<< Prev Page  |  Main Page | Next Page >> Annexation Rupinderpal Singh Dhillon Jhelum 3  Message The stallion stretched itself, almost flying across the plains one hot July afternoon. The rider was ruthless in pressing the animal on, for he was afraid. Afraid, to be captured by Kharak Singh's supporters, or to be seen by anyone who may report to him. On his person he carried a letter from Shere Singh, the half brother of Kharak Singh, the soon to be invested ruler of Lahore. The letter was addressed to Clerk, a British political agent posted in Ludhianna. The messenger still had a good hour's travel. His horse was panting heavily, and would soon be broken. Still he knew where he could change the animal for a fresh steed. A cousin lived in a hamlet not more than fifteen minutes away. He would have to allay the man's concerns. They knew each other well enough for him to be provided with a horse while this one rested. He hated wasting good animals. He would not let this one die. The distance between Lahore and Ludhianna was great. He had travelled many days on almost as many steeds. His master Shere Singh required an answer from the British within two days. Events had sped up considerably in the capital since Maharaja Ranjit Singh had died only five days ago. The rider reflected upon why he was here. Various factions in Lahore had had their beady eyes on the throne of Greater Punjab, until now occupied by Ranjit Singh who had himself been invited by the inhabitants of Lahore to invade forty years ago. Ranjit Singh was a strong king with a reputation as a ruthless fighter and wily politician. He had managed to keep the ghost people at bay. But his own kin and people! They were greedy for the throne. This greed extended to his master, Shere Singh, the old Lion's second son. Shere Singh was respected and feared. He was also seen as arrogant and pro-British. The messenger had been in his service for years and seen him walk and talk with the ghost people visiting the court at Lahore. Shere Singh spoke their strange git-mit tongue well. Indeed the rider had learnt a few words himself. But he had no opinions about who became king. As Shere Singh's servant he had to do his bidding. It was his station in life, dictated by birth into a low caste. Not to do so would mean risking execution. As would being caught. Still the subject of who would now become king seemed strange. The Sikhs had become so use to the lion of Punjab for the last forty years. People had known for months that the Maharaja Ranjit Singh was ill. Hari Singh Nalwa did not trust the pale people and had begun a recruitment campaign using the Dal Khalsa and his battalions of the Fauj-I-Ain to gather anti-British support. Rightly he feared what Shere Singh would do. Nalwa supported Kharak Singh, as it was Ranjit Singh's wish. But for how long? Then in the corners were the Dogra brothers, Dhyan Singh and Kharak's own son Nau Nihal. There were also the Hindus and Muslims waiting on the sidelines for the fall of the Sikhs, whom they say as oppressors. The court had instantly become alive with nefarious activity once the great king took his last breath. The fact that was so, was not as yet widely known outside of the gates of Lahore. Each faction had probably sent a messenger like himself to inform those who needed to know. Troops recruited in various parts of the country. Chieftains who would side with one sibling against the next. In Shere Singh's case the pale people further a field in Ludhianna, out of the reach of Lahore's Empire on the other side of the Sutlej river. What else could the message be, but to ask the British for their support? One thing he did know. If he did not get the letter to the ghost man Clerk, he would be dead. The messenger made it just in time to the hamlet. After a short explanation of the urgency of his needs, a quick meal of Daal with warm goat's milk, his cousin swapped the horses. The messenger was on his way again. When he arrived at the brittle edges of Ludhianna he slowed down, merging with the background. His head down the horse trotted towards the British emissary's house. *      *      *      *      *      Sergeant McMurdo stood with one leg balanced perfectly on the beam traversing the wooden encasement of Clerk's house. He was a robust man, built like a bear, breast held not unlike a rooster puffed with pride playing the part of a pen's crier waking all and sundry to the new morning. It was not possible to miss McMurdo. When he inspected his men all stood to attention. This however was not all down to the image he played up to. The sergeant could be a complete beast towards his charge. He also always felt envious of his seniors. The troops based in Ludhianna knew he would never make it to officer class, if for no reason but the fact he was common, the ideal cannon fodder Wellington had used in Spain to great effect years before. This particular reason alone warranted him (in his view anyway) the right to treat the native troops with even more disdain. Furthermore he could play the rooster with the darkies. In truth he detested his post. McMurdo ate an apple, as he watched over the fence the passing faces of the heathen Indians. He tossed the core hard across the street, where the corpse of the fruit stung the face of a passer by hard. McMurdo smiled, his steely cold eyes meeting the peasant victim of his missile. Seeing the feared red coat of the British, the man quietly melted into the small crowd. McMurdo laughed out loud. " Cowards!" The bull turned his back to the quiet buzz of the late afternoon crowd and looked around Clerk's courtyard. Clerk was officially here to protect the Company's vested interests with the local leadership. He enjoyed the status of a Nabob of sorts. He also lent the troops occasionally to the local powers to gain their favours. The courtyard was speckled with the odd horse, the occasional British Redcoat, and a handful of native troops. One of them was pointing down the street towards something excitedly. McMurdo turned to view what they were looking at. At the far end of the fence a native dressed in dark sheets and a turban almost hiding his visage, had alighted from his horse and was speaking to the sepoy in charge of the gate. McMurdo pointed at one of the nearest natives and signalled him to follow him as he strode towards the stranger. On reaching the gate he slapped the sepoy hard across the back of his head. Then glared at the cloaked stranger. Eyeing him from top to toe the sergeant ascertained that he was of no threat. Still he signalled to the others to raise their rifles. " Bloody useless Indians" he muttered to himself. " What happened to ' Who goes there?' Shoot the bloody wog, don't barter with him!" For good measure he kicked the sepoy, who decided enough was enough. " But sir…" " Shut it!" then to the stranger, " Who are you and what do you want Gunga Din?" " I've a message for Clerk Sahib, sahib." The rider said in a heavy accent using some of the vocabulary he had obtained in Shere Singh's service of the git-mit tongue. " Hand it over then." He put his right hand out, curling each finger randomly towards himself. " No. I give it to the Sahib only" " Listen sunny Jim! Tell me the message. I'm the one in charge around here." || Can I trust him? || to the Sepoy in Punjabi. He had not ridden all that way to make any mistake. || You don't have a choice. Or we will have to shoot you.|| came the reply in their native language. " Oi! Don't speak in that funny tongue! Talk to me darkie!!" Out of annoyance with his sepoy he kicked him in the back of his thigh. " Okay, Sahib. But If Clerk does not get this, you will regret it." The messenger boy clearly was not afraid. McMurdo had to respect him for that. " Tell him it is from Shere Singh, son of the Shere-e-Punjab." McMurdo was not stupid. He knew who the Emperor of Punjab was. He never understood the policies of the Officer Class and merchants, but he knew this had to be important. He also knew that if he did not provide the stranger and his horse with food and water, Clerk might dress him down in front of these mongrels. If it was important. " Well what is it?" The Messenger produced a letter sealed with red wax. McMurdo could not read. He was not going to let on although he suspected these Hindus could not even read their written words, let alone English. He nodded to the guard to allow the man in and took the letter and proceeded to the house, watched by the soldiers and the stranger. He turned once to catch one of them give their water carton to the Punjabi. A turbaned servant boy opened the door. " I need to see Mister Clerk now boy." He was allowed in, and waited in the hall as the boy vanished. A few moments later the boy came back and waved McMurdo in. The sergeant puffed out his chest and strode past the boy into Clerk's study. " Sir. I have a letter for you from…" he began. " I know. I saw from the window." Clerk had his back turned to the brusque bull. He now revolved around and gently took the letter from the soldier. Breaking the seal he sat down behind his banker's desk, his eyes gliding down the page. McMurdo noticed that the writing did not look like the English letter he was use to seeing, but looked local. So the Maharaja's people could not read and write English either. Clerk could read and write in Punjabi and Urdu though. The letter was in the Gurmukhi Punjabi script used by the Sikhs. Clerk read fast. The correspondence relayed how Shere Singh required the support of the British in terms of troops, silver and weapons. In return Shere Singh would guarantee a continued strong relationship with the British as they had had with him throughout his father's reign. There would be security for the East India Company. Shere Singh needed assistance to get him to the throne. Maharaja Ranjit Singh, the Lion of the Punjab was dead. The king had died less than a week ago. This fact would soon be known across the Punjab. Shere Singh felt it was his duty to tell the company so they could make plans. For Shere Singh's benefit mainly, thought Clerk. Shere Singh did not think his brother Kharak Singh; the chosen heir would honour the treaty between the British and Shere-e-Punjab. There would be pressure from the other raja's in the court such as the Dogras. The Muslims were bound to take the opportunity to split the Sikhs. The correspondence suggested this was not too improbable. The general Nalwa had began gathering support amongst the Khalsa and would need persuading to join Shere Singh's alliance with the British. The French man Allard was likely to retire now that the king was dead. Only the Dogra, Gulab Singh and Kharak's son Nau Nihal would be able to gather any muscle to stop the British. Nau Nihal was not in Lahore and would be told the news via a messenger as Clerk had been. Clerk noted that this meant about now. Nalwa would carry on supporting Kharak. There was time however, as the new king had not been invested. Shere Singh then went on to ask Clerk to inform the governor-general Lord Auckland (whose sister Emily Eden knew him well) as soon as possible. Clerk leant back in his chair. Without Ranjit the Khalsa would be lost as their rajas and generals fought amongst themselves for control. Intrigue raced in their veins whenever there was no war. There had been peace for the last four decades. The king had the foresight to run a secular government, but had placed no knew ideas or system to replace him. He had been the gel that held the whole territory together. Muslims populated the majority of Lahore. It could pay to entice them onto the British side, Clerk pondered. McMurdo was staring at him intently. McMurdo watched Clerk produce a cinder box and ignite the letter, which he took to the fireplace and threw it in. " Sergeant, that man is to be fed and provided with provisions. Make provisions for his horse as well." " But sir.." Somewhat annoyed as he was going to do this anyway. " No buts McMurdo. Do as you are asked. This is of significant importance. I need a courier to go to Patiala forthwith. I Know the Governor - General Lord Auckland is presently resident there." " Yes Sir." Clerk sat down and drafted a letter. McMurdo watched him, wondering what was so important that the Governor - General needed to know " Forthwith". Clerk was writing fast. He placed his quill down and reviewed what he had written. " To Lord Auckland. Dear Sir, I have some important news to convey to you. The Maharaja of Punjab and Kashmir has expired in Lahore. He has chosen Kharak Singh, who you will remember as that rather puny and weak man that is constantly sick. In my opinion he poses no political threat to us or anyone else for that matter. We do have one advantage with this man on the throne. His first minister is Dhyan Singh who is friendly with the East India Company. Dhyan is also hated by Nau Nihal and not trusted by any of the generals, such as Nalwa. Chet Singh and the Dogras are also likely to destabilise the monarchy. It is not clear to me yet whether a Muslim rebellion is on the cards or to our advantage. This needs to be thought out. If Shere Singh can maintain his influence in the court, access for company troops across the Sutlej river will remain and we can probably set up camp near the Khyber pass to control the Afghan border and any Russian activity. My advice is to support Shere Singh and encourage him like Cassius did Brutus. But I think it unwise to help him directly and openly to the throne. The Khalsa have been recruiting actively this year. The Sikhs do not have their shrewd leader anymore and feel insecure. The military might of these people can not be underestimated. The damn veterans of Napoleon’s campaigns have trained them. Their father had employed the services of Frenchmen such as Allard, and Russians. There are estimated to be forty thousand men in the regular army. They have a practised artillery arm of four hundred guns and the centre of their forces the zealous Khalsa army. Its standards with the guns are at least on par with our own native army. As Ludhianna is on our side of the river we are safe. But I suggest an increase in the garrison." He now raised the quill again. McMurdo shifted uneasily. Stupid man! The lower classes were useful but just did not understand policy. Which natives to treat with disdain and which with respect. Class and status was more important than colour or religion. This rule only did not apply with an Englishman's apparent equivalent amongst the natives. Clearly then the conqueror was superior. The British obsession with hierarchy suited the Maharajahs of India too. The caste system in India made it so that the majority of people were no better than working tools for the Brahmin and Kshatri classes, equivalent to the upper echelons of the British military, Industrialists and Merchants who used the company for their financial gain mainly by conquest. Not they had conquered all of India yet. The company's tentacles clasped kingdoms far and wide. Trading with the locals by selling them their own resources after being manufactured into finished goods through British superior industry was the key to success. This was policy. Backing one Nawab raja against another, depending upon economic comparative advantage. The company who gained for themselves and its coffers had employed many rogues and plunders. It was policy to move Clerk on now to another post. He was to be replaced by George Broadfoot and Richard Cust. Clerk had grown to love the Punjab and its people. He understood their thought patterns. Always three faced. He understood their caste system, which in his opinion was better managed than the British class system. He would miss the place. At least he was not required to move instantly. His replacement must be introduced to the post and educated beyond his brief before the transfer. Clerk understood them to be very able. But the biggest change in forty years in a land they did not know, miles away from Cawnpore or Delhi would put them at a disadvantage without him staying on for a while. No he should not be bitter. He should advice the governor-general-general accordingly. The quill returned to the paper. " I would advise that General Radcliffe's Dragoons accompany G Broadfoot and R Cust to Ludhianna and reinforce our troops. Most of Punjab will soon know. The funeral rites are probably been carried out now. I suggest I stay on a while to assist them. Please inform me of how station Ludhianna should proceed. Yours Sincerely, E Clerk " McMurdo's wondering did not last too long, as Williams sealed a new letter and handed it over to him. " This is to be handed over to Lord Auckland." " I'll get my best man on this, Sir." " No, this correspondence is vital. You must go to Patiala. Take those two sepoys with you…" "Sir, I don't.." "..want to travel with them? Is that it?" " No, I mean, Patiala is a day's ride..and.." " Take your best horses. I think the company there may suit your temperament better. Harry, do you know that for everyone of us there are two hundred of them? Consider it. We need them to do our work. At times I can condone your behaviour. But sometimes it is not the right way. The company is out here to make a profit for its investors. The Empire needs as much influence amongst these Maharajahs. We use them to rule for us? Understood? That messenger will convey your behaviour to his master, whom we have convinced that we are more civilised than his people. I saw what happened from the window. Did you give the sepoy a chance to tell you what was happening? I thought so. Now fetch the Punjabi. I want to see him. Radcliffe is in Patiala at the moment. Maybe a few weeks with him will provide you with a change of scenery.." " Sir, I like it here." " Then start winning your men over to your side without using fear will you. I have enough problems here. When the time is right you will get your way. Go on, find a fast horse and send your best man then." Was he wasting his time trying to even explain to this common man? " Sir!" McMurdo saluted and left. Bloody Clerk! Never mind, the sergeant liked it here, and here he would stay. He would just have to be more careful. He had no attention of leaving a city where he had his own Indian concubine and clout. Still Clerk would most probably be transferred at some point. They always are. Radcliffe did sound like a good proposition though. McMurdo had heard a fair few things about him. Now then, Peter Brown was a good rider. He ought to send those two sepoys with him though. Shere Singh's message had been expediently conveyed to Clerk as he wished. Now it was going further up to inform those in charge. Clerk knew that ultimately it was meant for Lord Auckland's eyes, as Shere Singh and Emily Eden, the Governor - General's sister were good friends. Clerk was the British Political agent in Ludhianna and Lahore's contact with British Empire, in so far as it existed in India at this time. The British had lost one Empire in the new world. What had begun as trade for the silver of the Maharajahs and Nawabs over a hundred years ago, slowly led to strong influence as power in Delhi weakened and local lords fought each other either with French or British assistance. This eventually resulted in Lord Robert Clive grasping victory at Plassey and establishing a power base in Calcutta. Many alliances had been formed since then as British control outdid French influence. The Punjab had enjoyed peace with the upcoming Empire in guise of the East India Company. It was now needed as an ally. Clerk knew what to convey to the Dead Maharajah's son, and thus had had the Punjabi messenger called in for one more errand. An alliance needed to be made quickly. Clerk knew the Indians were a treacherous bunch for whom self-interest ruled all decisions. He was already confident with what Lord Auckland would decide and thus now sent an appropriate message to the Sikh who would be King. Lahore would be as full of intrigue now as a Roman Play.