Four Summer Months in Delhi

The Phoolwalon ki Sair and the Pankha Festival in Delhi do not give the sense of what some historians label as religiously informed difference; instead, they attest to Islam’s and Hinduism’s assimilative character. Dalrymple’s account reinforces this view in ample measure.

Dalrymple cites examples of Bahadur Shah transcending the points of difference and becoming an apt symbol, in 1857 as well as in the early twentieth century nationalist narratives, for the Hindus and Muslims in the 1857 revolt. Elsewhere, the historian Rajat Ray has pointed out that the idea embedded in the expression “the Hindus and Musalmans of Hindustan” was not simply communal harmony, but something more, or rather, something different: a confederation of two separate peoples tied into one political unit by the social perception of Hindustan as one land.

Biographers tend to extol their subject; Dalrymple does the same, and tries hard to portray Bahadur Shah in a favourable light. The ultimate verdict of history would, however, rest on what the emperor’s contemporaries thought of their ruler. The fact is that they were not favourably disposed towards him.

The historian Zakaullah brings a severe, almost savage indictment against Bahadur Shah and paints a terrible picture of chaos in Delhi. His story opens with the bright colours of the 16th century, i.e., with the founding of the Mughal empire in 1526, closes in deep shadows. He would say to friends that he could not meet any member of the former Mughal household without feeling a pang of remorse for his critical comments.

Bahadur Shah commissioned Mirza Ghalib, the poet, to write a book on the Timurids. But the poet firmly believed that there was no route back to the proud past. He wanted readers to deliver the necessary coup de grace to the false ideals and principles of the pre-colonial state, and engage with the complex opportunities actually presented by British rule. He clarified: “It is not virtuous to nurture and cherish the dead.”

The current of life that had run so smoothly before 1857 was broken and changed into a whirling torrent during the “Mutiny”. Dalrymple engages with it, but he does not take into account the views of Zakaullah and Nazir Ahmad, both teachers at Delhi College. Like Edmund Burke, the former shared the conservative view of the crowds and castigated “the black faced army” for causing death and destruction. Zakaullah felt relieved when the revolt was quelled and conspiracies were nipped in the bud. In fact, he wanted to disengage his Muslim brethren from the tendencies that had led to the turbulence, and to replace their internal self-conceptions by a strong sense of self.

Likewise, Nazir Ahmad, having witnessed the chaos and anarchy, in the course of which he rescued a British woman, did not shed tears at the loss of Muslim political sovereignty. “The fire,” he observed, “was ignited by the lowly persons before engulfing thousands of innocent families.” He dismissed them as rebels, or baghi, denounces their loot and plunder, and pours scorn on Bahadur Shah for becoming a poet in their hands. Like Ghalib, he shows contempt for the plebian riff-raff, the driving force of the Rebellion. Like the British philosopher Jeremy Bentham, their ideal was security and not liberty. “Wars and storms are best to read of, but peace and calms are better to endure.”

In short, we need to view the 1857 Rebellion not always from the point of view of the victors or the vanquished. Like the unexplored Mutiny Papers at the National Archives of India, there are other voices that are waiting to be heard. I suspect our lazy historians would continue to rely on conventional wisdom and not heed those voices.

“Ours is a domain,” wrote Lord Acton, “that reaches farther than affairs. It is our function to keep in view and to command the movement of ideas, which are not the effect but the cause of political events.” In this book, William Dalrymple deals with many themes in which ideas and actions are intertwined.