A few months after Lakshmi Bayi returned to Trivandrum, news arrived at the palace that Mahaprabha had conceived and was with child. The overjoyed Rani now went on a whole new series of pilgrimages within Travancore, so that even the local gods and divinities would collaborate with Mahadeva of Rameswaram to realise her yearning for a baby girl. In Mavelikkara, Mahaprabha was made to subscribe to a full range of religious vows and ceremonies, while missive after advisory missive arrived from her royal aunt. She was told what to eat, and what not to eat; which tonics were mandatory, and which not so much; what rituals she could omit, and what had to be performed without delay; and so on. The expectant mother merely acquiesced in all this, partly because the Rani gave her no option but also because she was conscious of precisely how important the birth of a girl child would be for her, her family, and for the state of Travancore. Nobody wanted to take any chances.
By the second week of November 1895, Lakshmi Bayi ordered Mahaprabha to find an auspicious day to move into the accouchement room at the family palace in Mavelikkara.52 ‘Think that the Lord in his mercy will bless you with a bonny female child and be happy,’ the Rani commanded her. Finally, with everyone waiting with bated breath, on Tuesday, 19 November, Mahaprabha went into labour and gave birth to a baby girl: ‘fair complexioned with dark large eyes and curly black hair’, ‘a darling little stranger’. ‘How thankful we are to the Almighty,’ the Rani’s husband rapturously declared, ‘for at last granting our unremitting prayers!’53 It was official now. The girl born had to be a result of the pilgrimage to Rameswaram and of the Sethu Snanam ceremony her mother and distinguished great-aunt had performed. She was an heiress provided by the gods to the royal house of Travancore in its time of need, and to commemorate her divine origins, it was pronounced she be named Sethu Lakshmi Bayi. There could not be a more romantic story behind one’s birth, and in the years to come, poets and mystics would make much of the heavenly origins of this daughter of providence, named after the sacred seas and her indomitable great-aunt. As it happened, though, she was destined to die faraway from her land of birth in near obscurity.
There was, of course, no question of adopting a newborn into the royal house and so, for the next few years, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi remained in Mavelikkara with her parents and surrounded by members of her extended family. The Rani was, of course, a dominant presence even in those early years and every now and then, on receiving her commands, the baby girl would be taken to Trivandrum to spend several months at a stretch at the palace. These vivid memories would remain etched in her mind, as she remembered the Sundara Vilasam Palace in Trivandrum Fort, where they stayed, next door to Lakshmi Bayi’s own Sarasvati Vilasam. It was a beautiful building, full of ‘huge halls and haunting passages and corridors’, the girl would later reminisce. ‘There was a very picturesque staircase going up to the women’s quarters upstairs, where there was a single piece of rosewood called tookhamanji, like a swing with brass chains going up, on which you could lie or sit.’ Sethu Lakshmi Bayi would remember her royal great-aunt coming to visit her here, reclining with aplomb on velvet bolsters and cushions, giving orders to her servants and retainers. It was a magical image of a stately woman that left an abiding impression on the princess-to-be early in her life.54
In the meantime, in early 1896 the Rani received a letter unexpectedly from a former Dewan (Chief Minister) of Travancore and a friend of Ravi Varma’s called Sir Sheshiah Shastri (1828–1903). One of the earliest beneficiaries of English education in India, he had risen from being a junior clerk in service of the Madras Government to holding the prestigious Dewanships of Travancore as well as of Pudukkottai. His acquaintance with Lakshmi Bayi went back several decades to the mid-1870s, when Ayilyam Tirunal sat on the throne, but since his retirement many years ago he had not been in touch. So his message to her now came as a surprise, not least because it also appeared strangely prescient. He claimed to be ‘prompted by a power, which I cannot understand’ to write to the Rani about the future of her dynasty and of Travancore, ‘a country which will always be dear to me’. Insisting that she should take ‘measures to strengthen the Royal Family’ by adopting girls, he went on to describe a curious dream he had had. In this, he claimed, he witnessed the Rani presenting to her family deity in the great temple in Trivandrum two princesses as adoptees, insuring the future of her line. ‘When I awoke,’ he concluded, ‘I asked myself could this be only a baseless dream or was it only a foreshadowing of what is soon to happen? I felt satisfied that it was undoubtedly the latter.’55
This convinced Lakshmi Bayi again of divine intervention in the protection of her house. For how else could a man, unheard from for years, suddenly bring up exactly what was on her mind, especially after picturing everything in a dream? To add to it, soon afterwards it was announced that Kochukunji was now pregnant. As in the case of Mahaprabha, a whole series of religious vows and offerings followed, and on 7 November 1896, almost exactly a year after the birth of Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, yet another great-niece was born to the Rani. Like her cousin, she was duly named Sethu Parvathi Bayi. It appeared as though the second character from Sir Sheshiah’s dream had arrived on the scene, and all that remained was to set the stage for that decisive moment in the lives of the girls and in the history of Travancore: the actual adoption. ‘May the Lord save the children He has given,’ the Rani prayed in all sincerity, little anticipating the tumultuous future fate held in store for them.56
Towards the end of 1899 Lakshmi Bayi commenced proceedings for the adoption of her great-nieces into the royal family by issuing a formal message to the Maharajah. ‘I suppose you know that I am getting on in years and that I am suffering from diseases attendant thereto,’ she began, before going on to recommend that the two Sethus be introduced into the dynasty. ‘To propagate your family, brother, we request you to get this thing done. As the children are now old enough to be properly educated and trained to follow the royal etiquette, I request you to proceed with the adoption without further delay.’57 Besides this, some urgency had also been added to the whole affair because one of Lakshmi Bayi’s three nephews, born to the late Junior Rani, had died, reducing the number of heirs to a precarious two.58 Adoption became all the more important because of yet another strikingly exceptional feature of the matrilineal system; if there were no male members in the royal family, its princesses were perfectly eligible to succeed in their own right as sovereign rulers. Thus, if the two remaining princes were also to pass away unexpectedly, the Sethus would be entitled, in the order of seniority, to occupy the Ivory Throne and ensure the state was not orphaned.
In a few months’ time all the formalities were completed with the British Government of India and the date of the adoption announced. On 28 August 1900, thus, the children bid their final adieus to relatives and family members in Mavelikkara and set out on their journey to becoming the princesses of Travancore. Travelling by boat, they arrived in Trivandrum two days later to a fabulous reception. An escort took them to the Rani’s palace, abuzz with activity in preparation of the event. Many nobles and aristocrats from all over Kerala had arrived for the function, and they paid informal calls on the princesses-to-be that evening. The town itself was brimming with people who had gathered from all over the state, lending to the whole place an air of eager celebration.
At sunrise on 31 August, the little girls were awoken by their mothers, quickly readied and taken to the Rani. Lakshmi Bayi looked as prim and majestic as ever, and with an unusual enthusiasm and energy, took charge of her wards. In a procession she escorted them for an elaborate ceremonial bath in the Padmateertham, the temple tank, where they were ‘purified’ and made ready to be presented to Sri Padmanabhaswamy, the royal family’s deity. Then in the presence of the Dewan and all other important Hindu officials of the government, and with the Rani’s youngest nephew, Prince Asvathi Tirunal, presiding, the children were led to the sanctum sanctorum of the temple. As they contemplated the inner stone pavilion called the Srimukha Mandapam, Lakshmi Bayi clos
ed her eyes for a moment and took the name of Sri Padmanabhaswamy. She had waited many years for this day and in that instant all her worries were lifted away. And when the auspicious moment arrived, she clasped the hands of both Sethus in her own, and led them up the sacred steps.
The shrine was brilliantly lit up and kept open for Sri Padmanabhaswamy to accept the new princesses, as was traditional. Through its three doors the children beheld the resplendent image of the deity, and prostrated in acceptance of their sacred charge. At that moment, while the surging crowds outside waited, a twenty-one-gun salute was fired. As the first boom was sounded all over Trivandrum, revelry broke out on the streets. The air was filled with an utter cacophony of noises: the ululations of the womenfolk, the hurrahs of the men, the feu de joie of the soldiers, all punctuated by the occasional trumpets of the state elephants. It was a historic moment when the Sethus finally became part of the royal family, one that would shape the future of the land and the lives of its millions. They would both, in their respective rights, hold the destinies of Travancore in their hands in the years to come. And they would both leave their marks, in good ways and in bad, on Martanda Varma’s kingdom.
That afternoon at the official durbar a formal proclamation of adoption was issued by the Maharajah. From an open gallery attached to the hall, and looking out at the crowds, in a booming, stentorian voice the Dewan announced:
Whereas it is found necessary to secure the continuation of the representation of Our House by adoption, We are pleased to declare that according to custom and usage and with the concurrence of the British Government, Sethu Lakshmi born on the 5th Vrischikam 1071 [Malayalam Era] under the star Pooradam, and Sethu Parvathi born on the 24th Tulam 1072 under the star Mulam, both of the Mavelikkara family, have this day been adopted as Junior Rani and First Princess of Attingal.59
In Malayalam Sethu Lakshmi Bayi would henceforth be titled the Attingal Elaya Tampuran and Sethu Parvathi Bayi the Attingal Kochu Tampuran. These were their official titles, as the Ranis of Travancore were formally addressed as the rulers of Attingal. This was a territory within the state, which until the eighteenth century had been independent of the Maharajah’s authority, directly ruled by the senior female member of the royal family. Then Martanda Varma, as part of his venture to consolidate a strong unitary state, amalgamated Attingal securely with the rest of Travancore. But the Ranis retained the title and ceremonial connections with that place, and the revenues from it continued to accrue to them. Lakshmi Bayi, as the foremost female member, was in charge of this, with her title as the Attingal Mootha Tampuran, i.e., Senior Rani, while her little great-nieces now became the Junior Rani and the ‘First Princess’ respectively.
With the successful performance of the adoption ceremonies, the Rani had been relieved of a tremendous weight. For years she had worried about the prospects of her dynasty, and only the birth of her great-nieces had soothed her. She seems to have been particularly fond of Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, writing for instance in 1897 to Mahaprabha as follows:
I pass my time imagining the play of the children. How lovely it would be to see Sethukutty playing, and to hear her unformed words. I keep thinking of it. When you described it in your letter, I was obsessed with the thought that all this time without seeing her was being wasted. I consoled myself with the thought that extreme happiness comes only during periods of good fortune, and for that I pray to the Lord and wait for it to come. May God save the darling children.60
On another occasion, when she was lonely and missed the playful laughter of the girls, she asked her niece: ‘Tell this to Sethukutty and give her a kiss on my behalf.’ Yet another time on hearing of some mischief the girls had been up to in Mavelikkara, she insisted to Mahaprabha: ‘Please do not scold the children on any account.’61 It was with happiness, then, that she welcomed the two Sethus after their adoption to Trivandrum, and into her solitary life, permanently. She would finally, she thought, be able to see them for as long as she wanted, and to pamper and indulge them as fully as she had craved during all her unhappy years of childlessness.
She had had to fight her own battles to see this day, though, which contributed to her sense of relief once the ceremonies were concluded. Certainly as Senior Rani and head of the royal house she possessed the enormous privileges of that position, but adoption was anything but an uncomplicated affair. It was fraught with bitter rivalries and vehement intrigues, so worrisome that even the lives of the two girls might have been in jeopardy during their initial years in Mavelikkara. Giving heiresses to the royal house was a matter of great prestige for the Kolathiri clan in Mavelikkara. But it also provoked envy. For there were other branches of the Kolathiri family also living in Travancore at Ennakkad, Prayikkara, and Aranmula, and they all felt that they too had a right to nominate their daughters for the adoption. Since the last adoption in 1857 had been from Mavelikkara, they argued that one of their houses ought to have the next rightful claim to be considered.
But Lakshmi Bayi, after decades of exposure to court intrigues, was adept at manoeuvring through politics of this variety and ensuring she had her way. In this particular instance, she sought to bolster her proposal over others’ by collaborating with the Maharajah’s chief favourite. In royal families, those in palace establishments wielded much power. Especially since the accession of the then Maharajah Mulam Tirunal, a contentious ‘palace bureau’62 of favourites, sycophants, and henchmen had come into existence. This was an extremely dominant group, controlled by a principal favourite, about whom more will be said later. In any case the Rani realised that to have the Maharajah do her bidding, she would have to enlist the support of the palace bureau for her cause.63 But the favourite was not a very easy man either, for he was conscious of his clout. He decided to bargain with Lakshmi Bayi and was prepared, he declared, to support Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s nomination, but not of Kochukunji’s daughter’s because the latter was, in his opinion, ‘black’.64 Instead, he recommended someone from Ennakkad, who was presumably less ‘black’, but the Rani insisted on having both her great-nieces and continued to lobby the palace bureau.
She could still rather easily have had her way, for the favourite was susceptible to money and flattery, had not rival branches of the Kolathiri clan also found a champion within the royal household. This was Lakshmi Bayi’s senior nephew, the heir-apparent Chathayam Tirunal, who held the title of Elayarajah. This prince had over the years developed an intense dislike towards the Maharajah and the palace bureau and was, in any case, ill-disposed to the very idea of adoption. He represented, firstly, to the Madras Government under whose jurisdiction Travancore fell in the British Raj, that any adoption to the line of the Attingal Ranis, even when assented to by the senior female member, could not be valid without his consent as heir apparent. In other words, it was not the province of Lakshmi Bayi to decide these matters herself and to her personal satisfaction alone.65 Secondly, he asserted, there was no urgent necessity at all for adoption at this time; there were three male members in the royal family and in due course it would devolve upon the last of them to introduce fresh blood.66 As for the Rani’s argument that the male members might die and lead to a crisis, he felt he might be persuaded to accept it and support an adoption, but only of older girls, close to marriageable age (i.e., about eleven years old), so that they might provide the dynasty heirs more promptly. Indeed, in his communications, Chathayam Tirunal constantly referred to the little Sethus as ‘the babies’, deeming them wholly unsuitable for introduction into the royal family.67
He also had much to say about the Rani and her excessive interest in the affairs of Ravi Varma’s daughters in Mavelikkara. Lakshmi Bayi, he claimed, was unnecessarily concerned about her natal family and all her keenness to adopt the daughters of Mahaprabha and Kochukunji was to nepotistically ensure that they would have their futures safe and secure even after her time. It was her connection by blood to Mavelikkara, and not a dynastic interest in perpetuating the line of the Attingal Ranis, that made her so insisten
t on the Sethus. Chathayam Tirunal claimed, additionally, that the Mavelikkara stock was an inauspicious one: the previous adoption of his own mother and Lakshmi Bayi from there had been ‘unfortunate and fruitless’, giving the royal house no daughters. An equally troubling cause for worry was that the grandmother of the girls, Kochupanki, and one of her brothers had both been drunkards of sorts. In terms of health also, the family left much to be desired; his mother, the late Junior Rani, and her father had died of cancer.68 In light of these unpropitious characteristics, the Elayarajah argued, it was best if adoption were sought from a better house.69
The Rani, thus, had met her match in her pragmatic, unsentimental nephew, who remained steadfast in his objections. No amount of emotional blackmail could sway his resolve and he insisted that his claims were in the best interests of the royal family. The Mavelikkara people, especially Kochupanki’s house, were a problematic lot, and they would bring with them more dissent than there already existed in the palace.70 He was alone in all this, though. The Maharajah made his support for the Rani known by visiting the British Resident (who at once was a kind of ambassador and watchful imperial supervisor) G.T. Mackenzie and expressing his strong approval of the Sethus.71 Prince Asvathi Tirunal also came out to back Lakshmi Bayi’s candidates, not least because he and Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s father were close friends.72 In order to prove to the Madras Government that the girls could be adopted in spite of the Elayarajah’s objections, the Dewan Krishnaswamy Rao, who was formerly Chief Justice of Travancore, approached the issue from a legal perspective. He argued that in a matrilineal family, if the majority of members were in favour of a particular act, it could be executed over the objections of the minority. In the royal household, three out of four members were in favour of the Mavelikkara children, and that was enough to carry the resolution to adopt the Sethus. Rao also made it a point to state that it would be politically unviable and detrimental to discipline in the family if junior members could flout the authority of the Maharajah and the Rani and that any decision the Madras Government took now would set a serious precedent.73 It is also said that Raja Ravi Varma, the children’s grandfather, exercised all his influence with the Viceroy in favour of the Rani’s proposition.74
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