“We declare that by our royal will and desire, no one will be favoured, troubled or molested for reasons of faith or religious observances and all will benefit from the equal protection and impartial law enforcement. It is also our will that our subjects, whatever their race or their belief, be freely and impartially allowed to practice, in our service, the professions for which they are qualified by their education, their talent and their integrity.”*
Most importantly, however, the queen offers to pardon all the rebels who are prepared to return home peacefully, with the exception of those who took part in the murder of British subjects or helped the murderers, as well as the leaders or instigators of the revolt. The others, if they submit before January 1st, 1859, will be amnestied.
On the 8th of November, besieged in his fortress by General Campbell and General Grant’s combined forces, the Rajah of Amethi finally surrenders. He was one of the begum’s most loyal allies; his capitulation will encourage other taluqdars who were still undecided.
On the other hand, forced to abandon his fort, Beni Madho decides to leave for the north with fifteen thousand men to join forces with Nana Sahib’s brother. To General Campbell, who offers him very favourable conditions if he is willing to submit, he proudly replies:
“I cannot. My person does not belong to me. It belongs to King Birjis Qadar.”*
At the same time, a secret message from General Campbell informs the begum that if she abandons this hopeless battle, she will be permitted to return to Lucknow, where she will be welcomed with all the honours due to her rank and will receive a generous pension.
Hazrat Mahal does not even bother to reply. With a twinge of sadness, she remembers one of her last conversations with Jai Lal, while they were being bombarded day and night by enemy cannons in their Musabagh bastion.
“If we were offered an amnesty and if everything were to go back to the way it was before, as in Wajid Ali Shah and the British resident’s time, what would you do?” he had asked her.
“I would refuse!” she had answered without a moment’s hesitation.
He had held her passionately in his arms.
Today, after all she and her people have endured, she is more determined than ever to reject any kind of compromise. In her eyes, the queen’s aim in proclaiming an amnesty is clear: to decapitate the revolt, separate the most committed rebels from any others who are pretending, thus reducing their contingents.
In an attempt to prevent a wave of defections, Hazrat Mahal is to publish a counter-proclamation in which she sarcastically denounces the hypocrisy of Queen Victoria’s speech and the threats concealed behind her false promises:
“One must be simple-minded to believe that the British have forgiven our mistakes, or what they call our crimes. All of us here know they have never forgiven the slightest offence, big or small, whether it was committed out of ignorance or negligence.”*
Then, one by one, the begum goes through the different undertakings proclaimed by the queen: how can we believe that everything will change because the Crown is replacing the Company while the new power retains the same rules, the same civil servants, the same governor general, the same legal system!
“We are told the queen will honour all the agreements concluded by the Company. However, the Company has appropriated the whole of India and failed to respect most of the treaties it signed with the sovereigns. Is this what the queen intends to respect? And if Her Majesty is not planning to carry out any annexations, as she claims, why then does she not return our country to us as the people demand?
It has also been announced that regardless of a person’s religion, the law will be equal for all. This should be obvious! In fact, what does the exercise of justice have to do with belonging to one religion or another? As for the promise that there will be no interference in our religious practices, it is difficult to believe, when our temples and mosques are destroyed on the pretext of building roads, when missionaries are sent to the villages to teach Christianity, when people are paid to learn the rites of the Anglican Church!
It is also written that apart from those who have killed, led the rebellion or helped the rebels, the others will be pardoned. But who are these others when the whole population has revolted, and it is specified that all those involved will be punished? This proclamation says everything and its opposite!
Lastly, when peace is restored, we are promised road construction works and the digging of canals that will improve people’s living conditions. It is interesting to note that the British have no better jobs to offer Indians than those of labourers! If people do not understand all that this implies, we can do nothing to help them.
Do not be deceived!”*
* * *
This morning disturbing news has arrived from Mahmudabad. The palace is besieged and the rani has sent a message to her husband saying she fears she will not be able to resist for long.
The distraught rajah reports back to the begum. Torn between two loyalties, he is a pitiful sight: he cannot leave the Queen Mother just when she needs him the most, but can he abandon his own family?
“Remember what you told your son when he wanted to accompany us?” Hazrat Mahal reminds him: “‘Your first duty is to your family.’ Dear Rajah Sahib, you must leave immediately to help your family. They only have you. I will manage, I still have allies. Of course, I will miss your friendship, your kindness towards me . . . ”
She steels herself against the emotion that threatens to overwhelm her.
“I will always be grateful to you, I will never forget you.”
And to lighten the solemnity of these words, she concludes in a more cheerful tone:
“Soon I will come to see you in Mahmudabad, and I am counting on you to organise a sumptuous party!”
Going against all conventions, she holds her hand out to him. He takes it and holds it fervently to his forehead. They look at each other, containing their feelings with difficulty; they know there is little chance they will ever meet again.
Meanwhile in Awadh, the British troops continue to advance and the insurgents are inexorably pushed northwards. At the end of November, the whole country south of the Ghogra River is subdued. Some rebels manage to return to their villages and disappear amongst the peasantry, but the majority converges on Baundi, the begum’s fortress, the last bastion of power. Implacably, the enemy army approaches; the Indian troops try to prevent them from crossing the Ghogra, but despite fierce resistance, they are crushed.
With his colonial helmet on his head and his sword in his hand, General Grant is heading for Baundi, where he has every intention of taking the begum unawares. The latter, though, has already fled further north and gallops with her son at the head of her high command, followed by fifteen thousand fighters. Near Nanpara, Nana Sahib, Beni Madho and a few taluqdars who have remained loyal join her. Desperately, they combine their forces for a final stand, but they are no match for the enemy artillery and are again forced to retreat. Finally, on the morning of January 7th, 1859, with the enemy at their heels, the begum and her allies cross the river Rapti to take refuge in the Terai region, along the Nepal border.
On reaching the other bank, Hazrat Mahal stops. With great sadness she looks out over the plain that stretches as far as the eye can see, the wheat and sugarcane fields, the green mango and guava orchards, and here and there, emerging from all the vegetation, the thatched village roofs with blue smoke rising from them.
Will she ever see her country again?
In order to slow down the British advance, a regiment of sepoys remains on the southern bank of the Rapti. When the British cavalry arrives and charges, swords drawn, they cut to pieces all those who attempt to block their way.
The river is red with the blood of the hundreds of freedom fighters who sacrificed their lives to offer the Queen Mother and the king the advantage of a few precious hours, which allow them to escape their pursuer
s.
This is the last battle to be fought in the land of Awadh. Henceforth, the territory is entirely under British domination.
The rebels are now trapped between the Rapti River and the foothills of the Himalayas in the Nepalese Terai—a region of forests and swamps swarming with mosquitoes and infested with crocodiles. Their only choices are to surrender or perish.
Considering Awadh pacified, Campbell leaves General Hope Grant in charge of operations. Judging that the fugitives will not survive long without ammunition or food, Grant is content to position his regiments along the border to prevent their return.
Hazrat Mahal’s last hope remains Maharajah Jung Bahadur. Now that they are defeated, can he refuse her asylum?
At his mother’s bidding, Birjis Qadar sends the maharajah another letter. He evokes the long friendship that has always bound the great families of Awadh and Nepal, and in the name of religion and fraternity between peoples of the same blood, he asks for sanctuary for all his followers.
A few days later, they receive his scathing reply:
“The state of Nepal, ally and friend of the British, will provide you no assistance and orders you to leave its territory within ten days. Otherwise, we will send our Gurkha army against you. In order to save their honour and their lives, we advise all those who were not involved in the massacre of women and children, to surrender to the British authorities.”*
It is out of the question! Neither Hazrat Mahal nor the other fugitives trust the British anymore: experience has taught them what perfidious Albion’s105 promises are worth. For weeks they try to force their way through at different points along the barrier that separates them from Awadh; every time the British react and chase them back into the Terai. There are a few further confrontations, but the exhausted rebels are no longer in a state to resist. They flee through the jungles, the swamps and the freezing rivers. The rain, the cold, the swamp fevers and cholera take their toll on these weakened men, and they die by the hundreds.
After the Indian forces have been dispersed, Hazrat Mahal finds herself accompanied by Nana Sahib and Mammoo—the present difficulties have erased the past quarrels. To escape the enemy, they have to change camps incessantly with a reduced army of ten thousand men, followed by hundreds of women and children. The Queen Mother refuses to be discouraged. She has promised Jai Lal she will never lose hope. Nonetheless, an urgent problem needs to be resolved: how do they feed these thousands of people? Their stocks of flour are almost exhausted, and she has ordered her lieutenants to punish any thefts severely. They need to retain the population’s sympathy; it is their only protection.
She will be obeyed. At the height of the disaster, Hazrat Mahal still controls her men.106
Often in the evening, sitting around the mangal107 in her tent with her two companions, the Queen Mother discusses the possibilities of escaping the trap, cornered as they are between the Gurkhas in the north and the British in the south. The Nana has lost a great deal of his haughtiness. He has a mere thousand loyal soldiers behind him and Azimullah, his devoted follower, has disappeared.
When Hazrat Mahal expressed her astonishment at his absence, Nana Sahib explained, looking embarrassed:
“My older brother is ill, Azimullah is with him. They are trying to reach Calcutta together.”
It is most unlike the Nana to do without such a precious servant, even to help out his brother. Hazrat Mahal concludes they must have quarrelled.
She is later to learn that, disguised as a fakir, Azimullah had effectively managed to reach Calcutta. There, using his “oriental prince’s” charm, which had wreaked such havoc in London and Paris at the time, he had successfully seduced a lovesick English woman. With her, he had managed to leave India and had settled in Istanbul, where he had become the representative of the Sharif of Mecca.
When she heard this story, Hazrat Mahal had burst out laughing—something she had not done in a long time.
“This ‘dear Azimullah!’ as the European ladies called him . . . And I, who took him for an idealist ready to die for his country! Is he not in reality just an opportunist who prefers to jump ship, considering the battle lost? Unless,” she suddenly becomes pensive, “unless perhaps . . . from Istanbul he continues to plot against the British . . . ”108
In these regions swept by the biting Himalayan wind, the winter takes its toll on the men and the women used to the climate of the Indo-Gangetic Plain.
One morning, Hazrat Mahal wakes up to find her son burning with fever. The hakims are summoned to his bedside but are hesitant to pronounce their diagnosis. In any event, they prescribe decoctions and bloodletting. Nothing has any effect. The Queen Mother resolves to send a further appeal for help to Jung Bahadur. His only answer is to reiterate his threats: either the begum and those accompanying her leave his territory, or he will send in his Gurkhas.
Surrender to save her child? General Campbell has let her know that his offer of an amnesty still stands. Hazrat Mahal is torn. She cannot risk her son’s life . . . but does she have the right to abandon her companions who can hope for no pardon themselves? After days and nights of anxiety, as Birjis Qadar’s state of health has improved, she decides to continue with the resistance. To capitulate would be dishonourable and tantamount to renouncing the rights of this twelve-year-old king, whom she hopes will reign over Awadh one day.
The adolescent is still weak, however, and needs to be watched over constantly. Fortunately, Mumtaz is there to take care of him.
The young woman has grown as attached to Birjis as if he were her own son. She, who has suffered so deeply at not being able to be a mother, pours all the treasures of her love and tenderness on the young boy. Initially, she had curbed her impulses, constantly reminding herself that this beautiful boy was not her own and could be taken away from her any moment. Very quickly, though, she forgot her fears, for the Queen Mother is far too busy to intervene in a situation that seems to suit everyone.
Sometimes Mumtaz does not understand her friend: has she no maternal feelings? Nonetheless, when her son is ill she is consumed by anxiety . . . Could it be that she worries more for the king’s fate than for her son, as Birjis Qadar claims bitterly?
In Kathmandu, Jung Bahadur is under pressure from the resident, who warns him that his British allies are growing impatient. When is he going to send in his Gurkhas to force the rebels to surrender?
In fact, the maharajah realises that he has been overly presumptuous—his generals are not ready to fight the refugees just to satisfy the British.109
Jung Bahadur then decides to resort to trickery. He has a letter delivered to King Birjis Qadar, requesting him to travel to Butwal, halfway between his base in the Terai and Kathmandu. He wants no more bloodshed, he writes, and proposes to act as an intermediary between the Indians and the British in order to find an honourable solution.
Begum Hazrat Mahal and her companions judge the letter encouraging. In any event, do they have a better alternative?
They set off immediately.
For three months, the long convoy of almost ten thousand men, women and children trudges painfully through the snow-covered mountains. As they do not have enough horses or carts, most of them cover the two hundred miles separating them from Butwal on foot. Many are to die of cold, fever or dysentery.
To Hazrat Mahal’s despair, Mumtaz is one of the first victims. Since their flight into the Terai, she has grown very thin: “My admirers would never be able to recognise me now,” she jokes. She is wracked by frequent coughing bouts, but every time Hazrat Mahal suggests calling the hakim, she categorically refuses, arguing that it is only a throat irritation. However, she grows weaker by the day.
One morning, concerned at her absence, the begum enters her friend’s tent. Mumtaz is lying stretched out, her long hair spread around her, a slight smile on her lips. At that moment, Hazrat Mahal thinks she has never seen her look so beautiful. Wanting to aw
aken her gently as she used to do when they were adolescents, she bends down to place a kiss on her forehead and jumps back with a loud cry: it is cold . . . Dead! Mumtaz is dead!
For the first time since their flight from Baundi, Hazrat Mahal breaks down. Deeply distressed, she reproaches herself for having dragged her friend into this impossible adventure, when, after the fall of Lucknow, she should have gone back to her village to wait for the situation to return to normal. Mumtaz had nothing to do with this flight; she had not followed Hazrat Mahal out of political conviction, but out of loyalty to their old friendship. The begum had brought her along out of pure selfishness, because she needed a friend, a confidant. She had not, for a moment, envisaged the dangers she would force her to endure.
It is Birjis Qadar however, who is the most deeply distressed by Mumtaz’s disappearance. Kneeling before her bed, blinded by tears, he goes on begging: “Don’t leave me, Amma Mumtaz, please come back!” He is to remain at her bedside for hours, wracked by sobs, obstinately refusing to abandon the woman who had given him all her time and love over the past months. It will be terribly difficult to separate them.
In March, when the columns of refugees finally reach Butwal, their ranks are considerably diminished; only the hope of an imminent end to the nightmare gives the survivors the strength to hold on.
For four days, they await Jung Bahadur’s promised visit. Instead, an officer of the Nepali army arrives. He brings a message from the maharajah reiterating the order to leave the country immediately.