With the death of Mulam Tirunal it was the Junior Rani’s elder son who would succeed as the next Maharajah of Travancore, which wasn’t as promising as it sounded, for at the time the boy was not yet twelve years old. For the next six years that he would remain a minor, Travancore would need instead a Regent. In north Indian princely states in such circumstances the Government of India would appoint the minor’s mother to that position along with a Council of Regency comprising distinguished bureaucrats and officers who conducted the actual administration. In Travancore, though, circumstances were different. In 1917, Mulam Tirunal himself had set the terms with regard to this eventuality when the Viceroy Lord Chelmsford wrote to him with conditions and clauses the Government of India had formulated with regard to Regencies. The Maharajah had accepted most of these, pointing out but one major exception that applied to his family:
Your Excellency is aware that my house follows the [matrilineal] law of inheritance and custom, and that succession is on the female side. A modification is therefore necessary, and I beg to suggest that in regard to Travancore, the appointment of the Regent may be confined to the surviving ‘senior female member in the ruling family’. I trust that this suggestion, which is in accordance with the customs and traditions of my house, will commend itself to Your Excellency’s Government.117
Indeed by the law of the land in the absence or minority of a male member, power devolved upon the Attingal Rani, who might or might not be the mother of the minor ruler. As one scholar remarked, in any matrilineal family, ‘In default of male members, succession devolves on the eldest female member’ and there was ‘nothing in the laws and customs’ of Kerala ‘which prevents females from succeeding to the throne or governing the country’. The ‘paucity of male members does not create any interregnum at all’ and the ‘last male is at once succeeded by the eldest living female in full right’.118 In Travancore there were a number of precedents for this. Asvathi Tirunal Umayamma (Queen Ashure) had reigned in Travancore in the late seventeenth century, while the nineteenth century saw two Regencies, namely of Ayilyam Tirunal Gowri Lakshmi Bayi and Uttrittadhi Tirunal Gowri Parvathi Bayi, the first of whom had ruled for nearly three years as Regnant Rani before becoming Regent, and the latter who succeeded her at the young age of thirteen. Now, nearly a century after the last Regency had terminated, it was the turn of Pooradam Tirunal Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, the last queen of the Kupakas and the final woman to hold in her hands the hallowed but dramatically contested power of the Ivory Throne.
THE REGENCY
Satelmond Palace, Poojappura
5
Her Highness the Maharajah
By June every year, Travancore would be soaked in the seasonal showers of the monsoons. The rain was always quite incessant, drizzling gently when it wasn’t pouring in all its tropical luxury, adding nonetheless to the pretty charm of the coast. Rivers flowed with a majestic gush, emptying themselves lavishly into the sea, and the landscape adorned itself with the richest foliage. The jungles, lagoons, and backwaters appeared more idyllic than ever, and even the rich paddy fields of north and central Travancore would fill out into small lakes. Neat little boats dotted the horizon as people went about their business, rendering the scenery picture-perfect. The whole geography would reflect a natural abundance, every bit worthy of that appellation of ‘god’s own country’.1 ‘A land of beauty! A land of plenty! A land of peace!’ an English grandee appropriately pronounced, enchanted by nature’s liberal indulgence of this state.2
But the monsoons of 1924 would come to be recalled not for their romance as for the veritable terror they stirred. It seemed as if the skies had been ripped apart as the waters burst out endlessly, transforming the bountiful scene into one of violent catastrophe. ‘Water! Water everywhere!’ rued the famous writer Takazhi in his In The Flood, recording how in his village, crowded together at the highest point in a temple, stood sixty-seven children, 350 adults, and a number of pets and domestic animals, awaiting rescue. The deluge turned much of Travancore into a massive swamp and even portions of the high ranges were submerged. For weeks the heavens poured with vehemence, and homes, livelihoods and lives were washed away in its fury. Pregnant mothers and children were found adrift in massive urns, floating alongside the bloated corpses of livestock, scarring many with trauma and trepidation.3 Panic gripped Kerala as a whole as hundreds of human lives and thousands of animals’ were lost. It was one of the greatest natural disasters to occur in south India. That year became a landmark in local history, and grandmothers would for long tell grim tales of the collective sufferings of 1099 ME (Malayalam Era).
Relief works had commenced as soon as the crisis began, with a Flood Relief Committee being urgently set up by the government. Dewan T. Raghavaiah, an accomplished civil servant deputed from British Madras in succession to Sir Krishnan, demonstrated tremendous initiative and promptly sent large amounts of money to the affected regions for preliminary assistance. In defiance of conservative opinion, while Mulam Tirunal lay dying in Trivandrum, he chose to reach out to the people by travelling to every ravaged locality, boosting public morale and personally overseeing relief activities. By early August, thousands of refugees and displaced families were being fed at different relief centres: 4,000 at Ambalapuzha, 3,000 at Alleppey, 5,000 in Kottayam, 3,000 in Changanassery, 8,000 in Parur, and so on. Mr Raghavaiah also had the sagacious sense to involve the public and it was announced to general appreciation that ‘through the efforts of private citizens and Government officers, nobody was allowed to suffer from starvation’.4 The administration was doing everything it could to ameliorate circumstances during this last major, and traumatic, event of Mulam Tirunal’s reign.
There were substantial losses, however, and that year’s crop was utterly destroyed. The report of the Mannar Flood Relief Deputation, which was one of the several hundred village committees constituted, noted, for instance, that 500 houses, 200 coconut gardens, 1,000 acres of land, and 6,40,000 kilograms of grain had been lost in the vicinity of that one central Travancore hamlet alone.5 Woeful information came in from the most fertile parts of the state and it was clear that the only way ahead was to facilitate a good harvest the following season. So, by early August it was announced that in the worst affected regions, taxes would be remitted for that financial year, and a sum of Rs 4 lakh was set aside to provide agricultural loans.6 House reconstruction funds were also constituted and the Forest Department was asked to freely supply bamboo and other rudimentary materials to the poor for temporary residential arrangements. Price stability was maintained in the market, and the government was prepared to substitute tapioca for the diminished supply of grain to prevent inflation.
It was at this stage that Sethu Lakshmi Bayi came to power. Normally, when a ruler passed away, for three days the government would cease operations at every level. But in the circumstances at hand, she agreed with the Dewan that this should not be practically done; everything was declared closed but work continued behind the scenes. Indeed, even though for twelve days the royal family was supposed to be in isolated mourning, the Rani remained in touch with Mr Raghavaiah constantly. The management of relief was left entirely to him, owing to her inexperience, but she did issue some maiden policy directions of her own. By 28 August it was announced that at the Rani’s orders the amount proposed for agricultural loans was increased to Rs 5.5 lakh and all district officials were commanded ‘to deal with the utmost celerity and sympathy with all applications’ for assistance.7 In due course she would also prune the rate of interest charged on these loans from 6.25 per cent to 6 per cent and less, and 10,000 applications were disposed of, with each person being granted a maximum of Rs 500 to get back on his productive feet.8 Physical reconstruction activities were launched successfully, with the Public Works Department (PWD) allotted several lakhs of rupees to repair roads and other infrastructure. By the time Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s reign was formally inaugurated in early September, people had started to return to their homes and ordinary vocatio
ns, and normalcy was restored for most part.
Yet the Flood of 1099 ME served as something of a mental jolt to the young Rani. So far she had lived in the cocooned world of her palace and family, aloof from the everyday turmoil and difficulties of her people. Her books, her relatives, and latterly her daughter, besides the lot of ceremonial obligations, constituted the farthest extent of her horizon. Everything beyond this was an abstraction in her mind, gleaned from what she learned, heard and studied. But it was now that the burden of duty struck her with all its gravity. When agonising stories of suffering and distress reached Trivandrum during the floods, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi suddenly grasped the magnitude of what she had been entrusted with. An estimated four-and-a-half million people now looked up to her as their monarch and it became her purpose to live up to her great responsibilities.
The prospect was formidable and one evening in August, as she sat in her library, going through report after report from devastated villages, her emotions almost gave way. In many years of personal unhappiness she had rarely broken down or shed tears. But that day, when the weight of her task became clear, her mind was filled with consternation. She did not feel equipped for any of this. She was not certain she had the courage. And she most certainly did not want to fail anyone, leave alone millions. A thousand disquieting worries vexed her, but then, remembering Mahaprabha and resuming her trademark dignity, she wiped her tears and cleared her mind. Hard work alone, she decided, would stand by her during the times ahead and, with a force and determination not many imagined she possessed, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi resolved to rule.
The role of a Regent in India was typically a limited one. He or she represented the monarch during the period of the latter’s minority, and the Regency government was only an interim administration. In the conventional sense, while Regents could govern the realm, they were not permitted to make any significant changes in the laws or constitution of the country as sovereigns might; any new measures were to be consistent with the existing framework and of a nature that could be sustained when the rightful ruler came of age. Politically, what was perhaps most important was that Regents could not usually rule alone in colonial India; they were to head a Council of Regency, comprising eminent leaders of the land, usually nominated by the British after the latter were assured that they would not become impediments to the interests of the Raj. This was to safeguard that complete authority was not vested in one person during the minority of the monarch, which might be too tempting to give up when the time came.9 The Regent could preside over the temporary arrangements, but could certainly not become a dictator.
In the nineteenth century there had been a number of regencies in India, some of them quite noteworthy, such as of Begum Qudsia III in Bhopal, Sir Salar Jung in Hyderabad, and Sir T. Madhava Rao in Baroda. Normally, the Government of India preferred the Council of Regency to be headed by the mother of the minor prince or the senior consort of the preceding ruler. Thus, in Mysore from 1895 to 1902, for instance, the Dowager Maharani Vani Vilas Sannidhana held the position of Regent, and in the 1920s, Gwalior and Cooch Behar had two widows in power. However, these women were only figureheads whose role entailed ratifying the better judgements of their Councils of Regency. Dewans were the executive members on these bodies acting as the real rulers, requiring the Maharanis simply to sanction their resolutions. Most often, these dependent women had no other option but to comply. In Mysore, for example, the minister was told to consult the Maharani only ‘as is practicable and desirable’ and otherwise liaise directly with the Government of India, by now relocated from Calcutta to Delhi.10 In other words, the Maharanis were titular heads of state, only lending royal legitimacy to the Acts issued by the Councils that really controlled interim power.
The case of Travancore, however, was exceptional. The defining aspect here was that female members of the dynasty were inherently entitled to their positions due to the matrilineal system, and did not owe their status to the accident of marriage. As sisters of the Rajahs, they carried in them the same royal blood, and were entitled to rule whenever eligible males heirs were found wanting. ‘The position of [the] woman in [Kerala],’ wrote K.P. Padmanabha Menon, ‘is altogether different from that of her sister [elsewhere in India]. She is practically mistress of the house, whether as mother or sister of the [senior male member]. She has a recognised legal position. The principle of [Malayali] law is that the whole [estate] property belongs to her and the [senior male] is simply the manager on her behalf … Her general education is on a par with her brothers, and her intellectual capacity in the matter of special studies is in no way inferior. There have been and there are ladies of remarkable attainments in [Kerala].’11 Thus when Queen Ashure reigned over Travancore in the seventeenth century during a minority, she did so as an absolute and supreme monarch. Later historians would refer to her as a Regent, but neither this term nor office existed in the political vocabulary of her day. By the nineteenth century, however, the concept of Regency had arrived in the state through the medium of the English East India Company, which had acquired the right to intervene in all matters concerning Travancore, including the line of succession.
It was in 1810 that Rani Gowri Lakshmi Bayi commenced her rule when there were no male members at all in the royal house. She was recognised as sovereign, but the times were unusually turbulent and Travancore was in the midst of grave internal and external crises. There had been mutinies and rebellions within that threatened the dynasty, even as the Company was becoming disconcertingly aggressive outside, annexing states and deposing rulers at the drop of a proverbial hat. Their attitude towards women also influenced matters in that the authorities could not see how a young girl of twenty could possibly manage so many difficulties in Travancore—up to the late eighteenth century, women were seen in Europe as private property, with little freedom, no rights of inheritance, and wife battering was considered legitimate domestic behaviour.12 In essence, the female, when it came to intelligent, worldly affairs, had ineluctably to submit to the will of men. So Gowri Lakshmi Bayi, as a woman, found herself unable to claim the confidence of the British, palled perpetually therefore by the threat of expulsion.
The one thing that could secure the throne to her dynasty at this critical time when colonial chauvinists pulled the political strings was the birth of a male heir, whom the Company would recognise. For until that boy were given a chance to rule, they could be counted upon not to annexe the state. Unsurprisingly, then, when in 1813 the Rani gave birth to a son, she was asked to ‘step down’ from the throne, install him there, and govern hereafter as Regent.13 In the interests of expediency and security, she did exactly that, and with this we find the first ‘Regency’ arising in Travancore. However, what is most vital here is that although she took the title of Regent, Gowri Lakshmi Bayi did not surrender any real powers. While the Sword of State was placed in the hands of the baby boy, she continued as interim monarch with unrestrained actual authority. All legislative Acts were issued in her name, for instance, and not in his as would be the case with normal regencies.14 When she died in 1814, her sister Gowri Parvathi Bayi took over as Regent, and continued to exercise full powers. The highest currency of the land carried her insignia,15 and when durbars were held, it was she who occupied the throne.16 Indeed, during his minority, the boy who was supposedly the real monarch, never even sat in her presence.17 As the Resident noted at the time, ‘the people were accustomed to regard her with the reverence and respect which they paid to their Rajahs’ and saw her ‘occupy the place of the Rajah and scarcely found any difference in the constitution of the state’.18 Both these women, therefore, were Regents only in name. Locally, they were treated as sovereign, with all the attendant authority, and this would define Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s position also a century afterwards.
A few days after Mulam Tirunal’s death, the incumbent Resident, Mr C.W.E. Cotton, called on the Rani to discuss her Regency government and other imminent affairs. For all her previous trepidation and reluctance with reg
ard to ruling, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi now, when it came to it, more than rose to the occasion. She pointed out her anomalous position in Travancore, citing that as per matrilineal law, she was now the head of the family and ought to rule in her own name and right. Just because Gowri Lakshmi Bayi, for reasons of political pragmatism, had acquiesced in an inferior title, it was not fair to expect the same from her. Sethu Lakshmi Bayi was technically correct, and some years ago the High Court in Trivandrum had accepted that when ‘a senior female takes up the management [of the family] during the minority of the male members, she does not take it up on behalf of the eldest minor male member but in her own right’.19 Mr Cotton also accepted that while normally the senior female of the family had ‘unrestricted powers’ during a minority, in the royal family ‘the strict letter of this law was modified in 1813’ by Gowri Lakshmi Bayi.20 By doing so, that Rani created a new precedent, namely of Regency, which was followed without question by Gowri Parvathi Bayi after her. Additionally, when Mulam Tirunal wrote to the Viceroy in 1917, he too referred to the eligibility of the senior female as Regent and not as sovereign ruler. So, this new tradition, though acknowledged as an invention of colonial jurisprudence and political circumstances, had to be complied with uncomplainingly, and taken to be immutable.
That said, however, the Government of India did concede to Sethu Lakshmi Bayi the rights previous Rani-Regents had enjoyed. They confirmed that ‘her powers will be unrestricted as Regent’ and locally she would enjoy the status of a monarch.21 And this was ensured by the concession that there would be no Council of Regency in the state, vesting complete and autocratic control in the hands of the Rani. But there were some ceremonial deprivations. So, while the Legislative Council pledged allegiance to Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, and not the minor prince, the Rani could not sit on the throne; she had to make do with a ‘Regent’s Chair’. Similarly, while she would enjoy the position of monarch locally with all attendant honours, if British Governors or Viceroys visited, she would have to step back and accord precedence to the young boy. In that sense, the custom of Gowri Parvathi Bayi, which was the model emulated, was not followed to the letter. But Sethu Lakshmi Bayi did not press the matter and accepted her titular demotion as Regent insofar as it entailed no actual demotion of authority.
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