Victoria & Abdul

by Shrabani Basu

  The Queen stayed at the Villa Palmieri in Florence, which was specially decorated and painted for her visit. The Indians took in the splendour of the Italian city admiring the churches and galleries. They accompanied the Queen everywhere and looked so exotic that locals mistook them for Indian Princes. The Queen spent a month in Florence, meeting European Royalty, going for rides in her carriage and practising her Hindustani with Karim. She spent several hours being wheeled round the Uffizi Gallery by the Indians and stopped sadly by the Casa Gherini where Prince Albert had stayed in 1838. She was invited to lunch by the King and Queen of Italy along with the Emperor of Brazil, his wife and the Queen of Serbia. The lunch took a comic turn when it was realised there were more Queens than Kings, so the King and the Emperor had to take two Queens on each arm into the dining hall. In later years, the Queen would always walk on the arm of one of her Indian attendants.

  Not everyone approved of them. The Indian servants caused a flutter of discontent when the Queen gave them a prominent position at a function at the Bigallo. The Queen had gone to view the Scoppio del Carro, the ceremony of carrying the holy fire, by means of a mechanical dove on a wire, from the altar of the Duomo to a cart in the Square drawn by white oxen. She had placed her Indian servants on the loggia adjoining the Queen of Serbia, a move that did not go down well with the Italians who considered it to be a great slight to the Serbian Queen. The Italian media noted that the Queen of Serbia and the Dukes of Edinburgh and Leuchtenberg had been in the same loggia barely five minutes before the Indian servants took up their position there. The Queen, always protective of her Indian servants, had probably assigned them the seating position herself, quite unaware of the hostility it would cause. Nevertheless, it was Karim’s first exposure to the ways of European monarchies and crowds, something he would see a great deal of in the coming years. The Queen by now found him quite indispensable.

  From Florence, the Royal convoy moved to Berlin where the Queen met her eldest daughter Vicky and her son-in-law, the German Emperor, Frederick (Fritz), who was very ill with throat cancer. She also had a meeting with Bismarck who reportedly said afterwards: ‘That was a woman; one could do business with her.’

  The Royal party arrived back at Windsor on 27 April and the Queen headed for Balmoral the next month. The Daily Telegraph, dated 23 May 1888, reported: ‘The second carriage from the Queen’s carried the Indian attendants of Her Majesty, who were picturesquely attired in their native garb.’ The Indian attendants now took up a prominent position in the Royal train, occupying a double saloon number 71, next to the double saloon number 131 occupied by senior members of the Household like Alick Yorke, Thomas Biddulph, Arthur Bigge, James Reid and Maurice Muther, the Queen’s German secretary.

  A few months after her visit to Berlin, the Queen received the dreaded telegram that Fritz had died and her daughter Vicky had been widowed. The Queen knew the pain her daughter would have suffered at the loss of her husband and the lonely life she would lead in Germany. As she ‘cried her eyes out’ for her daughter and son-in-law, Karim stood by her, comforting her and offering his support in this moment of grief. When the Queen wrote several emotional letters to her daughter, Karim helped her, gently blotting the paper and providing a friendly ear. She confided in him that she was very upset about the behaviour of her grandson Wilhelm II, the new Kaiser of Germany, and felt that he did not treat her daughter with any respect. Karim listened sympathetically to the distraught Queen, consoling her as she sat alone in Balmoral. His very presence and understanding manner helped her feel better and she now decided to promote her ‘dear Abdul’ and give him a special rank. It was the moment that Karim would cross the threshold. No longer would he be a humble servant waiting on the Queen. He was to become her Munshi, or clerk and teacher.

  Having made up her mind, she immediately conveyed her wishes to Henry Ponsonby; he replied to her on 31 July saying that he had had a conversation with General Dennehy, who was very pleased at Abdul’s promotion. Ponsonby revealed in his letter that Dennehy did, however, have a few reservations on the matter. He was worried about what the other Indian servants would feel about the promotion and had alerted Ponsonby on this. Dennehy had suggested that Abdul Karim have no command over the others as this would create jealousies. Ponsonby told Dennehy that there was no intention of this, but that as Abdul alone was able to understand the accounts, he would be responsible for them. Dennehy agreed to this arrangement and thought it was a good one.4

  The affairs of Abdul Karim were already beginning to cause some discontent in the Household, with Dennehy anxious that Karim should not antagonise the others. The Queen was determined to go ahead with her plans. Karim was completely relaxed in her presence now. He would talk freely to her about his views on various political issues, sympathise with the Queen in her grief at her daughter’s plight in Germany and criticise the arrogance and rudeness of Kaiser Wilhelm II. He had managed to convince the Queen that he was a cut above the other Indian servants.

  On 11 August 1888, the Queen noted in her Journal: ‘Am making arrangements to appoint Abdul a munshi, as I think it was a mistake to bring him over as a servant to wait at table, a thing he had never done, having been a clerk or munshi in his own country and being of rather a different class to the others.’5 Karim had told her that he was unhappy with his position as a table-hand and that he wanted to return to India since it was a demeaning job. The Queen immediately decided to raise his rank and make him stay.

  He [Abdul] was anxious to return to India, not feeling happy under the existing circumstances. On the other hand, I particularly wish to retain his services, as he helps me in studying Hindustani, which interests me very much, and he is very intelligent and useful.

  Abdul Karim was now given the grand title of Munshi Hafiz Abdul Karim. He became the Queen’s official Indian clerk and said goodbye to waiting at tables, a job now left to his colleague Buksh and the other Indian servants. ‘I had much reason to be thankful to my God who thus rewarded the patience with which I bore the troubles and pains which almost overwhelmed me on my first taking up duty in England,’ wrote Karim in his Journal. ‘It was a day I shall never forget and for the same I shall ever thank my God and pray for the long life and happiness of Her Majesty.’

  Karim’s salary was increased to £12 a month or £144 a year. This was to be increased on 1 July each year by £12 until the total amount reached £240 a year. In a year, Karim had more than doubled his initial salary and achieved a prestigious position in Court. All photographs of him waiting at table were destroyed and the Queen commissioned his portrait to be painted by Joachim von Angeli. While the other Indian servants watched in wonder and slight envy, Karim grew in importance. He was always by the Queen’s side, talking to her in his gentle voice, caring for her needs and providing a sympathetic ear when she needed it. The Hindustani lessons continued, the Queen making remarkable progress.

  When Louise, the Duchess of Connaught, brought her children to Balmoral, the Queen immediately wrote to her that Sir John McNeill would look after them along with ‘my good, excellent Abdul Karim’. ‘I am so very fond of him,’ she added. ‘He is so good & gentle & understanding all I want & is a real comfort to me.’ She also praised Karim for being ‘such a good influence with the others … he & all of them set such a good example and so respectable’.6

  Her letters were filled with praise for Karim and his philosophical attitude to life. To her friend, Sir Theodore Martin, the Scottish poet and author, she wrote how he and the other Indian attendants dealt with tragedy and put everything down to fate.

  One can but say as one of her Indian attendants, (who are all Mohammedan) & who is now her personal Indian clerk & Munshi, who is an excellent, clever truly p[i]ous & very refined gentle man, who says, ‘God ordered it’. Not a murmur is heard for God’s Orders is what they implicitly obey! Such faith as theirs & such conscientiousness set us a gt. example.7

  The Queen now began leaving instructions for the other Indian servants w
ith Karim, who was placed in charge of them and given the job of managing their uniforms and accounts. She handed Karim a strict dress code for the Indians at Balmoral:

  Will you please explain to Muhammud & Ahmad Husain, the Indian servants, the dress they should wear at various times when on duty, the same not to be changed except by Her Majesty’s command.

  Breakfast,

  Blue uniform with white waistband,

  Luncheon

  white trousers,

  And Tea

  and almond coloured boots

  The head-dress to be optional at these three meals; but the lungi must not be worn except at dinnertime with the Full Dress red uniform.

  When the weather is warm a white or other coloured summer coat may be worn, but the waistband &c to be used at the three meals must not be changed.

  Black boots must be worn at meals out of doors – almond coloured boots are for indoor use only and should not be used for walking or riding out.8

  The instructions were given to Mohammed Buksh and Ahmed Husain by Karim the same day. A note attached to the Queen’s letter signed in Urdu said ‘Yeh huq Muhammud Buksh aur Ahmad Husain ko suna do’ (Give these instructions to Mohammed Buksh and Ahmed Husain).9 She was now constructing full sentences in Urdu on her own.

  As language barriers between them dissolved rapidly, the Queen grew closer to Karim. He had developed a good working knowledge of English and the Queen was steadily improving her Hindustani. She now wanted to recreate the spirit of India even in the family tableaux and the themes were often oriental. In October 1888 the Queen’s daughter and granddaughters staged a tableau vivant called India. Princess Beatrice played India dressed in an elaborate silk gown. Attending her in native Indian dresses were her nieces, Princess Louise of Wales (dressed as a Muslim) and Princess Alix of Hesse (dressed as a Hindu). Abdul Karim had a role in the tableau as did the other Indian servants, Khairat Ali, Mohammed Buksh and Ahmed Husain.

  Abdul Karim also played the starring role of Eleazer in the tableau Rebecca performed at Osborne the same month. Buksh and Ahmed Husain had supporting roles. Preening in his turban and robes, Karim proudly plunged into the mini-theatricals, his face capturing the expressions of the devoted servant Eleazer as he waited near the well for Rebecca to choose a bride for his master. Minnie Cochrane, playing the title role, would have been less enthusiastic starring opposite Karim. The ladies of the Household were none too fond of the Indian and clearly resented the fact that the Queen was so dependent on him. Despite their reticence, the Queen had to be indulged as she delighted in watching the tableaux and was the loudest to applaud as the Indians took their bow. The theatricals, already a vital part of life at Osborne, became richer now with the Indians included in them. Karim and Buksh were cast in nearly all the plays.

  The Royal Household now began to notice the Queen’s preference for Abdul Karim. They realised that, like John Brown before him, the Queen would not hear any criticism of her Munshi. But while the latter had been coarse and blunt, Karim was the complete opposite. He was always polite to the Queen, making her feel special and taking every care to be indispensable in her eyes.

  The Queen now gave Karim the room previously occupied by John Brown, the symbolic act being immediately noticed by the Household. ‘I am rather surprised that Abdul occupies John Brown’s room,’ Sir William Jenner, the Royal physician, wrote to Reid. ‘I don’t believe in the ghosts of those long dead or I should expect one in that room.’

  Inevitably, the rest of the Household began to resent Karim and some of the Indian servants also grew jealous of him. But if Ponsonby or Reid pointed out a discrepancy in Karim, the Queen would not tolerate it.

  In November 1888 Abdul Karim prepared to go to India on leave. The Queen, already so dependent on him, entered in her Journal on 2 November: ‘Had my last Hindustani lesson, as good Abdul goes home to India tomorrow on leave, which I regret, as it will be very difficult to study alone, and he is very handy and useful in many ways.’10

  Karim had landed on British shores to be a khidmatgar and waiter. A year later, he was returning to India on annual leave as a Munshi, the Queen’s teacher and official Indian clerk. He was still only twenty-five.

  The days immediately after Karim’s departure for India were filled with news reports of the Jack the Ripper murders in Whitechapel in East London. The Queen busied herself with responding to the gruesome killings and indulged in her own spot of detective work. She shot off a letter to the Prime Minister, Lord Salisbury. ‘This new most ghastly murder shows the absolute necessity for some very decided action. All these courts must be lit and our detectives improved. They are not what they should be …’

  The Home Secretary, Henry Matthews, got a rather more detailed note as the elderly Queen made her own suggestions on solving the crimes:

  – Have the cattle boats and passenger boats been examined?

  – Has any investigation been made as to the number of single men occupying rooms to themselves?

  – The murderer’s clothes must be saturated with blood and must be kept somewhere.

  – Is there sufficient surveillance at night?

  These are some of the questions that occur to the Queen on reading the accounts of this horrible crime.11

  The Queen wrote to Karim regularly while he was away and enquired about his family. Karim let her know that his father, Wuzeeruddin, was due to retire soon and the family could face some financial hardships. He said his father was hoping the British government would give him a pension. Karim also informed her that Dr John Tyler, superintendent of the Agra Jail, wanted a promotion.

  The Queen needed little prompting. She immediately wrote to the Viceroy, Lord Lansdowne, asking for a promotion for Tyler and a pension for Dr Mohammed Wuzeeruddin, the father of her ‘dear Munshi’. The Viceroy had barely taken up his new position from the outgoing Lord Dufferin and was still settling in when he was asked to make enquiries about Wuzeeruddin. He replied that he thought it advisable ‘not to take steps’ on the matter immediately upon his arrival, but suggested that he would do so when he visited Agra and ascertained the facts about both Tyler and Wuzeeruddin.

  His answer did not satisfy the Queen, who was always impatient when she was on a mission. The Viceroy would soon learn that Queen Victoria could be very persistent when she needed something. Within days he received another telegram from her encouraging him to look at the matter urgently for Karim was returning to England on 25 February. The Queen wanted Karim to know that she had listened to his request and was trying to do something for his father while he was in India. She informed Lansdowne that while the Tyler matter could wait, he must attend to Wuzeeruddin’s request immediately.

  On 22 February the Viceroy received another urgent telegram from the Queen at Windsor Castle:

  It is much better to do nothing about Sir John Tyler till the Viceroy can see him himself. As regards Dr Wuzeeruddin, he wants nothing, the Queen believes, but a pension to live comfortably after 30 years’ service both as Military and Civil Doctor or rather Hospital Assistant.12

  Karim returned to Windsor in the spring of 1889 and the Queen was delighted to have him back, telling him how much she had missed him. The lessons were resumed and Karim watched over the boxes once again. The Royal entourage soon left for their European holiday, the Queen visiting Biarritz in France.

  The Viceroy – given the job of enquiring after Tyler and Wuzeeruddin – decided to consult Sir Auckland Colvin, Governor of the North-West Provinces. After a lengthy conversation with Colvin, the insights he received into Tyler did not please him. He wrote to the Queen telling her what he had heard, that the jail superintendent was ‘somewhat tactless’. In recent times, Tyler had apparently not been ‘altogether reasonable in his tone’. He had even pressurised Colvin to dispossess the present Inspector General of Prisons in order to make room for him and when informed that it was not possible, threatened to resign.13

  As for Wuzeeruddin, the Viceroy informed the Queen that
the Munshi’s father had recently met Sir Auckland Colvin who had told him that he ‘desired nothing but to express his supreme sense of absolute contentment’. Lord Lansdowne said he would make it his business to inquire about Wuzeeruddin’s claim to a pension.

  The letters did not please the Queen, who was getting annoyed with the delay at granting a promotion to Tyler and the negative remarks she had heard about him. One morning, with Abdul standing patiently by her side, she wrote a long angry letter to the Viceroy defending John Tyler and saying he had been unfairly passed over for promotions as ‘jealousies and ill-disposed persons interfered and Lord Dufferin was induced not to let him have it’.

  Lansdowne was soon to realise that the Queen was not a person to give up easily. Despite her advancing years, she would write lengthy letters and send telegrams even when she was travelling. These arrived regularly on his desk, her spidery handwriting covering the black-lined notepaper, which she had used ever since the death of Prince Albert.