One of the more curious rituals the Raj used to delineate this relationship was through gun-salutes, literally the number of guns fired in greeting when the prince appeared, the greater the number of guns the higher the compliment. There were 117 princes entitled to be saluted. Five, the most important – Hyderabad, Baroda, Mysore, Jammu and Kashmir and Gwalior were twenty-one-gun men; in addition they were referred to as ‘Highness’, with the Nizam of Hyderabad so important that he was called ‘Exalted Highness’. Next were five entitled to nineteen guns, Bhopal, Indore, Udaipur, Kohapur and Travancore, who were also called ‘Highness’. After these top ten were 107 allowed lesser salutes, mostly nine or eleven guns but the vast majority of princes, the remaining 450 or so, were ‘no gun men’, and rather resented it. The viceroy’s correspondence over the years is punctuated with requests from princes to be allowed more guns.
In fact many of the major states were remarkably well governed and, although not exactly long on democracy, they had efficient and conscientious administrations. Baroda, Travancore and Cochin all had far superior primary education systems to anything found in British India and many like Jodhpur, had much better systems for famine relief. Most British Residents had also started to take their duties more seriously. Penderel Moon, a long-serving and distinguished ICS officer, found himself by April 1947 as finance minister in Bahawalpur, a state ‘about the size of Denmark lying between the Punjab and Sind’.8 It was one of the few states with both a Muslim ruler and a majority Muslim population, about 83 per cent of its 2 million people, but with sizeable minorities of Hindus and Sikhs. It was largely desert but saved from total barrenness by the Sutlej, Panjnad and Indus rivers, which formed its north-western boundary. This water allowed the cultivation of a narrow strip, about five to thirty-five miles wide, which followed its course. Moon had been sent there to help the young nawab who had, through no fault of his own, found himself inheriting a massive debt to the Government of India for the Sutlej irrigation project. This had started in 1922 and over ten years had substituted four weirs for the old inundation canal system that had worked perfectly well for centuries. It was a classic example of the Raj’s inability to manage large-scale capital projects, similar to the dam that caused Norval Mitchell so much grief. The new weirs did not work, more land could not be brought into irrigation and the state incurred a debt of 14 crore rupees (140 million rupees). The nawab couldn’t pay and found himself surrounded by a circle of British advisers to ensure he wasn’t being profligate. Inevitably other services in the state suffered but Moon found it generally well administered and the nawab, despite long absences in England, surprisingly popular. ‘If the army accounts were never audited and if there were leakages from various minor departments, the mass of people were no wiser and felt no worse . . . nor did the people at large think ill of a ruler for wishing to spend more of the state revenues on himself than a civil servant would approve’.9 The nawab’s very fine Rolls-Royce, subsequently used by Jinnah, is still in the foyer of the Marriott Hotel in Islamabad. Within three months of Moon’s arrival the state debt would be the least of his problems.
Many states also had their own armies. A few of these were completely independent, and their role was part internal security and part ceremonial, although in 1947 internal security was interpreted widely as with the Maharajah of Alwar’s state troops in Gurgaon. Most, however, were part of the Indian States Forces Scheme, whereby the princes agreed to their forces being under the commander-in-chief in exchange for arms, equipment, staff assistance and training. Many of these had fought with great bravery in the recent war, and their rulers, not quite so many of whom led from the front as they had done in the First World War, were nevertheless generous supporters of the war effort. The Nizam of Hyderabad financed two Spitfire squadrons, in return for which he was presented with a captured Messerschmitt. The Maharajah of Nawanagar, the famous Jam Sahib, ran a camp for Polish refugee children. The great Sikh ruler, the Maharajah of Patiala actually deployed to North Africa with his forces and the Maharajah of Bundi won an MC fighting in Burma.
The problem in July 1947 was that Nehru and Patel had automatically assumed that paramountcy for the vast majority of states would transfer to the new Indian government and a few to Pakistan. Not all the princes shared that view. They had met in January and agreed that ‘all the rights surrendered by the States to the paramount Power will return to the States’.10 Some, like Hyderabad and Travancore, argued that they had made separate treaties with the British, which they did not agree transferred automatically, and said they were considering independence. Others would accept the 1932 federal solution but thought this implied retaining complete control of their own affairs with only a loose arrangement with Delhi, something Nehru would certainly not accept. For others, like Kashmir, with a divided population, the question was which of the new countries to join. The policy was that it was an issue for each ruler to decide. For most the decision was obvious. ‘There are’, as Mountbatten told them, ‘certain geographical compulsions which cannot be evaded. Out of something like 565 States, the vast majority are irretrievably linked geographically with the Dominion of India’.11
The 3 June announcement was also remarkably vague as to what had been agreed about the states; very little had. It simply stated that paramountcy would lapse and that the states should either enter into a federal arrangement with one or other of the successor governments or enter into ‘other particular political arrangements’.12 Even Attlee had gone on the record as saying that paramountcy was not transferable.13 Nehru had seen this problem coming, hence his Gwalior speech on 19 April, which had caused such concern, and which showed that, although he had not meant literally what he said, Congress’ attitude was hardening. Jinnah was, at this stage, less concerned; it was fairly clear that states like Qalat and Bahawalpur would come to Pakistan and he and Liaquat would take a more relaxed view of negotiations than Nehru.
Mountbatten, who said that ‘the full realisation of the problem only dawned on me gradually’, first discussed the states with the Indian political leadership on 13 June. The Nawab of Bhopal had already resigned as chancellor after the 3 June announcement, saying that the British had let the princes down badly. He realised that Nehru’s strong centre would make it almost impossible for a federated system to work and that the old Cabinet Mission Plan, which had semi-accepted that arrangement, was now dead. At the 13 June meeting, Sir Conrad Corfield unwisely expounded to Nehru his theory that each state should negotiate separately with the new Indian government and in slow time, exactly, in fact, as Pakistan was to do, and that each state should consider having its own ‘Dominion status’. Nehru, already tired, overworked and fractious, promptly exploded. He told Corfield he was opposed to India and should be immediately put on trial for ‘misfeasance’ – throughout all these countless meetings it is noticeable that Nehru’s knowledge and use of English was far above his British counterparts.14 What Corfield was suggesting was anyway totally impractical. If India became independent on 15 August without the states as part of the new country then it would lose half its landmass and a quarter of its population. This simply did not fit with Nehru’s model of a centralised state. It was impossible to negotiate terms with all of them in the next two months. A common policy of accession had to be found and Corfield was not the man to do it. Nehru also suspected him of burning the records of his department. Corfield replied, with remarkable honesty, that he had only destroyed those that dealt with the personal misdemeanours of past rulers. He was sent packing back to England and Nehru established a new States Department, which, luckily, he agreed could come under Patel rather than directly under him. Even more fortunately V. P. Menon would become its secretary. Mountbatten, well placed as a cousin of the king to negotiate with princely families, would now spend much of July persuading, with Patel cajoling, the more reluctant princes.
It was, once again, Menon who managed to find a formula that would prove acceptable to the vast majority. Rather than ask the princes to
give up all their power, it would, he argued, be enough for them to agree to accede only in the three key policy areas of defence, foreign affairs and communications. They could keep their land, titles and privy purses. Nehru and Patel both agreed, albeit reluctantly; the left wing of Congress remained sceptical. Patel anyway thought that the population of the states would rise up and overthrow their rulers after independence, an attitude that showed a surprisingly shallow understanding of rural India. On 5 July this revised policy was published and with it four pillars of agreement that were just about achievable in the time available. First, there would be a common Instrument of Accession; secondly, a central negotiating structure was established via the States Department; thirdly, there was a common ‘Standstill’ agreement, which guaranteed all other existing arrangements between the crown and the state would remain unaltered until new negotiations had taken place, and, finally, there was a mechanism for amending the draft Independence Bill. Congress refused to negotiate with the British Residents or their agents, and with only a sparse coverage of Congress or League representatives available, effectively the states had to come to Delhi to sign away their rights. Once again Menon, trusted as deeply by Patel as he was by Mountbatten, had prevented potential disaster.
Even this compromise was not acceptable to all. Mountbatten and Patel worried most about twenty-one-gun Hyderabad and nineteen-gun Travancore. They thought that if they could ‘get them in . . . nearly all other states will accede. If they refuse there are quite a number of other states, such as Mysore, Bhopal and Dholpur, who may stand out’.15 Bhopal summed up the feelings of many of his fellow princes when he wrote to Mountbatten saying
how can we, the Rulers of Independent States, throw in our lot with a political party whose resolution is that India should become a republic? You cannot, my dear Dickie, mix oil with water. In any country in the world the two democratic barriers against the rising tide of Communism are the vested interest, which in India are the jagirdars and zamindars, and the money owners, which in India are the big industrialists. The Congress are at present busily engaged in liquidating the zamindars and jagirdars. The future intention of Congress is to mete out similar treatment to the Princes.
Many of the princes, he concluded, regarded Gandhi and Nehru ‘as an enemy’.16
Travancore, in particular, did not like the idea of being part of a Congress-dominated, left-leaning administration. The state, actually a kingdom, occupied the extreme south-western part of the Indian peninsula. It had been ruled since 1729 by the Varma kings, although effective power was exercised by their prime minister, or dewan, Sir C. P. Ramaswami Aiyar. It had been him who had been to see Mountbatten when he first arrived to voice his concerns, pointing out that his population was larger than Australia’s. Now, as the future became clearer, Aiyar declared on 14 July that Travancore would become independent. This was worrying. Travancore had a strong economy, its own ports, large foreign currency reserves and well-trained armed forces. It also enjoyed a strong ethnic and national identity. The stated reason was that they ‘could not be forced to join a dominion whose leaders have at this critical juncture in world history established diplomatic relations with the Soviet Republic’. There had been ongoing opposition to Congress for some years and there had also been considerable communist agitation. Aiyar particularly disliked Gandhi. He went to see Mountbatten again in July and presented him with a series of files that purported to show that Gandhi was a ‘dangerous sex maniac who couldn’t keep his hands off young girls’.17
Mountbatten and Patel applied their carrot and stick tactics. Mountbatten told the dewan that he could not abandon India in her hour of need; history would judge him harshly. Patel pointed out that the Congress supporter and millionaire Sir Seth Dalmia had given the local Congress party five lakhs of rupees to stir up an internal uprising against the Travancore government after 15 August. Aiyar promised to ask his maharajah to reconsider. Shortly after his return he was attacked with a billhook and nearly killed but on 30 July the maharajah did telegraph his agreement to accede.18
Others, like the young Maharajah of Indore, a ‘young, erratic and bad-mannered man’, thought themselves above the whole process.19 Indore was an important and populous Maratha state in central India, a nineteen-gun salute state, and its accession mattered. Yeshwant Rao Holkar of Indore did not like the British. He had been educated at a British public school, Charterhouse, where he was horribly bullied. His astrologers had also warned him that Guru, the only protective planet in his horoscope, had ‘suddenly become weak and evil’ and that its ‘evil influence will become dangerous from January 1947’, so he was not well disposed to cooperate.20 He consequently refused either to answer any correspondence or to come to Delhi, despite a very senior deputation of his fellow Maratha princes, led by the Gaekwar of Baroda, a most important man, trying to persuade him. Indore simply left the princes in his drawing room. He finally did answer a summons to Viceroy’s House where he was interviewed by Mountbatten. He mumbled some excuses in answer to his dressing down and then left without agreeing to anything. The States Department were consequently rather surprised to receive his signed Instrument of Accession in an old envelope in the ordinary post soon afterwards.
Hyderabad was altogether more difficult. Its population was 85 per cent Hindu but, for centuries, its 15 per cent Muslim minority had governed. It was, in most respects, already an independent country. It had its own currency and its own Parliament and the Nizam had decided that he would accede neither to India nor Pakistan but become an independent dominion, issuing a firman to that effect on 3 June. Although the Raj thought the Nizam was ‘an incalculable creature, and may not be wholly susceptible to reasoned arguments’,21 his decision was not so much a protest, like Travancore, but more a reasoned assessment of the options he faced. His 2 million Muslims were vociferous and their extreme wing, the Ittehad-ul-Muslimeen, active. Accession to India would effectively render this class who had run the state and the army powerless. ‘The problem of Hyderabad’, wrote C. G. Herbert, the Resident, ‘is a microcosm of the problem of the whole of India – a mixed Hindu and Muslim population with the Hindus primarily in the countryside and currently too busy in the fields to worry over much’ but, he warned, if the Nizam did join India the Muslims would be infuriated and serious violence would break out.22 Even the Parliament was weighted in the Muslims’ favour and Jinnah had been active in trying to persuade the Nizam to join Pakistan, something which, under Jinnah’s original plan for Pakistan, might have worked. Now, post the decision on partition, it was impossible. Nehru and Patel could never accept such an important state in the centre of India, surrounded entirely by Indian states, doing anything of the sort.
The Nizam had the good sense to enlist the services of a political adviser in the form of Sir Walter Monckton, who was reputedly paid £1,000 per day. Monckton, the lawyer who had guided Edward VIII through his marriage, was a clever choice. He had been in Churchill’s last government as solicitor general and was influential among those politicians at Westminster who were not only opposed to Congress and sceptical of Mountbatten, but also naturally sympathetic to the princes. Monckton argued that Hyderabad had been a loyal ally of Britain for hundreds of years. The Nizam had governed well, if more in the interests of the Muslim minority, but there had been little bloodshed and there had never been a famine, something that could not be said for the British provinces.23
The Nizam’s proposal was to allow the new Indian government to control his foreign policy, defence and communications but without actually acceding. This was still unacceptable to Patel. Negotiations continued throughout July and August but by the end of the month there was still no solution. Monckton told Churchill, Salisbury, Eden and Butler, in other words the leaders of the Westminster opposition, that Congress were spending a fortune trying to undermine the Nizam. Mountbatten was too feeble with Congress, simply doing everything they said and that ‘the present exhibition of power politics seems an exact replica of those in which Hitl
er and Mussolini indulged’, something he knew would stir a roar from Churchill. We must, he concluded, ‘see to it whether this shameful betrayal of our friends cannot be prevented’.24
Smaller states in a similar position to Hyderabad, with a Muslim ruler and powerful elite but a majority Hindu population, and who did accede to India, did prove the Nizam’s point. Rampur, a smaller state in the United Provinces, but still with a fifteen-gun salute, agreed to accede to India and was immediately subject to severe rioting. Muslims set fire to the state buildings and the police stations and murdered policemen. The nawab’s forces lost control, not helped by the fact that they carried antiquated firearms as, the Nawab pointed out, he had preferred to spend his revenue on education. He was petitioned to join Pakistan, being told that it was his chief minister, Zaidi, the ‘chief usher of darkness’ who was responsible for bowing to Congress and alienating his subjects from him. Again the possibility of Rampur joining Pakistan had evaporated with the 3 June announcement; under Jinnah’s original concept it might well have been able to have done so.25
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