Stunned, the Queen Mother and her companions realise they have been tricked. The indignant rajahs cry out:
“If this was what Jung Bahadur intended, why did he make us come here? To annihilate us more easily? He knows that after this terrible journey, we are too few and too exhausted to defend ourselves. Is he not ashamed to betray his brothers in this manner? As a Hindu at least, he should support us, since we fought in defence of our religion!”
“I cannot discuss this,” replies the officer, embarrassed. “I can only repeat my master’s orders: ‘If you advance any further, the Gurkhas will kill you. You must leave Nepal and surrender to the British.’”
And, taking his leave of them, he departs.
While the rajahs and Nana Sahib decide to settle in Butwal to allow their troops to rest and to discuss what is to be done, the begum retires to the neighbouring fort of Naya Kot to look after her son. Weakened by the journey and disconsolate at Mumtaz’s death, Birjis Qadar has fallen ill again, and Hazrat Mahal watches over him day and night. Now that she risks losing him, she realises that nothing matters more to her than her son’s life. Thus, when Jung Bahadur’s envoys arrive to enquire about her plans, she dismisses them unceremoniously:
“How dare you disturb me? My son is struggling between life and death. Leave me alone, I will answer you later!”
Jung Bahadur does not insist but, taking advantage of the fact that the rajahs and the begum are separated, he sends the British army the agreed signal: they may enter Nepal and attack Butwal.
On the 28th of March, 1859, General Kelly confronts Rana Beni Madho and Nana Sahib’s troops. Although they are weakened by illness and lack of food, and have neither cannons nor ammunition, the cornered men fight fiercely. They know they have no way of escaping the British. All the roads are watched, and if they surrender, they will be executed, but they continue resisting heroically. In vain. The troops are routed. Suffering a thousand difficulties, dragging themselves across steep mountains, crossing streams, clinging to precipices, the survivors manage to reach the Sirwa Pass. It is here that they fight their final battle on May 21st.
“We pursued the enemy into the mountains and reached a place covered in pools of blood. There, two rebels lay succumbing to their wounds, but the most heart wrenching was to see these sepoys’ wives dying of hunger and exhaustion beside them, often with a baby in their arms,”* reports General Grant.
When Hazrat Mahal, who had remained in Naya Kot with her son, is informed of the tragedy, she sinks into a state of deep despondency: these years of battle, these tens of thousands of men sacrificed . . . all this for nothing?
An ultimate hope, however, helps her pull herself together. In central India, Prince Firoz Shah and Tantia Tope, each operating independently, pursue the guerrilla movement.
At the beginning of the month of April, Tantia Tope joins Rajah Man Singh of Narwar, who commands a small army. Together they wage war against the occupying forces, alternately winning or losing ground, until, surrounded, they take refuge in the Paron jungles. Helped by their spies, the British enter into contact with the rajah and manage to negotiate his submission: he will be pardoned, retain all his properties and, in addition, receive a generous reward, provided he reveals Tantia Tope’s hiding place.
The ally and friend accepts.
Tantia Tope will be captured by surprise while he is fast asleep.
Thus, one of the best generals of the insurrection, Nana Sahib’s former general, who had fought the British on all fronts of the rebellion with brilliant success, was not defeated by bullets, but by treachery.
During his “trial,” Tantia Tope is to challenge the crime he is charged with, arguing that he was not rebelling against the British government, as he was in no way a British subject, but one of the Nana’s generals.
Ten days later, he will be hanged.
With his disappearance, deprived of its leader, the insurrection in central India progressively dies out.
At the beginning of May, a letter from the governor of Butwal informs the Nepali prime minister of Birjis Qadar’s deteriorating state of health and the Queen Mother’s refusal to surrender to the British. The governor specifies that the begum has a sachet of poison on her person and to avoid dishonour, will not hesitate to use it.
This must be avoided at all costs. Begum Hazrat Mahal has become a deeply admired, even idolised, symbol. Her suicide could provoke riots that will be difficult to contain, both in Awadh and in Nepal, where the population hardly appreciates Jung Bahadur’s double game.
The latter is worried and hurriedly informs the British authorities, who do not want to be held responsible for the death of a national heroine either. They agree that Nepal will offer the begum and her son asylum.
Hazrat Mahal is to negotiate for ten days, demanding that the women and children be allowed to remain with her. This is agreed, except with regard to the boys—only those under the age of twelve are authorised to stay with her. On the other hand, notwithstanding her insistence, none of her soldiers will be allowed to accompany her. Not even Mammoo, who, despite their frequent disagreements, has been her faithful servant for thirteen years. She has no choice but to accept the conditions that are laid down.
At least by refusing to submit to the British, she is preserving her honour and her son’s rights.
For the last time, the Queen Mother inspects her troops, or rather what remains of them: a few hundred emaciated men who cheer her, their eyes bright with tears.
Her throat constricted, she thanks them:
“You have fought heroically. You will be remembered as the glory of Awadh! Centuries will pass, but history will remember you! Now you must disperse and attempt to return to your villages, but know that the battle we have fought together is only the beginning of the freedom struggle.
“We have shown the way, our children will follow, and soon we will drive the British out of India forever!”
36
From now on, Hazrat Mahal is a prisoner. She has no illusions about the “hospitality” the maharajah offers her.
Jung Bahadur has had a spacious bungalow renovated for her. It is surrounded by a veranda made of light-coloured wood and overlooks a garden. He has also placed Nepalese guards and servants at the Queen Mother’s service. In contrast to his previous hostility, he receives her with a thousand marks of respect and expresses his concern for the young king’s health. He even sends her his best hakims: Birjis Qadar must not die under his roof, to avoid any rumours that he had had the young king killed to satisfy the British.
On the other hand, despite Hazrat Mahal’s protests, all her Indian servants are dismissed; these women who had accompanied her into the Terai, where fear, hunger and exhaustion were their daily fare . . . The Queen Mother often asks herself why she deserves such devotion. Is it because through her, and the cause she represents, these women can surpass themselves, redeeming their banal daily lives to be part of an inspiring mission?
Jung Bahadur remains inflexible, unwilling to take the slightest risk. The dozen guards at the entrance are not sufficient to reassure him. If he surrounds the begum with Nepalese servants—a question of practicality, he argues; they know the customs of the land—it is in reality to keep a closer watch on her.
He intends to be kept informed of her every move. She seems resigned, but he does not trust her; he is well aware of her fighting spirit.
For the first time, far from her country and the town she loves, Hazrat Mahal remembers the other exiles with sorrow—the old emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar; his wife, Queen Zeenat Mahal; and their young son, deported to Pegu, an ancient Buddhist centre in Burma, far removed from anything that could remind them of India. In comparison, her fate is almost enviable. At least she is close to her own people. She will find a way to communicate with those who continue to fight on the Nepal-India border.
But that is for later.
At this point, her sole concern is her son’s health. The Nepalese hakims have brought baskets full of multicoloured vials, potions made of dozens of herbs, steeped for weeks, sometimes months. In the initial stages, they managed to bring the fever down, but very soon, it rose again.
Day and night, Hazrat Mahal watches over the young patient, moistening his lips and cooling his forehead with a damp cloth. When they see her reel with exhaustion, the Nepalese servants offer to replace her. She thanks them, but always declines. She is angry with herself for having neglected her child for so long. She believes that while he is semiconscious, if he could only feel the depth of his mother’s love, and how his life is truly the most precious thing in the world for her—if he could only realise she will never let anything take precedence over him again, that she will always be by his side, whatever the circumstances—he would regain his desire to live and would be cured.
My poor child . . . I abandoned you in order to better fight for your future and that of our land . . . how lonely you must have felt . . .
And she kisses his hands and his thin arms, bathing them with her tears.
Awed by her suffering, the Nepalese servants watch this woman in silence. They have heard the most contradictory things about her: she is an ambitious woman who fears neither God nor man, capable of perjury and murder in order to attain power . . . a manipulator who thinks only of herself . . . a brave woman fighting to free her country . . . They do not understand. All they see is a mother like themselves, a mother who is suffering and would give her life to save her son.
It is only after several weeks, once reassured her son is out of danger, that Hazrat Mahal is to show an interest in life again and starts taking in her surroundings.
Very soon—to their great surprise—she turns her attention to the women who work for her, who have always been kept in their subordinate roles.
She had noticed them examining her Devanagari110 book with curiosity. She has in fact started to learn Nepali in order to communicate with her new retinue. However, when the begum points to a word and asks them how to pronounce it, they shake their heads with a small, embarrassed laugh: they do not know how to read.
So Hazrat Mahal decides to organise classes for these women and their children. A welcome occupation, as, after her two years of government, during which decisions had to be made and battles fought, she finds this forced inactivity difficult to endure. It will provide a much-needed distraction from her sombre thoughts.
Thus, every evening, sitting on the ground amidst her new students, she teaches them the basics of reading and writing. Little does she realise the astonishment her initiative evokes in this society, which is even more hierarchical than that of Awadh and, above all, extremely backward. Not only those who benefit from her teaching, but in their families and their native villages, everyone praises this queen, both simple and kind, and who—poor thing!—is a prisoner of the terrible Jung Bahadur.
For the latter is not loved. No one has forgotten the bloody coup d’état by means of which the young general, Jung Bahadur Rana, took over the government twelve years ago, relegating the king to the role of a puppet, nor have they forgotten how he persecuted his opponents and had them assassinated. Finally, his recent alliance with the British, who had taken Sikkim as well as a part of the Terai away from Nepal during an earlier war, deeply shocked the population, especially since he is cooperating with foreigners in fighting Hindu coreligionists!
Before accepting asylum in Kathmandu, Hazrat Mahal had carefully hidden her gold and her most precious jewels in the hems of her gararas. During her negotiations with the maharajah’s envoys, although no compensation had been mentioned, she had understood only too well that as the price for his “hospitality,” Jung Bahadur, known for his greed, had planned to award himself what was left of Awadh’s treasure! She has no way of opposing him, but she intends to hoard away enough to continue supporting the struggle. Even under surveillance, she should be able to find a way to send small subsidies to the fighters.
Since Birjis Qadar’s recovery, now that her attention and her energy are no longer monopolised, she can once again concentrate on the fate of her companions abandoned in the Terai.
She expects nothing from Nana Sahib, so she is not in the least surprised when Jung Bahadur informs her of his latest act of cowardice: while she was in Naya Kot, refusing to surrender despite her son’s ill health, the Nana had secretly sent a letter to Queen Victoria, imploring her forgiveness. A humiliation he could have spared himself. In their reply to the man they held responsible for the Kanpur massacres, the British authorities advised him to surrender, with the promise he would be given a fair trial.
The Nana had not taken the risk and continued to wander in the Terai jungles with his nephew, Rao Sahib, and a few loyal followers.
On the other hand, the begum is concerned about Beni Madho. A conversation she has overheard between her guards reveals that the rana is resisting on the border, near the state of Tulsipur. After months of battle and flight, she imagines the dilapidated state his army must be in . . . How can she send them some help? Jung Bahadur has separated her from all her loyal servants; she is completely isolated. Can she buy off one of the Gurkhas who guard her? He will keep the gold or denounce her to the maharajah, or maybe both.
She has to find a solution. She, of whom the London Times wrote: “The Begum of Awadh shows greater strategic sense and courage than all her generals put together,” she will never admit defeat.
“Rani Sahiba!”
The young girl standing at the entrance is Ambika, her most intelligent student. For her, as for all the Nepalese, a woman from the royal household is necessarily a rani, and Hazrat Mahal has grown accustomed to this new title.
“Rani Sahiba, my brother is going to be married. Will you allow me to go home to my village to attend the ceremonies?”
“Of course. How long will you be gone?”
“Not long, a month at the most. My village is only a week’s journey away, not far from Tulsipur.”
“Tulsipur?” Hazrat Mahal’s heart starts to beat furiously. “But Tulsipur is in India!”
“Oh, for us villagers it’s all the Terai—half-Indian, half-Nepalese. Nobody would know where the border is if the British soldiers weren’t there sometimes to stop us from crossing it.”
Would it be possible . . . No, she cannot entrust this child with such a dangerous mission . . . Yet, this coincidence seems to be a sign . . .
Ambika is waiting. She can see the rani wants to say something but seems hesitant. Then, overcoming her shyness, she dares:
“You do so much for us, Rani Sahiba. I was talking to my companions about how, for the first time, a lady has shown interest in us and made us proud. I do not really know how to say this, but I just want to tell you that I will always be ready to serve you.”
“I am grateful, Ambika. Now be a good girl, bring me some embers for my hookah and leave me. But please do not go away without coming to see me first.”
Ever since her first taste of it in the house in the Chowk, the gurgle of the hookah’s water and the clouds of honey and rose-scented smoke have had a soothing effect on Hazrat Mahal, and help her to think. She has decided to be frank with Ambika, certain the young girl will not betray her. But if she gives her the gold, which she could sew into the hem of her own wide skirt, how will she manage to make contact with Beni Madho?
It is Ambika herself who provides the answer:
“I cannot go out of the house myself, but I have cousins and brothers. They have all heard of you and admire you. And my family has little love for the maharajah. They don’t know it here, but my mother’s brother was one of the king’s loyal followers. When the coup d’état took place, he tried to resist. He was captured and tortured to death. So if we can help you, for us it will be an unexpected opportunity for revenge!”
Hazrat Mahal marvels at the young girl�
�s simple and direct manner. Anyone else would have beaten around the bush, might have waited to be asked in order to obtain something in exchange. Ambika, however, agrees without the slightest hesitation, despite the danger, of which she is perfectly aware.
For a month, Hazrat Mahal is to wait anxiously for her return.
Meanwhile, on July 8th, 1859, peace is officially declared in India. This draws several sarcastic comments from the begum, who is well placed to know that battles continue in the Terai, as well as in central India where, despite Tantia Tope’s disappearance, Prince Firoz and a few hundred men attempt to continue the struggle.
The following day, Hazrat Mahal and her son are overjoyed to learn that in a symbolic gesture of good will, the British have released Wajid Ali Shah from the Fort William prison.
“Amma Huzoor, I would so like to see my father again. Do you think they would allow me to?” asks the adolescent, quivering with enthusiasm.
“I doubt it, jani. You know very well that we are in exile and do not have the right to return to our country.”
“But just for a few days! To see my father again! I miss him so much. He has been gone for three years! Please, Amma Huzoor, can you not ask this favour of the maharajah?”
“It is not he who decides, my son, it is the British, and I do not wish to ask them for anything.”
“Why?”
“Because they would refuse just for the pleasure of humiliating me, or worse, they would use my request to spread the rumour that we have given in and made peace with them!”
The adolescent lowers his head to hide his disappointment. He admires his mother, but sometimes he finds her too harsh.
Sad at having to dishearten him, Hazrat Mahal is well aware that he is not convinced and that she talks to him as if he were an adult, while he is still merely a young boy who does not understand why his mother’s political choices prevent him from seeing his father.
In the City of Gold and Silver Page 34