The Lovely
Thakurin

The last attempt by the Mahrattas to dispute the dominion of India with the British ended on 3 June 1818, when the Peshwa of Poona, the principal Mahratta chief, surrendered to Sir John Malcolm at Dhulkot in central India. The Peshwa was forbidden to return to the Deccan, but was exiled to Bithur, near Cawnpore, where he was provided with an annual stipend of £100,000 as some solace for the death of all his hopes. 'With him,' wrote Fortescue, 'the great Mahratta confederacy, which, but for the British would have mastered all India, passed finally away.' It had indeed been a remarkable saga, beginning as far back as Sivaji (1627–80), who raised the standard of revolt against the Mughuls and made his people the ruling power in the Deccan;¹ and it is sad that it should have ended amid a welter of palace intrigue and in alliance with a worthless collection of banditti like the Pindaris.

However, there still remained the Arab mercenaries, who refused to surrender, and the great fortress of Asirgarh which is situated midway between the Narbada and Tapti rivers. Asirgarh was a place of great natural strength, belonging to Maharajah Scindiah of Gwalior, and held for him by his kiladar, or fortress commander, Jaswant Rao. Although Scindiah had ostensibly ordered Jaswant Rao to surrender his charge to the British, he secretly directed him to hold the fort in support of Apa Sahib, who was still in arms against the British, and to Asirgarh there came all that remained of the Pindaris, as well as the few Mahrattas remaining in the field and their Arab mercenaries. The fortress towered 1,500 feet above the plain, and it was said that 'none but the hawk or lark ever saw inside Asirgarh'. When John Shipp arrived outside the walls with the Bengal column, he concluded that any idea of climbing up to such a place, or breaching its walls, seemed absurd.

And yet the fortress was captured by a combined force of Bombay, Madras, and Bengal troops under General Doveton and Sir John Malcolm, after a siege lasting from 18 March until 7 April 1818. Neither Apa Sahib, nor Chitu the Pindari, were among the prisoners, having made their escape before the final surrender.

The British casualties were astonishingly light, amounting to one officer killed² and ten wounded, while 46 men were killed and 256 wounded; of these the Bengal column lost 36 killed and 108 wounded, the greater part of whom belonged to the 2/15th BNI who were killed or injured by the accidental explosion of an expense magazine.

Sita Ram was present at the siege and narrowly escaped death when the magazine blew up. His uncle, Jemadar Hanuman, was buried under the debris and never seen again, while 'Burrumpeel' sahib had a miraculous escape. Sita Ram was so badly injured that he was once again unfit for duty. He was carried in a litter to Aligarh in the UP and subsequently decided to volunteer for a new unit which was being raised at Fategarh. He probably thought that his uncle's death would remove any influence he had in his own regiment. The Fategarh Levy which he joined eventually became the 63rd and 64th BNI in the reorganization of 1824. Since he says that he did not report for duty at Fategarh until July 1820, he must have spent a long period at Aligarh on sick leave, or light duties.

Only a small cadre of British officers was provided to raise new units, and Sita Ram has a lot to say about his new commanding officer who was killed in a duel. Major 'Gardeen', as Sita Ram calls him, seems to have been a difficult officer, hot-tempered and overconscious of his own importance, but long service in India has always been notoriously hard on the liver. In any case many of us can recall without much difficulty others of his type. Sir Patrick Cadell has endeavoured to identify 'Gardeen', but without success.³

In this chapter Sita Ram also tells us of the great romance of his life—his rescue of a beautiful Rajput girl of good family who was about to be put to death by the Arab soldier who had forcibly made her his mistress. She was the daughter of a minor Rajput chieftain (Thakur) from Bundelkhand, and her honour had been indelibly disgraced by the indignities to which she had had to submit, both as a woman, and also as a high caste Hindu lady at the hands of a Mahommedan. After various vicissitudes Sita Ram married her, though by a less formal marriage than that with his first wife, and by her he had several children.

Although we tried every means to dislodge the enemy [from Ahanpura], we made little progress for a considerable time, but at last the few remaining enemy escaped down a ravine, and these were nearly all Mahrattas. While running along a lane in the village, I came upon the enclosure of a house and entered it, expecting to find it deserted. However I surprised an Arab in the very act of killing a girl who was kneeling at his feet and imploring him to spare her life. The moment he saw me he shouted out, 'Not yet!', and rushed at me like a tiger. He came so frantically that he transfixed himself on my bayonet before I could recover my surprise. I then fired my musket and blew a great hole in his chest, but even after this he managed in his dying struggles to give me a severe cut on my arm. These men live like jackals and they fight like Ghazis.⁴

The girl threw herself at my feet and embraced my legs. She was in reality, with regard to beauty, what my wife's nurse had described my wife to be! I asked her who she was, and where she came from, and where her friends and relations were? She told me she was the daughter of a Thakur⁵ in Bundelkhand, by name Mokum Singh. She had been carried off by the Pindaris who had sold her to this Arab, who had forced her to become his mistress. Her father had been killed, and many of her relations also, while defending their property. She also assured me that the survivors would never receive her back as she was disgraced beyond redemption, and she ended her sad story by telling me that I was her Lord and now her only protector.

The village had been set on fire and smoke was coming in dense clouds into the enclosure. I hastily bound up my arm with the turban of the dead Arab, and taking his sword as proof that I had slain him, I led the little fawn through the unburnt part of the village and rejoined my company. But I did not know what to do with the girl since I knew I should not be allowed to keep her with me. Our force retired some miles after the fight and camped behind Ahanpura. I told my uncle about my adventure and he advised me to abandon the girl and not encumber myself with a woman in these times of war. But how could I have left her in the village to be burnt to death? I went to my Captain and told him of the affair. He praised me very much and ordered the girl to be placed in the care of the man in charge of our followers.⁶

This young creature rode my pony but remained in the care of the head follower. I saw her every day and my heart became inflamed with love, for she was beautiful to look on and always called me her protector. I am an old man now but never before nor since have I seen any woman like her, not even in Delhi. For a week or more no notice was taken of me nor the girl, but at the end of this time the Adjutant sent for me and told me I could not keep her because women were not permitted to accompany the forces. At this my mind was filled with sadness and my heart became a target for the arrows of despair. I pleaded that if she remained with the followers, the girl could give no trouble, nor put the Sirkar to any expense. The Adjutant then proposed to give me one hundred rupees for her, and ended by offering four hundred rupees⁷ if I would give her up. But I could not bring myself to part with her although I now foresaw that I should soon lose her. My uncle strongly advised me to get rid of her as she would only bring disgrace on me. For the first time my uncle and I nearly had a quarrel. How true was the warning given me by the priest Duleep Ram: 'More men are entangled by the wiles of a woman than fish in the net of the most skilful fisherman. The arrows from their eyes wound more than the poisoned arrows of the Bhil.'⁸

If I had been in cantonments nothing would have been known, and no-one would have cared about my keeping this girl. Many of the sepoys constantly had women living with them, and the sahibs never forbade this because the women were all put down as relations. Had 'Burrumpeel' sahib asked me for her, it might have been different, but he never did this. He praised me for my kind action, took me to the Colonel, and told him about my killing the Arab. I presented the sword to the Colonel who was graciously pleased to accept it. At the same time he promised me promotion as soon as possible, and ordered me to be made a lance naik at once. This gave me no increase of pay, but I now had command of four men, and wore a stripe, and of course felt more important.⁹

My regiment marched from one hill fort to the next, sometimes with artillery and European troops attached to us, and at other times on our own. Once or twice we were repulsed, and in one engagement two officers were shot dead, and four wounded. Among the latter was the Adjutant sahib who received a severe cut from a sword in his right shoulder. These Arabs had been in Apa Sahib's service and were so highly esteemed for their bravery that they were paid twice as much as we sepoys. They were now fighting on their own account because they would not obey Apa Sahib's orders to give themselves up. Since no sahib could speak their language, and as they were always spoken to through a Mahommedan priest who pretended to know their speech, I think they did not properly understand the Government's surrender terms. These terms were that they should lay down their arms and leave India, but this order, whether they understood it or not, was never obeyed. They fought to the last, never asking for nor giving quarter. They destroyed nearly three entire companies of a newly-raised regiment, the 2nd battalion of the 10th under Major 'Esparks', having previously refused an offer to surrender under a white flag.¹⁰ Brigadier-General Adams sahib subsequently avenged this treachery and annihilated the party of Arabs and Gonds who were under their chief, Chyn Sab. Other engagements followed in which they were defeated, and then a truce was made, but this was soon broken.

The Sirkar now had a large army with plenty of artillery. The fort of Hasser¹¹ was summoned to surrender but its governor, Jaswant Rao, would not listen to any terms and was determined to hold out to the last. He was a very brave man.¹² An English officer went down to the gateway to persuade Jaswant Rao to surrender; he pointed out that Maharajah Scindiah was a friend of the British, and master of the governor of the fortress, but no heed was paid to his words. Jaswant Rao was so confident in the strength of the fortress, and the bravery of his Arabs, that the officer was insulted and a shot was fired at him in defiance. This treatment of one of their officers enraged the British soldiers so much that they were keen to take the fortress by storm. It was very strong and had walls of great thickness. It stood on a hill, one thousand feet high, and all the approaches were exposed to a galling fire from the garrison. Many of the sepoys believed that it would stand a long siege, but my uncle told me that the Company had already taken it once [in 1803], and now that they had assembled such a strong army with so many heavy guns, it would easily be taken again.

Until now my luck had been good, but even so I could not look on the fortifications without feeling some fear. My liver turned to water. The siege was opened by our heavy artillery, and the enemy made frequent sallies, but our shells (which were a new weapon for them) caused dreadful havoc among them. Great chunks of the fortifications came tumbling down, while the perpetual thunder of the guns was like the onset of the monsoon. A Colonel 'Frasan' sahib¹³ forced his way into the town and took possession of some merchants' shops for two or three days, but he was killed while repulsing an enemy sortie. The morning after this happened the citadel was abandoned by the enemy and my regiment was ordered to occupy it. We were running forward to do this when the enemy suddenly blew up a mine under our feet.¹⁴ I was blown up into the air and became unconscious. I knew nothing, saw nothing, nor heard anything for a long time. When I recovered consciousness I found two European artillerymen pulling me out of the rubble by my legs, and one of them forced some rum down my throat. They took me to a sahib, and I was sent back to hospital to die. My legs were not broken, but my left arm hung powerless by my side, and I had four severe cuts on my head from bricks or flying wood. I consider that I may count these as wounds, and this means that I have been seven times wounded in the service of the Sirkar.

I cannot say how many days I lay in that tent. The guns continued to thunder day after day, but one morning they ceased and on the day this happened I partially recovered my speech. I asked about my uncle and the fate of my company, and was horror-struck to be told by a wounded sepoy of my regiment that every man had been killed except for myself, Tillukdaree Gheer, Kadir Bux, and Deonarain. There were also four men away on guard duty who escaped, but forty-seven men were killed by this terrible explosion.

How right I was to have been afraid before the siege! My mind was oppressed with grief. My uncle's body was never found; the ruin was so widespread and there was no time to clear away the rubbish. How I longed to go and search for his body but I could move neither hand nor foot. The hospital tents were so full of wounded at this time that the officers even gave up their own tents for the wounded. My Captain was very kind to me, and Captain 'Burma' sahib¹⁵ who was seriously wounded was in the same tent as me. 'Burrumpeel' sahib had had a miraculous escape. Although he was only a few yards from the mine when it exploded, he was thrown down, and nearly suffocated with earth, but otherwise was unhurt. Number 2 Company was destined to be destroyed. Number 1 Company had gone over the same mine a few moments before it blew up. The fort was taken and I was told all kinds of people were found inside it—Arabs, Baluchis, men from Kabul, and others. The Sirkar again failed to punish Jaswant Rao, but allowed him to go free. I asked my Captain why Jaswant was not executed, and he replied that he had only obeyed the orders of his master, Maharajah Scindiah, who had pretended to be a friend of the Company Bahadur, but who was in reality its enemy. He would be the one to be punished. The justice of this Government is indeed remarkable, and its conduct inexplicable. What is the use of fighting if you do not destroy your enemy? These were strange customs for the people we were fighting. They thought the Sirkar was crazy for showing mercy, and they sought in every way to take advantage of their kindness and often succeeded. But Lord Malcolm sahib¹⁶ was such a mighty chief that they seldom deceived him. There were few Lord sahibs like him. It only goes to prove what I have already said—the sahibs and the European soldiers like fighting for the sake of fighting. And as for the latter, providing they have enough of their beloved grog they are happy. War is an amusement, or kind of game, so far as they are concerned.

This war being now finished, the army broke up and the different regiments marched to their stations. My battalion was ordered to Aligarh, and I was carried all the way in a hospital litter. I could have got sick leave again at my home but for certain reasons I did not want to go just then. I was allowed to live in a hut by myself and the young Thakurin lived with me and looked after me. I was happier than I had ever been in my own home, and within a few months I had recovered sufficiently to be able to walk.

Several new battalions were being raised at this time for the Government, and my Colonel sahib told me that if I felt inclined to join one of these battalions, I could gain promotion to naik. Since my good and kind uncle was dead, and nearly all my comrades in my company as well, I decided to leave my old corps. But I felt the most painful thing in my undertaking was leaving my Captain sahib. There was only one 'Burrum-peel' sahib who ever left England, and he was in my old regiment.

I joined the headquarters of the new battalion at Fategarh in July 1820, and found it consisted of only two companies made up from men of different regiments as a foundation for the new regiment the Sirkar intended to form. There were only two British officers, Major 'Gardeen' sahib, and the Adjutant. The Major was very tall and dark. He was in the habit of coming on parade in shooting dress¹⁷ and throwing his heavy stick at the recruits' heads, and sometimes even at the drill instructors' if they did anything to annoy him. As a result he was much disliked, but also feared. He told the Indian officers that he had been removed from his own regiment against his wishes and sent to command them and he hated them all. In fact, through fear of him we only recruited forty men in four months. After this we were given four more sahibs from other regiments and three new cadets. More men also arrived and the drill commenced.

The Major sahib was not liked by the English officers;

they never spoke to him before or after parade, nor did they seem associate with him in any way. The only person he appeared to be friends with was an old butler, and no-one knew why this man had so much influence over the sahib. However I do know that any sepoy wanting leave, or any other favour, always tried to secure the good graces of the butler to put in a good word to his master. One day when I was on guard at his house the Major was about to start smoking his hookah in the evening; the tobacco would not draw, and he flew into a violent passion, throwing the lighted bowl at the hookahbadar's head.¹⁸ The red-hot charcoal rolled over the room and set fire to the floor matting, which in turn set fire to a tent in the next room. The servants and the guard rushed in and managed to extinguish the flames, but the tent was nearly destroyed. Throughout this scene the sahib never moved from his chair, but then the butler came and spoke to him and his rage subsided in an instant. However, giving way to his irritation had cost him dear, for the tent was almost new and must have been worth three hundred rupees. We endeavoured to discover the secret of the butler's influence over this sahib but we never succeeded. Some said he was a near relation.

There was no doubt that the Major was slightly mad. His habits were quite different from other sahibs. He used to walk up and down his veranda for hours at a time, with his hands behind his back, muttering to himself and kicking the wall with his foot every time he turned round. He spoke our language perfectly but his chief delight lay in teasing our recruits. He would make them tell him whether they were married or not, and also the names of their wives, which is a great shame for a Hindu to mention. I could also see that his attitude towards the other officers of the regiment was very odd. The Adjutant sahib was never allowed to sit in his presence, while his servant never offered a chair to any of the sahibs who came to see him unless the Major told him to do so.

An officer now joined the regiment who was quite as old in appearance as the Major and I happened to be on guard at the Major's house when this officer came to pay a call. I was curious to see whether the Major would offer him a chair, but he remained standing for a short time, and then took one himself and sat down. A storm of abuse then followed and I saw the Captain strike the Major and knock him down. He then left speaking very loudly. The following morning, while returning from the fields,¹⁹ I saw four officers behind the rifle butts. They were some way from the lines and near some gullies. Since the officers were often in the habit of practising with their pistols, I did not take much notice at first. But as I drew nearer I saw that the Major and the Captain were both present and, as I knew it was the custom among the British officers to fire pistols at each other in the event of a quarrel, I stopped to see what was happening. The Major was placed a short distance in front of the Captain by another officer, and there was another officer attending upon the Captain. They both fired and the Major fell forward on his face. I now ran up and found that the Major was dead. He had been shot through the head. I went to the hospital for a litter and the news was round the lines in a moment. The Major was carried to his own house and was buried in the evening. The only person who seemed to be affected was the butler. No sahib's face displayed any grief.²⁰

How curious are the customs of these foreigners! Here, in this case, no revenge was taken at the time when they were heated with anger, nor was the fight with swords. No words were spoken, nor was there any abuse. The sahibs were as cool and collected as when on parade. I did not know at the time that the officer attending on the Major was a great friend of the Captain, and both the attendant officers spoke to each other, and were friends, as they shared the same house. The English have very strict rules about honour and if insulted they must fight, since otherwise they are never spoken to by their brother officers again. In those days the sahibs often fought one another, and after the fight they frequently became greater friends than ever. I have not heard of sahibs fighting each other in recent years; if they do, it is done secretly, as if nowadays they are ashamed to be seen. But I believe the real reason is that they fear the new rules about duelling. The sahib who now takes part in a duel is tried by Court Martial and dismissed the service without any excuse being taken. I have heard that the King of England was forced to put an end to this habit because he lost so many good officers from it, and the family of the dead sahib had to be supported by the state. I cannot imagine how they can fight after their tempers have cooled, but this, like everything else they do, is managed by their remarkable arrangement of their affairs. The European soldiers do not fight among themselves with pistols; they use their fists instead, which is just as dangerous for I have known several men to be killed. After their fights, however, they soon become friends again, but even among the soldiers they lose face if they refuse to fight.

Another officer was sent to command the regiment. He was Colonel 'Hamilteen' sahib. He was quite different from the Major and was popular with both officers and the soldiers. The regiment was now a thousand strong and composed of fine, tall young men. For two or three years nothing much happened except that we marched to Meerut. I had spent a lot of money in order that the Thakurin could regain her caste, and I was married to her by the ceremony called gardab.²¹ While we were at Meerut 'a joy of the world' was born to me—a son!

. . . I saw four officers behind the rifle butts'