Colonial crime and punishment

Sunil Nair's collection of stories about crime in pre-independence India is a collage of micro pictures that takes us into the nitty-gritty of the British legal system

Tales of crimes past: a casebook of crime in Colonial India

Author: Sunil Nair

Publisher: Hachette India

Pages: 240 (Hardcover)

Price: Rs 448

As a people reel under the yoke of a colonial empire, criminal minds hatch plans to cement successions, avenge betrayal and slake their jealousy, in this fascinating spread of true crime stories. Sunil Nair’s book brings together infamous dacoits, conniving Rajas, and jilted lovers as well as their myriad tools for murder and mayhem, even as it reveals the inner workings of princely states and business empires.

The idea of India’s struggle for independence is so sacrosanct in the public conscience that we often tend to forget the grimy crevices in this particular room of the nation’s history. Mr Nair doesn’t shy away from shedding a torchlight on these crevices. Nor does he draw back from acknowledging the complicated nature of the crimes. In a subcontinent seething with resentment towards their colonisers, the British weave in and out of the cases, sometimes as genuine victims and at times as victims of their own actions. On the other hand, the misdeeds of Indians in positions of power, across the length and breadth of the country, reveal traces of court intrigues, casteism and communal prejudices much older than colonial rule. And then, there are examples of downtrodden communities turning to crime in desperation.

Take, for instance, the dacoits. The Bengal Cyclone of 1876 had caused massive devastation in the coastal districts of Chittagong, Noakhali and Bakargunj. The resultant scarcity of food grain and their skyrocketing prices forced an increasing number of the rural population to turn to dacoity. They looted the caravans of local zamindars and donated to the rural population. Nearly five decades later, in Bijnor, then United Provinces (now Uttar Pradesh), Sultana Daku’s legend (rejuvenated in the recent days by Anurag Kashyap’s  Gangs of Wasseypur) takes a familiar path of “Robinhood-like” rebellion and charity. However, it was revenge and a long-nursed grudge against society that had killed his four sons, which gave birth to the terror of Daku Man Singh in the Chambal.

Mr Nair re-produces reports from  The London Gazette, official records, and the oral retellings of local legends to piece together the history behind such legends. He talks about the Thagi and Dakaiti Department and the Special Dacoity Force, which were initially set up by the British government to crack down on the activities of such looteras, but were later dedicated to hunting down professional poisoners.

The book is not merely a collection of stories about crime in the pre-independence era, therefore. Mr Nair presents a collage of micro pictures that takes us into the nitty-gritty of the British legal system, especially when dealing with crime and punishment. Away from the overarching framework of legislation and diktats passed to maintain its grip on the populace of the Indian subcontinent, here we have the British police force dealing with resentment, crime, and unrest at the street level, in remote rural areas and in the inner chambers of princely households.

Despite the fascinating array of information on display here, and the delectable strains of court gossip and urban legends, the author does tend to veer into long-winded historical accounts. This is especially visible in the first case he presents, the Baroda Poisoning Case. In trying to paint a detailed picture of the various strands of court intrigue that led to the arrest of Malhar Rao Gaekwad, Mr Nair’s account tends to become repetitive. The author takes a long time in establishing the fact that members of the British Resident’s household staff were on Gaekwad’s payroll and had helped him conspire against the official. We are repeatedly brought back to the involvement of a particular character at length, without really explaining why it was important for the reader to acknowledge this character’s role in the plot above and beyond the  other plotters.

Something similar happens with the Malabar Hills Murder case, where the author returns to the scandalous affair between Mumtaz and Abdul time and again, without really explaining exactly how the affair was symptomatic of the larger socio-cultural rot to which the author points.

Overall, though, Mr Nair manages to maintain the voice and approach of a storyteller and to take the reader right into the world where each true crime takes place. There is considerable attention to detail when it comes to environs, vehicles, apparel, and the behaviour of the people. Most importantly, depending on the type of crime and criminals each chapter explores, Mr Nair masterfully adapts his story-telling approach. While the beginning of the Malabar case carries the feel of a Bollywood romantic potboiler, the chapter on Sultana belongs on the pages of Amar Chitra Katha.

If you are not a big fan of fiction but still want the twang of crime and crunch of history with your evening sip of chai, this is the book to pick.