The Begum

by Deepa Agarwal

  As the unhappy day advanced, the facts began to trickle in. Liaquat Ali Khan had been addressing a public meeting of the Muslim City League at Company Bagh, Rawalpindi, when suddenly shots rang out. There was pandemonium when the leader fell, badly wounded. He was immediately rushed to a hospital and given a blood transfusion, but two bullets had penetrated his chest and he had already lost a lot of blood. All attempts to save him failed, and he succumbed to his injuries.

  The police had shot the killer, later identified as Saad Akbar Babrak, an Afghan national from the Pashtun Zadran tribe, who was said to be a professional assassin. But it was obvious he was not acting on his own; it was a political assassination. Many facts pointed to the hired assassin theory. The man had been seated in a row close to the stage, reserved for officers of the Criminal Investigation Department (CID), which allowed him an easy shot at his target. He had been seized immediately and a police officer had shot him dead, thus effectively putting an end to any chance to question him.

  While numerous theories made the rounds, the mystery of Liaquat Ali Khan’s murder was never solved. It thickened further when the officer investigating the case, Nawabzada Aitazuddin, died in an air crash and the documents he was carrying perished with him.2 In an uncanny coincidence, Benazir Bhutto was assassinated in the same place in 2007.

  The day was agonizingly slow for the bereaved family. Daniel might have been reluctant to receive them but relatives, friends and well-wishers began to pour in, offering condolences. The news had shocked all. People in the town took a certain pride in the fact that one of their daughters was married to the first prime minister of Pakistan.

  Most of the Christian community resided in the north, on a hill named Hiradungri after a legendary snake said to carry a diamond on its head. The Pant residence was located closer to the centre of the town. It lay right below the Methodist church, not far from the main market—the stone-paved Lala Bazaar, near the historic temple sacred to Nanda Devi, the patron goddess of Kumaon.

  Shanti Cottage, a fusion of the traditional Kumaoni and colonial architecture, was a comfortable, sprawling structure with stone walls and a sloping slate roof. Its paved front yard was surrounded by the low parapet common in Kumaoni households, which served as a barrier against the risk of a fall into the terraced field below and also provided extra seating when required. It looked down into a valley that sloped away sharply to the glistening waters of the Vishwanath River, where the cremation ground also lay.

  The visitors had to be faced, but the worst part was that there was no way to find out how Ra’ana was faring. The family had to be satisfied with the scraps of information that came from radio announcements. At that time, making local calls was difficult enough; so calling Pakistan was next to impossible.

  The question that preoccupied them was: What would Ra’ana do now? Would she continue to live in the country she and her husband had fought so hard to establish, or would she and her sons return to the land of her birth?

  They would soon discover that Ra’ana had very clear ideas about the future course of her life. Even though her husband had been cut down in his prime; even though she was in dire financial straits and had to shoulder the entire responsibility for bringing up her sons, she never had any doubts that her path lay in Pakistan. She would try to fulfil the vision Liaquat Ali Khan and she had nurtured for the young country, even if she had to do it alone.

  Ra’ana would never visit Almora again, even though it always remained vivid in her memory. In conversations with her nephews, she would recall the long bus route via Ranikhet that had taken her home; the calm of the hills; and the food she relished—madua (a kind of millet) rotis, gehat dal with rice and dadim (wild pomegranate) chutney. During a visit to India in 1978, she asked her nephew Jitendra when he met her in New Delhi, ‘When is Almora going to improve?’, probably trying to motivate the young man to help her home town progress. She was concerned about the condition of women in her native place, though she always averred that hill women were physically strong because of their nutritious diet. She would also inquire from relatives if the leper asylum was still running and in a good condition. Poignantly, in a telegram greeting her brother Norman on his birthday, she once wrote, ‘I miss Almora.’

  2

  Irene Ruth Margaret

  February 1905

  Ra’ana was surrounded by dramatic events right from the time of her birth. Her father wrote a brief account of her life a few months before he passed away, which has been preserved by his grandson. Perhaps he had a premonition that he was not long for this world either and no one else knew these details. Perhaps too, he sensed that this was not the end of the road for Ra’ana, and she would accomplish much more in the course of her existence and some day people would be curious to know about her early life.

  * * *

  The town of Almora, which stood at an altitude of 5400 feet, was known for its mild winters, as compared to hill stations like Nainital. The weather had, however, been brutal in the month of February in 1905. It had snowed all through the month—the month in which Daniel’s wife Annie was expecting to give birth to her third child. The couple already had two children—a son named Edward, and a daughter, Shanti. Daniel was employed with the United Provinces (present-day Uttar Pradesh) Secretariat and posted in Allahabad at the time. He was in the administrative side of PWD, the Public Works Department, and had taken leave to be there for his wife’s confinement.

  Daniel had boarded the train at Allahabad, changing to another at Bareilly in the middle of the night. The railhead at Kathgodam, that still serves the hill towns of Kumaon, was his destination. At that time, it was a small village with a population of less than 1000. Some people say that it was originally known as Chauhan Patta and acquired the name Kathgodam or ‘‘Timber Depot’’ in the 1920s when Dan Singh Bisht, a prominent timber merchant of the region, set up his depot there. However, it has been marked as ‘Katgodam’ in older maps of the region. In 1905, the rail service was barely twenty years old, having been extended from Haldwani in the late 1880s due to the efforts of Sir Henry Ramsay, the legendary commissioner of Kumaon.

  When he got off the train on the morning of 11 February, Daniel instantly noticed the drastic change in the temperature. The sky was overcast, and it was raining. After the comparative ease of the journey to Kathgodam, onward travel to Almora could be quite rugged, though the hardy natives of the hills were accustomed to such conditions. There was no motor road at the time and people had to continue either on foot on a rough track or, if they could afford it, on the back of a pony. It was not possible to complete the approximately 30-kilometre trip in one day, even on horseback. Travellers usually made an overnight halt at the scenic town of Ramgarh, famous for its orchards.

  After he alighted from the train, Daniel hired a pony and trotted off, eager to reach home as fast as he could. As the road wound higher into the hills, it turned colder and colder. Soon the driving rain transformed into snow. Even though he was impatient to reach Almora, the night’s halt at Ramgarh came as a welcome break to Daniel, chilled to the bone.

  But, conditions had not improved the next morning. Snowflakes swirled round him as he mounted his pony and fell steadily all through the journey. Snow was piling up in deep drifts on the path, and despite his heavy overcoat, his cap, hand-knitted woollen muffler and gloves, Daniel found his hands and feet going unpleasantly numb. There was no choice but to press on, though it was hard for the pony to make headway through the heaps of snow.

  He was fairly close to his destination, when the exhausted pony slowed its pace further, and then stumbled a couple of times. Daniel realized it was time to give the animal some rest and change to a fresh one. To make matters worse, a biting wind had begun to blow, and the going became even more of an ordeal.

  Finding a new pony proved difficult: ‘No, sahib! We can’t risk our animals’ lives in such weather! No amount of money will make up if we lose a pony,’ was the reply he received over and over again.


  Finally, Daniel realized that there was only one option left. He would have to complete the journey on foot. The snow was knee-deep, and there was no sign of it letting up. Gritting his teeth, he struggled on even as darkness fell, and he had to continue with the wavering light of a lantern. Finally, late at night, he caught sight of the tower of Budden Memorial Church, which stood just above his home!

  ‘Thank God, you’ve reached! We were out of our minds with worry!’ his mother exclaimed as he entered, shivering, but full of relief that he was indoors now. ‘You’ve arrived just in time. Annie is in labour.’

  Daniel’s mother, Sarah Pant, was attending to her along with a midwife. She bustled about, instructing the servants to bring hot tea and dinner for her son.

  Shanti Cottage continued to buzz with activity throughout the night. It was past 5 a.m. on 13 February, when the baby was born, a girl, Daniel and Annie’s second daughter. The delivery was normal and both mother and child recovered quickly. The Pant family was delighted with this pretty little addition to their family.

  After a few days, the baby was baptized at their home by Rev. G.M. Bulloch, a pastor from the London Missionary Society, the organization operating in the area at that time. She was named Irene Ruth Margaret. Irene was her father’s choice, Ruth her grandmother’s and her mother added her own second name, Margaret. There was a poignant reason for her grandmother’s choice. Daniel’s older sister, who passed away in childhood, had been called Ruth. In later life, Irene usually signed herself I.M. Pant.

  Time passed and Daniel’s brood continued to grow. A son, Norman, was born the following year and within a time span of about fifteen years, Muriel, Olga, Arthur, Henry and the youngest, George, had joined the household. Theirs was a large, lively family that grew up in extraordinary times. Since their father had a transferable job, they lived in different towns in the United Provinces and were thus exposed to ways of life beyond the town of their origin, which broadened their horizons.

  While Irene was growing up, events that would bring about a sweeping change in the country were fast gathering force. Memories of the 1857 uprising had not yet faded from public memory, and the desire to throw off the foreign yoke still burned strongly in people’s hearts. Resentment against being treated as second-class citizens in their own country and being denied their democratic rights was growing. With the spread of Western-style education, people were exposed to new ways of thought and discovered that there were more effective methods to organize themselves against the colonial power than the 1857 military confrontation. While the Indian National Congress was launched in 1885, the partition of Bengal by the viceroy Lord Curzon in the year of Irene’s birth—1905—caused much disaffection and also created a rift between Hindus and Muslims. In fact, 1905 brought growing nationalist feelings to a head. In keeping with the British policy of divide and rule, Curzon summarily announced the partition of Bengal, which, at that time, included Orissa, Bihar and Assam. The excuse was that the bifurcation was essential for administrative reasons, since Bengal was an extremely large state, both in terms of size and population. It was almost equal in area to France. However, the intent was to create a deeper chasm between predominantly Hindu West Bengal and Muslim East Bengal. Polarization had long been nurtured by the colonial rulers, but the unrest that followed created insecurity in people from both religions. This led to the establishment of the Muslim League (1906) and the Hindu Mahasabha (1915) in order to protect and pursue their respective interests.

  In the last years of the nineteenth century, social reformer Sir Syed Ahmad Khan formed an organization to promote education and modernize the Muslim community. The Mohammedan Educational Conference he founded was initially a non-political body. But by 1900, the leaders of the community had become conscious of the need to form a political party that would actively advocate the welfare of the Muslims. After a great deal of discussion, the resolution to form an All India Muslim League was passed in the Dhaka Conference of 1906. The League’s constitution was framed in 1907 in Karachi, and in 1910, Nawab Syed Shamsul Huda was selected as the president of the party. Lucknow was chosen as its headquarters.

  In 1909, the British established separate electorates for Hindus and Muslims under the Minto-Morley reforms. The same year, Arya Samaj leaders Lala Lajpat Rai, Lal Chand and Shadi Lal decided to launch the Punjab Hindu Sabha which was the precursor of the All India Hindu Mahasabha.

  Fierce public opposition to the partition of Bengal, particularly from the educated Hindu Bengali middle class, had its result, and it was repealed in December 1911. Subsequently, the capital of the country was shifted to Delhi from Calcutta.

  Sir Agha Khan III had made a bold demand for the Muslims to be considered a separate nation in 1912. Muhammad Ali Jinnah, who would later become the League’s most famous face, entered political life when, as a young man full of nationalistic fervour, he attended the Calcutta session of the India National Congress in 1906. He joined the Muslim League in 1913, convinced that both organizations had the same goal—liberation from foreign rule.

  Thus, a chain of events that would have a strong influence on the course of young Irene’s life had already been set in motion.

  Kumaon, isolated geographically and ruled with an iron hand by its commissioner, Sir Henry Ramsay, a Scotsman who was the cousin of Governor-General Lord Dalhousie, had remained almost untouched by the upheaval of 1857. In fact, many British families fleeing the rebels had sought refuge in Nainital. Now things were changing as the locals were becoming more politically aware. Prominent citizens like Badridutt Pande, Sadanand Sanwal, Jwaladutt Joshi and others joined the Congress in 1912. The following year, Swami Satyadev’s stirring speeches aroused patriotic fervour in many young men. The same year Badridutt Pande became the editor of the Almora Akhbar, which acquired the character of a nationalist journal.

  In April 1916, the Home Rule League was founded to seek self-government by Bal Gangadhar Tilak, Annie Besant, Subramania Bharati and other national leaders. A branch was launched in Almora the same year through the efforts of Chiranjilal, Victor Mohan Joshi, Badridutt Pande and others.1 A political organization named Kumaon Parishad also came into being in 1916 when a group of committed nationalists, including Govind Ballabh Pant, who was related to Daniel Pant, Badridutt Pande, Hargovind Pant and others, decided to focus on local issues such as ‘coolie utar’, a type of unpaid labour demanded by British officials, the Forest Act and other oppressive practices.

  Thus, there was an awakening in Kumaon, and its people no longer remained distant spectators to the surge of nationalistic sentiment sweeping the whole country. As time passed and the movement grew, some members of the Pant family also got involved in the struggle for freedom.

  3

  The Pant Family of Kumaon

  In 1871 the small hill town of Nainital, then newly developed as a hill station by the British rulers, was in a state of turmoil over an extraordinary piece of news which had stirred up the local inhabitants so violently that they were milling around the narrow main street in protest. Taradutt Pant, a high caste, or ‘thul jaat’ Brahmin had converted to Christianity.

  The conservative Kumaonis were outraged. The British had occupied their land by devious means and now they had trespassed into religion. English and American missionaries had been active in the hills for a couple of decades and had won over some local inhabitants to their beliefs. But not only had the numbers been negligible, the converts had mostly been people who were already on the fringes of society—men from the labouring class, abandoned or destitute women and infants, lepers, mostly from lower caste groups. These conversions were not regarded as threats to the Kumaoni identity. But in the case of Taradutt Pant, popular feeling saw this as encroachment on religious beliefs held sacred for centuries. The malaise had to be nipped in the bud immediately, before it infected others. The conversion had actually taken place in Benaras, but the news had travelled fast, as such news usually does.

  Taradutt Pant’s appearance in the town w
as the flashpoint that sparked the agitation. Family accounts mention the hostile crowd that greeted the new convert when he arrived in Nainital, demanding that he recant his change of faith. However, there are no public records of this incident.1

  At this point the lieutenant-governor of the province, Sir William Muir, and the commissioner of Kumaon, Sir Henry Ramsay, stepped in. Sir Henry Ramsay was a devout Christian who had extended wholehearted support to the missionaries and had taken many converts under his wing. But he was an astute administrator as well. It was decided that Taradutt Pant would address a public meeting and explain why he had taken this step. Surprisingly, it turned out to be a wise decision because Taradutt spoke with such fervour and conviction that he was able to mollify a number of the people who had insisted that he repudiate his action.

  A potentially serious law and order situation was averted, but the matter did not end there.

  The fact is that conversion of any individual, whether high caste or low caste, evoked extreme reactions in their family members. It was invariably regarded as a rejection not only of the larger family but of all the beliefs they had been brought up to cherish. It was seen as an attack on the core of the community’s identity and had to be vehemently opposed. Many accounts talk of people being beaten or locked up till the perceived ‘madness’ had left them. Those who did not budge from their stand had to pay a heavy price as Taradutt did. When all attempts to persuade him to return to the fold proved ineffectual, the conventions followed their course. His outraged relatives declared him an outcaste and broke off all connection with him through an excommunication ceremony known as ghatashraddha, which ruled that a living person was now dead to his community. From that day onwards, the members of his extended family and other high caste men would not share a meal with him. He would not be admitted to family councils or invited to any celebration. He ceased to exist in the world he had known from birth. Kumaon had an extremely complicated caste system. In the diary Taradutt left behind, he has provided a glimpse of this hierarchy. On the highest rung among the Brahmins were the ‘Char Chauthani’ who would wear gold ornaments and a long dhoti that came down to their ankles to symbolize their status. They were extremely privileged—they were exempt from all taxes and could not be penalized for minor crimes. Even if they killed a man, the only punishment they could receive was exile. They did not perform any kind of manual labour and devoted themselves to intellectual pursuits. Then there were lower categories of Brahmins who would wear silver or brass ornaments; the shorter dhotis and blankets or chaddars they wore over their shoulders proclaimed their place in the order. Some of them worked as farmers and were known as ‘haldhar’ or ‘plough-plying’ Brahmins.