.’4 Clearly, the Lion was still the supreme arbiter of his natural habitat.
The end came on 27 June at five in the afternoon. As the cortège made its way through the capital to the cremation ground, the grief and lamentations of the crowds left no one in any doubt as to what Ranjit Singh had meant to them. He was the personification of a ruler who had earned the respect and love of many of his subjects, not through intimidation or the arrogance of power but by earning their goodwill through his unending concern for them, in which he never faltered. Prayers were said for him by all communities; his subjects knew that at no other time had people of all religious faiths had the liberty to live their lives according to their beliefs, and their grief was truly heartfelt.
The culmination of this day of great emotional upheavals came when four of Ranjit Singh’s wives and seven maids burnt themselves on the funeral pyre. His wife Rani Guddan, daughter of Raja Sansar Chand of Kangra, placed his head in her lap as the flame was applied to the sandalwood bier. Sati was not the custom among Sikh women, and the only previous exception known had occurred in
1805, in the town of Booreeah, on the death of the chief Rae Singh, when his widow had rejected a handsome provision in land, preferring a voluntary sacrifice of herself.5 On 30 June the ashes of the Lion of the Punjab were placed in jewelled urns and taken in a state procession via Amritsar to Hardwar, where some were immersed in the River Ganges and then the rest were taken to Lahore to be placed in a samadhi or mausoleum to this great ruler which was built next to the fort – a place he had loved and the seat of his power.
His final resting place is very near to the samadhi of Guru Arjan Dev, which Ranjit Singh had built with deep veneration for the fifth Guru. As was customary, the architectural form of his own samadhi was influenced by the Hindu and Islamic forms prevalent in those times. The material used was red sandstone in the main structure, with very little marble. Under the central vault and beneath a carved canopy of marble is the symbolic urn also in marble beneath which Ranjit Singh’s ashes lie. There are several stone and marble memorials beneath this vault to commemorate his wives and maids who immolated themselves on his pyre. In the increasing chaos which overtook the realm, the Durbar’s functionaries found little time to assemble the most sensitive designers and craftsmen to design a truly memorable memorial for one of the most exceptional men of the age.
Ten years later Joseph Cunningham was to sum up what he had stood for from the age of ten onwards. ‘Ranjit Singh found the Punjab a waning confederacy, a prey to the factions of its chiefs, pressed by the Afghans and the Marathas, and ready to submit to English supremacy. He consolidated the numerous petty states into a kingdom, he wrested from Kabul the fairest of its provinces, and he gave the potent English no cause for interference. He found the military array of his country a mass of horsemen, brave indeed, but ignorant of war as an art, and he left it mustering fifty thousand disciplined soldiers, fifty thousand well-armed yeomanry and militia, and more than three hundred pieces of cannon for the field.’6
Empire of the Sikhs Page 19
