Devotional Sovereignty: Kingship and Religion in India 0190088893, 9780190088897

Devotional Sovereignty: Kingship and Religion in India investigates the shifting conceptualization of sovereignty in the

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Devotional Sovereignty: Kingship and Religion in India
 0190088893, 9780190088897

Table of contents :
Dedication
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction: Kingship and Sovereignty in Mysore
PART I. TIPU SULTAN
1. The King of Seringapatam
2. The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru
3. Divine Warfare and Diplomacy
PART II. KRISHNARAJA WODEYAR III
4. Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family
5. Portraying Devotion
6. Displaying Power
7. Mapping New Sovereignty
Epilogue
Index

Citation preview

Devotional Sovereignty

RELIGION, CULTURE, AND HISTORY SERIES EDITOR Robert A. Yelle, Ludwig-​Maximilians-​Universität München A Publication Series of The American Academy of Religion and Oxford University Press ANTI-​JUDAISM IN FEMINIST RELIGIOUS WRITINGS Katharina von Kellenbach

IMAGINING THE FETUS The Unborn in Myth, Religion, and Culture Edited by Vanessa R. Sasson and Jane Marie Law

CROSS-​CULTURAL CONVERSATION (Initiation) Edited by Anindita Niyogi Balslev

VICTORIAN REFORMATION The Fight over Idolatry in the Church of England, 1840-​1860 Dominic Janes

ON DECONSTRUCTING LIFE-​WORLDS Buddhism, Christianity, Culture Robert Magliola THE GREAT WHITE FLOOD Racism in Australia Anne Pattel-​Gray IMAG(IN)ING OTHERNESS Filmic Visions of Living Together Edited by S. Brent Plate and David Jasper CULTURAL OTHERNESS Correspondence with Richard Rorty, Second Edition Anindita Niyogi Balslev

SCHLEIERMACHER ON RELIGION AND THE NATURAL ORDER Andrew C. Dole MUSLIMS AND OTHERS IN SACRED SPACE Edited by Margaret Cormack LITTLE BUDDHAS Children and Childhoods in Buddhist Texts and Traditions Edited by Vanessa R. Sasson HINDU CHRISTIAN FAQIR Modern Monks, Global Christianity, and Indian Sainthood Timothy S. Dobe

FEMINIST POETICS OF THE SACRED Creative Suspicions Edited by Frances Devlin-​Glass and Lyn McCredden MUSLIMS BEYOND THE ARAB WORLD The Odyssey of ʿAjamī and the Murīdiyya PARABLES FOR OUR TIME Fallou Ngom Rereading New Testament Scholarship after the Holocaust LATINO AND MUSLIM IN AMERICA Tania Oldenhage Race, Religion, and the Making of a New Minority Harold D. Morales MOSES IN AMERICA The Cultural Uses of Biblical Narrative THE MANY FACES OF A HIMALAYAN Melanie Jane Wright GODDESS Haḍimbā, Her Devotees, and Religion in INTERSECTING PATHWAYS Rapid Change Modern Jewish Theologians in Conversation Ehud Halperin with Christianity Marc A. Krell MISSIONARY CALCULUS Americans in the Making of Sunday Schools ASCETICISM AND ITS CRITICS in Victorian India Historical Accounts and Comparative Perspectives Anilkumar Belvadi Edited by Oliver Freiberger DEVOTIONAL SOVEREIGNTY VIRTUOUS BODIES Kingship and Religion in India The Physical Dimensions of Morality Caleb Simmons in Buddhist Ethics Susanne Mrozik

Devotional Sovereignty Kingship and Religion in India C A L E B SI M M O N S

1

3 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2020 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. CIP data is on file at the Library of Congress ISBN 978–​0–​19–​008889–​7 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America

For my Honey Bear

Contents Acknowledgments

ix

Introduction: Kingship and Sovereignty in Mysore

1

PA RT I .   T I P U SU LTA N 1. The King of Seringapatam

31

2. The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru

57

3. Divine Warfare and Diplomacy

77

PA RT I I .   K R I SH NA R AJA WO D EYA R   I I I 4. Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family

107

5. Portraying Devotion

133

6. Displaying Power

169

7. Mapping New Sovereignty

211

Epilogue Index

243 265

Acknowledgments This book is possible only because of the unending encouragement and support that I have received from so many people over the course of its development. During my time researching Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja Wodeyar III in Mysore, I have had numerous aides, guides, and informants. I am so thankful to the city of Mysore and its citizens for being such gracious hosts while I lived there from 2012 to 2014 and for welcoming me back each subsequent year. I was extremely fortunate to have been able to meet the late Maharaja Shri Kanthadatta Narasimharaja Wodeyar. I am very grateful to the late maharaja for the time he took to review my research, for sharing his knowledge, and for all of his assistance in navigating the various levels of access, including a personal invitation to join Ayudha Puja and each night of his private darbar during Dasara 2013. His staff, especially Lakshminarayana, Pandiyan, and the maharaja’s personal curator, Michael Ludgrove, were extremely helpful in facilitating my interactions with the royal family. I  owe a considerable debt to M.  G. Narasimha of the Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery, who has been an invaluable resource on Mysore art and culture. The members of the Karnataka Directorate of Archaeology and Museums provided priceless guidance and assistance, including Director R. Gopal, Deputy Director (Palace) T. S. Subrahmanya, and Gowda A. M. H., and various members of the Mysore Palace staff, including K. S. Venkateshesh (superintendent), Shylendra (head of security), and Madu Nayak (guide lecturer). I am also grateful for the people of Chamundi Hill, who played multiple roles as guides, informants, subjects, and friends, especially Madesha, Manjunatha, Mohan, Purushottam, Raja, Satyanarayana, and Shashi. Additionally, Shashishekhara Dikshita, the head priest of the Chamundeshvari Temple, has been endlessly supportive of my project and helped in every way possible, including allowing me to ride with Chamundeshvari from the temple to the Mysore Palace on Dasara 2013—​a very rare opportunity afforded to an outsider. Many mentors and colleagues have been instrumental in helping this book come to fruition through their continued encouragement and guidance, and I owe each of them a great debt of gratitude. I must begin by thanking my mentor and guide Vasudha Narayanan, who has continually pushed me to succeed. She always inspires me through her tireless work ethic and has been my champion and cheerleader since graduate school. I am extremely grateful to Anne Monius, who has been a constant source of inspiration, guidance, and friendship. If it were not for her close readings of my manuscript and her insightful comments

x Acknowledgments and suggestions, there would be no book. Sarah Pierce Taylor is amazing. She and I bonded over issues of sovereignty in southern Karnataka during our many overlapping periods in Mysore, and I’m so thankful that our shared interests have developed into a lasting friendship that goes well beyond our academic lives. I wish to thank Ute Hüsken for the influential role she has played in the development of this project and giving me the opportunity to present and workshop early stages of this research in Paris, Oslo, Austin, and Heidelberg. And I thank Travis Smith, who was so influential in helping me ask better questions of my material. There are so many other colleagues in South Asian studies who have helped shape this work:  Raj Balkaran, Gil Ben-​Herut, Lennart Bes, Crispin Branfoot, Manu Devadevan, Elaine Fisher, Jack Hawley, Padma Kaimal, Katherine Kasdorf, A. Azfar Moin, Leslie Orr, Anna Seastrand, Ursula Sims Williams, Emma Natalya Stein, Valerie Stoker, Astrid Zotter, and many more. I’m especially thankful to Bob Del Bontà, a true Rennaisance man, for shepherding me through the world of Mysore and colonial art and for his thoughtful comments and suggestions on my research, and to both him and Michael Morrissey for hosting Meghan and me for many nights of delicious food and stimulating conversation. And I would be remiss if I didn’t express my most sincere gratitude to the late Kathleen Erndl. Her work inspired my interest in India, and memories of her mentorship and friendship are a constant source of inspiration still today. I am very fortunate to be able to thank many different institutions for financially supporting this book and my research. I’ve benefited often from the largesse of the American Institute of Indian Studies (AIIS). I  am grateful for its financial support, through which I learned Hindi and Kannada. I was also privileged to receive the AIIS Daniel H. H. Ingalls Memorial Research Fellowship funded through generous donations, which allowed me to conduct research in Mysore during 2013–​2014. Without the help of AIIS, its board members, staff, language instructors, and donors, the research that led to this book would not have been possible. Much of this book was researched and written at the Center for Religious Studies (CERES) at Ruhr Universität-​Bochum during my time as a research fellow in the Käte Hamburger Kolleg (KHK) “Dynamics in the History of Religions” Research Group. That year at KHK was one of the most intellectually engaging experiences of life. My colleagues at CERES and KHK, especially Volkhard Krech, Tim Karis, Jessie Pons, Adam Knobler, and Steve Berkwitz, were critical in helping me examine my data in new and interesting ways. Special thanks are in order for my office mate at KHK, Max Deeg, who not only provided insightful comments about my research but also introduced me to the varieties of German pastry with weekly snacks and the wonder that is Altbier in Düsseldorf with Meizhu and Meghan. I’m also deeply grateful to University of Oslo, University of Texas–​Austin, University of Heidelberg, Arizona State

Acknowledgments  xi University, Calicut University, University of Chicago, and University of Florida for inviting me to present drafts of this work in various venues. The University of Arizona has been extremely supportive of my research and this book. I am immensely thankful to my dean in the College of Humanities, Alain-​Philippe Durand, former dean Mary Wildner-​Bassett, associate deans Kim Jones and Ken McAllister, and assistant dean Toni Alexander, who have supported this research in the form of research and travel funding, additional College of Humanities faculty research grants, and endless moral support and guidance. Thanks are due to Karen Seat, who is an invaluable leader for my department at UA, a fabulous guide through the murky waters of academic bureaucracy, and a great friend. I’m grateful for Andrea McComb Sanchez, who has been a constant friend and companion in and out of work and who is always right there by my side in any situation. I’m happy that Andrea, Max Strassfeld, and I have been able to navigate our way through life as assistant professors together. I also wish to thank Rob Stephan, whose friendship and advice during our daily workouts provided the push I needed to finish the manuscript. Richard Eaton has been an extremely gracious mentor and thoughtful interlocutor at UA. I greatly appreciate all of our conversations about Indian history and his many substantive suggestions on my manuscript. I wish to thank my colleagues of the Department of Religious Studies and Classics; I am lucky to have landed in a department that is full of so many wonderful scholars and kind and generous people. And thanks to my many other colleagues in Tucson who have helped shape this work: Rae Dachille, Lars Fogelin, Robert Groves, Sarah McCallum, Takashi “Slim” Miura, Lindsay Montgomery, Mimi Nichter, Niko Sanchez, Nathaniel Smith, Phil Waddell, Albert Welter, and Jiang Wu. But perhaps the most gratitude is due to the staff of UA’s School of International Languages, Literatures, and Cultures, without whom I would be utterly lost: Leonora Escobar, Melody Fischer, Theresa Jensen, Gennady Sare, Marcela Thompson, Stephanie Topete, Debbie Varelas, Frank Whitehead, Summer Witting, and all of our student workers. Finally, I wish to thank Neelam and Gulshan Sethi, Reema Jaggi, Meera Gopalan, Naren Velu, Seema Jha, Sreelekha Susarla, Prasad Bhamidipati, and everyone who is a member of the Indian Society of Southern Arizona for welcoming me into their Tucson community. Many thanks are due to everyone who has had a hand in making this book a reality as part of the American Academy of Religion “Religion, Culture, and History” Series at Oxford University Press. I’m grateful to Robert A. Yelle for seeing something in this project, inviting me to submit the manuscript, and guiding me through the process. I wish to thank my two anonymous reviewers for their insightful comments on the original manuscript; the book is much better as a result of their comments and critiques. And my deepest gratitude

xii Acknowledgments is due to Cynthia Read, Salma Ismaiel, and everyone else at Oxford University Press for guiding the manuscript through the publication process. As was the case for Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja Wodeyar III, my identity is fashioned through my genealogy, and I am obliged to thank my family for their support, for without them none of this would be possible. I am especially grateful for my grandparents. Although, they are no longer physically with us, they are constantly present in my thoughts and actions, and I miss them all dearly. I am thankful for everyone in Jay for their love and support—​the Boisvert, Dobson, Hendricks, Jernigan, Phillips, Simmons, and Wolfe families. They have always supported my ambitions, no matter how odd they have been at times, and have always welcomed me back home. The Coughlin family always provided me a refuge from academic life. My mother-​in-​law, Kathie Hughes, has been a great friend and is always supportive of me and my ambitions. Isis, Baghira, Chairman Meow, Dax, Mabel, Albert, and Rudy have given me endless amounts of love, joy, and consolation throughout the years of this project, and I can only hope I have returned half of it. I am so grateful for my brother, Howard, and his partner, Michael. Howard has been an inspiration through the writing process (and life in general); he’s the best big brother ever. To my parents: Thank you so much for all your support throughout the years. I am forever indebted to you for all of the sacrifices you made to provide me with a good education and for encouraging me at every step. Daddy, thank you for instilling in me an interest in religion and for encouraging me to travel and see the world. Mama, thank you for always pushing me to succeed, calling me out when I’m wrong, and always being there when I need you. (The dogs and cat also thank you for taking them in for the two years I was away conducting research in Mysore.) I love you both very much, and I hope that I can repay the immeasurable debt that is owed. Finally, to Meghan Pontius, this book would not be possible without your love, support, and sacrifice. Thank you for uprooting your life to move to Germany with me, for being my copyeditor, my favorite conversation partner, and my best friend.

 Introduction Kingship and Sovereignty in Mysore

In September 2013, two weeks before the ten-​ day celebration of Dasara, I  was granted an audience with the Maharaja of Mysore, Shri Kanthadatta Narasimharaja Wodeyar (1953–​2013).1 I was excited to share my work with the scion of the Wodeyar family—​the royal family whose history has consumed so much of my time and thoughts for the past decade. Wodeyar had a reputation of being interested in Indian royal history, and I hoped that this meeting would prove to be the opportunity I needed to gain access to his private collection of early modern and colonial manuscripts. I  inquired about proper decorum as I arranged the details of the meeting and was advised to offer the maharaja hard copies of my research; so at the beginning of our meeting, I presented Wodeyar with several chapters from my dissertation that I had printed and bound for the occasion. The maharaja proceeded to read them carefully in front of me, giving line-​by-​line critiques and comments and adding his personal insights about my project over the course of what would turn out to be a three-​and-​a-​half-​hour meeting. After we finished going through the chapters, I made a formal request to consult the manuscripts in his personal palace archive. I  expected the maharaja, who often referred to the history of Mysore and the Wodeyar dynasty in public appearances, to appreciate my use of sources from the courts of his predecessors, but much to my surprise, he directed me away from these “local texts.” He instead told me that if I really wanted to understand kingship in India, I should read the Annals and Antiquities of Rajast’han.2 His response caught me completely off guard. First published in 1829, the Annals and Antiquities of Rajast’han is a history of the kings of Rajasthan written by James Tod (1782–​1835), an administrator in the British East India Company.3 Instead of welcoming my interest in the Mysore Kannada materials, the maharaja had suggested that I read a British account of Indian kingship in northern India, some twelve hundred miles away from Mysore. In an attempt to change the maharaja’s mind, I shifted the conversation to the Wodeyar kings’ legacy in the visual arts, stressing the importance of his collection of illuminated manuscripts from the court of Krishnaraja Wodeyar III (r. 1799–​1868) in the development of the Mysore style of painting. My overtures made little headway, and the maharaja redirected our conversation Devotional Sovereignty. Caleb Simmons, Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190088897.001.0001

2 Introduction to his collection of neoclassical oil paintings by Ravi Varma that are publicly displayed in the Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery in the Jaganmohan Palace and the high-​quality reproductions of European masters displayed along the tour of the Bangalore Palace. With that, he informed me that our time was up and that he had to leave the palace for his next appointment. He directed his secretary to give me an invitation to the upcoming Dasara darbar, undoubtedly a great honor, but I left the palace without permission to visit the maharaja’s personal library. After my audience with His Majesty, I continually wrestled with the same question: why had the maharaja been more interested in European histories and aesthetics than in the materials from the Mysore court? Upon reflection, however, I  realized that I  was asking the wrong question. Indeed, he had been interested in the local Kannada material, taking great time and care to discuss several texts with me at length over the course of our meeting. His response to my request, however, was not about historical value. He wasn’t necessarily directing me away from local materials; he was directing me toward public, curated representations of his kingship and his Wodeyar predecessors, representations through which the maharaja and his advisers had carefully managed his public persona. When examined more closely, the maharaja’s suggestions had carefully framed his identity through several categories that are meaningful for contemporary royal identity in India: connecting his lineage to the Rajputs, whom many, including Tod, consider the paradigm of Indian kingship, and reflecting his international tastes, evident from the variety of photographs of the maharaja in his travels across the globe that are displayed throughout the Bangalore Palace.4 The works of Tod, Varma, and others stood as public articulations of his kingship, expressions of his perspicacity, fashioning his royal identity through carefully curated literary and visual expressions. Moreover, by controlling access to the archives, he was performing and articulating his domain, defining the boundaries of his sovereignty. In short, the maharaja was engaged in answering another type of question: What does it mean to be a king without a kingdom? Wherein does his sovereignty exist? The maharaja’s response reflected a long negotiation of kingship and sovereignty that had developed during the colonial period, the same period as that of Tod’s stay in India (c. 1799–​1823) and the publication of his Annals in 1829. This was a tumultuous time for kingdoms throughout India, including the courts of Rajasthan and Mysore, during which notions of sovereignty in India underwent radical change. In Mysore, the period saw the rise (1782) and fall (1799) of Tipu Sultan, the installation of the four-​year-​old Krishnaraja Wodeyar III (1799), and the commencement of the commissioners period that stripped the Mysore king of all administrative and military power in the region (1831). Along with these changes in its political realities, the Mysore court was forced to continually reconsider what it meant to be an Indian king in light of its changing historical

Introduction  3 circumstances and diminishing sovereign domain. Colonial histories, like Tod’s Annals recommended by the maharaja, give us one perspective on Indian kingship during this period, one that is completely intertwined with British imperial discourse.5 Part and parcel of this colonial narrative was the construction of a golden age of “ancient” lineages of Hindu kingship and their decline into decadence, despotism, and decay, generally considered to be a result of the influence of Islamic rulers. This colonial perspective of great kingship in decline and eventual loss was consumed in the elite and popular imaginations in the West and in India. This perspective has largely been carried over into scholarly narratives that have perpetuated the myth of decline and loss. The result has been that little attention has been paid to the ways Indian courts in the late early modern and early colonial periods viewed themselves as sovereigns. Materials emerging from Indian courts, however, provide another perspective that can help us to understand the ways Indian sovereignty was being articulated on the inside at this time of political change as they carefully curated their own histories.6 Facing the realities of burgeoning European political, economic, and military-​technological hegemony, Indian courts attempted to articulate their sovereign positionality by looking to the past to frame their future, seeking means through which they could create and maintain their domain of sovereign power. During this period of immense change, Indian courts, like that of the maharaja above, constructed narratives about power and history and fashioned their rulers and their rulers’ claim to sovereignty in light of political agendas and historical circumstances. Theirs, however, was not a history of decline and loss but one of a creative reframing of kingship, redefining the parameters of their sovereignty as a means to lay claim to what was theirs even as they lost control in other arenas. This book examines the articulation of kingship in a wide variety of the courtly productions that were created in the late early modern and early colonial Mysore court during the rule of Tipu Sultan (r. 1782–​1799) and Krishnaraja Wodeyar III (r. 1799–​1868), two rulers who are both celebrated for their innovation and grieved for their political losses. Tipu Sultan, a Muslim king famous for resisting British dominance until his death, and Krishnaraja III, a Hindu king who succumbed to British political and administrative control, provide a unique perspective on the ways two seemingly different Indian courts dealt with the changing political landscape of the period. Despite their wildly different characterizations—​resistant Muslim warrior and puppet Hindu monarch—​the reigns of both kings follow similar trajectories: neither king was from the lineage of his royal predecessor, their early reigns were marked by successes and fanfare, the later parts of their reigns were beset with political loss and diminishment. Therefore, Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III provide a complex but parallel study of how late early modern and early colonial Indian kings dealt with the changing scope of their sovereignty.

4 Introduction In both cases, the court of Mysore looked to the past to construct a royal identity for their kings, and the past became a site through which claims to sovereignty could be worked out. The anxiety over changing sovereignty, however, did not result in languishing, but both courts turned to the religious past to provide an idiom through which they could articulate their unique claims to kingship in the region. Far from a narrative of lost sovereignty or an escape from reality, their sovereign claims became stronger in light of these challenges as they attributed their rule to divine election and increasingly employed religious vocabularies in a variety of courtly genres and media. Both courts emphasized their genealogies of devotion through which they constructed and integrated cultural memory of royal patronage and practice to heighten their claims to the throne. Although they did so in different ways, the courts of both kings, when faced with political loss, turned to the metaphysical foundations of kingship to help them define their sovereign domain. They grounded their kingship in the region’s royal and religious past and displayed and performed their sovereignty through acts of devotion. What emerges through this period is an increasing reliance on devotion to frame Mysore kingship vis-​à-​vis the kings’ changing role in regional politics. While devotion has always been an important aspect of royal literary and ritual rhetoric, as the sovereign power of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III was threatened, their devotion to local deities and regional centers of religious power was increasingly emphasized. They, however, also expanded their territory beyond the confined space of limited military and administrative control, and both kings envisioned their royal duty to have the broader purpose of protecting and preserving the moral and spiritual landscape of India. Indeed, at various times during the reigns of both rulers, their sovereignty was primarily constituted through the lens of devotion that stood to unite all of India through its sacred geography. The emphasis on the devotional constitution of kingship and territory in this period has had lasting effects on Indian national politics as it provided an ideological basis for united Indian sovereignty that simultaneously integrated yet transcended regional kingship and local deities. The case of Tipu Sultan, Krishnaraja III, and Mysore is at once a novel situation and representative of the broader context of Indian kingship at the time. The case is exceptional because it allows us to see the ways two rulers from the same kingdom but from different religious traditions drew upon regional politico-​religious literature, practice, and theory to construct a vision of sovereignty that was unique to their own historical situation. Additionally, the case of Mysore from 1782 to 1868 provides in one context one of the greatest pendulum swings in Indian sovereignty and colonial hegemony:  from one of Britain’s greatest rivals to a “model” princely state. By exploring the developments of political theory and the conceptualization and articulations of sovereignty, the

Introduction  5 context-​specific continuities with premodernity and the novel innovations of the Mysore court during the colonial encounter become clearer. While the context is unique, the results are representative of similar strategies that emerged in Indian courts during the period. In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, throughout India, royal courts increasingly produced voluminous religious works, including literature and paintings, that uniquely grounded Indian kingship in the divine and transitioned the basis for their sovereign authority from narratives of conquest to devotion, reframing the king—​in genealogies and portraiture—​as first and foremost a religious devotee.7 By examining Mysore in the late early modern and early colonial period, we can gain further insight into the ways courtly culture throughout India was changing to reflect the new political situation. This book, therefore, attempts to answer the question of how Indian kings and their courts maintained their royal identity at times when it was threatened and changing. It is an inquiry into the novel ways sovereignty is redefined within changing historical circumstances through continuities, innovations, and adaptations within expressions of Indian courtly culture. Finally, it shows how religious devotion shapes the late early modern and early colonial period in India.

A Brief History of Mysore In order to understand the late early modern and early colonial period in Mysore and how the courts of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III innovatively constructed the royal religious identity of the kingdom, a brief history of Mysore is necessary. This section serves to provide the political history of Mysore, paying particular attention to the figures who feature prominently in Tipu Sultan’s and Krishnaraja III’s vision of Mysore’s sovereign past. Mysore, the third most populous city in the South Indian state of Karnataka, is commonly called the City of Palaces and is a popular tourist destination as a site of remembered Indian kingship. Traditionally, Mysore simultaneously referred to a city, a region, and a kingdom, the capital of which was the nearby island city of Shrirangapattana for most of its history (1610–​1799 CE). The popular etymology of Mysore (Kannada: Maisuru) is that the name is derived from the Sanskrit term mahisha (“buffalo”) and that the city and the kingdom had been the native place (uru) and kingdom of Mahishasura, the buffalo demon (mahisha + uru = mahishuru) from Indian myth. In local lore, the myth of the goddess slaying the buffalo demon is incorporated into the local sacred history (sthalapurana). These narratives establish the goddess of the city, Chamundi (also known as Chamundeshvari) as the successor of Mahishasura and as the

6 Introduction divine sovereign over the city and the region. The connection between the local goddess Chamundi and the Puranic myth of the buffalo slayer was first made explicit in 1648 in the Victory of Kanthirava Narasaraja (Kanthirava Narasaraja Vijayam), a Kannada eulogy of the eponymous king Kanthirava Narasaraja Wodeyar I (r. 1638–​1659) after his victory over the armies of Bijapur, in which the local goddess is given the epithet mahishasuramardini (“she who slays the buffalo demon”). Despite these claims to a mythic past, there is little historical reference to the city, the region, or its kings until the late sixteenth century.8 For most of its recorded history, the Mysore kingdom was ruled by the Wodeyar dynasty. The Wodeyar family name is derived from the Vijayanagara empire’s (c. 1336–​1646) administrative title odeyar, which denotes a lesser subordinate chieftain.9 The traditional date for the founding of the Wodeyar dynasty in Mysore is 1399 CE; however, there is no contemporaneous historical evidence to corroborate this date, and it does not appear in Wodeyar courtly productions until the eighteenth century.10 Indeed, the history of the dynasty is complicated and nearly impossible to reconstruct with confidence. In his efforts to reconstruct a dynastic genealogy, C. Hayavadana Rao, the renowned colonial historian of Mysore, compiled ten possible variations based on different evidence, each of which highly contradicted the others.11 The earliest possible reference to a Wodeyar king of Mysore is an inscription from Nannigahalli that refers to “Timmarajodeya of Mayisur,” which some have dated to 1551 CE and which is said to be Timmaraja Wodeyar II (r. 1552–​1572).12 Many Wodeyar genealogies dating as far back as the Deeds of the Divine Lord (Divya Suri Caritre; c. 1678), however, relate the founding of the Mysore kingdom in Mysore City by Bolu Chamaraja (also known as Chamaraja Wodeyar IV) in 1573.13 In these narratives, the king, wishing to establish his kingdom, ascended Chamundi Hill—​then called Mahabalachala after its Shaiva temple—​to worship the goddess. After worshipping the goddess, the king was struck by lightning, which left him bald (bolu), but he lived due to the “grace of the goddess.”14 The first ruler of the dynasty for which there is ample contemporaneous evidence is Raja Wodeyar (r. 1578–​1617 CE).15 Raja Wodeyar is one of the most celebrated kings in Wodeyar dynastic histories and is credited with overthrowing the Vijayanagara viceroy (mahamandaleshvara) Tirumala in Shrirangapattana in 1610. After this victory, Raja Wodeyar ascended the throne of Shrirangapattana and established the seat of regional authority as the capital of his Mysore kingdom. C. H. Rao, notes that this moment was when the Mysore rulers asserted their independence from their Vijayanagar(a) overlords.16 While Rao’s assertion might overamplify the reality of Mysore’s position within the Vijayanagara imperium, Raja’s victory over Tirumala certainly elevated his position in regional politics, raising the kingdom from lesser chieftainship to regional power that brought with it recognition by the Vijayanagara emperor, Venkata II (r. 1585–​1614).17 In

Introduction  7 this context, the Wodeyar king began actively constructing the identity of his lineage, adding its pedigrees to royal inscriptions: atreya gotra from the shvalayana sutra from the Rig Vedic Shakha.18 The Lineage History of Chikkadevaraya (Chikkadevaraya Vamshavali; c. 1680) suggests that Raja made a more focused effort to perform Vedic articulations of kingly ritual and performed a modified form of the Vedic ashvamedha horse sacrifice, sending his horse Meghapushpa to the frontier of his ever-​growing territory and daring his rival odeyars to seize it. Raja began fleshing out the Wodeyar court. He instituted the ministerial position of the dalavayi (“minister of war”), established his own system of subordinate rulers to whom he gave traditional titles such as palegara (sometimes paleyagara), and assigned smaller administrative units (gadi).19 By the middle of 1617, the Wodeyar kingdom was the most powerful polity in the region—​as large as the Nayakas of Madurai.20 The regional dominance of the Wodeyar court continued during the reign of Raja Wodeyar’s grandson and successor, Chamaraja Wodeyar V (r. 1617–​1637), who pushed the kingdom to the precipice of true independence. During his reign, Chamaraja V expanded the kingdom through several military campaigns and was given a number of imperial titles, including “overlord of kings” (raja parameshvara) and “king of all kings” (shrimad rajadhiraja).21 Ranadhira Kanthirava Narasaraja I (r. 1638–​1659 CE), however, was the next Wodeyar king, who continues to occupy an important place in Mysore’s remembered past. Kanthirava Narasaraja I is remembered as a great warrior-​king who defeated the Bijapur forces under the command of Ranadulla Khan. His contemporaries often remarked on his harsh guerrilla tactics which earned the Mysore army the nickname the “Magicians” (mayavi).22 As a result of his victory against the armies of Bijapur, Kanthirava Narasaraja I was praised by the Vijayanagara king Venkata III in the Gajjiganahalli copper-​plate inscription (1639), composed by the court poet Nrihari in Sanskrit.23 By 1645, however, Kanthirava Narasaraja I  marked his independent status by issuing coins that bore his name and his chosen deity and namesake, Narasimha, Vishnu’s man-​lion incarnation.24 The independent status of the Mysore kingdom was confirmed in 1659, when Jesuit priest Anton de Proenza of Trichinopoly (Tiruccirappalli) wrote that Mysore had “long-​ago withdrawn herself from subordination from the same [Vijaynagara] monarch.”25 For the first time in its history, the Wodeyar court operated independent of an imperial suzerain. In 1673, Chikkadevaraja Wodeyar (r. 1673–​1704) ascended the throne of Mysore and ruled longer than any king since Raja Wodeyar, enjoying a period of imperial control unmatched by any other Wodeyar king. In inscriptions, Chikkadevaraja was proclaimed to be the “emperor of the realm of Karnataka” (karnataka cakravartin), “the emperor of the southern realm” (dakshinadik-​ cakravartin), “the Sultan of the Hindu kings” (hinduraya suratanam), or simply

8 Introduction “emperor” (samrat), all common encomia used in the Vijayanagara empire.26 Throughout his reign, Chikkadevaraja was concerned with the composition of his court and regularly enacted regulations concerning the requirements for participation and methods of courtly conduct.27 The reign of Chikkadevaraja also saw a flourishing of courtly aesthetics, and he commissioned philosophical texts and epic and Puranic narratives in Sanskrit, Kannada, and Tamil, most of which reflected Chikkadevaraja’s commitment to Shri Vaishnava theology. Among the literature Chikkadevaraja’s court produced were several works that included genealogies of the Wodeyar lineage, including the Deeds of the Divine Lord (c. 1678) and Lineage History of Chikkadevaraya (c. 1680). The Lineage History of Chikkadevaraya, written in a mix of verse and prose Kannada by the court poet Tirumalarya, was the first text from the Mysore court that attempted to detail the entire lineage from its inception to the contemporaneous king. Chikkadevaraja also minted a series of gold coins called the “Devaraja [with] the image of dancing Krishna” (tandava krishnamurti devaraja) to commemorate his coronation.28 His reign was also marked by ongoing war with the Marathi armies under Shivaji which led to an alliance between the Mysore king and the great Mughal emperor Alamgir (also known as Aurangzeb; r. 1658–​1707).29 According to later Wodeyar records, Alamgir greatly admired the Mysore king and in 1682 sent him gifts with panegyrics (jayajighat nimbajighat) in praise of his exploits against the Marathi forces.30 The rapid emergence of the Wodeyar kingdom was followed by an almost equally sharp decline in the ruling family’s power within its own domain. After the death of Chikkadevaraja in 1704, the Wodeyar dynasty went through a period of stagnation in which the two subsequent Wodeyar rulers were mired in the changing political landscape of Karnataka that saw continual fracturing in the region. Despite Mysore’s internal issues, European records of the period still construed it as a great inland power. Yet owing to the kingdom’s eccentricities and reputation for cruelty, Europeans preferred not to do business with it.31 The first half of the eighteenth century was marked by internal struggles for power between the Wodeyars and their Kalale dalavayis that saw the Kalale family rise to prominence. The Kalales were subordinate rulers from the nearby eponymous village, who had been promised that the position of dalavayi would be hereditary within their family as part of a marriage alliance brokered under Chikkadevaraja. Despite maintaining their subordinate titles through the eighteenth century, the Kalales usurped power in the court under dalavayi Devarajaiya and his brother Nanjarajaiya, the sarvadhikari (prime minister). From 1734 to 1761, the Kalale family ruled the kingdom of Mysore as regents until Haidar Ali, Tipu Sultan’s father, defeated the Kalale armies and (momentarily) returned power to the Wodeyar kings. For his efforts, Haidar Ali was granted four of the ten administrative districts (taluks) formerly under the control of the Kalales, a

Introduction  9 stipend of two hundred thousand rupees per month, and income from several territories.32 Due to his growing prestige, wealth, and military power, in 1761, Haidar Ali took control of the Shrirangapattana fort, wrested administration of the Mysore kingdom from the Wodeyar king Krishnaraja II, and assumed the position of dalavayi and the title of nawab.33 In 1763, Haidar Ali defeated the Keladi kingdom, the long-​standing rival of Mysore to the north, and established Bidanuru (Bednur), the former Keladi-​Ikkeri capital, as his new kingdom, renaming it Haidarnagara (“City of Haidar”). He assumed the title “king of Bidanuru, Kanara, and Kodagu (Coorg)” and issued varahas coins in his name. Haidar Ali’s kingship was recognized by the Nizam of Hyderabad through Abd al-​Hakim Khan, the nawab of Savanuru, who solidified the Mughal alliance with the Mysore dalavayi by offering Haidar Ali his daughter in marriage. In 1780, Haidar Ali would use that alliance to claim that his son Tipu Sultan was the rightful nawab of the Carnatic against his enemy Muhammad Wallajah of Arcot.34 Haider Ali, however, allowed the Wodeyar kings to maintain their titular role as kings of Mysore. Perhaps most important for the aims of this book, Haidar Ali’s rule was also marked by the ongoing struggles with the British, including the first two of the four Anglo-​Mysore Wars (1767–​1769 and 1780–​1784). These were precipitated by the Carnatic Wars (1740–​1763) that culminated in the Treaty of Paris (1763), in which France and Britain negotiated European holdings in the Indian subcontinent and officially declared portions of India as their colonial territories.35 Prior to the treaty, the European powers had allied themselves with kings, nizams, and nawabs claiming to be auxiliary forces and nonpolitical entities; however, within the terms of the treaty, France and Britain actively rearranged the hierarchy of the Mughal court and South Indian politics by determining who ought to be the Nizam of Hyderabad (Nizam Ali) and Nawab of Arcot (Muhammad Ali). With this agreement, signed thousands of miles away in Paris, Great Britain attempted to usurp regional dominance. Haidar Ali, however, refused to recognize British supremacy and continued expanding the Mysore domain, especially in Kerala. As a result, Mysore was attacked by a coalition of Marathi, Hyderabadi, and British forces in 1767, which started the Anglo-​Mysore Wars and coincided with Haidar Ali being referred to as the “glorious king of kings” (shrimadrajadhiraja) and “supreme lord of kings” (rajaparameshvara) in inscriptions.36 Haidar Ali found a great deal of success in the First Anglo-​Mysore War. Upon nearly capturing the southern British capital city of Madras, he forced the British into an alliance as part of the Treaty of Madras (1769), which temporarily suspended both sides’ mutual aggression. Where Mysore had been a relatively isolated kingdom with little European interaction up to this point, as a result of their great successes, Haidar Ali and his

10 Introduction Mysore army gained renown among their European counterparts, and Mysore became an object of British preoccupation throughout the colonial period. In 1780, Haidar Ali renewed his conflict with the British after the latter had failed to support the Mysore leader in his conflict with the Marathas, for the British should have provided such support according to the terms of their previous treaty. This Second Anglo-​Mysore War (1780–​1784) would be the first time the young Tipu Sultan would lead the Mysore armies, serving as his father’s primary general. Like his father, Tipu Sultan was immediately recognized by his rivals for his military acumen, but his father’s unexpected illness and death in 1782 thrust the young prince into the limelight. After Haidar Ali’s death in 1782, Tipu Sultan rose to power in Mysore and established his sultanate in December of the same year. Seeking to shore up his domain, he marched against the Nagara region and crowned himself king of Bidanuru (Bednur/​Haidarnagara) on May 4, 1783. Unlike his father, though, he distanced himself from his Wodeyar predecessors, usurping their kingdom and breaking their dynastic continuity. During the first few years of his reign, Tipu Sultan followed most of the administrative measures of his father and continued his ongoing struggle against the British.37 By the end of 1783, Tipu Sultan had begun to dominate Britain’s malnourished and ill-​equipped forces. In the end, both sides agreed to end the war and return to their former territories and frontiers. Tipu Sultan considered this result a victory and celebrated his efforts in murals in his summer palace and throughout the streets of Shrirangapattana. He also assumed the title “Pillar of the Empire Blessed of the State Tipu Sultan Ali Khan Hero Lion of War Devoted of the Shah Alam Padshah Ghazi” (Umdat ul-​Mulk Mubarak ud-​Daulat Tipu Sultan Ali Khan Bahaddar Hizabr Jang Fidwi Shah Alam Padshah Ghazi).38 Between 1784 and 1786, after a series of successful campaigns in Kodagu (Coorg) and with machinations against the British, Tipu Sultan sent royal emissaries to Istanbul and France in search of recognition of his state by the Ottoman caliph and King Louis XVI and removed the Mughal emperor’s name from his currency.39 In 1787, Tipu Sultan began a complete overhaul of the Mysore kingdom. He issued a written order (hukmnama) in which he restructured the administrative units of the kingdom, removing much of the bureaucracy and centralizing power under the throne. He also instituted an Islamic calendar of his own creation, replacing both the Mughal and South Indian shalivahana shaka calendars. Additionally distinguishing himself from his predecessors, Tipu Sultan tore down the Mysore fort and palace, constructed a new fort, and renamed the city Nazarbad. This same year, he also completed construction of the large Asqa mosque at Shrirangapattana and demanded that foreign royals address him as the Padshah of the Deccan.40 In 1789, just as the Third Anglo-​ Mysore War (1789–​1792) was about to erupt, Tipu Sultan commissioned the

Introduction  11 refurbishment of the throne out of solid gold with the famous tiger ornament adorning it. From this point onward, Tipu Sultan adopted the tiger as his symbol, embellishing his armies’ uniforms with the tiger-​stripe (babri) motif.41 Perhaps it was Tipu Sultan’s imperial mindset that led him to pursue an expansionist agenda in Kerala against the kings of Travancore. Despite several warnings from the British that it would constitute an act of war against the East India Company, Tipu Sultan attacked the king of Travancore’s territory, and the British, in turn, attacked Mysore, beginning the Third Anglo-​Mysore War. This would result in defeat for the Mysore sultanate and led to many reforms within the kingdom. While the first half of the war was fairly evenly fought, the final years saw the Mysore armies pushed back to the capital, with the Madras British army pressing them from the east and the Bombay British army from the west. The war ended in February, when Tipu Sultan was forced to surrender to peace talks. On February 24, 1792, Charles Cornwallis, the commander-​in-​ chief of British India (r. 1786–​1793), demanded Tipu Sultan’s two sons as collateral for the ongoing negotiations. The war was officially over when the two sides signed the Treaty of Seringapatam (i.e., Shrirangapattana) on March 18, 1792. According to both Kirmani and Rao, the golden tiger throne was completed in 1792, but due to the outcome of the war, Tipu Sultan never ascended it.42 It is often said that in the interim between the losses of 1792 and the Fourth Anglo-​Mysore War in 1799, Tipu Sultan turned zealously to Islam, an assumption that will be challenged in this book. Kirmani, a historian contemporary with Tipu Sultan, suggests that because of his losses, Tipu Sultan turned against the Hindu ministers of his court and sought to have only Muslim advisers.43 Rao attests that after the ratification of the treaty, the ruler officially changed the language of the court to Persian, replaced all of his Brahmin ministers with Muslims who had to swear their oath of office on the Qur’an, and resumed taxation on many of the formerly tax-​free agraharas and inams that had been given to Hindu temples by previous rulers.44 This coincided with Tipu Sultan rebranding his kingdom as the Sarkar-​i Khudadadi, or “God-​given Government,” and, as Brittlebank suggests, “his thoughts turned toward jihad.”45 These characterizations, while not inaccurate, read Tipu Sultan solely through the lens of the colonialist Hindu-​ versus-​Muslim narrative and mask his search for an idiom through which he could articulate his sovereignty and demarcate his realm of control in the context of great military and political loss. Instead of focusing on one religion against another, his efforts reflect a broader trend in early modern and early colonial Indian kingship in which religion was a site on which sovereignty could be grounded, even as it transformed. As Tipu Sultan’s Mysore sultanate was facing overwhelming odds in regional politics, he reached beyond the borders of India and sought alliances with the French, Ottomans, and Afghans in final efforts to quell the burgeoning British

12 Introduction dominance in India. The British, having intercepted several of the letters in which he detailed his plans to attack them, declared war on Mysore in February 1799. The Fourth Anglo-​Mysore War (1799) was short-​lived, and the British forces conquered Shrirangapattana and killed Tipu Sultan within months. On May 4, 1799, Tipu Sultan’s Mysore sultanate had come to an end. Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s reign (r. 1799–​1868) was always intimately related to British power, and one could argue that it had its entire foundation in the colonial project. Prior to the final stalemate of the Second Anglo-​Mysore War (1780–​1784), the savvy widow of the late Krishnaraja II entered into a treaty with the East India Company, allying the Wodeyar family with the foreign power.46 In the event of its eventual victory, the East India Company agreed to return a share of Tipu Sultan’s kingdom to the Wodeyar king, who at the time was Krishnaraja II’s adopted son Khasa Chamaraja IX (r. 1776–​1796), for direct rule.47 After the death of Tipu Sultan and the siege of Shrirangapattana in 1799, the East India Company upheld its end of the bargain and restored the kingdom to the Wodeyar line, albeit considerably smaller than when it originally relinquished power to Tipu Sultan in 1783 (other portions were given to the Nizam of Hyderabad and some parts retained by the British). The final terms of the restoration were outlined in the Subsidiary Treaty of July 4, 1799, which arranged for an annual tribute of seventy thousand Kanthirava pagodas, the demolition of many of Mysore’s forts, the establishment of the position of British Resident in the Mysore court, and the relocation of the Wodeyar capital from Shrirangapattana to Mysore City.48 It also established Khasa Chamaraja IX’s son Krishnaraja Wodeyar III (also known as Mummadi Krishnaraja; r. 1799–​1868), who would turn five years old on July 14, 1799, as the new king. On June 30, 1799, the young king was led to the temporary coronation platform constructed within the walls of the Lakshmikantaramanasvami temple by the British-​appointed divan Purnayya, who had also served Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan, and Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Wellesley, the commander of the East India Company army in Madras.49 He was then placed on the throne by General George Harris, the senior member of the Mysore Commission, who offered the king the royal signet and seal.50 After his coronation, Krishnaraja III was educated in both traditional Indian sciences—​military, shastrik, musical, linguistic (Kannada, Sanskrit, Hindustani, Marathi, Telugu), and so on—​as well as in “modern,” that is, English curriculum. Meanwhile, the divan Purnayya worked with the British to remodel the kingdom’s system of land revenue and implemented a series of duty (sayar) taxes on items such as liquor, tobacco, and sandalwood. He was also responsible for increasing the cultivation of cash crops (such as tobacco and sandalwood) by arranging programs through which farmers could obtain seeds and saplings. These measures led to a great swell of wealth for the Mysore administration.51 The

Introduction  13 divan’s programs also led to several problems within the kingdom. Because of the hardship caused by taxes levied in cash rather than in kind, several rebellions broke out among the chieftains of the Nagara fauzdari (the former kingdom of the Keladis and Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan) in the northeastern periphery of the Mysore territory led by Tipu Sultan’s former general Dondiya Wagh. These rebels went so far as to dispute Wodeyar rule in favor of Tipu Sultan’s sons, which eventually led to the involvement of the British Army and Colonel Wellesley and the relocation of the Tipu Sultan’s sons from their imprisonment in Vellore to residences in Calcutta.52 There was also growing resentment between the divan-​regent and his teenage king, who accused Purnayya of neglecting his full range of duties and of nepotism. As a result, Purnayya sought to solidify his authority by claiming that his position, like others in the darbar, was hereditary and should be held by his family in perpetuity. The divan’s pronouncement, perhaps, reminded too many people of recent Mysore history in which the families of both the Kalale dalavayis and Haidar Ali claimed their positions to be hereditary and eventually usurped power from the king, and the governor of Madras George Barlow (r. 1808–​1813) was forced to ask for Purnayya’s resignation despite the great level of respect that most colonial officials afforded him. The divan officially resigned at the end of 1810, and Krishnaraja III officially began his “direct rule” in January 1811. Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s direct rule was immediately met with challenges as series of mismanagements and droughts reduced state revenue and caused the king to default on his payment to the East India Company. In 1814, Arthur Henry Cole (r. 1811–​1825), the British Resident in Mysore, wrote to the acting governor of Madras John Abercromby to warn of the deplorable economic situation in the kingdom, which the British Resident blamed on the king’s exorbitant stipends to his relatives and the lavish and expensive donations to temples.53 The acting governor instructed Cole to intervene on behalf of the East India Company, warning that if economic conditions did not improve and tribute was not paid in a timely fashion, he would enact Schedule Four of the Subsidiary Treaty and subsume the administration of Mysore under the government of Madras. By 1825, Mysore once again had fallen behind in its payments, and Cole requested the intervention of the governor of Madras Thomas Munro (r. 1820–​1827), citing the king’s unrestricted spending on personal stipends and religious gifts in addition to some unpredictable weather that had caused poor crops. Munro imposed strict administrative measures, but a severe drought in 1827 and a cholera outbreak in 1828 exacerbated the dire situation in Mysore. The administrative mismanagement coupled with the unforeseen natural misfortunes led to an almost inevitable rupture in the political fabric of Mysore in 1830–​1831, during the “Nagara Peasant Rebellion.” The rebellion started in the Nagara fauzdari (now the Shimoga district) in the northeastern portion of

14 Introduction the kingdom. The chieftains of this area, who claimed descent from the Ikkeri Keladi kings, had contested Krishnaraja III’s rule during the early years of his reign but had been quelled when the British armies came to Mysore’s aid. The disloyalty of the Nagara chieftains to the newly restored crown had earned them steeper taxes under the cash tax system instituted during Purnayya’s time as divan. This led to the insurrection of disgruntled “peasant” classes, which were organized by Budi Basappa, a wealthy chieftain of Nagara.54 With the help of the Virashaiva community, which supported Budi Basappa, the rebellion spread toward the capital in the fauzdaris of Madhugiri, Ashtagrama, and Bangalore. The role of Virashaivism in the spread of the rebellion cannot be understated. Burton Stein, historian of South India, states that at the time, 75 percent of Virashaivas were farmers and were coerced to mobilize with the rebels by threat of excommunication from the sect via pronouncement of pollution if they did not fall in line with the insurgency.55 The Virashaiva elites were among the most literate of the “peasant” class; therefore, they served as the mouthpieces of the rebellion, who read the dissenters’ propaganda to the other “peasants.” The relationship between the Virashaivas and the Wodeyars had been strained since the rule of Chikkadevaraja (r. 1673–​1704), under whom tax-​collecting reforms caused a similar uprising. In February 1831, the East India Company armies with the aid of Mysore general Annappa occupied the hostile regions and subdued the riots. After the rebellion was put down, the new British Resident, James Archibald Casamajor (r. 1827–​1834) and governor of Madras Stephen Rumbold Lushington (r. 1827–​ 1832) sent official correspondence to the governor of India William Bentinck (r. 1828–​1835) seeking his guidance on the final resolution on the matter. On October 21, 1831, which was on the fourth day of the festival of Dasara, Krishnaraja III received a letter from the governor of India officially stripping the maharaja of his political power and placing all administrative and revenue-​ collecting power in the hands of the governor of Madras and the newly created office of the Mysore Commissioner.56 During the commissioners period which lasted until the death of Krishnaraja III, the Mysore king never regained administrative power. The king, however, was given a healthy cash stipend through which he continued his donative practices. This period produced a great change in the king, who no longer had to attend to the day-​to-​day responsibilities of administration. Krishnaraja III replaced his administrative life with a life of religious devotion and the arts. He commissioned a wide variety of texts and paintings, most of which concerned the history of the dynasty or devotional themes, the two, of course, not being mutually exclusive categories. He, too, was a skilled artist, musician, and litterateur, with many texts of the period attributed to his authorship, including the royal history the Great Kings of Mysore (Mysuru Samsthanada Prabhugalu Shrimanmaharajavara

Introduction  15 Vamshavali; c. 1860s) which is the standard history of the Wodeyar lineage. He is remembered for innovation in Mysore-​style art, modern Kannada literature, and yakshagana theater. As a result, however, he is also often characterized as a colonial puppet king whose reign was in direct contrast to Tipu Sultan’s. This book challenges the assumption that Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III were direct opposites; instead, I argue that both kings’ reigns were marked by a realization of their place between the old and new regimes and that they turned to religion in their search for an idiom through which they could articulate their sovereignty. The language of religion and demonstrations of their exemplary religious devotion allowed both kings to demarcate their sovereign domain and to prove their sovereign authority by claiming divine election which could then be expressed in a variety of media (text, painting, sculpture, etc.) and genres (genealogy, international correspondence, etc.). Therefore, as a time of change, the late early modern and early colonial period was not simply a time of loss and decline in Indian sovereignty; this was also a period of great innovation in the means and methods whereby sovereignty was created and expressed.

The Search for Sovereignty and Religion as an Idiom of Continuity The transformation in the conceptualization and articulation of sovereignty in Mysore was not straightforward, and the courts of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III were actively searching for sovereignty within and through their courtly productions.57 A common misperception about sovereignty is that it is complete and pervasive regarding its control over a clearly defined domain. The underlying assumption in this book, however, is that sovereignty is never complete or monolithic, but by its nature sovereignty is fractured, nested, and changing.58 Sovereignty is a dynamic category that is constituted through the practices and productions of the state and/​or its political actors as they attempt to articulate a political identity.59 The nature of sovereignty in India, therefore, shifts along with these articulations in different contexts. Here the late Maharaja Shri Kanthadatta Narasimharaja Wodeyar is again helpful for elucidation. In the personal narrative with which I began this book, I suggested that the maharaja was performing and articulating his domain, defining the boundaries of his sovereignty. I  was not suggesting that he was bestowing tax-​free land grants or planning a battle against another kingdom that was his vassal as his predecessors might have done. No, his sovereignty, in this case, was much more limited; working within the context of the democratic Indian nation-​state, his sovereignty was limited to control over his private collection of manuscripts, which had been removed from his public image to create a royal identity of a

16 Introduction cosmopolitan and international Rajput. He could decide to make an exception and allow an outsider full access or, in my case, decide not to allow the exception. His public representation and his control over it had very real political consequence, as he had run for a Lok Sabha seat in the Indian Parliament six times, winning four times, and was in the midst of a campaign for president of the Karnataka State Cricket Association, which he won shortly before his untimely death.60 Like the maharaja, the courts of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III were searching for their sovereignty as they simultaneously constructed it through rhetorical means and for their political ends. Lauren Benton, historian of law and European empires, has shown how the “search for sovereignty” created unique problems in British India. The proliferation of “polities that possessed and yet did not possess sovereignty” resulted in much juridical contemplation and debate which eventually led to the official legal designation of “divided” or “quasi-​” sovereignty within the British empire.61 Benton notes that while it is “tempting to construe these principles as providing rationales for the exercise of unconstrained power,” the courts of Indian kingdoms played an important role in the negotiation of the levels of sovereignty as they “repeatedly and routinely challenged British jurisdiction and extralegal interventions.”62 The result of this ongoing contestation over sovereignty in the latter part of the nineteenth century was a formal and complex scheme for classifying legal territories between the British and Indian princely states. Before the scheme of “divided sovereignty” was formalized in British jurisprudence in the late nineteenth century, however, the negotiation regarding competing sovereign claims was ongoing during the reigns of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III, and the products coming out of their courts reflect a continuing search for sovereignty in the midst of nascent colonial hegemony. The dynamic nature of the negotiations over sovereignty within this early colonial period is masked by the common trope of the decline of Indian kingship. Rooted in colonial historiography, including the work of Tod, the myth of the decline of Indian kingship clings to an assumption about a golden and grand age of kingship in ancient and medieval India that was slowly fractured and diminished with the coming of Islamic rulers. The British situated themselves within this history as the new overlords who could shepherd their “protectorates” back to greatness.63 The narrative of decline and decay aligned well with Indian conceptions of time and the devolution of dharma in the yuga cycles, and the historiography of the decline of Indian kingship was taken up by nationalist historians who used it to further their own political agendas (e.g., J. Sarkar and A. S. Altekar). While nationalist historiography from the late colonial period is overt with its incorporation of the teleology of decline, this narrative has subtly continued in scholarship about the late early modern and early colonial period, particularly in the (lack of) historiography on the Mughals after Alamgir and in

Introduction  17 the colonial “little kingdom” model.64 In both of these cases, Indian rulers from the period are often portrayed as shells of sovereignty, clinging to the remnants of remembered kingship through empty performance of vacuous ritual and hollow aesthetics and, therefore, not important enough for sustained academic inquiry except through the lens of colonial dominance.65 The rhetoric of lost sovereignty and complete British hegemony in the political sphere has recently been contested and problematized, with scholars providing alternative narratives that afford Indian kings, courts, and intellectuals more agency within the political developments of the period.66 The emerging trend has been that scholars of Indian late early modernity and early colonialism have looked more deeply into economic structures to recast the narrative of decline by emphasizing continuities between premodern and colonial administrative units.67 This book situates itself in this discussion by looking at continuities in the aesthetics and rituals of the late early modern and early colonial courts of Mysore to show how Tipu Sultan, Krishnaraja III, and their agents adapted extant conceptual frameworks and articulated these in courtly productions. This was not a means of harking back to a golden age of remembered kingship, but it was an attempt to solidify and place their sovereignty by curating the past. Throughout India, this search for sovereignty manifests within the courts of kings as a search for an idiom through which they could express their kingship. As a result, Indian courts looked for expressions of power that were both looking to the past and also looking forward, seeking means through which they could articulate and give expression to their sovereign power. This led kings and their courts to reflect on themselves and their past in new and innovative ways. In Mysore, Tipu Sultan, Krishnaraja III, and their courts turned to religion because it could provide a conceptual framework for their sovereignty and an idiom through which they could express the transformations that had developed during their reigns. Their emphasis on religious vocabularies served to situate the Mysore kingdom and its rulers in the past but provided means for adaptation to new political realities. Noticing a similar phenomenon in the context of revolutionaries in early modern Europe, Claude Lefort has noted, “For these thinkers, the Ancien Regime was something that had existed in living memory. They still lived in the gap between a world that was disappearing and a world that was appearing.”68 Religion provided an idiom for grounding sovereignty in times of change because it could “guarantee that regime or mode of society has a permanence in time, regardless of the various events that may affect it.”69 Similarly, during the reigns of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III, Mysore stood at the crossroads of Indian political history and was coming to terms with its new political way of being. Caught between how things were and what they would become, these rulers and their courts engaged in a dynamic process of looking to the past in an attempt to create the world

18 Introduction that was appearing. Inherent in this process, however, they were contesting the very nature of sovereignty in India.70 Religion provided a unique idiom in the face of change that could work to bridge previous forms of sovereignty into new realities.71 The religious foundations of sovereignty and its role in producing royal identity are not unique to the late early modern and early colonial period. Religious devotion is fully displayed in premodern and early modern dynastic genealogies and worked to situate the contemporaneous king within cosmic time by connecting royal lineages with the lineages of the gods and to ground kingdoms by making their physical domain significant within the broader mythic ethos.72 The courts of both Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III carefully studied the genealogies of their predecessors to display their authority to rule and their proper imperial succession:  Tipu Sultan was fashioned as the rightful heir to the thrones of the Bahmanis of Gulbarga and of the Vijayanagara and Wodeyar kingdoms, and Krishnaraja III was represented as the culmination of the divine lineage of the deity Krishna. They, however, also developed new approaches to royal devotion that were unique to their context. Both kings operated within a broader understanding of the world and the role of the king as devotee par excellence, with Tipu Sultan widening its applicability to the Ottoman empire and France and Krishnaraja III imagining India united through devotion and pilgrimage. Through this process, religious devotion of the kings—​an institutional phenomenon that I refer to as devotionalism—​became central to their royal identity and became coterminous with sovereign authority.73 Reading sovereignty through this lens challenges the given narrative of Mysore in which Tipu Sultan is viewed as a radical Islamic reformer and Krishnaraja III as a powerless British puppet; instead, it shows that their courts operated in similar ways and under many of the same politico-​religious assumptions. The courts of both Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III worked within and from the same conceptual understanding of kingship, utilizing devotion to gods, goddesses, pirs, and gurus to perform the duties of the king and to make sense of their source of sovereign authority and its perpetuity. As kingship in India was negotiated between premodern and modern political and religious paradigms, devotion became the central component of royal identity, and the reworking of sovereignty in this context revolved around the authority that is derived from the kings’ relationship with the deities and religious centers within their territory. The emphasis on the religious idiom in late early modern and early colonial Mysore can be illuminated by noted Egyptologist Jan Assmann’s theory of cultural memory, particularly as he relates the importance of myth and ritual in the construction of identity during periods of instability.74 Assmann suggests that myth serves the function to connect the past and present while pointing toward a presumed future. Rituals work to reenact that mythic connection, refreshing

Introduction  19 and renewing it through its performance. Together, myth and ritual help create an identity for groups and their rulers. Through the production and reproduction of myth and ritual, kings and lineages become canonized within the broader cultural memory and create shared symbols of meaning and power. Through the canonization into cultural memory, identity becomes “sacralized” as the connection with the divine becomes part of the normative self-​description. For Assmann, “sacralization of identity” is a uniting force that can protect group identity and can serve as a form of resistance when a minority culture comes under the sway of an outside cultural hegemony (Assmann’s example is the Jewish Covenant).75 Likewise, Indian myth has always been a site of contestation, and its narratives have been reworked, recreated, and recontextualized in order to situate kings and their kingdoms within the world of political meaning throughout premodernity. Travis L. Smith, scholar of Hindu Puranic traditions, has made claims similar to Assmann’s about the function of Indian myth. Smith suggests that myths found in the Puranas have served to couch contemporaneous debates within the events of a divine past, which gives people and places both divine and temporal authenticity, “renewing the ancient” to make a statement about the present and its future.76 Just as Egyptian materials described by Assmann and the Puranas described by Smith “re-​new the ancient,” the productions from the courts of both Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III provide insight into the identity formation of kings and their claims to royal power and dynastic continuity by reimagining their political history within a realm of divine-​human interaction that gives Mysore kingship stability in a volatile period.77 The precariousness of the late early modern and early colonial period was in many ways the direct result of the preceding centuries which saw an increase in global encounters and foreign interest in India. The resultant “culture of encounter,” however, also provided the courts of Mysore with new means to express their sovereign positionality.78 The early modern period saw a groundswell of new modes of royal expression in India that provided aesthetic innovations through which the courts of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III could articulate their devotional sovereignty. Persianate genres of literature, visual arts, performing arts, architecture, and material culture permeated the North Indian and Deccan royal landscape extending beyond Islamic courts.79 Indian courts—​ Islamic, Hindu, and Jain—​took these Persianate forms and embellished them, grounding these new styles in their local cultural landscape to produce indigenous forms of courtly culture. This ferment in the aesthetics of the court only grew with Indian courts’ European encounters. European aesthetic culture was a curiosity that intrigued Indian kings and their courts; Indian courtiers often painted European diplomats with particular attention to their clothing styles in palace murals (e.g., Ramnad), and in the case of Mysore’s Chikkadevaraja Wodeyar with a Dutch emissary, the king made Dutch visitors sing songs in their

20 Introduction native tongue repeatedly for various court audiences.80 The new European styles and techniques were eagerly consumed by Indian courts, as had been Persianate forms, and the new methods of expression were integrated into Indian courtly culture, influencing literature, music, painting, and so on. This integration was immediate and thorough in some cases, as with the violin that was almost immediately mastered and is now nearly synonymous with “classical” Indian music. Incorporating this aesthetic abundance, Indian courts developed novel courtly genres that drew on local expressions of kingship and sovereignty and aligned the new political configurations of the time to produce new ways of articulating new forms of sovereignty. These new forms of expression were integrated with local courtly productions, including temple donative portraiture and mural traditions, giving rise to a flourish of the visual and material arts coming out of royal courts in the Kannada-​, Telugu-​, and Tamil-​speaking zones. Not surprisingly, the subjects of these new creations were the kings themselves and the deities and temples they patronized. The proliferation of royal genres provided the perfect opportunity for the courts of Mysore to engage in king fashioning on a wide and varied scale. Tipu Sultan used Islamic idioms, Hindu idioms, and even the idiom of public political religion. Krishnaraja Wodeyar III incorporated the dominant European politico-​religious mode of linear history and religious exclusivity to ground his Hindu and divine identity. Using visual media, literature, ritual practice, and even diplomatic correspondence, their religious royal identity became ubiquitous throughout the region, canonizing their claims to sovereignty through repetition and reference to the past. The broad corpus of courtly productions contains multiple levels in which sovereignty is created and its continuance justified and perpetuated. Narrative literature, inscriptions, visual material, and performing arts—​all courtly productions that address issues of sovereignty—​are repositories for political knowledge of the court in which sovereignty is being articulated, not to legitimize the court, the kingdom, or the king in the eyes of subjects but as a way courts worked out their own understanding of their political place.81

Layout of the Book This book consists of seven chapters divided into two parts that examine the articulations of sovereignty from the courts of Tipu Sultan (­chapters 1–​3) and Krishnaraja Wodeyar III (­chapters 4–​7) that are structured to provide homologous readings of the literary genealogies (­chapters 1 & 4), devotional practice and patronage (­chapters 2 & 5), and visual arts (3, 6, & 7) in both courts in order to show how they situated themselves in relation to the past to articulate their present position.

Introduction  21 Chapter  1, “The King of Seringapatam,” explores the literary genealogies that were produced in the court of Tipu Sultan that show how the king’s sovereign authority was expressed in relationship to lineage, divine election, and dynastic continuity. Comparing the Book of Haidar (Haidar Nama; c. 1784) and the Succession of the Mysore Kings (Maisura Arasugalu Purvabhyudhayagalu; c. 1798), I show how the court of Tipu Sultan carefully curated the local Kannada genealogical genre in order to provide precedent for the king’s rise to power through the claims to “rights of conquest” framing Tipu Sultan’s rule through the narrative of Raja Wodeyar’s conquest of Shrirangapattana in 1610. Additionally, this chapter explores the History of Haidar (Nishan-​i Haidari; c.  1798–​1802) within the context of regional idioms of divine power and shows the complexities of Tipu Sultan’s courtly rhetoric that draws on religious practice from Islamic, Hindu, and Jain traditions. I argue that these genealogical texts drew on regional dynastic histories to articulate the divine election of Tipu Sultan and his demonstration of that election through military prowess and devotion, placing Tipu Sultan in proper succession of the throne of Shrirangapattana. Chapter 2, “The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru,” examines the role of Tipu Sultan’s devotional relationships with two important holy men, the Sufi saint Gisu Daraz and the jagadguru of the Shringeri Matha, and how this devotion enacted dynastic continuity for the Mysore sultan. By comparing these two devotional traditions—​one Islamic, one Hindu—​the chapter explores how Tipu Sultan’s court approached his kingship in relation to its multiple religio-​political pasts of the region. Examining passages from his dream register in which he is visited by Gisu Daraz and letters he sent to the jagadguru of Shringeri, his devotional practices are read in the context of Bahmani and Vijayanagara imperial devotion and their continuance in the kingdoms of the Adil Shahs of Bijapur and the Keladis of Bidanuru to show how royal devotion served as a means to enact sovereign continuity from one dynasty to the next. “Divine Warfare and Diplomacy” in the court of Tipu Sultan is discussed in ­ chapter  3. I  examine the murals of Tipu Sultan’s summer palace on Shrirangapattana and his international correspondence in order to show how the ruler and his court constructed a political religion based on devotion to the Mysore kingdom. I  suggest that throughout the letters that Tipu Sultan sent abroad and the murals he commissioned, the king and his court defined religious fidelity or faithfulness through allegiance to the state and assigned infidelity to anyone who stood against it. To make my case, the entire mural complex of the Dariya Daulat Bagh is considered to highlight that they are more than just battle scenes but are displays of Tipu Sultan’s sovereignty. As such, the murals of war show one side of his power, but the other images in the murals envision Mysore and its allies living a life of domestic peace and religious practice. This division of peaceful and righteous allies is extended into the rhetoric of Tipu

22 Introduction Sultan’s letters, and to those which he calls the “faithful” (i.e., Christian French, Muslim Afghans, and possibly Hindu Rajputs). Further, he describes his role in protecting the righteousness of Hindustan against the infidels, which he calls all his political enemies, including Christians, Hindus, and Muslims, including the Mughals. With c­ hapter 4, “Restoring an ‘Ancient Hindu’ Family,” the book transitions to the reign of Krishnaraja III, and his literary genealogies are read in light of colonial historiography. Of particular importance here is the Great Kings of Mysore (Mysuru Samsthanada Prabhugalu Shrimanmaharajavara Vamshavali; c. 1860s), a lengthy prose genealogical text written by Krishnaraja III, in which the details of the Wodeyar lineage are recast. The text draws from European historiographic styles, retelling the Wodeyar history from a linear historiographic perspective. However, it also introduces several novel narratives that address contemporaneous debates, such as Dalhousie’s “Doctrine of Lapse” and adoption. These narratives also work to reconstruct traditional Wodeyar devotionalism to include what Valerie Stoker has called “big tent Hinduism,” reflecting the king’s identity as an ancient “Hindu” king.82 The emphasis on Hindu identity and devotionalism is continued in ­chapter 5, “Portraying Devotion,” in which devotional portraiture and the construction of a devotional history in stone is examined. This chapter focuses on images of the king in devotion that were produced for circulation and were installed in regionally important temples and that displayed the king as devotee par excellence. This portraiture demonstrates the importance of devotionalism in the royal identity of Krishnaraja III and how it served to redefine sovereignty and kingship at its core as a devotional practice. These images are discussed alongside sculptures in regionally significant temples that were identified as being of Krishnaraja III’s Wodeyar predecessors and served to create and canonize the Wodeyar historical presence and devotion within the regional cultural memory. Through this practice of representation, Krishnaraja III and his lineage were “sacralized,” to use Assmann’s phrase, and became part of the ritual programs of the temples, receiving daily worship along with their deities. In ­chapter 6, “Displaying Power,” I look closely at the mural complex of the Rangamahal in Jaganmohan Palace in Mysore as a statement of the totality of Krishnaraja III’s kingship. This chapter suggests that the Rangamahal murals, when viewed as a whole, produce a complex and sophisticated articulation of sovereignty. Additionally, they project multiple registers of power that are constituted through biological succession from the divine and maintained through fervent devotion. These murals work to display the power of Krishnaraja III through a full range of aesthetics that incorporate elements of his military (virya) and sexual (shringara) virility.

Introduction  23 Chapter  7, “Mapping New Sovereignty,” discusses the murals from the Chitramantapa in the Venkataramanasvami temple in Mysore, in which devotional maps that depict pilgrimage sites from South India were painted on the walls with more from North India on the ceiling. Among these images of sacred sites, kings from Krishnaraja III’s lineage are shown seated on their thrones and looking upon the sacred landscape. I read these images in light of a pilgrimage commissioned by Krishnaraja III, in which he sent his court priest Subbarayadasa to each of the sites portrayed. I show how this pilgrimage mimicked premodern royal rituals of space and territory. This pilgrimage and its attendant murals imagine Krishnaraja III’s territory as a domain of devotion, an incorporeal kingdom, that is united through shared religious, donative, and devotional concerns. The court of Krishnaraja III reconceptualized sovereignty and territory, effectively constructing a transcendent and devotional alternative to British military and administrative dominance. The book closes with an epilogue in which I briefly consider the lasting legacies of Tipu Sultan and the Wodeyar kings. Beginning with the contemporary stakes of their identity, I compare the two kings in order to show the effectiveness of their courtly programs and how these continue to inform people today. Through this book, I  reconsider sovereignty in the late early modern and early colonial period in India by looking more deeply into the ways Tipu Sultan, Krishnaraja Wodeyar III, and their courts worked to locate their sovereign domain and redefine their kingship in light of political change. By examining the ways they viewed themselves and how they expressed and articulated their royal identity in their writings, paintings, sculptures, and patronage, I hope to demonstrate that in this period, religion and religious vocabularies provided an idiom through which precarious kingship could be made unbroken and uninterrupted and how, for Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III, sovereignty was defined through religious devotion.

Notes 1. The year after the death of the maharaja, the king posthumously adopted Yaduvira Krishnadatta Camaraja Wodeyar (b. 1992) as his heir. 2. Compare this with Freitag’s experience speaking with the director of the museum at Jaipur who immediately became angered at the mention of Tod (Freitag 2009, 5). 3. See Tod 1914 [1829]; Freitag 2009; Tillotson 2007. 4. For Tod’s influence on the “Rajputization” of Indian kingship, see Kolff 1990, chap. 3. 5. Freitag 2009, 9–​10; Talbot 2015, 183–​218. 6. For a discussion of the same scenario in Rajasthan, see Diamond 2008, 31–​41. 7. For parallel examples from Jodhpur and Malwar, see Diamond 2008, 21–​41.

24 Introduction 8. The earliest reference comes from the fifth century CE and is to a place roughly one hundred kilometers to the north of Mysore City in the Tumkur district. This inscription, which marks a village that was gifted from a Kadamba king, states that the village is located in Mahishavishaya (“region of the buffalo”) (MAR 1925, 98). In the tenth century, references to land of the buffalo (Maisurnad, Maisunad, Maysunnadu, and Maysuru) abound in the region, beginning with another reference to Mahishavishaya in an inscription from 945 CE that states that a minister of the Hoysala court was from that place (EC Volume IV: Ch, 102). In 1128, in an inscription commissioned by the Hoysala king Vishnuvardana, Maisunadu, or the “buffalo country,” was explicitly connected with Mysore City through allusion to Mahabaleshvara Hill (Chamundi Hill) (EC Volume III.1: My, 16: 11.9–​10: Maisunadu svasti shrimarabalada tirthakke). For a full exposition of the history of the region and possible references to it, see Simmons 2014a, 43–​47. 9. An alternative interpretation is that it is derived from the same title but from the Virashaiva ascetic context. See c­ hapter 4. 10. The other variant date for the establishment of the line is from the Jain Rajavali Kathasara (1838 CE) of Devachandra, which states that the dynasty was established during a famine that ravaged the area between 1414 and 1426 CE, but this has not been accepted or adopted by the modern Wodeyar line. Devachandra 1988. 11. Rao 1946a, 3: 1273–​1282. 12. REC Volume V: My, 200. No regnal or shalivahana year is given in the inscription. The editors of Epigraphia Carnatica, however, doubt this early date and suggest that it is recorded “in characters of c. 17th century” (REC Volume V: 307). 13. See Rao 1946, 2: 40 n. 62. 14. REC Volume V: My, 26. 15. According to later court histories, Raja ruled in place or as regent of his “impotent” older cousin Bettada Camaraja IV (r. 1576–​1610 CE) from 1578 to 1610 until he usurped the throne of Shrirangapattana, after which he was the unrivaled ruler of Mysore. For another perspective that nuances the greatness of Raja Wodeyar, see Mackenzie General Collection, ms. 3.8.b Mysore History:  Mysor Aroosoogaloo Porvaabyoodayagalu or the Succession of the Kings of Mysore from Ancient Time by Nagara Pootta Pundit 1798–​1799 according to Tippu’s Inauguration, 201–​227. 16. Rao 1946 1: 61. 17. REC Volume V: TN, 50, 15. 18. E.g., REC Volume VI: Sr, 71. The gotra system is a Brahminic patrilineal classification used for determining marriage compatibility, and many courts of South India employed gotra distinctions in order to situate their rulers within a traditional and acceptable vaidaka lineage. See also Pollock 2006, 69. 19. REC Volume V: TN, 15. 20. Rao 1946 1: 66–​68. 21. EC Volume 2: Sb, 84; EC Volume 2: Sb, 140. 22. Simmons 2016b. 23. REC Volume III: 212. 24. Thurston 1888, 19; 82. The king’s name, Narasaraja, is a Kannada tadbhava or derivation of the Sanskrit Narasimha.

Introduction  25 25. Sathianathaier 1991, 116–​117. 26. See Wagoner 1996b. 27. Rao 1946 1, 407. 28. Murthy 1997, 386. 29. Muddachari 1969, 66–​69; Sathianathaier 1991, 285–​290. The Mysore-​Mughal alliance would be strained in 1687 in a dispute over Bangalore; however, it was repaired and perhaps strengthened in 1690, when the two states allied against the Maratha once again. 30. Wodeyar 1916, 115; jayajighat most likely refers to an amulet or medal (Arabic: azimat) that celebrates his victory (Kannada/​Sanskrit: jaya). 31. See Records of Fort St. George 1934, 33, 66; Bes 2014; Wheeler 1882, 55. 32. Pillai 1985, 12:  162, 187–​188; Records of Fort St. George:  Military Consultations, 624–​626, 642–​645. Compare this with the system of military economies described in Talbot (2001, 144–​153) and Peabody (2003, 80–​105). 33. Brittlebank 1997, 75–​76. 34. Brittlebank 1997, 63–​64. 35. Rao (1946, 3: 11–​19) provides a captivating “retrospective” about the Treaty of Paris in the third volume of his history of Mysore. 36. Brittlebank 1997, 75–​76; EC Volume IX: Cn, 114. 37. The only major change was that he replaced the Mysore currency with coins that resembled Haidar Ali’s elephant-​motif coinage but added images of the sun and babri (tiger stripe) motifs where Haidar Ali had left images of Hindu deities. He named the precious metal (gold and silver) coins after Muslim saints and caliphs and the copper coins after the stars. See Brittlebank 1997; Yazdani 2016. 38. Brittlebank 1997, 63–​64. 39. He eventually acquiesced to Mughal suzerainty—​at least nominally—​after he was reprimanded by the Delhi emperor and placed the emperor’s name back on the Mysore currency. The reprimand followed the receipt of Tipu Sultan’s tribute to Delhi that was accompanied by a note explaining why the emperor’s name was not on the currency; instead, it bore the name of God and the Prophet. He acquiesced shortly after a sound defeat at the hands of the Maratha army in which Mysore lost several important forts in its northwestern territory. 40. Brittlebank 1997, 75–​76; “L.A. Yoon to Charles Malet 14 March 1787,” in Malet Papers OICC MSS Eur.F.149/​2, cited in Brittlebank. 41. See Brittlebank 1995; Moienuddin 2000. 42. Kirmani 1842; Rao, 1946, 3: 916. 43. Kirmani 1842, 230–​231. 44. Rao 1946, 3: 922. Compare with Brittlebank 1997, 34. 45. Brittlebank 1997, 27. 46. “Rana Treaty of 28 October 1782,” in Records of Fort St. George:  Country Correspondence, Vol. 31, 350. 47. Gopal and Prasad 2010, 16. 48. In 1799, 1 Kanthirava pagoda was equal to 3.5 rupees. 49. Gopal and Prasad 2010, 20. 50. Rao 1946, 3: 1088.

26 Introduction 51. Gopal and Prasad 2010, 30. During Purnayya’s appointment, the annual state revenue from taxes averaged nearly 10 million rupees. 52. See Chatterjee 2012. 53. Gopal 1960, 63. 54. Stein 1985a, 11–​27. 55. Stein 1985a, 15 ff. 56. Gopal and Prasad 2010, 62. 57. Carl Schmitt’s well-​known definition of the sovereign—​“he who decides on the exception”—​can be a good starting point for discussions of sovereignty (Schmitt 2005, 5). Schmitt argues that sovereign power is enacted when the ruler decides to break the normative legal order, creating an exception to a rule or law. Sovereignty, however, is not solely about legal order. His theory that argues for a ruler with strong “decisionist” characteristics and against the transition of sovereignty from kings to the people has possibly chilling ramifications in our current political context. With the rise of Nazism in Germany, Schmitt’s theories were incorporated into the Nazi framework, and Schmitt wrote in favor of the Nazis’ fascist policies. While this application of his theories is detestable, his theories nonetheless provide the foundation for our inquiry into the constitution of the concept of sovereignty and should not be overlooked or ignored. 58. See also Benton (2010, 236–​278) on quasi-​or divided sovereignty. 59. See Heller and Sofaer 2001, 45. 60. For more on how his royal identity functioned within modern democratic Indian politics, see Simmons 2019. 61. Benton 2010, 236–​278. 62. Benton 2010, 250. 63. Benton 2010, 248–​249. 64. Little kingdom has a broader usage than just in the context of the colonial system. For a summary of the history of the term, see Schnepel and Berkemer 2015, 5–​14. 65. The most influential in this approach was Dirks’s foundational study (1993) of Pudukkottai, which provided the conceptual and interpretive framework for many subsequent studies. This approach has also been used in the case of Mysore, particularly Krishnaraja Wodeyar III (Nair 2011). 66. E.g., “transformation” (C. Singh 1991)  “dialogue” (Irschick 1994), “economic decentralization” (Chandra 2002), “de-​objectifying” (H. Singh 2010), “emergence” (Alavi 2014). 67. Barnett 2002, 15–​22. Stein (1985b) has made this argument in the case of Mysore, arguing that Tipu Sultan’s military fiscalism was continued during the British period. 68. Lefort 1988, 215. 69. Lefort 1988, 215–​216. 70. See McLeod 1999. Azfar Moin (2012) has also shown similar processes concerning the development of notions of sovereignty through periods of encounters as the Mughal kings of India sought to incorporate Persian idioms into an Indian context. While not colonialism, the result of the encounters between what one might call Persianate and Indic culture is an amazing flowering of courtly productions through which the Mughal courts expressed their notion of sovereignty and displayed the

Introduction  27 authority of the king. For more on the interactions between Persianate and Indic courtly aesthetics, particularly in material culture, see Eaton and Wagoner 2014. 71. One might argue that the materials under examination here risk “exaggerate[ing] the importance of religious patronage, divine models, and moral behavior in constituting royal authority” (Talbot 2001, 144). Indeed, my focus is on religious patronage and divine models; however, this should in no way be read as constituting moral behavior or suggesting that Indian kingship was simply inward-​looking and pietistic. This would mask the theoretical importance of royal devotion in this period. While personal piety cannot be dismissed entirely (or else we reduce every religious action of a king to a shrewd Machiavellian process), my argument is that royal devotion and religion, more generally, provide the courts of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III with an idiom through which they can base their kingship at a time of political change. Although they are different approaches to transition from early modernity to the colonial period, devotional rhetoric and practical economic and military concerns need not be seen as antithetical positions. In fact, the devotional sovereignty that I describe is a theoretical complement to the practical dimension of Indian kingship through which sovereignty was maintained during the period. 72. Dynastic genealogies have been part of king fashioning in India since at least the Pallava period (c. sixth century CE). I am not the first to notice that genealogy is an important component of king fashioning in premodern India, as other scholars have shown how they function to shape royal identity (Thapar 1978, 326–​360; Veluthat 1993; Ali 2000; Francis 2011; Brodbeck and Hegarty 2011; Pariti 2015). See also Simmons 2018. 73. The royal devotion or devotionalism is related to the well-​studied bhakti movement; however, it remains distinct from popular devotion in many ways. Bhakti or devotion—​by which I  refer to broad categories of rituals, behaviors, expressions (verbal, written, painted, etc.), and social formations that demonstrate extreme veneration to a deity or religious professional (see Ben Herut 2018, 74–​75)—​in general, is often characterized by an intense emotional relationship and its goal of spiritual gains or moksha; royal devotion, on the other hand, also serves to situate royal devotees within a system of nested sovereignty and authority enacted in relation to local deities and patronage networks. This is not to say that the kings’ devotional alliances and patronage were simply a means of legitimation or a rhetorical and practical ploy to advance their own concerns and agendas; however, it could provide another form of power and authority at times when it could not be achieved through exertion of armed might. Compare with Talbot 2001, 144–​153. 74. Assmann 2011, 123–​144. Cynthia Talbot has shown the applicability of Assmann’s cultural memory in remembered South Asian kingship in her monograph on Prithviraj Chauhan (2015). 75. Assmann 2011, 138. 76. Smith 2007, 105. Chakrabarti (2001, 52) has called a similar process of incorporating local elements in the Puranas in regards to religious practice the “Puranic process.” 77. Ernst Kantorowicz’s The King’s Two Bodies (1997) has influenced my categories of inquiry. Kantorowicz demonstrates the genealogy of theological concepts that extend into the notion of the king and his body that were used to address issues concerning

28 Introduction dynastic continuity from one ruler to the next and the interregnum, the period between the death of one king and the coronation of the next. It becomes clear through Kantorowicz’s study that the king, his lineage, and his sovereignty were apotheosized and were, thus, inseparable from theology, as the structures of royalty in medieval Europe were mapped onto the Christology of the time. Similar to the processes through which sovereignty and its relationship to the divine are projected onto the king and his lineage described by Kantorowicz, the courts of early modern Mysore negotiated sovereignty through discussions of divine election, the transfer of sovereignty from the divine to the earthly sovereign, dynastic continuity, and lineage succession. 78. For more on how encounter leads to aesthetic innovation, see Truschke 2016. 79. See, e.g., Flood 2009; Aitken 2010; Eaton and Wagoner 2014; Gilmartin and Lawrence 2000. 80. Bes 2014. 81. In this way, my methodological approach is similar to what Joyce Flueckiger has described as “theological ethnography.” Flueckiger (2017, 167) states that in this approach, “the stance of the ethnographer is distinct from that of the theologian; the ethnographer is looking and listening for ways in which members of a community are ritually performing and verbally articulating their own theologies about the deities who are active in their worlds, but is not creating her or his own scholarly theological analyses for that community.” 82. Stoker 2016.

PART I

T IP U  SU LTA N

1

The King of Seringapatam Praises and gratitude to God! who, after so much desire and anxiety, caused the rose tree to produce the bud of hope, who caused Hydur Ali’s house and fortunes to be illumined by the lamp of prosperity, also the night of his desire to be succeeded by the morning of its fulfilment; that is to say, the rising of the bright star of the constellation of power and dignity . . . shedding its light on the field of his father’s wishes for progeny, dispelling the dark gloom obscuring his hopes and rejoicing the heart of both friend and stranger . . . for even from the day of his birth, riches and power, it may be said, came in person to meet and do him honor; and, as his advent was owing to the secret aspirations and intercession of the Saint Tippoo Mustan, he was named Tippoo Sultan. Kirmani’s History of Haidar (c. 1798–​1802)1 Tippoo Sultaun, Hydur’s son, on this day first displayed the innate courage of his nature, and the honour he obtained by his prudence and bravery, enlightened his daring countenance. Kirmani’s History of Haidar (c. 1798–​1802)2

I begin this chapter with these selections from the History of Haidar (Nishan-​i Haidari; c. 1798–​1802), a Persian text written around the time of Tipu Sultan’s death, because they are illustrative of the function of genealogical texts and indicative of the means through which the Mysore court fashioned the innate royal character of their king. Members of the court of Tipu Sultan used genealogy as a site through which they could construct a history of kingship in the region, set precedents of succession and patterns for rule, and fashion the contemporaneous king in light of all these concerns. Tipu Sultan’s courtiers highlighted their ruler’s noble lineage and his predecessors’ accomplishments in warfare, administration, and devotion. As a result, they justified his ascension to the Mysore throne in Shrirangapattana by constructing a narrative of divine election and the “rights of conquest.” Tipu Sultan’s genealogies, therefore, allow us to understand the development of sovereignty over the course of his reign as they reflect myth, legend, history, lineage, and political structures through the kaleidoscope of late Devotional Sovereignty. Caleb Simmons, Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190088897.001.0001

32  Tipu Sultan early modernity and the early colonial encounter and project those into a history of political succession. It is often assumed that royal succession from one ruler to the next is naturally a hereditary process that passes through biological bloodlines. The process of royal succession, however, is complicated and has been a central concern in royal political theory, whether in India or in Europe.3 Indeed, the problem of succession is an attempt to make sense of the perplexing incongruities in the nature of human sovereignty: the immortality of kingship and the mortality of kings. This conundrum gave rise to Ernst Kantorowicz’s well-​known work on “the two bodies of the king”—​the natural biological body of the king and the mystical metaphysical immortal “body” of the king (i.e., kingship)—​which explores how both kingly bodies are reconciled through the construction of a continual dynastic lineage through biological succession in medieval European jurisprudence.4 The problem of the two bodies of the king is also prevalent in Indian political theory of succession and was central in courtly thought in Tipu Sultan’s Mysore sultanate. During his reign, issues of dynastic continuity and hereditary sovereignty were commonly referred to in political and diplomatic discourse. For Tipu Sultan’s court, as for many before his, genealogies become the sites through which his sovereign authority is negotiated, particularly since his kingdom was newly acquired and his lineage’s history unknown. His genealogical materials, therefore, not only describe the ways dynastic continuity is imagined and expressed but also articulate notions of kingship, power, and sovereignty by demonstrating how the two bodies of the king are merged. As can be seen in the quote from Kirmani’s History of Haidar that opened this chapter, the court of Tipu Sultan was invested in the biological lineage and the physicality of the king. Proper stock was a prerequisite for his unique abilities, and earthly actions were part of the divine plan. His authority and his claim to the kingdom of Mysore, however, were not solely linked to biological succession. The genealogies of Tipu Sultan do not neglect or mask his and his father’s recent ascension within Mysore. Instead, they draw on extant narratives in the region to ground his rule in the rights of conquest. Tipu Sultan’s court employed preexisting South Indian tropes from Jain and Hindu regional courts that had been part of courtly rhetoric since, at least, the eleventh century. These were blended with Persianate paradigms that are present in Tughluq and Mughal sources (e.g., Akbarnama, Baburnama, and Padshahnama) and in Deccani materials from the courts of the Bahmanis, Adil Shahs, and Qutb Shahs. The result was a vision of South Indian kingship fashioned through a dialectic of multiple imperial traditions and that reflected the pan-​Indian and transnational reach of his court.5 His court was certainly not the first to do this, but its thorough integration of both the Hindu and Islamic systems was indeed novel in its attention to local context and broader claims of authority among his ally states.6 Tipu Sultan and

The King of Seringapatam  33 his court used genealogies to construct regional sovereign continuity by demonstrating succession from one divinely elected dynasty to the next, regardless of religious affiliation, tracing his kingdom from both Bijapur and Vijayanagara.7 Through careful construction of the region’s political past, Tipu Sultan’s genealogies suggest that sovereignty was delegated by the divine through election for the protection of his subjects and that a king’s election was proven through military conquest and administrative competence. The body politic of the king, that is, the office of kingship, was not a hereditary right in the biological sense, but it was transferred to the person who had the God-​given capacity to rule and could use it properly to safeguard his kingdom. Thus, Tipu Sultan’s kingship, including his military action, was framed as an expression of piety—​an act of devotion. This chapter explores the ways Tipu Sultan and his court employed genealogical paradigms to stake his claim to sovereign continuity by both biological succession and dynastic succession (from one dynasty to the next).8 The genealogical texts of Tipu Sultan help us to understand how the king imagined his place as part of a larger history of sovereign continuity. Paramount in this process were the ways in which the king’s court imagined the unbroken line of kingship with regional political history that could make sense of his recent ascension.9 The focus of this chapter is on two texts—​the Book of Haidar (Haidar Nama) and the History of Haidar (Nishan-​i Haidari)—​that relate Tipu Sultan’s genealogy. These texts are read in in the context of other genealogical literature, such as the Kannada Succession of the Mysore Kings (Maisura Arasugalu Purvabhyudhayagalu), that were commissioned by Tipu Sultan and told the history of his royal predecessors in the region. Of particular interest is the incorporation of tropes from the local southern Karnataka and Kannadiga genealogical tradition which demonstrates how Tipu Sultan and his court acted as adept curators of the historical tradition, constructing a narrative of succession that placed Tipu Sultan as the pinnacle of the kings of Shrirangapattana and its divinely elected ruler. By careful and selective use of the genealogical materials from the courts of his predecessors and through the construction of genealogies of his own family, the court of Tipu Sultan created a complex view of sovereign succession in which both the biological body of the king and the body politic (i.e., the office of the king) were united as a result of his biological uniqueness and his divine election. By bridging these two potential claims to kingship, Tipu Sultan and his court were able to situate the Mysore sultanate within a context of regional royalty and fashion Tipu Sultan as a paradigmatic Indian king. Through these texts, Tipu Sultan and his court were able to justify his rule from its inception and to strengthen his claims to sovereignty even as he faced the losses of the Third Anglo-​Mysore War. Tipu Sultan’s foundational theology of earthly sovereignty and its relationship to God which undergirds his genealogical literature is articulated in The

34  Tipu Sultan Chronicles of the Sultan (Sultan al-​tawarikh; c. 1789), a compendium of kingship that Tipu Sultan is said to have dictated to his courtier Zain-​al-​abidin Shustrari.10 The text explains that God created certain exceptional men—​second to only the prophets—​who were imbued with the special abilities necessary to rule. These men were chosen to serve as kings and to protect those entrusted to their care. However, the text makes certain that some kings were superior to others, and, as British colonel Mark Wilks notes, “the proof of this relative superiority of one king over another is exemplified in the superiority of Tippoo Sultaun, over all kings, ancient and modern.”11 Tipu Sultan had become the ruler of Mysore not because he had usurped the throne but because God had given it to him because he was most capable of protecting the territory and its people. Tipu Sultan asserted this position during the treaty negotiations for the Third Anglo-​Mysore War in 1792. The records of these negotiations show that the sultan claimed that Mysore was his “ancient hereditary right” because the people of Mysore had an “ancient dependency of the Raiye [king] of Seringapatam.”12 Tipu Sultan was not claiming that the rulers (raya) of Shrirangapattana (Seringapatam) had been from his biological lineage since antiquity, but the kingdom was his “ancient hereditary right” because he alone could protect it. As a result, he was the king of Seringapatam, the position for which he had been created and which he inherited from his Wodeyar predecessors.

Succession and Election in the Book of Haidar and the Succession of the Mysore Kings Immediately after his rise to power in the region, Tipu Sultan and his court actively engaged in the process of king fashioning through the creation of genealogical texts. The first and most thorough example is the Book of Haidar (Haidar Nama), which was completed in 1784, two years after the death of his father, Haidar Ali. The Book of Haidar was commissioned by Tipu Sultan and detailed the exploits of his father and his ancestors. This text served as the source for most subsequent chroniclers and historians of both Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan (and even provides many details found in later Wodeyar genealogies). Not inconsequentially, Tipu Sultan commissioned the text to be composed in Kannada by his Brahmin minister Nallappa of Sibi, who would later also served in the court of his successor Krishnaraja Wodeyar III.13 After its completion, the Book of Haidar was translated into Persian at Tipu Sultan’s request. The original language of the composition is significant, however, as it and its Brahmin author point to the extant tradition of Kannada vamshavalis (“line of offspring” or “lineage history,” a literary genealogical genre) which provided the overall structure and function of the narrative. The author, Nallappa, was a minister in Tipu Sultan’s court and the

The King of Seringapatam  35 eldest son of Krishnappa, who had previously served as the minister (kacheri/​ keceri) and divan for previous Wodeyar kings and for Haidar Ali. As a courtier and son of a previous high-​ranking minister, Nallappa was familiar with the regional motifs of the genealogical tradition and employed them in the composition of the Book of Haidar, mixing the Kannada genre with elements of the Persianate tradition.14 The text, however, is not simply a modification of Kannada typologies constructed to suit the needs of the ruler, but its commission and completion display the complexities of Tipu Sultan’s court and its recognition of various sources of religio-​political power. The colophon of the Book of Haidar records that the text was presented to the king on the eleventh day of the Hindu month of Ashadha (June–​July). This date, which is also known as Shayani Ekadashi or Maha Ekadasi, is an important day in the Vaishnava ritual calendar because it marks the beginning of the sacred rainy season (chaturmasa; “four months”), when Vishnu is said to return to the cosmic ocean to slumber upon the cosmic serpent Shesha (i.e., the image of Ranganatha after whom Shrirangapattana is named). This is also an important period for kings, who are supposed to undertake various vows in order to secure a good rainy season for their territories. Thus, the genealogical Book of Haidar appears to be intertwined with the broader and inclusive ritual and devotional apparatus of Tipu Sultan’s court According to the text, Haidar Ali’s ancestors were Navayats (lit. “newcomers”), who migrated to southern India when a man from the family named Asharafa joined the service of the Bijapur kings during the Adil Shah period (c. sixteenth–​ seventeenth century).15 After several generations, the family moved to Kolar, where Tipu Sultan’s grandfather Fatulla (also known as Fath Muhammad Ali) was appointed as a jagirdar of the Mughal nawab in Sira. There Fatulla established a reputation as an able minister and leader, gaining the title of nayaka and the revenue income of Gummanahalli, a small village near the city.16 Upon the death of Fatulla, both Haidar Ali and his elder brother Shah (also known as Muhammad Shabas) went to Shrirangapattana to seek an audience with the Wodeyar king, after which they were given a sum of money by the Mysore dalavayi (minister of war) to pay off the war debts accumulated by their father.17 Then both brothers joined the Mysore armies stationed outside of Bangalore under the command of Gopalaraja Arasu. The text narrates Haidar Ali’s quick ascension through the ranks of the Mysore army, his many victories in battle, and his eventual stewardship of the kingdom in great detail. The Book of Haidar concludes with Tipu Sultan’s ascension to the throne of Mysore, which, like most vamshavalis, demonstrates that the history of the lineage was intended to extol the virtues of the contemporaneous king. As is somewhat common in royal rhetoric from Islamic courts, the text situates Tipu Sultan within a rarefied position in South Asian Islamic traditions by alluding to his family’s Arab origins.18 Although it is somewhat oblique, it

36  Tipu Sultan is possible that the text is suggesting a biological connection between the ruler and the Prophet of Islam. The court of Tipu Sultan was keen on making these allusions, particularly to the Quraysh tribe of Muhammad. In an Arabic and Persian inscription on the north wall of the masjid that Tipu Sultan commissioned in the center of Shrirangapattana, the Mysore king’s eulogy includes the line that “[All] Muslims are dependent on the Muslims of the Khuresh.”19 Later genealogies of Tipu Sultan from both Indian and European historians from the period shortly after the sultan’s death expanded on this claim, explicitly noting that Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan were biological descendants of the Prophet Muhammad and members of the Quraysh tribe.20 Even those that did not go as far as to claim that Tipu Sultan was a direct descendant of Muhammad acknowledge that the lineage’s connection with the Arabian peninsula gave Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan certain authority as rulers within the region.21 Like the claimed biological connections to epic kingdoms from the Mahabharata and Ramayana traditions in other South Indian foundational stories, including the Wodeyar connection with Krishna’s kingdom in Dvaraka (see c­ hapters 4 and 6), the Book of Haidar constructs a direct (and perhaps biological) line from the most important person from the Islamic corpus to the contemporaneous king, here Tipu Sultan. The biological line of Tipu Sultan, however, was not a lineage of rulers but a lineage of ministers and warriors. His ancestors worked in the courts of regional political powers (Bijapur Adil Shahs, Mughals nawabs in Sira, Wodeyars of Mysore) in which they rose to positions of prominence, lending an air of political continuity to the region and authority to Tipu Sultan’s rule.22 In Tipu Sultan’s case, royal birth was not a condition for kingship; instead, a record of the exemplary characteristics of his ancestors was proof of the lineage’s worth.23 Thus, like Kshatriya svabhava (“inherent disposition”) in the varna system, the record of his genealogy demonstrates that Tipu Sultan has certain innate qualities that are a result of his lineage, which give him potential access to sovereignty. While the Book of Haidar maintains the motifs of biological succession, it reframes kingship as an office that is to be filled by the person most able to perform the required duties.24 The Book of Haidar inverts normative rules of succession even within the sibling dynamics of its lineage, with the younger Haidar Ali establishing himself over his elder brother Shah.25 While this narrative could simply reflect historical realities in which Haidar Ali and his elder brother migrated to Mysore, with Haidar later surpassing his elder due to his abilities, the Mysore court would have been fully aware of the importance of royal genealogy in the construction of kingship and its role in invoking claims of authority and territory and, thereby, the potential issues of Haidar Ali’s status as the younger brother.26 Tipu Sultan and his court, therefore, used genealogical precedent to negotiate any possible claim against his authority. To do this, the

The King of Seringapatam  37 court of Tipu Sultan selectively curated the Wodeyar genealogical materials in which Tipu Sultan and his court reworked kingship and succession. In 1798, before the fourth and final Anglo-​Mysore War and near the end of his rule, Tipu Sultan commissioned a Kannada manuscript from his minister Nagara Putia Pandita which told the genealogy of the Mysore/​Shrirangapattana kings. The text he commissioned, however, was not a new work, but the king asked the Brahmin to render the paper manuscript (kadata) of the Account of the Succession of the Rulers of Mysore (Maisura Dhoregala Purvabhyudayada Vivara; c. 1713) into incipient modern Kannada, which he would retitle Succession of the Kings of Mysore (Maisura Arasugala Purvabhyudhayagalu; also known as “Putiya Pundit’s book”).27 Upon completion of the new manuscript, Tipu Sultan had his ministers Assud Anwar and Gholam Hussein translate the genealogical text into Persian as Nasab Nama-​i-​ Rajaha-​i-​Maisur with the assistance of Pandita.28 The importance that Tipu Sultan and his court placed on this text was underlined by the fact that he had it rendered in both languages. That the text was originally composed in Kannada, as the Book of Haidar had been, is again significant, as it demonstrates that Tipu Sultan and his court saw the power and history of the genre as an important form of Kannadiga literature, recognizing the role of vamshavali texts in fashioning kingship and making claims to sovereignty in the region, and the Persian translation situated Tipu Sultan with the Persianate cosmopolis of his Islamic peers.29 The original text itself is an interesting choice. By the time of Tipu Sultan’s rule, several great works of Wodeyar vamshavali, such as the Victory of Kanthirava Narasaraja (Kanthirava Narasaraja Vijayam; c.  1648)  and the Lineage History of Chikkadevaraya (Chikkadevaraya Vamshavali; c.  1678), were available to the king and his courtiers. Both of these texts had been written in the wake of major military victories by the eponymous kings (i.e., Kanthirava Narasaraja and Chikkadevaraya), focused on the martial prowess of the rulers, and they are replete with poetic phrases extolling the military and heroic (virya) characteristics of kingship that Tipu Sultan so admired. The Succession of the Mysore Kings, on the other hand, contains a terse rendering of the former rulers of Mysore that begins just before their ascension to the throne of Shrirangapattana on the frontside of the folios. On the backside of each page, the text provides lists of territories acquired by the Mysore kings given in chronological order based on the date they were obtained by the Mysore kingdom. The two sides of the folio together work to construct a standard for proper royal authority and succession in Mysore. The list of territories demarcates and justifies the traditional boundaries of the kingdom over which Tipu Sultan claimed authority to rule, while the narrative of the lineage establishes the conditions necessary for a ruler to seize the throne, namely, his ability to protect and expand the territory, regardless of his place in the normative order of biological succession. The frontside text includes only one sustained

38  Tipu Sultan narrative: an alternative history of the Raja Wodeyar (r. 1610–​1617), the Wodeyar king famous for establishing the Mysore kings as regional powers and as rulers of the Vijayanagara outpost in Shrirangapattana in 1610. For Tipu Sultan, this narrative sets precedents for royal election based on military and administrative abilities and divine recognition of the able king’s sovereignty. The narrative of the Succession of the Mysore Kings begins when a Wodeyar king named Chamaraja (also known as “Punda”; “bully”) ascended the throne of Mysore. After only one year, the men of the village, led by Ranganatha Dikshita, approached Chamaraja’s younger brother Raja and requested that he assume the throne. They explained that the usurpation was necessary because Chamaraja was abusing the kingdom and its people and that Raja was stronger and more capable of administration. Raja agreed, and Chamaraja was displaced but given an appointment as the dalavayi of Mysore. The text continues by detailing a series of battles between Mysore and the armies of the neighboring villages and, eventually, against the forces of Tirumala, the Vijayanagara regional overlord who ruled from Shrirangapattana. In each battle, Raja Wodeyar and his men were victorious and received additional territories and war reparations from their rivals, which are recorded on the back side of the folio. Among the war narratives, an interesting subnarrative of a blind Brahmin provides a link between the ruler and the divine. According to the text, the blind Brahmin had gone to worship “Ranganatheshvara” of Tirupati. One day, while he performed puja and prayed for his sight to be restored, the deity came to life and restored sight in one of his eyes. When the Brahmin asked about his other eye, the deity commanded him to go to Mysore and told him that Raja Wodeyar would restore the sight in his other eye. The Brahmin did as he was told and went to Mysore. There the Brahmin told the king his story. Upon hearing this tale, Raja informed his guest that while he was king, he was also just a man and lacked the power to do such things. Instead, Raja instructed the Brahmin to go to the nearby Lakshmikanta temple, where his sight would be restored in full if he was indeed telling the truth. Of course, the Brahmin had been telling the truth, and he immediately received full vision once he entered the temple.30 The text, then, transitions back to the political intrigue and the rivalry between Raja Wodeyar and Tirumala. In the final portion of the text that follows, it is clear that the tides of power were shifting to favor Raja, and the Shrirangapattana king was reduced to bribing the Mysore dalavayi and made a failed attempt to assassinate Raja. Finally, the text abruptly transitions to a laconic list of kings and their heirs, beginning with the birth of Raja’s son in 1614 and Raja’s death in 1617. Although it was not part of the narrative portion of the text, Shrirangapattana is listed among the territories acquired on the reverse of the folio. The text states, “Shrirangapattana, which had been in the possession of Tirumala Raja, was taken into possession in 1610.” Given the history between Raja and Tirumala,

The King of Seringapatam  39 it is quite clear that Raja took possession of the fort and the regional crown by force, a perspective common in seventeenth-​and eighteenth-​century Mysore inscriptions and literature.31 The narrative, by precedent, justifies a king’s rise to power in Mysore through atypical royal succession, namely, through one’s ability to rule effectively, implicitly redefining the nature of kingship and its source of authority. The Succession of the Mysore Kings provides a model of kingship that privileges ability and military power over proper biological succession and sovereignty. The text fashions kingship through territorial expansion, protection of that territory against outside intervention, and maintenance of the kingdom and its people through administrative reform and public works, all key components of Tipu Sultan’s rule and features that had been emphasized in the Book of Haidar. Moreover, in the Succession of the Mysore Kings, power to rule is closely associated with the divine, as Raja Wodeyar is shown to be an agent of the powerful Vaishnava deity of Tirupati. Just as the Book of Haidar had provided the history and justification for Tipu Sultan’s rise to political power through religious and imperial connections, so, too, the Succession of the Mysore Kings provided a precedent that ability—​ability that is expressed through political administration and military achievement—​ was the primary requisite for kingship and was proof of the divine election of the king. The Succession of the Mysore Kings was not simply a text about the Wodeyar kings; it was a text about regional kingship and its grounding within the divine. In the Book of Haidar and the Succession of the Mysore Kings, Tipu Sultan and his court employed genealogy to situate the king’s rise to power selectively using the paradigms that were important in the southern Kannada-​speaking region.32 The Book of Haidar provided the history of his lineage, placing Tipu Sultan within a proper genealogy that was linked to the Prophet Muhammad and that produced able political actors within regional politics. But most important, his father, the founder of his line in Mysore, established himself within Mysore through his personal martial abilities. Through the narrative of the Book of Haidar and confirmed in the Succession of the Mysore Kings, Tipu Sultan and his court shifted the very nature of sovereign continuity away from a process of biological succession by expanding the criteria for the royal authority to include capabilities and merit as proof of righteousness and divine election.

The History of Haidar, Devotional Alliance, and the Constitution of the King’s Power Perhaps the best-​known genealogy of Tipu Sultan and his lineage is the History of Haidar (Nishan-​i Haidari; c. 1798–​1802), a Persian history written by Mir Hussain Ali Khan Kirmani and translated into English by W. Miles in 1842 as The History of

40  Tipu Sultan Hydur Naik.33 Kirmani was a member of Mysore court and seems to have been well versed in the genealogical tropes of premodern and early modern South India.34 Many elements of the courtly paradigms of genealogy are present in the opening lines of the book and warrant our attention. In this text specifically, devotion is central within the construction of royal power in the court of Tipu Sultan. Kirmani’s text begins with an invocation of Allah as sovereign and king of all kings and the role of the magistrate to serve his will: [A]‌ll the different Tribes or Nations of the world are the praise of the King of all Kingdoms; the Standard of whose might and Majesty is planted on the field of his works, and under the shadow of whose aid and protection all the contending armies on the face of the earth are enrolled. . . . The Shuhneh, Magistrate, who executes his universal orders, regulates with the scourge of wisdom and justice, in eternal moderation and proportion, the opposite natures or qualities of the various kinds of sentient beings.35

The author continues a few lines later, proclaiming “to him belongs Sovereignty, the one God! the all-​powerful God!”36 The sovereign (here Allah) is described as a powerful conqueror, one who conquers in order to protect his devotees. The language elicits connections between the earthly ruler and the deity being praised (similar to Sanskrit shlesha and Kannada padiru). After its opening invocation, the text transitions to the lineage of Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan, beginning with Haidar Ali’s great-​grandfather Shekh Wali Muhammad, who is said to be a descent of the Quraysh tribe, the tribe of the Prophet Muhammad. According to the text, Wali Muhammad migrated from Delhi to Gulbarga, where he attended to the dargah of the Sufi saint Muhammad al-​Husayni “Gisu Daraz” (also known as Hazrat Bunde Navaz; c. 1321–​1422) during the reign of Muhammad Adil Shah of Bijapur (r. 1626–​1656). After serving faithfully for several years, Tipu Sultan’s great-​ grandfather Shekh Muhammad Ali was married to the daughter of one of the pirzadas (keepers of the dargah).37 After several more years, the family migrated to Bijapur to live with the seven brothers of Muhammad Ali’s wife and to work in the court of one of Bijapur’s amirs. After all seven brothers were killed in a battle, Muhammad Ali and his wife and children moved to Kolar to work in the service of one of the ministers of the king of Sira, a Mughal province (suba). There Ali had four sons, including his youngest, Fath Ali, Tipu Sultan’s grandfather. Fath Ali left home to take a position in Arcot, but after the death of the Nawab of Arcot Dost Ali Khan, Fath Ali was called into service by the king of Mysore, who conferred upon him the title of nayaka. While in the service of Mysore, Fath Ali had a son named Shabaz. After a quarrel with the king of Mysore, Fath Ali resumed his father’s old station in the Sira government in Kolar.

The King of Seringapatam  41 Haidar Ali was born during Fath Ali’s time in Kolar. After his birth, astrologers from the court prophesied that Haidar Ali would someday become king and rule over both northern and southern Karnataka, uniting the old kingdoms of Bijapur and Mysore. The prophecy, however, also said that that Fath Ali would soon die and that Haidar Ali would be raised as an orphan. Soon after these events, a Mysore-​led coalition attacked Sira; however, Fath Ali was able to defeat the forces, after which he was elevated to guardian of the city. Soon thereafter, with treachery afoot, Fath Ali was killed in battle, and the son of the Nawab seized all of Fath Ali’s property and imprisoned his widow and his sons Shabaz and Haidar Ali. After intervention from the Mysore king and several other battles, the family was released when large ransoms were paid by their uncle. Having grown up through these ordeals, both brothers, Shabaz and Haidar Ali, left Sira and joined the armies of Mysore. Shabaz in time returned to Sira, but Haidar Ali won the favor of the Mysore dalavayi Nanjaraja and quickly ascended through the ranks, becoming the dalavayi himself. Although some details differ between this text and the Book of Haidar, the overall narrative follows similar patterns, with the exception of the reference to the dargah of the Sufi saint Gisu Daraz and the marriage alliance between the family of Tipu Sultan and the descendants of the saint, who presided over his shrine. This portion of the narrative provides an important link to the devotional relationship between the family of Tipu Sultan and local powerful Sufi saints that is emphasized in Kirmani’s text.38 Susan Bayly, in her study of Tamil devotional traditions, has shown that courts of aspiring Muslim kings in South India often used narratives of marriage alliances with the families of Sufi pirs in order to stake their claim to regional thrones.39 She demonstrates that the local rulers became the political and religious leaders of their realm, channeling the power of the pir and assuming their position of authority, through this alliance, which she calls their “extended genealogy.”40 She states that “by focusing on the idea of Sufis as precursors of kings, it became possible for newly established ruling lines to claim ties of descent or spiritual kinship to the great saints of the past, and through them to the Prophet himself. Such extended genealogies were particularly important to aspiring rulers with less than illustrious family backgrounds.”41 Likewise, the History of Haidar in which Tipu Sultan’s great-​ grandfather Muhammad Ali marries into the family of the Sufi saint Gisu Daraz provides an important link to imperial devotion. Gisu Daraz, who is discussed at greater length in ­chapter 2 of this book, had been an important Chishti Sufi saint, who moved to Gulbarga (also known as Kalaburagi) at the invitation of a Bahmani king. He is credited with taking Chishti Sufism to the south, where it was integrated in many of the courts of the Deccan. Richard Eaton, historian of India and Indian Islam, suggests that “most importantly, Gisu Daraz contributed to the stabilization and indigenization of

42  Tipu Sultan Indo-​Muslim society and polity in the Deccan, as earlier generations of Sufi shaikhs had already done in Tughluq north India.”42 The connection with the family of this imperial saint through a marriage alliance within the text provides another source of divine authority for Tipu Sultan, extends his domain to include spiritual territory, and further elevates his claims to an illustrious family lineage. The relationship between Tipu Sultan and the saint, however, was not merely something concocted to serve a rhetorical purpose. Tipu Sultan was a great devotee of Gisu Daraz and frequently visited his dargah.43 Tipu Sultan also collected portraits of the saint and recorded dreams in which the saint would visit the king.44 Tipu Sultan’s dreams of the saint seem to have fulfilled the same function as the genealogical narrative by affirming the divinely sanctioned authority of Tipu Sultan and his claims to the throne.45 Tipu Sultan even tried to reaffirm this alliance by requesting one of the daughters of the pirzadas of Gisu Daraz’s dargah for marriage in the mid-​1790s; however, the descendants of the pir were denied permission by the Nizam of Hyderabad, who had no desire for Tipu Sultan’s influence to grow in his territory.46 Despite this setback, the connection to the pir and his dargah was maintained in the History of Haidar and in the king’s dream journals, constructing a renewed history of the king’s biological lineage that was constituted in both political and spiritual/​devotional realms of power. The role of the devotional alliance and the transfer of power from the divine to the king is made explicit later in the History of Haidar in the legend of Tipu Sultan miraculous birth.47 According to Kirmani’s account, Tipu Sultan’s father and mother (Fatima Fakhr-​un-​Nissa, though unnamed in the text) had been married for three or four years and had not been able to conceive a child. In order to obtain a son, Haidar Ali went to the tomb (dargah) of the Sufi majzub saint Tipu Mastan Avaliya (d. 1725) in Arcot.48 Then, after a period in which Haidar Ali took “refuge in the favor of the Almighty” and “offered up prayers and vows for the accomplishment of his desire,” his prayers were answered, and the queen became pregnant with Tipu Sultan.49 The text describes this moment as the time of “the increase of [Haidar Ali’s] greatness and power” and as being owed to the “transcendent merits” of the Sufi saint.50 In honor of the miracle, the couple named their child Tipu Fath Ali Khan after the saint whose power permeated the sacred site and through whom the family’s “greatness and power” had increased. Similar narratives—​the child born by supernatural power and as a result of devotion—​were present in the region since the earliest genealogical materials from the Gangas of Talakadu in the twelfth century and are not uncommon in Persianate genealogies.51 In most premodern Kannada and Sanskrit versions of the heirless-​king narrative type from the region, the king petitions the local goddess (usually through her priest) to grant him and his wife a son. After the king undertakes some vow, the goddess bestows the boon of an heir on the king. The child, however, having been born by the grace of the goddess, is imbued with even

The King of Seringapatam  43 greater strength, invigorated by the permeation of the goddess’s power or shakti. In Tipu Sultan’s birth account in the History of Haidar, the same paradigm is present and shows the overlapping concepts of power and devotion in South Indian goddess and Sufi devotional traditions. Like the local goddesses of South India, Sufi pirs and their tombs are believed to be imbued with power (both spiritual and physical) that radiates from their holy sites (temples and dargahs) enlivening and invigorating their sacred domain and their devotees who visit the physical space.52 Just like the devotional alliance made with the goddesses’ priests in the Hindu and Jain foundational stories of the region, a devotional association with the site of a powerful pir was common among upstart Muslim kingdoms of the period.53 The narrative overlap between the foundation stories and devotional alliances found in the Hindu, Jain, and Islamic contexts demonstrates the importance of establishing devotional foundations of a kingdom from which its rulers gain the divine authority to rule. The emphasis on devotion also demonstrates the broader religio-​political context in which Tipu Sultan was situated, in which there is a great amount of overlap between sources of royal power. Bayly has demonstrated that Sufi saints and local goddesses served the same function as the givers of power and bestowers of physical boons.54 She states that “as an activated being, a conqueror and builder of ever-​growing devotional networks or domains, the Muslim cult saint moves quite naturally into the world of the sakti deity or amman.”55 Bayly demonstrates how power (both fierce and benign) emanates from saints, pirs, and local goddesses and that this power is only accessible through devotion. While this power and the miracles that come as a result were by no means restricted to royal devotion, the theme of miraculous birth as a result of devotion to a powerful local source—​be it pir or goddess—​was certainly part of the South Indian genealogical tradition, one that was repeated often by the court of Krishnaraja Wodeyar III, who was always praised as “born by the grace of Chamundeshvari.” The overlapping field of Sufi and goddess devotional power that is seen in his genealogical materials can also be seen within the visual and material culture of Tipu Sultan’s kingdom. As part of the same overall project of fashioning kingship through courtly production, the visual representation of Tipu Sultan’s kingdom through symbolic display demonstrates the ways the king and his court envisioned and constructed power and reflects the concerns of the genealogical texts. Of all of Tipu Sultan’s symbols of power and identity, the stylized tiger-​ stripe (babri) pattern came to be most associated with his rule. The tiger motif was ubiquitously displayed in Tipu Sultan’s kingdom, including on his flag, his palanquin, his throne, his soldiers’ uniforms, and even his own clothes. The tiger was not only a symbol of strength, but it also was a display of Tipu Sultan’s identity as the “Tiger of Mysore.” Kate Brittlebank, who has written extensively on Tipu Sultan, has demonstrated the multiple meanings of the tiger within the

44  Tipu Sultan southern Kannada-​speaking region, where notions of royal power, goddess and Shaiva devotion, and devotional imagery related to the Muslim saint-​king Ali (also known as “the lion of God”) are all encapsulated within the visual rhetoric of the tiger/​lion motif.56 In particular, she shows how Tipu Sultan’s court blended notions of barakat, the power of Sufi martial pirs, with the preexisting notion of shakti and its association with South Indian kingship.57 Brittlebank especially emphasizes that Tipu Sultan tapped into the wealth of potential relating to martial goddesses that already existed within the South Indian political complex and had similarly been harnessed by such rulers as Shivaji, the famous Maratha ruler.58 Within the overlapping cognitive field of spiritual power that comes from Sufi pirs and local goddesses, Tipu Sultan was able to use the imagery of the tiger to collapse various sources of power into one symbol that spoke to the different religious communities in his kingdom. Tipu Sultan and his court were keenly aware of this visual overlap when designing his famous golden throne of Shrirangapattana. The famous throne was designed to look as if it were a tiger upon which Tipu Sultan would sit, taking quite literally the Kannada term for the seat of an emperor, simhasana, or “lion throne.”59 Tipu Sultan Enthroned, by Anna Tonelli (c. July 1800), a watercolor currently exhibited in the Clive Museum at Powis Castle in Powys, Wales, displays the effect that the throne would have had (figure 1.1).60 In the watercolor, Tipu Sultan sits on his golden throne set against a blank white background. Both throne and king are represented in full grandeur, despite the artist’s and the viewer’s knowledge that Shrirangapattana had fallen, the king had been killed, and the throne had been dismantled. From the watercolor, the effect is clear. It appears that Tipu Sultan was seated on a jeweled tiger. Within the context of southern Karnataka, the image of Tipu Sultan on his tiger throne evokes both the goddess upon her tiger mount (figure 1.2) and the local popular manifestation of Shiva, Mahadeshwara (figure 1.3). Thus, the throne served to elevate the status of the king, bringing to mind a variety of images of the divine within the region. The tiger motif also alludes to the legend of Tipu Sultan in which he is said to have killed a tiger with nothing but his hands and a small dagger or sword. Although I am unaware of any textual account of this narrative from the time of the ruler, the narrative was part of the visual rhetoric of the time and can be found in the murals of the Narasimhasvami temple in Sibi.61 The narrative of this encounter has continued to be included in many of the popular histories of the ruler, and its imagery is popular in Karnataka and can be found on postcards (figure 1.4), street murals, and even the Amar Chitra Katha Tipu Sultan comic book. According to this narrative, when Tipu Sultan was a young man, he went out hunting with a French soldier. While they stalked their prey, a tiger stalked them. Out of nowhere, the tiger attacked Tipu Sultan, but being the brave and powerful soldier that he was, Tipu Sultan was able to fight off the tiger with his

The King of Seringapatam  45

Figure 1.1  Tipu Sultan Enthroned, by Anna Tonelli (c. July 1800), Clive Museum. Photo © UK National Trust.

hands and thrust his dagger into its side. After this, Tipu Sultan received his nickname, the “Tiger of Mysore.” This legendary narrative and its attendant imagery are striking for the obvious overlap with the foundational story of the medieval Hoysala dynasty (c. 1026–​ 1343) that also provides a link between devotional power and divine election through militarism.62 This medieval foundational story relates the story of Sala, the legendary progenitor of the Hoysala lineage, and is repeated in many Hoysala inscriptions.63 Sala, a “well-​known Kshatriya,” was wandering near a village called Shashakapura, where he was joined by a Jain ascetic. The Jain led Sala in worship and recitation of mantras aimed at bringing Sala the favor of the goddess Padmavati.64 However, just before the conclusion of their rituals, a tiger attacked the soon-​to-​be-​king. Seeing the oncoming threat, the ascetic handed Sala his whisk and exclaimed, “Hoy, Sala!” (“Strike/​kill it, Sala!”). Sala then killed the tiger with the handle of the whisk. Seeing his devotion and his valor, the goddess appeared and granted the king his kingdom. This Hoysala story is well known in the southern Kannada-​speaking region, especially in its visual displays alongside the doors of the beautiful and ornately carved Hoysala temples (e.g., Halebidu and Beluru) (figure 1.5) and on the roofs of less ornate village temples from the period (e.g., Doddagaddavalli’s Lakshmidevi temple).65 The Hoysala narrative

46  Tipu Sultan

Figure 1.2  Popular calendar art of goddess Vaishno Devi on her tiger mount. Author’s personal collection.

and its imagery were not as straightforward as they might appear at face value; instead, they visually reenacted the Hoysala victory over the Cholas kings from the Tamil-​speaking region to the southeast of Mysore, whose primary insignia was the lion or tiger. Reading the Hoysala foundation narratives as an allegorical archive of the Hoysala victory over the Cholas, the story of the devotional alliance and its divine authorization is rooted in successful military conquest. The tale of Tipu Sultan and his tiger falls into the same field of king fashioning as the Hoysala foundational legend, serving a similar purpose to eulogize the king’s martial abilities and their devotional basis within the local context.

The King of Seringapatam  47

Figure 1.3  Poster depicting Mahadeshwara, manifestation of Shiva, in southern Karnataka. Photo by the author.

The genealogy of martial imagery is also evident in Tipu Sultan’s primary insignia, the image of the tiger eating the gandabherunda, a mythological double-​ headed eagle described by Brittlebank.66 This image again shows how Tipu Sultan and his court adroitly employed genealogies of visual rhetoric, as they fashioned their king and his kingdom’s place within the context of South Indian kingship through the display of royal succession through conquest. As the insignia (Kannada: biridu) of the Mysore sultanate under Tipu Sultan, the image of the tiger mauling and eating the gandabherunda was emblematic of the king and his kingdom’s power, showing Tipu Sultan as the tiger, who eats his foes.67 Just like the Hoysala image of the slaying of the tiger, Tipu Sultan’s image of the tiger and gandabherunda must be viewed as a visual display of royal succession through military conquest. Several other scholars have also noted Tipu Sultan’s insignia and the visual rhetoric of imperial dominance; however, most have viewed this as Tipu Sultan distinguishing himself from the Vaishnava Wodeyars, who were given an official insignia by the British that featured the gandabherunda as their symbol.68 While

48  Tipu Sultan

Figure 1.4  Photo of a popular postcard sold in Shrirangapattana. Photo by the author.

there is no doubt that this image was a direct response to the imagery of former rulers, it did not refer to the Wodeyars, whom Tipu Sultan never had to defeat. Instead, the insignia highlights Tipu Sultan’s identity as the Tiger of Mysore, king of Bidanuru, and vanquisher of the Keladi kings, whose primary emblem was the gandabherunda which can be found prominently carved on the ceiling of the Rameshvara temple in their first capital in Keladi. The Keladi kingdom (1499–​1763) had been one of the largest Vijayanagara successor states in the Kannada-​speaking region and the major political and military rival of Mysore until its defeat at the hands of Haidar Ali in 1763. After Haidar Ali conquered the Keladi capital of Bidanuru, which he renamed Haidarnagara, he established himself as the new king of Keladi/​Bidanuru.69 After the death of Haidar Ali, Tipu Sultan had to reclaim his father’s kingdom, and he reconquered Bidanuru on May 4, 1783. As will be discussed more in the next chapter, both Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan took their roles as Keladi kings quite seriously and continued the paradigms of Keladi statecraft, especially in regard to imperial succession and the enactment of devotion to the imperial guru at Shringeri, as found in the Keladi genealogical text, the Victory of the Keladi Kings (Keladinripa Vijayam;

The King of Seringapatam  49

Figure 1.5  Sculpture of Sala slaying a tiger outside of Chennakeshava temple, Belur. Photo by the author.

c. mid-​eighteenth century). The image of the tiger and the gandabherunda, like the genealogies above, visually demonstrates Tipu Sultan’s martial prowess and connects him with his father, Haidar Ali, as the conquerors and kings of this formidable kingdom.70 Moreover, the imagery explicitly makes Tipu Sultan’s claim to the throne of Keladi through the right of conquest and divine election legitimate. As Raja Wodeyar had claimed Shrirangapattana by overthrowing its king in the Succession of the Mysore Kings, so, too, did Tipu Sultan become the rightful heir of Keladi by unseating their rulers.

Conclusion Tipu Sultan and his court were aware of and actively engaged with the royal genealogical traditions of South India. The genealogies of Tipu Sultan and his lineage incorporate many of the major themes, motifs, and paradigms that were common in the genealogical materials of the region, including narrative and

50  Tipu Sultan visual forms. Through this engagement, the lineage texts of the Mysore sultanate fashion Tipu Sultan as a king with proper ancestry and divine authorization of his royal power. Simultaneously, these texts make a case for nonbiological succession in which merit (i.e., military power) is proof of a ruler’s divine election. In order to bolster these claims, Tipu Sultan and his court selectively curated the genealogies and visual demonstrations of conquest and devotion of his predecessors in order to make claims about kingship and dynastic continuity. By blending elements of the premodern practice of genealogy making and king fashioning with notions of dynastic continuity through power, conquest, and devotion, Tipu Sultan and his court effectively made a case for Tipu Sultan as the proper successor, the rightful heir, and the king of Seringpatam.

Notes 1. Kirmani 1842, 28–​29. 2. Kirmani 1842, 181. 3. E.g., compare Gordon (1998) for India and Vones (1990, 40–​45) for Europe. 4. Kantorowicz 1997. Kantorowicz suggests:  “the dynastic continuity of the natural body [was amalgamated] with the perpetuality of the Crown as a political body in the person of the ruling king” (1997, 381). The “Crown” to which Kantorowicz refers is an abstracted form of power embodied by the king, what we might call his sovereignty. This nonbiological body of the king, this body of abstract power, was associated and directly connected with the divine, giving the king all the “attributes of an ‘angel’ or other supernatural being” and making him ostensibly immortal (1997, 382). For Kantorowicz, there exist two “crowns,” the visible ornament of the earthly sovereign and the “invisible Crown” (corona invisiblis), the embellishment of immortal and perpetual sovereignty. These two crowns are intertwined in the popular imagination of kingship and embody the way sovereigns and rulers were viewed within the European context, especially in English jurisprudence. 5. For more on the ways new kings and kingdoms have incorporated both conceptual and material culture from their predecessors, see Eaton and Wagoner (2014). Eaton and Wagoner (2014, 19–​20) have demonstrated that religious identity was not the most important prism through which courtly culture should be viewed. Instead, Deccani courts negotiated their connections between Sanskrit and Persianate courtly culture as they positioned themselves with their power predecessors and against their enemies. See also Wagoner (1996b) and Talbot (1995). 6. Compare with Truschke 2016; Eaton and Wagoner 2014; Bayly 1989, 10–​70. Despite running the risk of reifying religious identity, I use the term Islamic when discussing elements that relate back to beliefs and practices associated with Islam. I have chosen to use this term specifically because Tipu Sultan incorporates authority structures derived from Sufi sources, which Eaton and Wagoner (2014, 30) have suggested are counter to the Persianate paradigm of royal authority.

The King of Seringapatam  51 7. The conscious integration of the materials from his predecessors is similar to the processes of adaptation of material culture discussed in Eaton and Wagoner (2014). 8. While I focus on the influence of Kannada and Sanskrit texts in Tipu Sultan’s genealogies, there was certainly also a great deal of influence from the Persianate tradition. For more on the Persianate influence on Tipu Sultan’s genealogies, see the forthcoming work by Subah Dayal. See also ­chapter 3 in this book, which discusses Tipu Sultan’s display of military power as a means to stabilize life in the murals of the Dariya Daulat Palace. 9. Compare with Chatterjee 2012, 85–​93. 10. Wilks 1817, 1: xiv–​xv. 11. Wilks 1817, 1: xv. 12. Brittlebank 1997, 80; Mackenzie General Collection, ms. 61, “Kennaway Narrative,” 31–​32,  40. 13. Book of Haidar; MAR 1930, 80–​81; Shekar 1999, 13. 14. For more, see c­ hapter 2. 15. See also Rao 1946, 3: 205. Kirmani’s genealogy makes this connection even stronger by tracing Tipu Sultan’s lineage to the sons of the last kings of Bijapur, a claim that, according to Kirmani’s translator, W.  Miles, was what Haidar Ali himself claimed (Kirmani 1842, xvii). 16. The granting of tax revenue for military and/​or administrative performance is similar to the land grants given to temples and Brahmins, but its function in the negotiation of sovereignty seems to be quite different. See Talbot 2001; Peabody 2003. 17. In his private diary on August 28, 1756, Ananda Ranga Pillai, a dubash for the French East India Company, wrote about Haidar Ali and his brother, whom he refers to as “Shabaz Khan” (Pillai 1985, 182) 18. This is different from previous Islamic kingdoms in India. For example, in Mughal, lineages—​even those in Sanskrit—​trace the Mughal rulers to Kabul (Truschke 2016, 74) and the Adil Shahs trace their dynastic succession through the Safavids (Hutton 2016). The text also fashioned the ruler in relation to the previous Nawabs of Arcot, the Navayat dynasty, who claimed the same ancestry and had been ousted by the family of Tipu Sultan’s bitter rival, Nawab Muhammad Wallajah. 19. EC Volume III: Sr, 16. 20. For examples, see Samuel and Campbell 1800, 2; Kirmani 1842, 1. See Brittlebank 1997, 79. Perhaps this, like hagiographies of Timur, was even an attempt to tap into messianic prophecies (Moin 2012, 26–​28). 21. Rao 1946, 3: 761–​767; Wilks 1817, 1: 288. 22. This, again, was a common trope during the early medieval period, but in most previous cases, the kings’ ancestors were commissioned by the Vijayanagara emperors to manage territories within their kingdoms, which the vassals inevitably overtook during the waning years of the empire. Examples of this are manifold, including Madurai, (Rao, Shulman, and Subrahmanyam 1992, 44–​49; Dirks 1993, 98–​99), Keladi (Linganna 1973, 11–​13, 36, v.  1.140–​153, v.  2.38–​39), and Mysore (Great Kings of Mysore, see below). In the Book of Haidar, however, imperial succession does not flow through the supposed bastion of Hinduism in southern India, but it flows

52  Tipu Sultan through the Islamic rivals from the northern Kannada-​speaking region, Bijapur, once again building on common tropes but situating them within the Islamic context. 23. This is similar to the portrayal of dynastic succession found in the Tarikh-​i Rajha-​yi Dilhi from the court of the Mughal king Shah Jahan, which traces the throne of Delhi from Yudhishthira of the Mahabharata to the Mughal dynasty. See Truschke 2016, 222. For more on Mughal genealogy, see Lefèvre 2011. 24. This aspect seems to conform to Persianate genealogical traditions. 25. The final narrative elements of the foundation story display a knowledge of foundational legends and the motif of a migration made by two brothers which can be seen in foundational myths from all major kingdoms from the southern Kannada-​ speaking region (Simmons 2018). Throughout the Book of Haidar’s genealogy, brothers feature prominently. Tipu Sultan’s grandfather was the eldest of a trio of brothers, who migrated from Kolar to find fortune under the employ of various regional polities. When the narrative focuses on their migration to Mysore, however, the text returns to the two-​brother motif as Haidar Ali and his elder brother Shabas leave the kingdom of their father and travel down to Mysore, where they are welcomed and begin their journey to kingship. 26. It should be noted that Haidar Ali never claimed to be the king of Mysore. He always maintained the title of bahaddar (Hindi: bahadur; “great warrior”) or dalavayi (minister of war). He was granted authority over Bidanuru after he defeated the kings of Keladi, after which he was referred to as the king of Bidanuru. 27. Mackenzie General Collection, ms. 3.8.b., 201–​227. A  manuscript of the Maisura Dhoregala Purvabhyudayada (c. 1713)  can be found in the University of Mysore Kuvempu Institute of Kannada Studies (KIKS) manuscript library, (ms. KMP B.47, or under the older Government Oriental Manuscript Library catalogue number D. no. 1868. The only major change in the language of the title from Dhoregala to Arasugala points to an awareness of family dynastic politics. While both dhoregalu and arasugalu can be translated as “kings,” arasu (the singular of arasugalu) had been adopted by the Wodeyars as their caste or family name. 28. Mackenzie General Collection, ms. 3.12, ms. 40.4; Wilks 1817, 1:  ix–​xi; Hosain 1940, 150. 29. This is similar to the use of literary aesthetics in the Mughal court described by Truschke (2016, 139, 148, 221–​223); however, in this case, the connection of the lineage to Tipu Sultan and Haidar Ali was not made explicit in the text but was certainly explicit in the ruler’s claim to the throne as his “ancient hereditary right.” 30. This text contains many other extremely intriguing episodes that warrant a more detailed study elsewhere. Other subnarratives include a justification for royal procession and its place in political hierarchies, an assassination attempt on the king (perhaps similar to the attempted assassination of Haidar Ali in Bidanuru), and a story about Brahminicide and haunting by the Brahmin’s spirit. 31. E.g., Kanthirava Narasaraja Vijayam, Cikkadevaraya Vamshavali, REC Volume V: My, 99, and REC Volume VI: Sr, 24. 32. Of course, that is not to say that these paradigms cannot be found elsewhere; however, the genealogical narratives created and employed by Tipu Sultan and his court

The King of Seringapatam  53 were consciously engaged in the genre that pervaded the history of the region and its kings. 33. In the text itself, Kirmani claims to have undertaken this endeavor without commission, but he states that Tipu Sultan’s sons will recognize its merits and reward him appropriately. It is entirely plausible that this claim is a rhetorical ploy aimed to authenticate the details of the book by claiming objective nonbias research and that it had been commissioned by Tipu Sultan and his court. Additionally, since Tipu Sultan had died during the period when the book was being written, now the author could simply be making his case for compensation from Tipu Sultan’s descendants. Given the elements present in the narrative, it is entirely possible that Kirmani’s history, too, is a courtly production, despite the text explicitly stating that it was not commissioned by the court of Tipu Sultan. 34. Kirmani 1842, xxii. 35. Kirmani 1842, xxv. 36. Kirmani 1842, xxvi. 37. Kirmani 1842, 1–​2. 38. Moin (2012, 19) has argued that the connection to local Sufi lineages was a well-​ established element of Indo-​Afghan sovereignty that has roots in Central Asian and Iranian royal practice; however, Eaton and Wagoner (2014, 30) have argued that this form of “leasing” sovereign authority over worldly power from a Sufi saint is a distinct break from “Persianate claims of a sultan’s absolute sovereign authority.” 39. Bayly 1989, 182–​183. 40. Bayly 1989, 183. 41. Bayly 1989, 183. 42. Eaton 2005, 33; see also Eaton 1978. 43. Eaton 2005, 33–​58; Ernst 1992, 121–​123. 44. British Museum reg. no. 1936.0411.0.31.1–​96; Brittlebank 1997, 42; Brittlebank 2011, 161–​168. 45. See c­ hapter 2. See Brittlebank 2008, 33–​41. There is an interesting parallel here between Tipu Sultan and the Mughal king Jahangir, who also recorded his dreams, which are represented in paintings that express his royal and spiritual sovereignty (see Moin 2012, 187–​190; Ramaswamy 2007). 46. Brittlebank 1997, 42–​43. 47. Kirmani 1842, 26–​29; C. H. Rao 1946a, 3:753. 48. For more on Tipu Mastan Avaliya of Arcot, see Eaton 1978, 266–​269. 49. Kirmani 1842, 26. 50. Kirmani 1842, 26–​27. 51. Simmons 2018; and EC Volume VII: Sh, 4. The motif of miraculous conception and birth is, of course, not exclusive to this region. Indeed, similar stories have been important in Timurid and Mughal narratives in North India (see Moin 2012, 38). 52. According to Wilks (1817, 1:  522), Tipu Sultan attempted to give a large sum of money to have the dargah of Tipu Mastan Avaliya renovated in 1786, but the funds were refused. 53. Bayly 1989, 132–​150.

54  Tipu Sultan 54. Bayly 1989, 132–​150. 55. Bayly 1989, 133. 56. Brittlebank 1995; Brittlebank 1997; Rao 1946, 3: 1236. Within India, there is a tremendous amount of overlap between imagery and language involving big cats, particularly lions and tigers, which were both included in the semantic field of the Sanskrit term simha. Often in imagery of the goddess, lions and tigers are interchangeable in the iconography of her vehicle. This seems to be incorporated into Tipu Sultan’s visual king fashioning, where the tiger stripes simultaneously allude to the goddess and to Ali, which was first noted by Rao (1946, 3: 1236) and Brittlebank (1995). 57. Brittlebank 1995. 58. Brittlebank 1995, 259 59. Tipu Sultan never actually sat on this throne. After commissioning it, he vowed not to ascend it until the British were completely vanquished. 60. Anna Tonelli never actually saw Tipu Sultan seated on the throne. She arrived in Shrirangapattana with Lady Clive after Tipu Sultan had been defeated. This watercolor, however, was based on a description from Tipu Sultan’s former treasurer and from a sketch by Captain Marriot (Museum et al. 1987, 134) 61. Pande and Kumari 2012, 134. 62. The narrative motif is also a broader South Indian phenomenon (see Dirks 1993, 75). 63. REC Volume IX: Bl, 389. Many other inscriptions exist that provide even fuller accounts. For more, see REC Volume VIII: Hn, 119; Volume VIII: Hn, 144; Volume VIII: Hn, 158; Volume IX: Bl, 300; Volume IX: Bl, 321, to name just a few. 64. It is also interesting to note that in inscriptions that begin with a Jaina invocation, the goddess is typically called Padmavati, and in those that begin with a Shaiva invocation, she is referred to as Vasantika. 65. See Kasdorf 2013. 66. Brittlebank 1997, 143. 67. This is similar to the much-​discussed “Tipu’s Tiger” organ displayed in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. 68. The first historical instance of the gandabherunda in association with the Wodeyar kings came in the reign of Chikkadevaraja, in Chikkadevaraya Vamshavali (c. 1680) and the Chikkadevaraja Vijayam (c. 1686), and it was just one among many banners and titles mentioned (Tirumalarya 1895, 26–​30; Tirumalarya 1896, colophon). After this, the symbol continued to show up occasionally within royal treatises but was never the major symbol of the Wodeyars until after the reinstallation of the line in 1799, when the British—​also possibly misreading Tipu Sultan’s emblem—​incorporated it into the insignia they gifted the new king. Rao (1946, vol. 1) uses later works such as the Shrimanmaharajavara Vamshavali (c. 1860s) to argue that the pseudo-​historical Chamaraja III adopted the image, but the insignia’s prominence in the text must also be taken as anachronistic, as the gandabherunda was the official state symbol at that time. Through a chronological reading of the texts and inscriptions prior to Tipu Sultan, it seems most likely that the Wodeyars actually adopted the varaha image from the Vijayanagara as their primary insignia. Instead, the Wodeyar emblem must be read as a modified version of Tipu Sultan’s emblem and

The King of Seringapatam  55 not the other way around. The image does, however, show that Tipu Sultan’s court engaged in the same field of visual political rhetoric as its imperial predecessors which was continued by his successor (Mummadi) Krshnaraja III. 69. MAR 1924, 55–​58, 61–​62. 70. There might be a visual shlesha or paronomasia at work in the image, since it was also a common subordinate insignia for the Vijayanagara empire and its successor states. If a more liberal reading is taken, the emblem could suggest that Tipu Sultan was the conqueror of all of the former Vijayanagara empire; however, I think that is a bit of a stretch.

2

The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru I saw Hazrat Muhammad, the Messenger of Allah (peace be upon him), bestowing on me a green turban and asking me to bind it on my head. I  did it accordingly. Then Hazrat Bandah-​nawaz [Gisu Daraz] bestowed a turban and asked me to put it on my head which I did. Then Hazrat Ahmad bestowed a turban and I bound it on my head. On the top of the mountain there was an excellent fort. I was having a look at it when I woke up. My interpretation of the dream is that God Almighty and our Prophet have conferred the empire of the seven climes upon me. Tipu Sultan’s dream register (January 1798)1 My confidence is based on three strengths. First, the full grace of God; second, the blessing of gurus like you; and third, weapons. Of these three things, even if God wants to grant victory, victory only comes with the blessing of a great person such as yourself. Tipu Sultan to the jagadguru of Shringeri (June 1795)2

Claims to sovereignty in India were never simply substantiated through original conquest or as a result of biological descent.3 Instead, a variety of practices were continuously enacted to intimate and display the divine favor that had been afforded to the ruler and to renew the sovereign power that came along with that authorization. Many royal and state rituals and festivals aimed at procuring and renewing royal sovereignty were institutionalized and routinized. While many of these were rooted in esoteric traditions and had to be conducted in private, it was equally important to demonstrate the rulers’ special association within the divine through the enactment of patronage and displays of public devotion. This involved special relationships with the various brokers of divine power, spiritual representatives on earth (i.e., pirs and gurus). Over the course of time, certain holy people and the sacred places associated with them became foci of continued royal ritual and devotionalism. As a result, these sites often maintained their renown from one dynasty to the next as popular pilgrimage sites within the region, and one dynasty after the next continued patterns of royal devotion located in these sites. In this way, new kings connected themselves and their kingdom to Devotional Sovereignty. Caleb Simmons, Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190088897.001.0001

58  Tipu Sultan the same divine royal power, connecting their lineage with the previous dynasty and implicitly displaying their authority through the enactment of devotional dynastic continuity. Thus, a pattern of dynastic succession through devotion was established in relation to powerful sacred centers and pilgrimage sites. It has been suggested that Tipu Sultan was the paradigmatic “absolute monarch” because he made “decisions, without regard for traditional rules or precedent, and without being bound by any ‘ancient constitution,’ for that [was] the power required to preserve the state.”4 As a king who was firmly rooted in the royal traditions of South India, however, Tipu Sultan incorporated elements of local Islamic and Hindu rituals, laws, and administrative policies drawing from multiple sources to connect himself with different religious communities and their collective royal past.5 Tipu Sultan and his court were extremely aware of and utilized “traditional rules [and] precedents” appropriated from the courts of his predecessors—​Hindu and Muslim alike.6 If the influence of traditional kingship on Tipu Sultan is neglected, the reality of South Indian political culture and the role of royal devotionalism in the production of sovereignty within the region are masked and too easily overlooked. Instead, when we look closer at his devotion, we find that Tipu Sultan and his court fashioned the Mysore sultanate through preexisting transcommunal paradigms of royal practice and patronage in South India, authorizing his royal power by emulating and adapting regional models, especially as his authority was under threat. In this chapter, I examine the process of devotional continuity as a way of situating kingship within Tipu Sultan’s reign. By continuing devotional practices of his forebears, Tipu Sultan made claims about his relationship to the divine and thereby about his sovereignty. The Mysore king enacted many of the same devotional practices as his predecessors in Gulbarga, Bijapur, Vijayanagara, and Keladi, patronizing regionally significant dargahs, temples, and mathas that had been associated with royal devotion. The primary focus of this chapter is how Tipu Sultan performed his succession as the king of Bidanuru, successor of the Keladi kings, by sponsoring goddess rituals at the Shringeri Matha and through his devotion to its jagadguru, who Tipu Sultan claimed was responsible for the agricultural and military stability of the Mysore kingdom. Tipu Sultan was enacting sovereignty by continuing the devotional practices through which the Keladi kings claimed succession from the Vijayanagara emperors. This is read alongside Tipu Sultan’s devotional relationship with Gisu Daraz, the Sufi saint patronized by the Bahmani kings of Gulbarga and the Adil Shahs of Bijapur, who visits Tipu Sultan in his dreams and bestows upon the sultan the turban of kingship, a Persianate symbol of sovereignty. Together, these two devotional affiliations demonstrate the multiple and complex sources of sovereign authorization in the Mysore sultanate. Through his devotion and patronage, Tipu Sultan and his court not only constructed the king’s sovereignty through his rights of conquest, as discussed in

The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru  59 c­ hapter 1, but articulated his authority as the lineage successor of the Bahmani/​ Bijapur and Vijayanagara/​Keladi kings through the agents of the divine who transferred regional sovereignty to Tipu Sultan and authorized his Mysore sultanate. The transfer of royal authority through living devotional traditions provides the rhetoric of continuity that smooths the obvious rupture in the normative political structure and grounds the authorization of sovereignty in the unchanging power that radiates from sacred sites, whether connected with the power of a pir’s tomb or the deity in a Hindu pitha (sacred seat). Of special importance to this chapter is the devotional context from which Tipu Sultan drew that shows how the transfer of sovereignty takes place at the local level with the transfer of power by the divine auctor/​authorizer from a local living devotional tradition.7 Royal devotionalism was an important rhetorical practice that articulated and displayed the continuity of sovereignty from sovereign to successor and from one dynasty to the next. More than a just matter of personal choice, a familial tradition, or a strategic political alliance that sought to assuage important influencers in the territory, royal devotion was a claim to kingship, an inversion of the Latin formula cujus regia, ejus religio (“whose is the territory, his is the religion”) into “whose is the religion, his is the territory.”8 Through royal devotion, sovereign authority and power are renewed and reaffirmed. Therefore, royal devotionalism is key to understanding the continuity of sovereignty in Tipu Sultan’s Mysore.

The Sultan and the Sufi Tipu Sultan’s loyalty to Islam and his patronage of Islamic holy sites and religious personages has been well documented, especially by British authors writing about the Mysore ruler shortly after his death. Due in large part to the early British characterization of Tipu Sultan, his Muslim identity has been taken for granted and his Islamic devotionalism used to enhance the claims concerning his state as an Islamic theocracy.9 As discussed in c­ hapter 1, the genealogies and biographies of Tipu Sultan often connect the ruler to a variety of Muslim saints and holy men to whom the king was devoted.10 He made regular offerings to the shrines of Muslim saints and constructed and refurbished a multitude of mosques and dargahs in his territory and outside of it, incorporating the practices of royal devotion from the Mughal empire.11 His devotion and patronage of Sufi saints also placed him in a line of succession with previous Islamic Deccani rulers who also patronized Sufis orders.12 Tipu Sultan gave many donations to Sultan Saiyid Baba Fakiruddin Husain Sistani’s dargah in Penukonda, which had been an important political hub under the Vijayanagara empire and where Tipu Sultan buried one of his wives. He is also known to have visited the tomb of a pir in nearby Tonuru, also known as Yadavapura (“city of the Yadus”), the alternative name

60  Tipu Sultan of which obviously implies imperial connections to most of Tipu Sultan’s royal predecessors who claimed descent from the lineage of Yadu. He also employed at least one Sufi pir named Saiyid Muhammad Medina as an emissary to the Nizam of Hyderabad.13 His personal devotion seems to be confirmed through various manuscripts that were found in his library, including an album bearing the seal of the “God-​given Government” that contained a collection of ninety-​six portraits of powerful Muslim saints from all over the Muslim world, including Abd al-​ Qadir al-​Gilani, Muin al-​Din Chishti, Farid al-​Din Mas ud Ganj-​i-​Shakar, and Gisu Daraz, who is featured fifteen times (figure 2.1).14

Figure 2.1  Portrait of Gisu Daraz from an album in Tipu Sultan’s collection. Photo © The Trustees of the British Museum.

The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru  61 While it is possible to read these acts of devotion to powerful Sufi pirs as a means to extend Tipu Sultan’s influence beyond the borders of his domain and to circumvent previous sources of imperial authority, Tipu Sultan’s devotional choices connect him with his royal predecessors, tapping into the same conduits of divine authority that were central in Bahmani and Adil Shah constructions of sovereignty.15As we have seen in c­ hapter  1, in the foundational narratives from Tipu Sultan’s court, his divine election was tied to his ability to rule justly and proven in the field of battle by conquering the previous rulers. However, throughout the course of his reign, the king placed his rule in the context of divine intervention and recorded his dreams in which he was visited by various Muslim saints, including Ali, Sadi Shirazi, and Gisu Daraz, who bestow upon the Mysore sultan symbols of sovereignty.16 Of particular interest for this chapter is Tipu Sultan’s special relationship with Gisu Daraz, who figures prominently in the ruler’s portraiture collection and in his dreams. Daraz, rather than signaling a break with traditional rulers, formed a connection from the very beginnings of local Muslim kingship in the region to Tipu Sultan and his Mysore sultanate. For Tipu Sultan, Daraz served as the auctor of local Islamic kingship and invested the Mysore ruler with that charge. Gisu Daraz (1321–​1422) was an important Sufi pir from the Chishti order, who, as Richard Eaton has noted, “contributed to the stabilization and indigenization of Indo-​Muslim society and polity in the Deccan.”17 Born in Delhi in 1321 during the Tughluq dynasty (1320–​1413) of the Delhi sultanate, Muhammad al-​Husayni Hazrat Bunde Navaz “Gisu Daraz” (“long hair”) was raised in the Tughluq southern capital Daulatabad from 1328 to 1335, after which his family returned to the northern capital. After his return to Delhi, Gisu Daraz joined the Chishti order and became a disciple of Nasr al-​Din, successor of the famous Chishti leader Nizam al-​Din Avaliya (d. 1325). Within the Tughluq imperial circles, Chishti piety associated with Nizam al-​Din Avaliya was extremely popular, which led to the order being “deeply implicated in the Tughluq project of planting Indo-​Muslim political authority throughout South Asia.”18 Before Nasr al-​Din’s death in 1356, the Sufi leader conferred his spiritual authority to Gisu Daraz, transferring that authority through the symbolic gift of his personal prayer carpet.19 Thereafter, Gisu Daraz “became a public figure in the imperial capital” and was popular among the political leaders, educated elites, and the wider populace.20 In 1398, however, with Timur’s armies approaching, Gisu Daraz fled Delhi, returning to the south, but this time with the religio-​political authority afforded a Sufi master and successor of the Nizam al-​Din Avaliya’s Chishti lineage. The political context in the southern reaches of what had been the vast Tughluq empire, however, had changed. In 1347, Ala al-​Din Hasan Bahman Shah (r. 1347–​1358) had broken free from Tughluq rule, establishing himself as king

62  Tipu Sultan of the new Bahmani sultanate (1347–​1527), and moved the regional capital from Daulatabad to Gulbarga. According to local tradition, Bahmani succession from the Tughluq ruler was prophesied by Nizam al-​Din Avaliya years earlier, when, after meeting with Sultan Muhammad bin Tughluq, he saw Bahman Shah outside and said, “One sultan has left my door; another is waiting there.”21 Throughout the early stages of the Bahmani kingdom, Sufi authority was central in the rulers’ claims to sovereignty, with court poets and jurists, such as Abd al-​Malik Isami, writing about Sufi pirs’ role in entrusting sovereignty and as the true protection of the kingdom.22 Sufi authorization of kingship in the Bahmani court, as in other Muslim kingdoms, was displayed through the presentation of material symbols of sovereignty from Sufi pirs to kings: Bahman Shah was given a robe by Zain al-​Din Shirazi (d. 1369), a Sufi master also from Nizam al-​Din Avaliya’s lineage, and pir Siraj al-​Din Junaidi (d. 1379–​1380) presented the first three Bahmani kings with robes and turbans at their coronations.23 When Gisu Daraz arrived in Daulatabad in 1399, Sultan Firuz invited the Sufi saint to join him in the Bahmani capital in Gulbarga. With Daraz at his court, “Firuz’s capital would now become the true heir to the legacy of the recently ruined Delhi.”24 Toward the end of his reign, Sultan Firuz would have a falling out with Gisu Daraz in which we can see the importance of the pir for the authorization of regional kingship and succession. The rift between the king and the Sufi master arose because Gisu Daraz did not support the sultan’s son Hasan’s succession as the Bahmani king. Instead, Gisu Daraz preferred Firuz’s brother Ahmad, who was his faithful devotee. According to Firishta’s History (Tarikh-​i Firishta), written by Muhammad Qasim Firishta (d. 1611), while Firuz was on his deathbed, Ahmad visited Gisu Daraz, who took off his turban, divided it in two, and placed one half on Ahmad’s head and the other on the head of his son, Ala al-​ Din. In this symbolic transfer of sovereign succession, Gisu Daraz removed his authority from Firuz and his progeny, literally placing it on the head of Ahmad and his descendants. Shortly thereafter, Firuz died, and Gisu Daraz passed away twenty-​three days later. After Gisu Daraz’s death, his tomb shrine (dargah) became an important pilgrimage site that was maintained by his descendants.25 His dargah continued to be a site of imperial patronage under Bahmanis and their successors, the Adil Shahs of Bijapur (1490–​1686), for whom his spiritual descendants continued to be influential.26 As we have seen in ­chapter  1, Tipu Sultan’s lineage was connected to Gisu Daraz and his dargah in the History of Haidar, which tells us that Tipu Sultan’s great-​grandfather moved to Gulbarga to attend to the shrine during the reign of Muhammad Adil Shah (r. 1626–​1656) and married one of the saint’s descendants. Tipu Sultan attempted to renew this familial alliance and requested to marry the pirzada’s daughter in the mid-​1790s, around the same time he was attempting to garner support for an attack on the British and as he was rebranding his kingdom

The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru  63 as the Sarkar-​i Khudadadi, or the “God-​given Government.”27 This attempt was refused, but the religio-​political authority of Gisu Daraz was instead conferred to Tipu Sultan through other means, namely, the king’s dreams. Starting in 1795, Tipu Sultan had taken great care to record and interpret dreams that he deemed significant, going as far back as March 1786.28 The dream register in which he recorded these significant dreams with his own hand was part of the loot taken by the British army after the fall of Shrirangapattana in 1799 and is now located in the British Library.29 The register contains thirty-​seven dreams that are recorded alongside other news of the time. Kate Brittlebank has noted the importance of reading these elements as part of one holistic unit, as they together present the reality of Tipu Sultan’s dream world.30 Indeed, Tipu Sultan more often than not refers to his dreams as “affairs” (muamalat), mirroring the term waqqia (“incident”) that is commonly used to refer to Sufi visions or “true dreams.”31 The relationship between historical events and Tipu Sultan’s visions is also demonstrated by the fact that he often recorded dreams that reflected the military engagements in which he was occupied at the time. This dream journal gives us insight into the ways Tipu Sultan saw himself within a lineage of sovereigns and royal devotees.32 Specifically, two dreams demonstrate his vision of his place as the protector of Gisu Daraz’s relics and as the recipient of the pir’s religio-​political authority and successor of the Bahmani sultanate and South Indian Islamic kingship more broadly. Tipu Sultan’s first recorded dream in which Gisu Daraz figures significantly came in June 1790, during the Third Anglo-​Mysore War, as Tipu Sultan’s armies had begun their retreat from Travancore and from General William Medows in Tiruccirappalli (Trichinopoly). In this dream, Tipu Sultan saw “two aged holy persons, both being brothers,” who told the king they had come “according to the orders of Hazrat Bandah-​nawaz [Gisu Daraz] who had sent certain relics.”33 The relics included cloth from the covers of Ka’ba in Mecca, from the Prophet’s mosque in Medinah, and from the tomb of Gisu Daraz; some sugar candy; and a copy of the Qur’an. The Qur’an that was given to Tipu Sultan had the names of the scribes who had copied the text, which included “several saints and calligraphists” and Gisu Daraz. The holy men then proceeded to inform Tipu Sultan that the Qur’an had been Gisu Daraz’s personal copy from which he recited daily. They also revealed that they were the saint’s descendants who facilitated worship at this tomb. This dream is significant for Tipu Sultan during this turning point in the Third Anglo-​Mysore War, as his military supremacy was in question for the first time. Instead of turning to exemplars of kingship, Tipu Sultan envisions the descendants of a saint. Tipu Sultan’s dream was similar to a narrative recorded in 1427 in Muhammad’s Biographies (Siyar al-​Muhammadi), composed by Muhammad Ali Samani, which details how spiritual authority was transferred to Gisu Daraz from his spiritual mentor, Nasr al-​Din, through the

64  Tipu Sultan gift of textiles. In this text, Gisu Daraz, too, had a vision in a dream; he related the dream to his master: “I saw people coming and instructing me to put on and then take off, successively, the robe of Dominion, the robe of Prophethood, the robe of Unity, and the robe of Divine Essence.”34 After hearing this dream, Nasr al-​Din gave his prayer rug and spiritual authority to the young Gisu Daraz. But of course, Gisu Daraz was not just any saint, and Tipu Sultan’s dream was not just about spiritual authority. The Sufi master was a symbol of religious authority intimately connected to regional Islamic sovereignty. Through this vision of the transfer of religio-​political authority, Tipu Sultan grounded his kingship in royal devotion that stretched back to the earliest period of Islamic hegemony in the region. The importance of an association with Gisu Daraz was also evident to Nizam of Hyderabad. So when Tipu Sultan attempted to solidify his connection to the saint through a marriage alliance, the Nizam, not eager for the alliance to materialize, refused to allow the marriage to proceed.35 In January 1798, Tipu Sultan recorded another dream about Gisu Daraz; however, in this case, the Sufi saint himself appeared to the sultan along with the Prophet Muhammad and Hazrat Ahmad. In the dream, Tipu Sultan was met first by the Prophet, who gave the king a green turban and asked him to tie it on his head. Then Gisu Daraz also gave Tipu Sultan a turban and asked him to tie it on his head. Finally, Hazrat Ahmad gave the Mysore sultan a turban, which Tipu Sultan tied on his head. As we have seen above, the gift of a turban signifies the transfer of sovereignty and is commonly bestowed at a king’s coronation. Tipu Sultan himself interpreted the imagery as such: “My interpretation of the dream is that God Almighty and our Prophet have conferred the empire of the seven climes upon me.”36 Tipu Sultan refers to both God and the Prophet in his interpretation, but he does not comment on the presence or the gift of the turban from either Gisu Daraz or Hazrat Ahmad. Given our information about Gisu Daraz’s connection to both the Tughluqs at their height and the formative years of Islamic kingship in the south, the Sufi saint serves to act as the mediator of divine favor and temporal sovereignty as he had in Gulbarga centuries before. The identity of the other figure, Hazrat Ahmad, is unclear and has been puzzling to many scholars. Mahmud Husain, writing about this dream, admitted that the identity was unclear but suggested that it might be Mujaddidi-​Alf-​i-​Thani or Ahmad al-​Faruqi al-​Sirhindi (1564–​1624), the controversial Naqshbandi Sufi from the Mughal emperor Akbar’s court.37 While this is certainly possible, another reading of the dream is that Hazrat Ahmad refers not to a holy person but to Ahmad Shah Bahman, the king selected by Gisu Daraz to succeed Sultan Firuz, which would amplify Tipu Sultan’s connection to regional sovereignty and religio-​political authority.38 Tipu Sultan and his court were adroit custodians of regional history and would have most likely been aware of the biography of Gisu Daraz in Firishta’s History and the narrative of the saint bestowing the turban of

The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru  65 kingship on Ahmad Shah and his son. In this reading of the dream, Tipu Sultan is placed in a long lineage of spiritual and temporal authority and sovereignty in which he is the successor of the Prophet Muhammad, Gisu Daraz, and the Bahmani kings of Gulbarga and is the proper sultan of the Deccan. Through his devotion to Sufi pirs, Tipu Sultan drew from their spiritual authority and tapped into their spiritual power. As in the case of Gisu Daraz, his worship was not just a matter of spiritual proclivities, but the Mysore king envisioned his devotion within the context of regional sovereignty. At times when his sovereignty was threatened, he turned to these traditional sources of religio-​political authority in order to ground his kingship in a historical lineage of Islamic devotion and patronage, constructing his Mysore sultanate as the heirs to Islamic rule in the south.

The Sultan and the Guru In contrast to his Islamic patronage, Tipu Sultan’s patronage of Hindu institutions and devotion to Hindu gurus and deities have been more problematic to his given narrative.39 When considering this material, most scholars have framed these acts as the duty of the king and “conspicuous display of piety, for the political “expediencies of the state,” for “political survival” necessary because of his “Hindu context,” as proof of his sympathy and faithfulness to his Hindu subjects, and even as his “defense of dharma.”40 While all of these interpretations are certainly applicable, when we consider Tipu Sultan’s acts of Hindu patronage and devotionalism through the lens of regional sovereignty, we can see how it functioned to authorize his rule, making claims to dynastic succession from his Hindu predecessors. Much of Tipu Sultan’s patronage of Hindu temples was bequeathed to those close to his capital in Shrirangapattana. B.  A. Saletore, scholar of Indian and Karnataka history, has summarized Tipu Sultan’s royal donative patterns: “temples in four different parts of his kingdom received the privilege of royal gifts. These were the Ranganatha temple at the capital Srirangapatna, the Narasimha temple at Melukote, the Narayanasvami temple also at Melukote, the Laksmikanta temple at Kalale and the Srikantesvara temple at Nanjangud.”41 While Saletore does not elaborate on the possible motivations of Tipu Sultan’s gifts to these particular temples, these sites had been and continued to be major sites of royal devotion and patronage in the region from the Hoysala (c. 1026–​ 1343) and Vijayanagara (c. 1336–​1646) periods that had continued under the Wodeyars (c. 1610–​1782) and the Kalales (c. 1732–​1761).42 By patronizing the temples of Cheluvanarayanasvami and Narasimhasvami of Melukote and Shriranganathasvami and Shriranganayaki of Shrirangapattana, Tipu Sultan

66  Tipu Sultan connected himself and his court to the deities and temples that had been regionally and politically significant since the twelfth century.43 Additionally, through his patronage of Lakshmikantasvami in Kalale and the Nanjundeshvara temple in Nanjangudu, Tipu Sultan directly connected himself with the locally powerful Kalales, who had usurped the Mysore throne during the Dalavayi Regime (1732–​ 1761) and against whom his father, Haidar Ali, had made his fame.44 Beyond ritual gift giving, Tipu Sultan further inserted himself into the Hindu ritual context by settling theological and ritual debates within the temples. In a sanad from 1783 CE, the ruler reformed the Shri Vaishnava liturgy by decreeing that the ritual recitations in praise of the tradition’s founder, Ramanuja, could be chanted in the Cheluvanarayanasvami temple in Melukote by both the Tenkalai and Vadakalai sects, a practice that had been a proprietary ritual for the Vadakalai Brahmins.45 His royal patronage also extended to the celebration of Dasara, the autumnal festival to the goddess of Mysore that officially launched the military season in medieval South India. Like his father, Tipu Sultan implicitly acknowledged the importance of royal goddess rituals. In 1785, Tipu Sultan used the Dasara season to launch a military campaign against the Marathas, confirming the traditional role of the ritual.46 Even as late as 1789, Tipu Sultan continued the traditional Dasara rituals and publicly recounted his military exploits during the festival.47 Therefore, like his royal predecessors, including his father, Tipu Sultan continued the tradition of performing rituals and patronage of the important temples, deities, and festivals within the Mysore region. Perhaps the most informative example of his perpetuation of these devotional kingly paradigms was the Keladi kings’ devotion to the Shringeri Matha. The Shringeri Matha has special significance in broader context of premodern kingship and royal patronage in the Deccan and most of southern India.48 Tradition holds that the Shringeri Matha was established as the Shri Sharada Pitha by the Advaita Vedantin philosopher Shankaracarya in the ninth century CE. The first historical reference to the matha or its lineage, however, is from the Vijayanagara kingdom in an inscription dated to the fourteenth century.49 Installed in 1346 CE, the stone inscription commemorates the establishment of the Vijayanagara kingdom and its “undying friendship” with the previous Shringeri guru Vidyatirtha and details the gift of the lands surrounding Shringeri from the kingdom’s five founding brothers to the jagadguru Bharatitirtha and his disciples.50 With this inscription, the matha was ushered into the network of royal patronage that would continue throughout the Vijayanagara empire. As the empire grew, the role of the guru increased parallel with the figure of the king, even to the point that the eulogy (prashasti) of the Shringeri jagadguru preceded the eulogy of the king in many royal inscriptions.51 Vijayanagara patronage of the Shringeri Matha continued until the dissolution of the fourth Vijayanagara

The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru  67 (Aravidu) dynasty; however, the institution’s importance within regional politics continued to be perpetuated by its successor states. Of the Vijayanagara successor states, none was more invested in the Shringeri Matha than the nearby Keladi kings. The Keladi kings ruled the area of the present-​day Shimoga district and were the primary rivals of the Wodeyar kings of Mysore through the seventeenth and much of the eighteenth centuries. According to the Keladinripa Vijayam (c. mid-​eighteenth century), the great Vijayanagara king Krishnadevaraya and the Keladi ruler Sadashiva Nayaka met the svami of Shringeri after the two joined to successfully defeat a rebellious king named Saluva Nayaka.52 While the historical verifiability of this encounter is certainly contestable, the meeting narratively marks the transfer of spiritual and political power from the head of the Vijayanagara empire at the height of its power to the initial ruler of the Keladi kingdom through devotion to the guru who serves as the auctor of Keladi sovereignty.53 Dynastic continuity was rhetorically performed through devotion to the spiritual power in Shringeri, and the Keladi kings’ succession from the rulers of Vijayanagara was entrenched within the local cultural memory. After defeating the Keladi kings and positioning himself as king of Bidanuru and sultan of Mysore, Tipu Sultan performed the same acts of royal patronage and devotion to the Shringeri svami, integrating himself into the preexisting practice of South Indian kingship through mimetic devotional performance.54 In the first full year of his reign (1783), Tipu Sultan became a regular patron of the Shringeri Matha and its jagadguru when the ruler sent the svami a shawl and a passport for a pilgrimage that the guru was about to undertake.55 Between 1783 and 1799, Tipu Sultan wrote at least forty-​seven letters to the jagadguru of Shringeri that are still in the possession of the matha.56 In these letters, the ruler praises the preceptor, acknowledging both the svami’s power and Tipu Sultan’s devotion to him. In this correspondence, Tipu Sultan consistently expresses deep and sincere devotional sentiments. By patronizing the dharmasamsthana (or “abode of dharma”), Tipu Sultan inserted himself and his kingdom into a political-​theological paradigm in which the matha was central. By examining the details of these letters within their historical context, we can see the position of the matha within the regional political landscape in which Tipu Sultan existed and how he viewed the authority of the guru as his source of political power. Here I focus on letters written during three very different but very important periods of Tipu Sultan’s reign: during the Third Anglo-​Mysore War after Mysore had started losing ground (1791), during the period in which he was branding his kingdom as the “God-​given Government” (1795), and finally, during the last months of his reign (1799). In these exemplary letters, devotion to the Shringeri guru is cast as a central component of Tipu Sultan’s royal practice and vital for the constitution of his sovereignty.

68  Tipu Sultan For more than a year starting in the summer of 1790, a large garrison of Maratha and British soldiers led by Maratha general Parashuram Rao attacked and raided northern parts of the Mysore territory, including a twenty-​nine-​ week siege of the Dharavad fort. During this time, Tipu Sultan sent five separate letters asking the jagadguru to conduct rituals and prayers to God—​he uses the Kannada term ishvara four times and devaru once—​for the destruction of his enemies.57 As the Maratha-​English garrison marched toward Bidanuru in Ashadha (June–​July), one legion led by Raghunatharao Patvardhan attacked and plundered the Shringeri Matha, killing several Brahmins, plundering sixty lakhs of rupees, and destroying the image of Sharada during the raid.58 The jagadguru Sachchidananda Bharati (r. 1770–​1814) sent word of the attack to Tipu Sultan, requesting his protection and asking that the ruler bring the guilty parties to justice.59 Tipu Sultan responded with nineteen letters addressed to the guru—​often replying to nonextant letters from the jagadguru—​about the raid and his reaction to the offense. These responses can be further divided into two types: the initial response, in which the king expresses his concern for the matha and its role within the kingdom, and the later correspondence, in which he discusses goddess rituals aimed at destroying his military rivals In his earliest responses, Tipu Sultan discusses the relationship between the matha and the prosperity of his domains and his duty as king to ensure by any means that both continued uninterrupted. In his first letter, which is exemplary of his initial responses, the Mysore ruler frames the consequences and outcomes of violence against sacred sites through the perspective of Indian cosmology. Tipu Sultan wrote: Now, they [those who perpetrated the raid] must experience the processes [madiddannu] of the kali yuga for the offense that has been done to a place as fine as this, for as the shloka says: “Action that is done with laughter comes to fruition [anubhuyate] with tears.”60 There is no doubt that their lineage will be destroyed because of this offense to the guru. These wicked men will cause hardships for all the people of the kingdom.61

Tipu Sultan frames the entire Maratha raid on the Shringeri Matha within the parameters of Indian cyclical time, referring to the degradation of the kali yuga (the fourth and worst of the four ages). By invoking concepts such as cyclical time (yugas) and the defense of dharma during the kali yuga, Tipu Sultan consciously uses rhetoric that has been employed in discussions of Hindu kinship since the time of the Mahabharata.62 Moreover, by implying that he could restore order by carrying out his duties as the king even within this age of lost dharma, Tipu Sultan was fashioning himself within the same parameters as his imperial predecessors.63 Tipu Sultan worked within this “Hindu” framework,

The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru  69 highlighting the matha’s role in the prosperity of the kingdom and how a violation of it brings harm to all of his subjects (prajegalu muntadavaru). Within Tipu Sultan’s Mysore sultanate, divine authority was displayed through royal success and a prosperous kingdom. Thus, for Tipu Sultan, the Shringeri Matha was not only an important political center that required his protection, but, like the mythological Rajalakshmi (the goddess of royal power), it was a source of metaphysical power that when possessed by a king also authorized his political power and ensured success. The importance of the matha and its guru in the prosperity of Tipu Sultan’s kingship is made more explicit in a later letter from 1793, in which Tipu Sultan expressed his beliefs concerning the benefits of the proper functionality of the matha and its jagadguru.64 This letter was written by the ruler after he learned that the guru had been outside of Mysore for an extended period while on a pilgrimage. In the letter, Tipu Sultan entreats the svami not to linger on his pilgrimage but to promptly return to his matha to conduct ascetic practice (tapassu) so that the entire world could prosper. He asks rhetorically, “Why must you stay at another place for so many days? . . . Wherever you are, plentiful rain falls,” implying that rains (i.e., prosperity) were absent in Mysore when the guru was gone.65 Tipu Sultan’s anxiety over the absentee svami demonstrates the centrality of the matha and its leader within the political apparatus of Mysore. The ruler’s devotion to the guru and the matha ensured that Tipu Sultan and his kingdom received the blessings from the sacred site that resulted in its prosperity. While his first six letters regarding the Maratha attack on the Shringeri Matha addressed the importance of the matha and Tipu Sultan’s plan to restore order, after he heard that the svami planned a goddess ritual for the eradication of their enemies, the entire tenor of their correspondence changed. In the short span of five months, Tipu Sultan sent ten letters to Shringeri in which he insisted on funding the recitation of the names of the goddess and a Chandi homa (goddess fire ritual). In doing so, Tipu Sultan deployed premodern modes of martial kingship, petitioning the goddess for victory against his military foes. The goddess rituals were conducted forty days after Tipu Sultan’s initial letter of patronage; while the ritual was being prepared, however, the ten-​day military/​ goddess festival Dasara was celebrated.66 On the final day of the festival, Dasara (i.e., Vijayadashami), Tipu Sultan wrote the longest letter he would ever write to the jagadguru.67 In this letter, he expresses his happiness (santosha) that the guru would be performing the goddess rituals and expressed his belief that they would “stop the disturbance of the kingdom” and “increase the state for the good of the subjects.”68 He continues to elaborate the rituals’ benefits for the state and its people throughout the fifty-​five-​line letter. While there is no explicit reference to the festival of Dasara, it can hardly be seen as a coincidence that Tipu Sultan expressed his belief that the Shringeri jagadguru could harness the goddess’s

70  Tipu Sultan power to protect the kingdom on a day that traditionally celebrates her victory over demons and marks the transfer of her power to the king.69 Instead, it belies Tipu Sultan’s cognizance of the importance of goddess rituals and devotion in premodern and regional statecraft, perhaps even in direct emulation of the foundation stories from his South Indian predecessors such as the Hoysalas (see ­chapter 1). Unfortunately for Tipu Sultan, despite the ritual, Mysore would lose the war in 1792, after which his correspondence with the guru subsided. By 1795, Tipu Sultan was resolidifying his army for the next round of battles with the British. During this same period, Tipu Sultan was rebranding his kingdom as the “God-​given Government” and had a growing interest in jihad (see ­chapter 3). Within this context, Tipu Sultan wrote to the Shringeri jagadguru about sovereign power and war.70 In a letter dated June 24, 1795, Tipu Sultan expresses a radical vision of his sovereign power in which the guru is said to be the source of Tipu Sultan’s military success.71 In this forty-​seven-​line letter—​his second-​longest to the guru—​Tipu Sultan states that in order to achieve success, he needs three things: “My confidence is based on three strengths. First, the full grace of God; second, the blessing of gurus like you; and third, weapons. Of these three things, even if God wants to grant victory, victory only comes with the blessing of a great person such as yourself.”72 The ruler, who is known for his love of God and weapons, writes that even with both of these things on his side, victory could only come through the Shringeri preceptor. Here the guru is framed as the proper auctor of the divine blessing and the conduit of political and military power through which the ruler can overcome his rivals and maintain sovereignty. The mediation of divine authority through the blessings of the guru seemingly problematizes our understanding of Tipu Sultan and his relationship to divine authority during this critical period of Mysore’s rebranding, especially if he is solely understood as an absolute monarch with strong “decisionist” character that is only based on “personal power.”73 However, this relationship makes perfect sense when viewed within the local context of dynastic foundational myths and landscapes of religio-​political power and would not be out of place in a narrative from the Hoysala, Vijayanagara, Keladi, or Wodeyar kingdoms. Indeed, this correspondence also includes clear allusions to regional royal ritual and patronage that implicitly connected Tipu Sultan to the original imperial patrons of the site. With the letter, Tipu Sultan sent the jagadguru an elephant, a horse, several shawls, and three lingas with which the svami was given detailed instruction about how to conduct puja and offer worship (archana). In the final instructions of the letter, Tipu Sultan directs the jagadguru to “place the linga within the [place of] worship of the primary [khasa] deity and perform puja to it.”74 Among the many instructions contained in the letter, the significance of this final request should not be overlooked. The Vidyashankara

The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru  71 temple—​to which Tipu Sultan refers—​is in the Shringeri Matha complex, and regional royal and religious traditions hold that it was commissioned by Hakka and Bukka, the founders of the Vijayanagara dynasty, in 1357 in honor of their preceptor.75 According to tradition, the brothers installed a linga in the garbha gudi (Sanskrit:  garbha griha; a temple’s primary shrine) upon completion of the temple. By commissioning a special linga and asking for it to be installed in the main shrine of the temple, Tipu Sultan was engaging in a royal rhetoric of practice, reenacting the alliance between the ruler, the guru, and the deity found in the foundational myth of the great Vijayanagara empire. Certainly, this was no mere coincidence, but it shows that Tipu Sultan and his court were well aware of the premodern kingly paradigms and were actively engaged in replicating them in the Mysore sultanate. Therefore, as in the Succession of the Mysore Kings (Maisura Arasugalu Purvabhyudhayagalu; c. 1798) discussed in ­chapter 1, through his patronage, Tipu Sultan fashioned himself and his kingdom as the one true devotional successor of Vijayanagara. The last letter sent from Tipu Sultan to the guru was written in March 1799, only months before the final fall of Shrirangapattana and as the British coalition pushed the Mysore armies back toward the capital.76 In the letter, Tipu Sultan explained that the guru had previously performed the Chandi homa (called havana in this letter) for the destruction of his enemies and that it had produced positive results; therefore, the ruler once again requested that the jagadguru perform the ritual on his behalf. Since this letter is the final extant correspondence between Tipu Sultan and the svami, there is no way of knowing whether or not the ritual was conducted; however, we certainly know that Tipu Sultan engaged the guru and the goddess for this particular ritual on two isolated occasions (1791 and 1799) at times when his capital was about to fall to the enemy. This expression of ritual is very different from the frequent and standard requests in most of his letters for the guru’s blessings and prayers to God (ishvara or devaru) for the prosperity of the state. While those petitions represent an ongoing and continual relationship, his approach to the goddess replicates the practices of his Wodeyar predecessors. He engages her as the powerful goddess of the periphery and the guru as her power broker. These rituals lacked the pomp and pageantry of the Wodeyars’ or even his father’s goddess festivals which had reaffirmed the imperial hierarchy and mimicked the Vijayanagara style.77 Instead, his commission of these goddess rituals harked back to a preimperial model from the time before Mysore’s ascent within regional politics prior to extended interactions with Europeans in which the goddess was a fierce agent of death and destruction. This might be indicative of the political position of Tipu Sultan at a time when he had been abandoned by his allies, his territory was shrinking, and subjugation to British sovereignty was imminent. If this was indeed the case, Tipu Sultan and his court were enacting the practices and processes of king

72  Tipu Sultan fashioning and state fashioning that had been used by aspiring kings in the region for centuries.

Conclusion Despite any characterizations of the rampant changes that took places in Mysore during the reign of Tipu Sultan, the Mysore court fashioned its sovereignty in concert with the devotional paradigms of its South Indian imperial predecessors. Tipu Sultan and his court drew upon the devotional, ritual, and donative practices of previous rulers in the region, including practices associated with the Bahmani and Vijayanagara empires. Tipu Sultan enacted dynastic succession by connecting himself to holy men and their associated sacred sites that were important in historical constructions of religio-​political authority and sovereignty. Tipu Sultan and his court looked to the past to ground the Mysore sultanate, and, following these precedents, the Mysore king reenacted efficacious spiritual and political alliances that had previously been established in the region. Tipu Sultan’s actions intentionally performed kingship, constructing dynastic succession from previous imperial powers through the process of ritual and devotional imitation. Devotion to these saints served as articulations of enacted sovereignty, and the Sufi pir and jagadguru continued to serve as the primary auctors of regional religio-​political power. Through his relationship with Gisu Daraz and the Shringeri matha Tipu Sultan (re)accessed the power that resided at their sites, within their saints, and as an imperial analogy.

Notes 1. British Library, India Office, IO Islamic 3563; translated in Husain 1957, 90. 2. Shastry 2009, 213–​214; my translation. 3. In India, as in much of the world, the late early modern period was critical for the development of the relationship between biological succession, election, and sovereignty as claims to birthright and divine election were increasingly contested. See Arendt 1968, 230 ff.; Santner 2012, 33–​62. 4. Chatterjee 2012, 89–​90. 5. Brittlebank 1997, 126–​130; compare with Chatterjee 2012, 75–​77. 6. This is quite common in South India; see also Wagoner 1996b and Talbot 1995. 7. By using auctor here, I am drawing on the Roman legal term that refers to the person who has the power to authorize political actors and its development in European juridical theory. For more on this term, see Agamben 2005. 8. Schmitt 2006, 128. This, of course, has certain affinities with pre-​Reformation political theology in imperial Europe; for more, see Schmitt 2006, 126 ff.

The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru  73 9. Subrahmanyam 2017, 280–​282; for more on Tipu Sultan’s Islamic patronage, see Brittlebank 1997 and Yazdani 2016. 10. See also Brittlebank 1997, 42–​44. 11. See Yazdani 2016, 311–​312, 320; Moin 2012, 23–​55. 12. See Eaton 1978, 45–​79. 13. Brittlebank 1997, 41–​42. 14. Special thanks to my anonymous reader and Ursula Sims-​Williams for information about this manuscript. 15. See Bayly’s interpretation of pir alliances (1989, 183). 16. See British Library, India Office, IO Islamic 3563; Husain 1957; Brittlebank 2011, 2008, and 1993. 17. Eaton 2005, 33. 18. Eaton 2005, 35. 19. Eaton 2005, 36. 20. Eaton 2005, 36. 21. Eaton 2005, 45. 22. Eaton 2005, 45. 23. Eaton 2005, 46–​47. 24. Eaton 2005, 51. 25. Eaton 1978, 78. See also Merklinger 1981, 36–​45. 26. Eaton 1978, 78; Merklinger 1981, 112. 27. Brittlebank 1997, 42. 28. Brittlebank 2011, 164. 29. British Library, India Office, IO Islamic 3563. 30. Brittlebank 2011, 161–​162. 31. Brittlebank 2011, 162–​163. 32. Brittlebank suggests that the allusion to the transfer of religio-​political authority is a “factor that suggests that Tipu did not keep the content of his dreams entirely to himself ” (2008, 38). While this is certainly possible, I believe that this fits with a broader sentiment of the period in which Tipu Sultan was trying to articulate his kingship and what his sovereignty was. Thus, his dream journal need not have been an entirely public document but known by his closest ministers. Indeed, on folio 29v, Major Alexander Beatson writes: “This register of the Sultaun’s dreams was discovered by Colonel William Kirkpatrick, amongst other papers of a secret nature in an escritoire found in the Palace of Seringapatam. Hubbeeb Oollah, one of the most confidential of the Sultaun’s servants, was present at the time it was discovered. He knew that there was such a book of the Sultaun’s composition; but had never seen it, as the Sultaun always manifested peculiar anxiety to conceal it from the view of any who happened to approach while he was either reading or writing in it.” For more on the dream journal and ongoing research by Ursula Sims-​Williams, see http://​blogs.bl.uk/​asian-​ and-​african/​2015/​06/​tipu-​sultans-​dream-​book-​io-​islamic-​3563.html. 33. Husain 1957, 49–​50. See also Brittlebank 2008, 38. 34. Translated in Eaton 2005, 36. 35. Brittlebank 1997, 42–​43. 36. Husain 1957, 90.

74  Tipu Sultan 37. Husain 1957, 90n2. 38. While Hazrat is typically used to refer to religious leaders, it is also used to refer to righteous Muslim kings. 39. Epigraphic accounts attest to Tipu Sultan’s largesse toward various Hindu temples throughout his kingdom (for a comprehensive list, see Chetty 2002, 111–​114). This is, of course, not entirely novel. Ibrahim Adil Shah II was even given the title jagadguru for his patronage and devotion to Hindu deities (see Haidar 2011). 40. Brittlebank 1997, 126–​127; Yazdani 2016, 333; Chetty 2002, 111; Saletore 2002, 115. 41. Saletore 2002, 118. 42. The Kalales were traditional feudatories of the Wodeyars and had risen to assume a hereditary position of dalavayi (minister of war) in the Mysore kingdom. In 1732, however, they rose to even greater power within the kingdom, usurping political control from 1734 to 1759. Eventually, Haidar Ali was hired by Krishnaraja II to overthrow the Nanjarajaiya Kalale, and the Kalale period was brought to an end; however, their influence in the region’s devotionalism cannot be overstated, as they are responsible for making the worship of Shiva at Nanjangudu part of the royal tradition (Simmons 2014a, 174–​178). 43. REC Volume VI: Pp, 171; VI: Pp, 197; VI: Sr, 13; VI: Sr, 14; VI: Sr, 16. 44. Tipu Sultan is said to have even installed a linga within Nanjundeshvara that was commonly called the “padshah linga.” During my visit to the temple in 2014, I realized that the new sign referred to the linga as “paccalinga” or “emerald linga” although all of the pujaris continued to call it “padshah linga.” MAR 1940, 23–​26. 45. MAR 1938, 123–​125; Saletore 2002, 116–​117. In a previous sanad from 1709, Kantirava Narasaraja Wodeyar II had limited the ritual to only the Vadakalai Brahmins. 46. Officer of the East India Service 1819, 38. 47. According to correspondence from Colonel Reed (January 30, 1789, and January 27, 1790) in Various Notice in the Mackenzie General Collection. Therefore, if one were to follow Dirks’s reading (1993, 166–​167) of the Dasara festival, the ritual could have displayed Tipu Sultan’s independence and military might while simultaneously symbolically accepting the privilege and right to rule that is granted by an overlord. 48. See also Stoker 2016, 50–​56; Wagoner 2000. 49. There are limited materials relating to Shringeri in general prior to the establishment of the Vijayanagara kingdom, most of which are records within the Jaina temple. See MAR 1934, 113 ff. 50. REC Volume XI: Sr, 1. 51. E.g., REC Volume XI: Sr, 32. 52. Keladinripa Vijayam, 2.38–​39; Linganna 1973, 36. I have chosen to adopt this vague date because of several issues in the dating of this text. While some scholars date the text to around 1770 CE (see Murthy 1981, 119–​123); however, the poet Lingannakavi was patronized by Kiriya Basavappa Nayaka, who ruled from 1739 to 1755 CE. 53. Compare this with the display of dynastic succession in the Adil Shahs from the Safavid dynasty in the House of Bijapur painting discussed by Hutton 2016. 54. Compare with Eaton and Wagoner 2014, 150–​156, 212–​213. 55. Shastry, in Gopal 2010, 178.

The Sultan, the Sufi, and the Guru  75 56. MAR 1916, 73–​74; Shastry 2009, 85–​220. Most of these letters are written on kadata (black paper records traditionally used for accounting purposes) and in the vernacular spoken form of Kannada and not the typical literary style. The entire collection of Kannada kadata records of the Shringeri Matha have been edited by A. K. Shastry and published in Kannada by the Shringeri Matha under the English title The Records of the Śriṅgēri Dharmasaṁsthāna (Shastry 2009). 57. The terminology used by Tipu Sultan that I  am translating as “God” is indeed amazing. It certainly deserves a deeper look in the future. 58. Compare with Davis 1999, 51–​87. 59. Anecdotal evidence even testifies that Tipu Sultan walked barefoot to Shringeri to ask the jagadguru for help and that after an attack from the Marathas, the svami himself came to Mysore to ask Tipu for help (Brittlebank 1997, 129–​130n104). 60. Tipu Sultan recorded the shloka in corrupted Sanskrit, hasidbhih kriyate karma rudrabhih anubhuyate, which in itself is a significant aspect of the letter. 61. Shastry 2009, 170; my translation. He continued in the letter and in those that followed to outline how he envisioned the restoration of the temple and dharma, and thereby the entire state. It should also be noted that after Tipu Sultan’s inquiries into the matter, he forward his conclusions to the Maratha peshva (Savai) Madhav Rao (r. 1774–​1795), who ordered Parashuram Rao to return the stolen items and give the matha financial compensation (Shastry 2009, 171). 62. This trope was also used in reference to the Mughal king Akbar in Krishnadasa’s Parasiprakasha; see Truschke 2016, 94–​95. 63. For example, the Pallavas allegorized their rulers as Kalki, the final and future incarnation of Vishnu, who will restore dharma and establish a new age of purity and peace (krita yuga). 64. Shastry 2009, 208–​209. 65. Shastry 2009, 209; my translation. 66. The ritual was conducted on Guru Dvadashi at the end of Ashvija (September–​ October), two days before the celebration of Dipavali in Mysore. In Mysore, Dipavali is a two-​day celebration (beginning on Naraka caturdashi, the fourteenth) of Satyabhama’s victory over the demon Naraka and simultaneously the emperor Mahabali’s return from the underworld. 67. Shastry 2009, 183–​185. 68. Shastry 2009, 183; my translation. 69. While the Shringeri ritual did not take place on Dasara, it must be viewed within the same cognitive field of goddess-​oriented devotion and ritual. Tipu Sultan treated the ritual as a transaction similar to those performed for local fierce protector and military goddesses. After conducting his business with the goddess, neither she nor her rituals appear in any other letters from Tipu Sultan to the matha until his last letter to the svami, which demonstrates the momentary and transactional nature of the relationship between ruler and militant goddess (for more, see Simmons 2014b). 70. There are only two extant letters from Tipu Sultan to the Shringeri guru from this year. In January 1795, Tipu Sultan expressed concern that the jagadguru of the Shringeri Matha had fallen ill and wished the svami a full recovery from his sickness (Shastry 2009, 212–​213). The letter discussed here is Tipu Sultan’s only other letter

76  Tipu Sultan from that year and might have been prompted by the guru’s health scare. There are also only two extant from 1796, the year when the rebranding was in full swing. In one of these letters, Tipu Sultan again requests that the jagadguru perform puja to Ishvara three times daily for the benefit of the kingdom. 71. Shastry 2009, 213–​215. 72. Shastry 2009, 213–​214; my translation: Muru balada mele ahankara yide, Adu yenu andare:  modalu yishvara dayapurnavagi yiruvadu vandu, yaradanedu nimmantha gurugala ashirvada yiruvadu, muranedu ayudhagalu yiruvadu vandu. yi muraralli yishvara jaya kodabekadare nimmantha doddavara ashirvada dindale jayavagabeku. 73. Chatterjee 2012, 89. 74. Shastry 2009, 214; my translation: khasa devatarcane valage yittu puja madisuvadu. Again, Tipu Sultan’s vocabulary for the deity is striking. Khasa is the same word that was used in the name of the Wodeyar king, who had been appointed by Haidar Ali Khasa Camaraja VIII, and the term there was used to mean “true” or “legitimate.” 75. Compare with Stoker 2016, 50–​56; Wagoner 2000. 76. The letter is dated Rabbani 14 of the year 1226 of Tipu Sultan’s Mauladi calendar, which would correlate with March 18, 1799. 77. See Dirks 1993, 35 ff.

3

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy According to the sacred writing, “Be obedient to God, and to his Messenger, and to those to whom obedience is due by you,” to obey a prince of the faith, is a duty . . . you are to employ [your hands] in the service of the Sarkar in every way, whether by writing, or by carrying the sword and the gun against the Enemy. In short, all the faculties of the eyes, ears, tongue, and the hand must be called into action and upon all occasions, considering that God and his Messenger, who know and see all things, are ever present and you should act accordingly. Tipu Sultan, April 2, 17971

This passage, which comes from a letter Tipu Sultan wrote to his ambassadors to the French government in Mauritius, highlights the complex relationship between diplomacy, warfare, and religion within the Mysore sultanate. Much of the interest surrounding Tipu Sultan’s reign, both in the colonial period and today, revolves around the ruler’s Islamic identity, his stance toward other religions, and his enactment of violent warfare. In popular opinion and in scholarship, the debate ranges to both extremes, with Tipu Sultan being characterized as a fanatical Muslim king who was hell-​bent on holy war (jihad/​ghazwa) or as a gracious and pluralist freedom fighter who promoted all the religions within his domain. At times, both perspectives seem valid, as the ruler enacted many strict Islamic reforms, talked often about jihad against the infidels (kufr/​ kuffargi), and destroyed Hindu temples; yet even within the same year, he issued decrees (sanads) granting land rights (inam) and revenues to Hindu temples and mathas and made political alliances with Hindu kings throughout South India. The narrow focus on religious identity in these debates masks the complexities of Tipu Sultan’s understanding of religion, sovereignty, and warfare during his rule by anachronistically projecting a modern European understanding of religious exclusivity onto the ruler. Tipu Sultan, like many Indian rulers before him, occupied multiple religious identities and could simultaneously be Muslim, have a Hindu guru, patronize Hindu temples, and wage holy war. These identities, however, were not divorced from the broader political developments that unfolded over the course of his reign. Devotional Sovereignty. Caleb Simmons, Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190088897.001.0001

78  Tipu Sultan In this chapter, I examine warfare and diplomacy during Tipu Sultan’s reign as a means to understand the complex rhetorical constructions of religious fidelity and infidelity in his court. In the first section, I explore the murals of his summer palace, the Dariya Daulat Bagh, in order to demonstrate the position of warfare in his political thought from early in his reign, when his regional dominance was at its height and his sovereign authority unquestioned. These murals portray Tipu Sultan’s holistic vision of sovereignty in which diplomacy, piety, and war coexist and substantiate one another. These murals, especially the understudied portraits on the palace’s eastern wall, correlate religious fidelity with Tipu Sultan’s political allies and infidelity with his rivals. This, in turn, is projected onto the peaceful scenes in the Mysore territory and his dominance in battle. In the next section, I interrogate Tipu Sultan’s proclamations of jihad, or holy war, in his correspondence with international political bodies during the brief armistice between the Third and Fourth Anglo-​Mysore Wars. Trying to make sense of his sovereign claims through the right of conquest in light of the losses of the Third Anglo-​Mysore War, Tipu Sultan and his court incorporated more Islamic forms into the government; however, they also broadened their religious rhetoric to incorporate potential non-​Muslim international allies. I argue that in his correspondence with these potential allies, we can see the final stages of the religio-​ political ideology of Tipu Sultan and his court, in which the Mysore government was viewed to be the representative of God on earth and was the “Mecca” of religious fidelity.2 Introducing the rhetoric of the “God-​given Government,” the ruler and his court constructed a political religion in which service to the government was tantamount to service to God and to religion and in which the prosperity of the Mysore kingdom was God’s primary will.3 Through the process of sacralizing the state, its allies became the allies of God, its enemies the enemies of God, and every action that was performed in the service of Mysore was inherently a holy act. As the epicenter of this political religion, the defense and protection of the Mysore domains were the ultimate enactment of the “faithful” and holy war its most important ritual. By comparing these two very different courtly productions from the beginning and end of his reign, we can see the development of Tipu Sultan’s understanding of sovereignty, international relations, and warfare and how these were shaped through religious rhetoric. Beginning with the murals of the Dariya Daulat Bagh from the early years of his reign to the final correspondence with his ambassadors and allies, Tipu Sultan and his court developed a complex theology of warfare that mirrored their understanding of royal succession and divine election, seen in c­ hapters 1 and 2. This theology was not unrelated to Islamic fidelity, especially in its early stages, but it evolved along with Tipu Sultan’s understanding of his kingdom as the “God-​given Government” and representative of God on earth. Warfare was enveloped within these theological shifts, evolving

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  79 from a royal duty and proof of Tipu Sultan’s election to a battle for the very soul of India. By reconsidering the role of warfare and religion in the products of Tipu Sultan’s court, we can begin to understand the complexities of Tipu Sultan and his relationship to those he considered friend and foe. As we realize that the construction of fidelity and infidelity was based on political distinctions and not solely on religious identity, Tipu Sultan’s acts of patronage and destruction, which at first glance might appear to conflict, begin to make sense as royal and political undertakings. When viewed through the perspective of political allies and enemies and not through the expectations of personal religious identity, we see more clearly how Tipu Sultan functioned within his political landscape: he patronized religious institutions in his territory and those that allied with his cause, but he would also destroy those same institutions if they were connected with his enemies and those who worked to undermine his sovereignty and/​or its expansion.

Rethinking the War Legacy of Tipu Sultan: Early Articulations of War and Peace in the Murals of the Dariya Daulat Bagh In 2012, the British National Army Museum held an exhibit titled “Enemy Commanders:  Britain’s Greatest Foes” which recognized the greatest military leaders ever faced by the British armed forces. The list of twenty great enemy commanders included the likes of George Washington, Erwin Rommel, Osman Digna, the Rani of Jhansi, and, of course, Tipu Sultan. Although the Mysore ruler was not elected as the most formidable of these foes (neither in the in-​person nor the online voting), his inclusion in the list shows his lasting legacy in popular and academic culture: Tipu Sultan was a warrior-​king. The culture of portraying Tipu Sultan as a fierce warrior dates back to contemporaneous sources. His battles with the British were popular topics in historical paintings (and their engravings and lithographs) from the period, including the various depictions of the fall of Shrirangapattana and the death of Tipu Sultan and in contemporaneous mass-​ reproduced satirical prints such as The Coming of the Monsoons by James Gillray (figure 3.1). His legacy of warfare has been carefully and continuously curated. The visual and material productions from the court of Tipu Sultan are prominently displayed in museums throughout the world and regularly appear for sale at the large auction houses in Europe and North America, almost all of which emphasize the leader’s martial prowess. Images of a tiger mauling a British soldier are displayed on hilts of swords, on butts of guns, and in the famous “Tipu’s Tiger”

80  Tipu Sultan

Figure 3.1  The Coming of the Monsoons; or the Retreat from Seringpatam, by James Gillray. Photo © British Museum.

organ at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. The exhibitions of these pieces visually archive the ruler’s aesthetics of war and implicitly caution about the effects of hubris. Much has been written about these pieces of material culture from the court of Tipu Sultan, ranging from their display of military history to magnificent works of colonial resistance solidifying his legacy as a formidable warrior-​king.4 When other pieces from his court are displayed, they offer only fragmentary glimpses of the king and his courtly representation in incomplete folios of dissected manuscripts and pieces of the disassembled throne that serve as an eerie memorial to the utter demolition of Tipu Sultan and his kingdom at the hands of the British. Unlike many of the other visual and material productions from the court of Tipu Sultan, the murals of the Dariya Daulat Bagh remain mostly intact and provide a more complete picture of the ruler’s political and religious program of which warfare is only one part. The Dariya Daulat Bagh was constructed in the peaceful aftermath of the Second Anglo-​Mysore War in 1784, and its murals were painted shortly thereafter.5 Because of continued maintenance and their outstanding style and content, the murals at the Dariya Daulat Bagh have garnered

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  81

Figure 3.2  The Battle of Pollilur on the outer western wall of the Dariya Daulat Bagh. Photo by the author, with permission of the Archaeological Survey of India.

much deserved attention from scholarly and popular publications.6 Scholars, both colonial and contemporary, who have studied the murals have focused primarily (and often exclusively) on the images of warfare, particularly the mural of the Battle of Pollilur (i.e., Pullalur, Tamilnadu; 1780) on its western outer wall (figure 3.2).7 This mural has been viewed as a repository of military strategy and history, with some remarking about its displays of anticolonial power.8 The focus on the images of war, however, has led to the neglect of the full story of the Dariya Daulat Bagh murals. On its eastern wall, scenes of domestic and courtly life are elegantly painted, complementing the images of carnage with peaceful portraiture of luxury and devotion.9 While these murals have not had the popular appeal of the western wall, they demonstrate an alternative perspective on Tipu Sultan’s identity that can enhance our understanding of warfare and its relation to the broader issues of sovereignty and religion. In these murals, Mysore and its allies are connected with religious fidelity, particularly associated with the practice of Islam, which substantiates Tipu Sultan’s claim to divine election and the favor of God. In contrast, the enemies of Mysore are represented as immoral cowards, who engage in a variety of iniquitous deeds and suffer devastating military defeats. When both sets of murals are read together, we see a portrait of sovereignty from Tipu Sultan’s court that forms the foundation for his later theology of the “God-​given Government” and “holy war.” The emphasis on and interest in the images of warfare in the Dariya Daulat Bagh (which is administered by the Archaeological Survey of India) are not unwarranted. Even today, whenever one enters the site from its southwestern entry point, one immediately encounters the gigantic and impressive images that portray all the majesty of Tipu Sultan’s kingship and the brutality of war. The mural

82  Tipu Sultan consists of four different panels on the western wall and begins at eye level on the viewer’s right with Tipu Sultan’s famous victory over Colonel William Baillie and his British troops at Pollilur. In this image, the desolate battlefield just outside of Kanchipuram is shown covered with soldiers from the Mysore, French, and Hyderabadi confederation surrounding a small platoon of British infantry. Led by French commander Gérard de Lally-​Tollendal from the right and Tipu Sultan and Haidar Ali from the left, waves of the Indo-​French cavalry attack the British, as severed limbs and heads and dead bodies litter the landscape. Most British soldiers are gathered just right of center in the panel and are arranged in the hollow square formation, as they carefully guard their remaining artillery. At the middle of this formation, the British commander William Baillie is shown hiding in a palanquin, anxiously biting his nails, as Captain David Baird and Colonel Robert Fletcher direct the men. The scene captures the decisive moment in the battle as the artillery wagon burst into flames after being hit by a Mysore rocket. At the far left, both Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan are shown on the backs of elephants, with the elder seated on a golden hoda (sometimes hode, or “howda” in English) and with Tipu Sultan covered by a golden umbrella. In complete contrast to Baillie, both Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan are depicted with serene majesty. Both gently hold flowers near their faces and gaze over the carnage in front of them, as they receive reports from their generals (Sayyid Ghafur and Mir Sadak, respectively). The contrasting imagery of Baillie and the Mysore royalty was certainly intentional. Its statements about the deficiency in the character of the British and the sovereignty of Tipu Sultan was not lost on subsequent generations of colonial authors who wrote about the murals. Lewis Bowring, commissioner of Mysore from 1862 to 1870, noted that “in the mimic fight, [Baillie] is represented as reclining helplessly in a palankin, while Tippu, on horseback, is serenely smelling a bouquet of flowers amidst the shooting and stabbing which is going on around him.”10 In 1833, Colonel Walter Campbell noted that mural depicted the British as cowards “flying in terror” from the battle but that Haidar Ali was “of course three times as large as any other” and Tipu Sultan “bestrode a scarlet elephant with golden feet and silver tusks.”11 The British lack of character may have been extended to include moral deficiency in the murals of the Dariya Daulat Bagh, as Campbell notes that at their moment of flight from the “native horsemen,” their Indian servants deliver “gigantic brandy bottle[s]‌” to the British soldiers.12 The visual representation of the British as immoral cowards was part of the king’s developing political rhetoric, as “caricatures” of “trembling Englishmen” were painted on the walls of the streets of Shrirangapattana in 1792, and other images of their immorality were integrated into the murals of the Dariya Daulat Bagh’s eastern wall.13 The remaining panels of the western wall portray the processions of the Indo-​ French confederacy and heighten the contrast with the British colonel.14 In the

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  83 panels to left of the battle, the processions of Tipu Sultan and Haidar Ali are represented in great magnitude and make it clearer that this a march to war. In the lower panel, Tipu Sultan rides a white horse that is ornamented in gold from head to tail, matching Tipu Sultan’s golden babri (stylized tiger-​stripe motif) attire. The Mysore prince is shown holding a large lotus and in conversation with his general Qamar-​ud-​din. Tipu Sultan is shown displaying all the signs of sovereignty. He has four attendants, who hold the same royal implements, but he is preceded by four rows of standard bearers and several musicians who play trumpets and drums. Additionally, the Mysore ruler’s procession is led by three elephants that all carry his tiger-​stripe flag as well as riders on horses and camels that sound trumpets and carry smaller banners. Tipu Sultan, however, is also surrounded by legions of chaotically arranged Mysore and French cavalry and infantrymen whose leaders look back and salute their prince. Tipu Sultan and his men are certainly headed to war. The image of Haidar Ali, which is on the panel above Tipu Sultan, provides a perfect balance between the chaotic war march of Tipu Sultan and the pageantry and power of Tipu Sultan’s idealized kingship (figure 3.3). This image sets the tone for the broader Indian sovereign mode of display throughout the late early

Figure 3.3  Haidar Ali in procession on the outer western wall of the Dariya Daulat Bagh. Photo by the author, with permission of the Archaeological Survey of India.

84  Tipu Sultan modern and early colonial period in Mysore and appears to have been the prototype of the Dasara procession in the Rangamahal of the Jaganmohan Palace of Krishnaraja III (see ­chapter 6). In this portrait, Haidar Ali holds a pink lotus and is seated atop an elephant inside a golden hoda, along with his driver and one whisk bearer. Marching before the king are orderly rows of standard bearers, ceremonial attendants, infantry, and cavalry, all led by two royal elephants with the babri flag and two archers on camelback. Behind the king is one company of cavalry, four camels mounted with riflemen, and seven elephants that carry the war drum, riders, two men seated on palanquins holding swords, an empty palanquin, and an empty hoda. The image of Haidar Ali’s procession is a perfect display of sovereignty as envisioned by Tipu Sultan, in which war is necessary and proof of one’s election, but the king’s identity is not solely defined by it. Where the British are timid, immoral cowards, Tipu Sultan and Haidar Ali epitomize kingship. The images of the western wall eulogize the unrivaled political power of the Mysore rulers and their allies, attested by their dominance over their foreign rivals and their sovereign presence. To stop the analysis with these images, however, only gives a partial view of the mural program of the Dariya Daulat Bagh. The eastern wall of the summer palace, in contrast, portrays the peaceful, diplomatic, and religious side of Tipu Sultan and his domain.15 Among the five rows of portraiture is a dizzying array of courtiers, ministers, queens, musicians, men and women in relaxation, and various religious scenes of people at mosques praying and reading the Qur’an.16 It is difficult to determine the identities of all the portraits; however, most agree that those represented are feudatories of Tipu Sultan and Mysore.17 Most scholars have interpreted these portraits through the lens of conquest and warfare, reading the images as depictions of the rulers of territories conquered by Mysore under Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan.18 While the images certainly depict feudatories of Mysore, the hermeneutics of conquest causes a misreading of the murals of the eastern wall and their relationship to the palace’s images of war and royal procession. The paintings on the eastern wall are not about the conflict with the British, but they are about the cooperation of Tipu Sultan and his allies.19 The majority of those depicted are receiving envelopes and/​or plates covered with betel and other ceremonial gifts from messengers or diplomats who greet the rulers with deep bows (other attendants remain upright).20 One of these portraits even appears to show Tipu Sultan handing an envelope sealed with his insignia to a messenger (figure 3.4), who will presumably deliver it to one of the rulers depicted in the other portraits.21 This imagery of correspondence stands in contrast to the typical hierarchical displays of rulers and their feudatories that can be seen in Mughal imagery and the murals of the Rangamahal from Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s court.22 When read as an image of the relationship between Mysore and its

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  85

Figure 3.4  Tipu Sultan giving a messenger a sealed letter on the eastern wall of the Dariya Daulat Bagh. Photo by the author, with permission of the Archaeological Survey of India.

allies, the theme of the mural shifts from a bombastic display of Tipu Sultan’s personal achievements and becomes a larger statement about political allegiance and the combined successes of those who chose to be on the right and pious side. The images of Mysore’s victory at Pollilur, then, is simply one example of the glories of Mysore, and the British are set up to serve as the foil through which good and bad governance can be compared. Whereas the western wall sought to display sovereignty through military accomplishments and processional pageantry—​the face of power at the periphery of the kingdom—​the eastern wall shows the peaceful existence, royal sumptuousness, and religious fidelity of Tipu Sultan’s domains. Within the five rows of portraiture, there are eighty-​one images of palaces or mansions. Each building is shown with a white facade and distinct architectural features. The viewer gazes into the palaces in which Hindu and Muslim kings, nawabs, and chieftains are shown full-​length in profile or three-​quarter view in various poses (seated, standing, reclining, and praying) and surrounded by their attendants. The interiors of the palaces are decorated with brightly colored tiles and curtains and furnished primarily with European-​style chairs and couches.23 Those shown within this peaceful territory enjoy things of beauty, such as listening to music and sitting and smelling the roses, and they also are free to relax as they recline

86  Tipu Sultan on couches, smoke huqqa, and go on hunting trips.24 The eastern wall is not a trophy case of conquered rivals but a display of the peaceful and luxurious lifestyle enjoyed by Tipu Sultan’s allies. The eastern murals contextualize this peace and prosperity through the religious fidelity and devotion of the Mysore alliance, but in this early instance, there is a clear association with the practice of Islam. Spread throughout the images of palaces, there are fourteen paintings of mosques in which important men (presumably rulers or political leaders) pray and read the Qur’an. The mosques are represented in a similar style to that of the palaces; however, they are distinct because of their domes and four minarets, the lack of European furnishings, and the acts of piety shown within them. In addition to the images of devotion in the mosques and palaces of the five rows of portraiture, nine smaller images in the upper border depict additional rulers or aristocrats praying or reading the Qur’an. This border of devotional practice continues around the palace, including at the top of the western wall above the murals of warfare. These small border images convey that religious fidelity, like the battles of the western wall and the sumptuousness of courtly life on the eastern wall, is part of the royal lifestyle within Tipu Sultan’s broader understanding of political life. This point might have been even stronger and more explicit when the murals were originally painted. According to the eyewitness account of George Valentia from his visit to the Dariya Daulat Bagh on March 1, 1803, a certain British officer was depicted several times in the mural engaging in impious behaviors. “I was mortified to see there a British officer, whom Tippoo said he always wished to have the command against him, as he was sure to take his detachment prisoners. . . . This person is represented more than once. In one place he is drawing his sword on a woman, with a most threatening air and countenance. In another, he is amusing himself with dancing girls.”25 While these murals no longer exist, depicting one’s political enemies as immoral and slothful in mural paintings was a common practice, and even Tipu Sultan was the subject of such visual mockery, including a comic of his harem (zenana) by Thomas Rowaldson and an unfinished mural in the Mattanchery Palace in Kochi (figure 3.5).26 Images of British violence and debauchery in the domestic setting would have been quite a contrast to the images of Tipu Sultan and his allies in the Dariya Daulat Bagh, who relax and/​or pray in their homes. Through this contrasting imagery, the mural implicitly associates the moral uprightness and piety of Tipu Sultan and his allies with their prosperous domestic lives and the military success shown on the western wall. In contrast, the moral depravity and infidelity of the British on the eastern wall and their drunken cowardice on the western wall were reflected in their unlucky fortunes in Pollilur, perhaps even implying that divine intervention had led to the rocket miraculously landing inside and exploding the British artillery wagon.

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  87

Figure 3.5  Unfinished mural of Tipu Sultan and a dancer in the basement of Mattanchery Palace, Kochi. Photo by the author, with permission of the Archaeological Survey of India.

The Dariya Daulat Bagh displays an early articulation of Tipu Sultan’s construction of war and peace in which fidelity and infidelity were associated with political allies and enemies and not necessarily mapped onto individual religious identity. At this early stage, his court represented Mysore and its allies as pious rulers whom God blessed with military victory and wealth. Their religious fidelity, however, was closely associated with Islamic piety, as the political leaders were shown visiting mosques, praying, and reading the Qur’an. As Tipu Sultan’s court developed its political ideology throughout the 1780s and 1790s, religious fidelity and infidelity became disassociated with Islamic practice, despite using more explicitly Islamic vocabularies; instead, this distinction was connected more directly with the political processes of diplomacy and war until religious and political loyalty became virtually synonymous.

“Rascally Infidels”: Constructions of Religious Fidelity in Tipu Sultan’s International Correspondence In order to see the function of warfare and diplomacy in the political thought of Tipu Sultan, it is important to fully understand how the Mysore sovereign and his court envisioned their role within the divine struggle.27 From the earliest genealogical materials produced in the court of Tipu Sultan, the king was described as a divinely appointed ruler, and his many administrative and martial abilities were proof of his divine election (see c­ hapter 1). After the defeat he suffered in

88  Tipu Sultan the Third Anglo-​Mysore War, Tipu Sultan and his court began reflecting more earnestly on the role of warfare in the fight against infidels, and the king commissioned several texts relating to jihad.28 By 1796, Tipu Sultan had rebranded his kingdom as the Sarkar-​i Khudadadi, or the “God-​given Government.”29 This period coincides with Tipu Sultan’s renewed efforts to form political confederations against the British to reclaim the territories he had lost and his sons who had been taken hostage as part of the Treaty of Seringpatam (1792). Through these negotiations, Tipu Sultan’s vision of holy war and the role that religious identity did (or did not) play within it becomes clearer. The documents and correspondence discussed in this section were written between 1796 and 1799 and were found in Shrirangapattana by the British after they seized Tipu Sultan’s palace.30 The letters reveal a complex theology of religious fidelity and sovereignty in which religious identity is secondary to the efficacy of preserving Tipu Sultan’s “God-​given Government” through diplomacy and warfare.31 Additionally, the documents demonstrate the profound transnational political arena in which the Mysore government was operating and the complexities of religious identity in the late early modern world.

Historical Context The international correspondence discussed here begins in 1796, as Tipu Sultan and the Mysore government began to look beyond its borders and nearby neighbors for political alliances through which they could reverse the fortunes of the treaty from the previous war. The first international correspondence that was part of this effort was a collection of letters and memoranda that accompanied a Mysore envoy to Zaman Shah Durani and his Afghan kingdom based in Kabul. This mission was led by ambassadors Mir Habibullah and Mir Muhammad Riza with the goal of signing a memorandum of cooperation between the two kingdoms. According to the memorandum that was confirmed by Durani on February 5, 1797, the Afghan king agreed to attack the Mughals in Delhi. Simultaneously, Tipu Sultan agreed to reengage the British, Maratha, and Mughal Nizam’s forces in the south. While awaiting confirmation of Afghan support, the heads of the Mysore government began an internal discussion about approaching the French as another possible ally.32 After the unanimous decision to pursue the French alliance, official court documents and correspondence chronicle an envoy led by Husain Ali and Muhammad Ibrahim to the French government in Mauritius from October to December 1797. The correspondence between Mysore and both the French and Afghan governments continued throughout 1798, during which they regularly discussed terms and offered words of encouragement about the impending war.

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  89 In November 1798, however, Tipu Sultan was issued a letter from governor-​ general of India Richard Wellesley, Earl of Mornington, which stated that the British had received intelligence that Tipu Sultan was negotiating with the French and planning an attack on the British, Maratha, and Hyderabadi confederation. This led to a series of exchanges between Tipu Sultan and Wellesley. In these letters, the British consistently attempted to dissuade Tipu Sultan from the French alliance, not on grounds of breaking their previous treaty but through appeals to Muslim brotherhood in light of the French invasion of Egypt and attacks against Ottoman armies. Tipu Sultan largely ignored the British warnings (even once replying that he was inclined to go hunting instead of discussing the matter); instead, he wrote to his allies about the impending war, begging for immediate assistance. Tipu Sultan’s continued negotiations with the French and Afghans and his neglect of the British complaints eventually led to the British declaration of war that accompanied Wellesley’s last letter, on February 22, 1799. In addition to providing details of the events that led to the Fourth Anglo-​ Mysore War, these documents archive the complexities of the political thought of the Mysore court in the final years of Tipu Sultan’s reign. In them, we find that Tipu Sultan constructs a dynamic in which religiously charged words such as “infidel” (kafir/​kufr/​kuffargi), “faithful” (mu’min), and “holy war” (jihad/​ghazwa/​ ghaza) are not used with the narrow religious definitions usually attributed to them; instead, they are mapped onto the political landscape denoting Mysore’s political friends and foes. These references are representative of the broader political theory of Tipu Sultan, in which the Mysore ruler believed his government to be the “shadow of God” and that he had been specially chosen as its ruler. In the political religion of Tipu Sultan, religious identity was a matter of political allegiance: being an ally of God is being an ally of Mysore, and being an enemy of Mysore is tantamount to being an enemy of God.

Holy War and the Construction of Fidelity and Infidelity In the correspondence of the Mysore court with international political bodies, we can see the complexities of Tipu Sultan’s political religion. In these documents, Tipu Sultan refers to his Mysore kingdom as the “God-​given Government” and the “shadow of God,” and his kingship is called the “qibla [the marker in a mosque that points devotees toward Mecca] of religion.”33 Additionally, Tipu Sultan often refers to his religious duty to carry out jihad, or holy war, against his rivals.34 This, of course, has provided fodder for many of Tipu Sultan’s detractors to demonstrate his Islamic zealotry. In these letters, the popular Hindu nationalist portrait of Tipu Sultan as a Muslim zealot, however, fades away when one

90  Tipu Sultan starts to disentangle the Islamic rhetoric of Tipu Sultan’s claims from the popular understanding of the term jihad. In many popular non-​ Muslim contexts, especially since the events of September 11, 2001, jihad is often used as a negative term that has become synonymous with terrorism, ISIS, and Wahhabi-​inspired Islamic fundamentalism that shape Hindu nationalist critiques of Tipu Sultan in contemporary India. These connotations, however, are not new and reflect tensions that are rooted in the Crusades of the Middle Ages and that persisted into the anti-​Semitism of the early twentieth century.35 Although scholars have consistently challenged this characterization of jihad, its polemics have shaped the way many understand Tipu Sultan and his anti-​British ideology, despite the Mysore ruler’s own denouncement of Wahhabism.36 Tipu Sultan, instead, writes about jihad or ghaza in its more “primary and root meaning” as struggle or “warfare with spiritual significance.”37 For Tipu Sultan, protection of the kingdom that God had given him was a mandate from God and his primary directive.38 Within the context of these letters written toward the end of his reign, Tipu Sultan saw no alternative but warfare to ensure the protection of his kingdom from outside influence. I have therefore chosen to employ holy war to refer to Tipu Sultan’s struggle in order to reflect the stakes that the ruler saw at the heart of his conflict with the British and his attempts to attract allies. However, I wish to dislocate his struggle from a strictly Islamic reading that has the potential to reinforce negative popular stereotypes of Tipu Sultan.39 Instead, I focus on the broader political strategy of the Mysore sovereign in which the meanings of “holy war,” “faithful,” and “infidels” reflect diplomatic positions vis-​à-​vis Mysore. The “holy war” described is not a war of Muslims versus other religions but is simply a war that pits the “faithful” against the “infidels.” For Tipu Sultan, God’s primary will was for the protection and prosperity of Mysore; anyone who aided it was “faithful” to God’s will, and anyone who stood in its way was an “infidel.” I therefore argue that in his international correspondence, these terms reflect political labels. By “infidels,” Tipu Sultan refers to the multireligious coalition of the Protestant British, Hindu Marathas, Muslim Hyderabadis, and Muslim Mughals, all of whom allied against Mysore. The “faithful,” on the other hand, include the Christian/​“secular” French, Muslim Afghans, and the Hindu Rajputs. Tipu Sultan and his court were not enacting politics of religion; they were constructing a political religion in which protection of the Mysore domains and the lands of India was the primary ritual practice and the recognition of the “God-​given Government” was its orthodoxy. This is not to say that Tipu Sultan was not aware of or concerned with communal or religious difference. He was sure that Mysore’s Islamic identity was displayed for his Muslim counterparts. In his letter that accompanied a Mysore envoy to Kabul, Tipu Sultan highlighted the Islamic-​ness of his kingdom by explaining to the Afghan king that the people of Mysore daily gathered in the

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  91 mosques of Shrirangapattana and prayed for God to aid the government for the sake of Islam and to destroy anyone who sought to harm the religion.40 In his instructions to this same envoy, the Mysore ambassadors were ordered to make sure that their nine armed guards regularly attended to their daily prayers and ablutions and that they “offer[erd] up holy ejaculations” as they entered Kabul.41 Tipu Sultan seemed to believe that such a display would be politically advantageous in this context, but the same ritual regulations were not required for the soldiers who accompanied the French envoy. I am not suggesting that Tipu Sultan was simply being Muslim for political reasons. He and his court were decidedly Muslim. Instead, this demonstrates the complexities of religious identity in Tipu Sultan’s political thought and how Islamic practice was important for the king but not the defining aspect for his determination of political alliances or of those he considered “faithful.” In a letter of instruction to his ambassadors to French Mauritius from April 2, 1797, Tipu Sultan explains the relationship between religious fidelity and the government, connecting piety with service to the Mysore government: Let your conduct be conformable to the commands of God, and of his Messenger; and keeping them engraved on your minds the engagement to which you bound yourselves in the Aqsa mosque, make them the rule of your action upon all occasions.42 According to the sacred writing, “Be obedient to God, and to his Messenger, and to those to whom obedience is due by you,” to obey a prince of the faith, is a duty, [and] the fidelity which is to be practiced, is of four kinds. First, the fidelity of the eyes; that is, if you see any one injuring the Sarkar, you prevent him. Secondly, the fidelity of the ears; that is, if you hear any one utter expressions repugnant to loyalty, (or fidelity) you immediately reprimand him as far as [lies] in your power, and without disguise, state the case to the Huzur, or to some officer of Government. The third, is the fidelity of the tongue; that is, utter the expressions of loyalty, of praise and gratitude, to recommend and to show the example of loyalty to others, and as long as the organs of speech are let you, to employ them for the service of the Sarkar. The fourth fidelity, is that of the hand; which imports that you are to employ it in the service of the Sarkar in every way, whether by writing, or by carrying the sword and the gun against the Enemy. In short, all the faculties of the eyes, ears, tongue, and the hand must be called into action and upon all occasions, considering that God and his Messenger, who know and see all things, are ever present and you should act accordingly. The Most High hath said, “I know the secret emotions of the heart of man: I am ever present with him.”43

In this letter, Tipu Sultan was substituting devotion to God with devotion to the state.44 In his hermeneutics of fidelity, fidelity to God was only enacted through fidelity to the “God-​given Government.”

92  Tipu Sultan This hermeneutic seems to extend to the formation of political alliances as well. Tipu Sultan and his court seemed unconcerned with the religious identity of his allies. Political cooperation was proof enough of their fidelity and God’s favor in the upcoming holy war. When asked about a potential alliance with the French, Tipu Sultan’s minister Ahmed Khan replied that “Tipu Sultan should take an ally by the hand and with the aid of God and favour of the Prophet by force of arms extirpate the English.”45 In response to this letter, Tipu Sultan agreed that the alliance would be favored by God and that “Tipu Sultan, the French, and the spiritual aid of the Prophet will cause Tipu Sultan to be victorious,” protecting the “God-​given Government” from the British.46 In the letters that accompanied the envoy to Kabul, Tipu Sultan expressed his belief that all of Mysore’s political alliances were divinely sanctioned and commanded by God in order to protect the Mysore domain.47 In a subsequent letter to the Afghan king, Tipu Sultan elaborates on his understanding of holy war. He explains that warfare was the paramount religious duty of kings and that God has sided with Mysore and its allies: We are labourers in the way of the Lord and obedient to the command of God. We have no support but the aid of the king of the world, who is great and powerful; and the true prophet, the head of the true religion, the destroyer of former abominations. Placing my dependence upon those tidings of joy “Often doth God permit the inferior number to overpower the superior” I am prepared to exert the energies of my mind and of my faculties, inwardly and outwardly, to carry on a holy war. Agreeably to the command of God, believing it a duty of religion. . . . God will aid the pure of heart and pious.48

Holy war was commanded by God, and God would aid Mysore and its allies, who were inherently “pure of heart and pious.” In the enactment of the proposed alliance with Zaman Shah Durani, fidelity and infidelity were explicitly and completely disentangled from religious identity. As part of the proposed treaty, Durani and his armies would agree to attack the Muslim Mughal emperor in Delhi. The document explains that because of its “imbecility and ruinous condition” “infidels altogether prevail” upon the throne of Delhi so that “it is incumbent upon the leaders of the faithful to unite together and exterminate them.”49 Tipu Sultan and Mysore, on the other hand, agreed to “engage this pursuit” after fighting the “three sects of infidels” (i.e., the British, the Marathas, and the Mughal Nizam in Hyderabad) that currently required their attention.50 The document continues with Tipu Sultan’s proposition for how the Afghan kingdom could aid Mysore in its holy war. It states that after conquering Delhi, the Afghan army should march from Delhi toward Mysore along with the Hindu Rajputs, and they should fly the Hindu flags so that the “Brahmins

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  93 would come and join” the fight.51 With these armies, Tipu Sultan could “raise the standard of holy war and make the infidels bow down under the sword of faith.”52 Here, “infidel” is used to refer to the Mughals, the armies of the British, Marathas, and the Nizam, but Tipu Sultan and his allies are called the “faithful.” Additionally, after the Afghan army is told to march under the Hindu Rajput banner, Tipu Sultan simultaneously raises the standard of holy war. Through this analogous use of language, Tipu Sultan is connecting the flag of the Hindus and the flag of holy war, both of which will make the “infidels” bow under the sword of “faith,” the sword of the Mysore coalition, that is, the “faithful.” Despite Tipu Sultan being obviously aware of religious difference, religious identity seems to have nothing to do with how he attributes infidelity or recognizes the “faithful.” Instead, these distinctions are solely related to the political alliances for the incipient war for the land of India. In the final series of exchanges between Tipu Sultan and the Afghan court from 1799, Tipu Sultan clarified his notion of holy war to Zaman Shah Durani, who was concerned about Mysore’s association with the French in light of Napoleon’s invasion of Egypt.53 In this letter, Tipu Sultan fully articulates and prioritizes his multiple identities as sovereign over Mysore and as a Muslim. Tipu Sultan begins by admitting that the French had acted treacherously in India and their recent actions had indeed made them enemies of Islam; however, he insists that they and their attacks on Egypt and the Ottomans were a lesser priority than the protection of Mysore in the hierarchy of divine importance. He argues that his religious duty is to secure India from the British: God is the Protector and Defender of the land of Hindustan: next to Him, this suppliant at the Almighty throne does not, and will not, neglect the defence and service of the people. . . . All Hindustan is over-​run with infidels and polytheists, excepting the domains of the Khuda-​dad Sarkar [“God-​given Government”], which like the Ark of Noah, are safe under the protection and bounteous aid of God. Be it known to those who stand at the foot of the throne of the Supreme King of kings that the treachery, deceit and supremacy of the Christians in the regions of Hindustan are beyond the power of expression.54

From previous usage, context, and the historical summary that follows in the letter, it is clear that by “polytheists” (mushrik) and “Christians” (tarsa), Tipu Sultan is referring to the British and that “infidels” refers to the Mughals.55 Tipu Sultan continues and laments that the English had used deceit to fool the rulers of India into giving away their “worldly and spiritual concerns,” along with lands, forts, and soldiers, only for the British to renege on their treaties and seize more control.56 Tipu Sultan suggests that, likewise, the British were attempting to deceive Durani by inciting his anger with reports of French attacks against Islam

94  Tipu Sultan and trying to distract the Afghan king from the evil alliance that the British had made with the Marathas and the Nizam of Hyderabad.57 Tipu Sultan insists that because of the travesties committed by the British, the defense of his territory against their intrusion was his number one priority and his religious duty. Only after his domains were secure could he turn his attention to his next concern: “the excessive commotions” that were being excited in Mecca by Wahhabi reforms, which Tipu Sultan viewed as an onslaught against Islam.58 The French attacks on Egypt and the Ottomans were at best a tertiary concern. To Tipu Sultan, his primary religious duty was the protection of his realm. He viewed himself and his kingdom, like the prophet Noah and his ark, as a refuge from the deluge of infidelity. Furthermore, he equated sovereignty—​his and all Indian rulers’—​to a worldly and spiritual enterprise that mirrored the actions of God, the “Supreme king of kings” and “Protector and Defender of the land of Hindustan.” Tipu Sultan constructed a political ideology in which Mysore took precedence even over the defense of Mecca, the most sacred site in Islam. This rhetoric of Muslim “infidels” and “faithful” European allies was not exclusive to Tipu Sultan. In January 1799, in a letter from Durani to the Mysore ruler, the Afghan king specifically used “infidel” in regard to the Muslim Mughal rulers, claiming that they needed to be removed from power because they had abandoned religion.59 Equally, it would appear as if Muslim members of the British coalition were also similarly constructing fidelity and infidelity on the basis of political allegiance.60 In a folio from an illustrated manuscript from the court of one of the British allies, this paradigm is flipped in regard to Tipu Sultan and the British (figure 3.6).61 The illustration shows a demon aiming his bow toward a group of three European soldiers, two of whom have already been wounded by his arrows. The demon is dressed in a white traditional Indian-​style uniform with a red sash, which from the murals of the Dariya Daulat Bagh can be identified as the uniform of Tipu Sultan’s infantry.62 The European soldiers are dressed in red coats with white bands crossing their chests, white slacks, and black boots and hats, easily identified as the uniform of the British army in India. This manuscript provides a visual representation of the same type of hermeneutic in which fidelity and infidelity are constructed through political alliances instead of religious or communal identity.63 Only here it is flipped on its end, and Tipu Sultan and his army are depicted as the “infidels,” the demonic force, and the British are defenders against that evil. Too often the reading of Tipu Sultan, his Mysore government, and the political practices of his contemporaries projects a modern understanding of belief-​based religious identity onto the political struggles of late early modern India that is not representative of how religion and religiously charged rhetoric were understood and employed on the ground. Instead, sovereignty seems to have been a negotiation between concerns of the state and religious identity, with religious

Figure 3.6  “Indian Demons Attacking Fort Defended by European Troops,” likely depicting the army of Tipu Sultan as demons. Photo © Anne S. K. Brown Military Collection, Brown University Library.

96  Tipu Sultan identity taking a back seat to political interests. This complex negotiation of religious concerns was equally misunderstood by Tipu Sultan’s European peers. In a letter from M. Descomber from March 5, 1798, the French general impressed upon Tipu Sultan the need for Maratha support: The difference of religion has often prevented alliances which would have proved advantageous to divers nations, but these false principles have disappeared, philosophy and reason have silenced prejudice, and the same state in Europe tolerates the Roman catholic, the Calvinist, and the Lutheran churches; the man who adores the creator and offers up vows which are sincere and proceed from the heart is regarded by his god with an eye of benignity and forgiveness.64

The Frenchman clearly was under the impression that Tipu Sultan would not ally with the Marathas because they were Hindu. We do not have a copy of Tipu Sultan’s reply, but Tipu Sultan wrote to Zaman Shah Durani only ten months later and explained that an alliance with the Marathas would be ideal because they, too, were from the land of Hindustan.65 We can surmise that Tipu Sultan’s reply to the French shared similar sentiments, and in subsequent correspondence from the French, the topic of religious identity and the Marathas was never brought up again; instead, they only referred to common interests between both Mysore and the Maratha governments for the preservation of Hindustan. The British also seem to have held a narrow view of Tipu Sultan’s political acumen, and they attempted to dissuade him from war by appealing to his Islamic duties. On November 8, 1798, Wellesley wrote to Tipu Sultan, warning that if he continued his alliance with the French after their attacks in Egypt, the Mysore king would be ostracized by other Muslims: “I should no longer conceal from you the surprise and concern with which I perceived you disposed to involve yourself in all the ruinous consequences of a connection, which threatens . . . to shake your own authority, to weaken obedience of your subjects, and to destroy the religion which you revere.”66 After a letter of reply from Tipu Sultan, in which he denied any connection with the French but stated that his primary objective was “the security and tranquility of [his] own domain,” the British governor-​ general again wrote, begging Tipu Sultan to consider Islam before proceeding with the French.67 Wellesley wrote that Tipu Sultan should “manifest [his] zeal for the Mussalman faith, by renouncing all intercourse with the common enemy of every religion, and the aggressor of the head of the Muhammadans.”68 A letter from the Ottoman sultan Salim III was attached to this correspondence, in which the caliph argued that the recent French reforms were an attempt to eradicate not only Islam but indeed all religion.69 Tipu Sultan was clearly troubled by this letter (and perhaps the recent news that the French would not be aiding him in

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  97 his battles with the British) and refused to answer in substance, instead replying that he could not respond because he was going hunting. After he received the British declaration of war, Tipu Sultan finally replied to the Ottoman king but only attached a brief note to the British asking them to forward the letter to Istanbul.70 This is the last extant letter from Tipu Sultan before the fall of Shrirangapattana and his death on May 4, 1799. The letter itself is vague but demonstrates Tipu Sultan’s last efforts at an Ottoman alliance. The Mysore king begins by praising Salim III and his line as the “extirpator of infidels and of those who know not the way of the Lord.”71 He continues the letter by agreeing that if the French (who by this point had withdrawn from their alliance with Mysore) were enemies of the Ottomans, then they were enemies of all Muslims. Tipu Sultan, however, argued that his duty was to “support our holy theology, and not withhold my power and endeavours in defending the region of Hindustan from the machinations and evils of these enemies” (i.e., the British).72 He concluded the letter with a quotation from the Qur’an warning the Ottomans about their friendship with the British: “consider not infidels as friends, consider none such but Mussalmans.”73 In this final correspondence, the complexities regarding religion and religious identity are evident. Tipu Sultan viewed his first and foremost religious duty to be the protection of his domains; however, perhaps reaching his limit with the French, he ultimately exhorted Islam as the ultimate bond for political allies. In these letters and correspondence, holy war, fidelity, and infidelity cannot simply be mapped onto prefabricated understandings of Islam or religious identity. In the court of Tipu Sultan, the notion of religious fidelity is completely intertwined with devotion to the “God-​given Government.” By choosing allegiance to Mysore and to Tipu Sultan, other political entities enacted their allegiance to God and were considered “faithful” regardless of religious tradition. The religion expressed by Tipu Sultan and his court in this context was a religion of the state. This religion required orthopraxy that was enacted on the battlefield and in the service of the kingdom of Mysore. When we continue to rethink Tipu Sultan and the politics of his kingdom, we have to move beyond the narrowly defined borders of religious identity constructed through systems of belief. His views on kingship were influenced by and shaped through Islamic rhetoric; however, when read in context, his “God-​given Government” was the pinnacle of religious practice, and any war to defend its domains was inherently a holy war.

Conclusion The court of Tipu Sultan articulated a theory of warfare and diplomacy, which over time developed within a complex political ideology. From the earliest

98  Tipu Sultan courtly productions from Mysore during Tipu Sultan’s reign, his kingdom and its allies were associated with religious fidelity, and his enemies were constructed as impious and cowardly infidels. These associations were not uniform throughout his rule, however, and eventually, fidelity and infidelity became synonymous with the distinctions between his allies and his enemies. Toward the end of his rule, religious fidelity and infidelity were redefined through political relations that transcended religious tradition. Tipu Sultan’s allies who had enacted pious deeds in the murals of the Dariya Daulat Bagh no longer needed to be overtly religious or Muslim; instead, it was through their alliance with Mysore that they were enacting piety and religious fidelity, regardless of other signs of immorality and impiety. Likewise, his enemies, Muslim or not, were seen as infidels solely through their choice to stand against the Mysore king: an enemy of the “God-​given Government” was inherently an enemy of God. The theology of warfare developed along these same lines. Early in his reign, warfare was only a small part of Tipu Sultan’s sovereign vision, as it defended against the incursion of foreign forces ensuring peace, wealth, and piety for Mysore and its ally states. As the security of his domains slipped away after the losses of the Third Anglo-​Mysore War and the next round of war became inevitable, political allegiance came to define his kingdom and his understanding of religious fidelity and infidelity. Through this process, diplomacy and warfare became the central ritual of Tipu Sultan’s political religion.

Notes 1. Kausar 1998, 72–​73. 2. This is not dissimilar to the position of much of the papal “theocratic understanding of the state” during the Crusades of the European Middle Ages (see Krech 2003, 1011). 3. Here I am following Schmitt’s foundational definition of political as the distinction between friend and enemy as articulated in The Concept of the Political (Schmitt, Strong, and Strauss 2007). 4. E.g., Archer 1959; Buddle 1990; Nair 2011. 5. Although the murals are not dated, based on favorable depiction of the Nizam of Hyderabad as an ally of Mysore, they had to have been painted prior to 1795, when the Nizam and Tipu Sultan began bitter and armed hostilities that would continue until Tipu Sultan’s death. Shekar (2010, 42–​43) also argues that the murals were painted in 1784, because it was the only year of peace in Tipu Sultan’s early rule. 6. These murals remain well preserved due to the conservation efforts of Colonel Arthur Wellesley, head of the British army in Shrirangapattana and brother of the governor-​ general Richard Wellesley, who used the Dariya Daulat Bagh as his office and as the base of military operations in Shrirangapattana after the British victory in 1799.

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  99 7. For an excellent summary of the colonial impressions of the mural of the Battle of Pollilur, see Nair 2011, 33–​35. 8. E.g., Buddle 1990; Nair 2011; Pande and Kumari 2012. This is not to say that they were in any way deficient because of their perspectives. Indeed, Janaki Nair’s analysis of paintings of the Anglo-​Mysore Wars is a brilliant piece of scholarship (2011, 27–​59). 9. Two recent works published in India discuss the eastern wall in great detail. Veena Shekar (2010, 70–​88) examines the murals as part of a “stylistic study”. Anupa Pande and Savita Kumari’s work (2012, 223–​275) catalogs (along with fantastic detailed images) the paintings as a repository of the material culture of Mysore domestic and royal life at the time. 10. Bowring 1872, 56. 11. Quoted in Parsons 1931, 111–​112. 12. Quoted in Parsons 1931, 111. The gigantic bottles of brandy are no longer visible in the murals. 13. Colonel Mark Wilks, quoted in Parsons 1931, 110. 14. Above the scene from the Battle of Pollilur is a small panel that shows the procession of Asaf Jah II, Nizam of Hyderabad. Still in good favor with Tipu Sultan at the time of the painting, Jah II is depicted riding a white horse, holding a white flower, and attended by four men, who carry an umbrella, an insignia, and two fans. The Nizam is led by two elephants, one of which carries his standard, and four rows of infantrymen, four of whom walk backward with their right arms lifted, presumably shouting adulations to the ruler. Behind the Nizam, a dozen elephants with empty palanquins complete the procession. 15. Compare with Howes 2003, 96. 16. The wall is divided into two large panels with five rows of portraits each (with an additional row of decorative flowers on the top and bottom). The top row is further divided into smaller squares with two rows that alternate between two squares of flowers and two squares of more modest portraiture. 17. Shekar (2010, 72)  lists the following as identifiable portraits:  Rani of Cittur (also known as Chittoor), Muhammad Vallajah of Arkat (Arcot), Raja of Tanjavur (Tanjore), Raja of Varanasi (Benares), Balaji Rao II of Pune/​Bithur, Krishnaraja III, and the “Madakeri Nayak of Chitaldurg.” Pande and Kumari (2012, 255), however, list “the Madakari Nayak of Chitradurga, Magadi Kempe Gowda, Queen of Chittoor, Mohammed Ali Walajah, Nawab of Savanoor, Nawab of Kannanur, Raja of Coorg, Raja of Tanjore, Balaji Baji Rao II, Krishnaraja Wodeyar, Raja of Benares, etc.” 18. Shekar (2010, 72) has suggested that “there are at least four to five dozen portraits of various contemporary rulers” of Tipu Sultan and that “it is very clear from the theme that most portraits belong to the feudatories of Tipu . . . [that] were conquered by Haidar Ali.” While Pande and Kumari (2012, 223) are more skeptical about the number, they, too, agree that the figures are supposed to represent “satellite rulers” who had been conquered by Tipu Sultan and Haidar Ali. Indeed, this was also the view of George Valentia (1809, 423) when he visited the palace in 1803: “In the opposite verandah the paintings are still more curious: Hyder and Tippoo appear there in all their splendor as conquerors, and the different princes conquered are painted

100  Tipu Sultan below.” He continues, “amongst these are placed some that never submitted, particularly the Rajah of Tanjore.” However, as we know, Tanjavur had also fallen to Tipu Sultan in 1784, and the image that is normally said to be the Raja of Tanjavur shares many iconographic similarities to other images of Tulaji, who ruled the kingdom at the time. So it seems quite likely that he, too, would have been included in Tipu Sultan’s wall of feudatories. 19. Interestingly, there are no European allies shown in these images. This might be because Tipu Sultan’s relationship with the French was strained around this time (Van Lohuizen 1961, 139–​140). 20. There are at least four images in which letters are clearly and visibly being delivered. 21. I doubt that the portrait was originally part of the mural, because it is rather nondescriptly painted among the bottom row of figures, four frames from the southeastern corner—​not exactly where you would expect the king’s portrait to be placed (compare with Krishnaraja III in the Rangamahal murals, where he is at the center of both the eastern and western walls). It is undeniable, however, that the representation of the figure in the portrait is given all the iconographic features normally attributed to Tipu Sultan. Presumably, then, this image of Tipu Sultan could be a later addition, like the image of Krishnaraja III that was inserted into the mural on the northeastern panel long after its original composition. The image does have similarities, particularly his turban and mustache, to the image of Tipu Sultan in the mural in the Rangamahal from Krishnaraja III’s rule. Also, we know from the accounts of Valentia that at least two images that depicted impropriety of a British officer were removed sometime after 1803; for more, see below. Regardless of whether it was part of the original composition or added later, it is important that the artist recognized the centrality of correspondence in the overall theme of the mural and felt that the composition ought to include Tipu Sultan sending a message. 22. Compare with Koch 1997, 130–​143. 23. Only three of the eighty-​one images of palaces depict only the interior, including a private darbar, a harem, and a nawab smoking huqqa. The nawab smoking huqqa is commonly identified as Muhammad Vallajah of Arkat. Additionally, there are two images of processions—​one of a nawab (often identified as Muhammad Vallajah of Arkat) on an elephant followed by a riderless horse and the other with two elephants carrying an empty hoda and an empty umbrella-​covered palanquin—​and an image of a canopy under which a courtesan dances to the accompaniment of five female musicians. 24. Compare these depictions with those described by Desai (1994). Also compare this with the “erotic” paintings from the Sibi Nrisimha temple that are often said to be depictions of Tipu Sultan. This temple was constructed by ministers who served Haidar Ali, Tipu Sultan, and Krishnaraja III. I am skeptical that these actually depict Tipu Sultan, but if they do, they present a very different vision of the ruler, in which he enacts the prosperity of the kingdom through his virility and procreative power. For more on these murals, see Shekar 1999, 54–​59. For broader examples of eroticism and royal courts of the early modern period, see Michell’s discussion of Nayaka ivories (1995, 207–​215) and the many examples from Rajput courts (e.g., Diamond 2016; Khera 2016; Singh 2016).

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  101 25. Valentia 1809, 424. 26. For the image by Rowaldson, see Howes 2003, 138–​141. 27. The heading for this section comes from the preface of Wilks’s history of Mysore, in which he says that Tipu Sultan often referred to the British as “rascally infidels” (1817, 1: xv). 28. Brittlebank 1997, 27. These texts include Mu’aiyid al-​Mujahidin, Majalis dar Fadilat-​ i Jihad, Fath al-​Mujahidin, Zad al-​Mujahidin (for more, see Hosain 1940, 143–​147; Shushtari 1950; for selections translation, see excerpted passages in Abedeen 1791, 238–​239 and Abedeen 1792, 336–​337). 29. Brittlebank 1997, 26–​27n44. 30. I  have been unable to locate the original manuscripts of these letters, despite references saying that they were part of the Karnataka State Archives in Vidhana/​ Vikasa Saudha. Staff members could not locate the manuscripts prior to the mid-​ nineteenth century during my research visit. I was therefore referred to the Mysore division in Viveshvara Nagara, which referred me back to Bangalore. Therefore, my analysis is based on the original translations of the letters by N. B. Edmondstone, the Persian translator for the British government in India in 1799. They were first recorded, translated, annotated with notes on the translation, and published on August 1, 1799 by order of the British governor-​general in India. The correspondence has been reproduced in several sources. It was subsequently published in Salmond (1800) and Beatson (1800, app.). They have been collated, updated, annotated, and published as one volume by Kabir Kausar (1998), titled The Secret Correspondence of Tipu Sultan. For the sake of efficiency and clarity, I  refer to Kausar’s work for all the letters contained therein. While working from translation is certainly not ideal, Edmondstone’s translations are extremely literal and well annotated with original Persian words for clarification that makes my analysis possible. 31. See also Bayly 1985; Brittlebank 1997, 35–​39. 32. This was certainly not the first time Tipu Sultan had entertained an alliance with the French. In 1788, an envoy from Mysore visited France for three months and became the object of Parisians’ attention (Martin 2014). 33. Kausar 1998, 115, 60. 34. E.g., Kausar 1998, 142. 35. Cook 2005, 1; Firestone 1999, 3. 36. For a great study of kingship and holy war in Central and South Asia, see Anooshahr 2009. For Tipu Sultan’s thought on Wahhabism, see Kausar 1998, 159, and below. 37. Cook 2005, 2. 38. This is, of course, in line with traditional Indian understandings of the dharma of kings. For more, see Gonda 1969, 1–​6. 39. I also acknowledge that holy war, too, is rooted in European Christian notions and has a complicated association with jihad (Krech 2003, 1008–​1009; Firestone 1999, 3). 40. Kausar 1998, 141. 41. Kausar 1998, 138. 42. The Aqsa Mosque is the small mosque located within the grounds of the Gumbaz (Haidar Ali’s tomb) in Shrirangapattana.

102  Tipu Sultan 43. Kausar 1998, 72–​73. Compare these with the four traditional forms of jihad: heart, tongue, hands, and sword (Gernot Rotter, “Dschihad in Namen,” quoted in Krech 2003). 44. The fidelity to the state as a religious act can be found as early as 1783 CE in the first chapter of the Fath-​al Mujahidin, a compilation on jihad commissioned by Tipu Sultan (Shushtari 1950, xiv). 45. Kausar 1998, 59. 46. Kausar 1998, 61. 47. Kausar 1998, 145–​146. In a letter to the French naval captain Pierre Dubuc from the same period, in which he expressed sadness that the French would not support his efforts against the British, Tipu Sultan expressed the divine role in his campaign: “I rely solely on Providence, expecting that I shall be alone and unsupported, but God and my courage will accomplish everything” (Kausar 1998, 218). 48. Kausar 1998, 150. 49. Kausar 1998, 139. 50. Kausar 1998, 138–​140. 51. Kausar 1998, 139–​140. 52. Kausar 1998, 140. 53. Durani wrote to Tipu Sultan in September 1798, asking for clarification about Mysore’s alliance with the French, who he claimed were now enemies of Islam. Tipu Sultan seems to have delayed his response to Durani while he continued negotiations with the French. Tipu Sultan finally gave up on French support in early 1799, after the French commander-​in-​chief declined to send Mysore any armies but instead suggested that Tipu Sultan should persuade the Marathas to defect from the British coalition and join Mysore. In his response to Durani dated February 10, 1799, Tipu Sultan expands upon his notion of the holy war and details the history of the British in India in order to justify his position. 54. Kausar 1998, 152. 55. From context in the letter, “infidels” seems to refer to the Mughals in Delhi and the Nizam of Hyderabad. The French are not free from his scorn, either; however, he referred to them as “French Christians.” It is clear that Tipu Sultan was aware of the Christian identity of the French, but he still believed the alliance to be part of divine will and that the French were part of the “faithful” and never using “infidel” to refer to the French even after they refused to support him in the Fourth Anglo-​Mysore War. In other writings of the Mysore court, “infidel” is equally applicable to Muslims and non-​Muslims. He also often called the British “rascally infidels,” “a runaway race,” “a race of demons,” and “hermaphrodites” (Wilks 1817, 1: xv–​xvi). Additionally, he seems to have used “Christian” as a general pejorative term, even using the term to refer to fellow Muslim Muhammad Wallajah, Nawab of Arcot, who was an ally of the British. Wilks (1817, 1: xv–​xvi) notes that occasionally Tipu Sultan would speak favorably about Christianity or Christians, but then he would instead call them “Nazarenes” (nashrani). 56. Kausar 1998, 154. 57. Kausar 1998, 158. 58. Kausar 1998, 159.

Divine Warfare and Diplomacy  103 59. Kausar 1998, 148. 60. The imagery is also not entirely novel. There is a rich tradition in South Asia visual culture of depicting war through depictions of good and evil. My intention with this illustration—​and this chapter more broadly—​is to highlight how the depictions of good and evil and fidelity and infidelity are not defined on the basis of religious tradition but that they are also often structured through political alliances. 61. The folio is part of Brown University’s Anne S. K. Brown Military Collection and has been given the descriptive title “Indian Demons Attacking Fort Defended by European Troops” based on its illustration. The painting is in the Deccani Mughal style, and the text is Mughal Persian in nastaliq script. The manuscript has been dated to the Third Anglo-​Mysore War (c. 1791), and its inscription relates a fragmentary eulogy of a king of Bihar. 62. This can also be compared, however, with the Turuk-​i-​Asafia, an illustrated manuscript from the court of the Nizam of Hyderabad. In this manuscript, the forces of Tipu Sultan are shown during the siege of Adoni in 1786. In these images, the infantry of Tipu Sultan is shown wearing various colored uniforms all embroidered with the tiger (babri) motif (see Pande and Kumari 2012, 13, 16–​17). 63. Below the demonic battle, there is a small fort that is the presumed goal of the demon. Inside the fort is a white palace from which a young woman in a white European-​ style dress points toward the beast as another soldier takes aim with his rifle. On the palace lawn, a drummer, a flutist, and a horn player sound the war anthem as another European soldier loads a cannon in preparation for the attack. At the bottom of the image, the feet of the demon are seen as the rest of his body sinks into the moat that surrounds the fort. 64. Kausar 1998, 192. 65. Kausar 1998, 157. 66. Kausar 1998, 239. 67. Kausar 1998, 245. 68. Kausar 1998, 253. 69. Kausar 1998, 257–​258. 70. The letter was dated February 16, 1799, but it was not received until April 3, 1799. The letter was most likely written somewhere between the two dates, as delivery usually took no more than a week or two. 71. Kausar 1998, 267. 72. Kausar 1998, 268. 73. Kausar 1998, 268.

PART II

KRISHNA R AJA WODEYA R  I I I

4

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family Here is the account in prose of the greatness of the Lord of Great Kings Shri Krishnaraja’s mighty lineage, which begins with Mahavishnu. Might of the Lineage’s Incarnations (Vamshavatarana Vaibhava; c. 1860s) The golden age of India, like that of other regions, belongs exclusively to the poet. In the sober investigation of facts, this imaginary aera recedes still farther and farther at every stage of the enquiry; and all that we find is still the empty praise of the ages which have passed. Wilks’s History of Mysoor (1817)1

These are the opening lines to two very different nineteenth-​century histories of the Mysore lineage. The first account was written in the 1860s by one of Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s courtiers, and the second was by Colonel Mark Wilks, who from 1803 to 1808 served as the British East India Company’s Resident in the Mysore court. They reflect very different approaches to genealogy and history. As we have seen in c­ hapter 1, genealogy was an important genre through which Indian royal courts could fashion kingship and sovereign continuity. For the British, however, genealogies were viewed as one of the few reliable sources for empirical historical information in the subcontinent. British historians turned to epigraphic material and vamshavali (“line of the family” or “lineage history”; a genealogical genre) literature to reconstruct a history for India because they believed the “department of ancient history in the East is so deformed by fable and anachronism, that it may be considered an absolute blank in Indian literature. There is no hope that this important defect will ever be supplied, except from an extensive collection of such documents.”2 These British historians went about reading inscriptions and manuscripts, sifting through the material for historical data about kings and their kingdoms, removing references to a vast scope of Indian cosmology, myths, legends, and supernatural occurrences to recover documentary historical details.3

Devotional Sovereignty. Caleb Simmons, Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190088897.001.0001

108  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III The colonial encounter and the European approach to historiography transformed the genealogical genre in Mysore. European articulations of history, power, and political ideology, however, were not accepted wholesale. The construction of history during this period was a dialectical and heteroglot process—​ not simply European hegemonic cultural domination—​in which both sides were mutually constituting meaning within colonial South India.4 As products of this early colonial period in which Indian courts were negotiating two regimes of being religio-​political, genealogies from the court of Krishnaraja III worked within and through modes of historiography from both India and Europe. Within the vamshavalis from his reign, the court of Mysore was writing histories for its king that followed many of the traditional styles and motifs previously found in the region. Simultaneously, however, they also incorporated innovative structures, styles, and methods from their colonial counterparts. The genealogies remained rooted in the local concerns of sovereignty in which devotion and divine authority were central, but these themes were shaped through a positivist lens that reframed the lineage within the scope of linear human history meticulously recording details, such as dates, sites of major events, and historical actors, and verifying those details through previous texts and inscriptions.5 Blending Indian and European modes of historiography, the genealogies of Krishnaraja III are uniquely early colonial Indian histories composed and produced in relation with, response to, and reaction against European modes of political theology, governance, and meaning making. In a period when the king was bereft of administrative and military power, kingship and succession were removed from claims to the “right of conquest” and from the physical process of biological succession. They were instead reconfigured solely within the realm of the divine.6 The physical body of the king was transformed into a corpus mysticum as the history of the Mysore kings was woven into a world of divine interactions.7 While physically present, the king simultaneously operated within a plane of existence above and beyond mundane concerns. In these texts, the king’s body becomes the very site upon which the negotiation of mundane and divine realities takes place. In the court of Krishnaraja III, dynastic continuity was regulated by divine ancestry, injunction, and interaction. Mundane matters of state and governance were subordinated to matters of the king’s supernatural nature, allowing Krishnaraja III, despite any British interference, to once again be sovereign, only over an incorporeal empire, an empire of devotion. Unlike Tipu Sultan, whose authority for royal succession was based on proof of divine election through his military abilities and narratives of protection, the genealogies of Krishnaraja III specifically emphasized the Wodeyars’ divine lineage and placed their rulers within the world of the gods and goddesses through a mythic context. Through the vamshavali genre, the court of Krishnaraja III

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  109 constructed dynastic continuity in the region which began with Mahavishnu at creation and could be traced through the legendary founders of the Wodeyar Mysore kingdom. Operating unbounded by the confines of biological succession, the court’s texts construct royal power that runs parallel to human concerns but ultimately rests in a world of supernatural metaphysics and divine interaction. Traditional medieval pilgrimage centers are situated as sites of power and authority, with their deities manifesting to appoint and guide the Wodeyar kings. The devotionalism of Krishnaraja III and his predecessors is opened up and expressed through an expanded “big tent” Hindu devotionalism that includes goddess, Vaishnava, and Shaiva practices.8 Central in this formation of royal authority and power is the king’s role as devotee par excellence. The genealogical texts from Krishnaraja III’s court, therefore, reflect a cognizance of the changing political tides in which the British dominated administrative and military life in India. The vamshavalis from his reign demonstrate a new-​found approach to historiography, in which they employ certain empiricist principles. As an expression of contested political history, they also become a site in which religious and communal identity could be articulated. The texts archive a view of kingship that is coming to terms with colonial vassalage in which the king’s authority and his display of power had to be reconstituted to reflect the domain over which he had sovereignty. Thus, the world of kingship in the genealogical texts of Krishnaraja III reflect his rule over a domain of devotion—​a domain authorized by the deities and over which he and his family alone were sovereign. In this way, his vamshavalis built upon the genealogical genre from the premodern period and from the reign of Tipu Sultan but updated it to reflect the new political situation of Mysore as British subordinates.

“Restoration of the Ancient Hindoo Family”: Historiography and Genealogies after 1799 With the installation of Krishnaraja III on the throne of Mysore and the “restoration of the ancient Hindoo” Wodeyar line, there was a marked increase in the production of genealogies of Mysore kings by both the British and the Mysore court.9 Following the coronation of the four-​year-​old Krishnaraja III, the British took a keen interest in the political history of Mysore. The British public was eager to learn more about the history of the little kingdom in South India that had fought so gallantly against its armies, and many British military officers and historians met this demand by writing detailed histories of the kingdom up to and including the fall of Tipu Sultan and Shrirangapattana. While many relied on personal experience, hearsay, and interviews with informants, Colin Mackenzie (1754–​1821), who was commissioned for the “Mysore Survey,”

110  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III set about collecting various historical materials, including manuscripts and inscriptions that were found in southern India. Throughout the course of his survey (1799–​1810), Mackenzie and his Indian research assistants collected and translated hundreds of vamshavalis and sthalapuranas (local mythic histories) or “Local Tracts” from literary, epigraphic, and oral media in an effort to recover and document the history of the subcontinent.10 Eventually, these materials became part of the “Mackenzie Collection” and are currently distributed among various libraries, museums, and manuscript archives in England and India, including the British Library and the Kuvempu Institute of Kannada Studies at the University of Mysore. The translation of these materials was an interesting process that warrants an extended study, as they are very selective and emphasize the details that were pertinent to British historiographic ends, such as regnal years (often with corresponding dates in the Western Roman calendar written into the margins), royal biological lineages, and details of warfare. In the process, they adumbrated or in many cases removed references to the miraculous events and encounters with the divine contained in their Indian-​language equivalents that were critical for the articulation of regional royal identity. These redacted local histories were used by the early historians of Mysore, such as Mark Wilks, as they tried to understand the political history of the region through a positivist lens.11 As several scholars have shown, Mackenzie relied heavily on his Hindu Brahmin and Jain research assistants for the collection and translation of the “Local Tracts.”12 While recognizing their importance, H. H. Wilson, the cataloger of the Mackenzie Collection, was skeptical of Mackenzie’s reliance on his informants and the antiquity of many of the histories they had recorded. When cataloging the collection in 1828, he wrote, “his collections are generally based on secondhand traditions and unverified reports  .  .  .  their testimony may be used as circumstantial evidence calculated to supplement the results arrived at from other sources.”13 His concerns about the verifiability of the information from Mysore were shared by Mackenzie, and the surveyor noted that he and his team had faced great difficulty when trying to acquire “historical” manuscripts in Mysore.14 Mackenzie therefore engaged local poets to write histories of Mysore.15 While Mackenzie and the British were using genealogical materials to construct a historiography, these poets continued to used genealogies as sites to make claims about kingship and religious identity through regional political history.16 One of the poets commissioned by Mackenzie was a Jain named Devachandra. According to Devachandra, after hearing an impromptu discourse on the history of the region given by the Jain poet, the Mysore surveyor requested that Devachandra write a history of the Mysore kings.17 Devachandra used the voice given to him by Mackenzie to write his Compendium of the Lineage of Kings (Rajavali Kathasara; c. 1838), which reimagines the history of Mysore through

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  111 a Jain lens. The text, which is written using an older style of Kannada that was antiquated for its time, reframes the history of the Kannada region through a rhetoric of lost Jain political and religious supremacy.18 Devachandra writes that many politically important regional temples (including Cheluvanarayanasvami in Melukote) were originally Jain and were converted to Hindu temples and Islamic mosques as the Jain’s territory was conquered. Devachandra even claims at one point that the Mysore kings were originally Jains and that their tutelary deity Chamundeshvari was originally the Jain yakshi Padmavati.19 Given the opportunity to record a political history, Devachandra fashioned a Jain past for the region, creating a space for Jainism in the early colonial context and fashioning the way it might be viewed in its present.20 Another vamshavali that came out of Mackenzie’s time in Mysore, called the Glories of the Lord of Men (Narapati Vijayam; c. 1800), provides further insight into the negotiation of historiography in the genealogical materials of early colonial Mysore and how they were used to construct a narrative about the Mysore kings and the continuity of Hindu kingship within the region.21 The Victory of the Lord of Men is part of the Mackenzie Collection translations in the British Library in London and is titled Nara Puttee Veejayom or the Glories of the Nara Puttee Race or Historical Account of the Sovereigns of Mysore.22 The title page explains that the text is a translation “from the Tamul Langauge by C. V. Boria Bramin:  January 1800.” “Boria Bramin,” also known as Borayya Kaveli, was one of Mackenzie’s most beloved Telugu Brahmin research assistants and was well known in Mysore circles, even gaining praise from Wilks while he was the Mysore Resident.23 The recent catalogers of the Mackenzie collection, however, claim that there was no original Tamil manuscript of the story; instead, the English manuscript is “in some way connected” to the Telugu vamshavali of the kings of Vijayanagara by the same name, only with a history of the Mysore kings appended at its end.24 The Mysore portions of the text were composed from other sources as part of Kaveli’s collection, and this “translation” fashioned a Mysore history using methods similar to Devachandra’s Jain Compendium of the Line of Kings, only through a Hindu perspective. A comparison of the contents of the text that focuses on Vijayanagara with the early colonial additions concerning Mysore demonstrates the ways the older forms of genealogy writing were modified to fit the new colonial context. Whereas the vamshavalis from later in the reign of Krishnaraja III sought to place the kings of Mysore within a limited notion of human history (what Trautmann calls “biblical time”) and broader devotional frameworks, the Glories of the Lord of Men, as a reworked premodern vamshavali, employs a Puranic frame that displays the genre’s cosmic scope and its stricter vision of devotionalism.25 In the introduction to the text, the cosmic Puranic scope of the genealogy and the traditional Indian political ontology are clear. The narrative begins before

112  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III creation with the existence of “the Almighty” (i.e., purusha) alone. The text explains the process through which the worlds come into being, with a modified exposition of the tattvas (essences) of Samkhya cosmogony: from the cosmic purusha come prakriti, mahatattva, ahamkara, and the three gunas (i.e., sattva, rajas, and tamas) and all other parts of creation. Next, the text describes the birth of Brahma and the “other devatas,” cosmic time regulated into the four periods of cyclic time (i.e., the yugas), and the origins of sovereignty through the rulers (i.e., Manus) over each cosmic interval. Then, after Hari (i.e., Vishnu) incarnated as Kurma and Varaha, Brahma created the Solar and Lunar lineages. In its brief introduction, the Glories of the Lord of Men provides the reader with cosmogony, subsequent creation, genealogy of the gods and sages, an account of the rulers of the cosmic cycle, and the genealogy of kings, fulfilling the five elements (panchalakshana) of the Mahapurana genre. By providing all of these elements, the text presents itself as a Purana, casting the lineage it describes back into the discourse of divinity and cosmic influence. The text then transitions to a genealogy of the Tamil Shri Vaishnava Alvars and Acaryas that frames its strict view of sectarian devotionalism.26 The text narrates the incarnations of the saints and the transfer of leadership from one generation to the next. Eventually, the lineage is connected to Ramanuja’s migration to Melukote and his establishment of the Shri Vaishnava tradition in the temple to Cheluvanarayanasvami. The text details the wonders and miracles of the saint and the deity of the temple, including the theft of murti by the padshah of Delhi and its eventual return after the image miraculously stands up and starts to walk back to its home in Melukote.27 The Glories of the Lord of Men reflects a rigid Shri Vaishnava sectarian stance, often even reveling in communal and religious conflicts. The tendency is so strong that Wilson claims it must have been written by a “headstrong Vaishnava” who was “violently opposed” to followers of other religious traditions, especially Shaivism.28 While out of place in later formulations of “big tent” Hinduism that are discussed below, the narrowly defined rhetoric of devotion in the Glories of the Lord of Men reflects traditional premodern sectarian loyalties. The history of the Shri Vaishnava tradition in the Kannada-​speaking region prefaces the lineage of the kings of Vijayanagara that particularly focuses on Krishnadevaraya (r. 1509–​1530), before it transitions to the kings of Mysore. The Glories of the Lord of Men combines the two different genealogies as part of one dynastic tradition grounded through a devotional lineage of saints, constructing an unbroken line of the Hindu (Shri Vaishnava) kingship that has persisted from creation(s). The appended history of Mysore, however, shifts the contexts into the recent history of the Deccan and chronicles the military struggles between Bijapur and Vijayanagara that mirrored contemporaneous political events in Mysore, namely, the Anglo-​Mysore Wars (1767–​1799). As in many of

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  113 the Wodeyar texts, the transition of royal power is connected with the episode of Raja Wodeyar and Tirumala, the Vijayanagara viceroy in Shrirangapattana, in 1610. The narrative in the Glories of the Lord of Men, however, contradicts the “conquest of Shrirangapattana” narrative that was common in precolonial Wodeyar literature and epigraphy and that was present in Tipu Sultan’s genealogies. Alternatively, the text tells of an ongoing war between Shrirangapattana and “Moor” invaders (i.e., Bijapur) and a peaceful transition of the kingdom from Tirumala to Raja Wodeyar. In this version of the story, Tirumala had lost Shrirangapattana to the Muslim invaders, but Raja Wodeyar had been able to save him and reclaim the city. Since Tirumala had been injured during the battle, he informed the Vijayanagara ruler that he could no longer effectively rule and wished to vacate the throne. In his stead, he nominated Raja to be his successor, because he could “destroy all foes” and “preserve invincible the lands granted to the Brahmins and Gods.”29 Tirumala then passed through Melukote and returned to Shrirangapattana, where he delivered a decree from the Vijayanagara king that ordered Raja to “rule the kingdom protecting the Brahmins and Gods in like manner as the former powers and kings, paying to him tribute according to the settlement.”30 Raja accepted the kingship of Shrirangapattana on the condition that Tirumala remain in the capital as his adviser. Tirumala agreed and was firmly devoted to the new king. The narrative of Raja Wodeyar and Tirumala is considerably different from the Succession of the Mysore Kings (Maisura Arasugalu Purvabhyudhayagalu; c.  1798)  produced during the reign of Tipu Sultan. While Raja Wodeyar is still cast as a mighty warrior in the Glories of the Lord of Men, the transfer of royal power was not through the “right of conquest” but through diplomacy and imperial appointment.31 This transfer of power mirrored the realities of the Mysore court and its British colonial overlords at the time of its “translation” (Shrirangapattana had fallen to Muslims but had been reconquered and restored to Hindus).32 It is not out of the question that this translation was indeed a novel commentary on the state of the kingdom that sought to set a precedent in which Mysore and Shrirangapattana were part of a Hindu political legacy that privileged loyalty and hierarchy over usurpation, a characteristic explicitly desired by the British.33 The British were eager to accept and incorporate such episodes into their histories, since they provided a counternarrative to Tipu Sultan’s “right of conquest” grounded in “the restoration of the ancient Hindoo family of Mysore.”34 Thus, the bipartite colonial historiography of Mysore was solidified: the Wodeyars were connected to ancient Hindu kingship, and Tipu Sultan was connected to the history of “Muslim invasion.”35 The rhetoric was quite successful, and its lasting effect is clear, as many scholars continue to refer to the “restoration of the Mysore kings” after the fall of Tipu Sultan.

114  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III While the British were looking to create a narrative of the human history of India through a critical reading of local Indian histories, local historians were using vamshavali to articulate religious identity through politics of the past. These early colonial genealogies were embroiled in contemporaneous struggles for communal prestige and power, all of which were reflected in the history of kingship and its attendant devotional practices. Using vamshavali as a site of contestation within the world of colonial Indian rule, texts such as the Glories of the Lord of Men drew on the genealogical modes of the “old regime,” incorporating their histories and genealogies but also incorporating novel narratives and new methods to construct kingship through devotional identity.

The Great Kings of Mysore and the New Vision of the Hindu Kingship The Lineage History of the Glorious and Great Kings of Mysore (hereafter Great Kings of Mysore; Mysuru Samsthanada Prabhugalu Shrimanmaharajavara Vamshavali, c. 1860s) is said to have been originally composed in Kannada by Krishnaraja III in the latter years of his rule and shows the development of his political thought over the course of his reign.36 The Great Kings of Mysore relates the lineage of the Mysore kings from the creation of the cosmos down to the birth of its contemporaneous king, Krishnaraja III. The text focuses on an overtly Hindu form of kingship (even using the term “Hindu-​style” on occasion); however, the Great Kings of Mysore is not as concerned with the construction of sectarian and communal religious identity as had been the case in the genealogies from early in his rule discussed above. Whereas the early genealogies, such as the Glories of the Lord of Men, were situated in communal struggles for prestige and power in the newly formed colonial context, the Great Kings of Mysore was written in the twilight of Krishnaraja III’s rule long after it had been established as the “restoration of ancient Hindoo kingship.”37 Instead of highlighting religious or communal tensions, the Great Kings of Mysore focuses on dynastic continuity and attempts to reconcile biological succession and divine authority by opening the framework of devotion and kingship. My discussion of the Great Kings of Mysore is divided into two large subsections. The first examines Krishnaraja III’s claims to an unbroken line of kingship despite his indirect biological ancestry. Specifically, it investigates his divine line of descent and the supernatural intervention contained in the first and fourth chapters of the text which detail the lineage of the Lunar Yaduvamsha and the Raja Wodeyar episode, respectively. The second subsection focuses on the second chapter of the text as it provides the story of the establishment of the Wodeyar kings in Mysore through the authorization of the gods and goddesses.

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  115 Together these episodes demonstrate how the Great Kings of Mysore reimagines the world of Indian kingship that is unconcerned with mundane administrative and military functions and is situated in the supernatural. In this realm of supernatural sovereignty, the Wodeyar king and his royal power are directly authorized by divine election and gods and goddesses manifest to select his ancestors, and thereby Krishnaraja III himself, to govern over an incorporeal empire of devotion.

(Divine) Descent and the Early Colonial Vamshavali The highly charged political climate during which the Great Kings of Mysore was written was defined by two controversies. The first was the impending realities that the king Krishnaraja III would remain heirless and, in the newly established British Raj in India, would be subject to a lapse in succession unless he was allowed to adopt a son. Second, since the beginning of his rule, the king and his court were forced to come to terms with a new reality of Mysore sovereignty under colonial rule. After the events of the Nagara Revolt, or the “Peasant Insurgency,” in 1830–​1831, the British had seized all control over daily administration, stripping the king of all military and administrative potency. These two concerns seem to shape the presentation of kingship and royal history in the Great Kings of Mysore. Whereas the Glories of the Lord of Men and other texts alluded to traditional modes of authority, the Great Kings of Mysore presents a new vision of royal continuity in which breaks in biological succession, and thereby adoption, are the result of supernatural intervention. The text removes the physical body of the king from normative human processes by providing religious justification for infecundity. This reconstitution of kingship and succession simultaneously handcuffed the British due to their reluctance to interfere in matters that were of religious concern and contested claims of hegemonic political, administrative, and military dominance by placing the Wodeyar sovereignty in the world of the divine.38 Like the Glories of the Lord of Men, the introduction of the Great Kings of Mysore frames the lineage within a Puranic genealogy that begins with the birth of Brahma from the navel of Mahavishnu. In some ways, however, the Great Kings of Mysore is even more thorough. Instead of listing the first few generations of cosmic creation, the Great Kings of Mysore lists all generations of the Lunar line from Mahavishnu (1), Brahma (2), Atri (3), and Chandra (4) through Vasudeva (55) and Krishna (56), to the founder of the Wodeyars in Mysore Yaduraya (75) and his brother Krishnaraya. The lineage, however, is extremely laconic in its elaboration of their births and their biographical narratives. The mythic ancestry of the Wodeyar kings follows a precise line, leaving off many subsidiary family

116  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III branches and extraneous details that were commonplace in Puranic renderings of cosmogony or in many other premodern vamshavalis. Additionally, while the Great Kings of Mysore painstakingly narrates every generation of the lineage from Mahavishnu down to the birth of the legendary Yaduraya, there is no discussion of the cosmic intervals of time or the rulers (Manu) of those intervals. Without these integral components of the Mahapuranic genre, the emphasis on the grand scope of cosmic Indian time is absent from the account. The Great Kings of Mysore reflects European influence in which the genealogy of the Wodeyar kings is constructed within linear European historical time.39 While the lineage history contained divine actors, this style of genealogy was not unknown to the British, and it is quite similar to the genealogy of Jesus given in the Gospels—​especial Luke, in which Jesus’s lineage is traced to Adam—​from which contemporaneous notions of linear history and time had developed.40 Without the framework of the cosmic cycles of time, the claims of descent were cast into a historical frame that collapsed divinities and mythic time into the realm of human political history, and the Wodeyars’ genealogy was rendered in a form that was more intelligible to their colonial overlords. Claims to direct descent were a double-​edged sword for Krishnaraja III and his court, since the king himself had no legitimate male heirs.41 During the reign of Krishnaraja III, the British colonial project had been firmly established by the East India Company (EIC) and cemented during the subsequent annexation of the subcontinent in 1857. One of the most important means through which the EIC and the British government in India acquired and subsumed kingdoms was through the “Doctrine of Lapse.” Although it had already been enacted in several kingdoms, the Doctrine of Lapse was first articulated as policy in a meeting of the directors of the EIC on February 26, 1834, by its chairman, John Forbes, after which the EIC claimed privilege to approve or deny royal adoptions.42 Forbes declared that the EIC operated within India as a sovereign nation with all rites thereof, including the ability to enter into treaties; therefore, the company also had the authority to enforce the treaties through military and political intervention and depose the monarchy that had “lapsed.”43 This position was further solidified by Dalhousie (James Broun-​Ramsay, 1st Marquis of Dalhousie), who in 1848, as the governor-​general of India, instituted his Doctrine of Lapse, whereby the EIC could annex any kingdom, with which it had treaties, due to either maladministration or the lack of a male heir. In a minute dated January 16, 1856, Dalhousie remarked directly on the Mysore situation: The Treaty under which Lord Wellesley raised the Rajah, while yet a child to the Musnud, and the Treaty which was subsequently concluded with himself, were both silent as to heirs and successors. . . . The inexpediency of continuing this territory, by an act of gratuitous liberality, to any other Native Prince,

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  117 when the present Rajah shall have died, has been already conclusively shown by the conduct of His Highness himself, whose rule, though he commenced it under every advantage, was so scandalously and hopelessly bad, that power has long since been taken from him by the British Government. I trust, therefore, that, when the decease of the present Rajah shall come to pass, without son or grandson, or legitimate male heir of any description, the Territory of Mysore, which will then have passed to the British Government, will be resumed, and that the good work which has been so well begun will be completed.44

Dalhousie’s Doctrine of Lapse and the annexations of Indian kingdoms that accompanied it were a source of great conflict in India, helping to set the context of the Great Rebellion/​War for Independence of 1857, and in Mysore, Dalhousie’s minute on the status of Mysore’s lapse served as the catalyst for renewed effort by Krishnaraja III to secure the continuance of his line through adoption.45 At the heart of the conflict were the disparate views of sovereignty and dynastic continuity between British and Indian political theory. The position of the British was clearly argued by Charles Jackson in his book A Vindication of Marquis of Dalhousie’s Indian Administration (1865). In this published letter, Jackson dismissed the Indian observance of posthumous adoption and its attendant theories of dynastic continuity by suggesting that these practices were “religious ceremonies” for “the soul of a deceased Hindoo” and did not apply when “the Hindoo is a prince.”46 Instead, matters of principality were subject to “principle[s]‌of the law,” by which, of course, he refers to British law.47 Throughout his “vindication,” Jackson grounds the justification of annexation of Indian kingdoms in British jurisprudence, particularly in the language of the EIC treaties with local sovereigns referring to their “heirs and successors,” which he argued refers only to the male biological offspring or adoptions that were permitted by the paramount state.48 This reading of the law was expedient for the British because the treaties had defined Britain as the paramount state even before the events of 1857 (i.e., the Doctrine of Paramountcy).49 Within these bounds, the king must be a “hereditary heir,” which is defined through British jurisprudence:  “It is hereditary in the entire male line from the common ancestor or first founder of the dynasty, to the exclusion of females or their issue.”50 Jackson’s argument is echoed in official correspondence to Charles Wood, the British secretary of state for India, from a commission that had been tasked with reviewing Krishnaraja III’s claims for adoption and the restoration of direct rule: Further, it may be added that the principles of the Hindoo Law of Inheritance have no application to Chiefships; but, above all, none to those held under the conditions on which Mysore was conferred on His Highness. It is, of course, immaterial whether the Maharajah adopts or not, but if His Highness does so,

118  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III his adopted son will have no claim to be recognized by the British Government as heir to the State of Mysore; and we have no intention, should His Highness adopt a son, to sanction the claim put forth by His Highness that such adopted son is heir to the Raj of Mysore as well as to the Maharajah’s private property. The Maharajah is not a Sovereign Prince in the sense which he uses the term; on the contrary, His Highness is a dependent Prince, having no rights whatever beyond those conferred upon him by the Subsidiary Treaty, and no power or authority to amplify those rights beyond the strict letter of the Treaty. That Treaty was a purely personal one with the Maharajah, and conveyed no authority to adopt, and made no mention whatever of heirs.51

Jackson and the British position he was arguing in favor of turned a blind eye toward indigenous conceptions of dynastic continuity and paramount sovereignty, grounding their enactment of lapse and annexation solely on British law and political theory. Therefore, Jackson is able to conclude that the “dynasties of all these dependent princes became extinct on their [kings’] deaths, . . . and there was no other heir to those sovereignties.”52 The debate over succession, lapse, and annexation loomed large throughout India during the years in which the Great Kings of Mysore was composed, as powerful kingdoms, such as Oudh (1854) and Jhansi (1854) in the north and Arcot (1854) and Tanjavur (1855) in the south, were regularly being annexed by the British.53 After Krishnaraja III had lost direct rule of the Mysore kingdom in 1831, he fought with the British to have his rule restored, but as the years passed, he turned away from such attempts, instead focusing his energies on creating a counternarrative of Indian kingship through the production of a variety of religious and devotional texts, songs, games, and paintings (see ­chapters 5–​7). However, in 1857—​the same year India officially became a British colony—​ Krishnaraja III, reaching his twilight years and still without an heir, resumed his battles with the British administration about the restoration of his sovereignty. He petitioned his colonial overlords for permission to adopt a son, which was promptly denied. For the next eight years, the Maharaja, many of his subjects, and his British friends engaged in a letter-​writing campaign intended to impress upon the British administration the loyalty of the king and the unusual circumstances by which he was unable to produce an heir.54 The debate over the Mysore adoption was a contentious topic throughout India and in England, with the popular Illustrated London News even devoting half a page to the Maharaja’s efforts.55 The public nature of the debate prompted Vishwanath Narayan Mandlik, a pleader in the High Court of Bombay and “paid advocate” of Krishnaraja III, to publish an open letter to George Russell Clerk, a member of the Council of India, with “remarks on the Mysore question,” which the author frames as a reply to Jackson’s 1865 Vindication of Dalhousie.56

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  119 This letter, which was published as Adoption versus Annexation, shows a keen awareness of issues of European political theology and the question of dynastic continuity and attempts to integrate it with Indian notions of sovereignty and succession. In his statements arguing for the Mysore adoption, Mandlik writes, “Again it is the boast of the English law that the Sovereign never dies. Is not the self-​same principle of equal force in India? In Rajpootana, we find that the law admits of no interregnum. What else is it but the principle ‘rex nunquam moritur’ expressed in a different form?”57 While quoting maxims from British political jurisprudence to make his case for Krishnaraja III and for adoption, Mandlik argues that lineage perpetuity belongs to the realm of religious duty and cites Hindu legal and religious texts to provide justification and precedents for indirect biological succession.58 He claims that for a Hindu, the right to adopt a son is “absolute” and that “tradition and history conspire to strengthen the desire, which the highest commands of religion and self-​interest have invoked . . . it [is] his right, as well as his duty, to perform an adoption for the perpetuation of his family.”59 Further, the author likens the British preoccupation with territorial expansion and materialism to “idolatry” and as the cause of “religious-​political” unrest in the subcontinent.60 In his closing statement, the pleader states his case quite bluntly: The Maharajah of Mysore is a Sovereign under a specific treaty. If he breaks it, let him by all means be punished in accordance with that treaty. But, for the British nation to permit mere land-​hunger to turn itself from the scrupulous observance of treaties, is like a descent from the spiritual to the material—​a lapse from monotheism into idolatry, which in time corrupts the governors and the governed, to the certain ruin both of India and England.61

Working within the confines of the British legal system and its theory, Mandlik’s letter demonstrates that the court of Krishnaraja III was aware of British political theology and was seeking to negotiate those concerns with Indian political theory and practice through the rhetoric of religious observance and duty. The Great Kings of Mysore, which was written within this context, introduced the “Curse of Talakadu” into the royal histories of Mysore, providing an interesting commentary on the king’s lack of an heir.62 Like so many other interventions in previous texts, the “Curse of Talakadu” is situated within the episode of Raja Wodeyar and Tirumala.63 The Great Kings of Mysore, like the Glories of the Lord of Men, describes a peaceful transition of royal power: Tirumala had been afflicted by a disease of the back and could no longer effectively rule, so he gave his throne to Raja, who was martially competent, ambitious, and, most important, from the Yaduvamsha. After retiring to Talakadu, however, the deposed

120  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III viceroy’s queen, Alamelamma, had accidentally taken jewelry from the royal treasury. These, however, were no ordinary jewels; they were the alankaras (ornamentation) of the goddess Shriranganayaki of Shrirangapattana and had been used by the priest of the Shriranganathasvami temple to decorate her murti every Tuesday and Friday. Raja Wodeyar, therefore, was obliged by his dharma as king to requisition the ornaments from the former queen. Not realizing that “it was for the benefit of the goddess,” Alamelamma refused his request, and Raja was forced to send his soldiers to seize the jewels. Seeing the army approaching and “out of the instable and jealous mental state of a woman,” Alamelamma cursed the king, wrapped all the ornaments except one nose ring into her palu (the end of the sari), and jumped into the Kaveri River.64 Although the text does not state her curse, the words are extremely well known in the region today: “Let Talakadu be sand; let Malangi [the village on the other side of the river] be a whirlpool; and let no sons come to the rulers of Mysore.”65 According to subsequent chapters of the Great Kings of Mysore (and local lore), since the time of Raja Wodeyar, Talakadu is perpetually inundated with sand, and every other king in the Wodeyar line has had to adopt an heir. The adopted king could have male offspring, but the king born as a Wodeyar would again have to adopt. As an explanatory device, the “Curse of Talakadu” narrative gives an account of the indirect biological succession of the Wodeyars and sets a historical precedent for royal adoption, even explaining the process in subsequent chapters with references to some of the same sources as Mandlik’s legal argumentation. The episode articulates the negotiation of sovereignty that is at the heart of the Great Kings of Mysore. By showing that the Wodeyar lineage is not directed solely by biological processes but is subject to divine and supernatural intervention, it directly contests the British emphasis on direct biological succession. By situating its ancestry within a divine lineage, the Great Kings of Mysore constructs a fuller world in which kingship is rooted in divinity and succession operates in accordance with divine action. With the Curse of Talakadu, the text begins to disentangle authority from the physical body of the king, which is rendered powerless to continue the line on its own. Instead, the authority over dynastic continuity is shown to ultimately be subject to metaphysical laws and divine intervention. As two sides of the same coin, the Great Kings of Mysore deliberately took into account contemporaneous concerns through its presentation of direct and indirect descent. The text painstakingly sought to recalibrate the Wodeyar divine ancestry within the new frame of linear historiographical consciousness by eliminating references to cyclical mythic time; however, the text did not neglect the divinity of Indian rulers or the role of the supernatural in guiding the events of their lineage’s past. The Great Kings of Mysore constructs a divine foundation that permeates earthly kingship in which the bodies of the kings are not confined to

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  121 the limits of normative biological processes but function as part of a supernatural world controlled and regulated by the divine.

Devotional Kingship and Divine Intervention: The Wodeyar Foundation Story in the Great Kings of Mysore The relationship between the Wodeyar kings and the divine is most apparent in the Great Kings of Mysore’s expanded version of the Wodeyars’ origins and their migration to Mysore. This foundational story elaborates upon the regional foundational paradigms, replacing the priests, saints, and pirs who previously guided soon-​to-​be kings with the deities themselves who manifest on earth to authorize and guide the Wodeyar progenitors. Thus, the authority to rule is not mediated through a religious professional, but Wodeyar kings function as king-​devotees and as religious professionals simultaneously.66 Although there might have been some influence from the largely protestant British encounter, the direct contact between the divine and the king is far from a “protestant” theological shift, that is, the priesthood of all believers. Instead, the narrative demonstrates the new role of the king as devotee par excellence, simultaneously a king and a saint, whose election is not simply related to birth or proven in battle but is rooted in his religious devotion.67 To demonstrate the devotional constitution of divine authority, the text opens the royal devotional universe to include a variety of deities located in various important regional pilgrimage sites and captures a novel approach to “big tent” Hindu devotionalism in the Mysore court.68 The plurality of devotional traditions within the court of Krishnaraja III displays the broader trend in its political approach in which kingship transcended mundane administrative concerns and was authorized by the perennial power of the divine. At this point, it would be helpful to turn to the second chapter of the Great Kings of Mysore in order to demonstrate the novel narrative approach.69 Yaduraya Comes from Dvaraka and the Details of His Dream According to instructions received from Shri Krishna in a dream, Yaduraya left the borders of Dvaraka city and reached the goddess who dwells in the Vindhya Mountains. While he performed austerities, Vindhyavasini, who had been pleased [by his devotion,] said, “I dwell upon the Mahabala mountain [also known as Chamundi Hill], which is between the Kaveri and Kapila and where I am known as Chamundeshvari. If you go to that mountain of great power and do puja to me, you will marry the daughter of the king of a city named Mysore, which is next to that mountain, and this city will fall into your hands.” After the goddess gave these instructions, Yaduraya awoke and was overjoyed. So he, accompanied by his younger brother Krishnaraya, left the Vindhya Mountains.

122  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III They went through Vijayanagara to Yadavagiri. There they bathed in the pond called Kalyani and took darshana of many gods including Yoganrisimha, Narayanasvami, and Cheluvanarayanasvami, who was the wealth of the family of Yadushekhara Maharaya. After crossing the Kaveri River and climbing the Mahabala mountain, they performed puja to the goddess Chamundeshvari, who is adishakti, the mother of the universe [jagajjananiyagi], who dwells on the mountain. They prostrated themselves with devotion before Shri Kanteshvara, who is the lord of Bhukailasa [Nanjangudu], which is one yojana [approximately twenty miles] on the right side of the mountain. That night they slept peacefully meditating on the feet of the goddess. At daybreak, the goddess came in the form of a woman and said, “Go to the southeastern portion of my mountain first thing tomorrow morning, and just as you have worshipped me, do puja to the goddess who killed Raktabija and became known as Jvalajjihva [also known as Uttanahalli] and now resides there. Then go to the Kodibhairava temple beside the pond that is behind the temple of Ishvara, who was worshipped by the Rishi Trinabindu, that is on the east side of Mysore city, and stay there. At that time, a man wearing a linga and the robes of a Jangama will come. When he sees you, he will say a few words. If you do as he says and according to the instructions I have given you in the Vindhya Mountains, everything will fall into your hands.” After she said this, she vanished. The Blessing of Shri Shri Kantheshvara After that, Yaduraya awoke and told his brother about the dream. In accordance to the words of the goddess, he joyously performed puja to the goddess Jvalamukhi. They ate breakfast and left from there. While they were taking rest in the Kodibhairava temple near the tank, which is behind Mysore’s Trineshvara temple, a great Jangama, who was wearing a saffron robe and a linga, came just as the goddess Chamundeshvari had foretold in the dream. When he saw him, Yaduraya joyously arose and honored him by touching his lotus feet. He sat back down and thought, “The words spoken by the goddess in the dream are coming true.” Then the great Jangama asked in the words of the ordinary people, “Prince, who are you? From what place did you come? What are your intentions?” Then Yaduraya recited the course of events and said, “I have been expecting darshana of your feet as was foretold by the goddess Chamundeshvari. I will do whatever you command.” Upon hearing Yaduraya’s words, the great Jangama said, “Prince, I  will tell you a secret. Previously, a valiant, brave, and wealthy king, named Shuradevaraya, who was born in the lineage of Bhoja from the Gautama gotra, left the city of Mathura along with his family for a variety of reasons. He came through Karnataka, gained wealth and the kingdom of Mysore, and lived happily because of the blessings of Shri Chamundeshvari. In the lineage

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  123 of Shuradevaraya, a king named Chamaraya was born and ruled the kingdom. He had a jewel of a daughter, but he died without a son. Here in this city, which was without a king, an evil general named Maranayaka exceedingly troubled Devajammani, the wife of that king. With my blessings, you will acquire the power to kill that wicked man. Another great Jangama will also come and give you all the instructions in detail. If you follow this, not only will you marry the king’s daughter, but you will obtain the kingship and your lineage will prosper eternally [literally: will become like the sun and the moon]. If you do whatever that great Jangama requests, I will be very happy.” After saying this, he vanished. When Yaduraya and Krishnaraya saw this, they were astonished and realized, “Shri Kantheshvara, who we saw far away [in Nanjangudu], just came here to this hill in this form [of a Jangama]. If we complete the task that the goddess has commanded, then just like the goddess Shri Chamundeshvari is our lineage goddess, Nanjangudu Shrikantheshvara will become our lineage god.” And they did puja.

The text goes on to relate the arrival of the second Jangama, the brothers’ victory, Yaduraya’s marriage, and his subsequent coronation. However, I stop here in order to discuss the incorporation of multiple devotional practices that are narrated in this version of the Wodeyar history and its vision of “big tent” Hindu devotionalism that united the three broad devotional traditions of India within the Wodeyar royal practice. In the passage quoted above, the central devotional figure is the goddess Chamundeshvari. She is heralded as the original family deity, and it is through the Wodeyar brothers’ propitiation of her that the kingdom of Mysore ultimately “fall[s]‌into their hands.” This episode closely resembles the origin stories of many previous kingdoms of the region in which local goddesses were propitiated by local rulers for military victories as they sought to establish their territory and regional influence (e.g., Ganga, Hoysala, Rashtrakuta, etc.).70 The Great Kings of Mysore, however, goes beyond the short narrative of local significance. Instead, the text connects Chamundi to the goddess of the Vindhya Mountains and her popular pilgrimage site in central India.71 The Great Kings of Mysore suggests that both goddesses are manifestations of the Goddess, only known by different names in her different abodes. By connecting the Mysore goddess to the well-​ known goddess from the Vindhya Mountains, the author was clearly attempting to link the local goddess to the pan-​Indic tradition by associating the goddesses and their pilgrimage sites within the text. By doing so, Krishnaraja III and his court were constructing a broad network of devotion that linked Mysore to the Hindu devotional universe beyond its borders. The text is clear, however, that these two goddesses are not equal manifesta­ tions; Chamundeshvari in Mysore is adishakti, the primordial goddess, and the

124  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III “mother of the universe” (jagajjananiyagi). No longer is the goddess of Mysore a terrifying goddess on the hill who receives human sacrifice or delights in the carnage of the battlefield. She is the Mother, the Goddess, who is not confined to one small territory but transcends political boundaries subsuming all of the Hindu universe under her domain.72 By elevating Chamundeshvari to the head of the Indian goddess pantheon, the Great Kings of Mysore alters the nature of devotionalism in the region, simultaneously expanding its scope and centering pan-​Indian goddess devotion (and its attendant claims to sovereignty) within the Mysore kingdom and its capital. In addition to the Shakta goddess material, the foundation story—​and the Great Kings of Mysore more generally—​is also decidedly Vaishnava. Beginning with the creation episode, the text is full of references to its Vaishnava identity, including many traditional Vaishnava devotional centers, such as Dvaraka and Melukote (also known as Yadavagiri). The Vaishnava undertone is not surprising, since the Wodeyar family converted to Shri Vaishnavism during the reign of Raja Wodeyar and was reaffirmed through a series of courtly reforms during the reign of Chikkadevaraya Wodeyar (r. 1673–​1704).73 The Vaishnava rhetoric in the Great Kings of Mysore, however, was toned down considerably in comparison to the vamshavali literature from previous rulers, making room for the coexistence of multiple traditions. In many of the previous literary and epigraphic sources, the Wodeyar kings were equated to incarnations of Vishnu on earth and were heralded as staunch supporters of the Shri Vaishnava lineage.74 In the Great Kings of Mysore, however, there are no references to the Wodeyar kings as Vishnu’s avataras on earth. The closest the text gets to such a claim is an episode in the fourth chapter, when Raja Wodeyar is said to have become one (aikya) with a Cheluvanarayanasvami image in Melukote.75 Even in this context, however, the text explains that he did so “in order to show that there is no difference between the gods Vishnu and Shiva.”76 Additionally, Vishnu is conspicuously absent from Yaduraya’s list of Wodeyar lineage deities (kuladevate). This is somewhat surprising, since the text is so clear that the Wodeyars’ ancestral deity is Krishna, and the pilgrimage to Melukote had been established as a lineage practice of the Wodeyar court in the Glorification of the Mountain of the Yadus (Yadavagiri Mahatmyam; c. 1677). The omission might be read as an affirmation of the openness of Krishnaraja III’s devotional program, in which the Wodeyars’ Shri Vaishnava sectarian roots are only subtly referred to in their pilgrimage through Melukote. By not emphasizing the Shri Vaishnava tradition, the text extends the scope of Wodeyar kingship by providing a pan-​Indian but largely nonsectarian Vaishnava context for the rulers that can be localized along with Chamundeshvari and Shaiva Nanjundeshvara, whose temples are situated in close proximity to Mysore and were important in local popular devotional. By deemphasizing Shri Vaishnavism, the inclusive and

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  125 pluralistic devotional program of Krishnaraja III’s court transitioned away from rigidly defined sectarian boundaries. The goal of bringing the various Hindu communities together under the banner of Krishnaraja III is perhaps most evident in the emphasis on the Virashaiva identity of the Jangama Shiva-​Nanjundeshvara.77 Virashaivas, who are called “Lingayatas” because of the small ishtalingas that are worn around their necks or “Jangama” in reference to the itinerant poet-​founders of the movement, had solidified into a jati group and had grown highly influential in many areas of the Kannada-​speaking south.78 Because of the Virashaivas’ relationship with the Keladi kings, they always had a tenuous relationship with the Wodeyars, including a rebellion during the seventeenth century that led to the armies of Cikkadevaraya killing many of the Virashaiva leaders in his territories. Thereafter, Virashaivas had never been fully incorporated into Mysore’s royal devotional network, as had the Shaiva Smarta, the Shri Vaishnava, or the Shakta/​ Goddess traditions. During the early years of Krishnaraja III’s reign, there were several Virashaivas in the Mysore court, many of whom served as informants for Wilks’s history of Mysore.79 The turning point regarding the Virashaivas in the Wodeyar devotional program came, however, after the events of the Nagara Rebellion in 1831, led by Virashaivas in the northern Mysore territory and the same rebellion that resulted in the British seizure of the Mysore administration. The origin story of the Great Kings of Mysore, which was written nearly thirty years after the rebellion and the subsequent British takeover, can be viewed as a post hoc attempt to reintegrate the Virashaiva community within the devotional worldview of Krishnaraja III, opening the text and the Wodeyar kings to the entire devotional landscape of the region.80 In Shaiva portions of the foundation material, specifically, the traditional paradigm of devotional alliance between a religious professional and a king was collapsed into a direct connection between the king and the divine, who appears as a Virashaiva ascetic. In the second chapter, at Yaduraya’s coronation, when royal power is transferred and he ascends the throne of Mysore, the Wodeyar king decrees that the tradition of the Jangamas would be accepted by all subsequent rulers of Mysore and that this would be demonstrated by adopting an ochre flag (dhvaja) and by taking Wodeyar as their family name. The first outward sign of the imperial devotional alliance is more apparent. The Mysore flag, its primary display of sovereignty, was to incorporate ochre, the color of Hindu renunciation, as its field. The text makes the connection explicit, stating that the flag should look like the robes of the Jangamas. By adopting the color of a religious professional, the flag was to be an exhibition of the Wodeyars’ acceptance of Virashaivism and an outward display of the devotional roots of their sovereignty. The second reference—​to the Wodeyar name—​is easy to overlook but is crucial to understanding how the text refashions sovereignty as devotional

126  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III endeavor and dynastic continuity through as a process of spiritual succession. The royal Wodeyar name was developed from the Vijayanagara imperial title odeyar, which denoted a small local ruler. This title was given to Bolu Chamaraja Wodeyar IV by the Vijayanagara viceroy in 1573.81 After the fall of Vijayanagara, like many other former feudatories (nayakas, palegars, etc.), the Wodeyars ruled using the title given to them by their former imperial overlords as they sought to replicate Vijayanagara’s glory by mimicking their royal patterns and incorporating their royal panegyrics. Within the Kannada-​speaking region, however, Wodeyar (odeyar) had also developed into a title or name for a leader within the Virashaiva network of priests to which the text is clearly referring.82 By reworking the narrative and providing a religious etymology for the Wodeyar name instead from the Vijayanagara imperium, the authors/​editors of the Great Kings of Mysore refashioned the entire kingdom through a devotional relationship instead of through political networks. Where previously the authorization to rule was granted by the regional imperial power, in the Great Kings of Mysore, Vijayanagara was barely mentioned. The great empire is reduced to a brief stop between important pilgrimage sites, and there is no mention of its kings or its political administration in the Mysore foundational story. By removing the original transfer of the Wodeyars’ sovereign authority from the political sphere, dynastic continuity was resituated within the realm of devotion, and the transfer of royal power came under the regulation of religion. By uniting the broad devotional traditions of India, the text was articulating a new vision of Hinduism in which sectarian identity was secondary to religious identity. United under the nonsectarian Hindu tent, Chamundeshvari, Krishna, and Shiva, the three deities of the royal devotional, worked together as separate but equal embodiments of the divine that manifested in order to guide the Wodeyars to their rightful throne. It is significant that this narrative is sandwiched between the genealogy of descent from Mahavishnu and the “Curse of Talakadu” episode, because it highlights that biological succession is not sufficient for dynastic continuity. The divine authority had to be renewed in a process of ongoing biological succession and divine election. In the case of an interregnum, which was the case in Mysore, the auspices “returned” to the deities (auspicia ad divinum patres redeunt) who as the heads of the Hindu pantheon and heads of the Mysore lineage had the sole power to authorize the next king. The gods and goddesses manifested themselves to express their election and guide the new ruler to their throne. According to the Great Kings of Mysore, the process continued through subsequent generations, even during the rule of Haidar Ali, when the goddess is said to have guided Krishnaraja III’s father, Camaraja IX, during his adoption process.83 Thus, the Great Kings of Mysore articulates a complex combination of genealogical descent and divine interaction that perpetuates

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  127 dynastic continuity even through indirect biological succession, maintaining the unbroken line of kingship within a broken lineage.

Conclusion For the court of Krishnaraja III, vamshavali or genealogical literature was a site in which they were able to fashion Krishnaraja III, and kingship more generally, by innovatively reconstructing the narratives of his ancestors and redefining the very nature of authority, power, and succession. Kingship in the Great Kings of Mysore was rearticulated in terms of devotion, supernatural power, and divine injunction. Together, divine interactions, devotional alliances, supernatural rupture of the line, and the absence of Vijayanagara in its foundation narrative suggest that the Mysore kingdom and its kings were operating within a sphere that was independent of mundane political relationships. The supernatural thrust of the narrative shows the manner in which the Mysore court was attempting to circumvent any British claims to authority over its kingdom or descent by recasting kingship as a supernatural appointment.84 In this way, Krishnaraja III’s court was addressing contemporaneous political debates of dynastic succession that were embedded within the medieval past of his genealogy. Throughout Krishnaraja III’s reign, the Mysore court renewed the existing paradigms of kingship to locate dynastic continuity, and kingship itself, into the realm of divine interaction and devotion, into his incorporeal empire.

Notes 1. Wilks 1817, 1: 1. 2. Wilks 1817, 1: xi–​xii; see also Trautmann 2012. 3. In the case of epigraphical studies, Daud Ali (2000, 166) has shown how the positivist approach to genealogical material has caused genealogies to be severely neglected and “underdevelop[ed] in the study of South Asian history.” He suggests that instead of focusing on inscriptions as documentary evidence that relates details of kings, their dynasties, and regnal years, the royal eulogies contained within these texts ought to be critically examined as a source for understanding the dynamics of making and remaking the worlds of imperial agents, what I would call royal fashioning. The same holds true for the extended genealogies and narratives in vamshavali literature. By reading the shifts in orientation and episodic narratives, scholars of Indian history can see how these texts were used to fashion political worlds. Through this methodology, we can begin to understand the role of genealogies as a site where courts contested kingship by rewriting the history of Indian politics. 4. Irschick  1994.

128  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III 5. Compare with Pariti 2015, 4. 6. Compare this with the legal emphasis of the British; see Price 1996, 44–​47. 7. Compare with Lubac 2007, 8 ff. 8. Stoker 2016. 9. Wilks 1817, 3: 467–​468. 10. See Wolffhardt 2017; Trautmann 2009; Blake 1991; Mantena 2012; Dirks 2001; Dirks 1994; Cohn 1996. 11. See Blake 1991, 131; Dirks 2001, 81–​91. The genealogical material coming out of Mysore seems to have also been guided by the Mysore court, especially by Krishnaraja III’s divan Purnayya. Purnayya was an astute and shrewd adviser, who had previously served under Tipu Sultan. He was responsible for the affairs of Mysore until Krishnaraja III came of age in 1810 and remained his aide until Krishnaraja III removed him from service in 1811. Purnayya seems to have had a way with the British and used this to effectively shape the way they viewed Mysore, its kings, and its history. From Wilks, we know that Purnayya was involved in the preparation of the manuscript of Mysore history (i.e., vamshavali) that Wilks used to write his Historical Sketches of Mysore (Wilks 1817, 1: ix). The same Purnayya was also interviewed by Francis Buchanan (1807, 60) on his journey through Mysore in 1800, who praised the minister for his erudition and his help in understanding the state of the kingdom.. 12. Blake 1991, 145; Dirks 2001, 100–​102; Wagoner 2003, 791–​794. 13. Quoted in Blake 1991, 145. See also Mantena 2012. 14. Edney 1997, 328–​329. 15. Kumar 1996, 88–​89. 16. Compare with Dirks 2001, 101–​104. The genealogical tradition in Mysore is very similar to the situation of the Jaghir in Madras around the turn of the eighteenth-​to-​ nineteenth centuries described by Eugene Irschick (1994, 70–​78). 17. Devachandra 1988, xix; see also Kumar 1996, 88–​89; compare with Sastri 1941. 18. Compare with Talbot 2015. 19. Devachandra 1988, 323. 20. See Hegde 2016. 21. Kevumpu Institute of Kannada Studies (KIKS) Mackenzie General Collection. 22. Mackenzie General Collection, ms. 3: 17. 23. Blake 1991, 131; Dirks 2001, 100–​102. 24. Cotton et al. 1992, 43–​44. 25. Trautmann 2012. 26. For interesting parallels, see recent work on the Amuktamalyada: Reddy 2011; Loewy Shacham 2015. 27. Compare with the narrative found in Davis 2004. 28. Cotton et al. 1992, 44. 29. Mackenzie General Collection, ms. 3: 17, 416. 30. Mackenzie General Collection, ms. 3: 17, 417. 31. This narrative approach to succession from Vijayanagara, which Wagoner has called a “talisman of authority,” was not entirely novel in South India and can be seen in texts such as the Rayavacakamu (c. sixteenth to seventeenth centuries CE), Keladinripa

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  129 Vijayam (c. mid-​eighteenth century), and Karnataka Rajakkal Cavistara Caritam (c. 1803) (Wagoner 1993, 23–​50; Dirks 1993, 104; Rao, Shulman, and Subrahmanyam 1992, 41). 32. The narrative of the peaceful transition of Shrirangapattana from Tirumala to Raja Wodeyar is contained in the Mysuru Nagarada Purvottara (c. 1734). Interestingly, this manuscript is generally dated to another period of political upheaval, when the Kalale dalavayis seized control of the Mysore kingdom. 33. See Wilks 1817, 3: 468–​469. 34. The decision to “restore” the Hindu kings was not immediately made by the British after the fall of Shrirangapattana. In fact, there was considerable debate about giving the kingdom to the sons of Tipu Sultan (Wilks 1817, 3: 468). In fact, it seems that many thought the “right of conquest” had rendered the territory to the line of Tipu Sultan and “extinguished the hopes of the ancient family” (Wilks 1817, 3: 467–​468). 35. Compare with Talbot 2015, 183–​218. These were extremely numerous and continued after Krishnaraja III’s reign (see Wilks 1817, 1; Orme 1805; Buchanan 1807; Scurry and Whiteway 1824; Josyer 1939; Bowring 1899; Fleet 1882; Officer in the East India Service 1819). 36. The Great Kings of Mysore was subsequently published in the Kannada journal Hithibodhini, edited by M. Venkatakrishnayya starting in March 1881. In 1916, the full run was published by Mysore Government Press by the order of Krishnaraja Wodeyar IV (r. 1902–​1940), the eldest son of Krishnaraja III’s adopted son Camaraja IX (r. 1868–​1894). The second volume, which was published in 1922, is solely devoted to the events of Krishnaraja III’s reign until the coronation of Camaraja IX in 1868 and was created for publication by the editor Ramakrishna Rao by piecing together fragmentary evidence from the palace and government records. (Wodeyar 1916, iii). 37. Wilks 1817, 3: 467–​468. 38. See Rocher 1972. 39. The British had not been the first to critique the Indian long view of time. As Truschke (2016, 219) has shown, Muslim writers, specifically Firishtah in his History, also critiqued Indian time based on the creation of Adam. 40. See Trautmann 2012. 41. Krishnaraja Wodeyar III had several sons, including Nanjaraja, who is claimed to be his heir in the Vamshavatarana Vaibhava; however, none of his sons was from his four primary wives, and, therefore, they were all considered illegitimate heirs by the British. 42. Forbes 1834; Jackson 1865. 43. The position memorandum specifically spells out that a kingdom “lapsed” when there was no legal heir and/​or when the native king failed to uphold his legal and financial responsibilities. In the case of an heirless king, there was a provision for adoption if it was approved by the British governor; however, it rarely served the interest of EIC or the Raj to approve such adoptions. Eventually, on April 16, 1867, less than three years before his death, Krishnaraja III’s adoption of his son Camaraja IX (in June 1865) was officially recognized by the British.

130  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III 44. British Library India Office Records, IOR.L.PS.6.526.48.2. 45. Krishnaraja III had given up his attempts to restore his sovereignty in the late 1840s; however, he relaunched his campaign to have his sovereignty restored and to be able to adopt a son in 1857, the year after Dalhousie’s minute. In 1861, Krishnaraja III sent an official response to Dalhousie’s minute (British Library India Office Records IOR.L.PS.6.526.48.2). 46. Jackson 1865, 5. 47. Jackson 1865, 10. 48. Jackson 1865, 14 ff. 49. See Bhattacharya 2016, 65. 50. Jackson 1865, 15–​16; compare with Kantorowicz 1997, 312, 330, 338, 380–​381. 51. Letter dated May 5, 1865, signed by John Lawrence, W. Mansfield, W. Grey, G. N. Taylor, W.  N. Massey, and H.  M. Durand. British Library India Office Records, IOR.L.PS.6.537.6.3.46. 52. Jackson 1865, 15; compare with Kantorowicz 1997, 406–​409. 53. See Rahim 1963; Jackson 1865. 54. Gopal and Prasad 2010, 80–​81. 55. June 22, 1867, 625. 56. Mandlik 1866, 1. 57. Mandlik 1866, 47. 58. Mandlik 1866, 25–​26. 59. Mandlik 1866, 25–​26. 60. Mandlik 1866, 51–​54. 61. Mandlik 1866, 57–​58. 62. It is possible that this narrative existed in the oral tradition before the composition of the Great Kings of Mysore, but the fact that it was included in the text shows that the Mysore court was interested in issues of dynastic succession. 63. See Simmons 2014b. 64. After her death, the text goes on to show that the Wodeyar king apotheosized the queen and installed an image (murti) of her within the palace that was to be worshipped by his descendants, especially in the Mahanavami rituals leading up to the great Dasara. Alamelamma’s story and self-​sacrifice are certainly part of the ritual complex surrounding powerful widows that can be seen in various parts of the southern Kannada-​speaking region memorialized in sati stones. 65. In Kannada, the curse is Talakadu maralagi, Malangi maduvagali Mysuru arasarige makkaladadirali. Locally, this curse is used to explain why the city of Talakadu is perennially inundated with sand from the banks of the Kaveri, why there are whirlpools on the Malangi side of the river, and why the Wodeyar kings cannot sire a male heir. 66. A similar process took place with the Khurda kings of Puri during roughly the same period. After they were stripped of their kingship in 1799, Mukunda Deva II was restored to power in 1809; however, he was given not his throne but the superintendence of the Jagannatha temple in Puri (see Kulke 2001, 62–​63). 67. By new here, I do not mean that the role of supreme devotee had never been claimed by Indian kings. Indeed, this was commonplace rhetoric for centuries (e.g., Vakataka

Restoring an “Ancient Hindu” Family  131 kings; see Singh 2017, 184). What is novel is that this was divorced from the opposite side of the coin, namely, military prowess. 68. For more on “big tent” Hinduism, see Stoker 2016, 17–​44. 69. Wodeyar 1916, 4–​7; my translation. 70. See Simmons 2018; Dirks 2001, 89. 71. See Humes 1990. 72. Compare with Mackenzie General Collection Catalogue n.d., ms. 17.6; Simmons 2016b. 73. Indeed, the Wodeyar family is still Shri Vaishnava and is initiated by the head of the nearby Parakala Matha. 74. Narapati Vijayam Mackenzie General Collection, ms. 3:  17; Tirumalarya 1895; EC Volume III: Nj, 296; EC Volume III: Sr, 11. There are, of course, still references to the kings that liken their appearance to that of deities. For example, when Yaduraya is married to the daughter of the pre-​Wodeyar king of Mysore, she is said to look like Rukmani, and Yaduraya was fully ornamented and looked like Krishna. 75. Raja Wodeyar’s “assumption” into the divine being is used to break down the duality between different entities, be they divine or royal or both, a reflection of Vishishtadvaita ontology and devotionalism regarding the inferiority of the physical to the metaphysical. Additionally, the narrative of assumption is quite common in other genres of South Indian literature, particularly in the hagiographies of devotional bhakti saints (e.g., Andal). By moving away from explicit references to the divinity of the kings, the text shifts the Wodeyars into the category of the foremost Vaishnava bhakti saint and thereby into a category where the king’s divinity is accorded not through biological lineage (i.e., descendants of Mahavishnu and Krishna) but through practice (e.g., Andal). 76. Wodeyar 1916, 49. 77. These narratives seem to be related to a shorter manuscript titled Mysuru Nagarada Purvottara (Mackenzie General Collection, ms. 3.11; Kuvempu Institute of Kannada Studies (KIKS), ms. KA359). This manuscript has been dated to 1740 by Rao (1946, 1: xxi) based on the chronology of events and kings given in the text which ends in 1732. The only Kannada manuscripts of this text that I have seen are later copies, so I have not been able to verify the orthography for this date. The details of the text, however, are very unusual for that period. This could be a result of many factors (most relating to the Kalale Dalavayi Regime), but in my opinion, the dating seems suspect, and this, too, might have been a colonial period narrative. 78. Ben Herut 2018. 79. Wilks 1817, 1: 514. 80. Shaiva devotionalism centered around the Nanjundeshvara temple in nearby Nanjangudu had been introduced into the Mysore courtly productions during the Dalavayi Regime (1734–​1762) and had been continued during the reign of Tipu Sultan. The Shaiva devotionalism of the Great Kings of Mysore’s foundational story, however, draws on the local folk histories and sthalapuranic traditions that record the relationship between Chamundeshvari and Nanjundeshvara (see Rajasekhara 1972; Akki 2012). In these local tales, Nanjundeshvara (also known as Nanjundasvami)

132  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III is depicted in the garb of a Jangama ascetic, who wanders through the region visiting different areas but returns to the Nanjangudu for special events. Similarly, in the Great Kings of Mysore foundation story, the deity visits the Wodeyar brothers in the guise of a Jangama, who they only later realize is Shiva-​Nanjundeshvara himself. Additionally, one could argue that the Great Kings of Mysore is linking Chamundeshvari and Nanjundeshvara as a Shiva-​Shakti through their simultaneous appointment as co-​lineage deities. This literary innovation seems to capture the local folk devotional tradition in which Nanjundasvami of Nanjangudu and Chamundi of Mysore were married. Incorporation of the folk tradition within the Great Kings of Mysore is also evidenced by the references to Jvalamukhi, who is known locally as Uttanahalli and is said to be the slayer of Raktabija, conflicting with the Puranic textual tradition in which Chamundi is the slayer of the demon. The inclusion of Jvalamukhi in the royal narrative also signals the romantic relationship between Nanjundeshvara and Chamundeshvari, as Jvalamukhi is Chamundeshvari’s younger sister, who plays go-​between for the deities. The goddess’s local name and the name of her village is Uttanahalli, or the “village in the middle.” The village lies between Chamundi Hill and Nanjangudu, so she is the go-​between goddess. As when the Great Kings of Mysore called Nanjangudu “Bhukailasa,” Uttanahalli is only referred to by the Sanskritic names “Jvalamukhi” and “Jvalajjihva,” placing the local village goddess within the context of pan-​Indic Puranic traditions. Through the incorporation of these local forms of devotionalism, the Great Kings of Mysore pulsates between immensely local traditions and broader concerns for a pan-​Indic context. Thereby, it is actively reflecting the inclusivity, the “big tent” Hinduism, of Krishnaraja III’s court. 81. Rao 1946, 1: 41. 82. The use of imperial terminology to describe the leaders of devotional institutions is an interesting phenomenon that developed during the medieval period. The term for viceroys (mahamandaleshvara) has also been employed by leaders with the Shankaracarya mathas. Truly, the religious and political institutions operated in a world of shared idioms of power or, in the words of Kantorowicz (1997, 193), “the sacerdotium had an imperial appearance and the regnum a clerical touch.” 83. Wodeyar 1916, 218. 84. Compare with Nair 2011, 63, 73.

5

Portraying Devotion I, Shri Krishnaraja Wodeyar, who am the full moon that was born by the blessed boon of Chamundikamba from ocean of milk that is the womb of Kempananjamamba, the dharma-​wife of rajadhiraja, maharaja Chamaraja-​mahipala of the Atreyasa gotra, Ashvalayana sutra, and Rig shakha; a treasure shining in the great place of Mahishura [Mysore] that governs over the kingdom of Karnataka and is the ornament to the whole earth; who has ascended the divine jeweled throne enjoyed by all maharajas, rajadhirajas, and chakravartis, foremost among them Raja the earth protector, that have descended without break from our lineage; who is the glorious maharaja, rajarajeshvara, the heroic king of unrivaled shining splendor, the punisher of those who question his titles, the sole hero of the world, the moon of the ocean of milk that is the Yadu lineage; and who has many insignias, including the conch, discus, elephant goad, ax, makara, fish, sharabha, salva, gandabherunda, dharanivaraha, Hanuman, Garuda, and the lion; in order to please our family goddess Shri Chamundeshvari and to extend my fame, performed service, naming them the “nine gems” . . . [details of the nine donations] . . . and in order to receive tirtha and prasada had my form and those of my royal queen of the Lakshmivilasa palace and my dharma-​wives of the Krishnavilasa and Ramavilasa palaces carved into devotional sculptures and installed in the presence of god along with this auspicious inscription. Krishnaraja Wodeyar III, March 15, 18291

I begin this chapter with the foundation inscription from the Prasanna Krishnasvami Temple in Mysore because it captures the relationship between lineage and devotionalism that was essential to Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s vision of dynastic continuity in the region. The inscription connects the unbroken line of the Yaduvamsha (lineage of Yadu) with the king’s acts of devotion, which are memorialized in the inscription and in the image of Krishnaraja III and his wives that he had installed in the temple. The inscription goes on to recount the details of the donations that demonstrated his largesse which had Devotional Sovereignty. Caleb Simmons, Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190088897.001.0001

134  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III extended beyond Mysore city and that were “given to the deities in various places, including Melukote, Nanjanagudu, Chamarajanagara, and Mahishuru [Mysore],” connecting all of the regionally important sites of royal religious devotion to Krishnaraja III and his lineage.2 By emphasizing lineage and patronage throughout the kingdom, Krishnaraja III and his court constructed a cultural memory of devotion. The association of the Mysore kings with regional patronage worked to cement the identity of the Wodeyar lineage as “ancient Hindu Rajahs” and to display the king and his Wodeyar predecessors as ideal king-​devotees, especially as the British restricted the king’s power in 1829 and the loss of direct rule in 1831 when the British East India company seized administrative control of the kingdom and inaugurated the Commissioners’ Period that would continue throughout this reign. To supplement his acts of charity, Krishnaraja III commissioned a host of paintings and sculptures that display the king participating in royal devotional rituals in the palace and worshipping in various important temples throughout the region. These images, especially those in temples which will be discussed in great detail below, were placed alongside older sculptures of royal patrons at key pilgrimage sites throughout the Mysore kingdom who were identified as former Wodeyar kings, creating a visual genealogy of devotion that permeated the sacred landscape of southern Karnataka and situated the entire Wodeyar lineage in an unbroken line of regional devotionalism. In doing so, not only did Krishnaraja III and his court construct dynastic continuity through these representations of Wodeyar devotion, but they were redefining Indian kingship through a devotional lens.

Portraying the Devotional Present: Evidence of Royal Devotion through Patronage and Painting The creation of Krishnaraja III’s devotional identity was central in his court’s reformulation of Indian kingship during his reign. As we have seen in ­chapter 4, Krishnaraja III’s court was invested in defining his sovereignty through “big tent” Hinduism, in which his rule was authorized by a variety of gods and goddesses and his election based on his (and his lineage’s) exemplary devotion. Krishnaraja III and his court, therefore, went to great lengths to display his continued devotion through public displays of patronage and ritual practice. By doing so, the court fashioned the king and his sovereign authority through a public devotional identity. Krishnaraja III’s temple patronage played a vital role in the construction of his devotional and sovereign identity. Krishnaraja III, like Tipu Sultan and many regional kings before him, patronized a large network of local sacred sites, including those in Shrirangapattana, Nanjangudu, and Melukote. In the

Portraying Devotion  135 epigraphic records of these donations, including the inscription at the beginning of this chapter, he and his court related his divine authority to rule and his unbroken lineal succession directly to his patronage and devotion. Examples of this rhetoric can be seen in inscriptions recording Krishnaraja III’s donations to Chamundeshvari in the Mysore district from the early parts of his rule, including one such inscription from 1812 that was engraved in Sanskrit into the golden umbrella that hangs over the Mysore throne.3 The inscription begins, “O, Shri Krishna, lord of the earth and son of Chamaraja, the shining autumnal full moon in the milky ocean that is the Yadava lineage! O, Lord of the jeweled lion-​throne of sovereignty [samrajya] over the land [prithvi] of Karnata, who shines from the eternal lordship [aishvarya] that is given by the blessings of Shri Chamunda!” The inscription goes on to state that the position (bhadrapitha) had gone to him because of his lineal descent (kulakrama) and relates the individual blessings that Krishnaraja III would receive from all the other deities. This initial invocation reflects the premodern relationship between the ruler and the goddess through which sovereignty was initially granted and upon which kings from his line were authorized to rule: the throne of sovereignty over the land of Karnataka came from the blessings of the goddess. After the king was stripped of his administrative power after the Nagara Rebellion (1830–​1831), the nature of Krishnaraja III’s patronage changed along with his sovereign power. While some have argued that his patronage greatly diminished after the commencement of the commissioners period, Krishnaraja III regularly donated lavish, purchasable gifts, such as jewels and implements made out of precious metals, with a particular emphasis on processional accouterments and pilgrimage sponsorship, instead of the land grants (agraharas or inams) that he regularly established prior to the insurgency.4 Along with this shift in donative practices, the language of kingship found in the epigraphic record of these donations shows a reconsideration of his sovereignty. Prior to 1831, Krishnaraja III’s donative inscriptions repeatedly portrayed the king as the ruler seated on the jeweled throne, king of kings (rajadhiraja), lord of the earth (bhupati), who was born into the line of royal succession by the favor of Chamundeshvari; however, after he lost administrative power, the records of the donations became laconic, and the premodern epithets of land sovereignty were almost entirely removed.5 The change in eulogistic language demonstrates an underlying rupture within the political theory of the Mysore court. Without being able to control the land or redirect its bounty to temples and mathas via tax-​revenue-​producing land grants, Krishnaraja III had lost his dominion over the physical territory. While often overlooked, the loss of power over the land is as important in political theory as is the loss of military power or daily administration of the kingdom. The inability to control the land required Krishnaraja III and his court to shift from the model of sovereignty of his predecessors, wherein the ruler was the

136  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III master of the physical domain, to create a new model of devotional sovereignty. Krishnaraja III and his court relocated his claim to sovereign power to the metaphysical, religious realm, promoting his identity as a “Hindu” king. This shift in political practice and royal identity necessitated further innovation in the royal devotional traditions and the public representation of Krishnaraja III’s donative practices; therefore, the king and his court engaged in new modes of patronage and developed new means through which to display Wodeyar devotion and sovereign practice that helped transfer his sovereignty to the devotional realm. In this context, patronage of Kannada and Sanskrit literature, Carnatic music, and the Mysore-​style painting flourished.6 His varied and extensive patronage even earned Krishnaraja III the title “Abhinava Bhoja,” or the “New Bhoja,” referring to the eleventh-​century Paramara king known for his patronage of the arts.7 The literary and musical traditions from the court of Krishnaraja III produced an upsurge of Hindu devotional texts and songs in Kannada.8 During his reign, Krishnaraja III patronized court poets, including Aliya Lingaraja Arasu, Kempunarayana, Devapalapurada Nanjunda, and a host of others, whose contributions often focused on mythic subjects from a devotional perspective and are often said to mark the transition to modern Kannada literary forms.9 His court employed renowned musicians, such as Sadashiva Rao, Vina Venkatasubbayya, and Shunthi Venkataramanayya, many of whom were previously employed in the Tanjavur court of Serfoji II (1777–​1832) in Tamil Nadu. The court musicians were regularly called upon to perform in temples (especially the Prasanna Krishnasvami Temple) during special pujas and festivals, or, like Vina Chikka Lakshminaranappa, were appointed to a specific temple for daily duty.10 Krishnaraja III was also a great patron of dance, and during his reign, dance gurus, such as Muguru Amritappa, refined the local courtly dance style that has become known as “Mysore Bharatnatyam.”11 Likewise, many of these poets and musicians were also yakshagana theater composers, including the great Aliya Lingaraja Arasu.12 The yakshagana performances were mostly based on mythic narratives that were written in accessible and everyday Kannada and have been credited with popularizing Kannada theater.13 All of these arts are united in their royal devotional basis, which is evidenced in their artists’ invocations of deities and dedication to the king himself. The court of Krishnaraja III was creating devotional texts, songs, and performances at an exponentially increased rate, and all were crediting the patronage of the king, edifying his devotional identity and his new mode of sovereignty. The most prolific littérateur and composer of the Mysore court from this period, however, was the king himself. Krishnaraja III is credited with authoring fifty-​eight literary works, most of which are devotional or philosophical in nature. These works include Kannada versions of Sanskrit texts such as the illustrated Glorification of the Goddess (Devimahatmye), folios of which are spread

Portraying Devotion  137 throughout Europe and North America, including in the Asian Collection at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (figure 5.1).14 It has even been suggested that his famous encyclopedic work Treasure of the Glorious Truth (Shritattvanidhi) was composed as an unbound manuscript with vivid illustrations that served as a “prayer book” for the king.15 Krishnaraja III was also an accomplished musician and composer and even authored two books on dance and musical theory (Sara Samgraha Bharata and Svara Cudamani). Musical composition seems to have been a devotional act for the king, as he used the pen name “Chamundi” or “Chamundeshvari” for all of his compositions. Not only was the devotional identity of Krishnaraja III being displayed through his patronage of the arts, but he established himself as the highest poet-​musician-​devotee through his own creative devotionalism.16 In addition to the literary and performing arts, Krishnaraja III employed a host of visual artists in his court. These included the noted Tippanna and Sundarayya, who were both principals in the creation of the murals of the Rangamahal in the Jaganmohan Palace (see ­chapter 6).17 The king employed painters, such as

Figure 5.1  The Goddess, Kali, and the Seven Mothers in Battle (recto), Goddess Fights a Titan and Text (verso), Folio from a Devimahatmya (Glory of the Goddess), c. 1825. Opaque watercolor, gold, and ink on paper. Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Photo © Museum Associates/​LACMA.

138  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III Tanjavur Kondayya, who, like many of the musicians, had previously worked in the Tanjavur court and helped develop the late Mysore style of painting incorporating components of Tanjavur and European styles to create what is commonly referred to as the Mysore School.18 Krishnaraja III commissioned his artists to create images from Hindu mythic narratives and genealogies and portraits of the king and the royal family. Among the portraits of the king, many depicted him in some form of devotional practice, a genre of portraiture that was becoming increasingly important throughout India at the time, including Marwar and Bikaner.19 Much like the tradition of donor and devotional temple portrait sculpture discussed below, these created an image of the king engaged in unceasing devotion.20 Krishnaraja III’s devotionalism was represented in paintings and painted lithographs that appear to have been reproduced and disseminated to the elites within his kingdom, with extant copies now housed in various museums and in the Mysore Palace, including the maharaja’s private residence. The imagery in these paintings makes public (or at least more public) the private ritual life of the king, depicting Krishnaraja III and his family members performing puja to different deities inside his palace. Three such paintings are now part of the Karnataka Government Museum, Bangalore’s collection, and can help us to understand the role that such paintings might have played in Krishnaraja III’s courtly program.21 The first painting (figure 5.2) reveals Krishnaraja III in three-​quarter view beneath a thick curtain and a crystal chandelier, seated on a low throne in padmasana (lotus position) against a soft green background. The king wears a white kacce panche (a pleated garment; Sanskrit: dhauti, Hindi: dhoti) with the matching scarf piece draped over his left shoulder. He is meagerly ornamented, with only a gold bracelet on his right arm, a ring on each hand, and gold and pearl earrings. The king is bald except for a little hair on the side and his candike (tuft of hair left on the crown of the head) and he has his signature bushy white imperial mustache. His body is covered with white vibhuti (ash) marks in groups of three (Sanskrit: tripundra); his forehead is smeared with ash and kumkuma sectarian marks (lanchana) that are typically worn by Lingayatas; and he wears a rudraksha rosary. Krishnaraja III conducts pushpapuja (flower offering) with his right hand to a small linga that he holds in his left. In front of the king are all the ritual accouterments for the puja, including the lamp, bell, tirtha (ritual water), and so on. He is accompanied by Brahmins, with four in front of him helping with the ritual and one behind him overseeing the puja.22 The totality of the painting signals Shaiva asceticism, not the sumptuousness of royal life.23 In the next image (figure 5.3), Krishnaraja III is depicted alone in one of the palace shrines, performing puja to an image of Virabhadra. The king wears a panche similar to that in the previous image but is much more heavily

Portraying Devotion  139

Figure 5.2  Krishnaraja III performing linga puja. Government Museum, Bangalore. Photo by the author, with permission.

ornamented, wearing gold and pearl jewelry.24 In addition to the same representations of Shaivism, in this painting Krishnaraja III wears rudrakshas on his upper arms and wrists and a gold Lingayata ishtalinga around his neck. In this image, Krishnaraja III is shown performing an act of devotion alone. Whereas in other images he is with Brahmins or family members, in this image, we are given a glimpse of a “private” moment of royal devotion and see that Krishnaraja III’s ritual performance does not have to be mediated by Brahmin priests. In the last image, which is most likely posthumous, Krishnaraja III and one of his wives are shown seated in the palace shrine to Parvati-​Parameshvara (figure 5.4).25 The queen wears a sari, with golden and bejeweled ornaments on her wrists, ankles, ears, and nose, and holds her hands in anjalimudre (Sanskrit: anjalimudra; hand gesture of devotion). The implements of the puja sit on the floor of the shrine in front of the queen, suggesting that she will be the one performing the ritual. In this image, however, the king is not wearing vibhuti or rudrakshas, but instead, he wears a shawl and a Mysore turban (peta), underneath which his Shaiva mark (lachana) is still visible. Under his hand is a manuscript, and he holds his thumb and index finger together, forming the chakramudre, suggesting that in this scene, he will be reciting or teaching

140  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III

Figure 5.3  Krishnaraja III performing Virabhadra puja. Government Museum, Bangalore. Photo by the author, with permission.

while his queen performs the puja. As in the Virabhadra painting, there are no Brahmins present; instead, Krishnaraja III is the ritual specialist in this scene. These paintings are not important just because of their content but also because of their production. Multiple copies of these images were produced and circulated. Reproduction suggests that these images of devotion were not created solely for the consumption of the king, but they were to be shared. Given that the images in all of these paintings depict the Krishnaraja III in Shaiva devotion, wearing a forehead mark typically associated with Lingayatas, and in one case even wearing an ishtalinga, it seems likely that these images, like the foundation narrative of the Great Kings of Mysore (Shrimanmaharajavara Vamshavali; c. 1860s) discussed in c­ hapter 4, were aimed at demonstrating Virashaiva devotional practice within the inclusive Hindu devotionalism of the Mysore court. Indeed, the full spectrum of devotionalism and reproduction can be seen in a devotional portrait of Krishnaraja III that is currently in the San Diego Museum of Art (figure 5.5). This lithograph, which has been heavily painted, was published as the frontispiece to the book The Blossoming Flower of Praise to the

Figure 5.4  Krishnaraja III and wife in the palace shrine to Parvati-​Parameshvara. Government Museum, Bangalore. Photo by the author, with permission.

Figure 5.5  “Krishnaraja Wodeyar III Worships Goddess Chamundeshvari.” Photo © San Diego Museum of Art.

142  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III Gods (Devata Nama Kusuma Manjari; 1859), which was authored by Krishnaraja III and contains a series of devotional hymns. In this image that accompanied the text, the artist makes explicit the connection between Krishnaraja III’s royalty identity and his program of inclusive devotionalism. Contrary to the images discussed above, the king is not portrayed as an ascetic or teacher, but Krishnaraja III is fully adorned in the vestments of kingship, with Mughal-​style pants and overcoat, pearls, golden armor, a Mysore turban (peta) with a pearl ornament (turaya), and his royal sword hanging low on his hip. Behind the king, a young boy, presumably his yuvaraja Nanjaraja, stands holding a book open to the viewer.26 While only a few of the letters are legible, one might presume that the book is the Blossoming Flower of Praise itself. On the left side of the painting, five Shaiva priests perform puja to the large golden shrine at the center of the composition. The shrine is arranged as a pyramid, with tigers and yalis lining its side and leading up to the goddess Chamundeshvari on top. Under the goddess, there are smaller shrines to the other deities that are part of the royal devotional program of the Mysore king: Shri Kanteshvara (also known as Nanjundeshvara), Ganapati, Shri Mahavishnu, Shri Ramakrishna, Harihara, Shankaranarayana, Shiva-​Vishnu, Ardhanarishvara, Parvati-​Parameshvara, Surya-​Chandra, and Indra. This lithographic scene literally ushers the deities of Mysore into Krishnaraja III’s court, and the king, in full royal ceremonial vestment, humbly welcomes them as their devotee. In one painting, this unnamed artist was able to capture the zeitgeist of Krishnaraja III’s court, in which kingship was defined through acts of devotion.

Constructing a Devotional Past: Donative and Devotional Temple Portraiture Along with the paintings of Krishnaraja III’s devotion, his court sought to maintain its connection to regionally significant sacred sites of royal power.27 To accomplish this, stone and bronze devotional portraiture (bhakti vigraha/​ pratime) of the Wodeyar kings was placed in temples throughout southern Karnataka which ensured the kings’ eternal devotion and the perpetuity of resultant blessing on the Wodeyar lineage by the deities.28 As part of the temples’ iconographic programs, these devotional images publicly displayed Krishnaraja III and his lineage’s history of regional devotionalism and patronage, inserting the Wodeyars into the very fabric of daily temple practice and worship. Through these images, which were part of the physicality of the temple, the Wodeyar kings also became objects of devotion in their own right (including their own utsava murtis, or “processional images”), which reaffirmed the hieratic position of the lineage as agents of the divine and rulers of the devotional territory.

Portraying Devotion  143 The practice of installing images of royal patrons in devotion was carried out with some regularity in South India at least as far back as the Pallava and Chola period and continued through Vijayanagara period, but the practice saw a dramatic increase in terms of number and scale starting in the sixteenth century, especially in the Vijayanagara successor states.29 These portraits enshrine the royal devotees as part of the visual and ritual space of the temple and were complex sites of identity formation, through which Krishnaraja III’s court sought to fashion the Wodeyar lineage through patronage and devotion. They also made the king and his lineage a ubiquitous presence throughout the region, a process that began in 1829, after the British had further restricted his religious donations and insurrection was fomenting along the edges of his territory. There are at least eleven stone devotional images that have been identified as Wodeyar kings—​one that has been identified as the lineage’s legendary progenitor Yaduraya, two identified as Raja Wodeyar (r. 1578–​1617), two as Ranadhira Kanthirava Narasaraja Wodeyar (r. 16371659), one as Chikkadevaraya (r. 1673–​ 1704), and five as Krishnaraja Wodeyar III—​in the temples of the former Mysore kingdom located in Chamarajanagara, Gundlupete, Mysore, Nanjangudu, Shrirangapattana, and Melukote in various Vaishnava, Shaiva, and Goddess temples. The five kings that are represented and the temples in which they were installed were certainly not happenstance or the result of mere coincidence. These five Wodeyar kings are linked because they all ruled during important and transitional periods in Mysore’s history: Yaduraya was the founder of the Mysore dynasty; Raja Wodeyar was the successor of the Vijayanagara viceroy and established the Wodeyars in Shrirangapattana; Ranadhira Kanthirava Narasaraja Wodeyar was both the protector of the Vijayanagara emperor and his successor; Chikkadevaraya ruled over the most successful period of the Wodeyar kingdom; and Krishnaraja III “restored” the line after sixty years of subordination to its ministers. The presence of their devotional images in these regionally significant temples seeks to demonstrate the consistency and continuity of the Wodeyar kings by displaying their devotion at each of these major stages of Mysore Wodeyar history. Establishing the identity of donative and devotional portraiture in the architecture of South India was completely intertwined with the project of constructing the political history of the subcontinent. Early scholarly works on these sculptures sought to find “authentic” statues of the kings in temples that could be used to verify architectural and artistic histories.30 The project of identifying donative and devotional portraiture alongside political historiography has continued to help us understand royal patronage in South India.31 The search for the “authentic” identity regarding the donative and devotional portraiture, however, can possibly occlude the function these images served within the construction of sovereignty in South India.32 Instead, the process of identifying

144  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III kings within donative and devotional portraiture itself serves to make claims about kingship and dynastic continuity. In the case of Mysore, the identification of royal devotional sculpture as Wodeyar kings was connected to claims from the court of Krishnaraja III about his lineage’s royal religious past in the region. There is a dearth of historical evidence (inscriptions or contemporaneous literature) to date any of the images other than those of Krishnaraja III. The absence of inscriptions was not uncommon in temple donor portraiture, but it requires us to look deeper into the process by which these images were identified. I suggest that the identification of the stone sculptures as Krishnaraja III’s Wodeyar predecessors was part of the conscious attempt by Krishnaraja III’s court to refashion kingship through devotion and to display the ubiquity of his line in the important sites of royal power throughout the Mysore kingdom. That is not to say that these images were not recognized as representations of the Mysore kings prior to Krishnaraja III’s reign—​indeed, this is unknowable unless additional information comes to light—​but their identification was part of a nineteenth-​century rearticulation of South Indian sovereignty that emphasized the Wodeyar lineage, displayed the Wodeyar kings’ devotion, and elevated the kings as objects of religious devotion. Through this process, the images became reminders to both the British and the people of Mysore that the Wodeyar lineage was the “rightful” royal family, that Krishnaraja III was the “proper” successor, and that the Mysore kings were long-​standing royal patrons and devotees of the important pilgrimage sites and temples of southern Karnataka.33 As we have seen above, the display of devotionalism was important for the rearticulation of kingship and sovereignty by Krishnaraja III and his court. Temple portraiture, however, not only served to fashion the Wodeyar lineage through devotionalism, but it also created a devotional tradition in which the Wodeyar lineage and kings were also objects of devotion. This public ritual life of the temple portraiture served the important function of sacralizing the Wodeyar line.34 At the moment of Krishnaraja III’s succession, it was extremely important to immediately reestablish the royal identity of the Wodeyars, since his coronation came on the heels of the defeat of Tipu Sultan, who, along with his father, Haidar Ali, had been popular rulers and were viewed as stalwarts against British encroachment. Several chieftains from the periphery of the kingdom had already been openly critical of the validity of Wodeyar rule and their alliance with the British and had tried to rebel.35 It was necessary, then, for the court of Krishnaraja III to establish the divine authority of the Wodeyars in the cultural memory and demarcate the region as “traditional” Wodeyar territory. Once the processes of identification and the subsequent ritual program were implemented, pilgrims and devotees who went to the important temples of the region would interact with the lineage and reaffirm its divinity while they worshipped the deity and the kings, concretizing the Wodeyars’ position as divinely appointed rulers.

Portraying Devotion  145 The Wodeyar lineage was deeply integrated into the ritual landscape of southern Karnataka and reified the sacrality of the lineage and Krishnaraja III’s new vision of territory, his incorporeal devotion-​based empire. These images, therefore, created a visual devotional genealogy, a prashasti in stone, which, like the genealogical Great Kings of Mysore, made claims about the divine authority of the Wodeyar lineage and the restoration of Krishnaraja III.36 Of the eleven devotional portraits that are identified as Wodeyar kings, five depict Krishnaraja III and his family in devotion. They are located in the Nanjundeshvarasvami temple in Nanjangudu, the Cheluvanarayanasvami temple in Melukote, the Chamundeshvari temple on Chamundi Hill, the Prasanna Krishnasvami temple inside the Mysore Palace fort walls, and the Chamarajeshvara temple in Chamarajanagara. All of these images bear striking similarities in style, composition, and medium. Each of the images is intricately carved in the round in dark stone and depicts Krishnaraja III with members of his family, their hands joined in devotion in the anjalimudre. The king’s eyes are painted in high-​contrasting white with black pupils, showing that at some point in the past, the image was ritually enlivened. The king is depicted with all of his royal accouterments, in similar fashion to the image from the Blossoming Flower of Praise (see figure 5.5). His queens are depicted about two-​thirds his size, with their hair knotted to their right side. They, too, are shown in traditional dress, wearing saris and blouses (ravike), along with the same jewelry as the king, with the addition of an armlet on the upper arm and an ornament in the part of the hair. Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s son and yuvaraja Nanjaraja—​who was deemed an illegitimate heir by the British—​is depicted in the images in Nanjangudu and Chamarajanagara and appears in very similar style to the king, though with a much simpler hat, and only about half the size of the queens.37 In each case, the stone images are accompanied by a smaller metal utsava vigraha (“festival/​processional image”) of all the royal devotees, which would be used in ritual and in festival processions. Although the iconography is similar in each case, each image plays a unique and important role in diffusing the devotional sovereignty of Krishnaraja III throughout the region.

Nanjangudu Since its construction in the Hoysala period (c. thirteenth century CE), the Shaiva Nanjundeshvarasvami temple in Nanjangudu near Mysore City had been an important site for patronage and devotion from local rulers, including Tipu Sultan, who installed the emerald “Padshah” linga in the temple.38 Throughout the reign of Krishnaraja III, the Wodeyar king also heavily patronized the temple. He was responsible for funding several renovations and the installation of several lingas

146  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III

Figure 5.6  Devotional portrait of Krishnaraja III, his four wives, and his son Nanjaraja. Nanjundeshvara temple, Nanjangudu. Photo by the author.

and murtis that bear his name. The sculpture of Krishnaraja III in Nanjangudu is the largest of all of his devotional portraits, standing approximately 3.5 feet (107 centimeters), and includes likenesses of the king, his four wives, and his son/​yuvaraja Nanjaraja (figure 5.6).39 The image is on the inside of the southern prakara (outer wall) just southeast of the entrance into the mahamantapa, in which devotees take darshana of Nanjundeshvara in linga form. As the devotee walks in proper circumambulation (pradakshina), the image of the king is encountered after the images of the sixty-​three Shaiva Nayanmar bhakti saints. The images of the Shaiva saints were most likely installed around the same time and came from the same workshop as the image of Krishnaraja III.40 The installation of the images of the saints and the images of the king and his family were part of a single visual discourse that was associating royal Wodeyar devotion with the famed Tamil saints from the sixth to eighth centuries CE. Further, the placement suggests that the king was not just included among the great devotees but that he was also the pinnacle of saintly devotion. The importance of this temple as a site of patronage and devotion is evident in the sculptural program. Throughout the temple are numerous reliefs on the walls and floor of various royal and nonroyal patrons, who are shown with their hands pressed together in anjalimudre or on the ground performing ashtanga namaskara (full prostration). Many of these images have been added over time, reflecting the ongoing and dynamic nature of the temple’s donor base.

Portraying Devotion  147

Figure 5.7  Devotional portrait of Yaduraya Wodeyar and his wife. Nanjundeshvara temple, Nanjangudu. Photo by the author.

One of these devotional images, located on the southern outer prakara wall, has been identified as the legendary progenitor of the Wodeyar lineage in Mysore, Yaduraya (figure 5.7). The image is relatively small (approximately 18 inches, or 45 centimeters) and seems to have been carved at the time of the stone temple construction (i.e., thirteenth century).41 The portrait depicts a man in full-​ face perspective wearing a small crown, a garland, large earrings, and a panche (Sanskrit: dhauti; Hindi: dhoti). A woman in three-​quarter view wearing a sari, earrings, armlets, and anklets accompanies him to his right. Both are shown with the anjalimudre. The image is neither particularly impressive nor installed in a prominent place in the temple. It bears no inscription to link the image with the legendary ruler, and it is unclear exactly when this image was identified with Yaduraya, whose historicity is unverifiable. The identification could possibly also be linked to the reign of Krishnaraja III. As we saw in ­chapter 4, according to the foundation narrative in the Great Kings of Mysore composed during Krishnaraja III’s reign, Nanjundeshvara played a prominent role in the establishment of the Wodeyar kingdom of Mysore. In the text, Nanjundeshvara had instructed both Yaduraya and the princess of Mysore Devajammanni that they should be married, solidifying the Wodeyar claim to

148  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III the Mysore throne.42 It seems likely that the image was identified as Yaduraya during the reign of Krishnaraja III. The identification of the image of Yaduraya and the installation of Krishnaraja III’s portrait, then, both create and complete the history of the Wodeyars’ devotional legacy in the region, showing the “Hindu Rajah” and his family’s ancient relationship with the religion of the land.

Melukote The Shri Vaishnava Cheluvanarayanasvami temple in Melukote provides another example of the multiple levels on which the court of Krishnaraja III integrated the king and his lineage into the devotional landscape of southern Karnataka. Melukote ( “The Fort on High”) is a later name given to the town because of the fort built at the top of its massive stone hill. The traditional name, Yadavagiri (“The Hill of the Yadus”), was supposedly given to the city because it was the traditional sacred site for the descendants of Yadu and had been visited by Krishna in the Mahabharata and Naradiya Purana (Purana of Narada). Melukote had been a site of kingly devotion for the rulers of the region since the time of the Hoysalas. The Hoysalas had welcomed the Shri Vaishnava acharya Ramanuja, who had been exiled from the Tamil country by the Chola rulers. According to tradition, the Shri Vaishnava saint converted the Hoysala dynasty to Shri Vaishnavism and took up residence in the Melukote temple in 1098. Thereafter, the Hoysala rulers patronized the temple at Melukote, which became an important pilgrimage site for devotees from the Karnata, Tamil, and Andhra countries. The site continued to be an important center for the Vijayanagara kingdom after the Hoysalas, although they seem to have preferred Tirupati for their patronage. There is little contemporaneous evidence, but tradition holds that Raja Wodeyar chose Cheluvanarayanasvami as the Wodeyars’ tutelary deity, and it is said that he lavished gifts, including the Raja Mudi, a bejeweled diadem that the utsava murti (processional image) wears on special occasions.43 It is very possible that Raja Wodeyar did form a devotional affiliation with Melukote in order to heighten his claim to the throne of Shrirangapattana by claiming descent from the royal Lunar Yadava lineage.44 The Yadava connection, however, was not made explicit until the reign of Ranadhira Kanthirava Narasaraja in the Victory of Kanthirava Narasaraja (Kanthirava Narasaraja Vijayam; c. 1647), after which the Wodeyar kings laud their Yadava identity in almost every Mysore text and prashasti.45 Since the seventeenth century, the Wodeyars have maintained a special relationship with the temple, its matha, and Shri Vaishnavism, with the height of their devotion taking place during the reign of Chikkadevaraya, who addressed his Petitions of Chikkadevaraya (Chikkadevaraya Binnapam; c.  1700)  to the deity of the

Portraying Devotion  149

Figure 5.8  Devotional portrait of Krishnaraja III and his four wives. Cheluvanarayanasvami temple, Melukote. Photo by the author.

temple and also commissioned the Glorification of the Mountain of the Yadus (Yadavagiri Mahatmye; 1677) from Timmakavi, his court poet.46 The statute of Krishnaraja III in Melukote is approximately 2 feet (60 centimeters) tall and includes four of his wives (figure 5.8). It is located on the inside of the eastern outer wall (prakara) near the entrance to the temple, facing toward the image of the deity. It is the only portrait of Krishnaraja III that was not installed at the side and proximate to the temple’s primary image (murti). It is also his only portrait that looks directly toward the temple’s sanctum (garbha). The placement, however, mimics a small image inside the temple’s mahamantapa that has been identified as a devotional portrait of Raja Wodeyar (figure 5.9). The sculpture of Raja stands about 8 inches (20 centimeters) tall and is by far the smallest portrait identified as a Wodeyar. The image is carved in relief and is located about 1 foot (30 centimeters) high on one of the eight columns in the large pavilion (mahamantapa) of the temple just in front of the temple’s primary deity. The portrait is intricately carved and shimmers from the oil deposits accumulated over years of camphor offerings. The image depicts a mustachioed man with extremely large ears, broad shoulders, and a slight paunch, who wears a large turban and is adorned with a variety of jewels on his head, chest, arms, and legs. Although he does not carry a sword or a dagger, his shield hangs over his left arm. The portrait is certainly a royal figure and a person of quite some means;

150  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III

Figure 5.9  Devotional portrait of Raja Wodeyar. Cheluvanarayanasvami temple, Melukote. Photo by the author.

however, he demurely joins his hands in silent devotion facing the main image of the deity in the sanctum sanctorum (garbha gudi). The image identified as Raja Wodeyar is difficult to firmly date based on style, but it is clear that it was added to the column after the installation of the pillar, which tells us very little in such an old temple. What can be said about the identification of the image is, instead, based on the small inscription under the portrait. The inscription is in the modern Kannada script and reads “Raja Vateyaru”—​a misspelling of Raja Vadeyaru, which was a common spelling of Wodeyar during the nineteenth century.47 I cannot say whether the identification of this image as Raja Wodeyar predates this inscription, but it is clear through its paleography that the identification was made explicit by engraving his name during or after the reign of Krishnaraja III. This image and its identifying inscription, which could be read by any literate person of the time, served as a physical reminder of the Wodeyars’ long-​standing relationship with the temple. The Mysore court also seemed heavily invested in developing an association between Raja Wodeyar and Krishnaraja III through its devotion to

Portraying Devotion  151 Cheluvanarayanasvami at Melukote. Like Raja, Krishnaraja III endowed the temple with a jeweled crown that is similarly eponymously named the “Krishnaraja Crown” (Krishnaraja mudi) among his many other generous donations to the temple and its matha. The connection between Raja Wodeyar and Krishnaraja III and Wodeyar kingship was significant to the Mysore court because of the “Hindu Restoration” historiographical narrative. Where Raja Wodeyar (according to the Great Kings of Mysore) had ascended the throne in Shrirangapattana, restoring order from chaos within the region among the rebellions of numerous insubordinate paleyagararus ( “chieftains”) and the diseased viceroy, Krishnaraja III was similarly dealing within internal dissent and administrative problems, for which he believed his direct rule would restore the glories of his dynasty’s past.48 The connection between the two kings through their devotion to Cheluvanarayanasvami also elucidates the narrative of the apotheosis of Raja Wodeyar found in the Great Kings of Mysore: On the 13th day of the waxing moon of the Jyestha month of the Pangala year of the 1540th year of the Shalivahana calendar, Raja Wodeyar, who possessed a part of Ishvara, in order to show no distinction between Shiva [Parameshvara] or Vishnu [Narayana], mounted a white horse and came to Melukote. At the time of the mangalarati [lamp ceremony], all the people saw him become one with Narayanasvami himself and were amazed. Meanwhile, they sent word from Shrirangapattana saying that Raja Wodeyar had attained heaven.49

This scene plays on several common tropes from bhakti literature in which the paramount devotee reaches such a high state of pure devotion that he is subsumed into the divine (e.g., Andal, Mirabhai). Additionally, Raja Wodeyar is equated with Shiva (the one who possesses a part of Ishvara) and Vishnu (he becomes one with the deity in Melukote), both confirming his divine status and following the holistic devotional approach taken by Krishnaraja III’s court. There is also another subtler allusion to the king as Kalkin, the tenth incarnation of Vishnu, who similarly rides a white horse.50 The royal program of associating kings with the millennial sovereign-​god Kalkin, whose return is prophesied to take place in the kali yuga, the last stage of the cyclic time when dharma is at its lowest, to restore dharma and peace of the krita yuga (the first stage of time), was a common trope throughout premodern South India royalist literature. Krishnaraja III’s court employed this same allusion to Kalkin visually in a series of portrait paintings of Krishnaraja III that can be found in the Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery in Mysore, the San Diego Museum of Art, and various private collections. In these paintings, the king is represented atop his white horse, Jayamartanda, in a pose that appears to mimic the iconography of

152  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III Kalkin, only without his raised sword.51 Together the genealogical implications of Yadavagiri and these allusions to divine messianism suggest that if not for various insurrections and British intervention, the Wodeyar lineage could be the key to curb dharmic degradation. But as a king whose power over the physical domain or ability to lead in conquest was virtually nonexistent, Krishnaraja III’s court shifted the axis of power from the terrestrial to the transcendent. Instead of focusing on the power to possibly bring about the end of the kali yuga through conquest, through the installation and identification of devotional portraiture, the court of Krishnaraja III shifted the interest of the state to spiritual concerns and the royal identity from conqueror to devotee.

Mysore Displaying the devotional portraiture of the Wodeyar kings was also important within Mysore City, the newly established capital of Krishnaraja III’s Mysore kingdom. The largest devotional image in Mysore City is in the Chamundeshvari temple on Chamundi Hill and is approximately 3 feet (91 centimeters) tall (figure 5.10). The sculpture was installed on the south side of the ardhamantapa (Sanskrit: ardhamandapa), across from the processional image of the deity and where temple Brahmins stand as they perform puja to the main deity.52 It is the closest any image of Krishnaraja III is installed in relation to the main deity in

Figure 5.10  Devotional portrait of Krishnaraja III and three of his wives, Chamundeshvari temple, Mysore. Photo by the author.

Portraying Devotion  153 any of the temples. The image of Krishnaraja III was installed with only three of his wives (two on his left and one on his right).53 This could be related to the much smaller scale of the temple complex as compared to other temples and its corresponding lack of subsidiary images and shrines along the prakara; however, it is also possible that Krishnaraja III’s devotional image is placed closer to Chamundeshvari since she was his chosen deity and frequent beneficiary of his donative largesse. There are no other images of donors or devotees in this temple that have been identified as Wodeyar kings. This is perhaps because the only other image of a royal devotee is located in the lintel of the mahamantapa’s southern door. It depicts a king in the process of removing his own head, presumably self-​sacrifice as a devotional act (figure 5.11).54 While this image certainly harks back to the precolonial history of the Wodeyars and their devotion to the fierce goddess who was the city’s protector on the hill, this visceral depiction of bloody devotion did not fit into the identity that Krishnaraja III and his court sought to project. Within Mysore, there are, however, more images that link the Wodeyar lineage to local temple patronage and devotion. These can be found in three of the freestanding temples—​ Prasanna Krishnasvami, Lakshmikantasvami, and

Figure 5.11  King or royal performing self-​sacrifice. Chamundeshvari temple, Mysore. Photo by the author.

154  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III Trineshvarasvami—​that surround the Mysore Palace within the fort walls and have been identified as Krishnaraja III, Raja Wodeyar, and Ranadhira Kanthirava Narasaraja, respectively. These temples and the devotional images in them ensured that the king was surrounded by Shaiva and Vaishnava deities and his predecessors, centering the king’s residence among the abodes of the gods and reiterating that Krishnaraja III was the culmination of a line of great rulers and devotees. The smallest and most recent temple within the Mysore Palace walls is the Prasanna Krishnasvami temple just to the south of the main palace structure. This portrait is roughly the same size as the image in Melukote and depicts Krishnaraja III with his four queens (figure 5.12). Each bhakta is similarly represented, joining hands together in devotion to the temple’s primary deity, Bala Krishna. This devotional sculpture is located on the western wall of the mahamantapa and is the only portrait of the king that was installed on the deity’s left-​hand side (the viewer’s right side). The reason for the different placement is unclear, especially since the king had commissioned the temple’s construction and could have placed his likeness anywhere in the temple. It is possible that the unique placement is somehow related to the coterminous identity between the deity (Krishna) and the king (Krishnaraja) (see c­ hapter 6). Just to the west of the Prasanna Krishnasvami temple, there is an image of a king in devotion that has been identified as Raja Wodeyar (figure 5.13) in the

Figure 5.12  Devotional portrait of Krishnaraja III and his four wives. Prasanna Krishnasvami temple, Mysore. Photo by the author.

Portraying Devotion  155

Figure 5.13  Devotional portrait of Raja Wodeyar. Lakshmikantasvami temple, Mysore. Photo by the author.

Lakshmikantasvami temple. The figure is carved in the round in gray granite that has become black, presumably from the smoke produced by years of arati (lamp) puja. The iconography of this Raja image is quite different from the image in Melukote:  Raja is clean-​shaven; instead of a large turban, he wears a simple but high crown, and he has an unceremoniously tied panche. The image is not carved into the temple structure and has been placed in a small pavilion (mantapa) that was constructed at the site of Krishnaraja III’s coronation in 1799 CE, which is commemorated in a small inscription.55 The only other inscription in the temple is from 1853 CE and narrates the story of the deity Lakshmiramanasvami saving Raja Wodeyar from an assassination attempt.56 This same narrative is retold in the opening of the Great Kings of Mysore’s chapter on Raja Wodeyar.57 To the east of the palace, the Trineshvara temple is located against the outer wall of the Mysore fort. On the inside of this west-​facing temple’s southern outer prakara wall, two figures—​one approximately 18 inches (45 centimeters) and the other approximately 1 foot (30 centimeters)—​are carved in relief, with their hands joined and facing the garbha gudi (figure 5.14). The images are very crudely carved but are in the rounded body style that was popular during the Chola period.58 These images have been

156  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III

Figure 5.14  Devotional portrait of Ranadhira Kanthirava Narasaraja (left) and Dodda Devaraja (right). Trineshvara temple, Mysore. Photo by the author.

identified as Ranadhira Kanthirava Narasaraja (r. 1638–​1659) and his yuvaraja and eventual successor, Dodda Devaraja (r. 1659–​1673). Given the style of the sculpture, the identification of these figures as Wodeyar kings was clearly made long after the images were installed. In this image, the identification of a king and his prince is indeed unique but makes sense when the holistic devotional program of Krishnaraja III’s court is considered. As yuvaraja, Dodda Devaraja ruled as Kanthirava Narasaraja’s viceroy in Mysore, dealing with local administration while the king dealt with foreign affairs and waged war against his foes from Shrirangapattana. He was a great patron of Chamundi Hill and installed the thousand steps to its precipice, the original gopura at the entrance of the Shri Chamundeshvari temple, and the colossal Nandi at the six-​hundredth step up the hill. Although it is unclear exactly when this image was identified as Kanthirava Narasaraja and Dodda Devaraja, it retroactively inserts the same Shaiva devotion into the Wodeyar devotional history as the foundational narrative in the Great Kings of Mysore, in which Chamundi Hill and Trineshvarasvami play such a crucial role. By

Portraying Devotion  157 identifying Kanthirava Narasaraja and Dodda Devaraja with the devotional portraits in Trineshvara inside the Mysore Palace fort, it establishes the imperial ruler Kanthirava Narasaraja and the great patron Dodda Devaraja with Shaiva devotion, which was not a major part of the Wodeyar devotional program until the Dalavayi Regime starting in the 1730s. By placing all of these figures within the new royal home and in the new Wodeyar capital, the court of Krishnaraja III was recentering the kingdom of Mysore and its royal identity within Mysore City, which had formerly been its devotional, not administrative, base.

Shrirangapattana The Mysore court, however, was still concerned with the recognition of the lineage in its former seat of power. During the Siege of Shrirangapattana, the former palace of the Wodeyars had been completely destroyed by the British, and the landscape of the island had been completely changed since the rise of Tipu Sultan (the Dariya Daurat Bagh, the Haidar Gumbaz, and the Asqa mosque were the newest and best-​maintained structures). Although the island became largely uninhabited during Krishnaraja III’s rule, it was important that the town, which had for centuries been a site of regional power, become reassociated with the Wodeyars. Therefore, Krishnaraja III rebuilt the Lakshminarasimhasvami temple in Shrirangapattana, which had been the only royal temple constructed by a Wodeyar king.59 Inside this temple, on the inside wall of the northern prakara wall, is an image identified as Kanthirava Narasaraja (figure 5.15). The image is approximately 2 feet (60 centimeters) tall and depicts the king with a large crown (which resembles the raja mudi that Raja Wodeyar is said to have donated to the Cheluvanarayanasvami temple in Melukote), a small dagger, a round shield, and a large sword with curved hilt that is recognized as the king’s famed sword called “Victory of Narasimha” (vijaya narasimha). Like all the other images, the figure humbly joins his hands in supplication before the deity, giving no hint at his fierce warrior character. The portrait of Kanthirava Narasaraja comes at the culmination of a series of statues of the Shri Vaishnava alvars and acaryas as they would be encountered by devotees circumambulating the garbha, similar to the image of Krishnaraja III in relationship with the Nayanmars in Nanjangudu. Also like Krishnaraja III in Nanjangudu, Kanthirava Narasaraja is the largest and last in the series, suggesting that the subject of the sculpture is the biggest and best of the devotees. This devotee, however, has, as C. V. Rao, the colonial historian of Mysore, notes in his description, “the bearing of . . . a warrior devotee.”60 The workmanship on the floral and geometrical patterns on the king’s clothing

158  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III

Figure 5.15  Devotional portrait of Ranadhira Kanthirava Narasaraja. Lakshminarasimhasvami temple, Shrirangapattana. Photo by the author.

leaves no doubt that this is a work of nineteenth-​century Mysore sculptors, and the sculpture clearly comes from the same material, period, and school and most likely even the same workshop as the devotional images of Krishnaraja III that are found throughout the region.61 Furthermore, the content of the portrait is strikingly similar to those carved of Krishnaraja III. While this might simply be a matter of artistic style, it seems unlikely that such talented sculptors were unable to differentiate the two kings’ likenesses. Instead, the image can be read with double meaning and functions to represent both the historical and contemporaneous Wodeyar kings. As a shlesha (double meaning) image of both Kanthirava Narasaraja and Krishnaraja III, this image simultaneously recalls the time of the Wodeyars’ political and military dominance within the region while centering it through a devotional frame. Thus, like the images of Dasara found in the Rangamahal of the Jaganmohan Palace (see ­chapter 6), the portrait of the warrior-​devotee stands as an image of the latent and full potential power of Indian kingship that was only accessible through devotionalism and divine authorization for Krishnaraja III.

Portraying Devotion  159

Chamarajanagara Like the Prasanna Krishnasvami temple in Mysore, Chamarajeshvara in Chamarajanagara was commissioned by Krishnaraja III and constructed during his reign. This temple was consecrated in honor of Krishnaraja III’s late father, Chamaraja IX, who was born in the town and after whom the city was renamed. As in the temple in Nanjangudu, the image of Krishnaraja III in Chamarajanagara includes the king, his four wives, and his yuvaraja, Nanjaraja (figure 5.16). In addition to honoring his father’s birthplace, the city and the temple are much farther south than another temple that was patronized by the Wodeyars near the periphery of the Mysore territory. Therefore, the temple and the royal image worked to extend and solidify the Wodeyar devotional bases to the south. Krishnaraja III’s construction of Chamarajeshvara was not entirely novel and was modeled on a similar donation by Chikkadevaraya Wodeyar (r. 1673–​1704). Nearby in Gundlupete (also known as Gundlupet), the seventeenth-​century king had commissioned the Paravasudeva temple in honor of his father, Dodda Devaraja (r. 1659–​1673). The only contemporaneous record of this temple is a copperplate inscription that recorded a short eulogy of the king, his reasons for the grant (i.e., so his father would attain Vaikunta), the details of the building, and the agrahara from which it was to receive its income.62 In the Great Kings of

Figure 5.16  Devotional portrait of Krishnaraja III, his four wives, and his son Nanjaraja. Chamarajeshvara temple, Chamarajanagara. Photo by the author.

160  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III

Figure 5.17  Royal portrait of Chikkadevaraya. Paravasudeva temple, Chamarajanagara. Photo by the author.

Mysore, the details of the temple and its commission were repeated; however, the text adds that Chikkadevaraya “had his own devotional image [bhakti vigraha] sitting on a lion throne with his crown sloping to the side made on a column of the temple.”63 In this temple, there is an image of a king seated on a throne on a column in the mahamantapa that has been identified as Chikkadevaraya (figure 5.17).64 The image is very different from all of the other devotional portraits that have been discussed. Whereas all the other kings have been dressed modestly and stand with their hands joined in devotion, this king enjoys the luxury of royal life, sitting on his throne and resting against a cushion. The king is dressed in a heavily ornamented and pleated panche and wears various jewelry, including bracelets, armlets, anklets, and royal chest ornamentation that drapes from the shoulder and crosses on the chest (channavira vaikakshaka). Other references to sumptuous courtly life, such as musicians and dancers, surround the image of the king on other pillars and throughout the temple. Stylistically, the sculpture is from the same artistic genealogy of royal portraiture that depicts court

Portraying Devotion  161 scenes found in Karnataka during the late Hoysala (c. thirteenth and fourteenth centuries) and Vijayanagara periods (fourteenth to early seventeenth centuries) and carries over into the Successor States period (seventeenth to eighteenth centuries).65 Additionally, the style of the sloping crown (varashikhi) suggests that the image is indeed from the period of Vijayanagara successor states in the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century. It is therefore quite likely that this image was indeed installed during the construction of the temple and depicts the Wodeyar ruler Chikkadevaraya. If this is indeed a donor portrait of Chikkadevaraya, the style of sculpture would further call into question the images at Nanjangudu, Melukote, and Mysore that were identified as Krishnaraja III’s predecessors, making it less likely that they could have been created or installed during the Wodeyar period. While the image might be a donor portrait of the Wodeyar king, it is not a “devotional” portrait in the same sense as the other sculptures that have been identified as Wodeyar kings. Instead, it is an image about sovereign status and courtly culture. The copperplate inscription that recorded the construction of the temple even connects this “act of charity” with Chikkadevaraya’s sovereignty: “Thus, the king Chikkadeva—​a stage manager in the beautiful drama played by the actress that is at his command, dancing over the jeweled crowns of all kings—​while engaged in performing all the acts of dharma desired to construct this agrahara.”66 The inscription frames kingship and this act of charity by demonstrating his dominion over the land and his command over other kings—​a version of kingship at odds with the political realities of Krishnaraja III’s court in the later parts of his reign. The court of Krishnaraja III was clearly aware of this image, and it perhaps even served as the impetus for Krishnaraja III’s entire project of installing and identifying devotional portraiture of his lineage. In the Great Kings of Mysore, however, Krishnaraja III and his court seem to be invested in reshaping the narrative around this image, consciously attempting to redefine the portrait as an image of royal devotion by calling it a bhakti vigraha. By explicitly describing the sculpture as an image of the king in devotion, the text reframes the display of courtly sumptuousness, reconstituting Indian royal aesthetics solely in terms of royal devotionalism. Krishnaraja III’s court did not promote or patronize this temple but let its ritual practice lapse and the temple fall to ruin along with its presentation of Wodeyar sovereignty. Through the processes of installation and identification of these devotional images, the court of Krishnaraja III displayed a prashasti of the entire Wodeyar line within a devotional context and consciously refashioned of the identity of the lineage as an unbroken line of devotees. The devotional images, like their epigraphic and literary equivalents from reign of Krishnaraja III, display Wodeyar devotion throughout their kingdom and reaffirm within the culture memory the

162  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III Wodeyars’ premodern presence in the region and their claims to sovereignty as the “ancient Hindoo” kings.

Conclusion As the British increased the restrictions on Krishnaraja III’s religious endowments in the mid-​1820s, the king and his court began actively portraying the Mysore sovereign and his predecessors in perpetual devotion. Along with the restrictions on religious patronage, especially the power to bestow revenue-​ producing land grants, the nature of royal patronage in Mysore transformed. Living off a generous stipend, Krishnaraja III used his substantial means to continue his religious donations, lavishing expensive ritual implements on temples and providing jeweled ornaments for their deities. He also turned to artistic expressions of devotion, providing patronage for a host of musicians, dancers, painters, sculptors, littérateurs, and so on, within the Mysore court. The result was the dramatic development of the arts in Mysore, but this was also central in constructing and disseminating the religious identity of the king. Images of the king in devotion circulated throughout the kingdom and displayed his ascetic lifestyle to the elite who were able to view the portraits. The production and propagation of Krishnaraja III’s religious identity, however, was not limited to elite consumption. The court of Mysore actively and programmatically went about creating a cultural memory of royal devotion by installing images of the king in important religious and pilgrimage sites throughout his territory and identifying other donative portraiture with his Wodeyar predecessors. By physically placing Krishnaraja III and his forebears in the temples, the court of Mysore displayed the Wodeyars’ historical ties to the territory and solidified their claims to sovereignty over the region as an “ancient Hindu family.” Additionally, once these images were installed and enlivened, they were not only in perpetual devotion themselves, but they became part of the ritual program of the temple, regularly receiving worship. Thus, by placing the Wodeyar kings in these temples, the lineage was sacralized for all those who visited these popular pilgrimage sites, reinforcing their place as kings within the cultural memory that the court was actively creating.

Notes 1. REC Volume V: My, 37, lines 3–​12, 34–​36; my translation. 2. REC Volume V: My 37, lines 12–​13. 3. REC Volume V: My, 97. There is no date within this inscription; however, we know that the throne was renovated in 1812 (see Nair 2011, 84n84).

Portraying Devotion  163 4. Some have noted that the king’s patronage decreased with the commencement of the commissioner administration;’ there seems to have been no major reduction in his donative largesse between the periods of direct and indirect rule (compare with Nair 2011, 72). In fact, we find more donative inscriptions from Krishnaraja III’s reign than from all the other Wodeyar kings combined, and the amount of donations recorded in dated inscriptions is quite consistent throughout his reign. The major difference between the two periods was that the king was no longer able to give land grants to Brahmins, but this was due to his administrative impotence and not a shift in his devotional fervor. There is, however, evidence that temple grants were still given only they required approval from the British Resident (see Karnataka State Archives, Dewan’s Correspondence, ms. 6146, “Grant of Land for Bagavan Bharaty’s Chattram at Bellary in Tumkur Taluk,” dated 1865). 5. This is partially due to the new limitations on gifts that the king was able to endow. Whereas large land grants and temple renovation and construction allow for large stone inscriptions and necessitate copperplate documentation, smaller gifts provided limited space for the king’s poets to eulogize his largesse. There are very rare instances where long eulogies were still inscribed in records of donations throughout his reign; however, in the final two years of his reign, they were used once again in a donation by a merchant (see REC Volume IV: Pp, 63–​64). 6. This new emphasis in the early modern Mysore court was in itself not new in Indian kingship. Indeed, courtly aesthetic culture was central in the fashioning of sovereignty for centuries. See Pollock 2006a; Ali 2004. Truschke (2016) has even shown how the aesthetic courtly culture was integrated in the Mughal court as a means through which it articulated its sovereignty. 7. See Pollock 1998. Bhoja has a long legacy in Indian courtly imagination. For more, see Ali forthcoming. 8. Krishnaraja III’s patronage of the arts is quite similar to the patronage of Serfoji II in Tanjavur (r. 1777–​1832) and Svati Tirunal Rama Varma of Travancore (r. 1813–​ 1846). For more on Serfoji II, see Peterson forthcoming. 9. Gopal and Prasad 2010, 85–​87; Havanura 2000, 162–​197; see also Arasu 1993, 116–​118. 10. Pranesh 2003, 63, 86. 11. Nandagopal 2012, 90–​91, 98–​100. 12. See Pranesh 2003, 60–​90; Vedavalli 2009, 26–​31. 13. Gopal and Prasad 2010, 88. 14. The folios from this manuscript are scattered across the globe in museum and personal collections. Another notable folio can be found at the University of California’s Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive, http://​www.oac.cdlib.org/​ark:/​ 13030/​kt696nb1k7/​?brand=oac4. For more on the Mysore Devimahatmye, see Dehejia and Coburn 1999; Del Bontà 2000. 15. Odeyar 1997, xix. 16. Krishnaraja III’s use of devotion and rhetoric of religion and patronage is similar to developments in the devadasi community sprearheaded by Arumuka Navalar during the same period. See Soneji 2010. 17. For more information, see MAR 1918, 29; MAR 1943, 39–​40; Rao and Sastry 1980, 39.

164  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III 18. See Nair 2011, 64–​66. 19. See Diamond 2008; Aitken 2017, 46–​47; Aitken 2016; Aitken 2010; Desai 1994. 20. Or as Branfoot (2018) has suggested about South India portraiture more generally, “These portraits do not simply represent the physical appearance of their subjects . . . but were instead actively involved in the construction of the subject’s public identity.” 21. Special thanks to Robert Del Bontà for his help in dating the paintings of Krishnaraja III. 22. Compare with Diamond 2008, 35. 23. The ascetic signaling here could also represent a form of ritual control. As Inden has argued, the king was expected to control his kingdom, providing protection to his subjects. For Krishnaraja III, the control of self through asceticism could have been the enactment of control through the ritual microcosm-​macrocosm principle of kingship (see Inden 1998, 50–​51). 24. This includes the ring with a red stone worn on the pinkie finger of his right hand, which seems to be an identifying feature of Krishnaraja III’s devotional portraiture. 25. This painting is part of the same series as the Ashmolean Museum’s portrait of Krishnaraja Wodeyar III from the Howard Hodgkin Collection. The identity of the king is certain because he wears the same exact panche as in the previous two images and the same pinkie ring that he wore in the painting of the Virabhadra puja, and, of course, he has his signature mustache. http://​jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/​collection/​6980/​9856/​9934. Topsfield (2012) has suggested that the Ashmolean portrait was created posthumously and has been dated c. 1870. 26. The young boy has previously been identified as Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s adopted son Camaraja X. The book from which this lithograph was removed was published in 1859, four years before the birth of Camaraja X. Special thanks to Robert Del Bontà for providing the dates of this lithograph. The time period coincides with both the stone sculptures of Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and his heir, discussed below, and the Vamshavatarana Vaibhava in the Jaganmohan Palace’s Rangamahal. On the pedestal of the sculptures, the name Nanjaraja is inscribed. In the Vamshavatarana Vaibhava, we see that Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s tenth wife, Puttarangammamba, had a son named Nanjaraja, who is called the yuvaraja, or “heir,” in the accompanying inscription. This heir, however, was not accepted by the British and was considered illegitimate, since his mother was not one of the four queens allowed by Anglo-​Indian civil law code at the time. 27. Portions of this section were originally presented at the École Française d’Extrême-​ Orient’s Second “Archaeology of Bhakti” Workshop and Conference in August 2013 and appeared in the proceedings of the conference (Simmons 2016a). 28. Compare this with the images of Krishnadevaraya and Achyutaraya in Tirupati, discussed in Branfoot 2018. 29. Rabe 1997; Kaimal 1999; Kaimal 2000; Branfoot 2000; Branfoot 2012. For more on the practice more broadly in India, including the Shatavahana kingdom in the Deccan, see DeCaroli 2015, 78–​114. In a way, this practice in a modified form has continued up to the present and is perhaps more common in contemporary times as

Portraying Devotion  165 photography and mass reproduction of portraiture have made the process very easy. A good example is the small temple dedicated to the village goddess in Uttanahalli at the base of Chamundi Hill. In this temple, portraits of every heir to the throne from Mummadi Krishnaraja have been installed in the mahamantapa. 30. E.g., see Smith 1930; Vogel 1925; Aravamuthan 1931; Rao 1946. 31. E.g., Branfoot 2012; Cane 2016. This has indeed had visible implications during the British period in other regions under their control. In Ramnad during the 1830s to 1880s, priests disputed Setupati royal control over the Ramanatha temple. In an attempt to remove the ancestral claims by the kings, many of the images identified as Setupati kings were reworked by adding beards to make them appear to be ascetics, and Setupati donative inscriptions were removed. See Branfoot 2018. 32. See Kaimal 1999; Kaimal 2000. 33. This is similar to Nicholas Cane’s reading (2016, 347–​383) of the relief of Gandaraditya above the inscription detailing Cempiyan Matevi’s donation for the foundation of the stone temple at Konerirajapuram. 34. This same sentiment was expressed to me by the priest of the Lakshmiramana temple in the Mysore palace complex, which houses an image said to be Raja Wodeyar. When I asked if he still conducted worship (puja) to the image of the king, he replied that he used to perform it every morning. However, after the ratification of the 26th Amendment to the Indian Constitution that abolished all official symbols of princely states, he and his family were forced to cease the daily puja. There are, however, clear physical indications (e.g., kum-​kuma, garlands, etc.) that the daily puja is still performed. 35. Because of the hardship caused by taxes levied in cash rather than in kind, several rebellions broke out among the chieftains of the Nagara fauzdari (the former kingdom of the Keladis, Haidar Ali, and Tipu Sultan) in the northeastern periphery of the Mysore territory led by Tipu Sultan’s former general Dondiya Wagh. These rebels went so far as to dispute Wodeyar rule in favor of Tipu Sultan’s sons, which eventually led to the involvement of the British army and Colonel Wellesley and contributed to the Vellore Mutiny and the eventual relocation of the Tipu Sultan’s sons from Vellore to Calcutta in 1806. 36. See also Rabe 1997; Branfoot 2012. This is also quite similar to the Pallava narratives in the Vaikuntha Perumala temple in Kancipuram, in which the lineage is glorified through a series of narrative reliefs on the inside wall of the outer prakara, which relates the same deeds that are typically found in the inscriptional prashastis. 37. In a previous article, I misidentified this image as Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s adopted son Camaraja X (Simmons 2016a). For more on the illegitimacy of Nanjaraja, see n. 26 above. 38. The linga is made of emerald, or ace in Kannada. Tradition holds that the emerald was donated by Tipu Sultan, but there seems to be some etymological slippage between ace and padshah. For issues of dating the various stages of this temple, see MAR 1940. 39. His wives are Cheluvajammanni of Rama Vilasa, Devajammanni of Lakshmi Vilasa, Lingajammanni of Krishna Vilasa, and Mudda Krishnammanni of Samukhada Totti. 40. MAR 1940, 27. There are actually sixty-​five statues in total.

166  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III 41. MAR 1940, 24. 42. Wodeyar 1916, 4–​11. This would account for the identification of a portrait that, like Krishnaraja III’s image, includes his consort (the legendary queen even shares a name with one of Krishnaraja III’s wives). 43. REC Volume V: My, 93. 44. This would have been important for his claims to the position of regional overlord (parameshvara). See Ali 2000; Simmons 2014b. 45. Kanthirava Narasaraja Vijayam III: 1–​6; Govindavaidya 1971, 27–​28. 46. Wodeyar 1905; Timmakavi 1978; see Josyer 1939. 47. The spelling errors in the inscription (replacing long vowels with short vowels and slippage between “d” sounds and “t” sounds) are also quite common in the label inscriptions on many paintings from Mysore during Krishnaraja III’s reign. 48. His petitions to the governor-​general of India for the restoration of his direct rule make this concern extremely obvious. These records are contained in various correspondence located in the British Library’s India Office Records from 1860 to 1868, on which I hope to work much more in the near future. 49. Wodeyar 1916, 48; my translation. 50. This reference might actually be the most important of the divine associations, as it shows that the Mysore court was also aware of the Puranic royal ideal of the parameshvara described in the Vishnu Purana (see Ali 2000; Simmons 2014b). 51. Equestrian royal portraiture was not uncommon in colonial India, and its rise is also connected to European aesthetics. For more, see Tillotson 2007. 52. The Chamundeshvari temple on Chamundi Hill has not been sufficiently dated. 53. The installation of this image in 1827 is recorded in the inscription on the southern wall of the main door of the temple (REC Volume V: My, 148). 54. Robert Del Bontà has identified this image in medieval temples in southern Karnataka as a primarily Shaiva image (1981). Cynthia Talbot has suggested that this was a new development in the Kakatiya period (2001, 71). 55. REC Volume V: My, 74. 56. REC Volume V: My, 73. 57. Wodeyar 1916, 19. 58. Per personal communication with Padma Kaimal, August 2013. 59. By royal temple, I am referring to a temple that was intended primarily as a state temple visited by the royal family. He built this temple for his chosen deity, who had also been extremely important to the Vijayanagara dynasty. It is interesting to consider that Kanthirava Narasaraja chose to construct a new temple in Shrirangapattana instead of patronizing the Narasimha temple, which is also in Melukote near the Cheluvanarayanasvami temple. The Melukote temple would have been ideal, because it is a fortified temple that rests at the top of the massive rock hill and would have encapsulated the characteristics of the ruler as an able warrior. However, the deity in Melukote is Yoganarasimha, which might not have been appropriate as a symbol of the state since it connotes celibate practice instead of kingly procreation like Lakshminarasimha. Therefore, Kanthirava Narasaraja constructed his own royal temple to the east of the Shrirangapattana palace.

Portraying Devotion  167 60. Rao 1946, 1: 173 61. To my knowledge, no one has attempted to date this object except for Rao’s (1946, 1: 173) description of the statue as an “authentic statue” of Kanthirava Narasaraja. If Rao is suggesting that this image was installed by Kanthirava Narasaraja, then he is certainly wrong; however, I  do believe that the image was commissioned to portray him. 62. MAR 1934, 51–​53. 63. Wodeyar 1916, 138; my translation. 64. Rao 1946, 1: 387; MAR 1934, 52. 65. Bhatkal is a good example of this stylistic genealogy; see Branfoot and Dallapiccola 2005, 275. The content of the Cikkadevaraya image was so drastically different from the other images identified as Wodeyar kings that Rao (1946, 1: 387, pl. XXX) even included the wrong photograph of this sculpture in his history, despite the clear reference to the throne in the Shrimanmaharajavara Vamshavali. Interestingly he refers to the Shrimanmaharajavara Vamshavali but never mentions the throne. The photo he includes is very similar to the other images of precolonial devotional portraiture featuring a rounded standing king with hands joined in anjalimudre. The correct image, however, had been published years before in the Report of the Mysore Archaeological Department (MAR 1937, 22, pl. VII). 66. MAR 1934, 52.

6

Displaying Power Whose mind is a bee to the lotus feet of Chamundi, who possesses complete sovereignty given by Shrikantheshvara; who has taken initiation and performs puja to Shiva; Nanjarajavarma Krishnarajendra III rules the entire earth and shines supreme over the universe. . . . Born of the lunar lineage, ruling in the Mysore kingdom, from the everlasting lotus of Adi Yaduraya, rajadhiraja maharaja Krishnaraja shines on the lion throne in the middle of the everlasting lotus among Yaduraya and others. I meditate on the center of this heart lotus, on the son of Chamendra whose forehead shines with ash and who wears a garland of rudraksha, who wears golden cloth and enjoys pleasures desired by all, and who constantly protects the righteous. Tippanna, in his copperplate “Everlasting Lotus,” May 5, 18601 [Y]‌our Highness’s tenure of the Mysore country was not derived from ancestral claims, nor from hereditary rights, but from the free gift of the British Government. . . . Pardon me for saying that, if in the flower of your manhood, after experience of some 20 years’ rule, your Highness failed to govern your country wisely and well, what hope can there now be that you could do so? John Lawrence, governor-​general of India, to Krishnaraja III, May 5, 18652

These two passages show the discrepancy in the ways the Mysore court and the British viewed Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s sovereignty, the source of his authority, and his abilities as a ruler. For John Lawrence, the governor-​general of India, Krishnaraja III was an inept king whose only claim to sovereignty over the land was that it had been given to him by the British. For Tippanna, a Mysore courtier and painter whose copperplate served as the basis for the Rangamahal murals in the Jaganmohan Palace, Krishnaraja III still possessed ultimate sovereignty, which had been given by Shiva as a result of the king’s devotion. While it is easy to dismiss Tippanna’s encomia as mere repetition of earlier tropes—​and he does, in fact, quote verbatim the eulogy of the king from the Prasanna Krishnasvami temple in this inscription—​to do so overlooks the importance of this rhetoric at Devotional Sovereignty. Caleb Simmons, Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190088897.001.0001

170  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III a point in Krishnaraja III’s reign when he had renewed his attempts to secure the continuity of his sovereignty and his line through adoption. As we have already seen, the courts of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III sought to demonstrate the king’s (divine) authority to rule through genealogy and enacted claims to imperial succession through patterns of devotion and patronage. These claims to divine authority and imperial succession, and king fashioning in general, did not exist in a vacuum and were rooted in contestations over power, which existed in different forms and must be measured in different registers.3 Despite British military dominance and administrative control, the creations of Tippanna in the Rangamahal display a form of sovereign power that served to combat the rhetoric coming from the British government. The display of different, nonmilitary modalities of power within courtly productions was central to the negotiation of kingship in the early colonial period in India. Among the most prevalent forms of the exhibition of power in Mysore and many similar kingdoms throughout India were the visual arts, including mural paintings, illustrated manuscripts, and paperboard paintings. Visual media provided Krishnaraja III and his court with an open but subtle means to critique colonial authority and to present a different perspective on power that was rooted in Indian understandings of sovereignty. This chapter focuses on the visual culture of Krishnaraja III’s court and how it was employed to display an alternative to colonial hegemony. Following David Morgan’s work on Protestant Christian visual culture, I show how this imagery “makes possible the recognition of a visual discourse” that was “instrumentalized” in an attempt to shape political and theological ideology in Mysore.4 Given the vast corpus of visual material that was produced in the Mysore court during Krishnaraja III’s reign, I focus on the large mural complex contained in the Rangamahal as an exemplary production of this display of power while drawing on similar imagery in the literary and artistic traditions of his court, with occasional reference to others from northern and southern India to build a context for the practice in this early colonial period. Krishnaraja III’s sovereign power was on full display in the murals of the Rangamahal. The true power of the king and his murals lay in their ability to call upon remembered modes of Indian kingship. Displaying the breadth of Krishnaraja III’s sovereignty, the murals of the Rangamahal offered a counternarrative to the military and administrative power of the British. This idiom simultaneously constructed a connection to the epic and golden past of Hindu kingship that was popular in British discourse and provided a revival of Indian sovereignty and a vision of India free from British overlords. Where we have seen one vision of Tipu Sultan’s display of power that included overt military force in the murals of the Dariya Daulat Palace, in the murals of Krishnaraja III, we see an attempt to resituate sovereignty through a theological perspective.

Displaying Power  171 Drawing on genealogy and devotion, the murals of the Rangamahal in Mysore display political power that is located in connection with the divine and nullifies any British claims of superiority. Within this vision of sovereignty, however, the murals clearly display the potential for the king’s power to be actualized and enacted through political and military means, extending that divine power within the temporal realm. The display of sovereignty and power in the Rangamahal, however, was not intended as a public call to action or to change the way the British viewed kingship. Instead, they were located in the private darbar hall of one of Krishnaraja III’s secondary palaces. They were relatively secluded images to which the public would not have access and in an idiom the British would not be able to fully appreciate. Presumably, Krishnaraja III used the hall to entertain his friends and ministers and kings and dignitaries from other princely states as they discussed intimate matters and partook in the leisure activities accorded to royal life. When royals and courtiers entered the room, they were sure to see the images as displays of Krishnaraja III’s royal sway and to recognize their message. The images of the Rangamahal were, then, displays of power that were inherently subversive to the claims of the colonial project, aimed not at changing the minds of the populace but at reminding their Indian viewer—​most often Krishnaraja III himself—​of the potential that his kingship had if that power were harnessed.5

Rangamahal: An Overview The Jaganmohan Palace was constructed at the behest of Krishnaraja III and was completed toward the end of his reign in 1861. The palace is located in the Krishna Vilasa neighborhood of Mysore, immediately to the west of the Mysore Palace (Amba Vilasa) near the Venkataramanasvami temple and the Shri Vaishnava Parakala Matha. This palace was built as a retreat from the rigorous life in the main palace. It was of relatively simple style, wood and plaster construction, and only later (1900) was the grand facade added to the front exterior. Now the palace serves as both a cultural exhibition hall and the Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery. The gallery houses portraiture of the Mysore kings and their ministers, one of the world’s largest collections of oil paintings by Ravi Varma, and various paintings and curiosities from India and other parts of the world. On the third floor of the gallery, visitors who enter the exhibit of traditional games and musical instruments enter a space decorated from floorboard to crown molding with wall murals of geometric design and creatures from Indian myth. Behind locked doors to the west of this final public gallery, however, one finds the three rooms of the Rangamahal (“Hall of Color”).6 The central and largest room is covered on every inch of wall space with detailed murals that are paradigmatic

172  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III examples of the Mysore style of wall painting.7 The focal point of the murals is a large genealogical lotus on which the kings of the Wodeyar lineage have been placed. Beside the lotus on both sides, small seated figures of kings and ministers are painted, framed in red or by a palace facade and gazing upon the Wodeyar kings. At the top of the northern wall, the mural depicts the Krishnaraja III’s Dasara procession which stretches to cover the upper part of the eastern and southern walls as well. In the middle of the eastern wall, directly opposite the lineage mural, is an image of Krishnaraja III in his chariot that mirrors his image in the family lotus. Directly below the king in the Dasara procession are five hunting scenes from various sites around the Mysore kingdom, in which the king and his ministers hunt tigers, elephants, boars, bears, and buffaloes through a variety of methods. On the remaining bottom portions of the eastern wall are images of the royal cows and their calves, images of two women labeled “she who pleases the mind” (sarvachitta ranjani) and “the beauty who ends all [beauty]” (sarvanta sundari), and four smaller images of Krishna dancing with Radhe (Sanskrit: Radha). The lower portions of the northern and southern walls feature images of four royal horses, each surrounded by twenty-​six game boards created by Krishnaraja III, and portraits of the ministers with whom he played the games. The murals are bordered by arabesques of greenery on a white background, with mythic creatures placed at regular intervals. This central hall is flanked by two smaller rooms on both sides, and each has one mural on its eastern wall. The mural in the room to the north depicts another genealogical painting, Krishnaraja III’s family “tree of paradise” (kalpa vriksha). In the middle of the tree, Krishnaraja III is seated on the golden throne along with six of his wives, who dutifully fan him, bring him food and drink, and massage his feet. From this center, leaves and buds grow, registering the names of the king’s progeny from each of his twenty wives. In the small room to the south of the main hall is an image of Krishnaraja III celebrating Vasantotsava (“Spring Festival,” also known as Holi) with his wives and other members of his harem. In this image, Krishnaraja III is shown enjoying sport with the women, who dance around his central image, similar to images of Krishna’s rasa lile (Sanskrit: rasa lila). While the themes and images in the Rangamahal are quite diverse, each must be viewed as a constituent part of a greater whole. When viewed together, these murals display multiple registers of power that resituate kingship as a religious phenomenon that is only accessible through a devotional courtly apparatus and by a king who has been granted divine authority. As such, they are part of the larger project of the Mysore court which fashions Krishnaraja III and his sovereignty through the metaphysical, actively envisioning a form of kingship that is rooted in genealogy, patronage, and devotion and shared by all Indian kings. Part and parcel of this project, the Rangamahal murals demonstrate Krishnaraja

Displaying Power  173 III’s kingship by connecting his lineage to Puranic genealogies and displaying its military potential. Finally, the murals amplify these claims by implicitly equating Krishnaraja III with the deity Krishna through his domestic and leisure activities.

Image of Past: Kingship Grounded in Divine Genealogy As we have seen in previous chapters, the court of Krishnaraja III used genealogy as a site through which they could shape and fashion history in order to create both an identity for its contemporaneous king and a cultural memory of Wodeyar kingship in order to provide precedent for his sovereign claims. While the textual tradition provides much of what we know about Krishnaraja III and his court’s construction of dynastic continuity in India, the Rangamahal provides us with another perspective into how these important narratives were conceptualized in his reign.8 The court of Krishnaraja III was extremely invested in pictorial representations of the king’s line as they produced several different types of visual genealogies during his reign. This interest in genealogical paintings seems to have been short-​lived as the Mysore royals turned to more intimate family portraiture in the coming generations.9 Of all the visual genealogies produced by Krishnaraja III, the image at the center of the Rangamahal is the largest and arguably the most impressive. In this painting, his lineage is represented as an “Everlasting Lotus” (santanambuja, read: sanatanambuja) that grows out of a turquoise vase at the bottom of the mural (figure 6.1). On the top of the vase sits a crescent moon (chandra) representing the lunar lineage (chandravamsha) as the source of the genealogy that emerges. The vase is surrounded by the royal elephant, the king’s prized horse Jayamartanda, and members of the Mysore court, who raise their hands, fans, or flags toward the lotus and who also form the beginning of the Dasara procession that is depicted on the upper half of the room’s other three walls. Above the lotus, the three Wodeyar deities are shown in three circular frames that closely resemble ganjipu (Persian: ganjifah) playing cards. The lineage’s tutelary goddess, the eight-​armed Chamundeshvari, is painted in a light blue-​gray tint and is shown atop her lion mount killing the buffalo-​demon Mahishasura.10 To the left of the goddess, Shiva is represented in the form of a golden linga decorated with a garland of lotus flowers and adorned by a serene face painted in the same blue-​gray as Chamundeshvari. On the right, Vishnu in the form of baby Krishna (Bala/​Prasanna Krishna) is painted in a pinkish hue shown lying on a leaf and sucking his toe as he floats across the cosmic ocean and Brahma emerges from his navel. At the upper corners of the mural, Surya (Sun) and Chandra (Moon) are pictured on the left and right, respectively. The placement of the sun and moon immediately conjures similar images of genealogical prashastis on

174  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III

Figure 6.1  “Everlasting Lotus” genealogy. Rangamahal, Jaganmohan Palace, Mysore. Photo courtesy of Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery.

stone inscriptions that contain references to the longevity of both celestial luminaries. Below these deities, winged apsarases shower the Wodeyar lineage lotus with flowers, and musical gandharvas strum vines (Sanksrit: vina) while presumably singing the praises of the gods and kings. The lotus itself is in the shape of a large leaf, with rippling arches outlining its edges. Each of the lotus blossoms is painted in its closed position resembling a teardrop, with Wodeyar kings from the lineage and brief descriptions of their reigns at the center of each lotus bud. The kings are seated on their golden

Displaying Power  175 thrones, and each is attended by two courtiers with fly whisks. There are two styles of thrones present: the first is a low heptagonal throne with a small seat cushion upon which the earlier kings of the lineage (up to the eighty-​second generation) are seated; the second is the Mysore throne commissioned for Krishnaraja III upon which Raja Wodeyar and all subsequent kings are portrayed. The first lotus flower in the sequence is located on the right near the top of the “Everlasting Lotus.” In this bud, Vasudeva, father of the deity Krishna, is represented with a label informing us that he was the fifty-​fifth king in the Wodeyar line. From this blossom, a red tendril leads the viewer’s gaze down to the next lotus bud, labeled fifty-​six. In this bloom, Krishna is shown seated on a low throne, embracing his two wives, Rukmini and Satyabhame (Sanskrit: Satyabhama), who are attended by two female courtesans instead of the males found in the images of the other kings. From Krishna, the image moves to the right to his son Pradyumna; then it weaves down and around, producing the exact same mythical, legendary, and historical details of the lineage found in the Great Kings of Mysore (Mysuru Samsthanada Prabhugalu Shrimanmaharajavara Vamshavali; c. 1860s). Eventually, the “Everlasting Lotus” reaches its pinnacle with its penultimate image of the ninety-​fifth king, Khasa Chamaraja IX, the father of Krishnaraja III. Below Khasa Chamaraja IX, the primary subject, Krishnaraja III, the ninety-​ sixth king, is shown with his typical iconography and with two additional courtiers who appear to be either royals or military officials and are shown with their hands clasped together in devotion but with swords firmly at their sides. Krishnaraja III is represented in a large golden rectangular frame that when viewed within the overall composition could be read as an open lotus flower in full bloom. Krishnaraja III’s position relative to his father reflects the position of Krishna below Vasudeva. Side by side, the image of the king and the image of the god mirror each other. The careful composition of the painting not only alludes to their connection through the placement of the images, but it portrays the two Krishnas in a strikingly similar pose and with obvious symmetry. Both Krishnaraja III and Krishna face forward, looking directly toward the viewer (all other kings are shown in profile and three-​quarter profile). Both sit with their limbs held tightly to their bodies—​Krishnaraja III rests one arm on his lap, and the other holds a handkerchief that dangles near his knee, and Krishna fondles the breasts of his wives as they snuggle close to his chest—​while all other kings are shown open on their thrones, each with one hand to his side (either resting on a cushion or holding himself upright) and the other lifted (either holding a flower or a weapon or languidly dangling from the throne).11 The symmetry is further reified in the composition as Krishnaraja III and Krishna are the only two figures accompanied by four (instead of two) other characters within their

176  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III frames. While this might seem at first to be mere coincidence, when the images are compared to the pervading theme of Krishnaraja III-​as-​Krishna throughout the Rangamahal mural project, it is clear that the artist is making subtle yet sophisticated allusions to their co-​identity even in the “Everlasting Lotus” mural, a common theme in Indian courtly paintings of the time, especially in Rajput courts.12 I will return to this theme in more depth below in my discussion of the many scenes of leisure depicted throughout the murals. This mural painting which stretches from floor to ceiling in the Rangamahal sets the tone for the entire mural’s overarching goals and themes. It establishes the mythic/​divine roots of the lineage, it illustrates that Krishnaraja III is the culmination and flowering of the mythic line of powerful kings, and it connects Krishnaraja III to his divine namesake, all of which situate the king’s sovereignty within a different index of power.

Connection with Great Kings of Mysore The court of Krishnaraja III was heavily invested in establishing his authority on the throne of Mysore by constructing a political history that displayed his place as part of Mysore’s dynastic continuation (see ­chapters 4 and 5). The active reconstruction of the lineage’s history helped to cement his claims to ancestral kingship and could combat the British attempts to undermine his authority and political power. Of particular importance were the novel narratives that described the foundation of the lineage in Mysore through a series of devotional acts (­chapter 4). This theme of devotion carried over into the ways Krishnaraja III patronized the various traditions in his kingdom as he further sought to unify his territory through a shared devotional-​political apparatus (­chapter 5). In the “Everlasting Lotus” mural from the Rangamahal, this devotional-​political apparatus was thoroughly conceptualized and fully illustrated. In this section, I compare the “Everlasting Lotus” painting from the Rangamahal murals to the genealogical tradition in other media (particularly the textual tradition and other lotus-​style genealogical paintings) in order to show the overlapping themes and the important divergences. Through this comparison, the theological emphasis on the divine origins and the unbrokenness of dynastic continuity within the “Everlasting Lotus” becomes clearer. The narrative displayed in the genealogical painting matches the narrative of the Great Kings of Mysore. They both follow the same sequence of kings, going back to the beginning of time with the birth of Brahma from the navel of Vishnu—​the scene with which the Great Kings of Mysore begins—​since Vasudeva is listed as the fifty-​fifth king in the sequence in both the manuscript and the mural. The intertextuality between the overall composition of the Rangamahal

Displaying Power  177 and the lineage text is also present in the inscription of the family vriksha (tree) mural of Krishnaraja III and his wives (more on this below). The opening line of the inscription refers to the first lines of the Great Kings of Mysore text, stating that the vriksha recounts the details of the “lineage of Krishnaraja III that began with Mahavishnu,” connecting Krishnaraja III’s family to the beginning of time and to the creator. References to Mahavishnu as the lineage progenitor implicitly connect both murals to the textual tradition and the broader genealogical program of Krishnaraja III and his court. The painting also illustrates the rise of the kings from regional rulers to the heirs of the Vijayanagara kingdom, which parallels the description of the Wodeyar rise to political power that was systematized during Krishnaraja III’s reign. According to this tradition, as the Vijayanagara kingdom was crumbling at the beginning of the seventeenth century, Raja Wodeyar was given political control over the southern Kannada-​speaking zone by Shrirangaraya (also known as Tirumalaraya), the Vijayanagara mahamandaleshvara (viceroy). The Great Kings of Mysore records that after the official transfer of authority, Raja Wodeyar was the first Wodeyar to ascend the lion throne (simhasana) of Mysore/​ Shrirangapattana. The mural demonstrates the elevation in status and prestige subtly but directly through the shift in the stylization of the throne from the heptagonal throne of the early kings of the line and the larger lion throne of Raja and his descendants. Further, the lineage is once again framed (quite literally) through its devotional apparatus. The plurality and inclusivity in Krishnaraja III’s devotional practice is on full display as the Shakta, Shaiva, and Vaishnava traditions are represented above the family line. This affirms the details of the Wodeyar foundational narrative from the Great Kings of Mysore, in which Krishna appears to the legendary Wodeyar progenitor Yaduraya and tells the king to travel south, the goddess Chamundeshvari directs them to Mysore, and Shiva explains how they can win its throne.13 The small descriptive passages found on the mural make sure to highlight the devotion of Krishnaraja III and his father, who are both framed as great devotees and dear to both Chamundeshvari and Shiva in his form as Kantheshvara (presumably at Nanjangudu), which echoes genealogical material in eulogistic inscriptions (prashastis) from his rule. Given the similarities between the products of the nineteenth-​ century Mysore court, both the Great Kings of Mysore and the “Everlasting Lotus” mural of the Rangamahal have to be viewed as parts of the same larger project of king fashioning. However, we can see different emphases in both as different styles and media within the genealogical genre. The Great Kings of Mysore sought to demonstrate (a) the divine grant of sacred authority, (b) the succession of Hindu kingship, and (c) Wodeyar royal decorum quite explicitly through the narratives. (a) Krishna, Shiva, and Chamundi direct Yaduraya and Krishnaraya,

178  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III the legendary founders of the Wodeyar line, to undertake their migration to Mysore; (b)  the gods elect the Wodeyar progenitors, and the Vijayanagara king confers the crown of Shrirangapattana on Raja Wodeyar; and (c)  the Wodeyar kings demonstrate their propriety by proper ritual conduct during Mahanavami. The Rangamahal murals make similar claims, but they display the king’s divine nature and its potential as a unifying factor for Indian kingship. The murals, as will be discussed below, locate the Mysore kings within a broader scope of Indian kingship, extending beyond Mysore with the depictions of historical kings who attend Krishnaraja’s timeless Dasara darbar, displaying the king’s virility through images of martial and sexual prowess, and alluding to his inherent divinity by envisioning Krishnaraja as a manifestation of the deity Krishna. All of this is brought together as a large image of Dasara that, unlike Great Kings of Mysore, is all about displaying the king with all the pomp and circumstance that he is due.

Connections with Other Genealogical Paintings In addition to the Rangamahal murals, many other genealogical images from the reign of Krishnaraja III were created, but these were smaller in size and on media (e.g., paperboard or copperplate) that could be moved or circulated and, therefore, more widely viewed. These genealogical creations are more limited in their scope and their mythic imagery. Specifically, these images move away from the mythic and Puranic ancestry of the Mysore kings and disassociate Krishnaraja III from any allusions to Krishna. In a painting that is on display in the Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery titled Rulers of the Mysore Dynasty from Adiyaduraya to Maharaja Sri Krishnaraja Wadiyar III with Family Deities and Sirdars, the legendary and historical kings of the Wodeyar line are portrayed in a lotus but numbered from one (Yaduraya) to twenty-​two (Krishnaraja III) (figure 6.2). Like the Rangamahal mural, the painting also culminates in an image of Krishnaraja III at its center and follows the same pictorial narrative of the kings and their thrones. This painting displays the same devotional apparatus found in the Great Kings of Mysore depicting Chamundeshvari, Shiva, and Vishnu but with a few changes from the Rangamahal mural: Shiva is shown in anthropomorphic form, seated with his wife Parvati; Vishnu is not depicted as child Krishna but is portrayed as Mahavishnu seated with his consort Lakshmi. Further, the image adds Jvalamukhi (Uttanahalli) between Shiva and Chamundeshvari and adds Ganapati (also known as Ganesha) between the goddess and Vishnu. Jvalamukhi is painted with four arms in vibrant red. Ganapati is also represented in red, a favorite of the Mysore ruling house. In this painting, which would have been more easily circulated and perhaps had a wider audience, the divine roots and Puranic

Figure 6.2  Rulers of the Mysore Dynasty from Adiyaduraya to Maharaja Sri Krishnaraja Wadiyar III with Family Deities and Sirdars. Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery, Jaganmohan Palace, Mysore. Photo by the author, with permission.

180  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III genealogy are absent, as are any signs of Krishna either in the genealogy or in the devotional medallions of the family deities. A more permanent version of this painting exists in the form of a copperplate inscription that was composed by Tippanna, the attendant (chakara) and artists’ superintendent (chitragararige gottugara), and submitted to Krishnaraja III on May 5, 1860. The obverse of the copperplate is engraved with the twenty-​ two-​generation “Everlasting Lotus” and with the prose account (churnika) that relates the history of the line from Yaduraya to Krishnaraja III.14 The epigraphic details display knowledge of the lineage’s previous prashastis (epigraphic genealogies), praising Krishnaraja III with many of the epithets of his predecessors (e.g., rajadhiraja, parameshvara, king of the Yadu lineage, etc.) quoting directly from the king’s encomia used prior to the commissioners period. Among these details were also included a list of the many literary compositions of the king and of his kingly traits that were compared to the deities (e.g., protector of the earth like Mahavishnu; wise like Shankara; possessed of Shakti like Shanmukha; protector of devotees like Krishna). Despite these traditional panegyrics and the association of the traits of the king with deities, the text makes no explicit reference to a biological connection to the divine. The reverse of the plate is inscribed with Krishnaraja III’s family tree which is clearly the prototype of the mural in the northern small room of the Rangamahal. It might therefore be possible that this copperplate was the prototype for the Rangamahal murals, except that the scale and scope were amplified in the mural format. The tradition of the lotus-​style genealogy continued through the early years of Krishnaraja III’s adopted son Chamaraja X (also known as Chamarajendra; r. 1868–​1894), with at least one painting (c. 1871) by Venkatasubba, who had been an artist in the court of Krishnaraja III, which now hangs in the Karnataka Chitrakala Parishath in Bangalore.15 Not only was the painting created by one of the artists from Krishnaraja III’s court, but it is based on the copperplate inscription of Tippanna. This image, however, continues to move away from the representation of the divine roots of the lineage. Like the individual image from the Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery in Mysore, this painting only portrays the Mysore Wodeyar kings from Yaduraya to Chamaraja X and not the mythic kings of the Puranic-​style genealogy. This image also only displays the goddess Chamundeshvari, who is centered at the apex of the genealogical lotus and is nearly identical to her representation in the Rangalmahal. Additionally, this paperboard painting contains a prose account of the descent of the lineage (vamshavatarana gadya) briefly recounting the details of each Wodeyar king that is nearly identical to those recorded in Tippanna’s inscription in the Rangamahal.16 The style and composition of this painting, including the large opening line highlighted in bold text, is undeniably similar to the mural of the family vriksha (tree) in the northern small room of the Rangamahal. The opening

Displaying Power  181 line is verbatim in both images except that the later painting removes the reference to Mahavishnu as the cosmic progenitor of the line. Therefore, there is no reference, explicit or implicit, to the divine or Puranic origins in the genealogical image from the reign of Chamaraja X.17 When compared to these stand-​alone images, the “Everlasting Lotus” painting in the Rangamahal makes a broader claim about the roots of Krishnaraja III’s sovereignty through its effort to display the divine pedigree of the lineage and connect Krishnaraja III with Krishna. They are all, however, involved in the production of a cultural memory of Wodeyar history, Krishnaraja III, and his sovereignty. The “Everlasting Lotus” shares overlapping motifs with the textual, epigraphic, and other visual productions of Krishnaraja III’s court, but it is of a different sort altogether. This mural does not exist as a stand-​alone image or text that solely focuses on the Wodeyar lineage, extolling all of its kings. It is part of the larger Rangamahal mural that goes beyond the genealogical genre, making broader claims about Krishnaraja III’s kingship and its potential. The “Everlasting Lotus” is, however, central, as it establishes the lineage’s sacred authority that when realized has implications for temporal power.

Image of Potential: A Scene from Dasara The “Everlasting Lotus” is the central piece within the overall composition of the Rangamahal murals, but the overarching motif of the main hall is Krishnaraja III’s Dasara celebration displayed across all four walls of the room. At the center of the eastern wall, directly across from and mirroring his position in the “Everlasting Lotus,” Krishnaraja III is painted riding in a chariot drawn by six elephants, with a label under the image of the king that reads: “Vijayadashami Elephant Procession” (vijayadashamiya jambusvari, read: jambusavari) (figure 6.3). The king is seated

Figure 6.3  “Vijayadashami Elephant Procession.” Rangamahal, Jaganmohan Palace, Mysore. Photo by the author, with permission.

182  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III with thirteen supplicant ministers, two darbaris (court attendants), a driver, and his son, presumably his yuvaraja Nanjaraja, who was deemed an illegitimate heir by the British.18 The king is praised by his courtiers waving colorful flag umbrellas and raising his standards, by dancers and musicians, and by his subjects who offer him foods and grains. The king is also accompanied by a display of military power with elephants, cavalrymen, scores of foot soldiers, and even a Scottish band. The procession is clearly meant to be a public spectacle, and the mural depicts women and men of the city admiring their king from their homes. The Dasara procession continues along the bottom of the wall of the “Everlasting Lotus” mural, with five rows of Mysore military officers in formation, leading to its culmination at the base of the lotus, where numerous courtiers are seen praising the Wodeyar lineage and holding various symbols of Indian royalty, from fans and whisks to flags (dhvaja) and insignias (patake). Above the rows of parading soldiers on both sides of the “Everlasting Lotus,” there are portraits of thirty of Krishnaraja III’s court ministers and members of the royal family (three columns of five on each side) and one hundred other kings and rulers from other kingdoms around India (ten columns of five on each side), all turned to face the king and his lineage (figure 6.4). In the context of the entire mural’s composition, the “Everlasting Lotus” image with the portrait of Krishnaraja III at its center is not separate but represents the Mysore king at his Dasara darbar. In content, style, and composition, the procession and the darbar images of the Rangamahal appear to have drawn inspiration from the murals of Tipu Sultan’s Dariya Daulat Bagh in Shrirangapattana.19 Certainly, the artists of the Mysore court would have been familiar with these murals, since they had been restored by the British during Krishnaraja III’s rule at the request of Colonel Arthur Wellesley, who had turned the summer palace into his military headquarters, and later when a portrait of Krishnaraja III had been painted into the

Figure 6.4  Rangamahal Dasara Darbar. Rangamahal, Jaganmohan Palace, Mysore. Photo by the author, with permission.

Displaying Power  183 Dariya Daulat Bagh royal portraits, supposedly to cover the image of his former divan Purnayya.20 Like the images of the Dariya Daulat Bagh, the murals of the Rangamahal were consciously displaying an ethos of sovereignty in which diplomacy and warfare were central components. The Rangamahal murals, however, place this display of power within the context of Dasara, in which military power is displayed through procession, and rulers and ministers from all around India are ushered into the private Dasara darbar of Krishnaraja III. When read as an image of Dasara, the tone of the entire project, including the “Everlasting Lotus,” is amplified as an image that is not solely about claiming divine authority or transcendent power but is a statement about the relationship of divine authority and temporal power.

Mahanavami and Dasara as Royal Military Festival While today the Dasara procession of Mysore is a celebration of culture and the arts, the tradition is rooted in narratives of war and goddess devotion and has been enacted for centuries as a means of displaying all forms of royal power.21 In the Sanskrit Puranic tradition since at least the Devi Purana (c. sixth to ninth centuries CE), the celebration of the autumnal festival of the goddess has been connected to the epic battle between Devi and the buffalo demon Mahishasura and its military benefits to kings who perform this ritual form of devotion.22 By the time of the Kalika Purana, the festival was connected to the narrative of Rama and his battle with Ravana, the demon king of Lanka, in which the prince of Ayodhya is said to have performed a special puja to the goddess Durga in order to gain a boon of victory. In this context, the Kalika Purana promises military strength from the goddess for any king who performs this puja.23 The association of Navaratri, Mahanavami, and Vijayadashami with military victories continued in the Devi Bhagavata Purana, which extends the motif to include other famous mythological battles, such as Indra’s victory over Vritra, Shiva’s over Tripura, and Vishnu’s over Madhu. In addition to the mythic narratives, by the fourteenth century, the festival was widespread throughout southern and eastern India and was celebrated in small aspirant kingdoms whose devotion usually focused on the cult of the fierce, martial, and bloodthirsty emaciated goddess (Characika, Chamundi, Bhadrakali, etc.), as well as in large imperial centers.24 In the large medieval Vijayanagara empire (c. 1336–​1646), the festival grew from a celebration of the goddess’s military might (perhaps associated with the cult of Pampadevi) to an event of great pomp, in which the Vijayanagara emperor would arrange his darbar in a mandala/​koluva that enacted and displayed regional political hierarchies. This courtly configuration reflected the cosmic hierarchy of divine beings, placing the

184  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III king (parameshvara) at the center or top, the viceroys (mahamandaleshvara) on the next level, and finally, the chieftains or submagistrates (odeyars/​palegaras/​ nayakas) on the peripheral and lowest level. During this ritualized display, kings paid honor to their goddess, and feudatories were expected to pay tribute to their overlords. In return, the goddess and the king were expected to give blessings and gifts, respectively, to their admirers. As a result of this system of tribute and honor gifting, the network of hierarchical relations between regional rulers was demarcated and affirmed, and lapses in tribute were seen as challenges to the overlord’s authority and power within the region.25 This imperial system was perhaps even enacted and displayed at the grand Mahanavami platform (dibba) in the middle of the city’s royal center.26 Historically, the Mahanavami festival was a site through which power was contested not just symbolically but in a meaningful way that ordered the political worlds. Correspondingly, the Vijayadashami procession acted as a symbolic display of that power, which inaugurated the beginning of the military season during which the armies of rulers further worked out the hierarchy through combat.27

Wodeyar Foundation through the Navaratri Festival Grounded in this royal militaristic ritual landscape, Mahanavami became the prime royal festival for the Wodeyar kings. The court of Krishnaraja III was invested in establishing links to the Vijayanagara dynasty through the establishment of the Wodeyar Dasara in Shrirangapattana in 1610 CE. The narratives of the founding of the kingdom of Mysore were rooted in the passing of the mantle from the remembered imperial power to the Wodeyar kings, who rose in the wake of their predecessors’ demise. As we have seen, the later Wodeyar literary tradition from Krishnaraja III’s court considerably altered the history of the rise of the Wodeyar kings by emphasizing peaceful succession from the Vijayanagara viceroy (mahamandaleshvara) to Raja Wodeyar instead of the military coup that had been included in early literary sources, including the panegyric details in many epigraphic sources.28 Krishnaraja III’s Great Kings of Mysore further associates Raja’s coronation and his ascension to the lion throne of Shrirangapattana with the inauguration of the Wodeyar Dasara, making the royal military celebration central to Krishnaraja III’s vision of Wodeyar authenticity regarding kingly identity and its political power. In the murals of the Rangamahal and in the Great Kings of Mysore, the celebration of Dasara is rooted in a different context from that of the volatile kingdoms on the periphery of early Navaratri celebrations or the imperial political hierarchies of the Vijayanagara period. Instead, the Dasara procession in the Rangamahal is stylistically and discursively similar to the murals that display the Mysore war

Displaying Power  185 processions on the western wall of the Dariya Daulat Bagh in Shrirangapattana, in which martial and diplomatic relations were central. As part of Krishnaraja III’s larger program of creating a space for his rule and his kingdom within the British colonial framework, the Rangamahal’s Dasara represented a new form of kingship that sought to unite the various Indian kingdoms.

Dasara Darbar Mural, Imagining Indian Kingship If the “Everlasting Lotus” is the central image of the Rangamahal’s Dasara composition, Krishnaraja III on his throne must be read as an image of the king taking his seat for the nightly Dasara darbar with ministers, courtiers, and rulers from around India, present and past, ushered before the ruler and his family to take part in the display of hierarchical relationships that are central to the Dasara darbar. The collection of historical and contemporaneous personages in the mural is quite expansive. Most of the audience consists of nawabs from other contemporaneous princely states of northern and southern India (e.g., Lucknow, Channapattana, Arcot, Golconda, Vijayanagara [princely state in Andhra Pradesh], and Tiricanapalli).29 Likewise, many divans and nawabs from the Hyderabad court, present and past, are portrayed in the mural. Representing political allies and feudal chieftains, the images are similar to murals on the eastern wall of Tipu Sultan’s Dariya Daulat Bagh; however, the conglomeration of political figures in the Rangamahal expands the confederation beyond the political territories of Mysore. In Krishnaraja III’s darbar, several important historical kings who had died long before the murals were painted in the 1860s are also represented in the collection of dignitaries allied with the Mysore king, including the Mughal kings Akbar (r. 1556–​1605; shown with his minister Birbal) and Alamgir (also known as Aurangzeb; r. 1658–​1707); Ranjit Singh (founder of the Sikh empire in Punjab; r. 1799–​1839); and Serfoji II of Tanjavur (r. 1798–​ 1832). Additionally, in the center of the front row of the darbar, Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan are shown. Their inclusion in this everlasting Dasara darbar image is curious given the rhetoric of Krishnaraja III in official correspondence from the same period with the British, in which he calls Tipu Sultan a “usurper.”30 However, as inspiration in his fight against the British, the inclusion of Tipu Sultan and Haidar Ali in this pan-​Indian darbar is quite apropos.31 Within this context, they are not just seen as the lesser of two evils (vis-​à-​vis the British), but the portraits confer a high level respect and admiration for their place in Mysore’s history, with Haidar Ali (figure 6.5) receiving the appellation of the “great nawab” (dodda nawabu), the only person given that distinction in the hall. These portraits flatten time and space and usher Indian kingship writ large into one great darbar of the Wodeyar king and his lineage. Like the Mahanavami/​

186  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III

Figure 6.5  Tipu Sultan (left) and Haidar Ali (right). Rangamahal, Jaganmohan Palace, Mysore. Photo courtesy of Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery.

Dasara celebrations of Vijayanagara, whom the Wodeyars sought to emulate, and perhaps even subtly evoking Tipu Sultan’s resistance through the visual appropriation, this imagined darbar of contemporaneous and historical rulers was a means to display Krishnaraja III’s claims to sovereignty and to envision his kingship in light of great rulers of the past.32 Additionally, the British are conspicuously absent from the darbar, imagining independent Indian kingship with Krishnaraja III and his kingdom at its center.33 This representation of Mysore’s independent sovereign authority and potential power, however, stands in direct contrast to the realities of the court during the reign of Krishnaraja III. As both Michael A. Fisher and Aya Ikegame have shown, the British presence in the Mysore court was an ongoing negotiation of power and prestige that was directly related to Krishnaraja III’s sovereign identity.34 From the British perspective, their presence added to the prestige of the maharaja and was projected onto their representations of the king. The British Resident even reported to the secretary and governor-​general of India that Krishnaraja III wept most bitterly [saying] So long as he had a Resident separately deputed to his Court, he felt he was still considered as one of the Princes of India—​by his [Resident’s] removal he would be lowered to the level of a Poligar [landholder]. . . . I have more money than I spend but if I had not, I would gladly take a meal less and have the comfort and dignity of having a Resident and the Residency. . . . I will most gladly pay all the cost of the Residency Establishment including the Resident’s and Doctor’s salary [if the Residency be retained].35

Displaying Power  187 While this account is most likely an exaggeration, it demonstrates the negotiation of the British presence in the Mysore court and how each side used these debates to frame its counterpart.36 This negotiation of British presence was most evident in Mysore’s Dasara darbar, dominated by European presence, in which these “guests” had taken part in the rituals since 1805 and inaugurated the European darbar in 1814, when the king was only twenty years old.37 The European darbar was held on the evening of Ayudha Puja, the ninth and final night of Navaratri, mitigating the symbolic significance of the rituals that were meant to reaffirm the king’s sovereignty through the revitalization of his weaponry.38 Several available images of the European darbar clearly show its stark contrast to the scenes of the Rangamahal. In an engraving from 1848/​1849 titled “The Dusserah Durbar of His Highness the Maharaja of Mysore,” by F. C. Lewis, kept in the British Library Collection, Krishnaraja III is shown seated on his golden lion throne in the middle of the large public darbar, surrounded by Europeans including many British officers, and with his regalia and attendants relegated to positions deep in the background (figure 6.6).39 The engraving is a historical image in the neoclassical style, with obvious artistic license used in the portrayal of both the grandeur of the palace and the sumptuous costumes of the “natives” who pay homage to the king—​all thoroughly incorporating the orientalist motifs

Figure 6.6  Dusserah Durbar of H.H. the Maharajah of Mysore, Frederick Christian Lewis, 1846, engraved 1848, published 1850. Photo © British Library.

188  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III of the period.40 While many of the Europeans hold objects of administration (e.g., books) and warfare (swords) and his darbaris hold the implements of court (e.g., swords, whisks, trumpets, standards), Krishnaraja III is shown seated on the ceremonial Mysore throne (simhasana), passively gazing back at the viewer as his royal ax (gandukodali) lies next to his shoes down on the ground below the throne. This is a significant departure from normative ritualized Navaratri darbars, because the royal weaponry is a central component of the throne ascension ritual, as the king typically salutes the weapon and then uses it to salute the darbar. In this image, and perhaps in the Dasara darbar during this period, even the primary ritual symbol of the king’s sovereignty had been removed. In H. Sterling’s neoclassical painting titled His Highness Krishnaraja Wadiyar III in European Durbar, displayed in the Jayacamarajendra Art Gallery, the king, several years older, is shown alongside British Resident Mark Cubbon in an atmosphere of decreased pomp and significance of the ritual for the king (figure 6.7). In this portrait, the darbar hall is small and dark, and the king sits in the middle of fifteen British administrators on a small wooden chair that is only slightly higher than that of his colonial counterparts. None of the king’s standards or insignia is visible, and he is accompanied by a minister and two darbaris who hold ceremonial fly whisks, as three more attendants masked by shadows along the edges of the painting shout the panegyrics of the king and hold his scepter.41 The king holds neither of his Dasara ritual implements, as his ceremonial sword sits on the floor, leaning against his chair, and his scepter is held by a courtier almost beyond the sight of the viewer. In contrast, the British soldiers hold their swords in their laps, with their hands firmly grasping the hilt, sheath, or strap.

Figure 6.7  His Highness Krishnaraja Wadiyar III in European Durbar. Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery, Jaganmohan Palace, Mysore. Photo courtesy of Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery.

Displaying Power  189 The implication is clear: the British hold the weapons and the power of Ayudha Puja.42 Against this backdrop, the claims of the Rangamahal murals are that much more pronounced. Unlike in the European-​style paintings, no Europeans are present at Krishnaraja III’s darbar. Instead, the great kings of India, including Haidar Ali and Tipu Sultan, who stood in defiance of the British, form the inner circle of invited emissaries for the Wodeyar Dasara murals’ display. The Rangamahal, including the image of the Wodeyar lineage and the Dasara procession and darbar, constructs an alternative and a corrective to the reality of the lack of administrative and military power of princely states. The mural places Krishnaraja III at the top of the symbolic and political hierarchy by placing him at the center of the ritual. The statement is all the more powerful in the context of India in the wake of the 1857–​1858 Rebellion/​War for Independence, as British India increasingly employed Indian imperial metaphors and rituals and ultimately proclaimed Victoria as the empress of India in 1876.43

Dasara as a Goddess-​Oriented Festival The celebration of Dasara is not only a celebration of the king and his sovereignty, but it is also at its heart a devotional festival. From the early conceptions of the festival within the goddess-​oriented (Shakta) Puranic tradition, Navaratri/​ Mahanavami and Vijayadashami/​ Dasara were rooted in ritualized worship of the goddess directed at her various manifestations, and the military accomplishments that followed were both signs of her blessings and offerings to the fierce forms of the goddess and her minions.44 Throughout the vast post-​ Gupta Indian medieval period, the rituals evolved in the courts of kings, where the focus of their devotion was directed toward their lineage’s fierce local tutelary goddess.45 In the Vijayanagara festival, the ritual apparatus revitalized the kingdom by placing it within a broader cosmological hierarchy, in which the goddess supplanted the king on the throne and the king was portrayed as her principal devotee.46 Accordingly, in the Vijayanagara-​style Mahanavami celebration, the state hierarchy was displayed corporeally as the deities and sovereigns were physically and devotionally arranged: the king was devoted to the goddess, who was seated above him, and his vassals, who sat beside and below to the king, were devoted to their ruler. Therefore, while the festival expresses symbols of royal power, it is principally constituted through acts of devotion. The king, as the ruler and leader of the kingdom, serves as the model and paradigm of devotion that curries divine favor but also acts as a model for the vassal states to emulate; just as the king worships the cosmic sovereign, deferring his throne to her, so, too, should the vassal kings worship and defer to their earthly sovereign. The

190  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III analogy between the goddess and the king is a central component of the ritual apparatus that transforms the physical space into fields of parallel devotionalism with the palace, which becomes equivalent to a temple.47 The home of the deities and the home of the king are bridged through shared ritual performances in kingly and goddess rituals in Mysore’s ritual calendar surrounding Dasara. According to the Great Kings of Mysore, throughout Mahanavami in Mysore, the king is in constant ritual contact with the goddess Chamundeshvari, and his public rituals appear analogous to the rituals found in her temple. Each morning, the king is ritually bathed and anointed by Brahmin priests and dressed in his royal vestments in the presence of the goddess. Once anointed, the king performs pujas to the goddess. Then the king emerges for the darbar, as people from various important caste groups and the women of his harem eagerly view him upon his throne and give obeisance and offerings to him and receive gifts from him in return. All of these daily practices culminate in the Dasara procession, in which the king’s chariot is pulled along the street as his subjects look on. Similarly, in popular temple worship, the deity is anointed and dressed every morning, and then her inner sanctum is opened for devotees to take darshana (ritual viewing) of the goddess. Especially in the context of Mahanavami, devotees eagerly await their opportunity to give her offerings and accept the blessed prasada in return. In the Mysore context, three days after Dasara, Chamundeshvari’s Mahotsava (“Great Festival”) is inaugurated with her rathotsava ( “chariot festival”), during which her utsava vigraha (“festival image”) is placed on the large temple chariot and pulled around the temple repeatedly throughout the day. Her chariot is pulled not by elephants but by devotees, including the Maharaja of Mysore. At the conclusion of the six-​day festival, she is crowned queen of the universe in the mudiyutsava (“crown festival”).48 The parallelism between the king and the deity can also be seen in the imagery of the grandeur of procession in a large scroll painting at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London (figure 6.8).49 In this long scroll painting, the position of the king that we have seen in the jambu savari procession in the Rangamahal is replaced with the gods, as Shiva, Vishnu, and Chamundeshvari take the central position in the parade. The scroll, which was painted in nearly the same time period as the Rangamahal, incorporates many of the same images of pomp, including musicians, dancers, and so on, as in the Dasara murals, but in this case, they are all directed toward the deities at the center of the procession. Krishnaraja III, however, is hardly absent from the composition; he, as the king and devotee par excellence, leads the procession, seated within his golden hoda atop his royal elephant. This deity procession parallels the Rangamahal Dasara murals displaying the deity-​king analogy.50 The entirety of the Rangamahal composition forms a space in which the armies, royal vehicles, townspeople, ministers, and contemporaneous and historical kings are ushered before

Displaying Power  191

Figure 6.8  Scroll painting of Krishnaraja Wodeyar III in procession. Photo © Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Krishnaraja III and his lineage to pay homage to and receive darshana from the Wodeyar line. The images unite Mysore and India (as a broader concept) in time and geographic space through a shared apparatus of sovereign devotion and overlordship. In the Rangamahal, like the Vijayanagara display of hierarchy during Mahanavami, however, Krishnaraja III is ultimately subordinated to the lineage’s deities Shiva, Vishnu, and, most important, Chamundeshvari, who takes the center position above Krishnaraja III’s throne (in this and all Wodeyar lineage painting from his reign). We might therefore think of the Dasara procession and darbar in the Rangamahal’s portrayal of militarism and sovereignty as an act of nested devotion to the king and to the goddess in which the king is granted authority through his (and his lineage’s) devotion. If this authority was actualized through the ritual devotion of other Indian kings, it would provide a conduit for his potential power from the goddess to become realized as temporal political power as it had been in the past. The Dasara images of the Rangamahal make a broader claim about kingship that is shared by all Indian kings—​kingship that rests in a divine authority to which the British do not have access.

Image of God: Royal Pursuits, Domestic Bliss, and Krishna(raja) as Krishna The Rangamahal murals are made more complex by the images that are painted on the bottoms of the northern, eastern, and southern walls of the main hall and in the two smaller rooms located off to its sides. These murals work alongside the representations of the Dasara festival and darbar to display the totality

192  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III of Indian sovereignty, in which the king is a “heroic ruler and devoted servant of God, and in his pursuit of bhoga [enjoyment],” which Crispin Branfoot has identified as “aspects of early modern royal ideology” in South Indian wall paintings.51 Although these images do not address overt displays of kingship as directly as the images of the Dasara procession and darbar, their portrayal of the king’s leisure activities and domestic life continues the overarching theme of the Rangamahal aimed at constructing Krishnaraja III and his sovereignty based in divine authority above the mundane concerns of British administrative rule, including allusions to his divine connection to his namesake Krishna (see below). Additionally, they connect the Mysore court to other courtly painting traditions, especially from the Mughal and Rajput courts, in which similar depictions of kingship were increasingly produced.

Hunting and Leisure Visually, the Dasara procession transitions to the lower panels of murals through the collection of images directly below the portrait of Krishnaraja III in his Dasara chariot. This painting contains four hunting scenes on its corners, in which the king hunts tigers, boars, bears, and buffaloes, and a diamond-​shaped image of an elephant hunt in its center (figure 6.9).52 Within the composition, these images

Figure 6.9  Krishnaraja III’s hunts. Rangamahal, Jaganmohan Palace, Mysore. Photo courtesy of Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery.

Displaying Power  193 of the royal hunt serve dual functions. First, the royal hunt, in general, serves as an imitation of war and as a display of martial prowess without actually going to war.53 In the Indian context, the royal hunt was a necessary component of the overall aesthetic of virya (heroism), which was one of the most important qualities of a king.54 It was through the hunt that kings could display the boundaries of their territories and their acumen with weapons and could practice battlelike formations even during a period of peace or, in the case of Krishnaraja III, a period in which there was no other way to perform that expertise. Additionally, the particularities of the royal hunt depicted in the Rangamahal relate directly to the festivities of Dasara. In the Great Kings of Mysore, the performance of Dasara is said to also include a ritual hunt in which the king hunted (hiditarisu) “various animals, including tigers, boars, bears, rabbits, etc.” Thus, the images of hunting displayed in the Rangamahal beneath the Dasara procession are part of the larger festival motif. The depiction of the hunt, however, also placed the Mysore court in a broader courtly aesthetic of the time in which representations of the hunt were increasingly incorporated into the artistic traditions of royal courts throughout India since the eighteenth century.55 By intentionally drawing on the royal visual rhetoric of courts throughout the subcontinent, Krishnaraja III and his court were expanding their vocabulary of kingship along with their counterparts, especially those in the north. In addition to the association of the royal hunt with militarism and kingly aesthetics, hunting is traditionally considered an acceptable leisure activity for proper kings. In Treatise on Success (Arthashastra; c. second century BCE to 300 CE), Kautilya explains the many virtues of hunting.56 The Delights of the Mind (Manasollasa; c. twelfth century) (2.15.4) explains the proper methodology for hunting and describes thirty-​one hunting techniques.57 In the Raghuvamsha, hunting is listed as among the leisure activities that could develop into a vice (along with gambling, drinking, and women), but it is the only practice on the list that is ultimately approved by Rama’s ministers due to its benefits to the king and kingdom.58 The importance of the hunt had been carried over into Indian early modernity as well. In the sixteenth century, Rudrachand, the king of Kumaun, wrote about the overlapping concerns between a successful hunt and a successful kingdom.59 Hunting was a favorite royal pastime and was heavily integrated into Mughal courtly life, and as we have seen in ­chapter 3, Tipu Sultan used hunting as a means to avoid British admonishment. The idea of the royal hunt continued to grow as a kingly leisure activity in Mysore during the colonial period, as many images of “safaris” persist and are archived in the British Library and are on display at the Bangalore Palace. The images of the royal hunt as both imitation of war and the sport of the king display another side of royal life and articulate the king’s acumen and vitality through less public displays.

194  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III The other scenes from the private life of the king are tied to two of the other vices that are said to befall kings: gambling and women. The lower portion of both the northern and southern walls of the larger hall of the Rangamahal are painted with two squares exhibiting the game boards created by Krishnaraja III on both sides of the doors that lead into the small side rooms. Each square frame is symmetrical in its composition: at the center of each painting are the king’s royal horses; in the next layer of the images, working out from its center, are twelve game boards designed by Krishnaraja III, which are buttressed by two columns of portraits of his ministers (perhaps those with whom he would play); the final layer consists of fourteen more game boards, with images of men and women (to which I will return) taking up the corner frames. Krishnaraja III was known to be an avid gamer and game theoretician, and the centrality of these games in the mural is no surprise to those familiar with him. Their inclusion in the murals is typically referenced by an allusion to the Jaganmohan Palace as a “pleasure palace” or a place where Krishnaraja III would retire to play games, a diversion from daily rigors.60 These games fit into the overall themes of the Rangamahal murals and the courtly project of king fashioning in general.61 The games depicted on these walls are part of the entire series of gaming productions that were created in the Mysore court. Along with the mural paintings, there were multiple manuscripts that explained the rules of the games, provided strategic commentaries, and explained the philosophy of gaming within a cosmic perspective. There are at least nine manuscripts, ranging from the largest compendium, the Encyclopedia of the Four Limbs [of Knowledge] (Chaturanga Sarasarvasvam; 666 pages), down to the smallest, the Mine of the Four Limbs [of Knowledge] (Chaturanga Sudhakarah; 16 pages), written in Kannada, Sanskrit, Persian, Tamil, Telugu, and Marathi.62 The games, of course, could not be played on a vertical wall, so there is also a wide range of wooden game boards inlaid with mother-​of-​pearl that were created for play and are now on display in the Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery just outside the Rangamahal. The game murals, like the rest of the murals in the Rangamahal, connect the room and its images to other productions of the Mysore court, ranging from the most abstracted texts to smaller digests to images of the games to the games themselves—​a truly dynamic courtly tradition. Like the other murals, the games are not solely depicting a leisure activity of the king, but they are making claims that far exceed a diversion from a powerless life. Each game created by Krishnaraja III was rooted in either devotion or militarism. Of particular importance to these themes are the game boards that feature figures (mostly religious) and are mysteriously numbered, forming cryptographic games that fall into the broader chess genre known internationally as the “knight’s tour.”63 In this game, the player must move the knight game piece

Displaying Power  195 in its L shape throughout the image, hitting all squares only once. The unique movement of the knight increases the difficulty of such a challenge, which also turns the image into a mathematical puzzle. The games created by Krishnaraja III, however, were not purely abstract or mathematical, but they incorporated religious numerology that required literary knowledge to solve. Rangachar Vasantha, art and game historian, has described the mechanism regarding one such puzzle that features an image of a Shiva linga in which each square is assigned a number: Each number stands for a word, and to solve the puzzle one needs to know the relevant poetic text, found in one of the royal manuscripts, to recognize the letter patterns of the words. The Raja’s knowledge of encoding and decoding practice is perhaps used here with an esoteric religious significance. The numbers displayed in the squares are generated according to the text of the Shivastottarastotram (found in manuscript form in Mysore), so forming the auspicious pattern of the Shivalingam.64

To solve Krishnaraja III’s games, the player had to be not only a skilled gamer but also a master of devotional literature and practice. The very act of gaming thus becomes an act of devotionalism, displaying one’s knowledge of devotional literature that, in turn, leads to the ritual creation a linga. The display of the games in the Rangamahal, then, is also a display of devotional literacy and imagery. As alluded to above, gaming has been associated with kingship in the Indic traditions in the epic and dharmashastric traditions, perhaps most notably in connection with the dice game of the Mahabharata. In these contexts, gaming, more specifically gambling, is portrayed as a vice to which kings fall prey and is to be avoided at all costs. Yet the risk of the contest seems to lure even the finest rulers to partake. As with Duryodhana’s challenge to Yudhishthira, gaming exists within the same cognitive field as militarism and hunting as measures of a warrior-​king’s power and prowess. The overlapping concerns were not lost on Krishnaraja III and his court, and one of his most impressive contributions to the history of gaming is a chess game called balabali (“to grow strength” or “offering of strength”).65 In this game, the player moves the game pieces strategically, deploying them together, similar to army maneuvers, in order to block the opponent’s ability to move.66 Krishnaraja III paid close attention to this game in his commentaries, but instead of focusing on its complex strategy, he placed the game and strategy itself in a cosmological frame, discussing it in relation to devotional practice and movements of celestial objects.67 In the theory and philosophy of his games, Krishnaraja III and his court were demonstrating the mental side of virya, the side that is not evident to observers but is grounded in a broader cosmological framework of devotion and astrological fate.

196  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III The seemingly innocuous scenes of hunting and gaming as royal leisure activities can be viewed within the broader backdrop of the Rangamahal murals as dramatic displays of devotion and power. Krishnaraja III and his court used these images to display the king’s aptitude in the mental and physical dimensions of the kingly aesthetic of virya, connecting them to the rituals of Dasara and the devotional apparatus of bhakti literature and practice. Together, the murals of hunting and gaming frame Krishnaraja III’s kingship as heroic, despite his relative lack of administrative and military control.

Domestication The remaining images on the four corners of the game mural work to tie the images of the main hall into the two smaller side rooms by introducing the erotic (shringara) aspect of kingly aesthetics, which is closely associated with the aesthetic of heroism or virility (virya) exemplified in the scenes of militarism, hunting, and gaming. Like the hunting motif, the emphasis on leisure and eroticism connects the court of Krishnaraja III to the broader visual royal vocabularies of the subcontinent, including Rajput paintings and Tamil Nayaka ivories.68 In the Rangamahal paintings, royal couples are represented in various poses with text that explains their gestures. The narration describes a series of interactions between a man (purusha) and a woman (stri) that include conversations and observations. The inscriptions describe the different emotions (bhava) experienced between the lovers in relation to their interactions. The couple is also integrated within the games and shown in two games boards on the northern wall, presumably playing along. Along the eastern wall, similar images can be found under the image of the Dasara procession; however, the human couple has been replaced with images of Krishna and Radhe (Sanskrit: Radha). The images of the human couples appear only on the northern and southern walls, where there are no images of Krishnaraja III, but both the western and eastern walls, which feature Krishnaraja III, only Krishna and his consorts (Radhe on the eastern wall and Rukmini and Satyabhame on the western wall) are displayed—​another possible clue to the analogy between the Mysore ruler and the god. The focus on romantic relationships extends into the northern small room in the mural on its eastern wall. In this image, Krishnaraja III’s family vriksha (tree) is illustrated (figure 6.10). The image depicts Krishnaraja III at its center, with his clothes and throne painted in shiny gold. Overall, the image looks rather similar to a page from an illustrated manuscript with text surrounding the family tree that describes the greatness of Krishnaraja III’s family in prose (vamshavatarana padya-​gadya), beginning with Vishnu (shrimanmahavishnu modalagi) down

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Figure 6.10  Krishnaraja III’s family tree (vriksha). Rangamahal, Jaganmohan Palace, Mysore. Photo courtesy of Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery.

through his wives, children, and so on. This mural is stylistically similar to the Wodeyar lineage painting from the Chitrakala Parishata in Bangalore, but instead of showing the legendary and historical kings of the line, this tree represents Krishnaraja III with six of his wives, who attend the king as he looks back at the viewer. From this central image, twenty leaves emerge from brownish red limbs. On each of these leaves, accompanying text provides the numbers and names of Krishnaraja III’s twenty wives. From each of these leaves, creepers spring out to grow smaller leaves and fruit that name the king’s children (fifteen), grandchildren (thirty-​one), and great-​grandchildren (twenty-​eight).

198  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III Although it is similar to the lineage paintings described above, this image is decidedly different in its perspective and shows the multiple interconnections between the murals of the Rangamahal and the other productions of Krishnaraja III’s court. Where other images have looked back in time, showing the unbroken line of Wodeyar rulers leading up to Krishnaraja III, this image looks forward, showing the progeny of the king. The focus on lineage in Krishnaraja III’s court was twofold. First, the king and his court were concerned with constructing an unbroken line of rulers that justified his family’s position in the region. This was, of course, vital because of the brokenness of Wodeyar direct rule, as various dalavayis (ministers of war) had seized control of the throne and its administration during the eighteenth century, including the Kalale regime (c. 1734–​1761), Haidar Ali (1761–​ 1783), and Tipu Sultan’s Mysore sultanate (1783–​ 1799). Second, the king had no legitimate male heirs to take the throne upon his death, which almost certainly would have led the British to seize full control of the kingdom with the “lapse” in direct ancestry. Krishnaraja III had begun a campaign to be allowed to adopt a son in 1857, the same year India had been officially recognized as a British colony. Part of this campaign was the emphasis placed on the narrative of the “Curse of Talakadu” in which the Wodeyar kings were cursed by Alamelamma so they could not have any male heirs. This narrative was first found in the Mysore literary tradition in the Great Kings of Mysore and seems to have emerged in the official courtly records at this time of increased anxiety regarding the lack of an heir and the future of the kingdom (see ­chapter 4). By emphasizing the “Curse of Talakadu,” the court of Krishnaraja III was making the argument that the lapse in the direct line was not a matter of biological reproduction (his virility or lack thereof), but it was a result of metaphysical reality, the spiritual power (shakti) of the faithful wife (sahadharmini). Krishnaraja III’s vriksha fully displayed his sexual vitality and virility, further making the case that he was no impotent king. This theme is carried over into the image on the eastern wall of the southern small room that further demonstrates the king’s sexuality and virility. In this image, Krishnaraja III is inside the palace courtyard (perhaps even the Jaganmohan Palace), indulging in playful sport with the many women of his harem (antahpura) in what appears to be a game of holi or vasantotsava (figure 6.11).69 The viewer gazes into the interior of the courtyard, where Krishnaraja III stands at the center of the composition, almost twice the size of the many women in the scene. The king, dressed in all white except for his red shawl and red and golden Mysore turban (peta), holds a large golden squirt gun with which he sprays red-​colored water into the air, drenching members of his harem. Krishnaraja III is surrounded by women who offer the king gifts, wine, and betel nuts; play instruments to accompany the merriment; and fill large copper vessels with more colored water from the nearby tanks. They dance and spray red water at

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Figure 6.11  Krishnajaraja III’s Vasantotsava celebration. Rangamahal, Jaganmohan Palace, Mysore. Photo courtesy of Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery.

each other and toward their king; however, he remains relatively clean, since another wife holds a large white umbrella to shield him from the spray. More women stand on the ground level of the palace hall, with small squirt guns spraying toward the courtyard. Additional wives watch the festivities unfold while seated in

200  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III European-​style chairs on the second level of the palace and standing on its rooftop balcony. Simultaneously, another Krishnaraja III serenely watches the entire scene unfold from the second floor of the palace while he lounges on a green and gold couch as eight of his wives fan him and offer him food and drink. Immediately, the second image of Krishnaraja III looking on as he sports with his consorts conjures the concept of multiple manifestations and avataras.70 Additionally, the composition of the painting, with Krishnaraja III at the center of three rows of dancing, playful consorts, is strikingly similar to images of Krishna and his gopi lovers, especially those in which Krishna serenely watches as his manifestations dance with all the gopis in rasa lile (also rasa krida; Sanskrit: rasa lila). This mural is most likely based on an image of Krishna dancing with his lovers from a Bhagavata Purana manuscript (c. 1840s–​1850s) from earlier in his reign, through which the connection between Krishnaraja III and Krishna is quite evident (figure 6.12).71 Like the images of the Dasara darbar and the other leisure activities of the king depicted in the Rangamahal, the Vasantotsava mural draws on themes that were a common part of visual royal vocabularies throughout India in the nineteenth century, during which imagery of Krishna and his gopis in rasa lile and images of vasantotsava/​holi were typical subjects.72 The association with the love games of the deity and Wodeyar ancestor Krishna is fitting, as it serves to bring the entire three-​room composition full circle as the lineage begins with and continues through references to Krishna(-​raja). This mural works to ground the Wodeyar lineage in the divine by portraying Krishnaraja III as the deity Krishna. Given the vast visual archive, scholars agree that the overlapping imagery between Krishnaraja III and Krishna was intentional, a visual shlesha (Kannada: padiru; “paronomasia”) in which the king was deliberately displayed to resemble the god.73 Indeed, there is a vibrant visual tradition in the court of Krishnaraja III that focuses on depicting the deity Krishna. Krishna dancing with his gopi lovers and other imagery from the Bhagavata Purana are themes present in many other paintings from Krishnaraja III’s reign, including the murals in the Prasanna Krishnasvami and Shvetavarahasvami-​ Lakshmi temples in the Mysore Palace fort and in illustrated manuscripts of the text.74 In this local tradition, the imagery of Krishnaraja III and Krishna is extremely fluid, and the deity enacts many of the actions that the king was unable to perform, particularly the ability to kill his enemies, which shows the potential temporal power of the king.

Prasanna Krishnasvami The metaphor of Krishnaraja III and Krishna is not without context in the courtly productions of Krishnaraja III. The Bhagavata Purana from which the

Figure 6.12  “Rāsa Līlā,” from the Mysore Bhagavata Purana. Photo © San Diego Museum of Art.

202  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III imagery of Krishna is most known was produced in many media, including illustrated manuscripts, theater, and song, during his reign.75 Indeed, the scenes from the Bhagavata Purana were central images in the visual culture of Mysore in this period and often served as an analogue for contemporaneous events.76 Among these, the mural paintings in the Prasanna Krishnasvami temple in the Mysore Palace fort provide an example of the double meaning (Kannada: padiru; Sanskrit: shlesha) in these murals that highlights the analogous identity of Krishna and Krishnaraja III.77 This temple dedicated to Krishna as a youth (Bala Krishna) is located immediately to the south of the main Mysore Palace (Amba Vilasa). The temple was commissioned by Krishnaraja III in 1825 and was completed and inaugurated in 1829 while he was still a young man. The murals in this temple depict many of the scenes from the tenth book of the Bhagavata Purana which narrates the adolescence of Krishna, including his birth, the lifting of Govardhana Mountain, and several interactions with other deities. The primary focus of these murals, however, is twofold and centers on Krishna’s activities as a demon slayer and his romantic life, bridging the same themes of warfare, virility, and eroticism that were woven throughout the Rangamahal. Like the images in the two smaller rooms of the Rangamahal and those interlaced on the lower portion of the main hall, the Prasanna Krishnasvami murals focus on the erotic exploits and domestic relations of Krishna, displaying rasa lile, the theft of the gopis’ clothing, his marriages to his wives Radhe and Rukmini, and so on. Additionally, Krishna is shown killing the demons Putana, Baka, Vatsa, Trinavarta, Shakata, Keshi, Vrisha (also known as Arita), Agha, Naraka, and Vyoma.78 He is also shown watching Balarama kill Pralamba and Rama kill Khara with a donkey, and in a later scene, his son Pradyumna is shown killing Shambara. The beloved story of Krishna and Kaliya is missing from the list of exploits, but perhaps this is because at the end of that narrative, the deity shows mercy and allows the snake to live. The mural complex does, however, include the killing of Kamsa (figure 6.13). This scene is one of the largest in the Prasanna Krishnasvami temple and warrants extra attention. Kamsa is shown sitting on his throne in his palace, which is depicted as a replica of Krishnaraja III’s wooden Mysore palace. Krishna is shown leaping onto his uncle, soon to strike him with a deadly blow. Six of Kamsa’s ministers look on with hands folded in devotion, anxious for Krishna to restore rightful power to the throne. While it might be tempting at first to view this image as a metaphor for the restoration of Krishnaraja III to the throne of Mysore after the death of Tipu Sultan, it is more apt to equate Kamsa with Krishnaraja III’s British overlords, who had handcuffed the Mysore royal’s administration of his kingdom. In 1825, the year Krishnaraja III had commissioned the Prasanna Krishnasvami temple, the British Resident Arthur Henry Cole (r. 1811–​1825) had been granted greater authority over the administration of Mysore’s finances by the governor of Madras, Thomas Munro (r. 1820–​1827),

Displaying Power  203

Figure 6.13  Krishna and Kamsa. Prasanna Krishnaswami temple, Mysore. Photo by the author, with permission.

stripping the king of his complete sovereignty. Krishnaraja III took measures to resist British intervention, but the British continued to take more control, until they ultimately took it all in 1831. The primary and definitive clue for this reading can be found at the base of Kamsa’s palace, where his guards stand at the door with swords and in full British military uniform. Perhaps all the images of Krishna’s conquests over demons were a form of subversion in which the king displayed his anger over recent trends in the administration of Mysore’s government. When read against the historical context, the murals of Prasanna Krishnasvami enact the same themes of militarism and virility that can be seen years later in the Rangamahal, but they express the sedition much more directly, with brutal images of death and with references to the British military. Additionally, these images are much more explicitly devotional in content and context. While there are certainly devotional elements throughout the Rangamahal, the murals in Prasanna Krishnasvami were part of a donation to establish the temple, as were all the other murals commissioned by Krishnaraja III.79 The act of muraling was part of a devotional paradigm used to exalt the deeds of the deities but was also a representation of the king that could convey a variety of qualities the king desired and to which he aspired.

204  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III

Conclusion: Reading Images Together as a Display of Multiple Registers of Royal Power The overall composition of the Rangamahal contains a network of murals that display the intentional construction of kingship by Krishnaraja III’s court. Together, the mural images of the Rangamahal form a systematized program that depicts the primacy of the Mysore king fashioned through divine authority and bursting with latent and potential power. They articulate multiple indexes of power, which contradict colonial notions of power, kingship, and sovereignty. These images act as a subtle subversion to British hegemony by reaffirming the divine roots of Krishnaraja III’s lineage, his virya, and his inherent divinity. The murals construct a world of Indian sovereignty that displays the full potential of Indian kingship and complements the importance of religious ritual and devotion that can be found in other courtly productions of Krishnaraja III’s reign.80 The displays of power in the Rangamahal murals are critical for understanding the negotiation of kingship in these last moments of his reign, in which he desperately sought to firmly locate his claim to sovereignty and justify its continuation. Krishnaraja III and his court actively produced a vision of sovereignty that framed kingship in a way that provided an alternative interpretation that made sense in light of his political situation. The murals elevate divine authority as the sine qua non of kingship. By rearticulating the variegated nature of power and kingship through explicit royal idioms of virya and shringara, the Rangamahal murals stand as a lasting testament to Krishnaraja III and his court production of Indian royal identity. The murals of the Rangamahal displayed forms of power that sought to redefine early colonial South Indian kingship through the negotiation of political realities and courtly aesthetics. This negotiated kingship went hand in hand with a new understanding of territory that was not united by military and political hegemony but envisioned an India united through devotional networks, which can be seen in the mural paintings of the chitramantapa of the nearby Venkataramanasvami temple in the Krishnavilasa agrahara, to which I turn in ­chapter 7.

Notes 1. REC Volume V: My, 26, lines 103–​107; my translation. 2. British Library, India Office Records, IOR.L.PS.6.537.6.3.5. 3. These different registers of power are certainly not mutually exclusive. Military power often leads to administrative and political power that is edified by cultural power either through negotiation or rupture. But the various forms of power also are not

Displaying Power  205 necessarily always in agreement. It is possible to have military and administrative power but lack true political power because cultural power has shifted (e.g., the end of the British Raj). For a fascinating discussion about how these different forms of power are enacted over different “sovereign spheres,” see Bhagavan (2003). Compare with Nye 1990; Bogdanor 1997; Müller and Mehrkens 2016. This is similar to what Joseph Nye (1990) has termed “soft power” but what I will simply, and perhaps more vaguely, call power. It is powerful in that it can take a variety of forms working to reify existing structures (cultural imperialism), or it can undermine those structures (counterculture) and/​or construct new ways of portraying the world and the other forms of power within it (cultural rupture). Indeed, cultural power has the ability to shape the way people think and, in turn, the way they act, doing the hard work of negotiating the ontological assumptions that undergird all forms of political, administrative, and military power. I have avoided referring to this complex of courtly productions as “soft,” because in some way, it marginalizes these forms of power against others that are deemed “hard” and/​or overlooks the materiality that is critical in its display. I have chosen to use “cultural” because it reflects the variety of media (visual, textual, performance, etc.) used by the early modern courts of Mysore to combat the hegemonic forms of colonial power. A similar process in the transition in the power of monarchs in the modern period can be seen in the British system itself, what Vernon Bogdanor (1997, 37) has described as a shift to “influence instead of power.” Frank L. Müller (Müller and Mehrkens 2016, 1–​16) has noticed similar shifts in constitutional monarchies throughout Europe. 4. Morgan 2005, 257, 191. 5. See also Pierce Taylor 2016, 118–​120; Scott 1992, 58–​61. 6. For more, see MAR 1938, 46–​71. 7. Sivapriyananda 1990. 8. A similar display might have been created in the Ramanatha temple on Rameshvaram island by the Setupati kings during the eighteenth century. For more, see Branfoot 2018. 9. Nair 2011, 73–​77. 10. This representation of Chamundeshvari is similar to the image that is painted and described in the Shaktinidhi, the first nidhi (treasure) of the nine-​volume Shritattvanidhi, attributed to Krishnaraja III (Odeyar 1997). The image in the Shritattvanidhi, however, is white with ten arms. Otherwise, the images are identical. 11. Upon close examination of the image of Krishnaraja III, it appears that his left arm that holds the handkerchief has been repainted (or maybe it flaked off and was reapplied) and in the process moved slightly upward. This slight distortion makes his hand appear to be reversed, although it is indeed in the correct order, since his ruby pinkie ring is clearly in the correct position (see c­ hapter 5 nn. 24, 25 for more about the identification of Krishnaraja III and his rings). 12. Aitken 2010, 223–​233. 13. The fourth deity of the narrative, Jvalamukhi (also known as Uttanahalli), however, is absent from this image, which I suspect is for compositional reasons that allow Chamundeshvari to rest at the pinnacle of the lineage image. Above all of the lineage paintings is an odd number of deities. I  suspect that this was a purposeful

206  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and practical stylistic choice through which the artists could render the goddess Chamundeshvari at the center and top of the composition. 14. MAR 1935, 53. A shorter description of the copperplate can be found in MAR 1918, 45. Additionally, this volume contains an image of the inscription on plate X. 15. Nair (2011, 85) and Rao and Shastry (1980, 57) correctly identify this image as a later image by Venkatasubba, whereas, the S. K. R. Rao confuses it with Tippanna’s copperplate and mural from 1856, seven years before Camaraja X (who is pictured) was born (Rao 2004, 53). This is because most of the epigraphic text (including the artist’s name) has been lifted from previous images, most probably from the copperplate inscription of Tippanna described above. 16. MAR 1935, 53. 17. This genealogical image was the source for a much later and much less ornate copy that also hangs in the Jayacamarajendra Art Gallery, to which realist portraiture of Krishnaraja IV (1884–​1940) and Jayacamaraja (1919–​1974) have been added in the top corners. In this later visual display of the genealogy, no deities are present. We can therefore infer that there was an overall decrease in the association of the lineage with multiple deities over time, decreasing from the plurality that was seen in the images of Krishnaraja III to the mono-​representation from the rule of Camaraja X to the absence of deities in the image from the mid-​nineteenth century. I suspect that this relates to the overhaul of the dynasty during the early rule of Camaraja X, which resulted in the restoration of Mysore’s direct rule by the “Rendition of 1881” and an increasing attempt to situate the kingdom within a historical (read: nonmythological) framework. This was perhaps to pacify the British overlords who had become aware of the subversion power of such imagery. 18. For more on Nanjaraja, see previous n. 26 in ­chapter 5. 19. This also suggests a broader genealogy of wall-​painting cycles that connects Mughal forms (Nagaswamy 1986) and Tamil Nayakas (Seastrand 2013; Howes 2003). 20. Compare with Shekar (2010, xxv, 79), who contends that this was in 1902. I would suggest that it was during restoration of the paintings. 21. For more on the Navaratri festival throughout South Asia, see Simmons, Sen, and Rodrigues 2018. The festival is, of course, mentioned in the Devi Mahatmya of the Markandeya Purana, but there the connection between Navaratri and kingship/​warfare is much less explicit. Instead, Navaratri is only explicitly mentioned once, and this comes in a long list of rituals that please the goddess (Devi Mahatmya 12.12). 22. When discussing Sanskrit textual sources, I  will use terms and transliteration from those texts instead of the Kannada equivalents, such as puja, Devi, and so on. However, for consistency, I have continued to use the Kannada for the names of the festival. For the dates of the Devi Purana, I have followed Hazra 1963, 71–​77. 23. Kalika Purana 60.43 (Shastri 1991). 24. See Sanderson 2009, 112 ff., 225–​232; Stein 1984, 302–​326. 25. Dirks 1993, 37–​43. 26. Rao 1991. Compare with Dallapiccola (2010a), who suggests that the platform was not actually intended for the celebration of Mahanavami but was meant for the festival of Vasantotsava.

Displaying Power  207 27. Dirks 1993, 41–​43. 28. For example, Yadavagiri Mahatmya; Divya Suri Caritre; EC Volume III.1: Sr, 14; EC Volume III.1: My, 115. 29. Interestingly, many of the kings shown came from kingdoms that (a) had fought with Tipu Sultan against the British in the Anglo-​Mysore Wars and (b) were visited by Subbarayadasa on his pilgrimage (see ­chapter 7). Additionally, Robert J. Del Bontà (2011) has demonstrated that many of these mural representations were based on portraiture from the various courts that had been collected by the Mysore king. 30. Letter from Krishnaraja III to the governor-​general of India, the Viscount Canning, on February 23, 1861. British Library, India Office Records, IOR.L.PS.6.526.48.2. 31. Bhagavan (2003, 32–​ 35) has also discussed the role of Tipu Sultan in the Wodeyar court. 32. For a discussion of this in the case of Vijayanagara, see Stein 1984, 313, 319. 33. Compare with Dirks 1993, 43. 34. Fisher 1990; Ikegame 2013. 35. Fisher 1990, 454. 36. Ultimately, this request led to Mark Cubbon, commissioner of Mysore, assuming the duties of British Resident until his resignation in 1859. His tenure as both commissioner and British Resident were hallmarked by his frugality in government spending and his near contempt of public ritual. 37. Ikegame 2013, 192. 38. Stein 1984, 313; Dirks 1993, 39. 39. This engraving is based on a painting by the same artist produced in Mysore during 1846–​1847. See British Library, PDP/​P833. 40. Fisher (1990, 454) shows that the contrast between the decadent attire of the Indian courts and the simple dress of the British administrators was part of an official rhetoric aimed at undermining the power of the kings. This engraving, however, also includes realistic representations of many of its depictions, including the king, his throne and standards, and the European dignitaries, which suggests that the artist did attempt to record the event with some measure of accuracy. 41. This image is truer in its representation of all those pictured with regard both to their appearance and to Mysore and British costumes, suggesting that the subjects sat for the portrait. 42. There is ample evidence that the British were keenly aware of the implications of Dasara for the Mysore court. Indeed, it was even during the festival in 1831 that Krishnaraja III was notified that he was stripped of all his administrative power. Gopal and Prasad 2010, 62. 43. See Cohn 2012. 44. For more, see Kalika Purana 60.28 (Shastri 1991)  and Kalinkattup Parani (Cayankontar 2006). 45. See Sarkar 2017. 46. See Dirks 1993, 41. 47. Stein 1984, 320. 48. See also Price 1996, 146.

208  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III 49. Victoria and Albert Museum, IS.45-​1963; Jackson and Jaffer 2009, 218–​221; Archer 1992, 58. http://​collections.vam.ac.uk/​item/​O17558/​a-​scroll-​painting- ​painting​unknown. 50. Dirks 1993, 41. 51. Branfoot 2018, 175. 52. Mysore was famous throughout the colonial period for this style of elephant hunt, through which elephants were captured and trained for use in royal celebrations throughout India. The audio tour of the Bangalore Palace provides a detailed description of the techniques of this hunt. 53. See Allsen 2011, 213–​228. 54. For an excellent discussion of the royal hunt during the colonial period, see Gold and Gujar 2002, chap. 6. 55. Desai 1994. 56. Olivelle 2016, 337–​338. The virtues are exercise; elimination of phlegm, bile, fat, and perspiration; practice hitting moving and still bodies; discerning the temperament of animals; and travel. Similar lists can be found in The Laws of Manu 7.47–​52 and Shakuntala 2.5. 57. Kane 1930, 3: 54. 58. Singh 2016, 346. 59. Allsen 2011, 127. 60. Finkel 2004; Vasantha 2006a. 61. Heesterman (1998, 18–​19) connects gaming or gambling to the divinatory rites of sacral kingship in which the outcome is not solely reliant on the king. However, I find that this interpretation is inapplicable to Krishnaraja III’s situation because of his emphasis on games as an exercise in strategy in which the outcome is solely derived from the player’s abilities. 62. Vasantha (2006a, 28) has shown that Krishnaraja III’s game manuscripts are related to the smaller texts providing summaries or “digests” of the larger works. 63. The centrality of the “knight’s tour” games may even be symbolized in the mural through the central image of the rearing horse, which is typically the figure of the knight game piece. 64. Vasantha 2006a, 28. 65. Vasantha translates balabali as “little war.” 66. Vasantha 2006a, 30. 67. Vasantha 2006a, 30. 68. For examples, see Diamond 2008, 71–​97; Aitken 2010, 11–​55; Michell 1995, 207–​215. 69. I have often heard this image referred to as the rasa lila mural; however, when I asked M. G. Narahsimha about his thoughts on this as an image of rasa lile, he replied that it was only an image of the king and his wives playing holi. Playing holi is very rare in southern Karnataka, and its inclusion adds another pan-​Indian dimension to the Rangamahal mural composition that requires further investigation. 70. Nair 2011, 70, 88. 71. See Goswamy 2019. 72. For examples, see Diamond 2016; Desai 1994.

Displaying Power  209 73. Del Bontà 2000; Nair 2011, 70, 86. 74. See Goswamy 2019. While most scholars date the murals of the Shvetavarahasvami temple from the reign of Krishnaraja III, Robert Del Bontà (2000) has questioned this and attributed a later date. 75. Del Bontà 2000; Vedavalli 2009, 32. The Bhagavata Purana was also in many ways a genealogical text for the Wodeyar court, since its lineage derived from the genealogy of Krishna in this text. 76. For instance, Del Bontà (2000, 102) has pointed out that one Bhagavata Purana manuscript from Krishnaraja III’s reign depicts boats flying the British Union Jack during Krishna’s attack on Pragjyotishapura. 77. There is a long tradition of such shlesha in mythico-​religious art. For examples, see Willis 2014, 41–​73); Huntington and Huntington 1990, 104–​105; Rabe 1997. 78. The image that seems to display the killing of Naraka with Krishna’s discus, however, is labeled agasanannu kattatisiddu, or “the cutting of the washerman.” The image of Vysomasura has been cemented over in order to install a curtain rod. 79. The king also gave a land grant and arranged for musicians to attend Prasanna Krishnasvami daily. Vedavalli 2009, 32. 80. For another perspective, see Nair 2011, 92–​93.

7

Mapping New Sovereignty The advantage to the Rajah contemplated by the Governor General appears to lie, all included, in one particular,—​his relief from the mortifying condition of a sovereign without the enjoyment of sovereign power. We can easily understand how a person with the Rajah’s feelings should prefer immediate sovereignty of a diminished territory to the deferred and future possession of the whole kingdom, because, with persons of his habits, the present outweighs exceedingly that which is in prospect. Home Government dispatch to Governor-​General William Bentinck September 25, 18351 I, Subbarayadasa Gopaladasa, the protector of all, made a gift to god for my fame . . . and for attainment of uninterrupted and distinguished dharma for the king, his wife and son, and his lineage. On the lintel of the Venkataramanasvami Anjaneya shrine, October 15, 18362

In previous chapters, I have attempted to demonstrate changes in how kingship and sovereignty were refashioned in the Mysore court as its kings dealt with the introduction of European polities and the emergence of colonial authority. In this final chapter, I discuss how these changes altered not only the practices of kingship and the ways the court fashioned royal identity but also how sovereignty itself was reconstituted and territory and spatial order were reshaped. Through this process, the court of Mysore was able to maintain its sovereignty by carving out a space that it could call its own even while under British suzerainty. It is, perhaps, in this chapter that we are able to see most explicitly the importance of the developments of the early colonial period in paving the way for modern Indian political structures and practice and the ideological foundations of the Hindu nationalist movement. This chapter takes as its impetus a pilgrimage undertaken by a Mysore priest named Subbarayadasa under the patronage of Krishnaraja Wodeyar III; instead of viewing this journey as solely a spiritual endeavor, I argue that it was a ritual that articulated a new form of sovereignty through the demarcation of Devotional Sovereignty. Caleb Simmons, Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190088897.001.0001

212  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III domain—​territory that was beyond the control of the British in which Indian sovereignty could be grounded. In order to substantiate this claim, the pilgrimage is discussed within the context of Vedic and Puranic imperial rituals that served to constitute sovereignty and structured territory through similar movements through space. A key component of these rituals was the diffusion of sovereign and divine power throughout the territory, drawing multiple spaces and places and complex political structures and hierarchies together into one unified ritual unit. The pilgrimage of Subbarayadasa, I argue, was an early colonial enactment of sovereignty that developed within and from this genealogy of imperial rituals.3 Within the early colonial period in Mysore, the radical alteration in political structure necessitated a change in the understanding of sovereignty and territory in which Indian sovereignty became grounded in the sacred landscape of India. This can be seen in the details of Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage and in a collection of murals that commemorate the journey. I suggest that this process resulted in the transfer of the royal sovereign surplus onto the landscape that allowed for the emergence of a sovereign Indian “geo-​flesh” and laid the groundwork for nationalist political ideology and theory in modern and contemporary India.

An Early Colonial Ritual of Sovereignty: Subbarayadasa and His Pilgrimage As the refashioning of kingship shifted the identity of the maharaja from military hero to devotee, the process of connecting sacred sites with the Wodeyar line and the kingdom of Mysore was expanded beyond the confines of southern Karnataka and the Mysore kingdom. This program is masterfully represented in the mural paintings located in the Venkataramanasvami temple in Mysore. In these images, we see a visual representation of a new articulation of sovereignty in Krishnaraja III’s court that redefined territorial domain and extended to all the sacred landscape of India, while reiterating the importance of royal genealogy. The paintings display Mysore as the center of pan-​Indian devotion, bringing all the matters of devotional and kingly importance in the subcontinent into the Mysore kingdom.4 Thereby, local, regional, and pan-​Indian sacred geography was reconfigured as sovereign territory under the watchful gaze of the ideal king-​devotee and his lineage, establishing a new locus of Indian kingship within a transcendent and incorporeal domain.

Subbarayadasa and His Pilgrimage The inscription located in the ardhamantapa on the outer wall of the garba griha of the Venkataramanasvami temple relates the foundation of the temple and the

Mapping New Sovereignty  213 miraculous events that led to its construction and consecration.5 The inscription, which bears Krishnaraja III’s signature at the end, is a seventy-​five-​line account of the life a Madhva Brahmin priest named Subbarayadasa (also known as Gopaladasa), to whom the temple was entrusted. This epigraph details a divine injunction given to Subbarayadasa and his ensuing pilgrimage taken under the aegis of Krishnaraja III. The inscription, dated October 15, 1836, relates the entire story of the pilgrimage, which I summarize here. Subbarayadasa was living under the patronage of Krishnaraja III’s mother when there was an outbreak of cholera. At this dire time, Venkatesha—​the form of Vishnu from Tirupati—​appeared to the saint as a young Shri Vaishnava boy and instructed him to distribute special prasada to the people afflicted by cholera so that they could be completely healed of the disease. After completing this miraculous task, he was directed by the same deity to go to the kannadi totti in the palace and perform puja for the king. After doing so, the king bestowed on him a variety of royal gifts. After this honor, Subbarayadasa went on pilgrimage to Tirupati. This pious act caused sacred water to appear in Subbarayadasa’s home in Bilikere, near Hunasuru (Honsur), and the water was also immediately taken to the king.6 Upon his return to Mysore, the saint again received instructions in a dream, but this time, he was directed to go on a pilgrimage, about which he immediately informed the king. Krishnaraja III provided Subbarayadasa with all the accouterments necessary for the journey, including his royal insignia (biridu; Sanskrit: biruda) and permissions or passports (rahadari) from both the king himself and the East India Company Resident (kumpanisimege rasidanttu). Then the saint embarked on his bhagiratha, a massive pilgrimage that included more than sixty-​eight different royal and sacred sites throughout India, including all of those painted in the hall murals discussed below. Along the way, he collected royal insignia from rulers and ritual gifts from temple priests and heads of mathas. At the end of his journey, Subbarayadasa returned to the Mysore palace, where he presented all the gifts he had accumulated to Krishnaraja III and anointed the ruler with water from the Ganga. In honor of this journey, the king commissioned the Venkataramanasvami temple in the Krishnavilasa agrahara (next to which the Jaganmohan Palace would later be built) and bequeathed many gifts that were to be used in the temple and a stipend (sanad) of one hundred rupees per month to Subbarayadasa and his family. Afterward, Subbarayadasa and his brother Sinappadasa donated all the gifts, including those that had been given to them by Krishnaraja III’s mother, Lakshammanni, to the deity of the temple.7

The Chitramantapa Along with the construction of the Venkataramanasvami temple, the king commissioned a small chitramantapa, or painted hall, to be constructed on top

214  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III of the temple, where the king and the priest are said to have met regularly to relax and play board games. In these murals, we can see early pictorial displays of the new approach to sovereignty that was being formulated during Krishnaraja III’s reign. They also signal a dramatic shift in the ways royal domain had been envisioned, recreating territory as a spiritual enterprise within an incorporeal empire of devotion.8 Before analyzing the murals, it is best to begin with their description to give a sense of what is being represented. The chitramantapa of the Venkataramanasvami temple contains murals that depict many of the sacred sites in the Mysore kingdom, the greater South Indian region, and various areas of northern India, especially surrounding the Yamuna and Ganga Rivers. As you enter the tiny chitramantapa, the first portion of the walls to your left and right contains floor-​to-​ceiling images in large painted frames. On the left is a collection of Vaishnava images with depictions of several of Vishnu’s incarnations (avatara), along with various other characters that fill out the composition (figure 7.1). On the right side, there is a large map of Tirupati that depicts a festival image on procession up the hill around the various smaller shrines on the way to the main temple (figure 7.2). As you enter further, on both sides are two columns with small paintings framed in wood, each depicting four Wodeyar kings (figure 7.3). Next, there are bird’s-​eye-​view representations of the sacred centers of the Mysore kingdom and South India in which various temples, mathas, and deities are depicted (figure 7.4). On the left and western wall are Hampi, the Vyasaraya matha in Sosale, and Navatirupati on the uppermost level; Melukote and Rameshvara on the second level; and Shrirangapattana on the third and bottom level (figure 7.5). The mural on the right and eastern wall depicts Kumbakona and Kancipura on the uppermost level. Channapattana and Chamundi Hill (figure 7.6) are represented on the next level down. Nanjangudu is shown by itself on the third level. Finally, Beluru and Shivagange are depicted on the bottom level of the wall. The back/​northern wall completes the mural with depictions of four more Wodeyar kings. At the center of this wall is a small wooden carving that enshrines Krishnaraja III with Subbarayadasa, the saint’s brother Sinnappadasa, and another minister of the king’s court.9 Although they share stylistic similarities with muraled map cycles from early modern South Indian courts, the depictions of these sites are indeed novel in the way they map sacred space.10 The overall perspective is a bird’s-​eye view; however, each temple is represented from the pilgrim’s perspective.11 Furthermore, the viewer is ushered into the garbha gudi of the temple with a direct view of its primary deity. The deities are shown in full anthropomorphic form, with the exception of Shiva, who is painted in his linga form with a smiling face superimposed on it, a hybrid form common in South Indian painting traditions. In each site, the muralist was sure to include additional buildings to fill the composition, usually depicting Mysore-​style row housing that was typical for the

Figure 7.1  Vishnu and his avataras. Chitramantapa, Venkataramanasvami temple, Mysore. Photo by the author, with permission.

Figure 7.2  Map of Tirupati. Chitramantapa, Venkataramanasvami temple, Mysore. Photo by the author, with permission.

Figure 7.3  Wodeyar kings on eastern wall. Chitramantapa, Venkataramanasvami temple, Mysore. Photo by the author, with permission.

218  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III (a)

A ̣lvaru v ̣rk ̣sa Hampi Virupak ̣sa Navatirupati

Vyāsarāya Ma ̣tha

Mēlukōt ̣e

Yōganarasim ̣ ha

Celuvanārāyan ̣a Rāmēśvara ~janēya An

̣ Śrīrangapa ̣t ̣tan ̣a

̣ Ranganāt ̣hasvāmi

Gum ̣ bamu (Gumbāz) Palace

Narasim ̣ hadevaru

Lalubagu (Dariya Daulat)

Figure 7.4  Diagram of locations depicted on western (a) and eastern (b) walls. Chitramantapa, Venkataramanasvami temple, Mysore.

elite of the region. This perhaps also served to connect the ruler and the gods with their subjects. The only site painting that includes any references to royalty is the map of Shrirangapattana (see figure 7.5). The map shows the Wodeyar palace that is said to have been originally built by Raja Wodeyar in 1611 but was demolished by the British when they defeated Tipu Sultan in 1799. The painting of

Mapping New Sovereignty  219 (b)

Cāmun ̣d ̣i Hill

Figure 7.4  continued

Shrirangapattana also depicts and labels Tipu Sultan’s Dariya Daulat palace, the mausoleum (Gumbaz) that the ruler shares with his father Haidar Ali and his mother, and the Asqa mosque. When one considers that the muralist chose to represent regional kingship in Shrirangapattana and not in Mysore, where it resided at the time of painting, it appears that these murals show awareness of previous forms of sovereignty, both in Mysore’s Wodeyar past and in its sultanate

Figure 7.5  Map of Shrirangapattana. Chitramantapa, Venkataramanasvami temple, Mysore. Photo by the author, with permission.

Figure 7.6  Map of Chamundi Hill. Chitramantapa, Venkataramanasvami temple, Mysore. Photo by the author, with permission.

Mapping New Sovereignty  221 past. Additionally, the image of Shrirangapattana contains the only temple that is shown with devotees performing puja to the deity; however, the devotion is directed not to the deity of the city, Shriranganathasvami, but to the fierce deity Narasimha.12 Coming only a few years after the imposition of the British Resident’s administrative rule, this is one of the first visual representations of Krishnaraja III’s construction of sovereign identity and royal devotionalism that built upon the allegorical imagery in the Prasanna Krishnasvami temple’s Bhagavata Purana murals (see c­ hapter 6). The chitramantapa’s murals continue on two panels painted on the ceiling, where sacred pilgrimage sites from northern India are present (figure 7.7). Both Shaiva and Vaishnava sites are depicted, representing many that Subbarayadasa visited during his journey to the north; however, due to damage, some of the paintings and their attendant inscriptions are unidentifiable. In the first ceiling panel that the viewer sees upon entering the room, the mural connects the South Indian imagery to pan-​Indian myth, with depictions of sites, such as Pandavapura, Janakapura, and the celestial Brahmapura, and with depictions of mythic imagery, such as the marriage of Rama and Sita, Balarama plowing a mountainside, and Vishnu’s avatara Varaha killing a demon foe. The largest image in this panel, however, is a map of the Ganga, which was the “goal” of Subbarayadasa’s bhagiratha pilgrimage. The painting shows the river’s origin (gangotri), its path through the mountains, and its tributaries, such as the Alakananda, before the water enters Brahma’s pot (brahmakoda) in Allahabad (ahalbadu). The second ceiling panel continues the map of the Ganga with an intricate map of Kashi in which many of the temples located on its ghats (steps to the river) are represented, including the Hanuman ghat, where Subbarayadasa is said to have installed a shrine. The emphasis of this panel sequence, however, is Vaishnava myth, and it depicts Mithala, Ayodhye (Sanskrit Ayodhya), Mathura, and Vrindavana. The muralists were particularly keen to represent the imagery of Krishna (figure 7.8), who is shown lifting Govardhana, at Kamsa’s palace, fighting the snake Kaliya, as Damodara (shown tied to a tree), and amid the gopis dancing rasa lile (Sanskrit: rasa lila). These murals present a compendium of the inscription of Subbarayadasa’s journeys in southern and northern India. They map many sites from his pilgrimage, but instead of recording the names of princes and religious leaders with whom the priest met, the mural paintings catalog the deities at each site and their mythic deeds. Through these narrative allusions, the murals place the sacred sites temporally within mythological time and spatially within the realm of the transcendent. These murals reflect the same pan-​Indian devotional cartography that is present in the Great Kings of Mysore (Mysuru Samsthanada Prabhugalu Shrimanmaharajavara Vamshavali; c.  1860s), in which deities—​including the

Vr∙nda-vana

Ra-sa Līla

Da-mo-dara

Scenes from Kam ∙ sa’s Palace

Yamuna River

Mathura

Kr∙s∙ na and Ka- l∙ iya

Kr∙s∙ na lifting Govardhana

Ayo-dhya

Sarayu River

ne

ce

gS

tin

un

lH

iba

Tr

Mit∙ hala

bal

Tri

H

ene

g Sc

in unt

Brahmavarta

Ka-śī

Figure 7.7  Diagrams (a and b) of locations depicted on the ceiling. Chitramantapa, Venkataramanasvami temple, Mysore.

(a)

Figure 7.7  continued

(b)

Atrisapura

224  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III

Figure 7.8  Scenes with Krishna. Chitramantapa, Venkataramanasvami temple, Mysore. Photo by the author, with permission.

Mysore kings—​are physically present and living in the mundane world but simultaneously operate in transcendence of it. Additionally, the territory that is being depicted in the painted hall is not just the territory of the Mysore kingdom. It is the sacred geography of India writ large, which—​both symbolically and literally—​places the entire landscape of Indian devotion under the watchful gaze of the Mysore kings who are also depicted in the hall. Thus, these maps flatten time (Krishnaraja III’s present in Mysore, his lineage’s past in Shrirangapattana, and the illo tempore of the gods and their myths) and collapse space into Krishnaraja III’s and his court’s vision of his domain.

Mapping New Sovereignty  225

Territory of Devotion One way to view the pilgrimage is simply as an act of piety undertaken by the Brahmin Subbarayadasa to attain spiritual merit and prestige. Art historian Robert J. Del Bontà has suggested as much and concludes that the “collection of pilgrimage experiences reflects the sanctity of the man [Subbarayadasa] and also adds to the sanctity of the temple that he has built.”13 While this is certainly not inaccurate, it does downplay Subbarayadasa’s role as an agent of the king and his court. Subbarayadasa was not only a miracle-​working saint, but he was also a member of the court. He performed puja in the palace, and his career and this pilgrimage were funded by the maharaja and the royal family. His journeys even began and ended in the court of the king. Additionally, if the pilgrimage was performed to honor only the priest, then one must ask why the king plays such an important role in the narrative and why the entire Wodeyar lineage has been depicted among the sacred sites. The key to understanding this episode and its political implications lies in another possible interpretation that views the king and not the pilgrim as the central character and the journey not simply as a personal pilgrimage but as a ritual of sovereignty. This leads me to draw the following interpretation of the pilgrimage that I substantiate and develop through the remainder of this chapter. Subbarayadasa’s journey displayed the devotional virtuosity of Krishnaraja III’s court and the king’s relationship with temporal and divine powers throughout the subcontinent. The inscription suggests that Subbarayadasa was not just a pilgrim but a royal emissary, who collected biridus (insignia) and gifts from Indian princes and religious leaders to present to Krishnaraja III upon his return. In this way, he acted like the agents of empire in premodern India, who extended imperial territory and ensured the tribute from subordinate local rulers. It is important that he was not just collecting gifts from royalty, but he visited the sacred sites throughout his journey, accepting tribute from leaders of mathas and from temple priests and even installing temples in sites such as Varanasi, Kumbhakona, and Tiruchchirappalli.14 Thus, in his journey, Subbarayadasa traversed both the sacred and royal landscapes, collecting gifts that were imbued with political and metaphysical significance and that simultaneously contested the political power of the British by accessing sovereign power that was outside of their imperial reach. At the end of the pilgrimage, Krishnaraja III’s sovereignty was ritually cemented when the saint presented the king with the royal and religious gifts that he had collected on his journey and performed abhisheka (unction done at a royal installation) with water from the Ganga.15 This renewal of the royal unction was in stark contrast to the king’s original coronation in 1799, when he was given his royal insignia and crowned by the British governor-​general. Instead,

226  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III this represents a new and “true” consecration of Krishnaraja III, not as ruler of an earthly domain subordinated under colonial power but redefining his sovereignty in a devotional realm—​an incorporeal empire given and authorized by the gods and not bounded by British control. I would suggest, then, that the person responsible for the pilgrimage, the temple, and the paintings and the person whom they were aggrandizing were not Subbarayadasa and his temple but the king—​Krishnaraja III—​and his kingdom. This pilgrimage and its attendant inscriptions and murals articulate a new form of sovereignty and territorial domain. The murals, then, are not only a commemoration of a pilgrimage but also a map of the emerging political ideology of the Mysore court which reimagines sovereign power that is solely constituted within the world of Hindu devotion.

Rituals of Sovereignty, Localized Power, and Territory In order to understand the new form of sovereignty that was being explored in Krishnaraja III’s court, it is helpful to reconsider Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage within the context of premodern territorial and consecration rituals. Inherent in any articulation of sovereignty is the demarcation of the territory over which the ruler exerted power and influence, and as Partha Chatterjee has noted, it was increasingly necessary for late early modern and early colonial Indian rulers to articulate the bounds of their sovereign power.16 The details of Subbarayadasa’s journey and the maps of the chitramantapa allow us to see how sovereignty in the early colonial Mysore court was ritually and imaginatively reconstituted whereby the kingdom’s plane of influence was shifted away from military and administrative matters; instead, it emphasized Krishnaraja III’s devotional relationship with the gods and his role as their agent and representative on earth. The court’s reworking of sovereignty and sovereign territory becomes clearer when the pilgrimage is put into conversation with premodern expressions of sovereignty and place found in foundational narratives and consecration rituals. Therefore, in this section, I frame Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage within the context of Vedic (ashvamedha and rajasuya) and Puranic (digvijya and Mahanavami) imperial rituals that can illuminate the ritual mobilization of the king’s sovereignty throughout the territory. As with the premodern rituals, by performing dominion publicly, the court of Krishnaraja III made his new mode of sovereignty contestable, by which the boundaries of his sovereign power and territory could be demarcated and accepted. The territory that was delimited by the journey, however, was not constitutive of a military regime or an administrative system; instead, it defined a mythic and devotional landscape within which Krishnaraja III and his court sought to represent sovereignty in the devotional

Mapping New Sovereignty  227 realm. I conclude this section with a discussion of kshetras to demonstrate the evolution of sovereignty during Krishnaraja III’s reign.

Rituals of Power: Articulating Sovereignty through Hierarchy and Space Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage can be understood more fully when placed within a genealogy of rituals that explicitly sought to articulate sovereignty by structuring a hierarchy of divine and temporal sovereigns in relation to space, especially at critical moments of changing political structures. In this subsection, I trace imperial rituals that constructed and displayed political hierarchies along with the demarcation of territory. The purpose of this section is to provide a context through which we can better understand the broader implications of Subbarayadasa’s journey within the larger framework of Indian kingship. Nicholas Dirks, following the work of A. M. Hocart, has suggested that sovereignty in India has been defined through ritual systems in which the king is the head.17 He suggests that royal rituals are transformative and serve a constitutive function for both the king and his territory.18 As one of his examples from early South Indian history, Dirks describes the Vedic ashvamedha (horse sacrifice) and its “territorial implications.”19 The ashvamedha is one of the must studied and cited Vedic sacrifices and has often been considered a key ritual of ancient Indian kingship. In this ritual, sovereignty, which was typically mapped onto the royal flesh, was doubled, and the surplus was transferred into a royal horse that was representative of the king and of his sovereignty. The king sent his royal double (the horse), along with a retinue of one hundred soldiers, to wander freely for one year. During this journey, the royal stand-​in physically demarcated the domain of the king, and “the whole country was brought into contact with the divine power of the animal” (the king’s surplus sovereignty).20 After the yearlong journey, the horse and the king’s men would return to the capital, and the animal would be ritually sacrificed, returning the surplus royal/​divine power back to the king. Those who attended to the horse during its journey also received a portion of the surplus power as “sharers in the royal sway” that the ritual created.21 Related to this ritual was the king’s sacrifice (rajasuya), in which a king would receive his imperial inauguration after he had conquered his rival rulers. In this Vedic ritual, the new sovereign would invite the recently conquered kings to attend the sacrifice, enacting the hierarchy of sovereignty in the region. During the ceremony, the radiant divine power (tejas) of the sun and the moon was harnessed and transferred to the king through the royal unction (abhisheka).22 Thereby the king was situated at the top of the hierarchy of sovereigns and as the central hub through which the ritual flow of earthly sovereignty would be

228  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III transmitted. The rajasuya simultaneously drew the various territories together into a ritual unit and disseminated divine sovereign power back into the king’s domain via his subordinates through this ritual apparatus. Within these rituals, sovereignty was created, and the boundaries of the king’s territory were demarcated and defined. These royal rituals, at their core, were aimed at structuring the world around the king and his capital, enacting his sovereignty over his rival kings and throughout his extended territory. Both the ashvamedha and the rajasuya rituals were connected to transitional political periods as emergent kings tried to define their own sovereignty over and against the hegemony of their former and recently conquered suzerains. This included placing themselves within the context of immemorial kingship, and these ritual performances of sovereignty connected the emergent kings, who had instable or nonexistent lineages, to a ritual genealogy that went back to the primordial sacrificer-​kings of the Vedas, epics, and Puranas.23 Additionally, both rituals constituted the ruler’s sovereignty by making it vulnerable and contestable. In the ashvamedha, although it was largely symbolic, the sovereignty of the king for which the horse stood could theoretically be contested by anyone willing to seize and kill the animal during its journey.24 Further the rajasuya was attended by rival kings whose presence represented (former/​potential) contestation and their acquiescence displayed their submission. Thus, as royal rituals, the ashvamedha and rajasuya displayed and enacted the ruler’s paramount sovereignty showcasing the recent change in the political order.25 Through these Vedic rituals of establishing hierarchy and territory, sovereignty itself was constructed, constituted, and enacted. During the post-​Gupta medieval period, the imperial Vedic rituals were replaced by the Puranic digvijaya, a ritual in which a king sought to display his universal sovereignty by “conquering the quarters [of the world].” Like the ashvamedha and the rajasuya, the digvijaya was performed by a ruler who sought to distinguish himself and his dynasty from their previous overlords and was still carried out in southern India at least through the Vijayanagara period.26 Ronald Inden has described this ritual process in the early medieval period, particularly focusing on the eighth-​century Rashtrakuta empire located in what is now the Indian state of Karnataka.27 He suggests that the ritual of conquering the quarters was an attempt to take command over time and space, creating a better account of the world than one’s imperial predecessors. Like the horse sacrifice and the rajasuya before it, the digvijaya distinguished the king both by his military triumphs and in connection with divine royal lineages (i.e., solar and lunar lineages); however, as Inden describes, one function of the digvijaya was to show dynastic succession from the previous paramount sovereign (chakravartin) to the newly established political order. This is clear in the inscriptions that discuss the digvijaya, which imply that “divine grace had been withdrawn” from the

Mapping New Sovereignty  229 imperial predecessor and imbued into the “true successor.”28 After the digvijaya, the king would take part in a series of rituals that would confirm that he was now the harbinger of divine grace and had received the royal authority that comes along with it. As with the imperial Vedic ritual, the rituals associated with the digvijaya were constitutive of the king’s sovereignty. The first of the rituals associated with the digvijaya was the royal installment ceremony that began with the royal unction (rajyabhisheka). The royal bath transformed a man into the king by infusing him with sovereignty, the surplus of which was diffused into his territory through ritual gifting and subsequent lesser abhishekas of his subordinates.29 The installation ceremony also included a miniaturized military procession memorializing the king’s digvijaya. The recreation of conquest in the capital symbolically displayed the king’s territorial triumphs as the ruler and his military entourage marched from one temple to the next, where the ruler would perform puja to the various deities of the city. The final ritual in the post-​digvijaya installation ceremony was marked by the great beneficence of the king (mahadana), during which he gave liberally to the kingdom’s main deity, who recognized the ruler’s ability to “support” the earth.30 The purpose of this largesse was “to bring about a rebirth of the king who had completed a conquest of the quarters, to endow him with a ‘divine body,’ but not just in the same degree as did the imperial-​style ceremonial bath into kingship (rajyabhisheka).”31 The act of beneficence itself served as a devotional transformation—​like the royal unction—​that again solidified the sovereign’s ­relationship with the deity and displayed his divine authorization. The shift from the imperial Vedic sacrifice to the digvijaya was also coterminous with the transition from the Vedic worldview to a soteriological Puranic perspective in which devotion to the cosmic overlord (i.e., god) had become constitutive of kingship and royal authority. The digvijaya itself was a ritual of devotion, and its grand finale was the construction of a temple through which the new king displayed his devotion to “the true cosmic overlord . . . transform[ing] his very being, moving closer and closer to union with that god.”32 It was through the construction of the temple that the king re-​centered the world within his territory.33 This recentering was not only a political reconfiguration, but it repositioned Indian cosmography by (re)placing important pan-​Indic mythic sites in the kingdom (e.g., Kailasa temple in Ellora). This served to strengthen the connection between the divine and earthly sovereign and the flow of sovereign power from the deity to the king through the politico-​sacred site. During the late medieval period, particularly in Vijayanagara (c. 1336–​1646), the conquest of the four quarters, the ceremony of the great gift, and the unction of the king were joined within the devotion-​based festival of Mahanavami that annually renewed the king’s sovereignty. Dirks suggests that this ceremony enacted the homology of the deity and the king, who was “depicted as the principal devotee

230  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III of the deity with whom he is simultaneously identified.”34 Sovereign and military power, however, were given by the goddess, who became the focus of the “main action of the ritual.”35Through the ritual of devotion, the goddess would authorize the king’s rule, and her sovereign power was imbued upon the king through royal unction. In addition to this annual renewal of the king’s sovereignty, there was a complex system of ritualized gifting that distributed and disseminated that sovereign power to his subordinates.36 Thus, the surplus sovereign power that was granted to the king through his devotion was dispersed throughout his territory via his subordinate chieftains and was enacted through the subsequent military campaigns that were inaugurated by the Mahanavami festival.37

Dynamics of Sovereignty in Localized Power and Its Diffusion Local fields of power (kshetras) were also important in the construction of sovereignty for medieval Indian kings. These sites were localized sources of dynamic power that oscillated between transcendence and immanence, diffusing political and sacred power both vertically and horizontally. The gods were the first and foremost sovereigns over these kshetras, but they diffused their sovereign power into a king whom they found worthy. This is evident in numerous foundational stories from South India, including many from southern Karnataka, in which deities authorize local rulers after a demonstration of their abilities (e.g., Western Ganga, Hoysala, Wodeyar).38 This relationship was cemented through a ritual professional with the royal unction (abhisheka) and the king’s adoption of a sign of his divine election in the form of an insignia (biridu). Thus, the king was connected with the divine as its representative who could diffuse the surplus sovereign power throughout the territory by means of the political apparatus. Kings, however, were not the only representatives of the divine within these fields of influence, and ritual professionals, particularly priests of important temples and heads of mathas, also represented the divine within each realm. The dynamics of sovereignty in these fields of power can be seen in the great amount of rhetorical overlap between religious and political institutions. Dirks has shown in the context of the Nayakas of Madurai the shared ritual terminology for both royal and temple rituals of investiture.39 Additionally, Jain and Kannada scholar Sarah Pierce Taylor has shown how Jain bhattarakas (matha heads) in southern Karnataka invoked imperial metaphors to claim sovereignty over their sacred domain and even over its temporal rulers.40 As Pierce Taylor has shown, there is an inherent tension between these ritual professionals and the political structure within which they operated, as they were often mapped over the same physical space.41 Within the kshetra, therefore, sovereignty was a shared dynamic that bridged deity, temporal ruler, and ritual professional, but the deity was viewed

Mapping New Sovereignty  231 as the source of the power that imbued both the deity’s temporal and spiritual agents to wield over their respective—​sometimes complementary, sometimes conflicting—​sovereign domains. In previous chapters, I have discussed the Wodeyar and Keladi connections to Vijayanagara and local devotional leaders, so I will not belabor the point here.42 Instead, I focus on this historical moment in the reign of Krishnaraja III, because it marks a critical shift in the Mysore court from traditional dynamics of regional kingship to a new understanding of sovereignty that emphasized the transcendent origins of sovereign power and authority. Included in this reconfiguration of sovereignty, the king assumed the function of the spiritual ruler, and the religious professionals merely operated as agents of his court.43 The inscription of the pilgrimage recounts Subbarayadasa’s journey from kshetra to kshetra by recording the rulers and religious leaders with whom the Brahmin met and the gifts and insignia that he was given to deliver to Krishnaraja III upon his return.44 As with the details of the Wodeyar migration found in previous vamshavalis, Subbarayadasa’s journey was blessed at each stop before he continued along, displaying the Wodeyar sovereign signs and stockpiling royal and spiritual emblems from other regions throughout his journey. The mural paintings in the chitramantapa of Venkataramanasvami temple, however, display a different vision of the journey. In these paintings, all signs of traditional temporal sovereignty are absent, except for the Mysore palace in Shrirangapattana and the superimposition of the rulers of the Wodeyar lineage within the composition. Instead, the kshetras are displayed with reference to their sacred sites of power and their deities, who simultaneously exchange a gaze with the viewer and are watched over by the kings of Mysore.45 The tension between the epigraphic account and the murals reflects the tumultuous political situation in which Krishnaraja III and his court found themselves and in which alternative modes of sovereignty had to be explored in order to preserve, or even carve out, a realm of their own. In many ways, Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage can be understood in light of these ritual antecedents that articulate sovereignty through space.46 Like the royal Vedic and medieval rituals of sovereignty, Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage is a ritual that attempts to structure sovereignty and demarcate domain.47 Subbarayadasa’s journey mapped a new territory over which Krishnaraja III could claim sovereignty: the devotional landscape of India. It was not a territory that the king had physically conquered but was one over which Krishnaraja III and his court could exert sovereignty. With his new abhisheka at the end of Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage, Krishnaraja III was reborn as a new king, not the puppet monarch of the British colonial project but the sovereign ruler over the spiritual and devotional realm of India. In this role, the king regained his sovereign power and his ability to protect his people by pleasing the gods and maintaining the cosmic structure through ritual propriety. Like the symbolic processions that recreated

232  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III conquests after the digvijaya and during Mahanavami, the Venkataramanasvami chitramantapa memorialized and celebrated the king’s triumphs within this devotional territory and centered the Indian devotional cosmos in Mysore.

Spatiality, Sovereign Surplus, and the Flesh of Geo-​Bodies in the Early Colonial Period While the premodern context of rituals of sovereignty is important for situating Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage within paradigms of Indian kingship, the early colonial period provides the political situation that both made possible and necessitated alternative modes of sovereignty. Indeed, his rule marked a transition away from traditional understandings of sovereignty and a displacement of sovereign power and authority beyond the limits of the king, his court, and his traditional domain. In this section, I turn attention to the processes through which sovereignty developed during this historical period and how the project of Krishnaraja III’s court fits into broader considerations of Indian kingship during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

Relocating Sovereignty Traditional expressions of Indian sovereignty were not solely constituted relative to the king’s relationship to a collection of the people; sovereignty involved the interplay of both subjects and space, encapsulated in the common legal term jana-​ pada (“people and territory” or “inhabited territory”). The spatial dimension, however, seems to be peripheral or sometimes is missing from many discussions of sovereignty, especially those concerned with its developments in early modernity and in the colonial period.48 If, however, we look more closely at the interplay between political and spatial orders, we can begin to see how Mysore sovereignty was reformed and relocated. The reign of Krishnaraja III coincided with a dramatic reconfiguration of political processes in which the king and his court were stripped of their traditional sovereign domain, leaving a surplus that was likewise forced to migrate. However, within the new political and spatial order of British rule, the diffusion of sovereignty was curtailed, and the king’s dominion over the land (as demonstrated in the tax-​free “exceptions” of inams and agraharas) was erased. Therefore, Krishnaraja III and his court shifted their sovereign activities toward acts of devotion through which the king’s divine authority and election were affirmed and articulated. In Subbarayadasa’s journey and the maps in the chitramantapa of the Venkataramanasvami temple, the court of Krishnaraja III restructured the

Mapping New Sovereignty  233 spatial order as a result of the new mode of sovereignty. As necessitated by the changing political realities, the early colonial court updated the relationship between the king, the people, the land, and the divine that seems to have been part of a redirection of political thought in Indian modernity that continues to influence political structures and agents. Hastings’s Judicial Plan of 1772 had demarcated the boundaries of the new British political order and the free spaces that were beyond British juridical control: “in all Suits regarding Inheritance, Marriage, Caste and other religious Usages or Institutions, the Laws of the Koran with respect to Mahometans and those of the Shaster with respect to Gentoos shall be invariably adhered to.”49 Therefore, though constrained in comparison to their previous reach, in the new British political order, the religious confines, including rituals of devotion in temples and mathas, were open territory, “free space” within which Indian sovereignty could be exacted and performed. Lying outside of British control, Krishnaraja III and his court focused the king’s sovereignty in these extrajuridical religious spaces through donations, ritual sponsorship, and temple construction and renovations. Moreover, in the pilgrimage of Subbarayadasa and its mural and epigraphic records, Krishnaraja III was broadening his connections beyond his traditional realm of control, establishing connections (read: alliances) with important religious institutions and their deities throughout India. As with the Vedic and Puranic imperial rituals, sovereignty in India was a complex ritualized relationship that involved symbolic and literal conquests and the enactment of political hierarchies that served to diffuse the surplus of sovereignty throughout the king’s territory. The pilgrimage in which the saint visited royal and religious leaders and religious institutions, such as mathas and temples, also functioned to establish a political order and diffuse the surplus of sovereignty throughout the territory. Only in this case, instead of the complex vertical and horizontal triangulation of earthly and divine sovereignty that marked the devotional kingship of the medieval period, the political structure was flattened and the ritual constitution of sovereignty adumbrated. Whereas the cycle of gifting in premodern rituals of sovereignty flowed from local deity (in the form of insignia) to local (subordinate) chieftain/​king, to the earthly sovereign, to the divine sovereign, then back to the subordinate king through the earthly sovereign, now the flow of gifts was streamlined from local deity to local king to Krishnaraja III to the sovereign deity (here Venkata). The flow of sovereignty migrated from deity to king but ultimately rested with the deity, permeating the proximate sacred landscape with which they were associated. The surplus of sovereignty, the “flesh” of the perpetual and metaphysical body of kingship, was therefore transferred into Indian sacred landscapes that could bridge immanence and transcendence, reflecting the ontology of the deities housed in these sites.50 Therefore, the kshetras themselves became repositories for the surplus

234  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III of Indian kingship that formed a larger network of sovereign power. Through Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage, however, Krishnaraja III was still the center of the ritual transaction and was connected to the sources of power and divine authority throughout India’s sacred landscape as the recipient of their material signs of sovereignty (biridu) and ultimately drawing the deities and their kshetras into his capital (via murals). Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage functioned like the ashvamedha or the digvijaya as a means through which the new political and spatial order of Krishnaraja III’s reign could be articulated, demarcated, and defined. However, territory was no longer defined through martial power and conquest, but it was constituted solely through sacred landscape that ultimately existed in its transcendent and divine sources that populated Krishnaraja III’s new domain. This new spatial order of devotional territory was bolstered by the many projects of the Mysore court that portrayed the king as the foremost devotee, often even explicitly through the installation of images and carving of inscriptions in the very same temples and mathas.51 Through this process, the surplus of sovereignty was both restricted in its reach and also extended beyond the traditional boundaries of its kshetras bridging a connection between Indian political entities and religious institutions and uniting all the sacred landscape of India into one devotional territory in which Indian sovereignty still reigned supreme.

Mapping New Sovereignty and the Geo-​Flesh of Hindu India The unification of the sacred geography of India into one distinct devotional map that was beyond the purview of British control provided new potential for the conceptualization of territory and sovereignty. Indeed, these sites became the storehouses and hubs for remembered Indian sovereignty, also creating a new map of Indian kingship that pieced together a distinct religio-​political territory. This was not happening in isolation within the Mysore court, but it intentionally incorporated various princely states into this map of a unified India, which is more explicitly envisioned in the Dasara darbar mural in the Rangamahal of the Jaganmohan Palace. As a result of British intervention in the issues of dynastic continuity, succession, and political hierarchies, the diffusion of the surplus sovereign “flesh” of the metaphysical body of kingship was reconfigured within the constraints of this redefined sovereignty and its territory. In this context, sovereignty in potentia was displaced onto the land of the subcontinent, particularly in its sacred geography through the various important ksehtras. The migration of sovereignty underwent a process in which the incorporeal mass—​the flesh of sovereign surplus—​that linked earthly sovereignty to transcendence through divine authorization was mapped onto the sacred geography of India, producing

Mapping New Sovereignty  235 what one might call a “geo-​flesh” of potential Indian kingship that could sustain both the transcendence and the immanence associated with earthly and divine sovereignty.52 As with the incorporation of the surplus of sovereignty into the mystical body of the king or in the abject immanence in popular sovereignty, with the creation of the devotional geo-​flesh of India, multiple sources of localized power were collapsed into one territory. The transfer of the storehouse of sovereignty from the body of the king into the landscape made possible an incorporeal empire in which Indian sovereignty could be sited, or, to use the words of Claude Lefort, the sphere of Indian sovereignty was “organized as one despite (or because of) its multiple dimensions [implying] a reference to a place from which it can be seen, read, and named.”53 In this way, an incorporeal geo-​flesh provided an abstraction of sovereign power in which Indian kingship could remain latent within the sacred landscape of India until it could once again be realized. The relationship between the reconfiguration of sovereignty and territory during this period has a direct bearing on the rise of Indian nationalism, Hindu nationalism, and the movement for independent India that warrants further research. Indeed, the implications of the migration of the sovereign surplus from the kingly body to the geo-​flesh of India potentially explain the politico-​ theological and ideological basis for the nationalist reimagining of the subcontinent as the embodiment of the divine in the form of Bharata Mata/​Mother India, a goddess who is simultaneously an anthropomorphic female and a map of the Indian nation state. As Sumathi Ramaswamy has demonstrated, during the late nineteenth century, Indian nationalists began creating an anthropomorphic-​ sacred cartographed “geo-​body” of India.54 As Ramaswamy explains, the Indian anthropomorphic-​sacred geo-​body (Bharata Mata) was a “complex and competent” cartographic project that blended European scientific and mathematical geography—​the modern mapping of India—​with religio-​political sentiments that were embodied as a goddess.55 While Bharata Mata developed as a result of the dialectic between European hegemonic structures and Indian struggles against them, accounts of sacred Indian cartography that begin with the creation of Mother India in the 1880s do not account for the ideological foundations of the nationalist movement or of unified Indian sovereignty.56 Within this history of cartographed Indian sovereign space, the only explanation for a unified conception of India is that it is a byproduct of Western modernity in which external forces forged an imagined national identity that was adopted by the nationalist movements. While Western democratic ideologies certainly impacted Indian nationalisms, these nationalisms are also rooted in Indian forms of sovereignty that provided political-​theological foundations for modern visions of India as a geographical sovereign nation. In the murals of the Venkataramanasvami temple’s chitramantapa, we see an early geo-​embodiment of the geo-​flesh of Indian sovereignty that imagined India

236  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III unified as one sovereign state through its sacred geography. Though limited to the sphere of temples and mathas, the murals depict territory of Indian sovereignty that inherently challenged British hegemony within the subcontinent. Actively resisting the British view of the world, the chitramantapa murals produced a different knowledge of India’s geography that inherently contradicted the scientific cartography that was increasingly used by the British to represent their colonies and that provided an accounting of India that undermined colonial knowledge production.57 Indeed, recent scholarship has shown that the princely states were not simply despotic puppets of the British colonial program, but they often engaged in resistance and helped spread anticolonial sentiments through a variety of approaches.58 Manu Bhagavan has shown that during the early twentieth century, Hindu nationalist thinkers actively constructed rhetoric of a unified Hindu state that focused on the past and future sovereignty of the Indian princely states, including Mysore.59 The sovereignty of early colonial Mysore, as articulated in Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage and the chitramantapa mural, was a precursor of the association of princely states with the Indian or Hindu nationalist imagination that envisioned India as a unified sovereign. As the nationalist movement grew, however, the geo-​body of India developed beyond the confines of these sacred sites as the entire subcontinent was transformed into an anthropomorphic-​ sacred landscape as Bharata Mata.

Conclusion In the transitional period of Krishnaraja III’s reign, the changing political order necessitated the reconstitution of sovereignty. After the Mysore king was stripped of his administrative and military powers, his agent Subbarayadasa was sent on a journey throughout India in which he visited various princely states and traversed the sacred landscape of India. In doing so, the priest continued a long genealogy of imperial rituals that sought to demarcate territory and order political structures. As a result, we can see the underlying shifts in the political thought of the court, in which Indian sovereignty was redefined and relocated within the extrajuridical religious sites that were beyond British control. With the displacement of the traditional forms of sovereignty, Indian kingship was changed, its domain was recentered, and the surplus of sovereignty migrated into the unified yet abstracted domain of sacred landscape, what I have called the geo-​flesh of early colonial Indian sovereignty. The shift in political ideology in which the power of sovereignty lay dormant in its religious institutions provided the ideological shift necessary for an indigenous and unified national identity that resisted colonial control and viewed India’s landscape as both sacred and sovereign.

Mapping New Sovereignty  237

Notes 1. British Library, India Office Records, IOR.L.PS.6.526.48.2. 2. REC Volume V: My, 4, lines 3–​4, 9–​10. 3. This form of pilgrimage was not unique to the royal court of Mysore. In fact, it seems quite similar to pilgrimages undertaken by Serfoji II of Tanjavur in the Cholanadu in 1801 and to Varanasi in 1820–​1822 (see Peterson 2002; Peterson forthcoming). These might have even been the inspiration for Subbarayadasa’s pilgrimage, as we know that Krishnaraja III drew on artistic traditions from the Tanjavur court. Additionally, Indira Peterson has similarly connected these royal pilgrimages with the shifting modes of kingship during the early modern period of European encounter (personal communication, April 2015; Peterson 2002; Peterson forthcoming). 4. Compare with Feldhaus 2003, 157–​184. 5. REC Volume V: My, 5. 6. Subbarayadasa’s original temple was the Anjaneya temple in Bilikere. The temple now houses Subbarayadasa’s brindavana (cremation memorial) and bhakti vigrahas of the saint and his brother carved into the columns in front of the garbha gudi. 7. The brothers, of course, remained in charge of the temple, and the benefits of the agrahara were maintained by their family. Indeed, to this day, Venkataramansvami is one of the few pre-​Independence temples in the Mysore region that is considered privately owned, which the owner, or pujari, is very quick to point out as he requests huge sums of money to view the chitramantapa. 8. Nair (2011, 87) has suggested that the purpose of the murals was twofold. First, she suggests that these, along with the murals in the Rangamahal of the Jaganmohan Palace, “allowed a sedentary king to vicariously travel through India.” Indeed, both sets of murals would have been viewed often by the king, either when visiting Lingajammanni, his queen of Krishnavilasa, or during the many hours he spent in the chitramantapa playing chess with Subbarayadasa in his later years. But again, I think this interpretation is a bit too superficial, although, without a doubt, the king enjoyed scenes from the various sacred sites of India specifically during his times of “leisure.” I think the act of enjoyment was itself representative of the type of kingship that the court of Krishnaraja III was attempting to construct. This leads me to prefer Nair’s second interpretation (2011, 79), that these murals were an attempt at providing “semiotic cohesion to the territory.” But the territory that is being depicted in the chitramantapa is not just the territory of the Mysore kingdom. It is the sacred geography of the whole of India, which symbolically and literally places the entire structure of Indic devotion under his watchful gaze. 9. This person is commonly identified as the divan Purnayya; however, the king is shown to be far older than when the divan was deposed. Given the poor terms on which the divan was dismissed, I doubt this image represents him. I will not attempt to suggest an alternative, although one should probably look to Mummadi’s ministers during the commissioners period for an accurate identification. 10. Compare with Seastrand (2013, 76–​97, especially 95–​97) and the Thanjavur manuscript discussed by Dallapiccola (2010b, 75, 90–​91, 96).

238  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III 11. For more on the genealogy of this map perspective, see Simmons forthcoming. 12. This is the same temple in which Krishnaraja III had installed an image of the devotee-​warrior king Kanthirava Narasaraja (see ­chapter 4). Additionally, the only other images that depict worshippers are the processions at Tirupati and Varadaraja in Kanchi. These devotees, however, are not performing puja to the deity but instead are exhibiting merriment in dancing as they carry the deity through the city. I believe the image of the procession is closer to ethnography than it is to rhetoric and therefore consider it different in nature from the imagery in Shrirangapattana. They do, however, again represent the importance of movement and space in the overall composition of the chitramantapa. 13. Del Bontà 1995, 5. 14. The practice of installing deities in the far-​reaching periphery of the territory resembles the imperial strategies of Vijayanagara and also mimics devotional practices of early modern Maratha and Tanjavur kings. Michell 1995, 25–​ 72; Stoker 2016. 15. Compare with Heesterman 1957, 114–​122; Inden 1998. 16. Chatterjee 2012, 92. 17. Dirks 1976. 18. For Dirks, this means that the king is homologized with the gods as the sovereign over an earthly sphere of influence. Dirks, however, does not emphasize the importance of space and place, but as Lefort (1988, 254) has noted, a king is only king within his own state. 19. Dirks 1976, 137–​140. 20. Dirks 1976, 138. 21. Dirks 1976, 137. 22. See Willis 2014, 182–​198. 23. Dirks 1976, 139; Willis 2014, 192. 24. However, this was unlikely, as the ashvamedha was only performed when domination and compliance were ensured. 25. Compare with Schmitt 2005, 12–​13. This break with normative order differs slightly to Schmitt’s concept of the decisionist nature of sovereignty upon first glance because Schmitt presupposes a stable state over which the sovereign has the power to intervene. There is, however, more congruence than not if one considers kingship in India as part of a larger system of rules and order. While this is not a “state” in the sense that Schmitt envisions, I believe the restructuring of the sovereign hierarchy to be the highest example of the state of exception. 26. Stein 1989, 42; Dirks 1993, 37–​43. This term has also been used to describe Shankara’s pilgrimage throughout India in which he is said to have bested all of his rival philosophers, yet another example of the rhetorical overlap between temporal and spiritual sovereignty. See Kulke 2001, 234–​239. William Sax (2000) has specifically looked at the overlap of “religion and politics in Hinduism” through the practice of royal and renouncer digvijaya processions. 27. Inden 1990, 244–​262. 28. Inden 1990, 246–​247; and Inden 1998, 50.

Mapping New Sovereignty  239 29. See Inden 1998, 41–​91. The sovereignty of the king (along with the subordination of his vassals) was continually renewed by the reconsecration of the king through abhisheka during important ritual cycles throughout his reign. 30. See also Inden 1979. 31. Inden 1990, 248. 32. Inden 1990, 248. 33. Inherent within this process was decentering the world of Indian devotional cosmology from the realms of rival kings, which included desecrating their temples and absconding with their deities (Inden 1990, 258–​262; Davis 1999, 57–​84). This has been much discussed in recent years. For other interesting insights, see Eaton 2000; Eaton 2004; Moin 2015. 34. Dirks 1993, 41. 35. Dirks 1993, 41. 36. The king is given gifts by his subordinate chiefs, and the king, in turn, gives gifts to the deity. The king also gave gifts to his feudatories as a sign of honor and incorporation into the imperial hierarchy, which Dirks (1993, 40–​43) compares to prasada (ritual blessed “leftovers”). 37. The hierarchies of sovereignty were thoroughly incorporated into the Vijayanagara program. As Michell (1995, 155) has shown, the rulers were keen to collect deities from the outlying territories and construct temples for them in their capital. This simultaneously created inclusivity within the devotional program of the city, but it also recreated the political hierarchies by mapping them onto various regional deities, who were subordinated to the gods of the Vijayanagara kings (i.e., Virupaksha and later Venkateshvara). 38. See c­ hapters 1 and 4; Simmons 2018. 39. Dirks 1993, 100. 40. Pierce Taylor 2016; Pierce Taylor 2014. 41. The ritual importance of these fields of power remains evident as the Jain community and institutional structure is still arranged with a network of mathas that oversee various kshetras that belong to powerful Jain yakshis. 42. These two spheres of sovereignty are forced to work together, however, and rituals of consecration and inauguration require the ritual professional to transfer the divine power. Examples of this abound in the foundational narratives of the Vijayanagara successor states, in which the emergent courts connected themselves with both the Vijayanagara imperium and the local ritual professionals. Interestingly, the famous narrative of the Nayakas of Madurai discussed by Dirks (1993, 96–​106) and by Rao, Shulman, and Subrahmanyam (1992, 44–​56) seems to eliminate the ritual professional, instead focusing only on the relationship between temporal rulers and the divine election by Minakshi. 43. An interesting comparison to the shifts in kingship in Mysore is the case of the Khurda kings of Puri in Orissa, whose kingdom was taken but who were given the superintendence over the Jagannatha temple in 1809. See Kulke 2001, 62–​63. 44. The kshetras’ proper names are even recorded in the inscription in the account of his time in northern India.

240  Krishnaraja Wodeyar III 45. As we have seen in the literature, murals, and devotional efforts of Krishnaraja III and his court throughout the remaining years of his reign, the court increasingly articulated Krishnaraja III’s sovereignty through a devotional lens. In the Wodeyar foundational story in Great Kings of Mysore, the pilgrimage of Yaduraya, the lineage’s legendary progenitor, his authority to rule, and his sovereign injunction were constituted through divine interaction and his rule initiated through his relationship with the jangama leader, who subsequently performed the royal unction and bequeathed the Wodeyar king with his royal insignia (ochre flag). As in the murals of the Venkataramanasvami temple, the presence of an external polity is absent, only appearing later in the Raja Wodeyar narrative. 46. Indeed, there are multiple layers of convergence between the medieval rituals and the journey of the Brahmin pilgrim: Subbarayadasa traveled throughout the Indian world displaying the royal insignia of Krishnaraja III; Krishnaraja III is given the insignia/​gifts from other kings (and spiritual leaders); he is consecrated through royal unction; he gives gifts to the deity; and he gives gifts of honor to his subordinate, diffusing his sovereign surplus. 47. The digvijaya remains an important concept for erstwhile Indian kings and continues to be part of royal festivals and rituals; for example, see Schechner 1993, 46–​47. 48. The most notable exception to this is the spatial work of Carl Schmitt (especially 2006 and 2015). Recently, a growing number of scholars have become interested in and have built upon Schmitt’s work on space and sovereignty. Many examples include Aravamudan 2005; Bosteels 2005; Legg 2011; Meyer, Schetter, and Prinz 2012; Minca and Rowan 2016. 49. Quoted in Rocher 1972, 419; emphasis added. See also Rocher 2010, 78–​88. While these spaces were clearly demarcated in theory, they were not so straightforward in practice; the lines between these juridical spaces was ambiguous and fraught with contestation. For more, see Benton 2002, 129–​140. 50. My use of “geo-​flesh” is heavily indebted to Eric Santner’s (2012) concept of “royal flesh” and its surplus. 51. Though not discussed previously, the epigraphic program of Krishnaraja III was marked by an increasing emphasis on visibility in which inscriptions were carved in large readable script and placed in very prominent places. Examples of this can be seen in Venkataramanasvami temple and other sites in and around Mysore, such as the Chamundeshvari temple on Chamundi Hill, the Parakala Matha in Krishnavilasa, and the Ramanalakshmikanta temple in the palace fort. 52. Compare with Santner 2012. 53. Lefort 1988, 225. 54. Ramaswamy 2009, 14–​71. The term geo-​body, coined by Winichakul (1994, 17), is “not merely space or territory. It is a component of the life of a nation. It is a source of pride, loyalty, love, passion, bias, hatred, reason, unreason. It also generates many other conceptions and practices about nationhood as it combines with other elements of nationhood.” A geo-​body “occupies a certain portion of the earth’s surface which is objectively identifiable. It appears to be concrete to the eyes as if its existence does not depend on any act of imagining. That, of course, is not the case. The geobody

Mapping New Sovereignty  241 of a nation is merely an effect of modern geographical discourse whose prime technology is a map. To a considerable extent, the knowledge about the Siamese nationhood has been created by our conception of Siam-​on-​the-​map, emerging from maps and existing nowhere apart from the map.” 55. Ramaswamy 2009, 8–​10, 34–​36. 56. Compare with Ramaswamy 2009, 34–​36. 57. See Edney 1997; Edney 1994; compare with Ramaswamy 2009, 8–​11. Del Bontá (1995) has pointed out that the places represented in the chitramantapa are not depicted accurately by Western cartographic standards. He suggests that there is a difference between the accuracy of the northern and southern sites. While some southern sites might be “more accurate,” many are equally misrepresented by modern cartographic standards. In fact, it seems that the artists were unconcerned with representational “accuracy” of the site’s geographical and topographical features. Instead, we recognize the sites because of the deities, their narrative clues, and their label inscriptions (if present) that identify the site and its sacred significance. 58. E.g., Ramusack 2003; Bhagavan 2008; Bhagavan 2003; Copland 2002. 59. Bhagavan 2008.

 Epilogue I’m not taking a body. I’m carrying God. R. Jagadeesh, ambulance driver (December 11, 2013) [Tipu] was the last arrow in the arsenal who could stop [the] British Empire. Tweet from Press Information Department, Government of Pakistan (May 4, 2018)

On December 10, 2013, just three months after our meeting, the Maharaja of Mysore, Shri Kanthadatta Narasimharaja Wodeyar (1953–​2013) passed away unexpectedly due to complications following a medical procedure. The following day, the headlines of the local Kannada daily newspapers announced the maharaja’s death:  “Lineage of the Yaduvamsha Has Ended” (nandida yaduvamsha kudi) and “The Final Sprout of the Yaduvamsha Has Died” (yaduvamshada kade kudi vidhivasha).1 In the local section of the Times of India from the same day, the ambulance driver, R. Jagadeesh, who had transported the maharaja’s body from Bangalore to Mysore to be prepared for the royal funeral, echoed these sentiments: “I’m not taking a body. I’m carrying God.”2 In both the local newspapers’ headlines and Jagadeesh’s response, we see how thoroughly Wodeyar kingship has been ingrained into the cultural memory of the region and how the Wodeyar kings’ identity had been effectively sacralized through this process. In the local imagination, Wodeyar was a god on earth, descendant and culmination of the Yaduvamsha, the mythical lineage through which Krishnaraja Wodeyar III so earnestly invested his and his lineage’s royal identity.3 Conversely, on May 4, 2018, the 219th anniversary of the death of Tipu Sultan, the Press Information Department of the Pakistan government posted twice on Twitter praising the Mysore sultan for his place in the subcontinent’s history. The first tweet—​an infographic titled “Tipu Sultan/​Tiger of Mysore: Revisiting Historical Figure”—​lauded his kingdom as “the peak of Mysore’s economic power,” for introducing a “land revenue system which initiated the growth of the Mysore silk industry,” and for Tipu Sultan’s personal library which contained “more than 2,000 books in different languages.”4 In a second tweet, the Press Information Department released a video that described Tipu Sultan as a brave Devotional Sovereignty. Caleb Simmons, Oxford University Press (2020) © Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780190088897.001.0001

244 Epilogue and tolerant ruler, with text reading: “He is regarded as the first freedom fighter for his fierce battles against the British,” “Tipu Sultan ensured the rights[s]‌of minorities,” and “He was the last arrow in the arsenal who could stop [the] British Empire.”5 These tweets were not accepted as benign facts about a historical figure, and many Twitter users fired back with accusations that Pakistan was praising an intolerant murderer and that this was an attempt to meddle in local Karnataka politics in the state’s upcoming elections. Even the Times of India picked up the story, reporting, “Pakistan calls Tipu Sultan ‘tiger of Mysore,’ adds fuel to Karnataka campaigning fire.”6 I begin this epilogue with these present-​day representations of Tipu Sultan and the Wodeyar lineage because they are illustrative of the lasting effects of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja Wodeyar III in the cultural memory of Mysore and the stakes that these legacies continue to have for people today who invest part of their own identity in these kings. The stakes are not confined to social-​media wars or emotional interviews with news reporters, but the efforts made by Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III have lasting effects on the current political climate of India and influence democratic elections: Kanthadatta Narasimharaja Wodeyar was elected as a Lok Sabha member of the Indian Parliament four times (1984, 1989, 1996, and 1999), and Tipu Sultan is a common issue of debate between Bharatiya Janata Party and Congress candidates in Karnataka election cycles, with the former arguing that he was a bloodthirsty and intolerant Muslim fanatic and the latter lauding him as a great Indian freedom fighter.7 In this book, I  have attempted to illuminate the reigns of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III by looking at the ways the courts of both kings sought to locate their sovereignty and redefine their kingship amid the burgeoning tide of British colonial hegemony. During Tipu Sultan’s reign, his court developed along with his position of regional military dominance. In the beginning of his reign, the Mysore sultan emphasized his rights of conquest and drew on Persianate and Kannada genealogical traditions to ground his authority, with martial prowess being proof of this election. However, as he suffered military defeats and his supremacy was challenged, Tipu Sultan increasingly turned to religious rhetoric and vocabularies—​literary, ritual, and political—​to ground his claims to sovereign authority in the region. The kingship of Krishnaraja III, on the other hand, began in a subordinate position when he was installed on the throne by the British. In similar ways, however, as the Wodeyar king’s sovereignty came under threat, the king turned to religious devotion to construct a new form of sovereignty over which he could claim control. Therefore, while their present-​ day characterizations in Karnataka could not be more disparate, Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III engaged in similar processes as their search for sovereignty turned to religion to provide an idiom through which they could ground their sovereign authority in spite of political changes. For the courts of both kings, the historical tradition was the site through which their claims to sovereignty could be constructed as they carefully curated,

Epilogue  245 revised, and built upon regional and local precedent. Thus, the genealogies from the courts of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III incorporated and developed historical materials in order to insert themselves into the regional cultural memory and to display their place within broader dynastic continuity, providing a certain air of sovereign consistency during the volatile political period. Lineage became the site within which the courts could contest and negotiate different forms of power, political or otherwise. Through the collation of lineage details, the Mysore courts constructed a political history of the subcontinent, making claims about religious identity, political succession, and the divine role of sovereignty. Much like the debates surrounding Tipu Sultan in contemporary politics, for the courts of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III, the past provided an opportunity for contesting power. For Tipu Sultan’s court, dynastic continuity was centered on the permanence of the office of kingship and its divine origins. Biological succession, however, was not sufficient to assume the office. Instead, men of special abilities were created by God in order to enact the divine charge of political administration and military supremacy. The rightful king—​he who was authorized by the divine to rule—​proved his divine election by displaying his God-​given royal abilities on the battlefield and in the court. This shaped Tipu Sultan’s relationship with other regional polities as he sought to test their divine injunction through diplomacy and warfare. In the genealogies of Krishnaraja III’s court, divine election was a matter of his divine ancestry that needed to be renewed regularly. His sovereign power, however, was not aimed specifically to rule over the mundane concerns of political administration or to extend his territory through military engagement. His court reframed the Wodeyar kingdom as a territory of the spiritual world, and he was charged with maintaining the integrity of temples and important pilgrimage centers. The power through which he exercised his sovereign authority was, therefore, not mapped onto the mundane world of political concerns but an incorporeal empire of devotion that ran alongside and parallel to temporal power. In the cases of both Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III, genealogies were used to contest power and negotiate political realities. By reframing and redefining authority and power within this period of transition, the genealogies of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III reveal unique ways in which the courts of both rulers negotiated between their pre-​and early modern predecessors and the onslaught of colonialism. Therefore, their lineages also serve as political histories that provide interesting insights into the dynamics of the colonial encounter and its effect on the development of sovereignty in late early modern and early colonial India. Dynastic continuity was not only portrayed in genealogies, but it was also enacted by both Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III through their devotional practices. While their actions can be dismissed as a means to appeal to or control an important constituency or praised as proof of their tolerant rule, royal devotion was an important site through which a king and his court could enact divine

246 Epilogue authorization and dynastic continuity. Both Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III actively engaged in devotional practices that had been part of regional kingship for centuries. By enacting these forms of devotionalism, the kings performed dynastic continuity linking their sovereignty to that of those who had come before them. Tipu Sultan’s relationship with Gisu Daraz and the Shringeri guru made the case that he was indeed the rightful successor to the Bahmani/​Adil Shah and Vijayanagara/​Keladi kingdoms by explicitly connecting his sovereignty and military success with the holy men’s authority that had been vital in the construction of regional imperium. Krishnaraja III sought to confirm his own place on the throne and the restoration of his lineage by associating his line with the sacred sites of royal power throughout his kingdom. However, he took it a step further, inserting the Wodeyar line into the material cultural memory by placing images of himself in temples alongside devotional portraiture that had been identified as his Wodeyar predecessors. His devotional identity was reaffirmed through ritual portraiture that was reproduced for greater dissemination throughout the kingdom. For both Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III, devotionalism played a central role in the way they defined the source and authority of their kingship and their relation to the rulers who had come before them. In addition to the vast literary accounts produced by both courts and their royal patronage, Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III were invested in the visual display of their sovereignty. Both kings commissioned murals in their secondary palaces that portrayed the pomp of the royal parade and its connection to military aesthetics but were grounded in broader religious frameworks. In Tipu Sultan’s Dariya Daulat Bagh, murals of warfare and royal marches were painted along with representations of diplomacy and peace all of which were tied together by religious devotion as holy men and kings were shown visiting mosques, praying, and reading the Qur’an. In the murals from the early years of his reign, the overlapping motif was a picture of Mysore as an Islamic realm of peace and prosperity that triumphed over its immoral and iniquitous foes. This rhetoric was expanded in the latter years of his reign, during which the sultan engaged in increased written correspondence with French and Afghan governments, which were potential allies in his fight against the British. In these letters, Tipu Sultan extended the meanings of religiously charged terminology, such as “infidel” and “faithful,” to reflect diplomatic positions in relation to his Mysore government. To be “faithful” to God’s will meant to acknowledge the divine appointment of Tipu Sultan and the Mysore government, and to be an “infidel” was to go against it. For Krishnaraja III, his Rangamahal murals created a grand display of the totality of his kingship. Like Tipu Sultan’s murals, the Rangamahal depicts Krishnaraja III’s grandeur through his Dasara procession and darbar, showing the military identity of the king. The martial prowess (virya) extended into murals of games and hunting which showed the extent of the king’s abilities

Epilogue  247 in military strategy and with weapons. The martial virility (virya) came together with the sexual (shringara) virility of the king in the remaining images of Krishnaraja III in the smaller rooms in which his liaisons with his harem and the offspring they produced were depicted. But perhaps most important for the lasting legacy of the Wodeyar lineage, through the genealogical mural, he and his line were connected to the divine lineage of Krishna and the Yaduvamsha which displayed its continuity from the beginning of time, mimicking European linear (biblical) histories, while elevating the Wodeyar kings to the status of gods on earth. This imagery was also included in the Venkataramansvami temple, which placed Krishnaraja III and his Wodeyar predecessors within the spiritual world of pan-​Indian devotion over which he could claim sovereignty. Beyond giving us a visual representation of Mysore sovereignty, these murals help us to consider the function of articulations of this type. Instead of displays of kingship that could be widely viewed and/​or circulated, the murals of the Dariya Daulat Bagh and the Rangamahal would have been viewed by smaller audiences that were closely associated with the king and, most likely, were intended for the kings themselves. Instead of functioning as a means to legitimate their rule or their kingship, these murals, and perhaps all the productions of the Mysore court, were attempts to locate the kings’ royal identity and sovereignty and to give expression to their vision of themselves. The murals, genealogical materials, and enactments of royal devotion all work together to reaffirm for the king what constitutes his sovereign domain and how his sovereignty is authorized. As articulations of sovereignty and royal identity, the courtly productions of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja III situate the kings within regional precedents of political power that were traced back to premodern empires and their rulers. As their sovereignty was challenged and the Mysore kingdom was faced with radical political change, the kings and their courts looked to religion to provide an idiom that grounded their rule more firmly through divine election. Looking to the past to envision their futures, both kings gave the air of immortality to their rule: Tipu Sultan fashioning the Mysore sultanate through Islamic rhetoric and as the “God-​given Government” and Krishnaraja III placing himself and the Wodeyar kings in a long line of deities and god-​men. The effects of both—​even if unintended—​can still be seen today in the continuing legacies of Tipu Sultan and Krishnaraja Wodeyar III, as their reigns now serve as pasts through which identities are shaped and political power is contested.

Notes 1. “Nandida Yaduvamsha Kudi,” Prajavani, December 11, 2013, http://​www.prajavani. net/​news/​article/​2013/​12/​11/​212394.html. “Yaduvamshada Kade Kudi Vidhivasha,” Hosadiganta, December 11, 2013, 1.

248 Epilogue 2. Rajiv Kalkod, “Srikantadatta Wadiyar, Last Scion of Mysore Royal Family, Dies of Cardiac Arrest,” Times of India, December 11, 2013, 1. 3. The tradition holds that Yaduraya ruled from 1399 to 1423. However, there is no extant physical evidence to corroborate his reign, and the details of his life and his migration to Mysore seem to follow generic foundation narratives found in the region of southern Karnataka. I therefore did not include any dates associated with his rule. 4. https://​twitter.com/​pid_​gov/​status/​992342514177847296/​photo/​1?ref_​src=twsrc %5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E992342514177847296&ref_​ url=https%3A%2F%2Ftimesofindia.indiatimes.com%2Findia%2Fkarnataka-​polls-​ pakistan-​remembers-​tipu-​sultan-​bjp-​cries-​foul%2Farticleshow%2F64032470.cms 5. https://​ t witter.com/​ p id_​ g ov/​ s tatus/​ 9 92376076134477824?ref_​ s rc=twsrc%5Et fw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E992376076134477824&ref_​ url=https%3A%2F%2Ftimesofindia.indiatimes.com%2Findia%2Fkarnataka-​polls-​ pakistan-​remembers-​tipu-​sultan-​bjp-​cries-​foul%2Farticleshow%2F64032470.cms 6. Times of India, May 5, 2018. https://​timesofindia.indiatimes.com/​videos/​news/​ pakistan-​calls-​tipu-​sultan-​tiger-​of-​mysore-​adds-​fuel-​to-​karnataka-​campaigning-​ fire/​videoshow/​64042217.cms. https://​timesofindia.indiatimes.com/​india/​karnataka-​ polls-​pakistan-​remembers-​tipu-​sultan-​bjp-​cries-​foul/​articleshow/​64032470.cms. 7. For more on the connection between the Yaduvamsha and democratic elections in Karnataka, see Simmons 2019.

Bibliography Abbreviations for Reference Works EC 1894–​1905. Epigraphia Carnatica Volumes 1–​12. Edited by B. Lewis Rice. Bangalore: Mysore Government Press. MAR 1901–​1945. Annual Report of the Mysore Archaeological Department. Bangalore: Mysore Government Press. REC 1972–​2009. Revised Epigraphia Carnatica Volumes 1–​24. Mysore:  University of Mysore Press.

Manuscript Archives Referenced in Notes British Library India Office Records (IOR) Mackenzie General Collection Malet Papers

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Index For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. Abd al-​Hakim Khan, 9 Abd al-​Malik Isami, 62 Abd al-​Qadir al-​Gilani,  59–​60 Abercromby, John, 13 Account of the Succession of the Rulers of Mysore (Maisura Dhoregala Purvabhyudayada Vivara ), 36–​38. See also Succession of the Kings of Mysore Adil Shahs devotional practices and, 21, 61 Gisu Daraz and, 58, 62 royal idioms of, 32–​33 Safavid Dynasty and, 51n18 Tipu Sultan and, 36, 245–​46 Adoption versus Annexation (Mandlik), 118–​19 Afghan kingdom Islam and, 90–​91, 94 Mughal Empire and, 88, 92–​93 Tipu Sultan and, 11–​12, 21–​22, 88–​89, 90–​91, 92–​94,  246 Ahmad al-​Faruqi al-​Sirhindi,  64–​65 Ahmad Shah Bahman, 62, 64–​65 Ahmed Khan, 92 Akbar, 64–​65, 185 Ala al-​din, 62 Ala al-​Din Hasan Bahman Shah, 61–​62 Alamelamma, 119–​20, 130n60, 198 Alamgir, 7–​8, 16–​17, 185 Ali (Muslim saint), 61 Ali, Daud, 127n2 Aliya Lingaraja Arasu, 136 Altekar, A. S., 16–​17 Alvars and Acaryas, 112, 157–​58 Amar Chitra Katha, 44–​45 Anglo-​Mysore Wars (1767–​1799), 9–​10,  112–​13 Fourth Anglo-​Mysore War (1799), 11–​12,  102n55 Second Anglo-​Mysore War (1780–​1784), 10 Third Anglo-​Mysore War (1789–​1792), 10–​11, 33–​35, 63–​64, 67, 69–​70, 87–​88, 98

Annals and Antiquities of Rajast’han (Tod), 1–​3 Annappa, 14 Arcot kingdom, 118 Asharafa, 35 Asqa mosque (Shrirangapattana), 10–​11, 157,  218–​21 Assmann, Jan, 18–​19 Assud Anwar, 36–​37 Atri,  115–​16   Bahmani sultanate devotional practices and, 21, 58–​59, 61, 72 Gisu Daraz and, 61–​62 Gulbarga as capital of, 61–​62 succession in, 62 Sufism and claims of sovereignty in, 61–​62 Tipu Sultan and, 63, 64–​65, 72 Baillie, William, 81–​82 Baird, David, 81–​82 Bangalore Palace, 1–​2 Barlow, George, 13 Bayly, Susan, 41, 43 Beluru, 45–​46, 214 Bentinck, William, 14, 211 Benton, Lauren, 16 Bettada Camaraja IV, 24n15 Bhadrakali,  183–​84 Bhagavan, Manu, 235–​36 bhakti. See devotion Bharata Mata/​Mother India, 235–​36 Bharatiya Janata Party, 244 Bidanuru, 10, 47–​49, 58, 67 Bijapur Adil Shahs and, 21, 32–​33, 36, 51n18, 58, 61, 62,  245–​46 Asharafa and, 35 devotional practices in, 58–​59 Tipu Sultan’s claims of lineage and, 32–​33 Vijayanagara’s battles with, 112–​13 Wodeyar kings’ victories over forces of, 5–​6, 7

266 Index Bikaner,  137–​38 The Blossoming Flower of Praise to the Gods (Devata Nama Kusuma Manjari),  140–​42 Bolu Chamaraja (Chamaraja Wodeyar IV), 6, 7,  125–​26 Book of Haidar, 21, 33, 34, 41, 51–​52n22, 52n25 Boria Bramin, C. V. (Borayya Kaveli), 111 Bowring, Lewis, 82 Brahma, 111–​12, 115–​16, 173–​74,  176–​77 Branfoot, Crispin, 164, 191–​92 British East India Company, 11, 12, 13, 14, 116, 117, 213 British Empire Fourth Mysore War (1799) and, 11–​12,  102n55 Haidar Ali’s conflicts with, 9–​10, 81–​84,  144–​45 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s accommodation of, 3, 12, 14–​15, 109–​10, 115–​17, 118, 135–​36, 150–​51, 161, 162, 169–​71, 176, 186–​87, 188–​89, 202–​3, 211–​12, 225–​26,  244 Paris Treaty (1763) and, 9 Shrirangapattana conquered (1799) by, 11–​12, 63, 70–​71, 79, 88, 109–​10, 157 Third Anglo-​Mysore War (1789–​1792) and, 10–​11, 33–​35, 63–​64, 67, 69–​70, 78, 87–​88,  98 Tipu Sultan’s conflicts with, 3, 10–​11, 33–​34, 62–​64, 67–​68, 69–​72, 78, 79–​84, 86, 87–​88, 89, 90, 92–​94, 96–​97, 98, 113, 144–​45,  243–​44 British National Army Museum, 79 Brittlebank, Katie, 11, 43–​44, 47, 63 Budi Basappa, 13–​14 Bukka,  70–​71   Camaraja X, 164, 206n15, 206n17 Campbell, Walter, 82 Carnatic Wars (1740–​1763), 9 Casamajor, Archibald, 14 Chamaraja IX, 12, 126–​27, 159, 175 Chamarajanagara temple (Chamarajanagara),  159–​60 Chamaraja Wodeyar IV (Bolu Chamaraja), 6, 7,  125–​26 Chamaraja Wodeyar V, 7 Chamaraja X (Chamarajendra), 180–​81 Chamaraya,  122–​23 Chamundeshvari Chamundi Hill temple and, 145, 152–​53,  156–​57 Great Kings of Mysore and, 123–​24, 126–​27

Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and, 43, 133–​35, 140–​42,  145 Mahanavami festival and, 190–​91 Mysore and, 5–​6, 110–​11, 123–​25 Rangamahal murals and, 173–​74, 177, 180–​81, 205n10, 205–​6n13 Rulers of the Mysore Dynasty painting and,  178–​80 Shuradevaraya and, 122–​23 Vindhyavasini and, 121–​22 Yaduraya Wodeyar and, 121–​22, 123 Chamundi, 131n76, 169, 177–​78, 183–​84 Chamundi Hill Chamundeshvari temple on, 145, 152–​53,  156–​57 Uttanahalli temple at, 164 Venkataramanasvami temple mural depiction of, 214, 220f Vindhyavasini and, 121–​22 Wodeyar Dynasty origins and, 6 Chandra, 115–​16,  173–​74 Channapattana, 214 Characika,  183–​84 Chatterjee, Partha, 226–​27 Cheluvanarayanasvami Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and, 151 Melukote temple devoted to, 110–​11, 112, 145, 148–​51,  157–​58 Raja Wodeyar and, 124, 148–​49, 151 Tipu Sultan and, 65–​66 Vaishnava and, 112 Chikkadevaraja Wodeyar, 7–​9, 13–​14, 19–​20, 54n67, 124, 159–​61 Chishti order (Sufism), 61–​62 The Chronicles of the Sultan (Sultan al-​tawarikh),  33–​34 Clerk, George Russell, 118–​19 Cole, Arthur Henry, 13, 202–​3 The Coming of the Monsoons (Gilray), 79, 80f Compendium of the Lineage of Kings (Rajavali Kathasara, Devachandra Jain), 110–​11 Congress Party (India), 244 Cornwallis, Charles, 11 The Crusades, 90 Cubbon, Mark, 188–​89 “Curse of Talakadu,” 119–​20, 126–​27, 198   Dalavayi Regime, 65–​66, 156–​57 Dalhousie, First Marquis of (James Broun-​ Ramsay), 22, 116–​17, 118–​19 Dariya Daulat Bagh murals Battle of Pollilur mural at, 80–​85, 81f devotion depicted in, 80–​81, 84, 85–​87, 246

Index  267 diplomacy and alliances depicted in, 84–​85,  85f Haidar Ali depicted in, 81–​84, 83f Rangamahal murals and, 83–​84, 182–​83 sovereignty depicted in, 21–​22, 78, 80–​81, 83–​84, 85–​86, 87, 170–​71, 246 Dasara festival contemporary celebrations of, 1–​2 Great Kings of Mysore and, 184–​85, 190,  192–​93 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s celebration of, 171–​72, 177–​78, 181–​83, 187–​91f, 187–​89, 190–​91,  246–​47 lotus imagery and, 173–​74, 182 Mahanavami festival and, 189–​91 military origins of, 183 Rangamahal murals and, 171–​72, 173–​74, 181–​83, 182f, 185, 246–​47 Tipu Sultan’s celebration of, 66, 69–​70 Daulatabad, 62 de Proenza, Anton of Trichinopoly, 7 Deeds of the Divine Lord (Divya Suri Caritre), 6, 7–​8 Del Bontà, Robert J., 225 Delights of the Mind (Manasollasa), 193 Descomber, M., 94–​96 Devachandra Jain, 110–​11 Devajammanni, 122–​23,  147–​48 Devapalapurada Nanjunda, 136 Devarajaiya,  8–​9 “Devaraja [with] the image of dancing Krishna (tandava krishnamurti devaraja)” coin series,  7–​8 devotion Dariya Daulat Bagh murals’ depiction of, 80–​ 81, 84, 85–​87, 246 Keladi kingdom and, 21, 58–​59, 70 kingship and, 4, 18, 22, 59, 121, 233–​34 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III’s practices of, 4–​5, 14–​15, 17–​18, 19–​20, 22–​23, 108–​9, 118, 121, 123, 124–​25, 133–​47, 148–​49, 150–​52, 161–​62, 169–​71, 175, 176, 177, 211–​12, 225–​26, 231, 244, 245–​46, 247 sovereignty and, 4–​5, 14–​16, 17–​18, 21, 23, 57–​59, 61–​62, 63–​65, 67, 70, 72, 78–​79, 80–​81, 88, 108, 118, 121, 127, 134–​36, 144, 169–​71, 211–​12, 240n46, 244, 245–​46, 247 Tipu Sultan’s practices of, 4–​5, 17–​18, 19–​20, 21–​22, 32–​33, 34–​35, 49–​50, 57, 58–​61, 63–​72, 77–​79, 80–​81, 84, 86–​88, 89–​91, 97–​98, 169–​70, 244, 245–​46, 247 Vijayanagara Empire practices of, 21, 58,  70–​72

Wodeyar Dynasty practices of, 70, 71–​72, 121, 123, 135–​36, 142, 144, 156–​57,  161–​62 Dirks, Nicholas, 227–​28, 229–​31 Doctrine of Lapse (Dalhousie), 22, 116–​17 Doctrine of Paramountcy, 117 Dodda Devaraja, 154–​57, 159–​60 Dondiya Wagh, 12–​13 “The Dusserah Durbar of His Highness the Maharaja of Mysore” (Lewis), 187f,  187–​88   Eaton, Richard, 41–​42, 61 Egypt, 89, 93–​94, 96–​97 Encyclopedia of the Four Limbs [of Knowledge] (Chaturanga Sarasarvasvam), 194 “Enemy Commanders: Britain’s Greatest Foes” (2012 British National Army Museum exhibit), 79   Farid al-​Din Mas ud Ganj-​i-​Shakar, 59–​60 Fath Ali, 40–​41 Fatima Fakhr-​un-​Nissa,  42 Fatulla (Fath Muhammad Ali), 35 Firishta’s History (Tarikh-​i Firishta), 62, 64–​65 Firuz, 61–​62,  64–​65 Fisher, Michael A., 186 Fletcher, Colonel, 81–​82 Flueckiger, Joyce, 28n80 Folio from a Devimahatmya (Glory of the Goddess), 137 Forbes, John, 116 France Egypt invaded and occupied (1790s) by, 89, 93–​94,  96–​97 Mysore’s alliance with, 10–​12, 18, 21–​22, 81–​83, 88–​89, 90, 93, 246 Ottoman Empire and, 89, 93–​94, 97 Paris Treaty (1763) and, 9   Gajjiganahalli, 7 Ganapati, 140–​42,  178–​80 gandabherunda (mythological double-​headed eagle), 47–​49, 54n67, 133 Gangas of Talakadu, 42–​43 genealogy construction of “golden age” of Hindu kingship and, 2–​3 Great Kings of Mysore and, 22, 114–​16, 120–​21, 122–​23, 126–​27, 144–​45,  176–​77 Haider Ali and, 35–​36, 40 Kannada typologies and, 34–​35

268 Index genealogy (cont.) Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and, 18, 22, 43, 107–​9, 111, 114–​15, 116, 127, 133–​35, 142, 143–​45, 148–​49, 172–​74, 175–​76, 177, 180, 196–​98, 197f, 244–​45,  246–​47 Raja Wodeyar and, 6–​7, 114–​15 Rangamahal murals and, 170–​71, 172, 173–​74, 175, 176–​77, 178, 196–​98, 197f,  246–​47 sovereignty claims by kings through, 18–​19, 21, 27n76, 31–​34, 57–​58, 87–​88, 107–​9, 173,  244–​45 Tipu Sultan and, 18, 21, 31–​37, 39, 40, 41–​43, 49–​50, 52n25, 59–​60, 62–​63, 87–​88, 112–​13,  244–​45 Yaduraya Wodeyar and, 115–​16, 124–​25 Gholam Hussein, 36–​37 Gillray, James, 79, 80f Gisu Daraz (Hazrat Bandah-​Nawaz) Adil Shahs and, 58, 62 Bahmani Sultanate and, 61–​62 biographical summary of, 61 Chishti Sufism and, 41–​42, 61–​62 death of, 62 dreams of, 63–​64 pilgrimages to tomb of, 62, 63–​64 portrait of, 60f Tipu Sultan and, 21, 41–​42, 57, 58, 59–​61, 62–​65, 72,  245–​46 Wali Muhammad and, 40 Glories of the Lord of Men (Narapati Vijayam), 111–​14, 115–​16,  119–​20 Glorification of the Goddess (Devimahatmye),  136–​37 Glorification of the Mountain of the Yadus (Yadavagiri Mahatmyam), 124–​25,  148–​49 The Goddess, Kali, and the Seven Mothers in Battle, 133, 137 Goddess Fights a Titan and Text, 137 Gopalaraja Arasu, 35 Great Kings of Mysore (Mysuru Samsthanada Prabhugalu Shrimanmaharajavara Vamshavali) British Empire’s increasing control over India and, 115, 118 Chamarajeshvara temple and, 159–​60 Chamundeshvari and, 123–​24, 126–​27 “Curse of Talakadu” and, 119–​20 Dasara and, 184–​85, 190, 192–​93 genealogies outlined in, 22, 114–​16, 120–​21, 122–​23, 126–​27, 144–​45,  176–​77 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III identified as author of, 14–​15, 22, 114, 161, 176 Raja Wodeyar and, 150–​51

succession questions discussed in, 116, 119–​20,  177–​78 supernatural origins of sovereignty depicted in, 114–​15,  177–​78 Great Rebellion/​War for Independence of 1857, 117, 189 Gulbarga kingdom, 58, 61–​62   Haidar Ali. See also Book of Haidar; History of Haidar birth of, 41 British Empire’s conflicts with, 9–​10, 81–​84,  144–​45 Dariya Daulat Bagh murals’ depictions of, 81–​84,  83f death of, 10 genealogy of, 35–​36, 40 Kalale family defeated by, 8–​9 Keladi kingdom defeated (1763) by, 47–​49 Krishnaraja II displaced from rule by, 9 Marathas’ conflicts with, 10 mausoleum of, 218–​21 military experiences of, 35, 41, 81–​84 Rangamahal murals and, 185, 186f, 189 Shrirangapattana conquered (1761) by, 9 Tipu Sultan as son and heir of, 9, 10, 32–​33, 35–​36, 42,  47–​49 Hakka,  70–​71 Hampi, 214 Hari. See Vishnu Harris, George, 12 Hasan (son of Bahmani Sultan Firuz), 62 Hastings’s Judicial Plan of 1772, 232–​33 Hazrat Ahmad, 57, 64–​65 Hazrat Bandah-​Nawaz. See Gisu Daraz Hazrat Muhammad, 57 Hinduism. See also specific gods and traditions cyclical time concepts in, 68–​69 devotional alliances in, 42–​43 Islam and conflicts with, 11 Persian culture and, 19–​20 royal idioms in, 32–​33 sacred religious sites in, 58–​59 His Highness Krishnaraja Wadiyar III in European Durba (Sterling), 188f,  188–​89 History of Haidar (Nishan-​i Haidari, Kirmani), 21, 31–​33, 39, 62–​63 History of Mysoor (Wilks), 107 Hocart, A.M., 227–​28 Hoysala dynasty, 45–​47, 65–​66, 69–​70, 123, 148–​49,  230–​31 Husain, Mahmud, 64–​65 Husain Ali, 88

Index  269 Hyderabad, 9–​10, 81–​82, 89, 90. See also Nizam of Hyderabad   Ikegame, Aya, 186 Ikkeri Keladi kings, 9, 13–​14 Inden, Ronald, 228–​29 “Indian Demons Attacking Fort Defended by European Troops,” 95f ISIS, 90 Islam Allah as sovereign in, 40 devotional alliances in, 42–​43 Hinduism and conflicts with, 11 jihad and, 11, 70, 77–​78, 87–​88, 89–​90, 92–​93,  97 Muslim saints and, 59–​61 Tipu Sultan, 3, 11, 35–​36, 59–​60, 63–​65, 69–​70, 77–​79, 80–​81, 84, 86–​88, 89–​94,  96–​98 Wahhabism and, 90   Jackson, Charles, 117–​18 jagadguru of the Shringeri Matha, 68–​72 Jaganmohan Palace, 137–​38, 171–​72. See also Rangamahal murals Jah II, 99n14 Jainism, 19–​20, 32–​33, 42–​43, 110–​11,  230–​31 Jangama, 122–​23, 125, 131n76 Jayacamaraja, 206n17 Jayamartanda, 151–​52,  173–​74 Jhansi kingdom, 118 jihad. See under Islam Jvalamukhi, 122, 131n76, 178–​80, 205–​6n13   Ka’ba (Mecca), 63–​64 Kalale family, 8–​9, 13, 65–​66, 74n42, 198 Kalkin,  151–​52 Kamsa, 202–​3, 203f Kancipura, 214 Kanthadatta Narasimharaja Wodeyar, 1–​3, 15–​16, 243, 244 Kanthirava Narasaraja Wodeyar I Dodda Devaraja and, 156–​57 Gajjiganahalli inscription and, 7 military victories of, 7 Narasimha as chosen deity of, 7 Shrirangapattana temple constructed by, 166 statues of, 143, 153–​58 victories over Bijapur of, 5–​6 Victory of Kanthirava Narasaraja and, 5–​6, 37–​38,  148–​49 Yadava lineage and, 148–​49 Kantorowicz, Emst, 27n76, 32, 50n4 Keladi-​Ikkeri,  9

Keladi kingdom devotional practices and, 21, 58–​59, 70 gandabherunda symbol and, 47–​49 Haidar Ali’s defeat of, 47–​49 Shringeri Matha and, 66–​67 Tipu Sultan’s defeat of, 67 Virashaiva and, 125 Kempunarayana, 136 Kerala, 9–​10, 11 kingship. See also sovereignty devotion and, 4, 18, 22, 59, 121, 233–​34 divine right and, 32–​34 European aesthetic culture and, 19–​20 Persian aesthetic culture and, 19–​20 reframings of sovereignty in nineteenth century and, 3, 16–​17 Kirmani, Mir Hussain Ali Khan, 11, 39–​40. See also History of Haidar Krishna Chikkadevaraja’s commemorations of, 7–​8 Great Kings of Mysore,  126–​27 Krishna and Kamsa image and, 203f Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and, 18, 134–​35, 172–​73, 198–​202,  246–​47 Mahabharata and, 148–​49 Prasanna Krishnasvami temple and, 154, 200–​3,  203f Radhe and, 171–​72, 196, 200–​2 Rangamahal murals and, 171–​72, 173–​76, 177–​78, 181, 191, 196, 198–​200, 246–​47 Rukmini and, 175, 196, 200–​2 Rulers of the Mysore Dynasty painting and,  178–​80 Satyabhame and, 175, 196 Venkataramanasvami temple mural depictions of, 221, 224f Wodeyar claims of lineage and, 35–​36, 115–​16 Krishnadevaraya, 67, 112–​13 Krishnaraja II, 9, 12, 74n42 Krishnaraja IV, 206n17 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III (Mummadi Krishnaraja; Krishnaraja III) British Empire’s increasing control of India in nineteenth century and, 3, 12, 14–​15, 109–​10, 115–​17, 118, 135–​36, 150–​51, 161, 162, 169–​71, 176, 186–​87, 188–​89, 202–​3, 211–​12, 225–​26,  244 Chamarajeshvara temple and, 159–​61 Chamundeshvari and, 43, 133–​35, 140–​42,  145 Cheluvanarayanasvami and, 151 Dasara festival and, 171–​72, 177–​78, 181–​83, 187–​91f, 187–​89, 190–​91,  246–​47

270 Index Krishnaraja Wodeyar III (Mummadi Krishnaraja; Krishnaraja III) (cont.) devotional practices of, 4–​5, 14–​15, 17–​18, 19–​20, 22–​23, 108–​9, 118, 121, 123, 124–​25, 133–​47, 148–​49, 150–​52, 161–​62, 169–​71, 175, 176, 177, 211–​12, 225–​26, 231, 244, 245–​46,  247 direct rule responsibilities assumed (1811) by, 13 domestication and, 196 education of, 12–​13 genealogy and, 18, 22, 43, 107–​9, 111, 114–​15, 116, 127, 133–​35, 142, 143–​45, 148–​49, 172–​74, 175–​76, 177, 180, 196–​98, 197f, 244–​45,  246–​47 Glorification of the Goddess and, 136–​37 Great Kings of Mysore authorship attributed to, 14–​15, 22, 114, 161, 176 hunting and leisure of, 192f, 192, 246–​47 installation (1799) of, 2–​3, 12, 109–​10 Kalkin and, 151–​52 Krishna and, 18, 134–​35, 172–​73, 198–​202,  246–​47 musical skills of, 136–​37 Nagara Rebellion (1830-​31) and, 13–​14 Nanjaraja as son of, 129n37, 140–​42, 164 Purnayya and, 13 Raja Wodeyar and, 150–​51 Rangamahal murals and, 22, 84–​85, 170–​74, 175–​76, 178–​80, 181f, 181–​82, 185, 189, 191–​92, 192f, 205n11, 246–​47 Rulers of the Mysore Dynasty painting and, 180 Shaiva and, 108–​9, 140, 145–​46 Shiva and, 140–​42 sovereignty claims of, 15–​18, 23, 118, 134–​36, 144–​45, 169–​71, 172–​73, 181, 185–​86, 211, 212, 232, 236, 244–​46, 247 statues of, 145–​47, 149–​50, 152–​54, 157–​61,  162 statues of Wodeyar kings commissioned by, 143–​45, 161, 162 Subbarayadasa Gopaladasa and, 211, 212, 225–​27, 231, 232–​33, 234, 236 succession questions regarding, 115, 116–​20, 129n37, 134, 198 taxation policies of, 12–​13 Treasure of the Glorious Truth and, 136–​37 Vaishnava and, 124–​25 Vasantotsava celebration and, 198–​200, 199f Venkataramanasvami temple murals and, 23, 212–​13, 214,  221–​24 Vishnu and, 140–​42

Krishnaraya, 115–​16, 121–​23,  177–​78 Kumbakona, 214   Lakshminarasimhasvami temple (Shrirangapattana),  157–​58 Laksmikanta temple (Kalale), 65–​66 Lawrence, John, 169–​70 Lefort, Claude, 17–​18, 234–​35 Lewis, F.C., 187f,  187–​88 Lineage History of Chikkadevaraya (Chikkadevaraya Vamshavali), 6–​8,  37–​38 The Lineage History of the Glorious and Great Kings of Mysore. See Great Kings of Mysore Lingayatas, 123–​24, 138, 140 Louis XVI (king of France), 10–​11 Lushington, Stephen Rumbold, 14   Mackenzie, Colin, 109–​11 Madas, 13, 14 Madras Treaty (1769), 9–​10 Mahabharata stories, 35–​36, 148–​49, 195 Mahadeshwara (manifestation of Shiva), 44, 47f Mahanavami festival Chamundeshvari and, 190–​91 Dasara and, 189–​91 Rangamahal murals and, 177–​78, 183–​84,  185–​86 sovereignty expressed in, 189–​90 Subbarayadasa Gopaladasa, 226–​27 Vijayanagara Empire and, 229–​30, 231–​32 Wodeyar kings associated with, 184 Mahavishnu, 115–​16, 126–​27, 140–​42, 176–​77,  178–​81 Mahishasura kingdom, 5–​6 Mahotsava (“Great Festival”), 190 Mandlik, Vishwanath Narayan, 118–​19, 120 Maranayaka,  122–​23 Marathas, 10, 66, 90, 92–​94, 96 Marwar,  137–​38 Mattanchery Palace, 86, 87f Medows, William, 63–​64 Melukote Cheluvanarayanasvami temple in, 110–​11, 112, 145, 148–​51, 157–​58 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III ’s devotional activities at, 134–​35 Narasimha temple in, 65–​66, 166 Ramanuja and, 112 Vaishnava and, 124 Venkataramanasvami temple mural depiction of, 214 Might of the Lineage’s Incarnations (Vamshavatarana Vaibhava), 107

Index  271 Miles, W., 39–​40 Mine of the Four Limbs [of Knowledge] (Chaturanga Sudhakarah), 194 Mir Habibullah, 88 Mir Hussain Ali Khan Kirmani, 39–​40 Mir Muhammad Riza, 88 Mir Sadak, 81–​82 Morgan, David, 170 Mughal Empire Afghan Kingdom and, 88, 92–​93 Islam and, 94 Mysore’s relations with, 9, 25n38, 90 Persian culture and, 32–​33 Tipu Sultan and, 21–​22, 88, 90, 92–​94 Muguru Amritappa, 136 Muhammad (The Prophet), 35–​36, 39, 40, 57,  63–​65 Muhammad Ali Samani, 63–​64 Muhammad bin Tughluq, 61–​62 Muhammad Ibrahim, 88 Muhammad Qasim Firishta, 62 Muhammad’s Biographies (Siyar al-​ Muhammadi, by Muhammad Ali Samani),  63–​64 Muhammad Shabas. See Shah Ali Muhammad Wallajah of Arcot, 9 Muin al-​Din Chishti, 59–​60 Mujaddidi-​Alf-​i-​Thani,  64–​65 Munro, Thomas, 13, 202–​3 Muslim saints, 59–​61 Mysore Anglo-​Mysore Wars (1767–​1799) and, 9–​10,  112–​13 British Empire’s increasing control of India in nineteenth century and, 3, 12, 14–​15, 109–​10, 115–​17, 118, 135–​36, 150–​51, 161, 162, 169–​71, 176, 186–​87, 188–​89, 202–​3, 211–​12, 225–​26,  244 Chamundeshvari as goddess of, 5–​6, 110–​11,  123–​25 cholera outbreak (1832) in, 13 commissioners period in, 2–​3 “Curse of Talakadu” and, 119–​20, 126–​27,  198 devotional portraiture of the Wodeyar kings and, 152 Doctrine of Lapse and, 22, 116–​17 etymology of, 5–​6, 24n8 flag of, 125–​26 Fourth Anglo-​Mysore War (1799) and, 11–​12,  102n55 France’s alliance with, 10–​12, 18, 21–​22, 81–​83, 88–​89, 90, 93, 246

Islam and, 90–​91, 92 Karnataka State and, 5–​6 Mughal Dynasty and, 9, 25n38, 90 Nagara Revolt (“Peasant Insurgency”) of 1830-​31 in, 13–​14, 115 royal succession standards in, 37–​38, 39, 116–​20,  129n37 Subsidiary Treaty of 1799 and, 12 Third Anglo-​Mysore War (1789–​1792) and, 10–​11, 33–​35, 63–​64, 67, 69–​70, 78, 87–​88,  98 Tipu Sultan’s bureaucratic reorganization (1787) of, 10–​11 Mysore Survey, 109–​10   Nagara Putia Pandita, 36–​37 Nagara Revolt (“Peasant Insurgency”) of 1830-​ 31, 13–​14, 115 Nair, Janaki, 237n8 Nallappa of Sibi, 34–​35 Nanjangudu Palace Kanteshvara and, 121–​23, 177 Krishnaraja III sculpture in, 145–​47, 157–​58 Krishnaraja III’s patronage of, 134–​35 Nanjundeshvara temple in, 65–​66, 145 Shaiva devotionalism and, 131n76, 145–​46 Venkataramanasvami temple mural depiction of, 214 Wodeyar kings’ devotional images in, 143, 145,  160–​61 Yaduraya Wodeya devotional portrait at,  146–​48 Nanjangudu Shrikantheshvara, 122–​23 Nanjaraja Haidar Ali and, 41 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III as father of, 129n37, 140–​42,  164 Rangamahal murals and, 181–​82 statues of, 140–​42, 145–​46, 159 Nanjarajaiya,  8–​9 Nanjundeshvarasvami temple (Nanjangudu), 145 Napoleon Bonaparte, 93 Nara Puttee Veejayom or the Glories of the Nara Puttee Race or Historical Account of the Sovereigns of Mysore, 111 Narasimha incarnation of Vishnu, 7, 218–​21 Narasimhasvami temple (Sibi), 44–​45 Narasimha temple (Melukote), 65–​66, 166 Narayanasvami, 65–​66, 121–​22, 151 Nasr al-​Din, 61, 63–​64 Navatirupati, 214 Nawab of Arcot (Muhammad Ali), 9

272 Index Nayakas of Madurai, 7, 230–​31 Nazarbad,  10–​11 Nizam al-​Din Avaliya, 61–​62 Nizam of Hyderabad (Nizam Ali), 9, 10–​11, 12, 41–​42,  63–​64 Nrihari, 7   Ottoman Empire France and, 89, 93–​94, 97 Tipu Sultan and, 10–​12, 18, 93, 96–​97 Oudh kingdom, 118   Padmavati, 45–​46,  110–​11 Parashuram Rao, 68 Paris Treaty (1763), 9 Parvati-​Parameshvara,  139–​42 Pollilur, Battle of (1780), 80–​83, 81f, 84–​85, 86 Pradyumna, 175, 200–​2 Prasanna Krishnasvami Temple Bhagavata Purana murals at, 200, 218–​21 court musicians at, 136 foundation inscription from, 133–​34,  169–​70 Kamsa and, 202–​3, 203f Krishna and, 154, 200–​3, 203f Krishnaraja III family portrait in, 145, 154 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and, 200–​2 sovereignty depicted in murals at, 202–​3 Wodeyar lineage images at, 153–​54 Puranic ritual, 18–​19, 111–​12, 115–​16, 178–​81, 189–​90, 211–​12,  228–​29 Purnayya, 12–​13, 128n10, 182–​83, 237n9   Qamar-​ud-​din,  82–​83 The Qur’an, 11, 63–​64, 86–​87, 97, 246 Quraysh tribe, 35–​36, 40 Qutb Shahs, 32–​33   Radhe, 171–​72, 196, 200–​2 Raghunatharao Patvardhan, 68 Raghuvamsha, 193 Rajalakshmi,  68–​69 Rajasthan,  1–​3 Raja Wodeyar Alamelamma and, 119–​20 Cheluvanarayanasvami and, 124, 148–​49, 151 death of, 38–​39 genealogy of, 6–​7, 114–​15 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and, 150–​51 ministerial posts established by, 7 Rangamahal murals and, 174–​75, 177–​78,  184 Shiva and, 151–​52

Shrirangapattana conquered (1610) by, 6–​7, 21, 38–​39, 112–​13,  218–​21 statues of, 94–​96, 143, 149–​52, 153–​54, 155,  157–​58 Succession of the Mysore Kings on the successes of, 37–​39 Tirumala and, 112–​13, 119–​20 Vaishnava and, 124 Rajputs, 2, 21–​22, 90, 92–​93 Rama, 183, 200–​2, 221 Ramanuja, 65–​66, 112, 148–​49 Ramaswamy, Sumathi, 235 Ramayana stories, 35–​36 Rameshvara, 214 Ranadhira Kanthirava Narasaraja I. See Kanthirava Narasaraja Wodeyar I Ranadulla Khan, 7 Rangamahal murals Chamundeshvari and, 173–​74, 177, 180–​81, 205n10, 205–​6n13 Dariya Daulat Bagh murals as precedent for, 83–​84,  182–​83 Dasara images at, 171–​72, 173–​74, 181–​83, 182f, 185, 246–​47 domestication depicted at, 196 “Everlasting Lotus” painting at, 171–​72, 173–​76, 174f,  181–​82 genealogy and, 170–​71, 172, 173–​74, 175, 176–​77, 178, 196–​98, 197f,  246–​47 Haidar Ali and, 185, 186f, 189 hunting and leisure depicted in, 192f, 192,  246–​47 Krishna images at, 171–​72, 173–​76, 177–​78, 181, 191, 196, 198–​200, 246–​47 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and, 22, 84–​85, 170–​74, 175–​76, 178–​80, 181f, 181–​82, 185, 189, 191–​92, 192f, 205n11, 246–​47 Mahanavami festival and, 177–​78, 183–​84,  185–​86 Raja Wodeyar and, 174–​75, 177–​78, 184 Shaiva and, 177 Shiva, 173–​74, 177 sovereignty depicted in, 22, 170–​71, 172–​73, 181, 185–​86, 189, 204, 234–​35 Tippanna and, 169–​70 Tipu Sultan and, 185–​86, 186f, 189 Vaishnava and, 177 Vasantotsava images at, 172, 198–​200, 199f “Vijayadashami Elephant Procession” painting at, 181f,  181–​82 Vijayanagara empire and, 177 Vishnu images at, 173–​74, 196–​97 Yaduraya Wodeyar and, 169, 177–​80

Index  273 Ranganatha Dikshita, 38 Ranganatha temple (Srirangapatna), 65–​66 Ranjit Singh, 185 Rao, C. Hayavadana, 6, 11 Rao, C.V., 157–​58 Rasa Lile, 172, 201f Rig Vedic Shakha,  6–​7 Rowaldson, Thomas, 86 Rudrachand, 193 Rukmini, 175, 196, 200–​2 Rulers of the Mysore Dynasty from Adiyaduraya to Maharaja Sri Krishnaraja Wadiyar III with Family Deities and Sirdars (painting), 178–​80,  179f   Sachchidananda Bharati, 68 Sadashiva Nayaka, 67 Sadashiva Rao, 136 Sadi Shirazi, 61 Saiyid Baba Fakiruddin Husain Sistani, 59–​60 Saiyid Muhammad Medina, 59–​60 Sala, 45–​46, 49f Saletore, B.A., 65–​66 Salim III (Ottoman sultan), 96–​97 Saluva Nayaka, 67 Sarkar, J., 16–​17 Satyabhame, 175, 196 Sayyid Ghafur, 81–​82 Schmitt, Carl, 26n56, 238n26 Serfoji II (Mughal king), 136, 185 Seringapatam Treaty (1792), 11, 87–​88 Shabaz,  40–​41 Shah Ali/​Shabas (brother of Haidar Ali), 35, 36–​37,  52n25 Shaiva Dodda Devaraja and, 156–​57 Krishnaraja III and, 108–​9, 140, 145–​46 Nanjangudu temple devoted to, 131n76,  145–​46 Rangamahal murals and, 177 tiger motif and, 43–​44 Shakta tradition, 124, 125, 177, 189–​90 Shankaracarya,  66–​67 Shekh Muhammad Ali, 40 Shekh Wali Muhammad, 40 Shesha,  34–​35 Shiva Great Kings of Mysore and, 126–​27, 178–​80 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and, 140–​42 Mahadeshwara manifestation of, 44, 47f Mahanavami festival and, 190–​91 Raganmhal murals and, 173–​74, 177 Raja Wodeyar and, 151–​52

Rulers of the Mysore Dynasty painting and,  178–​80 Shivagange, 214 Shivaji, 7–​8,  43–​44 Shringeri Matha, 21, 58, 66–​69, 70–​71 Shriranganayaki of Shrirangapattana, 65–​66 Shrirangapattana Asqa mosque in, 10–​11, 157, 218–​21 British conquest (1799) of, 11–​12, 63, 70–​71, 79, 88, 109–​10, 157 golden throne of, 44, 54n59 Haidar Ali’s conquering (1761) of, 9 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III ’s devotional activities at, 134–​35 Lakshminarasimhasvami temple in, 157–​58 Raja Wodeyar’s conquest (1610) of, 6–​7, 21, 38–​39, 112–​13,  218–​21 Venkataramanasvami temple mural depiction of, 214, 218–​21, 220f Shunthi Venkataramanayya, 136 Shuradevaraya,  122–​23 Sibi Nrisimha temple, 100n24 simhasana (Mysore lion throne), 44, 177,  187–​88 Siraj al-​Din Junaidi, 61–​62 Sita, 221 Smith, Travis, 18–​19 sovereignty. See also kingship Dariya Daulat Bagh murals and, 21–​22, 78, 80–​81, 83–​84, 85–​86, 87, 170–​71, 246 devotion and, 4–​5, 14–​16, 17–​18, 21, 23, 57–​59, 61–​62, 63–​65, 67, 70, 72, 78–​79, 80–​81, 88, 108, 118, 121, 127, 134–​36, 144, 169–​71, 211–​12, 240n46, 244, 245–​46,  247 diminishing domain of kings in India (1700-​ 1860) and, 2–​3, 14–​15 divine sources of, 114–​16, 120, 127 fractured and contested nature of, 15–​16 genealogies of kings and, 18–​19, 21, 27n76, 31–​34, 57–​58, 87–​88, 107–​9, 173,  244–​45 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and, 15–​18, 23, 118, 134–​36, 144–​45, 169–​71, 172–​73, 181, 185–​86, 211, 212, 232, 236, 244–​46, 247 Rangamahal murals and, 22, 170–​71, 172–​73, 181, 185–​86, 189, 204, 234–​35 Schmitt’s definition of, 26n56 spatial dimensions of, 232–​34, 236 succession and, 32, 116–​18 Tipu Sultan’s claims of, 15–​18, 21, 23, 31–​34, 77–​79, 80–​81, 108–​9, 169–​70, 244–​46,  247 Venkataramanasvami temple murals and, 23, 212,  235–​36

274 Index Srikantesvara temple (Nanjangud), 65–​66 Sterling, H., 188f,  188–​89 Stoker, Valerie, 22 Subbarayadasa Gopaladasa Anjaneya temple memorial and, 237n6 Krishnaraja III’s devotional practices and, 225–​26,  231 Mahanavami festival and, 226–​27 Puranic court rituals and, 226–​27 spatial dimensions of sovereignty and, 232–​33, 234, 236 Vedic court rituals and, 226–​27, 231–​32 Venkataramanasvami temple murals and, 211, 212 Subsidiary Treaty (1799), 12, 13, 117–​18 Succession of the Kings of Mysore (Maisura Arasugalu Purvabhyudhayagal), 33, 36–​39, 70–​71,  113 Sufism Chishti order in, 61–​62 dreams and, 63 Muslim kings in South Asia’s marriage alliances and, 41 sacred religious sites in, 42–​43, 58–​60 sovereignty claims and, 61–​62 Tipu Sultan and, 59–​61, 63, 65, 72 Sundarayya,  137–​38 Surya, 140–​42,  173–​74   Tanjavur kingdom, 118, 136, 137–​38 Tanjavur Kondayya, 137–​38 Taylor, Sarah Pierce, 230–​31 Tenkalai sect, 65–​66 tigers Hoysala Dynasty and, 45–​47, 152–57 lions and, 54n56 Shaiva and, 43–​44 Tipu Sultan and, 10–​11, 43–​49, 54n56, 79–​80,  82–​83 Timmakavi,  148–​49 Timmaraja Wodeyar II, 6 Timur,  61–​62 Tippanna, 137–​38, 169–​70, 180–​81, 206n15 Tipu Mastan Avaliya, 42 Tipu Sultan Adil Shahs and, 36, 245–​46 Afghan kingdom and, 11–​12, 21–​22, 88–​89, 90–​91, 92–​94,  246 ascendancy to power (1782) of, 2–​3, 10, 35 Bahmani sultanate and, 63, 64–​65, 72 Bidanuru conquered (1783) by, 10, 47–​49, 58, 67 birth of, 42–​43

Book of Haidar and, 34–​35 British Empire’s conflicts with, 3, 10–​11, 33–​34, 62–​64, 67–​68, 69–​72, 78, 79–​84, 86, 87–​88, 89, 90, 92–​94, 96–​97, 98, 113, 144–​45,  243–​44 Cheluvanarayanasvami and, 65–​66 contemporary Hindu nationalist critiques of,  89–​90 Dariya Daulat Bagh murals and, 78–​79, 170–​71, 182–​83, 218–​21,  246 Dasara ritual and, 66, 69–​70 death of, 11–​12, 79 devotional practices and, 4–​5, 17–​18, 19–​20, 21–​22, 32–​33, 34–​35, 49–​50, 57, 58–​61, 63–​72, 77–​79, 80–​81, 84, 86–​88, 89–​91, 97–​98, 169–​70, 244, 245–​46, 247 dreams of, 57, 58, 61, 62–​65, 73n32 fall (1799) of, 2–​3, 109–​10, 144–​45 France and, 10–​12, 18, 21–​22, 88–​89, 92, 93, 94–​97, 102n55, 246 genealogy and, 18, 21, 31–​37, 39, 40, 41–​43, 49–​50, 52n25, 59–​60, 62–​63, 87–​88, 112–​13,  244–​45 Gisu Daraz and, 21, 41–​42, 57, 58, 59–​61, 62–​65, 72,  245–​46 golden throne of Shrirangapattana and, 44, 54n59 Haidar Ali as father of, 9, 10, 32–​33, 35–​36, 42,  47–​49 Hindu traditions and, 65–​72, 77 idioms of divine royal power and, 20, 21, 32–​33,  58–​59 Islam and, 3, 11, 35–​36, 59–​60, 63–​65, 69–​70, 77–​79, 80–​81, 84, 86–​88, 89–​94,  96–​98 jihad ideology and, 69–​70, 77–​78, 87–​88, 89–​90, 92–​93,  97 Keladi kingdom defeated by, 67 mausoleum of, 218–​21 Mughal Empire and, 21–​22, 88, 90, 92–​94 Nanjangudu temple and, 145–​46 Nazrbad constructed by, 10–​11 Ottoman Empire and, 10–​12, 18, 93, 96–​97 Pakistan’s press release (2018) regarding,  243–​44 Rangamahal murals and, 185–​86, 186f, 189 Seringapatam Treaty (1792) and, 11 Shringeri Matha and, 21, 58, 66–​69, 70–​71 sovereignty claims of, 15–​18, 21, 23, 31–​34, 77–​79, 80–​81, 108–​9, 169–​70, 244–​46,  247 Sufism and, 59–​61, 63, 65, 72 Third Anglo-​Mysore War and, 33–​34, 63–​64, 67–​68, 69–​70, 78, 87–​88, 98

Index  275 tiger as symbol of, 10–​11, 43–​49, 54n56, 79–​80,  82–​83 Vijayanagara Empire as source of emulation for, 32–​33, 70–​72,  245–​46 warrior-​king reputation of, 79–​83 Tipu Sultan Enthroned (Tonelli), 44, 45f Tirumala, 6–​7, 38, 112–​13, 119–​20 Tirupati, 38–​39, 148–​49, 213, 214, 216f Tod, James, 1–​3, 16–​17 Tollendal, Lally, 81–​82 Tonelli, Anna, 44, 45f, 54n60 Travancore, 11 Treasure of the Glorious Truth (Shritattvanidhi, Krishnaraja III ), 136–​37 Treatise on Success (Arthashastra, Kautilya), 193 Trineshvarasvami temple, 153–​56 Tughluq dynasty, 32–​33, 61–​62, 64–​65   Vadakalai sect, 65–​66 Vaishnava Cheluvanarayanasvami and, 112 Chikkadevaraja’s commitment to, 7–​8 gandabherunda symbol and, 47–​49 Glories of the Lord of Men and, 112 Hoysala dynasty and, 148–​49 Krishnaraja III and, 108–​9 Melukote and, 124 Raja Wodeyar and, 124 Rangamahal murals and, 177 Shayani Ekadashi ritual and, 34–​35 Tipu Sultan’s reforms to liturgy of, 65–​66 Vijayanagara kings and, 112–​13 Vaishno Devi, 46f Valentia, George, 86, 99–​100n18 Varma, Ravi, 1–​2, 171–​72 Vasantha, Rangachar, 194–​95 Vasantotsava festival, 172, 198–​200, 199f Vasudeva, 115–​16, 175, 176–​77 Vedic rituals, 211–​12, 226–​29, 231–​32 Venkata II, 6–​7 Venkata III, 7 Venkataramanasvami temple murals Chamundi Hill depicted in, 214, 220f diagrams of, 218f, 222f Ganga depicted at, 221 Krishna depicted in, 221, 224f Krishnaraja III and, 23, 212–​13, 214, 221–​24 pilgramages depicted in, 23, 212, 221 Shrirangapattana depicted in, 214, 218–​21,  220f sovereignty depicted in, 23, 212, 235–​36 Subbarayadasa Gopaladasa and, 211, 212 Tirupati and, 213, 214, 216f

Vishnu depictions at, 214, 215f Wodeyar kings on eastern wall and, 214, 217–​18f Venkatasubba,  180–​81 Venkatesha (manifestation of Vishnu), 213 Victory of Kanthirava Narasaraja (Kanthirava Narasaraja Vijayam), 5–​6, 37–​38,  148–​49 Victory of the Keladi Kings (Keladinripa Vijayam), 47–​49, 67 Vidyashankara temple, 70–​71 Vidyatirtha,  66–​67 “Vijayadashami Elephant Procession,” 181f,  181–​82 Vijayanagara Empire Bijapur’s battles with, 112–​13 Dasara celebration and, 189–​90 devotional practices in, 21, 58, 70–​72 Mahanavami festival and, 229–​30, 231–​32 Rangamahal murals, 177 Shringeri Matha and, 66–​67 Tipu Sultan’s emulations of, 32–​33, 70–​72,  245–​46 Vaishnava and, 112–​13 Vina Chikka Lakshminaranappa, 136 Vina Venkatasubbayya, 136 Vindhyavasini,  121–​22 A Vindication of Marquis of Dalhousie’s Indian Administration (Jackson), 117 Virabhadra, 138–​39, 140 Virashaiva community, 13–​14, 125–​26, 140 Vishnu Brahma and, 176–​77 Kalkin incarnation of, 151–​52 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and, 140–​42 Kurma incarnation of, 111–​12 Mahanavami festival, 190–​91 Narasimha incarnation of, 7, 218–​21 Rangamahal murals at, 173–​74, 196–​97 Rulers of the Mysore Dynasty painting and,  178–​80 Shayani Ekadashi ritual and, 34–​35 Varaha incarnation of, 111–​12, 221 Venkatesha manifestation of, 213 Wodeyar Dynasty and, 124–​25   Wahhabism, 90 Wellesley, Arthur, 12–​13, 98n6, 182–​83 Wellesley, Richard, 89, 96–​97 Wilks, Mark, 33–​34, 107, 109–​10, 119, 125 Wilson, H.H., 110, 112 Wodeyar Dynasty British East India Company and, 12

276 Index Wodeyar Dynasty (cont.) devotional practices and, 70, 71–​72, 121, 123, 135–​36, 142, 144, 156–​57, 161–​62 etymology of, 6 genealogies of, 6–​7, 18, 24n10, 35–​36, 108–​9, 113, 114–​15, 120–​21, 133–​34, 142, 144–​45 Kalale family rivalry with, 8–​9 lotus imagery and, 173–​75 Mahanavami festival, 184 statues of kings from, 143–​45 Vaishnava and, 124–​25 Vijayanagara Empire and, 125–​26, 127 Vishnu and, 124–​25 Wodeyar kings Bolu Chamaraja (Chamaraja IV), 6, 7,  125–​26 Camaraja X (Chamarajendra), 164, 206n15, 206n17 Chamaraja IX, 12, 126–​27, 159, 175 Chamaraja V, 7 Chikkadevaraja, 7–​9, 13–​14, 19–​20, 54n67, 124,  159–​61 Dodda Devaraja, 154–​57, 159–​60 Kanthadatta Narasimharaja, 1–​3, 15–​16, 243, 244 Kanthirava Narasaraja Wodeyar I Dodda Devaraja and, 156–​57 Gajjiganahalli inscription and, 7 military victories of, 7 Narasimha as chosen deity of, 7 Shrirangapattana temple constructed by, 166 statues of, 143, 153–​58 victories over Bijapur of, 5–​6 Victory of Kanthirava Narasaraja and, 5–​6, 37–​38,  148–​49 Yadava lineage and, 148–​49 Krishnaraja II, 9, 12, 74n42 Krishnaraja IV, 206n17 Krishnaraja III (Mummadi Krishnaraja; Krishnaraja III) British Empire’s increasing control of India in nineteenth century and, 3, 12, 14–​15, 109–​10, 115–​17, 118, 135–​36, 150–​51, 161, 162, 169–​71, 176, 186–​87, 188–​89, 202–​3, 211–​12, 225–​26,  244 Chamarajeshvara temple and, 159–​61 Chamundeshvari and, 43, 133–​35, 140–​42,  145 Cheluvanarayanasvami and, 151 Dasara festival and, 171–​72, 177–​78, 181–​83, 187–​91f, 187–​89, 190–​91,  246–​47 devotional practices of, 4–​5, 14–​15, 17–​18, 19–​20, 22–​23, 108–​9, 118, 121, 123,

124–​25, 133–​47, 148–​49, 150–​52, 161–​62, 169–​71, 175, 176, 177, 211–​12, 225–​26, 231, 244, 245–​46, 247 direct rule responsibilities assumed (1811) by, 13 domestication and, 196 education of, 12–​13 genealogy and, 18, 22, 43, 107–​9, 111, 114–​15, 116, 127, 133–​35, 142, 143–​45, 148–​49, 172–​74, 175–​76, 177, 180, 196–​98, 197f, 244–​45,  246–​47 Glorification of the Goddess and, 136–​37 Great Kings of Mysore authorship attributed to, 14–​15, 22, 114, 161, 176 hunting and leisure of, 192f, 192, 246–​47 installation (1799) of, 2–​3, 12, 109–​10 Kalkin and, 151–​52 Krishna and, 18, 134–​35, 172–​73, 198–​202,  246–​47 musical skills of, 136–​37 Nagara Rebellion (1830-​31) and, 13–​14 Nanjaraja as son of, 129n37, 140–​42, 164 Purnayya and, 13 Raja Wodeyar and, 150–​51 Rangamahal murals and, 22, 84–​85, 170–​74, 175–​76, 178–​80, 181f, 181–​82, 185, 189, 191–​92, 192f, 205n11, 246–​47 Rulers of the Mysore Dynasty painting and, 180 Shaiva and, 108–​9, 140, 145–​46 Shiva and, 140–​42 sovereignty claims of, 15–​18, 23, 118, 134–​36, 144–​45, 169–​71, 172–​73, 181, 185–​86, 211, 212, 232, 236, 244–​46, 247 statues of, 145–​47, 149–​50, 152–​54, 157–​61,  162 statues of Wodeyar kings commissioned by, 143–​45, 161, 162 Subbarayadasa Gopaladasa and, 211, 212, 225–​27, 231, 232–​33, 234, 236 succession questions regarding, 115, 116–​20, 129n37, 134, 198 taxation policies of, 12–​13 Treasure of the Glorious Truth and, 136–​37 Vaishnava and, 124–​25 Vasantotsava celebration and, 198–​200, 199f Venkataramanasvami temple murals and, 23, 212–​13, 214,  221–​24 Vishnu and, 140–​42 Raja Alamelamma and, 119–​20 Cheluvanarayanasvami and, 124, 148–​49, 151 death of, 38–​39

Index  277 genealogy of, 6–​7, 114–​15 Krishnaraja Wodeyar III and, 150–​51 ministerial posts established by, 7 Rangamahal murals and, 174–​75, 177–​78,  184 Shiva and, 151–​52 Shrirangapattana conquered (1610) by, 6–​7, 21, 38–​39, 112–​13,  218–​21 statues of, 94–​96, 143, 149–​52, 153–​54, 155,  157–​58 Succession of the Mysore Kings on the successes of, 37–​39 Tirumala and, 112–​13, 119–​20 Vaishnava and, 124 Timmaraja II, 6 Yaduraya Chamundeshvari and, 121–​22, 123 coronation of, 125–​26 dreams of, 121–​22

genealogy of, 115–​16, 124–​25 Jangama and, 122–​23, 125–​26 Rangamahal murals and, 169, 177–​80 statues of, 143, 146–​48

  Yadavagiri, 148–​49, 151–​52. See also Melukote Yaduraya Wodeyar Chamundeshvari and, 121–​22, 123 coronation of, 125–​26 dreams of, 121–​22 genealogy of, 115–​16, 124–​25 Jangama and, 122–​23, 125–​26 Rangamahal murals and, 169, 177–​80 statues of, 143, 146–​48   Zain-​al-​abidin Shustrari,  33–​34 Zain al-​Din Shirazi, 61–​62 Zaman Shah Durani, 88, 92–​94, 96