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Maharajah
Duleep Singh. 1854. Oil painting by Winterhalter Franz Xavier |
I often think that despite their so-called militant nature, the Sikhs
(and Punjabis in general) are among the most forgiving communities. Look
at the way they do not remind us constantly about the wounds of the 1947
Partition, the assault on the Golden Temple or even the 1984 riots in
New Delhi. They have the courage and sagacity to support a political
party in India which was accused of the massacre of more than 3,000
Sikhs, and now we even have a Sikh Prime Minister from the Congress. The
Sikhs have forgiven and moved on: it is a pragmatic approach. They know
that by irritating the scars, over and over again, they will solve
nothing — only keep the hatred alive. It may not be very fair to the
riot victims, who have suffered enormously, but it allows tempers to
simmer down. Had our entire present polity less vested interest in
keeping similar schisms — Hindu/Muslim/Sikh/Christian — alive (both, the
ruling party and the Opposition), we could have gone in for a healing
process, perhaps through truth and reconciliation committees as in South
Africa, where people talk about their suffering, which in itself sends a
powerful message to the perpetrators of violence. There is a sense of
shame and catharsis — but it remains a powerful weapon, used
successfully to end decades of apartheid. However, to do that, you need
to tone down the shrill rhetoric and use persuasion and, yes, even love.
But this appears to be an impossible task for all political parties in
India. Their identities depend on highlighting differences, not in
reconciling them.
So what is in the water of the famous five rivers that has made
Punjabis (of whom the Sikhs are a part) so temperate, compared to other
communities? This is the question troubling me as I read Navtej Sarna’s
extremely moving book, The Exile, based on the life of Maharaja Duleep
Singh, the man who would have been king had his throne not been so
brutally stolen from him.
Why did this strong, rich and powerful community submit to the might
of the British Empire, and literally allow them to rape the final
vestiges of the dignity of their last king? What kind of Machiavellian
planning was required to face a dominant power, and why was it so
impossible to execute a defence at that time? I have no doubt that this
book will make many readers very angry (and perhaps, also incite the
indomitable Kuldip Nayar to again demand the return of the Kohinoor)
because it touches on issues close to heart, such as Punjabi pride and
fair play. For the son of the legendary Maharaja Ranjit Singh to be
reduced to a mere pawn because he was too young to understand the
machinations of the British painfully exacerbates a very raw nerve.
Navtej Sarna was, of course, till recently the very visible
spokesperson of India’s external affairs ministry, and he was recently
in London to launch his book. Given the analytical nature of his day
job, I am sure he will be taken aback with the emotional responses which
The Exile will no doubt receive. But perhaps that is the response he
wanted to evoke — as the book is written like a novel, based on years of
research. The story is told through the points of view of people who
were close to Duleep Singh — for instance Mangla, a favourite "slave
girl" of Duleep’s mother Maharani Jindan; Dr John Login, a Presbyterian
surgeon in the Bengal Army who, with his wife, was charged to bring up
the young Duleep Singh; and Arur Singh, Duleep’s favourite servant for
many years. These eyewitness accounts, as narrated by Sarna, provide a
sense of immediacy to a well-written book. Interestingly, while the book
describes painful and often tragic experiences — such as the cruel
murders of family members, or sati — it is all narrated in a calm and
gentle tone. Because the language is so remarkably low-key, it makes all
the unhappy incidents even more poignant.
Of course, this is not the first book on Duleep Singh. But the
others, so far, have been mostly from the Western point of view — which
projected him as a Don Quixote tilting against windmills. He was
shrugged off as an alcoholic, out-of-control megalomaniac trying to get
back his lost empire through any means — even if it meant colluding with
the enemies of the empire, and raising a rebellion in India. But of
course, none of his dreams came true, and an outmanoeuvred desolate
maharaja died alone in a cheap hotel in Paris, impoverished and bitter.
The Exile helps us understand Duleep Singh’s dreadful alienation and his
desire to get back what had been snatched from him while he was still a
child. It is a book which is going to make the Western reader extremely
uncomfortable — as it re-examines the ignoble side to colonial rule —
often a destructive force which left behind debris still being cleared
up.
For instance, the Gurkha question, which had been dismissed by the UK
home office, is now all over the British media. Thanks to the tireless
efforts of some members from among the Gurkhas and well-wishers like the
gorgeous Joanna Lumley, the Gurkhas have finally won the right to stay
on in the UK. This is a very crucial decision and one which will, no
doubt, inspire others who have been similarly ill-treated in the past.
This is the time for Duleep Singh to have been amongst us — pushing
for his right to the income and lands that had been snatched away from
him. But the irony is that there are no survivors at all from his
family. So will someone else now seek an apology on behalf of the hurt
and wounded people of Punjab?
All I can say, Duleep Singh would have had the last laugh. Because
these days it is the Queen herself who has been writing to the
government to increase the amount paid to her as the present amount no
longer covers all her expenses. Well! At least, the deprived woman can
quote the full extent of her estate and its worth. Poor Duleep Singh had
no such luck. He could not even ask that his private property in India
be counted as his existing estate as everything had been confiscated.
The last betrayal, doubly ironic in today’s debates about conversions,
was his adoption of Christianity — after he had been thoroughly
indoctrinated by his minders. And yes! He did reconvert back to Sikhism.
These are the uncomfortable home truths that Sarna makes us face — and
very successfully too.
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