Nana Sahib’s face flushes crimson. He shoots a venomous look at Azimullah. How dare he bring up such a humiliation! It looks as if he enjoys reopening the wound and stirring up hatred.
But the announcement of the cavalry uprising turns out to be a false alarm, and most of the officers return to sleep amongst their men as a way of showing them their trust.
As for Nana Sahib, in true Mahratta style, he plays both sides of the fence. On June 1st, accompanied by his tall, skinny brother, Bala Rao, an angry individual who hates the whole world, the Nana attends a secret meeting on a boat with the sepoys’ cavalry leaders, and lets them understand he is a supporter of the rebellion. Then, when Sir Hugh—informed of this meeting—confronts him and expresses his astonishment, Nana Sahib explains that his intentions were simply to calm the sepoys down and bring them back to their senses.
Nonetheless, the news of the Lucknow garrison uprising and the British troops’ progress towards Delhi has dissipated any illusion that a conflict could be avoided. As the cavalry grows more and more restless, the courage and diplomacy the officers show their men cannot avert the danger indefinitely.
During the night of June 4th, gunshots ring out. A messenger arrives a few minutes later announcing that, in cahoots with the cavalry, Nana Sahib’s troops have seized the treasure.
For Wheeler, this is the first sign of his friend’s betrayal.
Soon the 1st Infantry Regiment joins the cavalry. Although they ignore their officers’ reprimands, the sepoys have no intention of harming them. Just as in Meerut and Delhi, the rebels’ first initiative is to release all the prisoners. This marks the beginning of a night of pillaging and arson, punctuated by cries of victory. The Europeans, who have taken refuge inside the fort, follow the events fearfully.
At dawn, the Indian officers of the 53rd and the 56th advise Wheeler they can no longer rely on their men. The general then asks the veterans—soldiers he has known for a long time—to remain at his side.
“Impossible, Sahib,” replies an old sepoy sadly, “Europeans and natives can no longer stay together. We fought for you, we shed our blood for you and in return, you used your cannons to pulverise our brothers. You and your people must leave as quickly as possible, Sahib. You have been like a father and mother to us, we will cover your flight, but we can no longer stand by you.”
Meanwhile, the sepoys have reached Bithur Palace, ten miles from Kanpur. They clamour to see Nana Sahib.
Woken by Azimullah, the Nana cannot make up his mind. Things are not going as planned: their strategy had been a general revolt that was to take the British by surprise and force them to leave. Now, the soldiers’ impatience has ruined the project, and the British high command in Calcutta has already begun to send reinforcements. If he joins this rebellion, which in all likelihood will be suppressed, he will lose everything, maybe even his life. If, on the other hand, he is seen to be supportive of the British . . .
But the sepoys leave him no choice—they need a legitimate leader. Either Nana Sahib agrees to lead the movement and they recognise him as the sovereign, or they kill him.
“How can you imagine I support the British?” exclaims the Nana, his hand on his heart, under Azimullah’s ironic gaze. “Let us bury the treasure in a safe place and head for Delhi to join our emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar!”
Nana Sahib retires to his apartments to the troops’ standing ovation. However, Azimullah does not take the same view. How will they chase out the occupiers if, instead of crushing them now while they are weak, they give the British a free hand and the time to gather reinforcements? He will spend hours trying to persuade his master to attack the Kanpur garrison in order to establish his authority there:
“In Delhi, you will only be one amongst dozens of princes. You will be powerless, whereas here, you are the absolute ruler. The men revere you.”
Vanity winning out over fear, the Nana finally allows himself to be convinced.
It will take even longer to persuade the sepoys, who have no desire to fight their officers. Ultimately, the fear of the whites’ terrible vengeance and the promise of gold coins overcome their hesitations. They are also assured that once Kanpur is freed, they will march to Delhi, the glorious capital of the great Mughals, from where the movement to recapture the whole of India is to begin.
At dawn on June 6th, convinced the sepoys are on their way to Delhi, General Wheeler receives an unexpected message, a very courteous letter from Nana Sahib informing him that his troops will attack at 10 A.M. A last qualm towards his friend, combined with chivalrous morality that prohibits surprise attacks, has influenced this decision, which the prince has carefully kept secret from his partners. It gives Wheeler the time to recall all his officers and to bring the Anglo-Indian population into the camp—in all, a thousand people, half of them women and children.
The siege will last three weeks, during which the camp is heavily bombarded. The British respond as best they can but have to use their ammunition sparingly. Each day brings new victims. The heat is dreadful and they are short of water, so they have to risk their lives to go to the only well. The camp is so poorly protected by an adobe wall that some of the besieged prisoners are even killed inside their rooms. The place resonates with moans of the injured, tormented by hundreds of flies, and is pervaded by the unbearable stench of corpses.
By the end of the week, Wheeler realises they cannot hold out much longer. He sends the Nana a message, requesting him to allow them to leave for Calcutta. Despite his betrayal, he still has some faith in this prince, who was once a friend.
In the Nana’s opinion, it would be the best solution, but he cannot take the decision alone. He has to consult the rebel officers, his brother Bala Rao, nicknamed “the Cruel,” and his secretary Azimullah. For once, the latter loses his legendary composure:
“Spare the English while they are massacring our women and children everywhere! You cannot be serious! Is the blood of the whites worth more than ours? Is a blond child worth ten, a hundred of our children?” he chokes with rage.
His words are met with a roar of approval. For some time now, large numbers of refugees have been pouring in from villages around Benares and Allahabad, where the revolt has been brutally suppressed. Petrified, they tell of the houses and fields burned, the rapes and mutilations. Major Renaud and Colonel Neill’s troops had hanged thousands of peasants—adolescents to old men—from trees all along the road. Now they are advancing towards Kanpur, destroying everything along the way.
The British consider this ferocity just retribution for the killing of civilians in Delhi and Meerut—white men and women killed . . . by the natives! Slaves who dare raise a hand against their masters! That is what is really scandalous! There is no greater crime than that of abolishing a natural hierarchy, where everyone has their designated place. This rebellion is sacrilegious, for it contests the “good” order of things: a world where the white man is, in all evidence and for all eternity, superior to the black or dark-skinned races, particularly if they are not Christian!
The battles continue for days. The small garrison counters the sepoys’ attacks with a resistance born of despair. On June 23rd, the anniversary of the Battle of Plassey, they manage to repel a particularly harsh attack, but when a shell destroys the building where the medicines and supplies are stored, Sir Hugh Wheeler submits to the inevitable, and he sends the Nana another message.
The latter shuts himself away with his brother, his advisor Azimullah and his most important general, Tantia Tope, to discuss what should be done. After a lengthy, private discussion, they decide to send an Anglo-Indian hostage, Mrs. Jacobi, with a letter signed by Nana Sahib, ceremoniously addressed:
“To the subjects of Her Very Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria,
“All those who played no part in the crimes against Indians and who are ready to surrender, will be given safe passage as far as the town of Allahabad.”*
&n
bsp; Sir Wheeler hesitates: can the very man who betrayed them so cleverly be trusted? His officers remind him again that they only have three days’ supplies left, and that the women and children will all perish. On their insistence, he gives in.
The practical details are to be discussed on neutral territory. A meeting takes place between two British officers, pale and gaunt, and the Nana’s representatives: Tantia Tope, the Mahratta general—a massive dark-skinned man who always wears a white turban and is reputed to be a brilliant strategist—and the elegant Azimullah Khan. Nana Sahib promises he will provide the British with a flotilla of boats and oarsmen to transport them safely to Allahabad, the strategically located town at the confluence of the Ganges and the Yamuna. In exchange, they must abandon their cannons, rifles and ammunition. After long negotiations, they are allowed to keep their revolvers.
On June 26th, an armistice is declared. Overcome by delayed compassion, Nana Sahib has sixteen elephants, eighty palanquins and several bullock carts sent to transport the women, children and wounded as far as the riverbank, where large boats are waiting for them.
On the morning of the 27th, everyone squeezes themselves as best they can into the overloaded craft under the inscrutable gaze of the soldiers who have escorted them there. Despite the oppressive heat, a few notables sitting in the shade of a small Hindu temple overlooking the Satichaura Ghat watch the operations closely. Azimullah Khan, Tantia Tope and Nana’s brother are clearly visible, but the prince himself is absent.
At 9 A.M., seated in the first boat, Sir Hugh Wheeler gives the signal for departure. His craft has barely begun to advance however, when, at a gesture from Tantia Tope, the oarsmen throw live embers onto the thatched roofs of the boats, then jump overboard. As the boats burst into flames, hundreds of sepoys emerge from their cover on the riverbank and begin to open fire. From the opposite shore, two cannons bombard the fragile flotilla. There is complete panic. Some men shoot back to gain a few futile minutes, while in a desperate attempt to flee, most of the terrified women, children and wounded jump overboard. The few who escape the bullets and make it to the shores are cut down by the swords of the Mahratta cavalry.
Hundreds of corpses float on the reddened waters of the Ganges. All the men have been killed, except four, who managed to escape. They will later describe the horror they endured.
Hugging their children tightly against them, the terrified women scream, imploring those soldiers who seem hesitant for pity, when finally an order to stop the massacre arrives from the palace.
The survivors—about two hundred women and children—are cooped up in a small house called Bibighar, so named as it was built for the bibi, a British officer’s mistress. The dilapidated building, having been empty for a long time, has no furniture, and the prisoners have to sleep directly on the mud floor. The only food they receive twice a day consists of flour and dal, the lentils that constitute poor Indians’ staple diet.
Why has the Nana spared them? Out of pity for the women and children of those who had been his friends in another life, or out of pure calculation? In the event of a setback, these hostages could be valuable as a currency of exchange.
But for those who crowd around the shelter jeering, these women, now stripped of all they possessed, are mainly objects of revenge. For the Indians, who have slaved all their lives for the memsahibs without ever receiving the slightest recognition, the sight of their humiliation is a joy. What is unbearable about the Angrez has nothing to do with the work, which was no harder than at the begums’, it is that in their houses, the natives are invisible. Instead of being an integral part of the household, and being scolded as well as protected like children, they are treated like shadows, instruments to be used, never human beings deserving of the occasional benevolent glance.
Relationships that are dehumanising on a daily basis breed bitterness. The Indian women mock the captives vociferously; revenge is sweet. They delight in watching the memsahibs on their knees, scraping their hands on the stone while they clumsily try to grind the wheat to obtain a bit of flour, and washing their torn dresses—rags their servants would discard—the only garments remaining to these “ladies,” who used to be dressed in silk and lace!
The female head guard of Bibighar treats them especially harshly.
The woman, nicknamed “the begum” for her fair skin and authoritarian manners, used to be a prostitute. She is totally devoted to the Nana’s secretary. Just like him, she hates Angrez women, the kind ones in particular, who affect simplicity while maintaining a certain haughtiness, those for whom charity is such a clear way of marking distance that it becomes insulting. She thus seeks every possible means of humiliating them. When informed that the prisoners’ health is deteriorating dangerously, Nana Sahib sends a doctor and allows them an hour’s walk daily. The begum chooses to have them parade down the most crowded streets, where they endure slurs and jeering. Or she makes them march through the main bazaar, surrounded by stalls full of foodstuffs, and if ever a trader, overcome with pity by a child’s hungry look, dares hold a fruit out to them, she immediately barks: “Have you no shame? Give it to our children who are dying of hunger instead!”
In the Bibighar prison, weakness and dysentery wreak havoc but, despite everything, the women do not lose hope: from a servant’s gossip, they have learnt that Major Renaud’s regiment has left Allahabad and is on its way to Kanpur to free them.
Upon receiving this news, Nana Sahib assembles his council.
“The yellow-faced, narrow-minded people have been vanquished, but they are attempting to return. We will wipe them out!”*
According to his spies, the British troops number a few hundred men, and although they have left a string of devastated towns and villages behind them, they have also suffered heavy losses, either in battle or due to heatstroke and fevers.
On July 9th, the rebel army commanded by Tantia Tope and the Nana’s brother is sent to stop the British forces. They have far more men and should win easily, but General Havelock’s reinforcements arrive unexpectedly. They launch a surprise attack, confounding all expectations. After two days of fierce battle, Nana Sahib’s troops are subdued.
When the news of the defeat reaches Kanpur on July 13th, the war council unanimously decides to defend the town.
But what should they do with the prisoners?
Most of the prince’s advisors, particularly his brother, Tantia Tope and Azimullah, are of the opinion they should be eliminated: “They saw everything that took place here, they can testify against us.” Nana Sahib, himself, firmly opposes this solution and to convince his companions, he argues that the British will give anything to recover their women and children. If the situation deteriorates, these hostages are the only hope of saving their skins.
The war council adjourns without having reached a decision.
17
Arriving from all over the other districts of Awadh, groups of rebels assemble in the town of Nawabganj, twenty miles from Lucknow. The majority are sepoys coming from the garrisons in revolt, but there are also a few taluqdars who have decided to lead their troops into combat against the British occupying forces. What do they have left to lose? The new English laws have dispossessed them of their lands and, above all, of their status by sabotaging the complex system of loyalty that had, for centuries, bound them to their peasants. They only have one objective now: to drive out these bandits who, sheltering behind great moral principles, have stolen their land and their honour.
By the end of June, there are over seven thousand men at Nawabganj, including one cavalry regiment and two military police regiments. Their leaders are the Rajah of Mahmudabad and Rajah Jai Lal Singh—old and faithful friends. On the other hand, the arrival of a strange character, Maulvi Ahmadullah Shah, is cause for concern. Just recently released from prison, where his incendiary speeches had landed him, the maulvi is followed by over a thousand disciples, clearly hypnotized by his presence. Und
er the circumstances, it is out of the question for the two rajahs to forgo such a valuable input of armed forces, but they will have to watch him closely.
On June 28th, a messenger from Kanpur announces that Nana Sahib has gained control of the town. Now they can finally launch the assault against Lucknow with no fear of a surprise attack by the British.
On the 29th, under the maulvi’s command, an advance force of eight hundred men is sent towards the village of Chinhat, seven miles from the capital, while Jai Lal and Mahmudabad go over the final strategy.
In Lucknow, Sir Henry Lawrence, forewarned by his spies, hesitates. Should he send his troops to wipe out this first wave of rebels, and hopefully discourage the still disorganised enemy? This would also test the loyalty of the sepoys who remained with him . . . but then he risks losing a part of his already reduced forces intended to protect the Residency and the civilians who have taken refuge there. Finally, at the insistence of his officers, who refuse to be branded as cowards, he sets off for Chinhat on the 30th at the crack of dawn with a column of seven hundred men.
However, these twenty-four hours of procrastination prove to be fatal: they have given the Indians time to regroup.
On this morning of June 30th, in the smothering heat, Lawrence’s troops advance slowly across a sandy terrain, slowed down by the heavy Howitzer cannon pulled by an elephant. In order to save time, they have not stopped to eat and have nothing to drink, as the native water carriers have mysteriously disappeared. Nevertheless, Sir Henry is not worried; he knows his men’s capacity for courage and endurance. Gritting their teeth, they continue to make headway under a merciless sun.
As Chinhat comes into view, the cavalry’s advance guard encounters heavy fire. Before they have time to position the Howitzer, the Indian cannons, hidden behind a thick curtain of mango trees, force the British troops to a halt. The artillery battle lasts several hours, when, finally, the cannons on the Indian side fall silent. The British cry victory—the
In the City of Gold and Silver Page 15