In the City of Gold and Silver (37 page)

However, many, in particular the few remaining ministers in the palace, believe that the regent's place is not at Kaisarbagh. They attempt to convince her to accompany them to a house far from the combat zone. Hazrat Mahal will have none of it:

“Leave, Sahiban, the king and I will remain. How could we abandon these thousands of men who are risking their lives for us?”

As for Jai Lal, he says nothing. She is grateful for this, as his worried expression betrays his concern, but he knows her well enough not to intervene. He understands that she needs to do something, to feel useful. All the more so as this very morning, she has received distressing news: the Queen Mother Malika Kishwar, King Wajid Ali Shah's mother, had died in Paris two months earlier. The news has just reached India.

For Hazrat Mahal it has come as a terrible shock. The Queen Mother was the woman whom she admired more than anyone in the world. Demanding and passionate, she was a good judge of people
 
and had never succumbed to flattery. She appreciated her son's young wife, in whom she recognised a personality as strong as her own, although too outspoken, and she had often warned her against the pitfalls
 
of the Court.

The Queen Mother had waited months in London for a meeting with Queen Victoria. In vain. In despair, she had decided to return, stopping over in Paris on the way home. Maybe she could convince the French to intervene? In Paris, however, nobody had ever heard of Lucknow or the kingdom of Awadh, and they had paid no attention to this strange old lady. Exhausted and short of funds, the Queen Mother had fallen ill. She had passed away in a modest hotel, attended by her youngest son and two faithful servants. She had been buried in a cemetery called Père-Lachaise.

Hazrat Mahal tries to console herself with the thought that at least Malika Kishwar died with a clear conscience. She would certainly never have forgiven herself had she not done everything possible trying to save her son's throne. She was indeed a woman with a sense of duty.

She trusted me; I will be worthy of that trust. I too will fight to the bitter end.

 

The bombing was to continue for two days. Shells rained down on all sides. Jai Lal had a lucky escape and it was with great difficulty that he managed to persuade Hazrat Mahal that she and the young king remain in the basement.

At present, though, the enemy forces are nearing Kaisarbagh.

“We will not be able to hold out much longer,” announces the rajah one evening, his face drawn. “You must leave immediately for Musabagh Palace.”

“I want to remain with you!”

“And place the king in danger?”

She shivers.

“But you . . . ?”

“I will join you very soon, I promise.”

He holds her in his arms for a long time.

“We will meet again soon, my jani! Come now, please, it is time. Night is falling, no one must see you leave the palace. An escort is waiting. We have not a moment to lose.”

 

Musabagh is a vast princely residence situated four miles to the north of the town, where the Court used to go to enjoy the fresh country air. In order to avoid attracting attention, the regent, her son and Mumtaz climb into a simple
doli
,
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escorted by soldiers dressed up as peasants. As they cross the Gomti Bridge, Hazrat Mahal's hand tightens on the revolver given to her by Jai Lal. She will not have to use it. They reach the palace without hindrance.

The following day, attacked from all sides, Jai Lal and his three thousand soldiers will be forced to beat a hasty
 
retreat. Two hours later, Kaisarbagh is occupied by the British.

Their next target is Musabagh.

 

* * *

 

As soon as she arrived at her new refuge, Hazrat Mahal systematically visited the buildings, appreciating the thickness of the walls and the massive towers, from where one could get a good shot at the attackers. However, the dozens of high doors and arched windows make the palace very vulnerable. All night long, the regent has encouraged her sepoys to erect mud walls and position sandbags to block the openings. When Jai Lal and his soldiers reach Musabagh the next day, he takes over operations himself. Despite his men's exhaustion, he leaves them no time to rest. They hastily complete the defences and position the cannons on the corner towers and behind the terrace balustrades. Within a few hours, the summer residence is transformed into a fortress.

Just in time. General Campbell's troops appear on the horizon.

 

For five days and five nights, the palace will resist the violent Howitzer attacks. The Indian cannons vainly try to retaliate; their cannonballs inevitably fall short of the enemy batteries. Then, risking everything, a few volunteers decide to slip out of the palace to steal behind the enemy lines in order to throw grenades at the artillery.

But before setting off for a certain death, the men have a last request: to be blessed by the king and the Queen Mother.

Every day, dozens of these men depart to sacrifice their lives in this manner, and every morning the heartbreaking ceremony takes place.

At the centre of this gathering of soldiers stand King Birjis Qadar and his mother. On behalf of the whole country, they thank the young men for their heroism. This gesture surprises them, as does the depth of emotion the Queen Mother is trying hard to hide. After all, they are only doing their duty!

However, when this great lady, whom they revere as they do Durga, the warrior goddess, asks their names and those of their native villages in order to assist their families after the victory, it is their turn to weep and shower blessings upon her.

 

Each night, Jai Lal and Hazrat Mahal manage to meet, refusing to allow sleep to keep them apart. They feel as if they have known each other forever, as if these short weeks have been years of love and mutual understanding. For the first time, Jai Lal allows himself to voice his doubts, as he knows the young woman silently caressing his forehead can understand and help him. And then, without saying so, he wants to prepare her for a future in which he may no longer be beside her.

He
 
analyses their tactical errors severely:

“If the popular uprising had reached the western and central areas, we could have won. The people were ready to rebel, and had started to do so, but they needed leaders. Unfortunately, the sepoys
 
preferred to get to the important centres of rebellion—Delhi, Lucknow, Kanpur—leaving inexperienced civilians to hold off the British return.”

“We were also betrayed by some of the taluqdars who claimed to be our allies!”

“Not only the taluqdars. The enemy bought off many people's loyalty. Indians provided them with food, transport and even information! Sometimes I think that as a people we lack honesty or dedication to any cause that goes beyond our own personal interest. Unlike the British, who are capable of the worst atrocities,
 
but also of the greatest sacrifices for their country.”

“But our people have sacrificed themselves too, without counting the cost!”

“The people, yes, perhaps because their lives are so miserable that they consider they have nothing left to lose. But those who own something, the shopkeepers, the small landowners, have they ever been motivated by anything other than profit? As for our elites, apart from a few rare exceptions, have they ever acted in accordance with their great speeches on honour and service?”

Hazrat Mahal gazes admiringly at her lover, and yet again marvels at the difference between him and other men who, resigned, put up with their fate. Jai Lal never gives up, and this is another reason why she loves him; she loves him for his rebellious streak and his unshakable principles—what others refer to as “his madness”!

Nestling against his shoulder, she takes his hand and kisses it tenderly.

 

There are nearly four thousand men entrenched in Musabagh, but the rajah knows they cannot hold out for long against the superior British forces. Defeat is only a few days away. Their situation is all the more precarious as almost all the taluqdars have deserted the capital, followed by their troops. Maulvi Ahmadullah is the only one left. After resisting, barricaded inside Hazrat Abbas's sanctuary in the town centre, he has come to Musabagh.

The first confrontation takes place on March 19th.

After bombarding the palace relentlessly, General Outram then launches the offensive, killing hundreds of men in the space of a few hours and capturing all the artillery battalions.
 
The Indians, however, refuse to admit defeat and, in mad acts of heroism, they throw themselves before the cannons, armed only with their swords in an attempt to push back the enemy.

But how can they continue to fight without any artillery? The situation is desperate. Above all, they must save the king and the Queen Mother, and preserve the army for future battles. The rajah will remain behind with about a hundred sepoys to create a diversion, thus allowing more time to cover their escape.

Hazrat Mahal and Jai Lal are to spend a last night together. As she, distraught, sobs in his arms, he tries to comfort her:

“Have no fear, my jani, I will come to you. Meanwhile, I trust you. From now on, it is you who will lead the struggle. Do not let yourself be swayed. As the holder of absolute power, and as regent, the generals owe you total obedience. If they raise any objections, place your son at the forefront. They cannot disobey the king. Come now, promise me you will remain strong and will never lose hope.”

With a weak smile, she gives him her word.

 

They must depart before dawn. The rajah makes a short speech before the assembled soldiers, thanking them, and reiterates his confidence and his trust in them. The men are moved, their throats thick with tears: will they ever again see the man who for months has been as much a father to them as a leader?

Jai Lal then turns to his friend, the Rajah of Mahmudabad, who is to accompany the young king and the Queen Mother.

“I entrust them to you, Rajah Sahib,” he says in a faltering voice.

“I answer for them with my life,” the rajah assures him. He is an honourable man and has fully grasped the situation.

Hazrat Mahal covers her face with her veil to hide her agitation.

Jai Lal and she stand face to face; they cannot take their eyes off each other.

“Have faith, my jani,” he murmurs, “I love you more than anything in the world and I will reconquer Lucknow for you.”

It is time to leave.

Giving their horses a smart crack of the whip, the small army surges forward at a gallop, raising clouds of dust. Immobile, Jai Lal watches the road until they have completely disappeared from view.

A hand is laid on his shoulder. It is Brendan Murphy, his Irish companion, who insisted on remaining with him. They smile wordlessly at each other.

The day ahead of them will be long.

 

On March 21st, after a fierce battle, this last bastion of resistance falls. The maulvi flees with his partisans. Campbell's cavalry gives chase for a few miles. Although a large number of his men are killed, Ahmadullah Shah manages to escape.

As for Rajah Jai Lal, someone told the begum, they saw him fight like a lion. Since then, no news. Was he killed in battle? Captured? Did he manage to flee?

 

* * *

 

It was to take two weeks of intense bombing to subdue Lucknow.

The sepoys fought heroically and defended the entrance to the palace to the last. In the apartments, hundreds of charred bodies give off an unbearable stench, and in the streets, corpses block the conqueror's progress.

On the British side, however, no one can understand how the begum and her troops miraculously managed to escape without encountering the slightest resistance!

The official explanation is that the cavalry regiment assigned to follow them somehow lost its way.

Indignation is at its peak in the officers' mess: how could the colonel in charge of operations have made such a stupid mistake?

“It was no mistake, I can assure you of that. I was there,” intervenes an officer amidst the commotion.

His words are greeted with a stunned silence and he continues:

“Refusing to pay any attention to his guide's information, the colonel ordered his troops to take the opposite direction. Some of us tried to make him listen to reason, but he insisted and we were forced to obey. That is how we galloped away from the route the fugitives had taken!”

“What a shame! This man should be demoted!”

The officer shakes his head in disagreement.

“It would seem that Sir Colin Campbell himself is responsible. He admires the begum greatly and did not want to risk killing or imprisoning her. He has not forgotten that last November, she allowed our besieged compatriots to leave the Residency with the women, children and wounded. With his sense of chivalry, he decided to let her escape in turn. I also suspect that as a Scotsman, with a long history of wars of independence, deep down he respects the men who are fighting to free their country.”

“He definitely likes them!” confirms another. “I heard him say: ‘Now that we have recaptured Lucknow, why intercept the desperate soldiers who are only trying to escape?'”

General Campbell, however, has underestimated the begum's determination to continue the fight, at any cost.

 

Unlike the events that occurred after the fall of Delhi, where thousands of civilians had been put to death, Colin Campbell refuses to organise summary executions. However, he is unable to control the rage of the soldiers, who take their revenge on all those who were unable to flee. Hundreds of elderly, sick people, women and children are massacred. Their bodies, along with the thousands of fighters' corpses, give off a foul odour that permeates the whole town. Witnesses recount how they saw a young boy accompanying a blind old man, begging an officer to protect them from the soldiers' condemnation: