Ivory Throne
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This was an infamous individual known to history as Sankaran Tampi, ‘Comptroller of the Palace’. The matter would still appear to be relatively straightforward—of one shady acolyte succeeding another—except when one considers that Tampi was, in fact, the first husband of Kartyayani Pillai. In other words, when Mulam Tirunal became acquainted with his wife, she was already a married woman. Her husband in those days was known as Sanku Pillai, a low-level servant who had been a menial to Visakham Tirunal.28 Upon relinquishing his wife to the Maharajah, however, he too was dignified with the title of Tampi, ordinarily bestowed only upon the sons of Travancore’s monarchs. He would go on to marry the younger sister of his now ex-wife, but this would not prevent him from being publicly embarrassed as ‘the former husband of the Maharajah’s present wife’.29 More revealingly, the episode demonstrated again the weakness within Mulam Tirunal, whose judgement could be swayed by the satisfaction of rather less lofty earthly delights, perhaps even justifying the stinging assertion that ‘all the pomp and splendour associated with his rule was but a smoke screen to hide his debauchery, lasciviousness, and lust’.30
Into the twentieth century, Sankaran Tampi acquired unto himself a most dominating presence at court, and none other than the Chief Justice of Travancore himself acknowledged in 1906 during certain legal proceedings that he ‘could be influenced by bribes to have Palace orders issued in favour of any party he wished to favour’.31 This led to a blow on the man’s considerable power and income, and ‘he swore’, in the words of the Resident, ‘vengeance on the Chief Justice’, getting Mulam Tirunal to transfer him out of Travancore.32 Even the highest authorities in the British establishment were aware of this unsettling influence of the Second Favourite, and in 1903 the Governor of Madras had written to Lord Curzon that the man was selling prized government positions to the highest bidders. Indeed, such was the level of the Maharajah’s predilection for and dependence on his favourite that there were even rumours of a homosexual liaison between them, but the Madras Government seems to have dismissed these.33 ‘The state of the Court here,’ a Bishop summarised, ‘is very bad. Unworthy favourites rule and we hear of great scandals.’34
The Dewan Sir V.P. Madhava Rao made efforts, then, to rid the palace of the coterie Tampi commanded, but without success most likely because of the backdoor access the latter enjoyed through marriage to the palace.35 The Dewan persuaded Mulam Tirunal to stop accepting petitions and official requests at his palace, so as to bypass Tampi and his channel to power, but ultimately failed and departed from the state, causing it a great loss of talent and statesmanlike ability. The next Dewan, Sir P. Rajagopalachari, more expediently chose to exude great strength but did not really upset the favourite. Instead, joining hands in many respects, they would preside over a period of ‘considerable political confusion and chaos’.36 The Dewan himself was none the better as far as moral character went (one newspaper amusingly accused him of staring at the Maharajah’s wife from across a street, which was evidently the least of his sins),37 but ‘few had the courage to speak out’.38 The arrangement worked excellently for the Second Favourite and soon he became exceedingly wealthy through his illicit enterprises, and was treated right royally wherever he went in the principality. ‘Officers big and small stood in whispering humbleness before him,’ which was hardly surprising since they probably owed him their jobs in return for liberal commissions and underhand fees.39 It is even said that Tampi used to attend meetings of the state’s representative organs, watching ‘intently’, and ensuring that no member who was likely to criticise him or the palace bureau got to speak.40 Yet some did, to be fair, raise voices against this criminal venality passing off as royal decree. One outspoken journalist called Ramakrishna Pillai wrote a series of editorials in the Swadeshabhimani, courageously berating the administration for its spectacular decadence. The titles fittingly capture the situation, even as they infuriated the favourite: ‘Tampuran Tampi’, ‘The Supremacy of the Courtiers’, ‘The Royal Servants and the Kingdom of Travancore’, ‘Why Can’t We Exile Sankaran Tampi?’ and so on. As it happened, it was the journalist who got exiled.41
When Sethu Lakshmi Bayi and the Junior Rani were still children, they knew of Tampi mainly as an important confidante of the Maharajah and as a relative of his Ammachi. But it was only after they grew up that they realised the tremendous extent of the feared Second Favourite’s power, which surpassed even their traditional and ceremonially supreme status at court. To please Tampi was to please the Maharajah, and it was clear that getting into his bad books did not bode well for whoever dared; rumours persisted that that tragic succession of deaths in the early years of the twentieth century, of the late Rani and her nephews, had something to do with their having upset Tampi.42 But, as fate would have it, the Senior Rani’s consort decided to do exactly opposite of what he was advised. Rama Varma had now, with the death of his great-uncle, succeeded to the title of Valiya Koil Tampuran and treated his role as partner and adviser to the Senior Rani with the most sobering gravity, and more importantly, an unbending sense of propriety that bordered on the unreasonable. ‘He recognised that the Maharajah was a weak person,’ Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s nephew notes, ‘and referred to Tampi in highly sarcastic terms.’ He thought Mulam Tirunal was an old-fashioned character whose best days had passed, and it was no surprise that the Maharajah resented such near-seditious insubordination from a man whose sole claim to prominence and, indeed, even a personality, was his marriage into the royal house. ‘It is amusing that an Edwardian individual should consider a Victorian ruler antiquated in his view of the world,’ the nephew continues, ‘and although he wouldn’t say it in so many words, it was clear he disliked the Maharajah as well as his favourite. The Senior Rani would never say anything of the sort. She might have harboured negative feelings, but she never expressed what she felt openly.’43
The conflict with Tampi was precipitated over relatively minor problems. Ten years ago Kerala Varma had clashed with the Maharajah when the latter permitted Tampi to appoint one of his nominees as manager of the minor Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s Sripadam Estate. But at the time, perhaps because he feared this would land him in hot waters, he quickly withdrew, writing in his diary: ‘to avoid rupture, I sent a few lines apologising’.44 Similarly, in 1914 the Senior Rani’s father recorded how an important government post meant to be given to a meritorious candidate was ‘at the nick of the moment, as if by jugglery’ handed on a platter to one of Tampi’s nephews.45 ‘It has come to this,’ he indignantly vented, ‘that anything can be done now with impunity’ if it had the Second Favourite’s blessings.46 For many years Tampi had been making the Sripadam appointments, but after Sethu Lakshmi Bayi took over, she began taking independent decisions, assigning positions to those she preferred. In July 1914, for instance, when her old manager retired, the Senior Rani settled the post on someone she found competent instead of one of the favourite’s nominees. ‘The Maharajah does not seem to have liked this appointment,’ her father wrote, the implication being that although she had traditional authority over her estates, she was not meant to actually exercise it in defiance of the Second Favourite.47
There were other more serious lapses on the part of the Senior Rani as well, in effect placing her directly in Tampi’s line of fire. On state occasions and ceremonial events such as Kerala’s national festival of Onam, it was customary for all important officials and courtiers to call on Sethu Lakshmi Bayi and receive presents. When she was a child, Tampi was always specially invited at the Maharajah’s instance, besides being treated with superior deference. Now that she was older and more aware of the kind of dubious character he was, the Senior Rani ceased to extend an invitation to him in 1914 on more than one occasion. In June, for instance, she ignored him at the time of the Vishu festival and then again in September for Onam. Mulam Tirunal was extremely agitated by this slight to his lackey, and was apparently ‘anxious that the Rani should see and get his favourite’s favour’.48 The Junior Rani, perhaps bearing i
n mind her son’s best interests, on the other hand, was more careful and worldly-wise in her dealings with Tampi; at Vishu she not only invited him to her residence, but even entertained him for an hour along with her consort.49 What surprised everyone was that the rebellious and unorthodox Junior Rani had known not to upset the favourite, whereas the gentle and retiring Sethu Lakshmi Bayi had declared war on him. Surely, they presumed, she could not have done this had it not been for misguided outside influence. And the only person in a position to sway her was her recalcitrant consort, Rama Varma. As her father confirmed, ‘The MR [Maharajah] seems to be in very bad odour with [the consort] for advising his wife in all matters.’50
What irked many in the palace was not only his confident personality and his increasing tendency to act superior to others, seemingly forgetting his peripheral place and humble origins in life, but also the Senior Rani’s determined insistence that he be treated with more respect than was due to a mere consort. His sole legal entitlements in this role might have been Rs 200 and a few minor emoluments, but as a matter of practice, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi had been granting him greater authority. She had already disposed of the custom that prohibited him from driving in the same carriage with her, and began to go out in his company, despite screeching objections that this was not good decorum for an Attingal Rani. In the words of the watchful Resident, she ‘being well educated objects to treating her husband as was customary in the old days and is anxious that his position … should be kept as high as possible’.51 This was in manifest contrast to the Junior Rani who had always kept her consort, now holding the title of Kochu Koil Tampuran, ‘in his proper place’.52 As a result, Rama Varma, who ought to have known that his was a subordinate role at court, began to take liberties he felt he was entitled to, irritating not only those who were more orthodox and unchanging, but also everyone on whose sensitive toes he stepped in the process. ‘Heard that the MR again went down upon the consort furiously and pitiably,’ wrote Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s father yet again, ‘on some foolish and hateful grudge.’53
One of those who disliked the new status Rama Varma had assumed was the Junior Rani. Her ceremonial prerogatives were already inferior to those of her cousin, but one of the few rights she had was that of keeping the consorts standing in her presence. She exercised this power unremittingly, affronting the new Valiya Koil Tampuran, who felt he ought to have been exempted from bowing to the Junior Rani since he was consort to the Senior Rani. ‘He was afraid,’ it was noted, that ‘she might treat him in the same casual manner as she treats her own husband,’ and following age-old custom, ‘exercise her right … to keep [him] standing in her presence’.54 This only led to an exacerbation of the jarring animosity between the cousins, for Sethu Lakshmi Bayi fully encouraged her consort’s presumed precedence over the Junior Rani. The latter, in retaliation, prohibited her own husband from going to Moonbeam, where he would be obliged to bow to the Senior Rani. The episode was indicative of how unyielding and headstrong Rama Varma was becoming, with the active consent of his royal wife, much to the regret of others at court. To them, the Senior Rani had forgotten that her loyalties lay to her dynasty and not to this outsider consort. As Kuttan Tampuran recorded after a meeting with the Junior Rani’s secretary, even disputes between the cousins were blamed upon Rama Varma. ‘He [the secretary] was speaking to me for a long time a very elongated tissue of audacious lies and misrepresentations in justification and support of the conduct and procedure of those he serves. All the fault he would throw on the SR’s consort.’55
The Maharajah then, backed by an irate Tampi, decided it was time now to put the consort in his rightful place and teach him a lesson in discipline and due deference to power. In January 1914, for instance, when he was seriously unwell at his family home in Harippad and Sethu Lakshmi Bayi requested a car from the royal stables to fetch him, her application was promptly refused.56 ‘For the past few days I have had no peace of mind,’ she confessed in a letter.57 In what was more hard-hitting, when Kerala Varma lay dying in Mavelikkara, Rama Varma met with the Maharajah and asked for a motor to take him there. ‘But the relentless and spiteful **** did not sanction it but told him to make his own arrangements,’ despite the direness of the hour. As it happened, Kerala Varma passed away that afternoon without his nephew by his side.58 If this was meant to break the resolve of the Senior Rani and her consort, it failed miserably. Even the former’s father thought it was a lost cause to try persuading them to be more accommodative of Mulam Tirunal’s favourites, writing that Rama Varma was ‘very firm and immovable in his attitude and character’.59 It was to become a principal trait in his personality, and as a granddaughter would later remark, ‘he never forgot a good gesture, or a bad one’.60 Sethu Lakshmi Bayi too refused to bend before the corrupt influences in the palace. Perhaps her harshest words were elicited when Saravanai died a quick and easy death in 1912 and she wrote sardonically to her father, ‘The fact that he did not suffer more can only be attributed to his luck.’61 Her relatives too blamed all the trouble on Sankaran Tampi. ‘After supper we were speaking with the Rani and the consort for a long time,’ her father diarised, ‘about the foolish policy of the heartless Maharajah—perhaps to satisfy the wicked whims of the scoundrel favourite.’62
In the years after 1915 the Senior Rani, then, interacted with the Maharajah only on occasions of state where it was essential they met and presented blissful family harmony before their people. Perhaps she encouraged Rama Varma’s defiance of the Maharajah and of his favourites because she herself could not rebel, encumbered as she was by custom and her high station. Her husband, then, became the outlet of her own frustrations. But harassment from Tampi continued regularly, including upon members of her extended family, only making her more resolute in what she was certain was principled opposition. Her older brother, for instance, whom she lovingly called annan, had finished his studies at law school in Madras and was working as a junior with the distinguished criminal lawyer Dr S. Swaminathan.63 But in order to be closer to his family he desired to find employment in Travancore, even expecting that as brother to the queen, he might obtain a dignified position with relative ease. Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s advice to him, however, was to stay as far away as possible from their homeland, not only because prospects were better elsewhere but also because the palace bureau stood grimacing in the way of anyone connected to her. Writing to her father, she sighed:
Annan said that if he gets a job here it would be much better but in the present state of affairs, just as you remarked about your nephew, it is neither qualification nor worthiness that is of any account. If you want to live in honour, you have to go to some other state, because it is the speciality of the times. Even though nepotism is not a praiseworthy quality, if a person who is worthy comes, he is rejected on the ground that he is related to us, and no help of any sort is offered to him. What justice there is in this I cannot understand!64
But she reconciled to the fact that though she was the queen of Travancore, Tampi had ordered a blockade on her authority wherever it mattered. It did not deter her, however, from seeking the best options for her siblings. ‘The Senior Rani’s brothers were somewhat complacent in the beginning,’ remarks Kochukunji’s grandson, ‘because they were brothers to the queen and nobody would refuse them anything.’ But ‘she wisely saw the damage this could cause, taking prompt action to ensure they left the state and carved out independent careers for themselves,’ not strutting about as courtly masters and royal relatives.65 While Annan would venture into India’s fledgling private sector, ultimately becoming Director of Finances for the prestigious Tata Group, the Senior Rani’s second brother became a senior director with the South Indian Railways. The third was a qualified lawyer but owing to poor health lived all his life with Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, editing books and engaged in academic pursuits until his death in the 1940s. The fourth trained for the prestigious Indian Civil Services (ICS) but returned from London instead with an MA in archaeology and history, going on to become Ass
istant Registrar of the University of Madras. Her youngest brother, who was seventeen years her junior and practically like a son to her, followed the eldest into the private sector with the Associated Cements Company after his studies in London, retiring as a senior executive as well. This was in contrast to the Junior Rani’s brothers, who, barring a single exception, remained in Travancore, enjoying various posts under the patronage of their royal sister.66
Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s brothers67 also made excellent marital alliances, with the eldest wedding a niece of P.G.N. Unnithan, the final Dewan of Travancore before India became independent. The second married a daughter of Sir M. Krishnan Nair, a Dewan of Travancore who served Mulam Tirunal and was a member of the Executive Council of the Governor of Madras. The third, who was unwell, married a lady from the local aristocracy; the fourth the granddaughter of the titular Zamorin of Calicut; and the fifth a daughter of a member of the Legislative Council of Madras and a prominent Malabar zamindar. Most of these ladies were from historic families outside Travancore and were highly educated, and through them the Senior Rani was connected to several distinguished individuals, including among them Appu Nair, who assisted B.R. Ambedkar in the crafting of the Constitution of India; the ICS brothers, Achutha Menon and Madhava Menon; Prabhakaran Tampan, an important figure in the land reforms movement in Malabar; and even a Cochin Jew called Miss Rebecca Violet Simon. Interestingly, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s second brother was offered the hand in marriage of the Maharajah’s exceedingly pampered daughter from his controversial second wife, with a gold-plated Rolls Royce and a substantial fortune as an added incentive. But the girl rivalled her mother in the sheer enormity of her well-fed dimensions, and although her riches momentarily tempted the brother, he politely declined the offer. It was Rama Varma who again played a role in this, advising him to beware the glimmering seductions of wealth, perhaps offending Mulam Tirunal, who was anxious that his daughter should marry the Senior Rani’s brother.68 She was later wedded to the Junior Rani’s sibling, Rajan Tampuran, before dying young in the 1920s, though not before Mulam Tirunal had obtained for her a decoration from the British for nothing in particular than to flatter his darling daughter’s vanity.69