Epilogue
1919
M
y hands are trembling now. I put down my diary, and suddenly, it doesn’t matter that sixty-one years have passed. I can still taste the dirt of the battlefield in my mouth; hear the screams of the men and horses in my ears. There was a time I used to read these words over and over, as if reliving my trauma could change it somehow. Shri Rama was the one who instructed me to put my diaries away. I was becoming a tree rooted in the soil of tragedy, he said, and with every fresh reading I was watering the roots, sinking deeper, allowing my pain to grow stronger. “Plant your roots in fresh soil,” he told me. And so my words were shut away. Until now, when Miss Pennywell and all of her readers will find them.
When the war was finished and the British flag was hoisted over every fortress, Arjun and I were married by Shri Rama, who not only survived the war, but made a new life for himself in the city of Bombay. Since Arjun and I were both rebels, it was impossible to remain near Jhansi. So we moved to the bustling city of Mumbai. It was a city that had been renamed Bombay by the
British, reminding us every day that we had lost; that the kingdom of Jhansi was gone. Now, we were part of an empire. We asked my sister and her son to live with us, but she refused. She held me accountable for the fate she had suffered. She believed that my loyalty had never been to my family, but to a queen who had given me both a marriage and jewels. Still, we offered to buy her a house nearby overlooking the Arabian Sea and arranged for her to live a comfortable life as a widow. This she accepted.
It pained me to think of Anu alone in a strange city. We visited her many times, but she would never open her door. We would watch her son playing in the nearby fields—a light-skinned child with eyes the color of the sea. Did she love him, or did she punish him for what he had cost her? I never knew. Arjun counseled me to wait until the boy was older, and establish a relationship with him then. But during his tenth year, he died. Two years later, my sister was dead, too. In her house, I found the diary I had given her as a child, with all of the memories of my mother inside. It had been wrapped in an old muretha. I held it to my nose and inhaled. It still smelled of Barwa Sagar.
I often felt guilty for the happiness Arjun and I found in Bombay. With the rani’s generosity, we bought a house on Malabar Hill, and we had three children—two boys, and a little girl named Raashi. They are all still living in Bombay, married and with numerous children of their own. I don’t know why this didn’t happen for Anu, why her fate was so different from what I had planned. Shri Rama said something very interesting at my wedding, and Arjun would remind me of it constantly: we can help pave the roads of those around us, but we can’t choose their direction. Even trying is against the laws of samsara.
Sill, sometimes I sit on my bed and think of all the faces that have come and gone—the rani, Moti, Jhalkari, Mandar, Sundari,
my father, Shivaji. The war stole so many people from us, and still it’s not over. Sometimes, when Raashi is taking me on the train, I’ll catch a glimpse of a young man struggling against the guards who are trying to remove him from the first-class cabin, where only the British are allowed to sit, and that’s how I know the war isn’t finished. The goddess Durga is still here, whispering to her children, “I’ll only be happy when I am free.”
Historical Note
O
n June 20, 1858, just two days after the rani’s death, the “rebels” across India surrendered. Nearly five months later, the British East India Company was abolished, and Queen Victoria was declared the Empress of India. When you consider the life of Rani Lakshmi and the unbelievable lives of the women in her Durga Dal, it’s not difficult to see why she’s the most famous woman in India’s history. There was almost nothing about her life or the lives of her Durgavasi I needed to embellish. If anything, so many legends have sprung up around her that I needed to be careful to separate what was fact from fiction. For instance, her famous jump from the fortress walls while mounted on her horse and carrying her son certainly never happened. But her Durga Dal, her decision to practice with the Durgavasi (unprecedented for a Hindu queen), her presence in the Durbar Hall while her husband took to the stage, and her subsequent role in the rebellion, are all part of the historical record.
After her death, General Hugh Rose returned in triumph to
Gwalior. The Raja of Scindia joined him, and the pair of them entered the city accompanied by fireworks and celebratory parades. Despite his victory, Rose remained so disturbed by the rani’s escape that he ordered Bhandir Gate to be sealed. It remained this way for the next seventy-five years. On his return to England, Queen Victoria made Rose Lord Strathnairn of Jhansi. India’s annexation was complete. The British population was told its conquest was necessary, and they were fed stories of misrule and human rights abuses.
Most of the rani’s Durgavasi were killed in their fight against the British. However, Kashi did escape with Anand, and eventually, the British granted the boy a small pension.
What became of the traitors Gopal and Sadashiv is uncertain, but both men probably met quick ends, like Tatya Tope, who was captured by the British and executed. As for Nana Saheb, who spent days celebrating his own coronation instead of preparing for the advancing British army—it’s likely he escaped British detection by living with one of his wives in Nepal. Unlike Azimullah Khan, who died of an unknown illness before the British could capture him, he probably led a long life.
Some of the more surprising elements of the book really did occur. Shakespeare was extremely popular among Indians learning English. And the play,
Ś
akuntal
ā
, which once impressed the raja, eventually served as an inspiration for Goethe’s
Faust
. However, even though I tried my best to remain faithful to history, a few dates were altered. Azimullah Khan’s arrival in England happened in 1853 and not 1855 as it does in this book. And the despicable Circular Memorandum was actually created in 1886. An Englishman who was in India to observe the British had the following to say about what came to be known as the Infamous Memorandum:
The orders specified were faithfully carried out, under the supervision of commanding officers, and were to this effect . . . The regimental Kutwal was [an under-official, native] to take two policemen (without uniform), and go into the villages and take from the homes of these poor people their daughters from fourteen years and upwards, about twelve or fifteen girls at a time. They were to select the best looking. Next morning, these were all put in front of the Colonel and Quartermaster. The former made his selection of the number required. They were then presented with a pass or license, and then made over to the old woman in charge of this house of vice under the Government. The women already there, who were examined by the doctor, and found diseased, had their passes taken away from them, and were then removed by the police out of the Cantonment, and these fresh, innocent girls put in their places.
As Josephine Butler wrote in
The Revival and Extension of the Abolitionist Cause
in 1887, “What can a poor Army slave-woman do when thus turned out? Her caste is broken, because she has lived with foreigners, and her friends will seldom receive her back; she has been compelled to follow the soldiers on the march; and when dismissed may be hundreds of miles away from any human being who ever saw her face before.” The likely end for these women was ignominious death.
Further changes were made in instances where the history was unclear, and I had to make my best guess as to what the truth might be. It is unknown, for example, whether Rao Saheb (sometimes spelled Sahib) was Saheb’s brother or his nephew. Similarly, the birth of Rani Lakshmi is contested, with her memorial plaque in Gwalior reading November 19, 1835, yet biographers often claiming a date of either 1827 or 1828. These earlier dates seem
most probable, and November 19, 1828, is ultimately what I went with.
The life of Rani Lakshmi was extraordinary in the truest sense of the word. In Jhansi, women enjoyed an unprecedented amount of freedom, and it was in this environment that the queen flourished. On a memorial in front of Phoolbagh palace, she is remembered as:
The nurturer of the city of Jhansi who dressed like a man, who could ride the tallest of horses, who held a raised sword in her hand, who was thrilled by the frenzy of war like the Goddess Kali, who many times challenged the English generals such a Hugh Rose in battle—that Lakshmi (the goddess of fortune), was killed here as if by an unfortunate turn of destiny and went [back] to heaven!
On August 15, 1947, eighty-nine years after Rani Lakshmi’s death, India achieved its independence.
Glossary
angarkha:
a long dress that reaches either the knees or the ankles and is worn with pants
bagh:
garden
Bhagavad Gita:
the sixth book of the
Mahabharata
in which the god Krishna speaks to his disciple Arjuna. The principle ideas in the
Bhagavad Gita
are mishkama karma (working without seeking any reward) and bhakti (devotion to god)
bhand:
clown
Brahma:
creator god
Brahmin:
the priestly caste, considered the highest caste by Hindus
charpai:
a wooden bed with a mattress made of rope
choti:
a covering, usually made of gold, for a woman’s braid
Dadi:
grandmother
dhoti:
a long cloth worn by a man from waist to foot
Didi:
elder sister, often used to address girls who are elder, even if there is no relationship
dupatta:
a cloth worn around the neck, similar to a scarf. It can also be used to cover the hair.
durbar:
meeting
Durbar Hall:
a meeting hall
Durga:
the Mother Goddess
Durga Dal:
an elite group of female guards trained to protect the rani
Durga Puja:
an important Hindu festival celebrating the Mother Goddess
Durgavasi:
a member of the Durga Dal
ganwaar:
a person who is considered uncouth and possibly illiterate because they come from a village
guru:
a religious teacher and spiritual guide
Har Har Mahadev:
Mightiest of Mighties
Holi:
an ancient Hindu spring festival called the Festival of Colors
ji:
a term of respect
Krishna:
the eighth avatar of Vishnu
Kshatriya:
the second-highest Hindu caste. Traditionally, members of this caste were involved in the military or some aspect of governing.
Mahabharata:
one of two great Sanskrit epics. It is supposed to have been written by the wise man Vyasa and tells the story of the contest between the Pandavas and the Kurus.
mahal:
palace
maharaja:
great king
maidan:
a large open field
mandir:
a temple
Mughals:
Muslim rulers of India from the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries
namaste:
a form of greeting made with the palms pressed together, fingers pointed upward
nawab:
a provincial governor of the Mughal Empire. Also used in reference to a man of great wealth
Pita-ji:
father
puja:
a prayer
purdah:
the seclusion of women from public viewing
raja:
ruler
rajkumar:
son of a king
Rama:
the god and hero of the Sanskrit epic the
Ramayana
Ramayana:
one of two great Sanskrit epics. It tells the story of the god Rama, his wife Sita, and his brother Lakshmana.
rani:
queen
rupee:
unit of currency used throughout India and its former kingdoms
sari:
a garment of Hindu women that consists of yards of cloth draped so that one end forms a skirt and the other covers the top of the body
shaadi:
marriage
Shiva:
the god who destroys so that progress may ensue
Shri:
a polite word used to address an elder male
swastik(a):
a very ancient and sacred Hindu symbol with four
arms bent at ninety degrees, symbolizing auspiciousness and well-being. Later, it was rotated to the right and used to symbolize the Nazi party.
tikka:
a decoration worn between the parting in a woman’s hair and ending between her brows
veshya:
prostitute
Vishnu:
the preserver god whose ten avatars include both Rama and Krishna
Acknowledgments
T
his book could never have been written without the help and support of my amazing husband, Amit Kushwaha. Without him, I doubt I would ever have stumbled across the life story of Rani Lakshmibai. I also owe a debt of gratitude to Heather Lazare, who originally acquired this book for Touchstone, and to my wonderful agent, Dan Lazar, who made it all happen. To the editor who worked with me on this novel, Sally Kim, you are absolutely amazing. What a lucky day when I landed with you. To the Kushwaha family who guided me throughout India and took me not only to Jhansi, but to Gwalior and other places where the rani both lived and fought, I am incredibly grateful. And to my fantastic team at Touchstone, including Cherlynne Li, Jane Liddle, Melissa Vipperman-Cohen, Susan Moldow, David Falk, Laura Flavin, Brian Belfiglio, Maria Whelan, Carla Benton, and Etinosa Agbonlahor, I owe you all a tremendous thanks. To my family and friends who have always supported my writing career: the Morans, the Kushwahas, the Ballingers, the Porters, the Carpen
ters, the Indigs, and the Avildsens. And to Chantelle Doss, who helped with the research of this book. Lastly, a very heartfelt thanks goes out to Allison McCabe, who edited the first version of this work and whose sharp mind and even sharper sense of humor is always refreshing.