In the City of Gold and Silver (42 page)

Unconditionally loyal to the begum, just like Tantia Tope, the rana's greatest asset is his mobility. A thousand times the British think they have him, a thousand times he escapes, reappearing where they least expect him. He has become such a legend that decades after his death, his praises will continue to be sung at village gatherings.

Meanwhile, Campbell's promises have finally won him the support of the majority of the taluqdars. Now, at the beginning of autumn, there are only about fifty of them left out of the three hundred who had actively participated in the rebellion when it was at its peak. It is a blow to the Queen Mother, all the more so as her hopes of convincing the Maharajah of Nepal have been crushed. Shortly after the Nawabganj defeat, the latter wrote saying he was a friend of the British, categorically refusing her offer of an alliance.

From the fall of Lucknow in March until autumn, for eight long months, Hazrat Mahal and her allies manage to hold back the British forces and often even defeat them. But in this month of October 1858, the beginning of the dry season, General Campbell—knighted Lord Clyde by the grace of Her Majesty Queen Victoria—begins his winter campaign at the head of an army stronger than ever.

A
midst the military campaigns and strategic discussions, the only moments of relaxation for Hazrat Mahal are those she spends with Mumtaz. Sometimes, though, she is ashamed of her selfishness. For years she had forgotten about her friend, and now that she has found her again, she uses her as a confidant to give vent to her troubles, never once asking after the young woman's own feelings, nor showing any interest in her personal life.

One evening, while her companion is brushing her long hair, she asks her:

“And you, Mumtaz, have you ever been in love?”

She did not expect the turmoil her question provokes. Mumtaz blushes, hesitates, then finally decides to talk.

“In love? I was madly in love, but I have never been so deeply hurt. I told you that after I was repudiated, I went back to being a courtesan in another house, not Amman and Imaman's, as I was too ashamed to face them. Every evening I sang, danced and conversed with the visitors, but I still had no protector. Although there was a taluqdar who came every day; he watched me as if I fascinated him, without ever speaking to me. And I . . . I felt like an adolescent in love for the first time. I sang and danced only for him. He was handsome in a way that moved me: tall, very thin, dark eyes in a strong-featured face, a hooked nose. All day long he was in my thoughts, but in the evening I barely dared glance at him, as I feared my feelings would be evident to everyone. This lasted for a month, a month of marvellous dreaming, where I imagined an intense and luminous relationship with him, long confidences, joys and sorrows too, certainly, but shared. I felt he had suffered, and I was ready to give him everything. I knew I could make him happy.

“Finally, one evening he came over and spoke to me and, to my great surprise, he confided in me immediately: his only son had died in a riding accident; his wife had gone mad with grief. It had already been two years, but he was unable to get over it. I listened while he poured out his sorrow. Suddenly, he realised people were watching us. ‘These people bother me,' he whispered, ‘when can we be alone?'

“When? I had to control myself not to answer, ‘Immediately,' and suggested the following day, in my apartment, which was on the first floor but could be accessed without having to go through the salons.

“The day we were to meet, he sent me a message: he had to go away to settle some urgent business but would be back in three days. Would I be free? I hurriedly confirmed I would.

“I spent the following three days preparing for his visit. I examined myself critically: would I please him? He, who was so seductive, must have been used to the most beautiful women, and although I knew I was charming, I also knew I was no beauty.

“On the appointed evening, I paced up and down my room, arranging a cushion here, a vase there, my hands moist with apprehension. He arrived two hours late. I had given up, believing he would no longer come. I was as nervous as a young girl—me, a courtesan!

“I had had a light supper prepared, but he was not hungry. He took me in his arms and tried to draw me towards the large bed, whispering how desirable I was. Somewhat shocked at this haste, as I had imagined a more tender approach, I tried to resist, but he was not the kind of man to countenance refusal.

“We made love and he fell asleep instantly. I remained by his side, eyes wide open, a bitter taste in my mouth, feeling I had been treated like a prostitute. I tried to make excuses for him . . . Perhaps he was merely exhausted by his journey. Gently I caressed his forehead, and he woke up.

“‘I must leave,' he announced abruptly.

“‘You aren't spending the night here?' I asked, stunned.

“‘Impossible, I have an important meeting tomorrow morning.'

“I pressed myself against him. ‘Then I will see you soon?'

“‘Certainly,' he replied in a tone that seemed to imply the opposite, but I quickly chased the idea away.

“I waited for him every evening for weeks. He never returned. I was angry with him, but I was even angrier with myself for my awkwardness. He had poured his heart out and won me over, then he had disappeared. Should I have hidden my feelings? Tell me, Muhammadi, why do we always have to be so calculating when we are in love? If we have to hold back our true feelings, pretend to be detached to better capture the other's heart, where is the joy in loving?”

 

Hazrat Mahal has no answer to these questions. With Jai Lal, it was a different world . . . At the thought of her lover, she suddenly feels an intense pain in her chest, like a tearing sensation . . . as if something terrible were happening, as if, far away, Jai Lal was suffering . . . and calling out to her.

 

* * *

 

Cut to the quick by the critics who reproach him for having prolonged the war by allowing the begum to escape, General Campbell is now determined to crush the rebel forces once and for all.

His strategy is simple. The powerful British army will attack Awadh from the south, the east and the west, simultaneously, in order to push the insurgents northwards towards the Bahraich region, where the Queen Mother resides.

The regiments advance methodically, covering one district after the other, like a huge net. They comb every inch of land to ensure that every possible escape route is blocked. Their aim is to force the rebels to retreat towards the Terai, the region bordering Nepal, to surround them there and then finish them off.

Feeling the winds of change, Mammoo is filled with a nagging unease, but he dares not speak to his mistress, fearing she will be angry with him again. Since she scolded him about the maulvi's death, he has not appeared before her, waiting to be summoned. However, she does not even seem to notice his absence . . . In a fit of pique, he had even thought of leaving her and surrendering to the British, as a number of taluqdars have already done. Particularly since he has no desire to end up a martyr for a cause he does not believe in. For him, independence remains an empty word. He has always served the powerful—whether they be Indian or British, what difference does it make? It is true the British despise the “natives” . . . but is there any contempt worse than the kind his compatriots inflicted upon him when they emasculated him?

For days he nurses his rage and toys with the idea of leaving, but deep down, he knows he cannot abandon his mistress. For the twelve years he has lived beside her, she has come to represent his universe. Despite his anger, he cannot do without her. Is this love? It is, in any case, a powerful connection that he is incapable of breaking. He will protect her, even against her will!

In secret, he has sent a messenger to Lucknow to discuss with Sir Robert Montgomery the conditions of the begum's capitulation.

As always, however, Hazrat Mahal has been informed by her spies.

Furious, she immediately sends for the eunuch.

“You too, you are betraying me!”

“I am not betraying you, Huzoor,” stammers Mammoo, red with embarrassment. “Quite the contrary, I am trying to save you.”

“Save me? By dishonouring me?” She chokes with indignation. “How could I have trusted you? This time, it really is over. I never want to see you again!”

After Mammoo's deception, Hazrat Mahal feels even more alone. She has always been aware of his weaknesses, but despite everything, he had long
 
been a part of her life. Now she has only her faithful Mumtaz to confide in. At least with her, she can talk about the man she loves, whom she still believes she can save. All day long, busy with a thousand problems, she manages not to think of what his fate may be, but at night, she trembles for him and devises the most audacious plans, until she sinks into a deep sleep filled with nightmares.

 

* * *

 

While to the south of the country, General Campbell's regiments advance like steamrollers, the begum and her allies continue their lightning attacks, still supported by the vast majority of the peasants. Even when the rebel cause seems lost, the village people continue to boycott the British, refusing to deliver food and providing them with false information.

They play a determining role in this revolt, as they make up the majority of the fighting force.
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Nonetheless, despite their heroism, towards the end of the year the situation begins to turn against them.

Queen Victoria's offer of an amnesty is to incite a number of war leaders to change sides. Her proclamation, read out all over India on November 1st, 1858, announces the dissolution of the East India Company and the transfer of its authority to the British Crown. Solemnly declaring a total break with past errors, the queen guarantees all the treaties signed with the princes, and confirms each and every one in the position they had obtained during Company rule. Finally, she denies any new territorial ambition and promises religious freedom.

 

“We declare that by our royal will and desire, no one will be favoured, troubled or molested for reasons of faith or religious observances and all will benefit from the equal protection and impartial law enforcement. It is also our will that our subjects, whatever their race or their belief, be freely and impartially allowed to practice, in our service, the professions for which they are qualified by their education, their talent and their integrity.”*

 

Most importantly, however, the queen offers to pardon all the rebels who are prepared to return home peacefully, with the exception of those who took part in the murder of British subjects or helped the murderers, as well as the leaders or instigators of the revolt. The others, if they submit before January 1st, 1859, will be amnestied.

On the 8th of November, besieged in his fortress by General Campbell and General Grant's combined forces, the Rajah of Amethi finally surrenders. He was one of the begum's most loyal allies; his capitulation will encourage other taluqdars who were still undecided.

On the other hand, forced to abandon his fort, Beni Madho decides to leave for the north with fifteen thousand men to join forces with Nana Sahib's brother. To General Campbell, who offers him very favourable conditions if he is willing to submit, he proudly replies:

“I cannot. My person does not belong to me. It belongs to King Birjis Qadar.”*

At the same time, a secret message from General Campbell informs the begum that if she abandons this hopeless battle, she will be permitted to return to Lucknow, where she will be welcomed with all the honours due to her rank and will receive a generous pension.

Hazrat Mahal does not even bother to reply. With a twinge of sadness, she remembers one of her last conversations with Jai Lal, while they were being bombarded day and night by enemy cannons in their Musabagh bastion.

“If we were offered an amnesty and if everything were to go back to the way it was before, as in Wajid Ali Shah and the British resident's time, what would you do?” he had asked her.

“I would refuse!” she had answered without a moment's hesitation.

He had held her passionately in his arms.

Today, after all she and her people have endured, she is more determined than ever to reject any kind of compromise. In her eyes, the queen's aim in proclaiming an amnesty is clear: to decapitate the revolt, separate the most committed rebels
 
from any others who are pretending, thus reducing their contingents.

In an attempt to prevent a wave of defections, Hazrat Mahal is to publish a counter-proclamation in which she sarcastically denounces the hypocrisy of Queen Victoria's speech and the threats concealed behind her false promises:

 

“One must be simple-minded to believe that the British have forgiven our mistakes, or what they call our crimes. All of us here know they have never forgiven the slightest offence, big or small, whether it was committed out of ignorance or negligence.”*

 

Then, one by one, the begum goes through the different undertakings proclaimed by the queen: how can we believe that everything will change because the Crown is replacing the Company while the new power retains the same rules, the same civil servants, the same governor general, the same legal system!

 

“We are told the queen will honour all the agreements concluded by the Company. However, the Company has appropriated the whole of India and failed to respect most of the treaties it signed with the sovereigns. Is this what the queen intends to respect? And if Her Majesty is not planning to carry out any annexations, as she claims, why then does she not return our country to us as the people demand?

It has also been announced that regardless of a person's religion, the law will be equal for all. This should be obvious! In fact, what does the exercise of justice have to do with belonging to one religion or another? As for the promise that there will be no interference in our religious practices, it is difficult to believe, when our temples and mosques are destroyed on the pretext of building roads, when missionaries are sent to the villages to teach Christianity, when people are paid to learn the rites of the Anglican Church!