By the end of 1938 the government and the Congress negotiated a truce by which 188 political prisoners were released in return for the suspension of the movement for civil disobedience. But peace was short-lived and ‘Direct Action’ was contemplated against the regime by January 1939.42 To pre-empt this, prominent leaders like GR and Pattom Thanu Pillai were arrested, so that those who remained outside lost their nerve and called off the proposed action. This led to a split in the party’s support and a lowering of morale among its rank and file. On Gandhi’s suggestion, they returned to negotiate with the government, which again, inevitably, broke down, and agitation resumed, with corresponding retaliation from the government—almost like a pattern. Gandhi wrote to Sir CP stating he was aware that ‘you want the State Congress to give up altogether the idea of responsible Government’ and that ‘You want them also not even to consult the National Congress leaders or be under their influence. I suppose it means that you resent even their consulting me.’ He then declared that ‘if you will insist in robbing people of their self-respect, there is nothing left for them but to engage in a fight for honour, however hopeless and unequal the fight may be.’43
In his response Sir CP, extremely politely, argued that the Mahatma had been ‘misinformed’ by the Congress, adding that ‘it is true that the Travancore Government do not propose to inaugurate Responsible Government in the sense of the Executive being responsible to and liable to removal by the Legislature’. But this did not mean he would not welcome a ‘thorough association’ between the people and the state. He welcomed Gandhi’s advice and guidance on this, ‘But if what is involved is the direct leadership of Gandhiji or his direct intervention in the matter of agitation in Travancore, then of course, the position is very different; and entirely unwillingly the Travancore Government will perforce to [sic] resist such intervention.’ Painful as such a confrontation would be, ‘there is no alternative but to proceed on our course, relying on the justice of our cause and on Providence’.44 This matched the Dewan’s position also, reportedly, that the Congress was merely a hooligan gang of ‘proven liars, men of no standing, with no stake to lose, most of them unemployed or briefless barristers’ whom he would never permit to stand in his way.45
In other words, Sir CP warned Gandhi from raking up trouble in Travancore. And soon enough, realising that indeed the Dewan meant business, with all the state’s coercive machinery at his disposal, the Mahatma advised the Congress to lie low. As the Resident recorded earlier, ‘CP and Gandhi have been exchanging statements in the Press, a wordy war in which the Mahatma is no match for his adversary and from which he seems to have retired. But verbal victories over Gandhi will do CP no good with the general public, to whom Gandhi is a saint and CP an arch-villain.’46 And it didn’t, for soon even such stalwarts as Rabindranath Tagore were lamenting the initiation of ‘a regime of fascism’ in Travancore.47 Mr Skrine then advised them that instead of locking up Congress leaders, effectively turning them into martyrs for a greater cause, and impulsively retaliating with brute force, the proper thing would be to hold ‘full dress’ trials against them with imported judges from British India. They would be impartial, and the state and its government could recover its prestige as a proper institution.48 While Sir CP was in favour of this idea, the Junior Maharani ‘who is a regular Bourbon and is also so fanatically proud a Travancorean that she hates any suggestion that Travancore can’t settle its own problems without outside assistance, is blocking the scheme. She is all-powerful in the Travancore Government, as you know—which is one argument in favour of the introduction of responsible government in Travancore!’49
Frenzied agitation continued, and Mr Skrine reported that ‘mobs of hooligans and students organised by the Travancore State Congress have destroyed six culverts and otherwise completely blocked the roads between Kottayam and the capital’.50 The state was full of protests and ‘the prisons are getting fuller and fuller of Congressmen. The wordy campaign of calumny and hate against Sir CP continues unabated, and the schools and colleges are seething with student discontent, expressed in many cases by “hartals” against their authorities.’51 His suggestion to deal with the problem legally was still not accepted. The Resident, privately, vented how neither side displayed any decency, which was perhaps more a scathing review of the government, since it was meant to set an example, and not come down to the level of agitators. He was highly astonished by the ‘crookedness of the fighting’ and the ‘characters of the combatants’. ‘I’ve great admiration for CP’s brain and many of his qualities, but at best he’s a Jesuit and a Machiavelli, while the [political] Travancoreans whom he tries to govern are as lousy a lot as I’ve come across anywhere—lying, mean, cowardly, conceited, intriguing, and packed full of envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableless.’52
A brief truce was negotiated between the government and the Congress during Princess Lalitha’s wedding, which the agitators honoured, presumably due to respect for the Senior Maharani.53 But then conflict resumed, till Gandhi himself advised the movement to quell its passion, following his exchange of letters with Sir CP in 1939. For the next several years, until the end of the Second World War, the State Congress would languish for most part at the periphery of the state’s politics, resuming its activities after this hibernation at a more auspicious moment. The Dewan would obtain some respite through a ‘Defence of Travancore’ proclamation, by which all political activities during the Second World War were heavily repressed. Even the legislature became a government body, and as one leader of the Congress declared, was comprised of ‘wooden hands, which will rise to support government policy at a word from government’.54 A number of Congressmen took to Cochin, and when complaints were made to the Dewan there, the latter cuttingly responded to Sir CP: ‘The Rule of Law is established in this State and His Highness the Maharajah has never exercised his powers in an arbitrary manner.’55 The exiles, in other words, would not be sent back to face the government in Travancore, and Sir CP received a polite proverbial slap on his ministerial face.
It is noteworthy, however, that during the reign of Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, though there was a great deal of agitation against her from the Nairs, they were never crushed using force by the administration. The police instead deputed spies at their meetings and conveyed information on their proceedings to the Maharani, beyond which the state permitted such demonstrations. As Gandhi himself had noted with wonder at the time, the Maharani’s government ‘will not only tolerate but welcome agitation’ since they demonstrated the mood of the public.56 Even on the day of the Viceroy’s visit in 1929 to commend her work in Travancore, while she prohibited a procession by the Nairs, the attendant protest meeting was allowed to continue and at no point were the police forced on the agitators even though the whole affair was embarrassing to the Maharani.57 Now the tables had turned, for the demonstrators found that the government would not sit quietly and allow them free rein, and was willing to hit back and pay them in kind.
The Maharajah, of course, paid the price for his minister’s autocracy by a dip in the popularity of his regime. As early as 1936, when Sir CP was appointed, the Political Secretary in Delhi had warned that despite his ‘undoubtedly great ability’, the new Dewan was not trusted by the people of the state, and that he ‘would weaken the Maharajah’s position with his subjects’.58 And by 1938 Mr Skrine only confirmed this when he pointed out that the monarch and his family were no longer beheld on a high pedestal, even though nobody would openly criticise the royal family, and focused instead on hating the Dewan. ‘The most striking feature of the situation,’ he wrote, ‘is the intense, almost hysterical, hatred shown by the educated and semi-educated classes for the Dewan. With a few exceptions, everyone in the State seems to long for his removal, and many yearn also for his ruin and disgrace.’59 Indeed, such was the fear of this man that it is said people were afraid to even walk on the road outside his official residence, Bhakti Vilas.60 Again, this was quite a serious contrast from Dewans like Mr Watts who
remained accessible always, even inviting ridicule and criticism for not being overbearing enough with the politicians who then perceived them as weak. Sir CP, on the contrary, took no chances, and made it clear he was the only power in the land, whether they liked it or not.
It did not help that Sir CP strutted around as a most ‘superior person’ and was ‘domineering and contemptuous of the common herd, incapable of suffering fools gladly’. To his credit, though, he was ‘incorruptible by money and therefore hated by the race of politicians, wire-pullers, shady financiers, blackmailing journalists and others among whom corruption is universal and taken for granted. His weakness is for fame, not money,’ felt Mr Skrine, who thought that he sincerely desired ‘peace and prosperity for Travancore, fame and success for the present Ruler and his mother as well as for himself ’.61 But his means were not quite as noble as his intentions. ‘His methods are Machiavellian; he rules by dividing, he bribes with office and other favours, he sets traps for his critics, and plays on the weaknesses of his enemies. It is no wonder that the man in the street does not love him.’62 Instead of building strong institutions, the Dewan developed a power-serving patronage network with himself as its presiding epicentre.
But his crafty personality alone did not account for the hatred against him or for the ‘widespread revolt against his administration’, as the Resident continued:
He is handicapped by the necessity for carrying out and justifying the ideas and ambitions of the Junior Maharani. Among those who know, this lady is the real ‘villain of the piece’. She is arrogant, uncharitable, egotistical, bad-tempered, insular, and vindictive. This would not matter so much if she did not meddle in affairs of State, but she presses her favourites on the Dewan for appointments and promotion, listens to tales against those who are not her favourites and insists on action (often underhand) against them, suggests this measure, vetoes that, and otherwise interferes arbitrarily in the administration. Her influence over her son is so strong that for all the world can see, he and she act as one. Sir CP is so loyal to her that it is impossible to elicit from him the slightest hint that a particular action has been dictated by her; but I am absolutely certain that some of his most unpopular and (as has since turned out) mistaken ideas have emanated from the Junior Maharani. He is thus the target of much odium, which should rightly be aimed at his exalted mistress. In fact a great deal of it is directed at the Junior Maharani, for there is no doubt that she is cordially hated, partly for the unpleasant characteristics mentioned above and for her complete lack of pity and sympathy towards her son’s subjects; partly for the feud which she carried on for years against the popular and respected Senior Maharani; and last but not least for her almost hypnotic influence over the young Maharajah and her usurpation sub rosa of ruling functions which he ought to be exercising on his own initiative. Sir CP as I have said bears a great deal of the odium for this state of affairs, because loyal Travancoreans dare not voice such sentiments towards their Ruler’s mother. They abuse the Dewan instead; and perhaps they are right in demanding his removal as an alternative to getting rid of the Junior Maharani. For without his brains, his driving energy, his immense capacity for work, his skill, and above all his unswerving loyalty, she might easily have taken a back seat long ago.63
That said, though this controversial trinity controlled Travancore, the Resident felt there was to them no viable alternative. ‘Not only is communalism rampant, but discipline, civic sense, mutual goodwill and cooperation, and genuine respect for authority are notably lacking in public life.’ Nobody was pleased by anything and the education system required significant reforms. ‘Sketchy, book-crammed education sadly deficient on the character-building side has spread all kinds of raw, undigested ideas, yearnings, and discontents, which are aggravated by the parlous economic state of the country due to gross over-breeding,’ he added with palpable disgust. No matter what Sir CP did, he would receive ‘nothing but jealous hostility from political rivals, abuse from profiteers whose monopolies are interfered with, and underhand attacks by the trouble-makers and intriguers who pervade public life’. Thus, while he had his notorious flaws, which Mr Skrine admitted were numerous, the politicians he dealt with were no better, so that the Dewan could always find a justification for more repression.64
In any case, an alternative would be just as problematic. ‘In the first place the Maharajah and his mother are so united in their conviction of the justice of their cause and their faith in Sir CP, that nothing short of a direct command from His Excellency [the Viceroy] would move them, and this might result in abdication.’ Then there was the fact that any successor to the Dewan would find it exceedingly hard to work, ‘with the [Junior] Maharani sitting on his head and the trouble-makers and tale-bearers hard at work at undermining his influence all the time’. The Congress too would settle for none other than one of their own nominees. ‘It would be impossible to grant this without committing the State to responsible government, which the rulers do not believe in and are determined not to promise.’65 But Sir CP and the Junior Maharani themselves were liable, he felt, for this current crisis, even though they were equally the only combination capable of grappling with it firmly—for the time being at any rate.
If they had been wiser Sir CP and the Maharani would have realised that you cannot have a dictatorship except on the solid basis of a well-organised and intensely loyal party, and of a thoroughly centralised and disciplined administrative machine. They would have felt their way carefully from the start, raised the standard of the public services, and doled out constitutional reforms and economic schemes year by year as required to maintain their popularity. Instead, in their passion for Travancore’s glory, they launched out on ambitious innovations such as a bicameral Legislature, a University, State banking, Temple-entry, pretentious schemes for the uplift of the depressed classes, and vast hydroelectric and other public works. Character, technical skill, and experience were alike lacking in the personnel required to bring these schemes to fruition and they served merely to antagonise powerful vested interests, to flatter the Travancoreans and make them want more, and to boost the State out of all proportion to its achievements.66
The Resident was speaking plain power politics here, which was something the Senior Maharani had understood during the Regency; that reforms and schemes though necessary must be timed and that no monarchy could work outside the material and social context of its existence. Travancore was part of a larger framework of British India and of colonial rule, and there were limitations on what the royal family could and could not offer and achieve. The system of absolute despotism was also such that its ultimate unfairness awaited exposure, and benevolent government merely bought time to keep the monarchy in the good books of an increasingly demanding, restive population. The only way the royal family, in an age of proliferating democratic consciousness, could remain relevant was by rising above petty politics, being impartial in its attitude, and creating strong institutions that could accommodate the aspirations of their subjects or offer avenues for their frustrations to be vented without toppling the hierarchy. Sethu Lakshmi Bayi had worked in this direction and proved herself, earning, as Louise Ouwerkerk remarked, ‘the unstinted love and respect of her people’.67
But the Junior Maharani returned to the age of royal patronage rather than institutional rule, and acted like ‘a more amiable Catherine de Medici’ who was ‘fully recognised by the local people’. It was to her, states Ouwerkerk, that ‘they went for favours, for jobs or promotions for themselves and their relatives. Inevitably she was surrounded by sycophants and flatterers who warped her judgement.’68 She knew a great deal and was intelligent, ‘but she wants to introduce too many changes at once, which is unrealistic’.69 Where the royal family were meant to be as discreet as possible, revealing themselves strategically to sustain popularity, while retaining their quaint charm and semi-divine remoteness, the Maharajah’s mother was everywhere. By 1940, a statue was erected of her in the capital, ostensibly by pub
lic subscription to recognise ‘the part she played in the cause of humanity and in the all round progress of the state’,70 not helped by allegations that Christians were coerced to contribute and that surplus funds were diverted to Hindu organisations.71 Where Sethu Lakshmi Bayi was awarded the Crown of India for her administrative prowess, in 1936 the Maharajah would openly request the Viceroy for a similar bauble for his mother.72 The application, incidentally, was denied, just as the statue of the Junior Maharani would also disappear some years later, after it was allegedly decapitated.73
Similarly, while the Senior Maharani received honorary doctorates for her work, the Junior Maharani and her son, reported the Resident, donated Rs 1 lakh to a university that recriprocated with similar honours.74 In imitation of the Paramount Power, orders and titles that sounded lavishly bombastic were designed, with little relevance for the masses. The effort ended in embarrassment, for no sooner had the ‘Order of the Conch’ (with the Junior Maharani as the ‘Lady of the Order’) been constituted, along with the ‘Order of Martanda’, than the Government of India strictly told the Maharajah to have them revoked.75 In 1936, when discussions were on to federate the princely states under a new political structure, Sir CP informed Delhi that ‘the price of Travancore’s adhesion is the addition of 2 guns to the Ruler’s permanent salute’. Negotiations were actually about the Rs 40 lakh, a monumental sum, the state lost every year due to an old Interportal Trading Convention from the reign of Ayilyam Tirunal, but evidently the Maharajah was ‘prepared to make some financial sacrifice’ and allow this bleeding to continue, if his dynasty were flattered with a more fashionable gun salute.76 In other words, while the tide was flowing towards greater democratisation and ultimately to India’s independence, the royal family were blinded by their own autocracy, revelling in obsolete notions of prestige and glory and in pursuit of impotent emblems of princely greatness.77 Indeed, even five decades later, the Junior Maharani’s son would refer to the 7,600 sq. miles of land that was Travancore as a veritable ‘empire’.78
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