About a month after the order had gone forth for the annexation of the
little province of Jhansi (in 1854), and previous to a wing of the 13th
Native Infantry occupying the country, I received a letter in Persian,
written upon "gold paper," from the Ranee, begging me to pay her a
visit. The letter was brought to me by two natives of rank. One had
been the financial minister of the late Rajah. The other was the head
vakeel (attorney) of the Ranee.
The revenues of Jhansi were some six lacs (60,000_l._) a year, and
after disbursing the expenses of government, and paying the troops in
the late Rajah's service, the balance was some two lacs and a half
(25,000_l._) profit. The "troops" were not numerous, under 1000 in all,
and they were chiefly horsemen. The arrangement, when the country was
annexed, was simply this: that the Ranee should receive a pension of
6000_l._ a year, to be paid monthly.
The Ranee's object in asking me to visit her at Jhansi was to consult
me as to the possibility of getting the order for annexation annulled,
or reversed. I should mention that the Ranee had applied to me at the
instance of a gentleman of the Civil Service, who had once been the
Resident, or Governor-General's agent, at a native court in the upper
provinces; a gentleman who, in common with many other officials of
rank in India, regarded the annexation of Jhansi--"a trumpery state
after all"--not only as impolitic, but unjust and without excuse. The
facts were briefly these:--The late Rajah had no issue by his only wife
(the woman who caused our countrymen and countrywomen and children
to be put to death in the fort, and who, according to late advices,
has been killed), and some weeks previous to his death, being "sound
of mind, though infirm in body," he publicly adopted an heir, and
gave notice to the Government of having done so through the proper
channel--namely, the Governor-General's representative then stationed
at Jhansi. In short, all the forms required by the Government to
prevent fraud in such cases, had been complied with. The child was
taken into the Rajah's lap, in the presence of his assembled people,
and in the presence of the Governor-General's representative, and he,
moreover, signed a document, duly attested, reciting his act and deed.
The Rajah was a Brahmin; the adopted boy was a near relative of his.
The Jhansi Rajah had been particularly faithful to the British
Government, and Lord William Bentinck had presented the brother of the
late Rajah with a British ensign, and a letter giving him the title
of "Rajah," and assuring him that that title, and the independence
attached to it, would be guaranteed by the British Government to him,
the Rajah, and his heirs and _successors_ (by adoption). That that
treaty (for such it purported to be) of Lord William Bentinck was
violated, without the slightest shadow of a pretence, there cannot
be any sort of doubt. In the time of the Peishwah, the late Rajah of
Jhansi was simply a large zemindar (landholder), and had he remained
untitled there can be no question that his last wishes, so far as the
disposition of his property was concerned, would have been attended to.
It was the acceptance of the "Rajahship" which led to the confiscation
of his estates, and the exchange of 6000_l._ a year for 25,000_l._
a year. Strange as that assertion may seem to the reader, it is
nevertheless true.
I was at Agra when I received the Ranee's letter, and Agra is two days'
journey. Even as I travelled from Jhansi, I sympathized with the woman.
The boy whom the Rajah had adopted was only six years old, and during
his minority, that is to say, until he had attained his eighteenth
year, the Ranee--so the Rajah willed--was to have been the Regent,
and the boy's guardian; and it is no small matter for a woman--a
native woman of rank, too--to give up such a position and become a
pensioner, even on 6000_l._ a year. Let me detail the particulars of
my journey to the residence of the Ranee of Jhansi. I got into my
palanquin at dusk, and on the following morning, at daylight, arrived
at Gwalior. The Rajah of Jhansi had a small house about a mile and
a half from the cantonment, which was used as a halting-place, and
thither I was taken by the minister and the vakeel who accompanied
me. At ten o'clock, after I had breakfasted and smoked my hookah, it
was proposed that we "go on at once." The day was very warm, but the
Ranee had sent a large and comfortable palanquin carriage; in short,
it was more like a small room than a carriage, fitted up as it was
with every convenience, including even a punkah, which was pulled from
the outside by a servant, who sat upon a foot-board. In the carriage,
beside myself and the minister and vakeel, was a khansamah, or butler,
who, with the apparatus between his knees, kept on cooling water, and
wine, and beer, in order that, whenever I felt thirsty, I might be
supplied at a moment's notice. This enormous carriage was drawn by a
pair of horses of immense strength and swiftness. Each stood about
seventeen hands high. The late Rajah had imported them from France at
a cost of 1500_l._ The road was rather rough in many places, but, on
the average, we got over it at the rate of about nine miles an hour. At
about two o'clock in the day we entered the Jhansi territory, having
changed horses twice, and we had now some nine miles to drive. Hitherto
we had been escorted only by four sowars (horsemen), but now our escort
amounted to about fifty, each horseman carrying an immense spear, and
dressed much in the same way as the Irregular Cavalry in the pay of the
East India Company. And along the road, at intervals of a few hundred
yards, were horsemen drawn up, and as we passed, they joined the
cavalcade; so that by the time we came in sight of the fortress--if
those old weak walls, surmounted by some nine pieces of old ordnance
of inferior calibre, deserved the name--the whole strength of the
Jhansi cavalry was in attendance. The carriage was driven to a place
called "the Rajah's garden," where I alighted, and was conducted by the
financial minister and the vakeel and other servants of state, to a
large tent, which was pitched beneath a clump of gigantic mango trees.
The tent, which was that in which the late Rajah used to receive the
civil and military officers of the British Government, was elegantly
fitted up, and carpeted; and at least a dozen domestic servants were
ready to do my bidding. I must not omit to mention that the companions
of my journey--the minister and the vakeel--were both men of good
ability and pleasing manners. They were, moreover, men of learning, so
that my time upon the road had been beguiled very agreeably.
The Ranee had consulted one of the many Brahmins who were supported by
her as to the most propitious hour for me to come to the purdah behind
which she sat; and the Brahmins had told her that it must be between
the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon, which was then near
her full; in other words, between half-past five and half-past six
o'clock.
This important matter having been communicated to me, I expressed
myself perfectly satisfied with the time of the appointment, and
ordered dinner accordingly. This done, the financial minister, after
betraying some embarrassment, intimated that he wished to speak to me
on a rather delicate subject, and that, with my permission, he would
order all the menial servants in attendance on me, including my own
sirdar-bearer (valet), to leave the tent and stand at a distance. I
complied, of course, and presently found myself alone with only the
"officials" (eight or nine in number) of the little native state of
Jhansi. What the finance minister wished to ask me was this--Would
I consent to leave my shoes at the door when I entered the Ranee's
apartment? I inquired if the Governor-General's agent did so. He
replied that the Governor-General's agent had never had an interview
with the Ranee; and that the late Rajah had never received any European
gentleman in the private apartments of the palace, but in a room set
apart for the purpose, or in the tent in which we were conversing. I
was in some difficulty, and scarcely knew what to say, for I had a few
years previously declined to be presented to the King of Delhi, who
insisted on Europeans taking off their shoes when they entered his
presence. The idea was repugnant to my mind, and I said as much to the
minister of the late Rajah of Jhansi; and I asked him whether he would
attend a levée at the palace of the Queen of England, if informed that
he must enter her Majesty's presence with his head uncovered, as did
all her subjects, from the lowest to the highest. To this question he
would not give me a direct answer, but remarked, "You may wear your
hat, Sahib; the Ranee will not mind that. On the contrary, she will
regard it as an additional mark of respect towards her." Now this
was what I did not want. My desire was, that she should consider the
wearing of my hat, supposing I consented to take off my shoes, as a
species of compromise on her part as well as on my part. But I was so
amused with this bargaining, as it were, that I consented; giving them
distinctly to understand, however, that it was to be considered not
as a compliment to her rank and dignity, but to her sex, and her sex
alone. That great point settled, I partook of a very sumptuous repast
that was prepared for me, and awaited patiently the setting of the sun
or the rising of the moon, determined, however, that I would wear my
hat--a black "wide-awake," covered with a white turban.
The hour came, and the white elephant (an Albino, one of the very few
in all India), bearing on his immense back a silver houdah, trimmed
with red velvet, was brought to the tent. I ascended the steps, which
were also covered with red velvet, and took my place. The mahoot, or
elephant-driver, was attired in the most gorgeous manner. The ministers
of state, mounted on white Arabs, rode on either side of the elephant;
the Jhansi cavalry lining the road to the palace, and thus forming an
avenue. The palace was about half a mile distant from my encampment
ground.
Ere long we arrived at the gates, at which the attendants on foot
began to knock violently. A wicket was opened, and closed hastily.
Information was then sent to the Ranee; and, after a delay of about
ten minutes, the "hookum" (order) came to open the gates. I entered
on the elephant, and alighted in a court-yard. The evening was very
warm, and I fancied that I should be suffocated by the crowd of natives
(retainers) who flocked around me. Observing my discomfiture, the
minister imperiously commanded them to "stand back!" After another
brief delay, I was asked to ascend a very narrow stone staircase,
and on the landing was met by a native gentleman, who was some
relative to the Ranee. He showed me first into one room and then into
another. These rooms (six or seven), like all rooms of the kind, were
unfurnished, save and except that the floors were carpeted; but from
the ceiling punkahs and chandeliers were suspended, and on the walls
were native pictures of Hindoo gods and goddesses, with here and there
a large mirror. At length I was led to the door of a room, at which the
native gentleman knocked. A female voice from within inquired, "Who is
there?"
"Sahib," was the reply. After another brief delay, the door was opened
by some unseen hand, and the native gentleman asked me to enter,
informing me, at the same time, that he was about to leave me. A
brief delay now occurred upon my part. It was with great difficulty
that I could bring myself to take off my shoes. At length, however, I
accomplished it, and entered the apartment in "stocking feet." In the
centre of the room, which was richly carpeted, was an arm-chair of
European manufacture, and around it were strewn garlands of flowers
(Jhansi is famous for its beautiful and sweet-smelling flowers). At
the end of the room was a purdah or curtain, and behind it people were
talking. I sat myself down in the arm-chair, and instinctively took
off my hat; but recollecting my resolve, I replaced it, and rather
firmly--pulling it well down, so as completely to conceal my forehead.
It was a foolish resolve, perhaps, on my part, for the hat kept the
breeze of the punkah from cooling my temples.
I could hear female voices prevailing upon a child to "go to the
Sahib," and could hear the child objecting to do so. Eventually, he
was "launched" into the room; and upon my speaking kindly to the
child, he approached me--but very timidly. His dress and the jewels
on his person, satisfied me that the child was the adopted son of the
late Rajah, and the rejected heir to the little throne of Jhansi.
He was rather a pretty child, but very short for his years, and
broad-shouldered--like most of the Mahratta children that I have seen.
Whilst I was speaking to the child, a shrill and discordant voice
issued from behind the purdah, and I was informed that the boy was
the Maharajah, who had just been despoiled of his rights by the
Governor-General of India. I fancied that the voice was that of some
very old woman--some slave or enthusiastic retainer, perhaps; but the
child having imagined that he was spoken to, replied, "Maharanee!" and
thus I was told the error of my conclusion.
And now the Ranee, having invited me to come closer to the purdah,
began to pour forth her grievances; and, whenever she paused, the
women by whom she was surrounded, set up a sort of chorus--a series of
melancholy ejaculations--such as "Woe is me!" "What oppression!" It
reminded me somewhat of a scene in a Greek tragedy--comical as was the
situation.
I had heard from the vakeel that the Ranee was a very handsome woman,
of about six or seven and twenty years of age, and I was very curious
indeed to get a glimpse of her; and whether it was by accident, or by
design on the Ranee's part, I know not, my curiosity was gratified.
The curtain was drawn aside by the little boy, and I had a good view
of the lady. It was only for a moment, it is true; still I saw her
sufficiently to be able to describe her. She was a woman of about
the middle size--rather stout, but not too stout. Her face must have
been very handsome when she was younger, and even now it had many
charms--though, according to my idea of beauty, it was too round. The
expression also was very good, and very intelligent. The eyes were
particularly fine, and the nose very delicately shaped. She was not
very fair, though she was far from black. She had no ornaments, strange
to say, upon her person, except a pair of gold ear-rings. Her dress
was a plain white muslin, so fine in texture, and drawn about her in
such a way, and so tightly, that the outline of her figure was plainly
discernible--and a remarkably fine figure she had. What spoilt her was
her voice, which was something between a whine and a croak. When the
purdah was drawn aside, she was, or affected to be, very much annoyed;
but presently she laughed, and good-humouredly expressed a hope that
a sight of her had not lessened my sympathy with her sufferings nor
prejudiced her cause.
"On the contrary," I replied, "if the Governor-General could only be as
fortunate as I have been, and for even so brief a while, I feel quite
sure that he would at once give Jhansi back again to be ruled over by
its beautiful Queen."
She repaid this compliment, and the next ten minutes were devoted to an
interchange of such matters. I told her that the whole world resounded
with the praises of her beauty and the greatness of her intellect; and
she told me that there was not a corner of the earth in which prayers
for my welfare remained unsaid.
We then returned to the point--her "case." I informed her that the
Governor-General had no power to restore the country, and recognise
the claim of the adopted son, without a reference to England, and
that the most prudent course for her to adopt would be to petition
the throne, and meanwhile draw the pension of 6000_l._ a year, under
protest that it was not to prejudice the right of the adopted son. At
first she refused to do this, and rather energetically exclaimed: "Mera
Jhansi nahin dengee" (I will not give up my Jhansi). I then pointed out
to her, as delicately as possible, how futile would be any opposition;
and told her, what was the truth, that a wing of a native regiment and
some artillery were within three marches of the palace; and I further
impressed upon her that the slightest opposition to its advance would
destroy her every hope, and, in short, jeopardize her liberty. I did
this because she gave me to understand--and so did her attorney (and my
impression is that they spoke the truth)--that the _people_ of Jhansi
did not wish to be handed over to the East India Company's rule.
It was past two o'clock that night before I left the palace; and ere
I took my departure, I had talked the lady into my way of thinking,
except that she would not consent to draw any pension from the British
Government.
On the following day I returned to Gwalior, _en route_ to Agra. The
Ranee presented me with an elephant, a camel, an Arab, a pair of
greyhounds of great swiftness, a quantity of silks and stuffs (the
production of Jhansi), and a pair of Indian shawls. I accepted these
things with great reluctance, but the financial minister entreated me
to take them, insomuch as it would wound the Ranee's feelings if I
refused. The Ranee also presented me with a portrait of herself, taken
by a native, a Hindoo.
The state of Jhansi was not restored to the rule of the Ranee, and
we know that she afterwards rivalled that fiend Nena Sahib, whose
"grievance" was identical with her own. The Government would not
recognise Nena Sahib as the adopted son and heir of the Peishwah;
the Ranee of Jhansi sought to be recognised as the Regent during the
minority of the late Rajah's adopted son and heir.