Empire of the Sikhs (33 page)

The strategies devised to subvert the Sikh state ranged from actively encouraging dissensions within the Durbar to a military showdown, with Sikh forces now weakened by their infighting. The British did everything possible to make Punjab's annexation appear a noble undertaking, even though it took many unworthy moves to achieve it.

To start with, in a General Proclamation of 20 August 1847, the governor-general, Lord Henry Hardinge, announced that he felt ‘the interest of a father in the education and guardianship of the young Prince [Dalip Singh]' and that ‘he had at heart the peace and security of this country [the Punjab], the firm establishment of the State, and the honour of the Maharaja and his ministers'. In order ‘to maintain the administration of the Lahore State during the minority of the Maharajah' the governor-general was armed with supreme and plenary power, and was ‘at liberty to occupy with British soldiers such possessions as he may think fit, for the security of the capital, for the protection of the Maharajah,
and the preservation of the peace of the country'. The British resident was placed at the head of the administration with ‘full authority to direct and control all matters in every department of the State'.
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This excerpt from the secret papers maintained by the British places in perspective the many devious means by which the British created their Indian empire. The possession of Punjab is justified because of the governor-general's fatherly interest in the ‘education and guardianship of the young Prince', to ensure which it will be necessary to bring peace and security to the state and country. Peace and security, of course, will require the presence of British soldiers, who will after all be for ‘the protection of the Maharaja'. To quote the American historian Barbara Tuchman on this particular English talent: ‘Official histories record every move in monumental and infinite detail but the details serve to obscure … other nations attempt but never quite achieve the same self-esteem. It was not by might but by the power of her self-image that Britain in her century dominated the world.'
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In planning moves towards the annexation of Punjab after Ranjit Singh's death, no limits were set to encouraging betrayals in the Sikh ranks, nor entering into squalid deals of any kind. Even some British writers, although very few, have shown qualms at their compatriots' use of traitors among their adversaries in the pursuit of military and political ends. ‘The Sikh Army fought valiantly and stubbornly,' writes one British military historian, ‘in spite of poor generalship from commanders who, for political reasons, did not want to win the war and were constantly in touch with the British commanders to ensure them of that fact.'
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When Ranjit Singh died in 1839 the British governor-general at the time was Lord Auckland (March 1836-February 1842) who was succeeded by the Earl of Ellenborough (February 1842-June 1844) and then by Lord Hardinge (July 1844-January 1848) who distinguished himself in the Battle of Waterloo, after which he was
awarded Napoleon's sword by the Duke of Wellington, the trophy the duke himself had won at Waterloo. ‘Many years afterwards,' we are told by a later member of the family, ‘he [Hardinge] wore Napoleon's sword in the battles of the Sutlej; and when matters appeared desperate during the eventful night of the 21st December, 1845, he sent his surgeon with it to a place of safety, lest it should fall into the hands of the Sikhs.'
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Lord Ellenborough, a relative of Lord Hardinge by marriage, was recalled in 1844. He was quite elated because he felt that at the end of his term he had left India in a ‘state of profound peace'. But would this peace last? And for how long? In June 1844, at a farewell dinner in England for Lord Hardinge who was on his way to India as the next governor-general, the chairman of the Company's court of directors observed in his speech that ‘By our latest intelligence we are induced to hope that peace will be preserved in India … we feel confident that, while ever ready to maintain unimpaired the honour of the country and the supremacy of our arms, your policy will be essentially pacific. It has always been the desire of the Court that the government of the East India Company should be eminently just, moderate, and conciliatory; but the supremacy of our power must be maintained when necessary by the force of our arms.'
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A former financial commissioner of Punjab reminisces in 1883: ‘To our officers the prospect of a big fight was cheering: they believed the hordes of wild horsemen, dashing against their disciplined infantry, would break like waves beating against rocks. And the men? Well, the white soldiers had faith in themselves and the sepoys in the sahibs and their guns.'
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So much for an ‘eminently just, moderate, and conciliatory approach'. These two statements point up the difference between what was professed and what was actually practised by the rulers of nineteenth-century India. The two wars between the British and the Sikhs were a matter of touch and go for the British, and
had they not resorted to every dubious tactic in the book the outcome would have been entirely different for them.

Yet when the history of those times is read in the accounts of British historians the verbal nobility so beloved of their nation comes through at every turn, referring to actions of men of influence in the British administration that were questionable to say the least. While some British writers had the integrity to point to the misdeeds of their countrymen when battle was finally joined between the two armies, few indeed wrote of how betrayals in the enemy's forces were encouraged to turn the tide of war in Britain's favour. The one outstanding example of a member of the British establishment of the time who exposed British moves for what they were was Captain J.D. Cunningham, dismissed from service for his pains and sent back to his regiment in disgrace for daring to expose the misdeeds of his countrymen. This former additional aide-de-camp to the governor-general during the Sabraon battle died within two years of being removed from office – of a broken heart, it is said – at the age of thirty-nine.

What were the misdeeds of his countrymen that Cunningham exposed and that earned him the severe displeasure of his countrymen? In the Battle of Sabraon, the fourth and last battle of the First Anglo-Sikh War, fought on 10 February 1846, the British used secret deals and every conceivable form of deceit to help them to emerge victorious over the Sikh forces. The methods they used led Cunningham to record them in disgust in his
History of the Sikhs
(1849). What this young officer found utterly distasteful was the understanding Governor-General Hardinge had reached with Gulab Singh whereby the latter would ensure the defeat of his own side and facilitate the victory of the British. Cunningham found it indecent ‘that the Sikh army should be attacked by the English, and that when beaten it should be openly abandoned by its own government; and further that the passage of the Sutlej should be unopposed and the road to the capital laid open to the visitors.
Under such circumstances of discreet policy and shameless treason was the Battle of Sabraon fought.'
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This can hardly be the line of action enjoined upon the Company's various governor-generals selected to serve in India or the advice that the chairman of the Company's court of directors gave to Lord Hardinge at his farewell dinner before he left for India. Yet it was the same Hardinge who entered into the infamous understanding with Gulab Singh before the Battle of Sabraon. Even after Sabraon, which opened the road to Lahore, there was no change in the unbecoming conduct of the English. Unequivocal evidence exists, which includes the army chief Sir Hugh Gough's dispatches, showing how Gulab Singh was persuaded by the British to betray the Sikh government – of which he was the prime minister – in return for many British favours, the sale of Kashmir to him and his investiture as Maharaja being the most notorious.

British plans to dismember the Sikh state were initiated with infinite attention to detail soon after the Old Lion's death. The first and foremost step taken – which had been honed to perfection over the centuries – was not only to identify and win over, by whatever means possible, those in the Lahore Durbar who were susceptible to treasonous offers but to create further rivalries and rifts which were already beginning to weaken the Lahore Durbar, the once formidable centre of Sikh power.

The one man with ideal qualifications for the British was Gulab Singh. To begin with, he was a great survivor. While his brothers Dhian Singh and Suchet Singh, no less wily than Gulab Singh, had not survived the many purges that had been rife after Ranjit Singh's death, Gulab Singh had survived them all. He had also amassedan immense fortune during these turbulent times, in addition to lands and estates in Jammu. At the zenith of their power the Dogras of Jammu held
jagirs
worth an annual revenue
of 1,897,379 rupees – Gulab Singh 737,287 rupees, Hira Singh 462,115 rupees, Suchet Singh 306,865 rupees and Dhian Singh 291,112 rupees. Of the approximate total national revenue of 32,475,000 rupees at Ranjit Singh's death in 1839, the Jammu brothers contributed about one-third from farms, tributes and monopolies.
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Gulab Singh was aptly described as a man ‘whose aspirations left no room for pangs of conscience or purity of ideals'. It did not take the British long to identify him as their most likely instrument of policy so far as annexation of the Punjab was concerned, even though they were mistrustful of his ambitions. Wedded to their old adage of there being no permanent friends or enemies but only permanent interests, however, they were quite prepared to continue to deal with him. He was to prove the ideal ally to help them dismantle the state his mentor had so single-mindedly built.

Two other men who now occupied centre stage but had not held any significant office during Ranjit Singh's time were the two Brahmins, Lal Singh and Tej Singh. While Tej Singh was from the Gangetic Plain, Lal Singh came from the Gandhara Valley; both had risen in the Lahore Durbar through devious means. Yet in November 1845, in a supremely ironic twist of fate, Lal Singh was chosen as prime minister and Tej Singh as commander-in-chief of the Sikh army. Both would grievously betray the Sikh state. There were a number of others whom the British had cannily lined up to help them subvert and put an end to the Sikh empire, but the roles of these three traitors were crucial to the realization of British goals.

It is axiomatic of life's mysterious ways that seldom do events of any momentous significance occur without triggering off equally noteworthy incidents in response. Ranjit Singh's death, and the self-destructive moves and betrayals of his successors, not only put paid to his dream of a strong, secular and impregnable Sikh state but made a mockery of a supremely confident and proud people inspired by ideals of their faith. Unheeding of those
who were pressing on Punjab's borders eager to lay hands on its riches, the Sikhs, already vulnerable because of their infighting, were made even more so by the traitors in their midst. The real tragedy for them was the lack of character shown by Ranjit Singh's own kin, as seen in the previous chapter.

Long before these events the wily George Clerk had been busily at work on Britain's long-term interests, and he most likely had a hand in the death of Chet Singh, Kharak Singh's right-hand man. Chet Singh, according to British intelligence, was opposed to the East India Company's demand for the passage of its troops through Punjab, so Clerk's advice to his moles in the Lahore court had been to get rid of him. ‘I proved to them that they may effectively remove him,' wrote Clerk in a revealing confidential dispatch to Lord Auckland. Clerk gave encouragement to rival parties against each other.
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The classic British ploy of divide and rule.

This matter of passage of troops had to do with a tripartite agreement that Ranjit Singh had signed with the East India Company and Shah Shuja on 26 June 1838, agreeing on an Anglo-Sikh double invasion of Afghanistan with the idea of putting Shah Shuja on the throne of Kabul, the British having persuasively used the familiar argument of a ‘looming Russian threat' to Afghanistan and northern India. One arm of the planned invasion was to be led by Shah Shuja with British support and the other was to be a thrust by Sikh troops via Peshawar. Lord Auckland did succeed in restoring Shah Shuja to Kabul's throne on 7 August 1839, but so much against the wishes of the Afghan people as to lead to the first Afghan War, which proved disastrous for the British. While Ranjit Singh had learnt of Kandahar's fall in April 1839, news of the capture of Kabul and Ghazni had reached Lahore only after his death on 27 June 1839. The troops for whom Clerk was seeking passage through Punjab were British forces beginning to return
from Afghanistan to their positions south of the Sutlej at the end of 1839, although full British withdrawal from Afghanistan would not take place until October 1842.
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