 "A celestial star")
Wajid 'Ali Shah's theatrical talents first emerged when, as a young man of twenty-two, he arranged a private function for his younger brother, Sikandar Hashmat, in 1843. For the event, the heir apparent directed a play about Lord Krishna and his sweetheart, Radha. A group of Brahman actors from Mathura were hired, and four of Wajid 'Ali Shah's favourite wives played leading roles in the drama, with Yasmin Pari and Hur Pari as the milkmaids. This was an important moment in the history of Indian theatre. For the first time, a Muslim monarch was directing a play about Lord Krishna and his amorous affairs, an event which could only please his many Hindu subjects. The king became fascinated by the story of Krishna, the great lover, no doubt identifying himself with the romantic hero and a magnet for women, to the extent that he was sometimes referred to as Kanhaiya, one of Krishna's many names. On 18 July 1853 the Qaisarbagh courtyard was thrown open to the public for a mela, or fête. There are more accounts of this, simply because it was a public event, although eyewitnesses differ on what it was called: the Yogi Mela, Royal Mela, Qaisarbagh Mela, or the Sawan Mela, because it was held in the Hindu month of Sawan, as the monsoon started to break. The date was chosen to mark the anniversary of Wajid 'Ali Shah's official recognition as heir apparent, and the mela was held again in 1854 and 1855.
The king describes the inspiration behind the mela in his autobiography, the Ishqnamah. He writes that one day he was seated in the garden of Hazratbagh, under the shade of a banana tree, reading his own love poetry. He became so inspired by the words that he tore off his robes like Majnun, the mythical lover of Arab and Persian literature. Semi-naked apart from a loincloth, Wajid 'Ali Shah is joined by two female companions, and the trio smear each other with ash, in imitation of a yogi, a Hindu holy man. More women rush out into the garden to participate and a group of musicians join in the frenzy of naked bodies. Even two of his Muslim courtiers are depicted smeared in ash and holding peacock fans in honour of the king, who has become the chief yogi. As evening approaches, Wajid 'Ali Shah reclines with his female yogis (joginis) by the banks of a stream, watching fireworks, and he is visited by a number of inquisitive men, who cosset him like a bridegroom.
It is all a strange conceit and has given rise to a number of unsubstantiated stories. What we do know is that Wajid 'Ali Shah enjoyed this ritual so much that it was repeated at the Yogi Mela, with increasing elaboration. The ash-smeared king pretended to hide in an imaginary 'mountain', a stage prop of canvas and bamboo, and was eventually 'found' by two of his ladies, which led to great rejoicing with more fireworks, music and cannon firing. Meanwhile the public was entertained in the palace gardens by jugglers and acrobats, singers and musicians. It was a party atmosphere with food and trinket-sellers moving through the crowds. Stalls were set up along the paths, and families picnicked on the lawns. It was not all good clean fun though, because the event attracted hundreds of prostitutes, pimps, 'licentious men' and 'effeminate persons dandily dressed who were singing and dancing'. Everyone was asked to appear in saffron clothes to continue the theme of a Hindu gathering of holy men and women.
A similar event was held to mark the Hindu festival of Basant (Spring), this time on the river Gomti, where everyone was again dressed in yellow.
While the king, Wajid 'Ali Shah, was recovering from his unspecified illness, he received a letter from James Outram (the British Resident at Lucknow) written on 8 February warning him that a Sunni troublemaker, Shah Ghulam Husain, had assembled a 'large force' of Muslims near Faizabad, and was 'determined to destroy and ruin the Hunuman Ghurrie which is inhabited by Hindoos and is peculiarly sacred in their estimation, his lieutenant (or assistant) called the Moulavee Saheb is even still more diabolically inclined and ready for strife…' To defend themselves, and their temple, large groups of armed Hindus had gathered. The Resident foresaw bloodshed and urged the king to send a 'very swift Camel Messenger with all possible speed' to have Shah Ghulam Husain immediately arrested in order to defuse the situation. The Hanumangarhi, a temple built on the conjectured site of the birth of the Hindu god Rama, was at Ayodhya and near a mosque built during the reign of the Mughal emperor, Babur. The mosque, which only became known as Babri Masjid (Babur's mosque) at the beginning of the twentieth century, was built over a Hindu temple, part of a much larger complex that was quite possibly of Buddhist origin. A site with so much history behind it unfortunately attracted fervent supporters from both the Sunni and the Hindu communities. As a Shi'a, Wajid 'Ali Shah could afford to stand aside from the theological disputes; but as a ruler, he had to do his best to prevent loss of life among all his subjects, regardless of their faith.
For some unknown reason the king did not act on Outram's urgent request and the clash predicted by the Resident duly took place. It was followed five months later by a much more serious encounter, which left about 70 Muslims dead, overwhelmed by a force of some 8,000 Hindus, who lost about the same number of men. A detachment of 150 men from the Awadh Army under Captains Weston, Orr and Hearsay was present, but was too small in numbers to act. Outram was summoned, unusually, to an emergency meeting with Wajid 'Ali Shah at the beginning of August. The king told him that 'no occurrence had ever given him more intense pain or had caused deeper anxiety; that he grieved to find that so much blood has been thus unnecessarily shed and declared with much emphasis, that the whole of this lamentable loss of life was solely to be ascribed to that arch villain the Shah Gholam Hussain who had for a long period led a very vagabond life with a company of disreputable followers, still more vile, if possible, than Gholam Hussain himself'. Outram reminded the king, as if he needed reminding, that two thirds of his subjects were Hindus, and that there were influential chieftains at Faizabad who would not remain neutral if there was another clash. At the Resident's suggestion, a three-man commission was set up to enquire into the disturbances, consisting of a Muslim, Agha 'Ali Khan; a Hindu, Raja Man Singh; and, as Outram put it, 'a Christian umpire', Captain Alexander Orr - but this only seemed to make things worse. It was not, after all, a game of cricket. The chief mujtahid, Sayyid Muhammad Nasirabadi - the man who had placed the crown on the first king's head - got involved but, while seeming to condemn mob violence, did nothing to calm the situation.
A new and more dangerous leader emerged, a charismatic Sunni maulawi called Amir 'Ali, who collected around him a number of working men, labourers and small shopkeepers, who had given up their businesses in order to follow him. The conflict took on wider dimensions, upper class against lower class, Sunni against Shi'a, Muslim against Hindu. Wajid 'Ali Shah was actively involved, calling Amir 'Ali to the palace for peace talks and proposing that a small mosque could be attached to the temple, a suggestion that was immediately rejected by the Hindus. A truce took place during Muharram, which fell in September that year, but as soon as it was over hostilities recommenced, not least between the Resident and the king. The latter was warned that he would be held personally responsible if a new mosque was erected, or if violence broke out. Amir 'Ali called for an armed protest and Hindu leaders outside Awadh started to ferry in financial aid for their co-religionists. Outram exacerbated the situation by threatening to withdraw British troops from the kingdom, which he anticipated would lead to the collapse of the Awadh government and thus open the way for annexation. But Wajid 'Ali Shah stood firm. By the middle of October Amir 'Ali was losing support, the Awadh Army was in a position to deflect the jihadists in their planned march to Faizabad, and powerful Shi'a landholders like Raja Mahmudabad sent their own forces as back-up for the king. As the maulawi's marchers neared Faizabad they were shot down by the king's troops, and an estimated three to four hundred men were killed. It was the end of the conflict during nawabi times, but not of course the end of the dispute, which erupted in 1992 with far greater loss of life, and the destruction of the Babri Masjid.
The king got no credit for the way he had dealt with the disturbance. On the contrary, Dalhousie said that the Resident's reports only gave further proof, 'if further proof were necessary, of the unfitness of the King of Oude and of his Durbar to hold the powers of government in that country and fortify the opinion which I lately submitted to the Honorable Court (of Directors) that the administration should be entirely taken out of their hands'.
Wajid 'Ali Shah's response to the minister's announcement of annexation was disbelief. He wrote to the Resident early on the morning of 1 February saying he was astonished and distressed, particularly as he had done everything possible to comply with whatever instructions had been received from the governor general. Outram's immediate response was that the decision was final and irreversible, as he told Janab-i 'Aliyyah later the same day. The final meeting between Outram and the king took place three days later on the morning of 4 February. As he entered the palace, accompanied by two British officers, the Resident noted that the palace guards were disarmed and that none of the court iers or officials were carrying their usual weapons, an indication that the king still hoped to resolve the situation by peaceful negotiations and not a show of force.
Inside the palace, Wajid 'Ali Shah was supported by his chief minister, his brother Sikandar Hashmat, the finance minister Raja Balkrishan and two other officials. Wajid 'Ali Shah turned to Outram and said, 'Why have I deserved this? What have I committed?' After the Resident's stilted explanation, the treaty was handed to the king who read it carefully and then burst out, 'Treaties are necessary between equals only; who am I now, that the British Government should enter into Treaties with?' His honour and his country were gone, he continued. He did not want a pension from the British, but would go to England and throw himself at the foot of the throne to beg for reconsideration of the orders, and for mercy. His brother backed him up, saying that because the king was no longer independent (and had not been for a long time, he could have added), there was no need for a fresh treaty. Tactlessly, the king's personal seal had already been attached to the treaty in the belief that he would sign it without argument.
Wajid 'Ali Shah, by now in tears, took off his turban and placed it in Outram's hands as a sign of submission. The Resident, no doubt hugely embarrassed by this show of oriental grief, told the king he had three days to reconsider his position, and left the palace. On 7 February Outram received an official letter from the king stating that the treaty would not be signed. At midday it was therefore publicly announced that the kingdom had been made over to the British government, and that James Outram was its new chief commissioner. There was no longer a royal Court, and thus no need for a British Resident.
Wajid 'Ali Shah had established his own household entertainers too, according to his last major work, Musammat Banni, published in 1875. There were the twenty-four Sultan Khana Players, named after his principal residence; eleven members of the Khas Manzil troupe; and various other groups, including the mimics (naqi walian), showmen (tamasha walian) and the marsiyah troupe, who recited mourning poems during Muharram. The performers numbered 216 and, together with 145 musicians, their salaries came to nearly £1,300 a month. Costumes, scenery and prizes for the best performers were an extra expense. The great days of the Qaisarbagh performances could not be repeated, but there were certainly a number of musical entertainments held in Garden Reach and directed by the king. A revival of the Radha Krishna play was staged, with the actors in elaborate costumes and jewellery. While the fairy chorus wore Indian dresses and embroidered wings, the demon in the play, Ifrit, appeared as an Englishman in formal black jacket and trousers, and wearing gloves. His appearance must have provoked howls of laughter and recognition.
But apart from entertainments, what bound the court-in-exile together? The Calcutta correspondent reported that Wajid 'Ali Shah's 6,000 subjects were devoted to him. 'The people employed are more than feudal retainers; they belong to the ex-King, body and soul.' Was this an oriental exaggeration to titillate American readers, or a practical description of a community that revolved around one man? Certainly there was employment for a good number of people, simply to maintain the estate. There were gardeners and sweepers, menagerie staff, stable-hands, dairymen, water carriers, carriage drivers, engineers, lamp-lighters, 'the boat establishment', guards, police, door-keepers, messengers, carpenters and bearers. To run the estate a general manager was needed, who in turn employed staff in charge of various departments, including the Postal Department and the paymaster's department, dealing with wages and other financial claims. The admirable Amir 'Ali had managed the estate until his death in January 1880. After that no one seems to have been specifically appointed to oversee Garden Reach. The king's many wives needed their own female staff, and the king needed his palace staff including cooks, kitchen-hands, confectioners, sweet-makers, people to prepare paan and the hookah, valets, washermen, tailors, a doctor and personal servants. Spiritual and intellectual needs were catered for by maulawis, munshis, men employed to chant the Qur'an, ta'ziyah-makers, poets and artists. A small bazaar was built along Garden Reach Road and rented out by the estate to shopkeepers, who would have included butchers, grain merchants, fishmongers and vegetable sellers, bringing stock in daily from the big Calcutta markets.
All these employees provided necessary services to keep Garden Reach running. But there was something more here that marked it out from the usual run of satellite townships. If Wajid 'Ali Shah saw himself as the last king in India, then his courtiers had to believe this too. They remained loyal, even as it became increasingly clear that the kingdom of Awadh would never be restored and that the majority of them would never see Lucknow again. Although his personal life was less than happy, with his quarrelling, disloyal wives and sons, nevertheless the king possessed sufficient authority and personality to ensure that while he lived, so did his small kingdom.
Excerpted from The Last King of India; published by Random House India; June 2014
THE LAST KING OF INDIA: WAJID ALI SHAH
Author: Rosie Llewellyn-Jones
Publisher: Random House india
Pages: 314
Price: Rs 599
The king describes the inspiration behind the mela in his autobiography, the Ishqnamah. He writes that one day he was seated in the garden of Hazratbagh, under the shade of a banana tree, reading his own love poetry. He became so inspired by the words that he tore off his robes like Majnun, the mythical lover of Arab and Persian literature. Semi-naked apart from a loincloth, Wajid 'Ali Shah is joined by two female companions, and the trio smear each other with ash, in imitation of a yogi, a Hindu holy man. More women rush out into the garden to participate and a group of musicians join in the frenzy of naked bodies. Even two of his Muslim courtiers are depicted smeared in ash and holding peacock fans in honour of the king, who has become the chief yogi. As evening approaches, Wajid 'Ali Shah reclines with his female yogis (joginis) by the banks of a stream, watching fireworks, and he is visited by a number of inquisitive men, who cosset him like a bridegroom.
It is all a strange conceit and has given rise to a number of unsubstantiated stories. What we do know is that Wajid 'Ali Shah enjoyed this ritual so much that it was repeated at the Yogi Mela, with increasing elaboration. The ash-smeared king pretended to hide in an imaginary 'mountain', a stage prop of canvas and bamboo, and was eventually 'found' by two of his ladies, which led to great rejoicing with more fireworks, music and cannon firing. Meanwhile the public was entertained in the palace gardens by jugglers and acrobats, singers and musicians. It was a party atmosphere with food and trinket-sellers moving through the crowds. Stalls were set up along the paths, and families picnicked on the lawns. It was not all good clean fun though, because the event attracted hundreds of prostitutes, pimps, 'licentious men' and 'effeminate persons dandily dressed who were singing and dancing'. Everyone was asked to appear in saffron clothes to continue the theme of a Hindu gathering of holy men and women.
A similar event was held to mark the Hindu festival of Basant (Spring), this time on the river Gomti, where everyone was again dressed in yellow.
While the king, Wajid 'Ali Shah, was recovering from his unspecified illness, he received a letter from James Outram (the British Resident at Lucknow) written on 8 February warning him that a Sunni troublemaker, Shah Ghulam Husain, had assembled a 'large force' of Muslims near Faizabad, and was 'determined to destroy and ruin the Hunuman Ghurrie which is inhabited by Hindoos and is peculiarly sacred in their estimation, his lieutenant (or assistant) called the Moulavee Saheb is even still more diabolically inclined and ready for strife…' To defend themselves, and their temple, large groups of armed Hindus had gathered. The Resident foresaw bloodshed and urged the king to send a 'very swift Camel Messenger with all possible speed' to have Shah Ghulam Husain immediately arrested in order to defuse the situation. The Hanumangarhi, a temple built on the conjectured site of the birth of the Hindu god Rama, was at Ayodhya and near a mosque built during the reign of the Mughal emperor, Babur. The mosque, which only became known as Babri Masjid (Babur's mosque) at the beginning of the twentieth century, was built over a Hindu temple, part of a much larger complex that was quite possibly of Buddhist origin. A site with so much history behind it unfortunately attracted fervent supporters from both the Sunni and the Hindu communities. As a Shi'a, Wajid 'Ali Shah could afford to stand aside from the theological disputes; but as a ruler, he had to do his best to prevent loss of life among all his subjects, regardless of their faith.
For some unknown reason the king did not act on Outram's urgent request and the clash predicted by the Resident duly took place. It was followed five months later by a much more serious encounter, which left about 70 Muslims dead, overwhelmed by a force of some 8,000 Hindus, who lost about the same number of men. A detachment of 150 men from the Awadh Army under Captains Weston, Orr and Hearsay was present, but was too small in numbers to act. Outram was summoned, unusually, to an emergency meeting with Wajid 'Ali Shah at the beginning of August. The king told him that 'no occurrence had ever given him more intense pain or had caused deeper anxiety; that he grieved to find that so much blood has been thus unnecessarily shed and declared with much emphasis, that the whole of this lamentable loss of life was solely to be ascribed to that arch villain the Shah Gholam Hussain who had for a long period led a very vagabond life with a company of disreputable followers, still more vile, if possible, than Gholam Hussain himself'. Outram reminded the king, as if he needed reminding, that two thirds of his subjects were Hindus, and that there were influential chieftains at Faizabad who would not remain neutral if there was another clash. At the Resident's suggestion, a three-man commission was set up to enquire into the disturbances, consisting of a Muslim, Agha 'Ali Khan; a Hindu, Raja Man Singh; and, as Outram put it, 'a Christian umpire', Captain Alexander Orr - but this only seemed to make things worse. It was not, after all, a game of cricket. The chief mujtahid, Sayyid Muhammad Nasirabadi - the man who had placed the crown on the first king's head - got involved but, while seeming to condemn mob violence, did nothing to calm the situation.
A new and more dangerous leader emerged, a charismatic Sunni maulawi called Amir 'Ali, who collected around him a number of working men, labourers and small shopkeepers, who had given up their businesses in order to follow him. The conflict took on wider dimensions, upper class against lower class, Sunni against Shi'a, Muslim against Hindu. Wajid 'Ali Shah was actively involved, calling Amir 'Ali to the palace for peace talks and proposing that a small mosque could be attached to the temple, a suggestion that was immediately rejected by the Hindus. A truce took place during Muharram, which fell in September that year, but as soon as it was over hostilities recommenced, not least between the Resident and the king. The latter was warned that he would be held personally responsible if a new mosque was erected, or if violence broke out. Amir 'Ali called for an armed protest and Hindu leaders outside Awadh started to ferry in financial aid for their co-religionists. Outram exacerbated the situation by threatening to withdraw British troops from the kingdom, which he anticipated would lead to the collapse of the Awadh government and thus open the way for annexation. But Wajid 'Ali Shah stood firm. By the middle of October Amir 'Ali was losing support, the Awadh Army was in a position to deflect the jihadists in their planned march to Faizabad, and powerful Shi'a landholders like Raja Mahmudabad sent their own forces as back-up for the king. As the maulawi's marchers neared Faizabad they were shot down by the king's troops, and an estimated three to four hundred men were killed. It was the end of the conflict during nawabi times, but not of course the end of the dispute, which erupted in 1992 with far greater loss of life, and the destruction of the Babri Masjid.
The king got no credit for the way he had dealt with the disturbance. On the contrary, Dalhousie said that the Resident's reports only gave further proof, 'if further proof were necessary, of the unfitness of the King of Oude and of his Durbar to hold the powers of government in that country and fortify the opinion which I lately submitted to the Honorable Court (of Directors) that the administration should be entirely taken out of their hands'.
Wajid 'Ali Shah's response to the minister's announcement of annexation was disbelief. He wrote to the Resident early on the morning of 1 February saying he was astonished and distressed, particularly as he had done everything possible to comply with whatever instructions had been received from the governor general. Outram's immediate response was that the decision was final and irreversible, as he told Janab-i 'Aliyyah later the same day. The final meeting between Outram and the king took place three days later on the morning of 4 February. As he entered the palace, accompanied by two British officers, the Resident noted that the palace guards were disarmed and that none of the court iers or officials were carrying their usual weapons, an indication that the king still hoped to resolve the situation by peaceful negotiations and not a show of force.
Inside the palace, Wajid 'Ali Shah was supported by his chief minister, his brother Sikandar Hashmat, the finance minister Raja Balkrishan and two other officials. Wajid 'Ali Shah turned to Outram and said, 'Why have I deserved this? What have I committed?' After the Resident's stilted explanation, the treaty was handed to the king who read it carefully and then burst out, 'Treaties are necessary between equals only; who am I now, that the British Government should enter into Treaties with?' His honour and his country were gone, he continued. He did not want a pension from the British, but would go to England and throw himself at the foot of the throne to beg for reconsideration of the orders, and for mercy. His brother backed him up, saying that because the king was no longer independent (and had not been for a long time, he could have added), there was no need for a fresh treaty. Tactlessly, the king's personal seal had already been attached to the treaty in the belief that he would sign it without argument.
Wajid 'Ali Shah, by now in tears, took off his turban and placed it in Outram's hands as a sign of submission. The Resident, no doubt hugely embarrassed by this show of oriental grief, told the king he had three days to reconsider his position, and left the palace. On 7 February Outram received an official letter from the king stating that the treaty would not be signed. At midday it was therefore publicly announced that the kingdom had been made over to the British government, and that James Outram was its new chief commissioner. There was no longer a royal Court, and thus no need for a British Resident.
Wajid 'Ali Shah had established his own household entertainers too, according to his last major work, Musammat Banni, published in 1875. There were the twenty-four Sultan Khana Players, named after his principal residence; eleven members of the Khas Manzil troupe; and various other groups, including the mimics (naqi walian), showmen (tamasha walian) and the marsiyah troupe, who recited mourning poems during Muharram. The performers numbered 216 and, together with 145 musicians, their salaries came to nearly £1,300 a month. Costumes, scenery and prizes for the best performers were an extra expense. The great days of the Qaisarbagh performances could not be repeated, but there were certainly a number of musical entertainments held in Garden Reach and directed by the king. A revival of the Radha Krishna play was staged, with the actors in elaborate costumes and jewellery. While the fairy chorus wore Indian dresses and embroidered wings, the demon in the play, Ifrit, appeared as an Englishman in formal black jacket and trousers, and wearing gloves. His appearance must have provoked howls of laughter and recognition.
But apart from entertainments, what bound the court-in-exile together? The Calcutta correspondent reported that Wajid 'Ali Shah's 6,000 subjects were devoted to him. 'The people employed are more than feudal retainers; they belong to the ex-King, body and soul.' Was this an oriental exaggeration to titillate American readers, or a practical description of a community that revolved around one man? Certainly there was employment for a good number of people, simply to maintain the estate. There were gardeners and sweepers, menagerie staff, stable-hands, dairymen, water carriers, carriage drivers, engineers, lamp-lighters, 'the boat establishment', guards, police, door-keepers, messengers, carpenters and bearers. To run the estate a general manager was needed, who in turn employed staff in charge of various departments, including the Postal Department and the paymaster's department, dealing with wages and other financial claims. The admirable Amir 'Ali had managed the estate until his death in January 1880. After that no one seems to have been specifically appointed to oversee Garden Reach. The king's many wives needed their own female staff, and the king needed his palace staff including cooks, kitchen-hands, confectioners, sweet-makers, people to prepare paan and the hookah, valets, washermen, tailors, a doctor and personal servants. Spiritual and intellectual needs were catered for by maulawis, munshis, men employed to chant the Qur'an, ta'ziyah-makers, poets and artists. A small bazaar was built along Garden Reach Road and rented out by the estate to shopkeepers, who would have included butchers, grain merchants, fishmongers and vegetable sellers, bringing stock in daily from the big Calcutta markets.
All these employees provided necessary services to keep Garden Reach running. But there was something more here that marked it out from the usual run of satellite townships. If Wajid 'Ali Shah saw himself as the last king in India, then his courtiers had to believe this too. They remained loyal, even as it became increasingly clear that the kingdom of Awadh would never be restored and that the majority of them would never see Lucknow again. Although his personal life was less than happy, with his quarrelling, disloyal wives and sons, nevertheless the king possessed sufficient authority and personality to ensure that while he lived, so did his small kingdom.
Excerpted from The Last King of India; published by Random House India; June 2014
THE LAST KING OF INDIA: WAJID ALI SHAH
Author: Rosie Llewellyn-Jones
Publisher: Random House india
Pages: 314
Price: Rs 599