In the City of Gold and Silver (41 page)

“I have seen many battles and a lot of brave men determined to conquer or die, but I have never witnessed such heroic behaviour as that of these men,”* declares General Grant, impressed.

This battle will be the last attempt to free Lucknow. The rebels will never be able to assemble enough men again to conduct such a large-scale campaign.

 

In Bhitauli, Hazrat Mahal is distraught. This is the first serious setback since the fall of the capital, and everybody's morale is affected. She also suffers this defeat at a personal level: she has not been able to save Jai Lal.

Oh, why did I listen to the generals? If I had gone there myself wearing any kind of disguise, accompanied by a few loyal men, I would certainly have found a way to reach the prison. And once there, with our accomplices inside and the letter, I would surely have been able to get him out . . .

She is overwhelmed by remorse; she had allowed others to influence her, while she should only have listened to her intuition: to go herself and free her lover. Has she not placed him in even greater danger? The British too have lost men in this campaign. Are they going to take their revenge on the prisoners?

The rising doubt she has always warded off creeps its way into her thoughts with increasing insistence: will she ever see the man she loves again?

She cannot discuss it with the Rajah of Mahmudabad. They have only ever spoken of Jai Lal as a loyal friend, although the rajah had realised a long time ago that Jai Lal means much more to the begum. She will speak to him of nothing but her distress about all the victims. Does she have the right to send these thousands of young men to their deaths? What cause can justify a massacre of such a magnitude?

“It is war, Huzoor!” the rajah reprimands her gently. “Failures and deaths are unavoidable! As for the justification for a war, we could discuss it for hours. For some sceptics there is none, as nothing is more valuable than life itself. For others like myself and the majority of our supporters—officers and simple peasants alike—it is fully justified by its goal: getting rid of a foreign power, regaining our freedom and our dignity.”

“You are speaking, as I do, of freedom, independence. In reality,
 
from time immemorial, Indians have been subjected to foreign powers—the latest being the Mughals, who reigned over this country for over three centuries!”

“Indeed, but the Aryan, Arab or Mughal invaders always assimilated and even became Indianised.
 
Unlike the British, they intermingled with the population. India was their country, and they were constantly striving to increase its power. They took Indian art and crafts to unrivalled heights of perfection. The Mughal emperors led the country to far greater prosperity than even that of Europe. British domination has ruined us. By exporting our resources to feed their nascent industry and imposing their cheap products on us in return, they have reduced our weavers, carpenters, ironmongers, leather workers, embroiderers, to misery . . . ”

Seated side by side in the begum's drawing room—a familiarity they could
 
never have allowed themselves at the Lucknow Court—the Rajah of Mahmudabad and the Queen Mother converse as old friends. She increasingly appreciates this man to whom Jai Lal entrusted her. At the age of thirty-five, he has the foresight and maturity of a wise man. He supports and advises her in every decision she makes. For his part, the rajah admires the young woman's courage and her refusal to accept lies and injustice at any cost.

This explains her extraordinary influence over the fighters, who would allow themselves to be torn to pieces for her
, he thinks.
She inspires as great a devotion as does the maulvi, without ever using religion the way he does
. . .

 

For a while now, the maulvi has been accumulating victories. On May 3rd, he conquered Shahjahanpur, midway between Lucknow and Delhi, where a large British garrison was based. Driven out a week later by Campbell's troops, he takes advantage of the fact that the British are occupied fighting further north to recapture the town and force the rich inhabitants to pay him a tax for the upkeep of his forces.

Infuriated at being ridiculed by this man who constantly taunts him, Sir Colin hastens back. From May 14th to the 19th, the battle rages on. Armed forces rush in from all sides to save the maulvi, including the begum and Prince Firoz, each at the head of their regiments. Even Nana Sahib agrees to send his men, convinced to do so by his advisor Azimullah, who has decided to return to his master's side and to keep an eye on him, as he suspects Nana Sahib is prepared to rejoin the British side in order to obtain a pardon.

With so much support, the maulvi, along with a large number of his followers, will manage to escape during the night, to return triumphant to Awadh, from where he had been driven out a short while before.

How to catch this devil? Where weapons have failed miserably, the British are going to try treachery.

Ahmadullah Shah needs to build up his effectiveness. Now, he has been informed that the Rajah of Powain,
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a small state situated between Awadh and Rohilkhand, is thinking of joining the rebellion. He immediately sends the rajah a message, but the latter wants to talk to the maulvi in person.

When Ahmadullah Shah arrives at Powain on June 15th mounted on his elephant and accompanied by a small escort, to his great surprise he finds the gates to the town locked and guarded by soldiers. The rajah and his brother are standing up above, on top of the ramparts.

Although he senses danger, Ahmadullah Shah does not give up and commences a discussion with the rajah. He does not notice that the brother has disappeared and that, hidden behind a firing slot, he has him in his sights. The exchange is lengthy; it becomes evident that the rajah has no intention of letting him enter. Incensed at having been tricked, the maulvi signals to the
mahout
to coax his elephant to break down the gates. At this very moment, the rajah's brother fires, killing him instantly.

The planned ambush has worked perfectly.

After cutting the maulvi
's
head off, the two brothers wrap it in cloth and, galloping the thirteen miles separating them from Shahjahanpur, arrive at the British officers' mess at dinnertime. With a theatrical gesture, they throw the maulvi's bloody head at their feet.

They depart with the promised reward of fifty thousand rupees—the price of their betrayal—but this act will earn them the contempt of their friends as well as their enemies.

 

The following morning Mammoo goes to see his mistress. He is jubilant; not only is his personal enemy, Rajah Jai Lal, in prison, but the begum's most dangerous competitor is no more.

“Huzoor, I have good news!” he announces triumphantly. “The man who has constantly caused you so much trouble has just been killed.”

“Who? Hope Grant? Colin Campbell?” asks the begum, her eyes shining in anticipation.

“No, Ahmadullah Shah!”

“The maulvi?” Hazrat Mahal starts. “But he was our ally! How dare you rejoice? Have you gone mad?”

“Well, he was constantly challenging you . . . ”

“Clearly you will never understand anything! Go now, leave me!”

Once alone, the Queen Mother is thoughtful for a long while, staring into the distance . . . The maulvi dead? He, who always managed to get himself out of the most desperate situations without a scratch, so much so that his partisans called him “Allah's protégé” . . . She cannot believe it . . .

He was certainly a threat to her, but what an amazing leader of men!

The poor, in particular, were devoted to him, as he promised them an end to their humiliation in a free society based on the equality the Quran extols. He also reminded them that to call the faithful to prayer, the Prophet had chosen a black slave, thus showing his refusal of social or racial discrimination. His disciples revered him as a kind of reincarnation of the Prophet Muhammad.

If there were more like him, I might have lost my power, but we would have won the war.

Does that mean she thinks she can lose the war? She immediately corrects herself:

Of course, the loss of the maulvi is a severe blow, but we will vanquish our enemies, even without him!

For although Ahmadullah Shah was a precious ally, did she really wish him to be victorious? Victory against the foreigners and for the country's independence, of course, but . . . to create what kind of society? If the maulvi had succeeded in taking control, would his power have been any more acceptable than British rule? They could at least revolt against the latter, but can one revolt against the word of God that he claimed to represent? Once he had won, would he not have imposed a rigid interpretation of the Prophet's religion, the opposite of the open and tolerant Islam which has existed in India for centuries?

Maybe Mammoo was right after all . . .

 

On the other hand, a few days later, the announcement of the Rani of Jhansi's death affects Hazrat Mahal deeply. They were almost the same age. Charismatic, strong-willed and valiant, they were like soul sisters; one a Hindu, the other a Muslim, both leading their people into a fight to wrest independence from the occupier.

Lakshmi Bai was killed three days after the maulvi, on June 18th, during the Battle of Kotah-ki-Serai, a few miles from Gwalior.

The messenger who brings the Queen Mother the news also hands her a letter from the rani, written the day before she died—a letter full of optimism in which she relates her latest victories:

 

“My dear Begum,

I am happy to announce that we have taken Gwalior! Nana Sahib was not present as he is still in hiding. But his nephew Rao Sahib represented him, and we had Tantia Tope's armies with us. We arrived near the citadel with four thousand cavalrymen and seven thousand foot soldiers. At dawn, the Maharajah of Gwalior marched on us with eight thousand men, but to his great humiliation, his whole army, except his personal guard, switched sides and joined us!

The following day we conquered Gwalior with its treasure and arsenal. Tantia wanted to organise sumptuous festivities to which he invited all the Mahratta lords. He is trying to win over the principalities of the former confederation in order to have Nana Sahib recognised as the
 
peishwa there. But the great Mahratta princes, the Maharajahs of Indore and Gwalior in particular, remain allies of the British, and they are followed by a number of smaller rajahs. Nonetheless, during these festivities, Nana Sahib was officially proclaimed peishwa; his nephew Rao, vice-peishwa; and Tantia Tope, prime minister.

As I obviously had nothing to do there, I retired to a small neighbouring palace, where finally it is quiet enough to write to you. I am now convinced that we will win. You will get your Lucknow back and I, my Jhansi. I have faith, as the people are with us. Has one ever seen an occupier crush a whole population? It will take time, but we shall emerge victorious.

Whatever happens, we must stand firm!

Your friend,
Lakshmi, Rani of Jhansi”

 

In tears, the messenger recounts the events that were to follow:

“While we believed them far away, on June 18th, the British arrived and struck like lightning. Tantia Tope and his troops had been celebrating for days. They did not realise what was happening. The rani was the first to grasp the situation. Leading her troops, dressed as a horseman, she tried to stop the British advance. In vain. She was shot dead by a soldier, little suspecting he was killing a woman, moreover, the legendary heroine of Jhansi! She was eventually identified by the fabulous rows of pearls that never left her person, which contrasted strangely with her uniform.

“Surprised in the middle of their drinking session, Tantia Tope and his men were easily defeated by General Rose, who took over the Gwalior citadel and reinstated the maharajah.”

The rani's letter trembles in Hazrat Mahal's hands. Her eyes clouded with tears, she rereads the last lines:

“Whatever happens, we must stand firm.”

It is like a message from beyond . . . The population is with us, we must continue the
fight.

 

* * *

 

In central India, the British troops advance. Sir Hugh Rose knows that if the rebellion spreads through the Mahratta territory, the entire western part of the country will turn out to support it. Taking back Jhansi and Gwalior had been important steps, but now they must finish off with Tantia Tope and Prince Firoz Shah, who continue to defy them.

Fortunately for the British, the two largest states in the centre of India—Bhopal and Hyderabad—have not only remained loyal, but even provide them with elite troops.

Tantia Tope, who fled from Gwalior with twelve thousand men, is intercepted by General Rose's army. But
 
he manages to escape and continues to harass the enemy columns. He has the advantage of speed over the adversary, as he travels without tents or provisions; all his needs are met by a population totally committed to his cause.

 

As for Hazrat Mahal, she has retreated further north to Baundi Fort, beyond the Ghogra River. From here, she controls the whole region. She is accompanied by her friend, the Rajah of Mahmudabad, and a few other loyal rajahs and taluqdars.

From her new base, the Queen Mother continues to launch campaigns against the British detachments and the traitor taluqdars, implementing increasingly harsh measures to punish the latter as the number of deserters multiplies. General Campbell knows how to talk to them. He is himself the grandson of a Scottish clan leader, who saw his family land confiscated just after the Jacobite Uprising of 1745. He understands the taluqdars' dilemma, and rather than confronting them, he tries to win them over.

Throughout the summer, Awadh holds its own, leaving the enemy no respite. Until October, Hazrat Mahal and her allies, in particular Prince Firoz and Rana Beni Madho, mount coordinated campaigns. Together they command a force of seventy thousand fighters.