Showing posts with label British India. Show all posts
Showing posts with label British India. Show all posts

Saturday, 20 June 2026

Book Review: “Shattered Lands: Five Partitions and the Making of Modern Asia” by Sam Dalrymple

 

Sam Dalrymple’s Shattered Lands is a debut history book that reframes the end of the British Indian Empire as a series of five interconnected partitions between roughly 1937 and 1971.

The book tells the story of how a vast, sprawling "Indian Empire", administratively uniting what became modern India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Myanmar (Burma), and even Gulf protectorates like parts of Aden, Oman, the UAE, Qatar, Bahrain, and Kuwait under British rule from Bombay or Delhi, fragmented into about a dozen nations in a relatively short period. Rather than treating the 1947 India-Pakistan Partition in isolation (the most famous and traumatic), Dalrymple integrates it into a broader narrative of imperial unravelling driven by hasty British decisions, nationalist movements, personal ambitions of leaders, and geopolitical pressures.

The five partitions that S. Dalrymple delves into are Burma's separation (1937), Separation of Arab/Gulf protectorates and Aden (around 1937–1947), The Great Partition of 1947 (India/Pakistan), the integration/absorption of 550+ princely states into independent India and finally, the breakup of Pakistan and the creation of Bangladesh (1971).

S. Dalrymple draws on deep archival research, untranslated memoirs, interviews across languages (including Bengali, Urdu, Burmese, Arabic, Konyak), and personal stories to humanize the events. He emphasizes how these were not ancient ethnic/religious inevitabilities but modern, top-down decisions in committee rooms and war cabinets, often by outsiders or elites detached from the human cost. The prose is vivid, cinematic, and narrative-driven,  blending big-picture geopolitics with individual tales of loss, exile, resistance, and reinvention. It highlights ongoing legacies: disputed borders (e.g., Kashmir), insurgencies, stateless people, suppressed memories, and how these fractures still shape South Asian (and broader Asian) conflicts and identities today.

Overall, S. Dalrymple tries to show that modern South Asian borders are recent, artificial, and born of empire's hasty retreat rather than primordial hatreds,  a "tragic tale" of shattered unity, dispossession, and foreclosed possibilities, yet one told with energy and colour.

S. Dalrymple’s narrative is compelling and unputdownable, his prose is vivid and cinematic, his storytelling has strong character development through the deployment of quotes. S. Dalrymple is the first historian (that I know of) who has connected the five partitions that took place in the sub-continent into a single story, linking Burma to Gulf to Bangladesh.

Shattered Lands is full of trivia about various politicians ranging from Gandhi to Jinnah to Nehru and the roles they played in the various partitions of this sub-continent. After reading Shattered Lands, my opinion of a number of leading figures has changed, in a few instances, substantially. I will not spoil it for you by disclosing more in this review, but will leave it to you to read this excellent book for yourself. 

When S. Dalrymple tells us that Arab states such as Abu Dhabi and Dubai which were legally part of “India” as per the Interpretation Act of 1889 and Burma were part of an undivided India and the five partitions of “India” were not entirely unavoidable, he is saying that, if events had panned out differently, each of the partitions could have been avoided. At first, my mind boggled to think of an “India” in which, not only Burma, but even Oman and Abu Dhabi are a part of. However, by the time I reached the end of Shattered Lands, I did start to believe that the five partitions could have been avoided. Needless to say, it would have been wonderful if they had been avoided.

I have been a big fan of S. Dalrymple’s father William Dalrymple – I have read most of William Dalrymple’s books. Just like his father’s works, S. Dalrymple’s debut writing is also characterised by extensive archives, multilingual interviews and counterfactuals grounded in evidence. S. Dalrymple humanizes suffering and highlights legacies like statelessness, suppressed languages and ongoing fault lines and is very strong on patterns of division and identity. With a balanced yet empathetic tone, S. Dalrymple acknowledges complexities, the British role, nationalist leaders' flaws, and ordinary people's tragedies without oversimplifying. Shattered Lands is a valuable educational tool, especially for younger readers, but I don’t see Indian universities making it prescribed reading, though they ought to.

S. Dalrymple’s book is also very timely and relevant as it reframes current conflicts (e.g., India-Pakistan, Kashmir) historically.

Highly recommended!

Sunday, 17 May 2026

Book Review: Broken Threads: My Family from Empire to Independence, by Mishal Husain

 

Well-known UK-based journalist Mishal Husain, formerly with the BBC and now with  Bloomberg, has written a touching personal memoir that traces the story of her great-grandparents and grandparents who migrated from parts of British India that are now in independent India, to newly created Pakistan. Broken Threads is written in simple, but elegant English, contains scores of minor stories, plots, incidents and anecdotes and is filled with beauty, joy, loss and pain. Husain, the raconteur, is always neutral and even when she narrates a particularly harrowing incident, she gives both points of view and moves on, without dwelling on it. Broken Threads has been on my reading list ever since it was released almost two years ago, but it is only now that I have managed to read it.

Husain’s paternal grandmother Mary, an Anglo-Indian from the Madras Presidency fascinated me the most. Mary’s father Francis Quinn was an Irishman who was born in India and spent his entire life in India. A widower, Francis had two teenage sons (Bobby and Kitty) when he met a teenage girl named Mariamma, who was the same age as his sons. After he had two daughters with Mariamma, one of whom was Husain’s grandmother Mary, a local Irish priest shamed Francis Quinn into marrying Mariamma instead of continuing to live with her in sin. Francis had a good job – he was a tax and licensing inspector – and he had four more children with Mariamma, before he died in a freak accident in his house.

I am assuming the name Mariamma is the name for girls common in Tamil Nadu, derived from Mariamman, the popular Tamil deity. However, Francis seems to have met Mariamma (pronounced Maariamma) at a place by the sea called Anakapalle, which is not far from Visakhapatnam in Andhra Pradesh. To the best of my knowledge, Mariamma is a Tamil name and not a Telugu name, but I could be wrong. Husain tells us that Mariamma’s native language was Telugu, but she also says that for Francis Quinn, home was near Madras and Francis’s teenage sons ‘often went to the beach where they met and became friends with Mariamma, a Hindu girl of about their age’.

FYI and apologies for further digression: In Kerala, Mariamma (pronounced Mariamma) is a common name for Christian women and is derived from Mary (Mary + Amma = Mariamma).  No, I don’t think Husain’s great-grandmother Mariamma was a Malayalee Christian girl.

Mariamma’s daughter Mary Quinn (Husain’s paternal grandmother) completed her school education thanks to the support and benevolence of a bunch of Catholic nuns. After finishing school, the nuns sent Mary to a special hospital in Lahore to train to be a nurse.  One of the convent girls had already gone to Lahore and the nuns were comfortable with the idea of Mary following suit. I could easily picture a flock of conservative nuns sitting across a table and discussing the risks and rewards of sending Mary from Anakapalle to Lahore for her nursing studies, though Husain does not take any extra effort to paint this picture.

At Lahore, Mary meets a kindly medical student named Mumtaz, who had made his way there from Multan in Southern Punjab. Just like Mary, Mumtaz is also from a traditional background, a small-town boy struggling in the big, bad, city of Lahore. Mumtaz’s family were Sunni Muslims, but not the hyper-fanatic types. Husain tells us that the family had many links to Multanis from the Shia sect of Islam and when Shia religious processions came past the house, they would stand in the doorway and offer water. Sweets were exchanged with Hindu and Sikh neighbours for Eid, Diwali and Dussehra.

Needless to say, Mumtaz and Mary fall in love and get married, despite opposition from Mumtaz’s Muslim parents who are traditional folk and did not like the idea of their eldest son marrying outside the community.  Husain tells us that this opposition from Mumtaz’s family continued even after Mumtaz and Mary got married and had children. I do not wish to divulge the exact reactions of Mumtaz’s family in this regard, which I found to be extreme, despite Husain’s matter-of-fact tone in describing it. Please do read this excellent book to find out more.

Husain’s maternal grandparents Shahid and Tahirah grew up in what was then United Provinces, later Uttar Pradesh. Shahid grew up in Lucknow and later went to college in Aligarh. Shahid’s parents were Syeds who traced their origin to the Prophet and had migrated from Arabia to central Asia in the 13th century, then to Afghanistan and finally to India in the beginning of the 19th century, where they built on their reputation as men of learning in the Mughal court. After the Mughal power started to fade, they moved to Lucknow and earned a living as writers, religious scholars and poets. Shahid’s mother Feroze’s ancestors had fought for the British in the First Anglo-Afghan war and then in the 1857 uprising, after which they were rewarded with a gift of land outside Lucknow. Tahirah went to the Lady Hardinge Medical College in Delhi.

Though Husain’s maternal grandparents and paternal grandparents are from different parts of British India, they have so much in common, in terms of values, outlook and willingness to learn and adapt. For example, Husain tells us that her maternal grandmother Tahirah’s parents were of Kashmiri origin and they settled in two different parts of Punjab. Tahirah’s grandfather was a tailor, and he managed to get a contract to supply uniforms to the Raj. With that money, he managed to educate his children. Tahirah’s father Ataullah became a doctor and did his Master’s in Germany. When Tahirah’s maternal grandmother Ameernissa was fourteen, her father died and her mother was cut-off from his property. So, Ameernissa’s mother would go to the market in Lahore, wearing purdah, buy baskets of whole wheat and unhusked rice, hand process them at home and sell them back into the market, which allowed the younger children to stay in school.  Ameernissa’s mother and Mariamma seem to be cut from the same cloth!

Husain’s maternal grandfather Shahid manages to join the British Indian army as a Kings Commissioned Officer. Husain’s paternal grandfather Mumtaz too joins the British Indian army and worked as an army doctor at various places in British India, before being attached to the Royal Airforce. Both men join the armed forces because their financial circumstances aren’t too good and they get paid well as army officers. Both men see some action during the Second World War and survive. Husain’s descriptions of her grandfathers’ wartime experiences are exceptionally good. Shahid saw action in Rangoon and in other parts of Burma. He developed an eye problem, and his vision was seriously impaired, which caused him to be evacuated by air to Calcutta. I am not going to divulge more here.  Please buy a copy of Broken Threads to find out for yourself.

The best thing about Broken Threads is how Husain unveils the character of each of her grandparents, anecdote by anecdote. One gets the feeling that Husain is learning more about her family as she tells us her family’s story. For example, Husain remembers a time when she was living in the UAE with her parents and her paternal grandparents Mumtaz and Mary were in Saudi Arabia (because Mumtaz was working for the WHO). Whenever her grandparents went to visit them in the UAE, Mary would use the opportunity to go to mass since the UAE had churches and Saudi Arabia didn’t.

Interspersed with her family history are snippets of Indian history and the stories from India’s freedom struggle. Sir Syed Ahmad Khan is someone who Husain has very high regard for, and rightly so. We are told that Sir Syed witnessed the violence of 1857 first-hand. When the rebellion began, he saved the lives of a group of Europeans at Bijnor who were besieged by the mutineers. At the same time, his own family was in besieged Delhi. An uncle was killed by the East India Company’s troops, and his own mother was close to death. Nevertheless, he led a campaign to push the Muslim community in British India to educate themselves, instead of pining for what they had lost. Towards this end, he managed to set up a college in Aligarh, the place where Husain’s maternal grandparents Shahid and Tahirah grew up.

Husain’s narration becomes much more vivid and intense as she describes the run-up to India’s independence.  Her paternal grandfather spent most of the war in Quetta, except for a posting in Calcutta which made him a witness to the Bengal famine. Mishal quotes Ian Stephens, editor of the Statesman, in order to describe the Bengal famine, not just explain it through her grandfather. After the war, Shahid was appointed as Auchinleck’s private secretary, which gave him a ring-side view of history being made.

Field Marshal Sir Claude John Eyre Auchinleck had spent much of his childhood in India and knew India very well. Under Auchinleck, the British army stopped Rommel at El Alamein in 1942. Churchill sacked him nevertheless, since he didn’t agree with Auchinleck’s suggestions for winning the war and appointed Montgomery who benefitted immensely from Auchinleck’s planning. Posted in India, Auchinleck supported General Slim’s fight in Burma.

Husain is a big fan of Auchinleck, but does not hesitate to criticise him when required. For example, she says that ‘when the first INA trial took place in the autumn, the flaws in the system Auchinleck had devised were immediately apparent’.  Husain’s description of why Auchinleck decided to hold trials for INA soldiers in the Red Fort is one of the various reasons you should read Broken Threads.  How and why, both sets of Husain’s grandparents, including Mary, opted for Pakistan over India, is yet another.

Husain is no fan of Lord Mountbatten and quotes Shahid to state that "his whole image and career has been built up because he is a member of the Royal Family."  Soon after Mountbatten's arrival in Delhi, he asked Auchinleck to sack Shahid, as he did not believe a Muslim should be serving as Auchinleck’s Private Secretary. Mountbatten’s own Private Secretaries were both British, but he did have a Hindu, the senior civil servant V. P. Menon, as his constitutional and political adviser. Menon seems not to have been regarded as a problem in the way Shahid was. Nothing came of the row because Auchinleck put his foot down and Mountbatten backed off.

Mountbatten was a man in a hurry, one who took important decisions on the basis of how it would affect British prestige. For example, Mountbatten (aka "Pretty Dickie") decided that Indian troops should be used when civil authorities asked for Army support, though Auchinleck advised him that Indian soldiers being repeatedly exposed to scenes which might well involve the targeting of their own community would make them partisan. India's police forces had already become partisan. When Abul Kalam Azad begged Mountbatten to exercise patience and delay partition saying that creating Pakistan in the then current atmosphere could lead to yet more bloodshed, Mountbatten casually assured him that once partition was accepted in principle, he would issue orders to see that there were no communal disturbances anywhere in the country. Mountbatten did not consult Auchinleck on the plan that was sent to London that May to maintain law and order. Mountbatten had no confidence in Auchinleck and did his level best to keep him in the dark.

Was Mountbatten biased in favour of India? If yes, how did that impact the partition and Kashmir’s accession to India? Broken Threads has a number of anecdotes that would help one make up one’s mind on these important points.

Husain underplays the influence and power Shahid had at his disposal when working as Auchinleck’s Personal Secretary, but she doesn’t fully succeed. For example, we are casually told that when Shahid’s politically active sister Jamila, who had been a committed leftist and Communist, wanted to know more about Jinnah, Shahid ‘agreed to take her to see Jinnah, and they went together to his large house on Aurangzeb Road in New Delhi.  It’s a private meeting and Jamila’s tone isn’t too polite, but Jinnah addressed all her points, though it took him a very long time. When Shahid and Jamila took their leave, Jamila kissed Jinnah’s hand and said she had been converted to his way of thinking. The Quaid smiled at him. ‘Look, my boy, I have not wasted my time,’ he said. ‘I have gained a worker.’

How did Husain’s grandparents fare in Pakistan? On the whole, they did well but didn’t really get along with the army men who took over from Pakistan’s elected representatives. Husain tells us that Shahid told Ayub Khan that Martial law needed to end as soon as possible and that if he sought political power, he should set a date for elections, resign from the Army and run for office. Shahid felt that his views were not acceptable to Ayub Khan.

For me, the best (or the saddest) take away from Broken Threads is how relatable Husain’s parents, grandparents and the rest of her family are, and how tragic it is that a sub-continent populated with such good folks got partitioned with so much bloodshed. 

Highly recommended!

Broken Threads is available in India on Amazon.

Saturday, 4 December 2021

Book Review: Kopi, Puffs & Dreams, by Pallavi Gopinath Aney

 

When Puthu and Krishnan open their eatery in British ruled Singapore in the early part of 20th century, they choose to serve curried puffs and Kopi, the black coffee traditional to the Malay peninsula, instead of the standard heavy south Indian fare served at restaurants like the Anna Vilas.  We are not told if the curried puffs were spicy or mild, but I’m assuming they were ‘somewhere in between’, not too mild to turn off the Indians in Singapore and not too spicy to turn off the others. Pallavi Gopinath Aney’s Kopi, Puffs & Dreams maintains that not-too-spicy-not-too-mild ambience throughout the novel, in the prose, its plot, the wry humour and the twists and turns, of which there are many.

They served meat too, in their café, though both men had started eating fish and chicken only after they arrived in Malaysia. In that sense, both men, but especially Puthu, constantly push their boundaries. Puthu is a visionary, a man much ahead of his times and he takes Krishnan with him, grumbling, dithering and even pulling back, as they establish a restaurant chain in Singapore. Puthu and Krishnan are quite different, though not exactly chalk and cheese. Puthu is from an upper class family, while Krishnan is from a broken home, his mother an alcohol addict, whose preoccupation with the bottle made Krishnan learn to cook.  Krishnan too pushes the boundaries in his personal life, maybe more than Puthu ,as he marries the daughter of their well-to-do businessman landlord, without the consent or even knowledge of  the bride’s parents.

Puthilath Parasuraman, Puthu for short, is a peculiar man, different from most other men. In a way, it is this difference that made Puthu board a ship for Malaya and his upper class Palakkad family was only too glad to be rid of him. Aney keeps her readers guessing about Puthu’s peculiarity till the very end. Puthu is not necessarily a warm personality. Though generous to those close to him, he is calculating. Nevertheless, Aney makes her readers fall in love with him from the first page. One ends up liking Puthu even more than Krishnan, though Krishnan is the better looking man, the people’s person, loyal and good. Puthu’s and Krishnan’s friendship is so heart-warming, as they navigate foreign lands, that one starts wondering immediately whether it will stand the test of time.

Aney’s language is elegant, in a classic 20th century sort of way, writing with a light touch and a deft turn of phrase.  The best part of Kopi, Puffs & Dreams is that Aney captures the atmosphere of early 20th century India, Malaysia and Singapore very well. However, certain values and skills are the same, whether it be  the 20th century or the 21st.  Puthu’s market survey before setting up his venture in Singapore would put a modern day entrepreneur to shame. Years later, when faced with a law suit from his investor, Puthu turns lawyer and wriggles out of his trouble. On landing in Malaya, Puthu receives a very rough welcome, something very different from what he had envisaged. However, his bad luck doesn’t last for long and he is on his feet in the beautiful Jacaranda House, which reminded me of Manderley in Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca. The bulk of the novel is set in Singapore and names like Serangoon Road, Orchard Road, Penang Road, Joo Chiat and Nassim Hill crop up from time to time.

As mentioned in the beginning, Kopi, Puffs & Dreams is full of sudden, gentle roller-coaster spins, which turn the facts upside down and show everything in a different mild light.  I don’t want to say much more and give away the plot or the ending. I really enjoyed reading Kopi, Puffs & Dreams and highly recommend it to one and all.

 

Friday, 5 June 2015

Book Review: “Flood of Fire” by Amitav Ghosh

I had pre-ordered Flood of Fire almost three months ago and last week Flipkart delivered the third and final book in Amitav Ghosh’s Ibis Trilogy to me. I had liked the first one, Sea of Poppies and the second one, River of Smoke, a lot more. Flood of Fire turned out to be good very good in fact, a better than even the River of Smoke.

Like the first two books in the trilogy and not unlike most of his works in the last fifteen years, Ghosh uses his fiction as a vehicle for history narration. His subaltern version that is. Mind you, I am not complaining. The Ibis trilogy is, just like the Glass Palace, a devastating critique of colonialism and Ghosh makes his point very well. In the Flood of Fire, the British are determined to open up China for opium trading, just as Commissioner Lin Zexu does his best to keep opium out. At first, Lin believes that the opium traders do not have the backing of the British government, but his illusions are soon dispelled. The best thing about the Flood of Fire is that most of the characters are likeable, even if they are British soldiers like Captain Mee or businessmen like or shipman turned opium trader like Zachary. Shireen, the wife of the late Bahram Mody is especially likeable, though she travels to China in the hope that the British government would be able to, through the use of force, compel the Chinese government to pay reparations of opium confiscated from his husband’s storehouses. They are all part of a grand design as the story moves along and the great capitalist enterprise is unleashed.

Ghosh’s sympathy for 19th century China shines throughout the novel. He also makes a case to show how common Chinese people who once lived in India, like Asha didi, developed deep and lasting bonds with India. He relishes characters like Neel who easily transcend cultures and makes friends with the Chinese Compton. Chinese authorities seem to treat their Indian prisoners relatively well. The use of Chinese words such as “barbarian” to denote foreigners is shown to be, not a problem with the Chinese or their language, but the result of mis-translation by European scholars who have an axe to grind. On the other hand, the East India Company’s armed forces openly promote and support the caste system. Indian soldiers are given inferior weapons and lesser pay. When fighting in China alongside the Cameronians, racist taunts and harassment are routine. As Havildar Kesri Singh ruminates on such inequities and looks on the Chinese soldiers fighting them with respect (for their dedication to their cause and the opportunity they have, unlike him, to fight for something they hold dear), one gets the feeling that Ghosh has transplanted a modern day man into the body of a humble soldier who lived around 170 years ago.

At one point, Ghosh tells us (wistfully) through Taranathji, the Tibetan monk that the Gurkha King Rajendra Bikram Shah had proposed to Beijing that the Chinese and Gurkhas should launch a joint attack on British forces in Bengal. However, it was against Beijing’s policy to makes alliances with other Kingdoms. And in any case, the Qing did not entirely trust the Gurkhas. I am not sure how historically accurate Ghosh is in this context since google couldn’t throw any light on this, but I think the rest of the novel is kosher.

In a manner which Bollywood would have been proud of, Ghosh brings together in China a number of characters we had met in the previous two books the trilogy. Thus we once again meet colourful characters such as Serang Ali, Baboo Nob Kissin, Paulette, Zadig Beg, Deeti etc. However, the Flood of Fire is a lot more realistic than the previous two books, even in such aspects.

Most of the characters fit their stereotypes, but with Zachary Reid, Ghosh plays God and does an amazing job as the innocent and hardworking carpenter is transformed into something else. I do not want to disclose more and give away the story – please read this novel and find out for yourself.

I knew that armies of yore were accompanied by drummer boys and fifers as they marched into battle, but did not really believe that any civilised army would intentionally and unnecessarily put young uns in harm’s way. The drummer and Fifers in Flood of Fire are nice lovable characters, in particular Raju and Dicky and yes, they do accompany troops to the battle field, put themselves in harm’s way and some get killed! I’ll not dwell any more on this point, other than say that Ghosh has done a splendid job in portraying the world of drummers and fifers.

Some of Ghosh’s observations in this novel are really profound and meaningful. After observing British Indian troops rout imperial Chinese soldiers, Neel is mighty impressed. “Thinking about it later, he understood that a battle was a distillation of time: many years of preparation and decades of innovation and change were squeezed into a clash of very short duration. And when it was over, the impact radiated backwards and forwards through time, determining the future and even in a sense, changing the past, or at least the general understanding of it.

Ghosh liberally sprinkles his 600 odd page tome with Bhojpuri and Chinese phrases. I thought the occasional Chinese phrase made sense, but the Bhojpuri didn’t since the characters who emitted those Hindi-like words speak only Bhojpuri and I didn’t see the point in the random phrase. It was as if Ghosh had done his research and collected those phrases and didn’t want to waste them.

On the whole, Flood of Fire is a good read and one I would recommend to anyone interested in historical novels.

Thursday, 23 April 2015

Book Review - The Tailor's Needle by Lakshmi Raj Sharma

Prof. Lakshmi Raj Sharma’s The Tailor's Needle has been on my reading list for a while now. Recommended by many, The Tailor’s Needle had a smell and feel of a grand novel and I couldn’t bring myself to read it in bits and bytes as I normally do with most books. As a result, the enjoyment was delayed by a fair extent. Nevertheless, when I got around to it, I was not disappointed.

What would be the result if an Indian author with excellent command over English writes a book which is the Indian equivalent of a masterpiece such as Doctor Zhivago or War and Peace, but has a heroine who could be, in a different era and geography, Austen’s Elizabeth Bennett? Throw in a bit of Agatha Christie and you would have The Tailor's Needle which is set in the early part of the 20th century when the British were still entrenched in India and the freedom struggle was slowly gaining momentum. A time of great changes and hopes as well as a period when traditional values were starting to be questioned.

When the novel begins, one meets Cambridge-educated Sir Saraswati Chandra Ranbakshi who is the Prime Minister of the princely state of Kashinagar. Sir Saraswati has three children – Yogendra who aspires to be like his father, temperamental Maneka, our own desi Elizabeth Bennett and Sita, as humble and meek as Indian women as stereotyped to be. Lord Mortimer Edmund Griffin-Tiffin, the Viceroy of India, would like to annex Kashinagar under one pretext or the other and Sir Saraswati takes it on himself to keep the wolf from the door. After the death of the Maharaja of Kashinagar, Sir Saraswati moves to Mizapur with his family. Interestingly Wikipedia tells me that Prof. Sharma too hails from Mirzapur.

A tailor’s needle does not discriminate between garments. Sir Saraswati aspires to be akin to a tailor’s needle, one who treats all people alike, be they Maharaja or mendicant, Englishman or low caste Indian. If this gives the impression that Sir Saraswati is a benign see-no-evil, hear-no-evil, tell-no-evil sort of being, you couldn’t be more off the mark. When a friend is in danger of being attacked by dacoits, Sir Saraswati organises a defence in a manner which any general would have been proud of. Yogendra too follows his father’s footsteps, in terms of values and principles.

Maneka on the other hand is a far cry from these two fine gentlemen. I found Maneka to be the most interesting and even likeable character of the lot, despite her temper tantrums. Maneka’s story is worthy of a separate novel, with so many twists and turns and crests and troughs. Maneka’s affair with an Englishman leads to her pregnancy before marriage, which in turns forces her to go for a dangerous and surreptitious abortion. A normal woman would have crumbled as a result of all that, but not Maneka. Literally handpicking her own husband who turns out to be an exceptional prince with a history, Maneka has a never-say-die attitude which makes her a woman far ahead of her time. Sita on the other hand is an excellent example of how two children of the same gender from the same womb can be so different. I will not give away any more of the story and spoil it for other readers, but only disclose that the man who Sita happily agrees to marry could have been one of the princes described in Freedom at Midnight by Lapierre and Collins.

One doesn’t expect a murder mystery to be tucked inside a novel like The Tailor’s Needle. I was therefore doubly surprised when I found not one, but two (related) murders in the course of this novel. Maneka is deeply involved in the murders and her father and brother take on the role of detectives to solve them both. Prof. Sharma’s style of writing so good that one doesn’t notice the transition from War and Peace to Pride and Prejudice to an Agatha Christie crime novel.

Yogendra falls in love with a pretty girl from a good family who is from a different (lower) caste. The universe seems to conspire against the loving couple and Yogendra and Gauri lose all hope. Does Prof. Sharma play cupid or does he go with the values of those times? Remember those were times when even Gandhi-ji was slow to support inter-caste marriages!

One of the best bits about The Tailor’s Needle is how it shows the values and mores of those times in a realistic way. British officials ranging from the Viceroy to District Collectors are not too honest or morally upright, though they take pains to appear so. Such efforts have given them a clean chit for posterity, but Prof. Sharma does not hesitate to call a spade a spade. Sir Saraswati is in awe of the British and their values, even as he fights to prevent them from annexing Kashinagar. Towards the end, as India’s freedom struggle grows stronger, Sir Saraswati is better able to reconcile his natural Indian values and his admiration for the British.

Lakshmi Raj Sharma is a Professsor of English at the University of Allahabad.

On the whole, The Tailor's Needle turned out to be a splendid novel and an excellent read.

Thursday, 20 December 2012

Book Review: Macaulay – Pioneer of India’s Modernization, by Zareer Masani


Thomas Macaulay is famous (or infamous) throughout India for having introduced the English language to India. Giving Indians the opportunity to learn English changed the face of India’s education system as well as the profile and outlook of millions of Indians. Those who oppose the widespread use of English in India, especially in formal communications and its use in schools invoke Macaulay’s name. Those who support the use of English, especially its ability to link up diverse groups of Indians, look to Macaulay as a hero.

However, even though Macaulay’s name is very well-known in India, I doubt if many Indians know much about Macaulay the person. What was it that motivated this Whig politician to push for English medium education for Indians? Did Macaulay really like India and Indians or was he motivated by other concerns? Other than his involvement in India, what were his other achievements? If you ever had these thoughts in your head, Zareer Masani’s biography of Macaulay is the book for you. Having read the book, I can attest to the fact that it contains a number of interesting and quaint facts about Macaulay I had no clue about and changed my entire perception of Macaulay. Or rather, it gave me an idea about Macaulay the human being when, earlier, I had none.

Macaulay was a precocious child who was bad at everything except learning and books. As an youngster, he did not particularly improve his extra-curricular abilities. He did not have an ear for music and did not have many friends. He never married, but was very close to and emotionally attached to two of his sisters. Though his father was an evangelical Christian, Macaulay later turned out to be an agnostic. However, his father’s concern for the poor and downtrodden did rub off on Macaulay. Just as his father Zachary Macaulay fought for the abolition of the slave trade, Tom Macaulay practised and preached a liberal doctrine that respected the human rights of even non-Britons and promoted globalisation. Though he was called to the Bar, Macaulay was more interested in politics. As an active member of the Whig party, Macaulay was in a position to make a difference, and he did.

Indian readers will be more interested in Macaulay’s attitude towards India and Indians. Surprisingly, Macaulay did not particularly care for Indian culture or languages. Though fluent in a number of European languages, he did not even make an attempt to learn any Indian language. He did not like Indian food or even Indian fruits, having particular distaste towards mangoes and bananas. Macaulay’s move to India to join the Governor-General’s council as Law Member was as much on account of the generous salary it offered him as it was for the opportunity to make a difference.

Despite his contempt for many things Indian and his faith in the superiority of British culture (which was not so unusual for his time), Macaulay passionately believed that it would be better for not only Indians but even for Great Britain to elevate Indians to the same platform as the British. Maybe it was because he believed Indian languages and culture were inferior and because he was essentially a good man that he wanted Indians to learn English and better themselves. Macaulay’s attitude thus differed a lot from the Orientalists who believed that Indian culture was as good as British culture and that Indians ought to be encouraged to take pride in their culture.

While in India, Macaulay did not hesitate to carry out various other reforms, such as the judicial reform which allowed Britons to be tried by Indian judges, a move which he felt was necessary in the interest of fairness and which made him a much reviled figure within the British community in India. After Macaulay returned to English, he did not miss India an iota.

Zareer Masani writes very well, his language both simple as well as elegant, with an old world charm that befits a work on Macaulay. Definitely a must-read for all Indian history buffs and students of the British Empire.

Sunday, 18 November 2012

Book Review: India’s China War by Neville Maxwell


Heavy reading: I bought this book over a year ago, read the first three chapters and put the rest on hold. Around 20 October 2012, as the 50th anniversary of the India-China War was commemorated, a flurry of articles in various newspapers and magazines, including an interview of Neville Maxwell, re-kindled my interest and made me finish off the last two chapters. The fourth chapter, a detailed and precise description of the actual war, especially makes for grim reading, if you’re on India’s side, that is. Mind you, this book was first published by Jaico in 1970, eight years after the 1962 war between India and China. The current edition has been brought out by Natraj Publishers and I should add that the quality of printing leaves a lot to be desired.

Neville Maxwell: Neville Maxwell was The Times’ South Asia correspondent for eight years from 1959 and during his tenure in New Delhi, had the opportunity to see the India-China border dispute from the Indian side. Maxwell’s account admittedly suffers from a lack of access to Chinese sources, comparable to the sort of access Maxwell had to India’s dirty linen. Nevertheless, Maxwell’s India’s China War is considered to be one of the most authoritative books on this topic, especially because Maxwell is supposed to have somehow accessed the yet to be declassified Henderson Brooks report.

Entirely India’s fault: Maxwell’s thesis is very simple. India inherited its borders from the British, who by virtue of being the paramount power in the region, arbitrarily drew boundaries as it suited them. After the British left, India clung to those boundaries, though China, which had taken over Tibet by then, disputed them. Maxwell says that after India’s independence, ‘the boundaries of India ceased to be the pawns of the British in their Great Games with imperial rivals, and became cell walls of a national identity. No longer could boundaries be conceived or shifted by men whose concern was no longer territory, but strategic advantage; henceforth they enclosed the sacred soil of the motherland, and politicians could tamper with them only at their peril.

Nehru refused to negotiate with the Chinese, though he went out of his way to please them in other respects, such as in admission to UN membership. Later, India instituted a forward policy which involved aggressive border patrolling by the Indian army and the setting up of puny, indefensible pickets very close to the McMahon line. According to Maxwell, one of the pickets, the Dhola Post, on the Thag La Ridge, was actually a few miles north of the McMahon line, in other words, outside Indian territory. This happened because the McMahon line did not pass through the highest point in the Khinzemane sector, but the Indian government thought it ought to. Maxwell says that in the North East Frontier Agency (NEFA) China was willing to let India occupy territory south of the actual McMahon line and not the McMahon line as arbitrarily redrawn by India. When the PLA aggressively surrounded the Dhola Post, Nehru ordered the Indian army to throw the Chinese out of India’s borders. The Indian army started planning Operation Leghorn, an attack on Chinese pickets surrounding Dhola Post, even though Dhola Post was definitely north of the line drawn by Henry McMahon. Mind you, the order was publicly announced with a lot of fanfare. Talk of overconfidence and the element of surprise!

Faced with the possibility of an attack by India, China launched a pre-emptive strike on 20 October 1962, which coincided with the Cuban missile crisis. The initial Chinese attacks routed the Indian army. After that there was a lull for over 3 weeks. The second phase of attacks from 14 November 1962 onwards, completed the Chinese victory. In the Western sector, China occupied and held Aksai Chin. In NEFA, the Chinese retreated to the McMahon line, after handing back to India a huge quantity of captured stores. Nehru and other Indian leaders had repeated ad nauseum how China would find it difficult to supply its troops on the border. It turned out that China had good supply links through the relatively flat Tibetan plateau, which in winter receives less snowfall than the mountainous NEFA. It was India which struggled to supply its troops and Maxwell claims that many Indian soldiers died of cold and exposure, compounded by inadequate clothing and lack of food, during forced marches.

Empty talk: Maxwell tells us that ‘both sides were sabre rattling, but India’s scabbard was empty.’ India’s army was weak since India had been focussing on growth and development. More importantly, defence minister Krishna Menon liked to cut army chiefs to size. Nehru and Krishna Menon were confident that China would not attack and more importantly, the Chinese army would not resist India’s forward push. Here’s an interesting OutlookIndia article which supports what Maxwell says.

Call for B. M. Kaul: We are told that when Lieutenant General Umrao Singh, General Officer Commanding (GOC) of the Siliguri-based XXXIII Corps questioned the practicability of Operation Leghorn, putting his objections in writing, Army Chief General Thapar and Lt. Gen L.P. Sen, the General Officer Commanding-in-Chief (GOC-in-C) of the Indian Army's Eastern Command, sought his removal from his command of XXXIII Corps. Lt. Gen L.P. Sen suggested that Major General Manekshaw be appointed to replace him. Krishna Menon baulked. Earlier Manekshaw had faced charges of anti-national expressions and disloyalty and had been denied promotion to Lt. General. So, a new corps, the IV Corps, was created and the Chief of General Staff Lt. Gen. B.M. Kaul, the very same man who had filed a complaint against Manekshaw, was tasked with heading it. Kaul had never commanded troops in combat, but no one cared, save for the soldiers. Kaul’s performance was so bad that, at the end of the war, President Radhakrishnan responded to the rumour that Kaul had been captured by the Chinese by saying ‘it is unfortunately not true.

The View From Peking: Though Maxwell doesn’t have access to Chinese sources, he tries to understand the rationale behind China’s actions. China obviously found Indian terms (a total refusal to negotiate) totally unacceptable. There were other reasons which might have persuaded the Chinese leadership to go for the military option. A war could prompt US assistance to India, as it did, and expose to the USSR how close India was to the Americans. Maxwell does not subscribe to the western theory that China wanted to humble India and put a brake on India’s growth and development. Maxwell says that Chinese never considered India to be China’s equal. India had a very good reputation as a peaceful nation while the Chinese communists were considered to be war mongers. The longer the dispute dragged on, the more sympathy India generated. By defeating India decisively and at the same retreating to their original positions in NEFA, China made it clear that it only wanted India to come to the negotiating table and settle its international boundary.

For the official Chinese view on the border war, please watch this YouTube Video which seems to have been posted by the Chinese government or with its approval.

Riveting but sad: Maxwell writes very well. For example, while detailing the launch of the actual assault by the Chinese, he tells us that ‘at 5:00 a.m. on the 20th October 1962, the Chinese fired two Very lights; on the signal, Chinese heavy mortars and artillery, drawn up without cover on the forward slope of the Thag La ridge, opened a heavy barrage on the central Indian positions. .....The weight of the Chinese attack was thrown against the Indian positions in the centre of the river line; the Gorkhas and the Rajputs bore the brunt of the assault. Their positions had been infiltrated. The Indian units fought back fiercely against overwhelming odds, but one after the other, their positions were overrun – the Indians met the final Chinese assaults with the bayonet. By 09:00 the Gorkhas and Rajputs on the river line were finished. The Chinese had by then brought Tsangdhar under attack. By then this vital position was defended only by a weak company of Gorkhas – which had been preparing to march out to Tsangle – and the two paratroop guards. Firing over open sights, these fought on, until the crews were wiped out.

Not Front Page News: Even as late as October 1962, Indian newspapers did not always carry the border dispute on their front pages. The dispute with China competed for attention with a wide variety of news items such as Nehru having been burned in effigy in Nepal, the fall of government in Kerala and Sikh politics in Punjab.

International opinion: The US, UK and other western governments sided with India. The USSR adopted a surprisingly neutral note and seemed to be more in favour of China than India. This was mainly on account of the Cuban missile crisis - the USSR desperately needed Chinese support. Most non-aligned governments stayed non-aligned and India was disappointed. No Arab country expressed sympathy or support for India. Nkrumah of Ghana actually rebuked the UK for sending aid to India, this despite Nehru having visited Ghana very recently. Ethiopia and Cyprus were the only non-aligned countries to support India.

Formosa was willing to side with India in any hostile action towards China, but on the boundary dispute, its position was the same as that of China’s. Maxwell tells us that ‘one of the last acts of the Chinese Nationalists’ Ambassador in New Delhi was to remind the Indian Government that China did not recognise the McMahon line, and held the (1914) Simla Convention invalid.

Abandoning a sensible defence plan: In October 1959, the Eastern command under General Thorat had recommended a triple tiered defence structure in the north-east. The first line of defence would consist of posts close to the McMahon line. These would act as a mere trip wire, expected to fall back in case of a Chinese advance. Secondary strong points would be set up behind the first line to fight a delaying action. The third tier was the actual defence line, where the attacker would be halted. Bomdi La was to be one of the anchors of this defence line, which would be easily supplied from the plains. The attacker would struggle with extended lines, whilst Indian troops would fight close to their supply lines. This was a good plan, but was abandoned since the politicians were unwilling to subscribe to a course of action which would result in losing large areas without a fight.

Thus the Indian army was stretched all across the McMahon line, deployed in small groups at places where the civilian Intelligence Bureau expected the Chinese to infiltrate through.

Compounding of mistakes: It was not just the political leadership which made so many errors. The military leadership under B.M. Kaul at first failed to provide a realistic picture to the politicians. Rather, they allowed the politicians to live in a fool’s paradise. Later, after the initial shock and retreat, ‘on 23rd October, orders went out from IV Corps to the force at Tawang that they were to withdraw to Bomdi La, some sixty miles back on the road to the plains; that in the calculations of the IV Corps, was the farthest point to the north where the Indians could build up more quickly than the Chinese. All formations concerned were informed that the build-up was to be at Bomdi La.’ However, Brigadier Palit urged that the stand be made at Se La, a high pass only fifteen miles behind Tawang. From Misamari on the plains to Se La was one hundred and forty miles, a round trip of six days for trucks. The politicians liked the idea though; less the terrain yielded to China, less the defeat for India. Therefore Lt. Gen. Sen countermanded the order to pull back to Bomdi La and ordered that Se La be held. ‘The decision was crucial and disastrous.

A birthday gift for Nehru: It was meant to be a birthday gift for Nehru. On 14 November 1962, Indian troops from the 6th Kumaon battalion attacked the Chinese at Walong. They got to within fifty yards from the crest and then stopped, spent. The Chinese not only wiped off the Kumaonis, but also followed up and attacked the main Indian defence positions on the 16th at first light. By 10:00 a.m. a general withdrawal ordered. Kaul and the G.O.C M.S. Pathania left Walong in the last Otter. When Kaul got to Teju, he sent out a frantic signal asking that foreign armed forces be invited to fight China.

Finally on the evening of 17th when Pathania wanted to pull troops from Se La, he could not contact Kaul. Army Chief Thapar and Lt. Gen L.P. Sen were available, but they refused to take a decision though they were Kaul’s superiors and had been involved in making war plans till then. Precious time was lost. In any event, withdrawal was no longer a great idea and the Chinese not only killed off many of the retreating soldiers, even the 48th Brigade at Bomdi La, the only organised Indian formation left in NEFA, was finally destroyed. Maxwell says that ‘the subsequent hour or so in quiet corps headquarters at Tezpur, with the Chief of Army Staff and the G.O.C-in-C Eastern Command refusing to take responsibility for an urgent operational decision, when there was no one else to take it, was the real nadir for the Indian army, not the impending debacle among the steep ridges of NEFA.

The Indian army faced a total rout in NEFA, but not so in the Western sector where Maxwell tells us that General Daulet Singh of the Western Command rapidly built up strength to reinforce the Ladakh front. Also, Western Command, unlike the Eastern Command, showed more concern for the survival of its troops, not ordering isolated units to fight it out in useless sacrificial gestures as was done in NEFA. ‘When there was a tactical reason for ground to be held, the troops did fight it out, to the last round or the last man; but they were not, as so often in the eastern sector, left to hold tactically insignificant and indefensible positions until overrun.’ About 90% of Indian casualties were in NEFA.

Small mercies: According to Maxwell, the Chinese did not attack Chushul or any other position outside their claim areas, though the Chinese had overrun the heights around Rezing La and had started shelling Chushul when the unilateral ceasefire came into effect.

China snatches a PR defeat from the jaws of total victory: After launching its attack on 20 October 19962, China claimed that Indian troops had launched large scale attacks against Chinese posts in Namka Chu in NEFA and Chip Chap and Galwan valleys in Aksai Chin and that Chinese troops had responded in self-defence. This self-obscuration was a mistake. Everyone knew that India did not have the ability to launch such large scale attacks. If China had spoken the truth, that its attack was pre-emptive, that Indian troops were planning an attack in Thag La as part of Operation Leghorn, it may have been believed.

Foreign Aid: Once fighting started, American jet transports were landing in India at the rate of eight flights a day, each carrying about twenty tons of equipment – automatic rifles, heavy mortars and recoiless guns etc. The UK too threw in its support. The French however stayed true to their mercenary colours and wanted payment for any assistance given. Israel too helped, though when India suggested that Israel supply weapons using vessels that did not carry Israeli flags, Ben Gurion is supposed to have said, ‘no flag, no weapons.’ Israel finally sent a shipment of heavy mortars in a ship flying the Israeli flag.

Public reactions in India: India’s political classes and urban masses reacted with fervent patriotism. Several thousand ethnic Chinese were interned in camps in Rajasthan and Maxwell tells us that some of the internees were expelled to China. I don’t know how true the bit about expulsion to China is - I’ve never read that anywhere else.

After China launched its second phase of attacks in the middle of November, there was general panic in India since the press had led the public to believe that the initial drawbacks were the result of Chinese treachery and that Indian troops were poised to reverse their losses. In NEFA, the Indian government expected the Chinese to takeover Tezpur. Nehru made an urgent, open appeal to the United States for assistance with fighters and bombers. Maxwell tells us that Nehru’s request was very specific – for fifteen American airforce squadrons – non-alignment be damned. As the civil administration evacuated Tezpur, the government ordered a scorched earth policy, but luckily, the administration did not have sufficient personnel to blow up everything.

The government put behind bars communists who did not identify with the communist leadership’s support for the government. Nehru took pains to clarify that India was not fighting China and not communism. By mistake, many communists who supported the Soviet Union were also arrested. Rather than admit its mistake and order a large-scale release, the government released the detainees one by one.

Casualties:

Casualty figures released by the Indian defence ministry in 1965 showed that 1,383 Indian soldiers died, 1,696 went missing and 3,968 were taken prisoner. As mentioned above, about 90% of Indian casualties were in NEFA. Maxwell tells us that the Chinese army used three divisions in the NEFA fighting, which gave the Chinese a very narrow numerical superiority in NEFA. However, the Indian forces were so scattered that the Chinese had no difficulty in putting into effect Mao’s teaching: ‘in every battle concentrate an absolutely superior force.

Maxwell doesn’t talk of Chinese casualties, though he says that the Chinese suffered substantial casualties where Indians stood and fought, such as in Thembang on 17th November. Maxwell does say that not one Chinese soldier was taken prisoner. All Indian prisoners were repatriated by the Chinese within 6 months. Wikipedia says that 722 Chinese soldiers died and 1,697 were wounded.

On India’s claim to the disputed areas: The best bit about this 450 odd page tome is that the initial chapters contain a detailed discussion on the disputed territories and each party’s claim to those territories.

Ladakh and Aksai Chin

Ladakh, we are told, was historically a part of Tibet. After the tenth century, it asserted its independence, but has always been within Lhasa’s cultural pull. The famous Dogra chieftain Gulab Singh, who later acquired Kashmir from the British, invaded Ladakh in 1834 and captured it. Later, the Dogras went further, and captured Lhasa itself. The Dogra general (the legendary Zorawar Singh whom Maxwell doesn’t mention by name) made the tactical mistake of wintering in Lhasa and was marooned and killed, along with his forces. The victorious Tibetans followed up on their victory and advanced to Ladakh, but were beaten back by Gulab Singh’s armies. In 1846, the British made Gulab Singh the ruler of Kashmir and at the same time forbade him from adding to his territory without British consent. This was because the British were worried that the Chinese would assume that Gulab Singh had British approval for his adventures and would react against Britain.

In the mid 18th century, Britain invited China to participate in the demarcation of the boundary between Tibet and Ladakh, but the Chinese never played ball. When the British unilaterally demarcated the boundary, the terrain between the Pangong Lake and the Karakoram Pass, known as Aksai Chin, was left terra incognito. In 1865, an officer of the Survey of India, W. H. Johnson showed Aksai Chin to be a part of Kashmir, but his claim was treated with scepticism even by other Britons. Support for Johnson’s map came from Maj. Gen. Sir. John Ardagh, Director General of Military Intelligence in British India, whose main interest was to counter any Russian advance in India. In the early 1880s, China started to show interest in its southern frontiers and erected a boundary marker in the Karakoram pass and later dispatched an official, Li Yuan-ping to explore the southern stretches. Later Chinese officials specifically made a claim for Aksai Chin. Maxwell feels that the claim was most probably the result of Russian advice. George Macartney, a British representative in Kashgar commented that ‘probably part of Aksai Chin was in Chinese and part in British territory.

Though a few British officials favoured a forward policy which would make Aksai Chin part of British India, in 1899, Britain proposed the Macartney-McDonald line to China, which gave China almost all of Aksai Chin proper, but left with British India the Lingzi Tang salt plains, the whole of the Changchenmo valley and the Chip Chap River in the north. China did not respond to this proposal.

In the first decade of the 20th Century, Britain insisted that Aksai Chin was a part of Tibet, rather than a part of China since the former position would prevent Russia from encroaching into Aksai Chin. However, after the collapse of (Manchu) Chinese power in the second decade of the 20th century, Viceroy Hardinge recommended that Aksai Chin should be shown as British Indian territory. This recommendation was never acted on. In 1914 when Britain convened the Simla Convention in 1914, with Chinese and Tibetan delegates in attendance, maps presented by Britian showed Aksai Chin to be a part of Tibet. That China pulled out of the 1914 summit where Britain tried to divide Tibet into Outer Tibet and Inner Tibet, on the lines of Mongolia, is a different story all together. In 1940-41, the Government of Sinkiang, under Warlord Sheng Shi-tsai carried out a survey of Aksai Chin with Russian experts. Britain said and did nothing.

Tawang

The Tawang tract, a wedge of territory to the east of Bhutan, connected Tibet to the Indian plains. Maxwell says that the British never considered Tawang to be anything other than Tibetan till the end of the 19th century. In 1907, the UK and Russia signed an agreement which required both to stay out of Tibet.

After the rise of Manchu China in the 19th century, China was in effective power in Tibet and British officials started to propose a forward policy which did not receive official sanction. Later, Britain held negotiations with Tibetans, without Chinese approval, based on which Henry McMahon, the British foreign Secretary for India, produced a boundary line which showed Tawang to be a part of British India. McMahon’s maps were accepted by the Tibetan plenipotentiary in exchange for British assistance in gaining independence from China. McMahon gave the Tibetans the idea that they could continue to collect taxes in Tawang. The McMahon line was not mentioned to the Chinese during the 1914 Simla convention. In 1929, when an authoritative record of the 1914 convention was published as the Aichison’s Treaties, Tawang was not shown to be a part of British India. The McMahon line remained forgotten till 1935 when a Deputy Secretary in New Delhi, Olaf Caroe, urged a forward policy and publication of the Anglo-Tibetan agreements. In 1937, a new edition of the Aichison’s Treaties was published, as if it was original 1929 edition, showing Tawang to be a part of British India. From 1937, the Survey of India also started using the McMahon line, though New Delhi rejected demands from frontier officials to permanently occupy Tawang.

The Tibetans later took the stand that since the British did not secure any degree of autonomy from China, they would not bound to recognise British claims to Tawang. British officials carried out occasional punitive expeditions to Tawang and in 1944, it was offered that the boundary should run through Se La, south of Tawang monastery. Nothing much came of that proposal, but in 1947 when India got independence, the British had set up Assam Rifles posts in various parts of Tawang and also excluded Tibetan administrators. In October 1947, Tibet formally asked India to return to Tibet a wide swathe of territory from Ladakh to Assam, including Sikkim and the Darjeeling district. India replied that Indo-tibetan relations should continue on the same basis as with the British administration.

Until 1949, the situation in NEFA was as the British had left it. India had an outpost at Walong, but other Indian positions were well back from the McMahon line. Tibetan administration in Tawang was unchallenged. However, from 1951 onwards, India started to occupy Tawang, despite Tibetan protests. Local people were not very happy. Maxwell tells us that ‘a strong Assam Rifles patrol, moving up the Subansiri River in the early 1950s, was warmly welcomed by one of the tribes, feasted and given shelter – and then massacred almost to a man. Seventy three riflemen and civilians died.

Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan

Maxwell also details how India acquired Sikkim and brought Nepal and Bhutan within its sphere of influence and the tussle with China over these territories. Since I’ve already exceeded the acceptable word limit for a book review, I shall desist from delving into those topics. Please do read this extremely interesting book yourself to find out more.

Could India have won the 1962 War?

Let’s for a moment forget who was to blame for the escalation and the war: could India have won the war if it had prepared better? India’s air force played a passive role in the fear that if Chinese targets were bombed, it could lead to a wider conflict. Maxwell does not delve into this issue, though he does point out to a number of strategic mistakes made by India leading one to assume that if such mistakes hadn’t been made, the Indian army would have fared much better, if not actually won the war. Here’s an article which argues that India could have won the border conflict in 1962.

Conclusion:

Maxwell has argued that if India were willing to negotiate its boundary with China, it would have avoided the 1962 war. In all probability he is right. China had offered to give up its claim to NEFA in exchange for India relinquishing rights to Aksai Chin. Should India have accepted China’s offer? In my opinion, India ought to have accepted it. I am not sure if this offer is still on the table. If it is, India ought to grab it with both hands.

Fifty years ago, China’s hold on Tibet was tenuous and China could not have held on to the territories in NEFA it had captured in October and November 1962. These days, Tibet is well integrated with China, especially on account of the influx of Han people and the railway connection between Beijing and Lhasa. If there were to be another war between India and China and China were to repeat its 1962 victory, it might not want to unilaterally retreat to the McMahon line.

Amidst so much introspection into India’s mistakes and predictions about China’s future behaviour, it is easy to forget the Tibetans. As mentioned above, the Tibetans accepted the McMahon line in 1914 because they expected to receive British assistance in gaining independence from China. This promise wasn’t kept by British and its territorial heir, India. Why then should the Tibetan’s compromise on territory that has been a part of Tibet for many centuries? As mentioned above, in October 1947, Tibet had demanded from India the return of territories ranging from Ladakh to Assam to Sikkim and Darjeeling!

Let’s imagine a situation 100 years hence were, as a result of internal turmoil within China, Tibet has become a free country. It is quite possible that independent Tibet will demand Tawang and the rest of Arunachal Pradesh from India on the ground that they have been a part of Tibet historically. It is also possible that a demand may be made for Ladakh.

India has conceded that Tibet is a part of China. If one takes that argument to its logical conclusion, then China’s claim to Tawang and the rest of Arunachal Pradesh begins to carry some weight since Arunachal Pradesh, including Tawang, has historically been a part of Tibet. However, the average Indian Joe has been led to believe that all the territory that falls within the official map of India is sacrosanct. These days, many Indian newspapers have started carrying articles on these topics which show the true picture rather than bleat the official line. Here is an interesting article on Tawang and Tibet carried by the Times of India.

Indian leaders and media need to re-educate the Indian public on these issues before India’s leadership is in a position to enter into meaningful negotiations with the Chinese and Tibetans for resolving the border dispute.

Thursday, 8 March 2012

Book Review: The World Beyond by Sangeeta Bhargava



I am a die-hard fan of historical novels, especially when the history involves war. In fact, I like novels with a realistic war setting so much that I don’t mind even if some romance is introduced into the story, though I would normally be happier without such complications. Gone with the Wind is one of my all-time favourites, and I really enjoyed M. M. Kaye’s Shadow of the Moon which is a historical romance set during the time of the 1857 revolt. Given this, I did not hesitate to order a copy of Sangeeta Bhargava’s The World Beyond, a historical romance which is also set in the time of the 1857 War of Independence, as soon as I heard of it.

The story of an English girl’s love for Salim, the son of the Nawab of Awadh, Wajid Ali Shah, The World Beyond has a simple story line, functional prose, authentic settings and suspense. Until I reached the last chapter of the novel which runs to over 350 pages, I did not know if the ending would be a la Romeo and Juliet or the Merchant of Venice.

Bhargava’s strength lies in the fact that she is at home in Lucknow, with its nawabs and zenanas and architecture and Mughalai cuisine and culture and its British residents. Events such as the those leading to the 1857 uprising and policies such as Lord Dalhousie’s Doctrine of Lapse are seamlessly interwoven into the narrative. Bhargava does not hesitate to utilise her fiction writer’s licence to the fullest extreme. There are tiger hunts (with Salim hunting and killing a man-eater) and an elephant fight held to honour Salim, which Salim calls to an abrupt halt because Rachael doesn’t like the idea of killing animals.

There are a few cons to this novel. At times I found myself wishing that Bhargava would use more flowery prose for a novel of this nature, which is as much if not more romantic, as it is historical. Also, I thought that The World Beyond was a wee bit too one-sided in its description of atrocities during the fighting that took place. Almost all the despicable acts are committed by the British, though Bhargava does admire them for withstanding the siege of the Residency. Except for Rachel, all the Brits in the story are cruel and nasty and racist.

The various characters in the story, ranging from Rachel’s father to Salim’s wet nurse don’t have any trouble communicating with each other. I guess, this is essentially because Salim has learned his English in Calcutta and Rachel has lived in India all her life. I did once in a while, such as when Salim’s wet nurse goes to meet Rachel’s father with a formal marriage proposal, expect an interpreter to pop up and translate or have someone or the other throw up his hands in exasperation at his inability to get what the other is saying. However, nothing of this sort happens. Everyone understands everyone else and towards the end I reconciled myself to such a blissful state of affairs.

As I have mentioned above, the best thing about The World Beyond is that Bhargava keeps one guessing till the end whether Salim will survive the fighting and marry Rachel. The reader’s agony intensifies when Salim is taken prisoner and is punished very harshly. I will not divulge more and play spoilsport. Please do read this book to find out how it all ends.

Wednesday, 7 December 2011

A History Of The Sikhs, Vol II: 1839-2004 by Khushwant Singh – Book Review



The second volume of Khushwant Singh’s A History Of The Sikhs picks up the story where it was left off at the end of the first volume – the death and funeral of Ranjit Singh. The sad notes continue. The regicides amongst Ranjit Singh’s seven sons which followed demise demonstrated how far the Sikh community and its rulers had moved away from the ideals preached by Guru Nanak. Power mattered and nothing else. Kharak Singh, Ranjit Singh’s eldest son and Kharak Singh’s son Nao Nihal Singh had to be cremated within hours of each other, their consorts performing sati. Ranjit Singh’s second son Sher Singh and his young son Pratap Singh were slain by Ajit Singh Sandhawalia and his uncle, the Sandhawalias being distant relatives within the royal family. The only gallant notes at that point in time come from the brave General Zorawar Singh who served the Dogras and led successful campaigns to Ladakh and Tibet. I had no idea till I read this book that Indian rulers had clashed with Royal Chinese troops in Tibet. And won most of their battles!

The Sikh army saw repeated mutinies, but performed excellently against the British during the first and second Anglo-Sikh wars. In fact, it performed so well during the Battle of Ferozeshahr during the first Anglo-Sikh war that the British Indian army took such a beating and ‘the fate of India trembled in the balance.’ However, the Sikh army had its share of traitors and Tej Singh who arrived with fresh troops and guns did not deliver the coup de grace. Instead, he silenced his guns and gave the British a reprieve. The next battle at Sabraon turned out to be India’s Waterloo, mainly on account of the role played by traitor Lal Singh. The Second Anglo-Sikh war also saw the Sikhs achieve a grand victory at Chillianwala, but they failed to follow up with decisive action.

After the British took over the Sikh Kingdom, a miracle took place. Enemies were converted into friends within a very short period, mainly on account of the excellent administration by the British backed by a sense of fair play. Canals were dug and deserts made to bloom. Wealth increased and the Sikhs became loyal foot soldiers of the empire. So much so that when India erupted in mutiny in 1857, the Sikhs were loyal to the Brits and practically saved the Empire. The opportunity of paying back the Mughals for the religious persecution they had suffered, especially the murder of Guru Tegh Bahadur by Emperor Aurangzeb, was only an added bonus. It was hardly surprising when after the mutiny the Sikhs were designated as a martial race and given special treatment while races such as the Bengalis who had helped the British defeat the Sikhs in the two Anglo-Sikh wars, were considered non-martial. Punjab became even more prosperous and loyal to the crown.

Another side effect of the British patronage of the Sikhs was that it prevented many Sikhs from reverting to Hinduism. Great care was taken to ensure that Sikh religious sentiments were not hurt, especially for those serving in the army. In fact, once enlisted, Sikhs could not cut their hair short or give up the outwards characteristics of Sikhism!

Most Indians would have heard of the Akalis and the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee, but how many of us know how control of Gurudwaras used to be with Udasi mahants and the Akalis had to fight to gain control of their holy places? Do read this book to find out more. It’s worth it.

When the First World War erupted, the cream of Sikh youth went off to fight for the British in Gallipoli and Mesopotamia and various other fronts. The British were grateful, but also cautious since the Ghadr movement was also on. Migrant Sikhs shocked by the racist treatment they received in Canada and the USA, returned to Punjab to fight for its independence. The Punjabis were however not ready for an independence struggle and many of the Ghadr activists were turned over to the police.

One good thing about Khushwant Singh’s A History Of The Sikhs is the little snippets of information which are slipped in, which totally distort one’s understanding of a particular subject. For example, one gets to know that Kaiser’s Germany had plans to send large shipments of arms to support the Ghadr movement. However, the internecine quarrels between Indians dampened that enthusiasm. One Dr. Chandra Kant Chakravarty misappropriating a large amount of money provided by the Germans and sending them fictitious reports of his achievements dampened it even more.

During the Second World War, the Japanese initially treated defecting Indian soldiers poorly and with contempt. So much so that Captain Mohan Singh was forced to dissolve the INA. It was later revived when Subhas Chandra Bose arrived on the scene. By that time, the Allies had knocked the stuffing out of the Nipponese who had lost some of their swagger. However, the INA’s performance was poor on the whole, Khushwant Singh tells us.

Partition affected the Sikh community adversely, much more than the Hindus and Muslims in Punjab. The labour government partitioned Punjab on the basis of population and not property ownership. ‘The Radcliff award was as fair as it could be to the Muslims and the Hindus. The one community to which no boundary award could have done justice without doing injustice to others were the Sikhs. Their richest lands, over 150 historical shrines, and half their population were left on the Pakistan side on the dividing line.

The best bit about the second volume is Khushwant Singh’s description of how the movement for Khalistan gained momentum and secessionism gained ground. The demand for a sovereign Sikh state had always existed. Some of those agitating for a Punjabi Suba from the time of India’s independence, which ultimately resulted in the creation of three states, Punjab, Haryana and Himchal Pradesh, did have an independent Sikh state in mind. However, it was the appeasement of Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale by Indira Gandhi and her man in Punjab, India’s future President Giani Zail Singh, which fanned the flames of secessionism and led to Operation Blue Star and calamity. Khushwant Singh’s description of Operation Blue Star does not tally with the popular understanding of how Operation Blue Star unfolded. No, the Indian army did not rush into the Golden Temple without preparation and suffer huge casualties. Far from it, we are told that ‘many months earlier, the army had been instructed to keep itself in readiness to move to the Golden Temple whenever ordered to do so. A replica of the Temple complex had been prepared at Chakrata (near Mussoorie) to familiarize besiegers with its layout, entrances and fortified positions. Information of the strength of Bhindranwale’s fighters, their dispositions and the kind of weapons they possessed had been gathered by the intelligence agencies of the police and the army.’ I won’t divulge more except to say that when Sikh peasantry around Amritsar started to converge towards the Temple carrying whatever rustic weapons they could find, army commanders decided to finish off the task during the night of 5-6 June. ‘They threw in all they had: their commandos, frogmen, helicopters, armoured vehicles and tanks.’ Khushwant Singh tries to sound neutral and unconcerned, but his anger at the turn of events is evident. Do please read this book for a blow by blow account of how this attack unfolded and ended.

Khushwant Singh does not tell us about army casualties, though he does say that in the aftermath of the attack on the Golden Temple, around 4000 Sikh solders deserted their cantonments in various parts of India, slew their officers and fled towards Amritsar. Many were arrested. Some were killed. Just as riveting as the build-up to Operation Blue Star is the description of how Khalistani terrorism took deep roots in Punjab, till KPS Gill uprooted and destroyed it.

The only bit I didn’t like about A History Of The Sikhs is that Khushwant Singh’s description of the various battles fought by Sikh soldiers could have been better. The descriptions are detailed and good, but one misses the thunder of hoofs, the clash of steel, the euphoric scream of the victor or the knotty feeling of defeat in the tummy. I guess good history telling can do without all this and each of the two volumes of A History Of The Sikhs is excellent reading despite the lack of drama depicted from an infantry-man’s shoulder, the sort of stuff one finds in world-class history books such as Andrew Wheatcroft’s Enemy At The Gate which revolves around the Battle of Vienna (1682) where the Ottoman Turks were defeated at the gates of Vienna by a coalition of European powers. But still......

Khushwant Singh ends the book on a positive note commenting that in 2004, two Sikhs were at the helm of affairs in India, with Manmohan Singh holding fort as the Prime Minister and Montek Singh Ahluwali serving as the Deputy Chairman of the Planning Commission, a notional fulfilment of the prophecy - Raj Karega Khalsa – the Khalsa shall rule.

Wednesday, 27 April 2011

Great Soul: Mahatma Gandhi and his Struggle with India by Joseph Lelyveld – A Book Review


Joseph Lelyveld’s recently released biography of Gandhiji got an unexpected (and I should say well deserved) publicity boost from Gujarat’s Modi government which very kindly banned it. There have also been proposals to ban it in the rest of the country on the ground that it portrays Gandhiji in a bad light. Having just finished reading the book, I can tell you that it portrays Gandhiji in a new light, one which is not entirely flattering. Lelyveld approaches his subject with a clinical neutrality not unlike an Egyptologist putting forth a new theory on how the pyramids were built and does not draw too many conclusions – he leaves that to his readers. In my case, after reading Lelyveld’s account, I came away with the conclusion that Gandhiji was definitely a unique soul, a very shrewd soul and the most determined soul I’ve ever heard of. He was also, warts and all, was a very good and kind-hearted soul. But was he a Mahatma? I am not too sure of that, especially after digesting Lelyveld’s analyses.

Lelyveld is an established author whose book (about apartheid) 'Move Your Shadow: South Africa Black and White' won the Pulitzer. He used to report on South Africa for The New York Times. Later in the late 1960s, he reported on India and one gathers from his narration in 'Great Soul' that he visited many of the places in South Africa and India where Gandhiji lived or led agitations against British rule. Altogether, Lelyveld worked for the New York Times for around 40 years, which included a long stint as its executive editor.

At the outset, Lelyveld makes it clear that his approach is to minutely examine certain periods of Gandhiji’s life, ignoring his childhood and the time he spent in England as he trained to be a barrister. The idea is to make sense of Gandhiji’s beliefs, value systems and understand what he stood for and aspired to achieve. There are many important questions that Lelyveld grapples with in his book. What were Gandhiji’s views on indentured Indian labourers in South Africa (derogatively referred to as coolies) and native South Africans? Did he think coolies and blacks were less deserving of equal treatment from the ruling Whites than educated Indians like himself? Did Gandhiji oppose the caste system as ardently as he should have? Gandhiji fought against untouchability, but did he fight just as hard against the caste system? Did he consider attainment of independence by India much, much more important than fighting caste?

There are instances where Lelyveld makes it clear that Gandhiji’s accounts of past events as described in his autobiography were not entirely accurate. This also goes for famous biographies on Gandhiji by individuals like Louis Fischer. For example, Gandhiji’s account of his stint during the Boer war leading stretcher bearers who evacuated wounded British soldiers gives the impression that he and those under him were exposed to serious danger as they worked. Fischer’s biography actually says, ‘For days they worked under the fire of enemy guns.’ The reality, Lelyveld suggests, was a bit different. Gandhiji or his stretcher carrying comrades were never in serious danger as they evacuated wounded British soldiers and not a single one of the eleven hundred stretcher bearer was ever killed for the entire duration of the war, which resulted in horrendous losses even for the winning British. There are a number of other instances where Lelyveld shows Gandhiji’s subsequent descriptions to be at variance with what actually transpired. Did Gandhiji’s memory of what had transpired fade, causing him to project himself in a more favourable light? Unlikely, especially because even in later years Gandhiji would insist that journalists accompanying him should allow him to edit their transcripts of his speeches, so that the end product was always different from what he had actually said.

Lelyveld shows Gandhiji to be a man who constantly changed (and improved) himself. When he initially arrived in South Africa, he was yet another educated Indian, one who did not worry too much about coolies, one who was more interested in religion and vegetarianism, one who wanted Whites to put educated Indians (like him) on par with them. During the Boer War and the Bambatha revolt by the Zulus, Gandhiji sided with the British. However, he underwent a great deal of soul searching after seeing the extremely harsh treatment of Zulus by the British. What right did educated Indians have to demand equal treatment from the British when they were incapable of treating all other Indians as equals? How could Indians practising untouchability expect Whites to give them equal rights? These questions tormented Gandhiji and a year before he left South Africa for good, he marched with thousands of poor indentured labourers as they opposed the £3 tax imposed on indentured labourers who wished to stay on in South Africa at the end of their tenures.

Lelyveld does not find evidence to show that Gandhiji felt much sympathy for the native African struggle for their rights. Nor was there any interaction with native African leaders, though he had met and was a neighbour of John Dube, the great Zulu leader. In fact, some of Gandhiji’s descriptions of native Africans are downright racist even for those times. Towards the end of his life in India, Gandhiji would show much greater appreciation for African rights, but these never really went beyond platitudes. On the other hand, before we berate Gandhiji, let’s not forget that even now, over 60 years after Gandhiji’s death, there a very few Indian or even Asian leaders who show much affinity for Africa and its struggles.

Just as Gandhiji’s outrage at the injustices suffered by indentured coolies was an acquired virtue, his ire at untouchability was also not inborn. Rather it evolved over a period of time. At times, the man who spent a lot of time emptying chamber pots and disposing of human faeces showed a clear unwillingness to fight caste. When the agitation at Vaikom to open up Hindu temples to untouchables was on, Gandhiji’s support was lukewarm. In fact, he ordered a local Congress leader, George Joseph, to not take part since he wasn’t a Hindu, effectively ending George Joseph’s career as a freedom fighter. A Cambridge graduate called Malcolm Muggeride teaching at Alwaye (sic, renamed around ten years ago as Aluva, a town in Kerala, very close to Kochi) saw Gandhiji arrive by train, travelling third class. Muggeride’s account says that Gandhiji’s face showed no special emotion as he was greeted by notables and cheering students. However, he later found some untouchables in a roped-off enclosure. Brushing past cheering students and notables waiting to garland him, Gandhiji went over to the untouchables and started singing with them. Which was the real Gandhiji? Lelyveld wonders and does not provide an answer.

Gandhiji was the main Indian leader responsible for making India’s freedom struggle a mass-based movement. He could connect with the people. However, he did not connect with Ambedkar who took the stand that Gandhiji was not doing enough for the Dalits. As happened during the Vaikom agitation, there were a number of instances where it appeared that Gandhiji wanted to preserve the caste system (minus untouchability) rather than do away with it. Time and again we find Gandhiji asking the untouchables to give up meat and drink and imitate the upper castes, if they wanted to go up the social ladder. Did Gandhiji find it difficult to accept that untouchables who ate meat and drank liquor should also be entitled to equal standing in Indian society? Why should Gandhiji want them to conform to upper caste values to gain acceptance? However it cannot be denied that imitating the upper castes, a process described by reputed Indian sociologists as 'sanskritisation', has been followed by many lower castes as they moved up the Indian social ladder. So, Gandhiji’s advice was definitely practical and would have helped achieve the desired result, though it would definitely fail modern day tests for political correctness.

Lelyveld does not hesitate to discuss Gandhiji’s personal life, his (claims to) chastity, his platonic and perfunctory relationship with his wife and his (disfunctional) relationship with his sons. The alleged homosexual affair with Herman Kallenbach takes up many a page and I will not divulge much except to say that Gandhiji and Kallenbach fondly called each other Upper House and Lower House. Lelyveld dangles the possibility that the relationship was merely homoerotic (where both men found each other attractive) and not necessarily homosexual. I’ll leave it to you to read this book and find out more.

Lelyveld says that Gandhiji was a man of many causes, but the cause of Hindu-Muslim unity was closest to his heart, possibly as close as that of Swaraj which later morphed into the demand for independence. Gandhiji always had a close relationship with Muslims. His initial clients in South Africa were mainly Muslims and the first agitation he launched after returning to India was the Khilafat movement through which he hoped to create Hindu-Muslim unity. During the partition riots, Gandhiji’s presence in Noakhali helped reduce tensions and fewer people died than would have if he hadn’t been there. This despite the fact that for most of his time at Noakhali, Gandhiji was shunned by local Muslims. Muslims demanded that Gandhiji should go to Bihar where Hindus were slaughtering Muslims. Gandhiji himself wanted to go to Punjab where large scale massacres were taking place. Just before partition Gandhiji managed brief trips to Patna and Lahore, but rushed back towards Noakhali to keep his promise to be there for 15 August. He never made it to Noakhali since Calcutta needed him more. Everyone seemed to want Gandhiji to be with them as riots engulfed Northern India. After independence, and after preventing what could have been horrendous bloodshed in Calcutta, Gandhiji went to Delhi and there he continued to perform his magic till Godse’s bullets claimed him. Could Gandhiji have managed his itinerary better or more effectively? Should he have gone to the Punjab rather than stay in Delhi? Don’t look to Lelyveld for an answer.

I found Lelyveld’s neutrality on every issue tolerable and at times even comforting, except when he talks of Gandhiji’s experiments (on a mattress) with his seventeen year old grandniece Manu. Not only does it appear (to me) that Gandhiji groomed Manu through correspondence to join him, it also appears that Gandhiji knew full well that the outside world would look at his experiments with askance, though he did talk about them freely. Why else would he send a telegram to Manu’s father, his nephew, on the lines of “If you and Manu sincerely anxious for her to be with me at your risk, you can bring her,” even though it was his idea in the first place? I found it inexcusable for Lelyveld to not to be outraged. I was. Instead, Lelyveld merely comments that “the telegram to her father was oddly worded” Lelyveld goes on to say that “Gandhi made it sound as if he were giving in to the wishes of father and daughter. In fact, he’d planted the idea himself and cultivated it in an epistolary campaign spanning months.” Is Lelyveld flat monotone a form of sarcasm? Lelyveld has titled his work 'Great Soul'. Is that meant to be tongue-in-cheek? I don’t know.

Have Gandhiji’s teachings on ahimsa and non-violence made a difference to the contemporary world? Lelyveld does not offer a conclusive answer though he plants evidence on both sides of the argument. Lelyveld tells us of a visit (during the apartheid era, 18 years after Gandhiji’s death) to the remains of the Phoenix Settlement in South Africa where a trustee of the settlement told him that “Passive resistance doesn’t have a chance against this government. It’s too brutal and persevering.” Lelyveld also tells us about a memorial ceremony held in the year 2009 in Dacca, Bangladesh, where Hindus and Muslims took part and Christian, Muslim and Hindu songs were sung.

On the whole this is a very good book for anyone curious to know more about Gandhiji, but at the end, the reader ends up with more questions than at the beginning.