Farzana Page 23

  Such niceties did not deter Thomas. The devil-may-care Irishman was in his element. Despite several setbacks – the newly formed battalion was inclined to disappear on orgies of plunder whenever his back was turned, his horses were all stolen when the picket in charge deserted his post – he gradually whipped his men into shape, earning first their obedience and eventually their devotion. ‘In times of peace his liberality was prodigal and in seasons of adversity, when there was no pay in the treasure chest and no grain in the camp bazaar, he never failed to identify himself with his followers, sharing with them their trials, their discomforts and their dangers.’12

  The dubious ownership of Jhajjar district notwithstanding, Thomas managed to take possession of its town and extort from the residents an agreement to hand over one year’s land revenue. Then he turned his attention to subduing those recalcitrant districts that supposedly still owed allegiance – and money – to Appa Khande Rao. His route from Jhajjar took him past Tappal, where he launched a mischievous but very productive raid on one of the villages that had once been under his own command. Francklin, his biographer, interpreted the raid as a revenge attack on Farzana ‘whom he now considered his bitter enemy’. But in view of Thomas’s later conduct, and given the fact that Tappal was now held by two of Farzana’s French officers, it seems more likely that ‘his vindictiveness was directed not against her but against the French faction which had brought about his downfall’.13

  Thomas’s assignments for Appa Khande Rao, including the suppression of a mutiny by Rao’s troops and rescuing him from a siege in his own fort at Karnal, earned him his employer’s everlasting gratitude. To celebrate the second of these triumphs, Thomas built himself a neat little fort in Jhajjar and named it ‘George-garh’ (although his sepoys insisted on calling it Jehazigarh, ‘the sailor’s fort’). By the beginning of 1795 his army had grown to 2,000 infantry, 200 horse and sixteen guns, some of which he is said to have cast himself from brass utensils stolen during his many raids.

  Although he would later engage several English officers (but never a Frenchman), at this stage all his officers were of mixed race – or ‘country-born’ as they described themselves. This was deliberate policy on Thomas’s part. He found the company of country-born officers much more congenial than that of most of their European counterparts. Many were the sons of educated European fathers and had received some education themselves. Thomas found them unpretentious, diligent and refreshingly loyal. They were free of the political and cultural bias that caused friction between different nationalities within a brigade and that he thought the cause of all Farzana’s troubles. Unsurprisingly, it was not long before his exploits were attracting wider attention, especially among the politically acute in Delhi ‘who felt obliged to take note of the influence he was acquiring within such a short distance of the capital’.14

  ON THE RUN

  By now, early 1795, the situation in Sardhana had deteriorated to the point where even Levassoult was finding it intolerable. Ostracized by the brigade, and with no allies to keep him informed of what was being debated openly in the ranks and furtively at the meetings of their officers, he changed tactics. Abandoning his plan to regain command of the brigade, he endeavoured to persuade Farzana to realize her fortune, leave Sardhana and make a new life with him elsewhere. There was no price on his head as there had been on Reinhardt’s; they could live in style wherever they chose. Every freelance’s dream of making good was within his grasp, since in Farzana he held a prize worth more than the hard-earned fortunes of any of them.

  But it was this suggestion that brought Farzana abruptly to her senses. The fog of misery evaporated as if it had never been. Her ‘aristocratic’ husband stood exposed for what he was – just another gold-digger. She flatly refused even to consider the idea. Sardhana was hers. She had nurtured it and defended it. She would never relinquish it. Ordering a bearer to prepare her hookah, she swept out of the room.

  Her problems were hardly over. The marriage to Levassoult had been conducted according to the rites of the Catholic Church. There could be no question over its legitimacy; he was still her husband. But not her master.

  Undeterred by her refusal, Levassoult tried another tactic. In April 1795 the commander of the British garrison at Anupshahr, a Lieutenant Colonel MacGowan, received an unexpected letter.

  My life has hitherto been a scene of difficulties and distress [it read]. It is now verging towards the close and through age I am unable to support these difficulties any longer. Hence I wish to retire and to pass the remainder of my life under the protection of the English Government, which is my only prospect of support.15

  The letter was affixed with Farzana’s seal, and never having met her, McGowan had no way of knowing that the proudest of begums could not possibly have composed such a poor-spirited epistle. She would never, even in her eighties, describe her life as ‘verging towards a close’. At forty-something she would have had to be tortured into pleading incapacity or any other condition that might be supposed age-related. But McGowan, though accepting the authenticity of the letter, was uncertain how to react to a request for refuge from someone who was the widow of the detested Reinhardt yet a close associate of the emperor. He therefore passed the letter on to the Governor General.

  At the time Sir John Shore, who had succeeded Lord Cornwallis in that post in 1793, was desperately trying to avoid becoming embroiled in a new war between the Marathas and the Nizam of Hyderabad. He was thus too busy to give the letter more than a cursory glance. But he remembered that in the previous year Farzana had obliged him by arranging the capture of a group of deserters from the Company’s forces who had fled across the Ganges into Sardhana territory. He owed her a favour and therefore instructed his secretary to ‘inform the widow of the late Sombre … that she is at liberty to reside with her family and personal attendants at Patna, if she thinks proper, though strictly without troops or military paraphernalia’.16 This generous response was prejudiced only by its very specific offer of Patna. In a more imaginative proconsul than Sir John Shore mention of the scene of Reinhardt’s notorious massacre would surely have been a case of tongue-in-cheek comment. From Shore it was possibly a barb, probably just an oversight.

  Levassoult, the presumed author of the letter that purported to be from Farzana, must have reasoned that, once the news got out that Farzana had requested and been granted permission to retire under British protection, she would have no alternative but to do so. The emperor would be offended by her apparent disloyalty and the brigade would feel betrayed. Moreover, the chances of this convoluted plot succeeding were given an unintentional boost by William Palmer, now the East India Company’s accredited agent in Delhi. Hearing from McGowan of Farzana’s request, and remembering the service she had rendered British interests when she rescued Colonel Stewart, ‘he decided to interpose his good offices in her favour’.

  With this in view, and having no more reason than McGowan to suspect that all was not what it seemed, Palmer sought to smooth Farzana’s path into retirement by persuading ‘Scindia’ to release her from her obligations to the emperor. If the ‘Scindia’ in question had been Farzana’s old superior and frequent sparring partner Mahadji, he would surely have smelled a rat. But the current ‘Scindia’ was the inexperienced young Daulat Rao, who smelled only the chance of extracting some severance money. According to William Sleeman, the new Scindia’s response to Palmer’s request was to ‘demand twelve lakhs of rupees as the price of the privilege she solicited to retire’.17

  Farzana thus found herself hedged in on all sides. The prospect of explaining to the British and the Marathas, let alone the emperor, that she was in fact being bullied and manipulated by her husband was too humiliating to contemplate. On the other hand her failure to restrain Levassoult was losing her the support of the brigade. With even the faithful old Captain Jean-Rémy Saleur refusing to communicate with her, she had nowhere to turn. An unedifying retirement into British protection was beginning to look like the
least bad option. But just when all seemed lost, the utterly unthinkable happened. The Sardhana Brigade rebelled against its begum-commander. And unlike the mutiny over pay that had seen Reinhardt lashed to a heated gun barrel, this one was aimed at getting rid of Farzana and her husband altogether.

  DISSOLUTE DISPOSITION AND DUBIOUS INTEGRITY

  The mutiny would have happened sooner had the brigade been able to agree over who should lead it. Temporarily united by their shared loathing of Levassoult, the officers had found themselves faced with the same problem that had always plagued Farzana: not only did a potential commander have to be acceptable to the brigade, the brigade had to be acceptable to a potential commander. Among the staff it quickly became apparent that none of the French officers was acceptable to the other European officers and vice versa. Meanwhile, the sepoys, reluctant mutineers anyway and deeply disturbed by the idea of being disloyal to Farzana, were loath to support any of them. As for looking for a commander from outside, everyone knew that would be almost impossible; only a fool or a blackguard would take over a brigade that had forfeited the trust of potential employers by staging a mutiny.

  The problem had begun to look insoluble until someone remembered Louis Balthazar. Still living a life of debauchery in Delhi, Reinhardt’s not entirely ‘feeble-minded’ son looked as unfit to command the brigade as when his father died. But the would-be mutineers noted several points in his favour. If the son of the brigade’s founder became its commander, it should be possible to present the transfer of authority as legitimate and not the product of an unpunished mutiny. The sepoys could be persuaded that it was the height of loyalty to serve the offspring of their late commander. The deciding factor was that every one of the existing officers was convinced that Louis Balthazar would never be more than a puppet who could be easily manipulated on the rare occasions when he was present and easily disposed of when they found someone better.

  The plot was carefully laid and it was a measure of Farzana’s isolation that she learned nothing of it. A detachment of troops under an officer known only as ‘Liègeois’ (presumably he was from Liège) was sent to Delhi to invite Louis Balthazar to play his part. Now in his fortieth year and the father of two small children, Louis Balthazar was as obnoxious as ever, loud-mouthed, irrationally vain and permanently intoxicated. Though no one doubted that he would accept the offer, he in fact hesitated. He was fearful, according to Francklin, ‘of the ability and intrigues of his mother-in-law’ [Farzana].18 Not until the deputation had ‘relieved his apprehension by taking an oath of fidelity to him on the spot and promising to seat him on the musnud [throne] of Sardhana’ did he finally agree.

  Thanks to a network of informers, William Palmer was one of the first to get wind of what he called ‘the defection’ in the Sardhana Brigade. Even before ‘Liègeois’ had reached Delhi, Palmer was writing urgently to the Governor General to warn him ‘that the discontent is general among the troops under the Begum’s authority on account of the uncontrollable power which she permits M Levassoult to exercise, who is a man of violent and imperious disposition’.19 As Louis Balthazar havered over accepting Liègeois’ offer, Palmer wrote again, this time advising that the brigade had already accepted ‘the son of Samru … who is reputed to be a man of weak understanding and worthless character’. Clearly Palmer was alarmed; but lacking the authority or the opportunity, he neither intervened nor did he forewarn Farzana.

  The following day ‘Liègeois’ escorted Louis Balthazar back to Sardhana. Wasting no time on ceremony, the rest of the mutineers immediately formed ranks behind ‘the son of Samru’ and marched in a body on the palace. They were determined, as they put it, ‘to seize the Begum and her husband’. But according to Sleeman, Levassoult had at last got wind of trouble.

  He urged the Begum to set out with him without delay, declaring that he would rather destroy himself than submit to the personal indignities which he knew would be heaped upon him by the infuriated ruffians who were coming to seize them. The Begum consented, declaring that she would put an end to her life with her own hand should she be taken.20

  Heavily veiled, Farzana stepped into her palanquin clutching a dagger. Levassoult mounted his horse ‘with a pair of pistols in his holsters and a good sword by his side’.21 Thus armed, and attended only by a few elderly servants, the fugitives made their escape. According to Francklin they were heading for the Ganges and the sanctuary of British-held Anupshahr, but progress was dictated by the loping jog of the palanquin-bearers. As darkness fell, their only chance of evading capture lay in their flight not being discovered until the moonless night ruled out pursuit.

  As it happened, they had covered less than four miles when the thud of hooves was heard. A detachment of cavalry was hard on their heels. Realizing further effort was pointless, the breathless palkiwallahs (palanquin-bearers) slowed to a halt and set down their burden. Levassoult, on horseback, might have got away. He was already at some distance from Farzana, and this may well have been his intention. But, seeing (presumably by the light of their flares) that her palanquin was surrounded by an angry mob of heavily armed troopers – men who until that morning had been in her service – he is said to have panicked and lost control of his horse.

  Given the darkness, what followed is open to interpretation. The facts though are reasonably consistent. While Farzana remonstrated with her captors, Levassoult was surrounded by cavalrymen. One of their officers grabbed his bridle and ‘in the confusion that arose’, according to the usually reliable Francklin, ‘and before any resolution could be taken, some shots were fired and a few men were slightly wounded’. Who fired the shots and who was hit is not clear. Then came a piercing scream from one of Farzana’s female attendants. Levassoult raised himself in the saddle and glimpsed a maidservant standing by the curtained palanquin clutching Farzana’s bloodstained shawl.

  He demanded to know what had happened and was answered that the Begum had killed herself. Twice he put the same question, and receiving the same answer, with great deliberation he put a pistol to his mouth and shot himself.22

  This is again Francklin’s account, faithful to the facts as he heard them from some of those who were present but woefully short on explanatory detail. According to another eyewitness who was interviewed some years later by William Sleeman, the Frenchman ‘sprang at least a foot into the air as the shot struck him, and then he fell dead on the ground’.

  JUST DESERTS

  However well attested the facts of Levassoult’s death, anyone who had not actually witnessed them would have been reluctant to accept a verdict of suicide. An officer was expected to fight and die at the hands of the enemy, not by his own hand. Hearsay, plus a bloody shawl glimpsed by the light of a fitful flare, hardly constituted proof that Farzana was already dead. And anyway, whatever love there had once been between Levassoult and Farzana had long since soured. A far more plausible explanation was that Levassoult had been hit by someone else’s bullet. In other words, mutiny had now been compounded by murder. For the rebels there was no going back. Worse still, for their captives, dead or alive, there was no prospect of leniency.

  Levassoult’s body was dragged back to Sardhana through the dust, and then dumped on the parade ground. For three days the officers and men of the brigade took posthumous revenge on the despised gun founder by committing ‘every act of insult and indignity that their gross and bestial imaginations could conceive’.23 Then they threw the corpse into a ditch.

  Witnessing this savagery was Farzana herself. Contrary to reports, she had not been killed beside her palanquin, although she was certainly wounded. One account has it that ‘she had stabbed herself, but her stiletto had been turned off by her ribs without penetrating any vital part’.24 Others are silent as to how exactly she was bloodied. Self-inflicted or otherwise, the wound was not life-threatening and she too was taken back to Sardhana. There, without being allowed to have her wound dressed or to recover from the shock of a confrontation with her own army and the death of her husband
, the princess of Sardhana was hauled from her palanquin and escorted none too gently to the parade ground. As conspicuously as possible, under a full sun and in sight of her husband’s corpse, she was lashed to a gun carriage and left in the scorching heat to contemplate her downfall.

  With his stepmother safely disposed of, Louis Balthazar moved into the palace to celebrate his elevation to the musnud by drinking himself into a stupor. Next day he was sufficiently recovered to start making plans. Tearing a leaf out of Levassoult’s book, he dictated an announcement in Farzana’s name and sent a copy to the East India Company’s Governor General. The gist of the announcement was that, though Levassoult was responsible for the late disturbances, the writer [that is Farzana] accepted some of the blame and was therefore standing down and transferring the brigade to the care of Louis Balthazar.

  M Levassoult, to whose management I had entrusted all my concerns from a mistaken judgement, was about to involve my affairs in ruin and disorder [ran the letter].… I was in consequence obliged to send for my beloved son Zafaryab Khan and of my free will and accord I entrusted to him the whole management of my affairs, for there is nothing in the world more precious than a son. Hereafter have the goodness to address to him any applications you may have to make to this quarter.25

  The document might have been taken at its face value had Louis Balthazar been able to resist the temptation of embellishing it with a paean to the good character of the signatory’s ‘beloved son’. This gave the game away. Sir John Shore, having just read Palmer’s description of Louis Balthazar as ‘a man of weak understanding and worthless character’, was now being asked to believe that he was ‘accomplished, of an acute understanding, and prospective [i.e., with good prospects] beyond compare’. To reconcile the two appraisals, he sent a copy of the latest to Palmer, whose comments were both succinct and astute: ‘I am convinced that the Begum either had no knowledge of it or was compelled to affix her seal.’26 Palmer then added that, while he still had ‘no pretensions to interfere between the Begum and her son’, he felt that it would be improper for the Company to ‘give any countenance’ to Louis Balthazar.