Last King in India: Wajid Ali Shah Read online

  The Oude Blue Book was indeed an indictment of Wajid ‘Ali Shah’s administration and a justification for annexation, beginning with a statement by Dalhousie and detailing Outram’s own cursory investigations into the kingdom and his dealings with the royal family. It contained Minutes of Council meetings in Calcutta and letters to the governor general from the Court of Directors in London. No complaint against the king was left unturned. Wajid ‘Ali Shah’s response to the Blue Book was drawn up in the autumn of 1856, with the help of his lawyers. The measures that the king had taken to remedy former wrongs were listed at length and the Company’s accusations were rebutted, together with denials of specific allegations. It was printed in Calcutta as the Reply to the Charges against the King of Oude and sent to Queen Victoria on 7 January 1857, with an accompanying illuminated manuscript letter. The king’s agent, Masih-ud-Din, wrote a similar book called Oude: Its Princes and Its Government Vindicated, published in 1857 by the Covent Garden firm of J. Davy & Sons.

  A ‘state visit’ to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane took place at the beginning of March 1857, as a useful way of publicising the continuing presence of the Awadh family in England. It was the end of the pantomime season, and the performance was based on the old ballad ‘Babes in the Wood’, in which Robin Hood traditionally appears. Janab-i ‘Aliyyah was accompanied by her son and grandson and ‘a large suite, including two or three European ladies’. The Illustrated London News carried a lithograph of the august audience in the royal box and adjoining boxes, reporting that it was the first appearance of Her Majesty at any public place, which created ‘considerable interest and curiosity’, as it was designed to do. ‘The effect of so many and varied Oriental costumes was rich and peculiar, and the blue and silver tissue hung entirely over the Royal Box for the purpose of shrouding the Queen from vulgar gaze gave an air of mystery to the dark faces, rich dresses and flashing jewels which were dimly seen through it.’ The royal party sat through the whole show, watching with ‘interest and astonishment’.39

  Later the same month Vernon-Smith paid a visit to Janab-i ‘Aliyyah, at Queen Victoria’s prompting. He was clearly aware of the pantomime outing and commented tartly, ‘Nothing could be more savoring of a second rate theatre than my reception at Harley House and Mrs Brandon, the Lady of the Bedchamber was one of the most impudent people I ever saw.’ Mary Ann, who was known to have a fondness for the bottle, was evidently in good form. Vernon-Smith was still cautious about the British royal family being seen to acknowledge the Awadh mission, and ministers he consulted were against it, but he admitted that if Queen Victoria still wished it, ‘after her confinement’, he would arrange an audience.40 Victoria was ‘rather anxious as she thinks the Court of Directors prevent her showing [the queen mother] a courtesy she would be inclined to otherwise’. Vernon-Smith had already noted Victoria’s tendency to patronise ‘deposed despots’, and he certainly did not want to encourage her to add to her ‘Indian family’ of Maharaja Duleep Singh, the Raja of Coorg and his daughter, princess Gauramma. Victoria had already met the two Awadh princes at a levée in June, at which Duleep Singh was present.

  When news arrived of what, at first sight, seemed like a local revolt in India, Vernon-Smith thought this might be an excuse to cancel the meeting between the two royal ladies. He asked Canning for his opinion. ‘If you have still any reason to believe the Oude people instigated this revolt, as Her Majesty [Victoria] is so anxious to show favor to the Princes here, that such a story, if true, would be a wholesome check to any demonstration of respect.’41 At the same time, he thought that the change in British government after the general election in the spring of 1857 would not benefit the Awadh mission. He doubted if any new MP would be prepared to take on the case, even though the Whigs had won a decent majority over the Conservatives. Sir Arthur Otway, on whom hopes had been pinned, had lost his seat.

  Finally the audience between Queen Victoria and Janab-i ‘Aliyyah was announced for 2.45 p.m. on the afternoon of Saturday 4 July 1857 at Buckingham Palace, with Vernon-Smith presenting Awadh’s queen mother and the princes to Victoria. It was now clear that the Indian Uprising was much more serious than at first suspected. The British queen had noted the massacre of Britons at Meerut in her journal at the end of June, together with the declaration of independence by Bahadur Shah Zafar, the king of Delhi. It was therefore a quixotic gesture by her to meet the Awadh family, particularly when its head, Wajid ‘Ali Shah, had been confined in Fort William, Calcutta by Canning for the last three weeks as a ‘precautionary measure’.42 Luckily it was agreed in advance that there would be no mention of politics, only regal salutations and polite conversation. Purdah was suspended during the audience, and Prince Albert, his two eldest sons and a gentleman-in-waiting stood behind Janab-i ‘Aliyyah’s chair. Sir George Clark acted as interpreter. Victoria entered with her seven younger children, including the two-month-old princess Beatrice. Janab-i ‘Aliyyah threw back her veil and kissed Victoria’s hand. ‘She was much weighed down by her heavy dress, her crown and Jewels, being very small’, wrote Victoria. ‘She has fine eyes, painted, as is customary. The grandson also wore a sort of crown and both the Princes had long loose robes, like dressing gowns, on.’43 A letter and a ‘handsome ornament of pearls’ with a perfume flask (an itrdan) was handed over to Victoria as a gift, and then it was all over.

  A longer account of the audience was later published in Urdu by the historian Kamal ud-Din Haider, who had received a verbatim account, probably from one of the female attendants. Victoria had impressed the Awadh family with her simple crinoline, described accurately as a ‘circular dress’. Conversation had been limited to a discussion on boating, the uncomfortable sea journey from Calcutta and whether Janab-i ‘Aliyyah had visited many English mansions. Victoria apparently offered to arrange visits to some of them for her.44 It was very different from Janab-i ‘Aliyyah’s original intention to plead with another mother to restore her son’s kingdom.

  Shortly after this meeting, and perhaps inspired by Victoria’s conversation, there was an expedition by the Awadh group to Manchester to see the Art Treasures exhibition, the largest collection of paintings ever assembled in Britain. A special hall was constructed to house the 16,000 exhibits, with an extensive gallery running around it, supported by decorative ironwork. Here the two princes, Sikandar Hashmat and Hamid ‘Ali, posed for a photograph with fourteen members of their retinue, including Julus-ud-daulah and Masih-ud-Din. The young heir to the throne, Hamid ‘Ali, looks nervous and is clutching the sleeve of a top-hatted Englishman, possibly Sir Thomas Fairbairn, chairman of the exhibition’s executive committee; Sikandar Hashmat has linked arms with another Englishman. It is both a formal, yet touching, image of what was probably the last happy occasion for the princes.45

  On 6 August, Lord Campbell, Chief Justice of the Queen’s Bench, presented a petition to the House of Lords from the Awadh royal family. However, the great revolt in India had changed everything. What had been a straightforward mission, to have the annexation of Awadh reversed and the king reinstated, had turned into a desperate plea to prove the king innocent of any part in the Uprising and to get him released from incarceration in Fort William. The unjustness of the annexation paled into insignificance beside the fact of an imprisoned monarch. Janab-i ‘Aliyyah, Sikandar Hashmat and Hamid ‘Ali expressed their ‘deepest pain and regret’ at the news of the defection of the native troops in the Bengal Presidency. They were surprised that Wajid ‘Ali Shah’s name had been mentioned in connection with this, and were confident from what he had told them that he was entirely innocent. The House of Awadh, they added, was faithfully attached to its connection with Great Britain; and for any wrongs they felt they had suffered, they looked to Queen Victoria and Parliament for redress. They begged to know what offence the king was charged with, so that they could have the opportunity of proving his innocence and corresponding with him. It was a short, dignified petition and Campbell, in presenting it, said that the petitioners’ sentiments were p
erfectly respectful and unobjectionable, although he thought the government of India had acted correctly over annexation. No one would be happier than he if the charges against the king, which were not specified, were proven to be unfounded.

  But there was little appetite in Parliament, sitting during the summer holidays, to pursue the case. Campbell himself was unenthusiastic about the petitioners’ cause and said he had only submitted it ‘out of duty’. How much his fees were, as an eminent lawyer, is not known. Certainly the petition was presented in so much of a hurry, as he admitted, that it was not properly worded. It was rejected on a technicality. ‘Their Lordships declined to receive it on account of an objection having been taken to it by Lord Redesdale, because it did not style itself the “humble petition.”’ The word ‘humble’ had been inadvertently omitted, and Campbell had not spotted this.46 Almost a year to the day after the mission’s arrival in Britain, its hopes were finally crushed. Its three-pronged attack on the Court of Directors, the Queen of the United Kingdom and the House of Lords had all been deflected by the most subtle weapon the British can deploy—studied politeness.

  There were more pressing problems too. The lease on Harley House was due to expire at the beginning of September, so new, cheaper, accommodation was found on Warwick Road West, in Paddington, which was not such a smart area as Marylebone.47 Wajid ‘Ali Shah had managed to transmit nearly £5,000 for the mission’s continuing expenses, but more was still needed. Humiliatingly, the king was forced to borrow from his jailers, the East India Company.48 He asked for, and got, a loan of just over £7,000, ‘pending the sale of a number of gold pieces and old gold mohurs’, which he planned to sell in the Calcutta bazaars; the money was remitted to London in January 1858. Masih-ud-Din’s book Oude: Its Princes and its Government Vindicated was banned shortly after publication as a subversive work, and unsold copies were seized and destroyed, although not before one had been dispatched to the imprisoned king who, surprisingly, was allowed to receive it from Colonel Cavenagh’s hands.49 Janab-i ‘Aliyyah’s health became a cause for concern and Sikandar Hashmat wrote to his brother about this at the end of the dreadful year of 1857. ‘May the all merciful God restore her to me in health and safety’, replied the king. He said that news of his mother’s illness had caused him to forget his own suffering, incarcerated in Fort William.50

  In the same letter, he told his brother that he was dismissing Brandon, and that the balance of money advanced for his salary was to be clawed back, together with any papers that might be in his possession. We do not know what Brandon’s offence was that caused his final dismissal, but he had made a ‘representation’ to Wajid ‘Ali Shah, perhaps complaining about the tensions within the Awadh mission. The obvious lack of progress and the king’s continued imprisonment and consequent helplessness were bound to lead to friction. Masih-ud-Din wrote to the Court of Directors asking them to ignore any letters that might come from Janab-i ‘Aliyyah because she had fallen under the influence of a group opposing him. Masih-ud-Din was in charge of the funds sent by the king, and it may have been financial quarrels that subsequently arose. But the situation was not helped by Wajid ‘Ali Shah appointing a new ‘chief agent’ to deal with his affairs in England, on a salary equivalent to £100 a month. This was Colonel Richard Ouseley, a familiar name at the Lucknow Court because it was his uncle, Sir Gore Ouseley, a good friend of earlier nawab Sa’adat ‘Ali Khan, who had built the splendid country house of Dilkusha, south of Lucknow. Richard Ouseley seems to have been suffering from an ongoing mental problem. He had recently been suspended from the Bengal Army. In the autumn of 1857 the king wrote that he was ‘very uneasy concerning Major Ousely [sic] whose mind has, he understands, been seriously affected owing to which he has demanded large sums from the queen mother and others and in many respects conducted himself in a very extraordinary manner’.51 The last thing the Awadh mission wanted, in the midst of their troubles, was a mad Englishman. Not surprisingly, the mission refused to pay him any salary and, six months later, Ouseley was withdrawn from his post.

  The Awadh mission split into two factions. Janab-i ‘Aliyyah wanted to visit France and then Mecca, on her journey home to Calcutta. Lord Clarendon, Secretary of State, and responsible for issuing passports, told Queen Victoria at an informal meeting that he had ‘evaded’ the issue of the queen mother’s request for a passport, because she had not asked for it as ‘a British subject’.52 The Parliamentary Act of 1847 had allowed certain foreign nationals from British-ruled countries to be awarded British subject status, which was valid throughout the Empire and was known as ‘Imperial Naturalisation’. There was absolutely no reason why the Awadh royal family should have sought British nationality. None of them intended to settle in Britain, yet Clarendon made a fuss about this. He could simply have issued a certificate granted at the time to non-Britishers who requested protection by the United Kingdom while travelling, which was a single piece of paper signed by the Secretary of State, requesting foreign officials to allow the bearer to travel without hindrance. But he chose not to do so. No doubt he was reluctant that the queen mother should become an object of sympathy, particularly as European public opinion was critical of Britain’s conduct in India.53 As a result, Janab-i ‘Aliyyah’s journey to France was delayed and she only arrived in Paris in the third week of January 1858, after getting clearance from the French Embassy in London.

  Less than half the Awadh mission travelled to Paris with the queen mother. Between forty and forty-five people accompanied her, landing at Dieppe and taking the train to Paris. Janab-i ‘Aliyyah was taken off the train in an ‘hermetically sealed palanquin carried by hand, by eight men in a team from the railway’, reported the French newspaper Le Journal des Débats. The party arrived in style on 22 January, and on their journey from the Gare St Lazare two ‘magnificent carriages’ led the procession, enclosing seven or eight veiled ladies. In the first carriage was ‘a baby between eight to ten months old, richly dressed, and wearing a gold headpiece, topped by a crown of gold’.54 The following day the same newspaper reported the death of Janab-i ‘Aliyyah at 1.00 p.m. on Sunday 24 January at the hotel in the rue Lafitte. She had died, it was reported, after succumbing to a long-term ‘decline’ which had resulted in anxiety and tension (‘de vives inquiétudes’).55 Janab-i ‘Aliyyah was a stout woman of fifty-five who took little or no physical exercise (despite her description by Canning as ‘energetic’) and was addicted to the hookah. There had been earlier accounts of her having to be helped by her ladies as she walked.

  The funeral and its preparations were reported in detail by the French journal L’Illustration on 6 February, with accompanying sketches.56 The queen mother’s body was taken into the courtyard of the hotel where a fire had been lit, and numerous candles illuminated the scene. After the corpse was washed it was covered for the last time by a veil, and a guard of honour stood over it. On the day of the funeral the simple white wood coffin was covered with a cloth of red and gold silk, and carried to the hearse on the shoulders of eight dignatories. All these events were watched by weeping attendants and Janab-i ‘Aliyyah’s son and grandson. The funeral took place at sundown on 27 January in the Muslim quarter of Père Lachaise cemetery. The delay in burial was probably caused by formalities over a suitable burial site. Only a year earlier Georges-Eugène Haussmann, then the Préfet de la Seine, had ordered that a special area within the cemetery be set aside for ‘the burial of deceased persons of Paris professing the Mahomedan religion’, and this is where the ceremony took place, under a simple canopy, after prayers had been said. Sikandar Hashmat was particularly affected and was supported during the funeral ceremony by Inayat Husain and other members of his suite. Thirteen carriages of mourners had accompanied the coffin to the cemetery, among whom were the Turkish and Persian ambassadors. Clarendon cannot have failed to register, with dismay, this solid show of support from Muslim representatives in Europe. The hearse itself was drawn in a carriage by six black horses. There had been another death in Paris too
, that of the infant daughter of Sikandar Hashmat, the one-year-old princess Rif’at-ara Begam Sahibah, who was buried in the same tomb.

  The bereaved relatives returned to the Warwick Road houses in London. It is not clear why they went back, unless it was to persuade the rest of the group to return to Calcutta with them. But worse was to come. On 25 February Sikandar Hashmat died suddenly. His death certificate shows the cause as ‘water on the chest and fistula’. No post-mortem was carried out, and ‘water on the chest’ is a vague Victorian term covering pleurisy and pneumonia. It could have been contracted in Paris and worsened by cold weather at the queen mother’s open-air funeral. Masih-ud-Din made heroic efforts to get the prince’s body embalmed and transported to the Paris cemetery, where his mother had so recently been laid to rest.