Victoria & Abdul

by Shrabani Basu

  Arthur Bigge, the Prince of Wales’s private secretary, had bluntly written to Lord Knollys, the King’s private secretary, saying: ‘You will have seen that “the Munshi” is dead – I can have no regret!’2 Knollys immediately passed on this information.

  Shocked by the news, the King cast his boxes aside and pencilled a note to the Viceroy of India, instructing him to immediately transmit a telegram from the yacht: ‘The King hopes you will take discreet precautions to ensure that any existing correspondence of the Munshi Abdul Karim, whose death is announced, does not fall into improper hands.’3

  The King’s relationship with the Munshi had always been uneasy. Though he had raided Karim’s house after the Queen’s death and burnt all her letters to him, he was now consumed by a feeling of panic and suspicion. He wanted every letter retrieved from the family, every bit of correspondence seized. He had heard from one of Queen Victoria’s servants – Ahmed Husain – that the Munshi had kept a few letters from the Queen hidden, fuelling the sixty-eight-year-old’s unease that compromising letters from his mother to the Munshi could be made public by the Munshi’s family. The image of the portly Munshi and his mother floated before him again. The King recalled his mother’s unyielding faith in Karim and how she had often reprimanded him for his criticism of the Indian, insisting he treat him with respect. He recalled the Munshi’s smug expression whenever he won a round against the Court, the hoard of medals he always wore with pride and the sword that he was allowed to carry by the Queen. His feelings of revulsion flooded back and the King was determined not to rest until he was certain every part of the correspondence had been destroyed.

  At the Viceroy’s camp in Dehradun in India, Lord Minto was enjoying the weather, a soothing respite from the heat of Calcutta. It had been a hectic year; terrorism and militancy had reared its head in the state following the partition of Bengal by Lord Curzon in 1905. Militant groups of Bengali youths were planning an escalation of assassinations and bombings. In Calcutta, Bengali papers like the Jugantar were fanning this nationalism by backing the militants, and the government was coming under considerable pressure to grant representation to the Indian people.

  Along with the Secretary of State for India, Lord Morley, Minto had reluctantly put together an urgently necessary package of reforms – which became known as the Minto-Morley Reforms – designed to contain the rising forces of Indian nationalism. The Reform Act granted Indian representation in Provincial Councils. Muslims would be given special representation so they didn’t feel excluded. The Act was making its way through Parliament, and Minto was hoping it would be cleared.

  The pleasant surrounds of Dehradun were a relief compared to Calcutta. The liveried attendant brought in the telegram from the King. It demanded a further visit to the Munshi’s house. Minto sighed in disbelief and shot off a letter to Sir John Hewitt, Lieutenant Governor of the United Provinces.

  Hewitt was staying at the Government House in Nainital, a town nestling in the Uttar Pradesh hills, where he too was enjoying a break from the heat. He sent a letter to W.H. Cobb, the Commissioner of Agra, and informed him of the Royal request.

  The Commissioner and the Collector left immediately for Karim Lodge, the Munshi’s house in Agra. It was the house that he had received as a gift from the Queen. They were met by his grieving family, the Munshi’s widow, his brother, Abdul Aziz, and his nephew, Abdul Rashid. The Munshi had no children. The family listened in disbelief as the King’s officials came, not to offer sympathy at the death of the Munshi, but demanded that they hand over any remaining letters written by Queen Victoria to him. They protested that the letters had already been handed over but, on the insistence of the Commissioner, eventually gave up the Munshi’s entire box of correspondence. As the Munshi’s wife wept silently behind her veil, the young Abdul Rashid, who had attended school in St Andrews in Scotland and played with the Royal grandchildren, entered solemnly carrying the letters and documents in a bag.

  Seizing the letters, the Commissioner returned to his office and despatched a letter to Hewitt, who reported back to the Viceroy:

  I have heard from the Commissioner of Agra that he and the Collector went yesterday to Karim Lodge and were shown the entire correspondence of the late Munshi. It included only two letters of a date up to her late Majesty’s death, one from the Queen herself, and one from Sir Thomas Dennehy. There was nothing in either of them which might not be published to the world at large. The only point worthy of note was that the Munshi’s nephew had not produced the Queen’s letter in the first instance: it was only when he was asked whether no letter at all had been kept as a special memento of the late Majesty that he showed it. The letter had however been brought into the room in the same bag which held the other papers, so that there was apparently no intention of suppressing it.4

  Cobb gave only sketchy details of what had actually been an emotionally charged scene. They had entered a house of mourning and made harsh demands. The Munshi’s distraught nephew, Abdul Rashid, had told them that there were no letters left. He told them he had been present with the Munshi eight years ago in Frogmore Cottage in Windsor when the first raid had taken place on their house after Queen Victoria’s death. He described how Queen Alexandra and Princess Beatrice had come to their house and demanded all the letters from the Queen to the Munshi. The letters had been burnt in the presence of Karim, his wife, his brother and Abdul Rashid.

  The Collector went through the pile that young Rashid brought out. The letters included friendly correspondence from members of the Court, Christmas cards and other trivia. In one letter, the Munshi was found fault with for asking favours from His Majesty. The Munshi had kept all his letters carefully, even those that were critical of him.

  The Collector noted: ‘Only one letter contained a political allusion.’ It was from Sir Dighton Probyn, who mentioned that the ‘war between Russia and Japan was the general subject of conversation and that England hoped that Japan would gain the victory which her bravery and honesty entitled her to.’5

  The Commissioner said he drew Abdul Rashid’s attention to this letter and pointed out how the changed relations existing between Russia and England rendered it ‘undesirable that such a letter should become public and impressed on him that he should seek out any other such correspondence that might have been overlooked and bring it to his notice’.

  It was significant that a senior courtier like Sir Dighton Probyn, secretary to the Prince of Wales and a recipient of the Victoria Cross for his bravery during the Indian Mutiny, was discussing matters of political importance with the Munshi. Clearly, he considered him astute enough to discuss subjects like the war between Russia and Japan, even though he knew the nationalists in India had backed Japan as they had seen it as a small country taking on a mighty Imperial power with obvious parallels. The Commissioner and the Collector left Karim Lodge with the letters, convinced that the family had shown them all the correspondence they possessed.

  They informed Hewitt that the Munshi had left two widows. He had taken a second wife, as Muslims were allowed to do, and she lived in Delhi. The family thought the second widow may give them some trouble. The first wife, who had travelled to England and had known the Queen, continued to live in the family home in Agra.

  Hewitt himself clearly felt that there was nothing more to be done. Privately he felt that the seizure of the letters was hardly justified. He told the Viceroy: ‘It does not appear to be possible to take any further action as regards the papers and unless your Excellency directs me to I do not propose to do anything more.’6

  The letters were duly sent to King Edward VII with all the covering correspondence. However, he was not completely satisfied. On 21 May another memo arrived from Buckingham Palace: ‘No doubt but that it will be necessary to watch the relatives of the late Abdul Karim for a certain time. Edward.’7

  The scent of pine leaves was strong in the air. In the Viceregal Lodge in Simla, the summer capital of the British in India, the Viceroy, Lord Minto, was
enjoying the fresh air after the monsoon. The deodar trees framed the grounds of the Lodge, which had been completed in 1888 under Lord Dufferin to provide the Viceroy and his office a refuge from the scorching sun of the plains in the summer. Every year the entire administration of the British Raj moved desks to the hills, the coolies carrying an army of cabinets, files and boxes up the steep slopes so that the business of the Empire could continue uninterrupted, 7,200 feet up in the tranquil surrounds of the Himalayas. Minto looked forward to this break and the opportunity it provided for a little relaxation: watching the latest plays from London staged by the Simla Amateur Dramatic Club in the neo-Gothic surrounds of the Gaiety Theatre on the Mall, scones and tea in the afternoon, the whirl of the summer parties, pink gins and the occasional round of golf on the nearby slopes.

  He had reason to feel particularly pleased this summer. The Minto-Morley reforms had been passed in May and the Indians had been satisfied by it. The Indian leader, Gopal Krishna Gokhale, had praised it, saying that Minto and Morley had saved India from drifting ‘towards what cannot be described by any other name than chaos’.

  Minto was watching the changing colours of the snow-capped Himalayas in the late afternoon sun when he received another message from the King; more on the Munshi and the troublesome letters. The King wrote tersely: ‘I am not satisfied in my mind that there may not be still letters in Queen Victoria’s handwriting in their possession.’ He recommended ‘discreet investigations’ and suggested that ‘they [the Munshi’s family] should be told to return them at once, or risk being “the sufferers thereby”’.8 The fact that Ahmed Husain, the Queen’s former servant and the Munshi’s arch-rival, had hinted that the Munshi still possessed a few letters from the Queen was playing on the King’s mind.

  Not too pleased, the Viceroy wrote once again to John Hewitt. A few days later Hewitt visited the Viceroy at Simla. As the two men walked along the Observatory Hill and looked out over the valley below, they discussed what they should do about the King’s further instructions to revisit the Munshi’s house.

  Hewitt decided there was nothing to do but obey. Once again, the Commissioner and the Collector of Agra were despatched to Karim Lodge. One morning in September, four months after their first visit, the King’s representatives rapped on the door of the late Munshi’s house again. This time the language was stronger, there were angry threats and talk of heavy repercussions on the family. The three family members pleaded and begged but the officials were intimidating. At last, the Munshi’s widow pulled out eight letters from the Queen that she had kept as mementoes. Weeping, the lady who had once been visited regularly by Queen Victoria begged that the letters were of no value to anyone but her. They were personal letters and she would like to keep them as long as she lived. The production of the letters led to more harsh words and accusations that the family were probably hiding more.

  The distraught nephew, Abdul Rashid, pleaded that there were no more. In desperation he brought out a copy of the Koran and swore on it that there were no more letters in the Queen’s handwriting. The Commissioner and his team marched out of the house with the letters. Feeling like criminals, the family watched as the uniformed officers of the Raj rode away. The Munshi’s wife wept uncontrollably, more for the humiliation she had suffered and the insulting manner in which the family had been treated.

  She remembered her days in England when Queen Victoria would visit her house and stay for a cup of tea. Then she would lift her veil and sit with her. The Queen would try to speak in Hindustani, while she replied in broken English. Often a member of the Royal family or visiting European Royalty would come with the Queen. She remembered the last Christmas present the Queen had given her and how she had driven to their house personally to give it. Nothing remained with her now, not even a memento of the Munshi and Victoria. The photographs were handed over, the letters burnt. Her husband had died, still grieving for the Queen and never forgetting his days spent by her side. She felt a dull ache in her heart as she remembered the past years.

  The seized letters were sealed and sent by the Commissioner to Hewitt who forwarded them to Minto with the note: ‘I enclose the original letters in possession of the late Munshi’s representatives … the widow is particularly anxious to be permitted to keep letters dated 12 October 1893, 15 February and 15 September 1894 and 6 November 1898 as long as she is alive. Her wish seems a reasonable one.’9 Minto in turn sent them to Knollys.

  Hewitt, clearly quite unhappy at the whole affair, said he did not believe the family were concealing any letters from the late Majesty. He pointed out that in addition to the Munshi’s widow, both the descendants – the brother and the nephew – were in government service and were unlikely to conceal anything. The bureaucrats at the India Office, and the Viceroy himself, clearly disapproved of the hounding of the Munshi’s family by the King. At a time of political discontent and the government trying to balance the relations between the Hindus and Muslims, this persecution of a Muslim family did not seem an ideal situation to Minto. He felt he did not need any aggravation of an already delicate situation, least over what he perceived as some irrelevant personal letters and postcards.

  Though he had pressing administrative matters to attend to, Minto sent off the letters to Lord Knollys, private secretary to the King, along with copies of the letters to Arthur Bigge. The clutch of letters included some Christmas cards sent by the Queen with ‘Good Wishes’ and ‘xxx’ marked on them.

  In the pile of letters sent to Knollys, there were three letters written by the Queen to the Munshi. One, in the Queen’s own handwriting, was addressed from Balmoral. It was headed: ‘Extracts from the Prince of Wales’s letters to the Queen in answer to hers.’ These showed the humbling of the Prince of Wales by his mother. In the first letter, dated 28 September 1899, the Prince of Wales wrote: ‘I shall always be ready to notice and speak to the Munshi when I meet him.’ The second, dated 2 October 1899, authorised the Queen to assure Abdul Karim ‘that I [Edward] have no ill will against him and only trust that matters should go smoothly and quietly.’10 The Queen had copied her son’s correspondence and given it to the Munshi.

  Two other letters in the pack were marked as ‘True copies’. They were of a slightly earlier date. One was written in February 1894 by the Queen and declared: ‘I have given to the Munshi Abdul Karim (for whom I have specially written this) a gun as a present and have allowed him to wear a sword here and in India since the year 1890. Victoria R.I.’ The other was written in 1896 and defined the Munshi’s duties. None of them, apart maybe from the one in reply to the King’s original letter on the Munshi, could have caused the King any embarrassment, but he was determined to mop up even the smallest scrap of paper that could have passed between his mother and her Indian confidant.

  While sending the letters to Knollys, Minto added a note: ‘I hope the King will allow the letters the widow wishes to keep to be returned to her. It seems natural that she should like to have them and their return to her would be much appreciated and would do good. I sent you all these details to avoid a long explanation to the King but will write to His Majesty to say I have sent the letters to you.’11

  It was clear that the persecution of the Munshi’s family after his death had not gone down well with the representatives of the Crown in India. The Munshi was perceived as an important man in Agra and his closeness to the Queen was legendary. The Viceroy did not want to ruffle unnecessary feathers and escalate a situation where the King’s actions would be seen as unfair and heavy handed. India was already becoming a political tinder-box and the Viceroy was anxious to send the right messages. He wrote a separate letter to King Edward VII saying he would be glad to know that ‘the descendants of the late Munshi Abdul Karim have given up some further letters from Queen Victoria’.

  The Viceroy informed the King that he believed these were all that existed and the King could now be assured that there were no more. Expressing his wish that the widow of the Munshi be allowed to keep a few souveni
rs, he said: ‘The widow of the late Munshi is very anxious that some of the latter, which are of little importance except to herself should be returned to her for her lifetime and the Viceroy is sure that if such a gracious act is possible, it would be very gratefully appreciated.’12

  In a veiled warning to the King, the Viceroy updated him on the political situation in India, pressing home the point that it would be unwise to upset the community at this present junction. He told the King that though his political position in India had improved, the plots of agitators were certainly still smouldering. Minto expressed the hope that things would continue to improve.

  The King realised the Viceroy’s sensitive position and agreed to return the four letters mentioned by Lord Minto to the Munshi’s widow. However, he wanted the government in India to take steps ‘to ensure their being returned to the King in the event of her death’.13 Edward VII retained the remaining four letters, in all probability tossing them into the crackling fire at Buckingham Palace.

  After much deliberation, the four letters that the King conceded to return were sent back from London to Agra and restored to the Munshi’s wife. Nor was this a simple procedure. They were handed over only after the Munshi’s brother, Abdul Aziz Tehsildar, travelled personally to Agra on leave and handed an agreement in writing to the Commissioner of Agra, agreeing to ‘return them to His Majesty the King on her death through the Collector of Agra’. The letter was signed in triplicate by him, the Munshi’s widow and his nephew, Abdul Rashid Tahsildar, and handed to the Collector of Agra.

  The details of the agreement were sent to Hewitt on 23 November by the Commissioner. Hewitt conveyed them to Lord Minto, who responded wearily from the Viceroy’s Camp in Bangalore: ‘Many thanks for copy of the Commissioner of Agra’s letter … I suppose the agreement will be filed in the Commissioner’s office or in your own – otherwise its existence might be lost sight of as years go on. Believe me, yours very truly, Minto.’14 Nearly seven months had passed since the death of the Munshi.