Begums, Thugs and White Mughals

by Fanny Parkes

  Another ornament consists of a great number of small bells, ghoonghroo, strung on a cord, and worn around the ankle, hanging to the heel. It is reckoned very correct to wear these tinkling bells; if a native wishes to praise a woman most highly, he says, ‘She has never seen the sun, she always wears bells.’

  In lieu of this string of bells, another ornament is often worn, called pāezēb, which consists of heavy rings of silver, resembling a horse’s curb chain, but much broader, set with a fringe of small spherical bells, all of which tinkle at every motion of the limb; and all the toes are adorned with rings, some of which are furnished with little bells; such rings are called ghoonghroo darchhallā. The ladies wear their dresses, unless they be grand dresses for occasions of state, until they are dirty; perhaps for five or six days together; the dresses are then thrown away, and they put on new attire.

  April 5th – I took leave of my dear Colonel Gardner, and quitted him with a heavy heart for I saw how feeble his health had become, how necessary quiet and attention were for him, and I knew that, left to the care of natives, his comfort would be little considered.

  After my departure, I heard he endured much annoyance from domestic concerns and that it was too much for his feeble health. He suffered greatly from asthma and violent headaches, and had only recently recovered from an attack of paralysis. I was strongly tempted to return to Khasganj when I heard of his illness, but was deterred from a feeling of delicacy: an adopted child has a right to a portion of the inheritance, and my presence might have caused the ladies of the zenāna to imagine a sinister motive influenced me.

  A gentleman who was with him afterwards told me ‘During his last illness, Colonel Gardner often spoke of you in terms of the greatest affection, and expressed many times his wish for your presence; I did not write to tell you so, because the hot winds were blowing and the distance some five or six hundred miles.’

  Had he only written to me, I would have gone dāk to Khasganj immediately; what would the annoyance of hot winds or the distance have been, in comparison with the satisfaction of gratifying the wish of my departing friend? I had lived for weeks in his house, enjoying his society, admiring his dignified and noble bearing and listening with delight to the relation of his marvellous escapes and extraordinary adventures. His chivalric exploits and undaunted courage deserve a better pen than mine, and he alone was capable of being his own historian.

  Colonel Gardner told me, if I ever visited Delhi he would give me an introduction to the Nawāb Shāh Zamānee Begum the Emperor’s unmarried sister; who would show me all that was worth seeing in the zenāna of the palace of the King of Delhi. This pleased me greatly; so few persons ever have an opportunity of seeing native ladies.

  On the 29th of the following July my beloved friend, Colonel Gardner, departed this life at Khasganj, aged sixty-five. He was buried, according to his desire, near the tomb of his son Allan. From the time of his death the poor begum pined and sank daily; just as he said, she complained not, but she took his death to heart; she died one month and two days after his decease. Native ladies have a number of titles; her death, names and titles were thus announced in the papers: ‘On the 31st of August, at her residence at Khasganj, Her Highness Furzund Azeza Zubdeh-tool Arrakeen Umdehtool Assateen Nawāb Matmunzilool Nissa Begum Delmī, relict of the late Colonel William Linnaeus Gardner.’

  ‘The sound of the Nakaras and Dumana have ceased.’

  Colonel Gardner’s begum was entitled from her rank to the use of the nalkī, the morchhal or fan of peacock’s feathers, and the nakara and dumana, state kettle drums.

  [ … ]

  The sums of money and the quantity of food distributed by Colonel Gardner’s begum in charity was surprising; she was a religious woman and fulfilled, as far as was in her power, the ordinances of her religion. The necessity of giving alms is strongly inculcated. ‘To whomsoever God gives wealth, and he does not perform the charity due from it, his wealth will be made into the shape of a serpent on the day of resurrection, which shall not have any hair upon its head; and this is a sign of its poison and long life; and it has two black spots upon its eyes; and it will be twisted round his neck, like a chain, on the day of resurrection: then the serpent will seize the man’s jawbones, and will say, “I am thy wealth, from which thou didst not give in charity; I am thy treasure, from which thou didst not separate any alms.” After this the Prophet repeated this revelation. “Let not those who are covetous of what God of his bounty hath granted them imagine that their avarice is better for them: nay, rather it is worse for them. That which they have covetously reserved shall be bound as a collar about their necks on the day of resurrection.”’

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  THE MAHRATTA CAMP AND ZENĀNA

  FOR WHOM SHALL I STAIN MY TEETH AND BLACKEN MY EYELASHES? THE MASTER IS TURNED TO ASHES

  APRIL 6TH 1835 – I arrived at Fatehgar, at the house of a relative in the Civil Service, the Judge of the Station and agent to the Governor-General. After a hot and dusty dāk trip, how delightful was the coolness of the rooms in which thermantidotes and tattīs were in full force! As may be naturally supposed, I could talk of nothing but Khasganj, and favoured the party with some Hindustanī airs on the sitar, which I could not persuade them to admire; to silence my sitar a dital harp was presented to me; nevertheless, I retained a secret fondness for the native instrument, which recalled the time when the happy slave girls figured before me.

  Having seen Musulmān ladies followers of the Prophet, how great was my delight at finding native ladies were, at Fatehgar, worshippers of Ganesh and Krishna-ji!

  Her Highness the Bāiza Bāī, the widow of the late Mahārāj Dāolut Rāo Scindia, was in camp at this place under the care of Captain Ross. Dāolut Rāo, the adopted son and grandnephew of Mahadajee Scindia, contested with the Duke of Wellington, then Sir Arthur Wellesley, the memorable field of Assaye. On the death of Scindia, by his appointment the Bāiza Bāī, having become Queen of Gwalior, ruled the kingdom for nine years. Having no male issue, her Highness adopted a youth, called Jankee Rāo, a distant relative of Scindia’s, who was to be placed on the masnad at her decease.

  A Rajpoot is of age at eighteen years: but when Jankee Rāo was only fourteen years old, the subjects of the Bāī revolted and placed the boy at the head of the rebellion. Had her Highness remained at Gwalior she would have been murdered; she was forced to fly to Fatehgar, where she put herself under the protection of the Government. Her daughter, the Chimna Rājā Sāhib, a lady celebrated for her beauty and the wife of Appa Sāhib, a Mahratta nobleman, died of fever brought on by exposure and anxiety at the time she fled from Gwalior, during the rebellion. It is remarkable that the ladies in this family take the title of Rājā, to which Sāhib is generally affixed. Appa Sāhib joined the Bāiza Bāī, fled with her, and is now in her camp at Fatehgar. The rebellion of her subjects, and her Highness being forced to fly the kingdom, were nothing to the Bāī in comparison to the grief occasioned her by the loss of her beloved daughter, the Chimna Rājā.

  Her granddaughter, the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, is also living with her; she has been married two years but is alone, her husband having deserted her to join the stronger party.

  The Bāī, although nominally free, is in fact a prisoner; she is extremely anxious to return to Gwalior, but is prevented by the refusal of the Government to allow her to do so; this renders her very unhappy.

  April 8th – The Brija Bāī, one of her ladies, called to invite the lady with whom I am staying to visit the Mahārāj in camp; and gave me an invitation to accompany her.

  April 12th – When the appointed day arrived, the attendants of her Highness were at our house at four o’clock to escort us to the camp.

  It is customary for a visitor to leave her shoes outside the parda, when paying her respects to a lady of rank; and this custom is always complied with, unless especial leave to retain the shoes has been voluntarily given to the visitor, which would be considered a mark of great kindness and condescension.r />
  We found her Highness seated on her gaddī of embroidered cloth, with her granddaughter the Gaja Rājā Sāhib at her side; the ladies, her attendants, were standing around her; and the sword of Scindia was on the gaddī, at her feet. She rose to receive and embrace us, and desired us to be seated near her. The Bāiza Bāī is rather an old woman, with grey hair, and en bon point; she must have been pretty in her youth; her smile is remarkably sweet, and her manners particularly pleasing; her hands and feet are very small and beautifully formed. Her sweet voice reminded me of the proverb, ‘A pleasant voice brings a snake out of a hole.’ She was dressed in the plainest red silk, wore no ornaments with the exception of a pair of small plain bars of gold as bracelets. Being a widow, she is obliged to put jewellery aside and to submit to numerous privations and hardships. Her countenance is very mild and open; there is a freedom and independence in her air that I greatly admire – so unlike that of the sleeping, languid, opium-eating Musulmāns. Her granddaughter, the Gaja Rājā Sāhib, is very young; her eyes the largest I ever saw; her face is rather flat and not pretty; her figure is beautiful; she is the least little wee creature you ever beheld. The Mahratta dress consists only of two garments, which are a tight body to the waist, with sleeves tight to the elbow; a piece of silk, some twenty yards or more in length, which they wind around them as a petticoat, and then, taking a part of it, draw it between the limbs and fasten it behind in a manner that gives it the effect both of petticoat and trousers; this is the whole dress unless, at times, they substitute angiyas, with short sleeves, for the tight long-sleeved body.

  The Gaja Rājā was dressed in purple Benares silk, with a deep gold border woven into it; when she walked she looked very graceful and the dress very elegant; on her forehead was a mark like a spearhead, in red paint; her hair was plaited and bound into a knot at the back of her head, and low down; her eyes were edged with surma, and her hands and feet dyed with hinnā. On her feet and ankles were curious silver ornaments; toe-rings of peculiar form; which she sometimes wore of gold, sometimes of red coral. In her nostril was a very large and brilliant n’hut, of diamonds, pearls, and precious stones, of the particular shape worn by the Mahrattas; in her ears were fine brilliants. From her throat to her waist she was covered with strings of magnificent pearls and jewels; her hands and arms were ornamented with the same. She spoke but little – scarcely five words passed her lips; she appeared timid, but was pleased with the bouquet of beautiful flowers, just fresh from the garden, that the lady who presented me laid at her feet on her entrance. These Mahrattas are a fine bold race; amongst her ladies-in-waiting I remarked several fine figures, but their faces were generally too flat. Some of them stood in waiting with rich cashmere shawls thrown over their shoulders; one lady, before the Mahārāj, leaned on her sword, and if the Bāī quitted the apartment, the attendant and sword always followed her. The Bāī was speaking of horses, and the lady who introduced me said I was as fond of horses as a Mahratta. Her Highness said she should like to see an English lady on horseback; she could not comprehend how they could sit all crooked, all on one side, in the side-saddle. I said I should be too happy to ride into camp any hour her Highness would appoint, and show her the style of horsemanship practised by ladies in England. The Mahārāj expressed a wish that I should be at the Mahratta camp at four o’clock, in two days’ time. Atr, in a silver filigree vessel, was then presented to the Gaja Rājā; she took a portion up in a little spoon and put it on our hands. One of the attendants presented us with pān, whilst another sprinkled us most copiously with rose-water: the more you inundate your visitor with rose-water, the greater the compliment.

  This being the signal for departure, we rose, made our bahut bahut adab salam, and departed, highly gratified with our visit to her Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior.

  April 14th – My relative had a remarkably beautiful Arab, and as I wished to show the Bāī a good horse, she being an excellent judge, I requested him to allow me to ride his Arab; and that he might be fresh, I sent him on to await my arrival at the zenāna gates. A number of Mahratta horsemen having been despatched by her Highness to escort me to the camp, I cantered over with them on my little black horse, and found the beautiful Arab impatiently awaiting my arrival.

  With the champèd bit, and the archèd crest,

  And the eye of a listening deer,

  And the spirit of fire that pines at its rest,

  And the limbs that laugh at fear.

  Leetle Paul’s description of his ‘courser proud’ is beautiful; but his steed was not more beautiful than the Arab who, adorned with a garland of freshly-gathered white double jasmine flowers, pawed impatiently at the gates. I mounted him, and entering the precincts of the zenāna found myself in a large court, where all the ladies of the ex-Queen were assembled and anxiously looking for the English lady, who would ride crooked! The Bāī was seated in the open air; I rode up and, dismounting, paid my respects. She remarked the beauty of the Arab, felt the hollow under his jaw, admired his eye and, desiring one of the ladies to take up his foot, examined it and said he had the small, black, hard foot of the pure Arab. She examined and laughed at my saddle. I then mounted, and putting the Arab on his mettle, showed her how English ladies manage their horses. When this was over, three of the Bāiza Bāī’s own riding horses were brought out by the female attendants; for we were within the zenāna, where no man is allowed to enter. The horses were in full caparison, the saddles covered with velvet and kimkhwab and gold embroidery, their heads and necks ornamented with jewels and chains of gold. The Gaja Rājā, in her Mahratta riding dress, mounted one of the horses and the ladies the others; they cantered and pranced about, showing off the Mahratta style of riding. On dismounting, the young Gaja Rājā threw her horse’s bridle over my arm and said, laughingly, ‘Are you afraid? Or will you try my horse?’ Who could resist such a challenge? ‘I shall be delighted,’ was my reply. ‘You cannot ride like a Mahratta in that dress,’ said the Princess; ‘put on proper attire.’ I retired to obey her commands, returning in Mahratta costume, mounted her horse, put my feet into the great iron stirrups and started away for a gallop round the enclosure. I thought of Queen Elizabeth, and her stupidity in changing the style of riding for women. En cavalier, it appeared so safe, as if I could have jumped over the moon. Whilst I was thus amusing myself, ‘Shāh-bāsh! shāh-bāsh!’ exclaimed some masculine voice; but who pronounced the words, or where the speaker lay perdu, I have never discovered.

  ‘Now,’ said I to the Gaja Rājā, ‘having obeyed your commands, will you allow one of your ladies to ride on my side-saddle?’ My habit was put on one of – them; how ugly she looked! ‘She is like a black doctor!’ exclaimed one of the girls. The moment I got the lady into the saddle, I took the rein in my hand, and riding by her side, started her horse off in a canter; she hung on one side, and could not manage it at all; suddenly checking her horse, I put him into a sharp trot. The poor lady hung half off the animal, clinging to the pummel and screaming to me to stop; but I took her on most unmercifully, until we reached the spot where the Bāiza Bāī was seated; the walls rang with laughter; the lady dismounted and vowed she would never again attempt to sit on such a vile crooked thing as a side-saddle. It caused a great deal of amusement in the camp.

  Qui vit sans folie n’est pas si sage qu’il croit.

  The Mahratta ladies live in parda, but not in such strict seclusion as the Musulmān ladies; they are allowed to ride on horseback veiled; when the Gaja Rājā goes out on horseback, she is attended by her ladies; and a number of Mahratta horsemen ride at a certain distance, about two hundred yards around her, to see that the kurk is enforced; which is an order made public that no man may be seen on the road on pain of death.

  The Hindus never kept their women in parda until their country was conquered by the Mohammedans, when they were induced to follow the fashion of their conquerors; most likely, from their unveiled women being subject to insult.

  The Bāiza Bāī did me the honour to express herse
lf pleased, and gave me a title, ‘The great-aunt of my granddaughter,’ ‘Gaja Rājā Sāhib ki par Khāla.’ This was very complimentary, since it entitled me to rank as the adopted sister of her Highness.

  A part of the room in which the ex-Queen sits is formed into a domestic temple, where the idols are placed, ornamented with flowers, and worshipped; at night they are lighted up with lamps of oil and the priests are in attendance.

  The Mahratta ladies are very fond of sailing on the river, but they are equally in parda in the boats as on shore.

  The next day the Bāiza Bāī sent down all her horses in their gay native trappings for me to look at; also two fine rhinoceroses, which galloped about the grounds in their heavy style, and fought one another; the Bāī gave Rs 5,000 (£500) for the pair; sweetmeats and oranges pleased the great animals very much.

  When Captain Ross quitted, her Highness was placed under the charge of the agent to the Governor-General. I visited the Bāī several times and liked her better than any native lady I ever met with.

  A Hindu widow is subject to great privations; she is not allowed to wear gay attire or jewels, and her mourning is eternal. The Bāiza Bāī always slept on the ground, according to the custom for a widow, until she became very ill from rheumatic pains; after which she allowed herself a hard mattress, which was placed on the ground, a chārpāī being considered too great a luxury.