Trade, Politics, and Society: The Indian Milieu in the Early Modern Era 9781138234895, 1138234893

Table of contents :
Part One: Trade 1.Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean, c. 1600-1800 2. Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the Eighteenth Century 3. No Ready Money? No Problem! The Role of Hundis (Bills of Exchange) in Early Modern India, c. 1600-1800 4. Indo-Persian Relations through Traders in the Pre-Modern Era 5. Multiple Currencies and their Complementary Relationship: The Indian Scenario: Early Modern Era 6. The Armenians in Dhaka Part Two: Politics 7. Sirajuddaullah, the English Company and the Plassey Conspiracy: A Reappraisal 8. The Surat Crisis of 1669: A Case Study of Mercantile Protest in Medieval India 9. The Imperatives of the Empire: Private Trade, Sub-imperialism and the British Attack on Chandernagore, March 1757 10. Greased Cartridge and the Dharma Sabha: A Myth Exposed Part Three: Society 11. Medieval Indian Society, State and Social Custom: Sati as a Case Study 12. `First Ladies' of Early Eighteenth Century Murshidabad: Contrasting Roles and Characters 13. Birth and Expansion of Orientalism: Calcutta Madrasah 14. Identity and Composite Culture: The Bengal Case 15. Poetical Narratives and Historical Reality: A Study of the Bengali Literature, Fifteenth to Eighteenth Century 16. The Calcutta High Court: A Historical Perspective

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Trade, Politics and Society

Sushil Chaudhury

Trade, Politics and Society The Indian Milieu in the Early Modern Era Sushil Chaudhury

an informa business

ISBN 978-1-138-23489-5

www.routledge.com

,!7IB1D8-cdeijf!

TRADE, POLITICS AND SOCIETY

TRADE, POLITICS AND SOCIETY The Indian Milieu in the Early Modern Era

SUSHIL CHAUDHURY

First published 2017 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business The right of Sushil Chaudhury to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. © 2017 Sushil Chaudhury and Manohar Publishers & Distributors All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Print edition not for sale in South Asia (India, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Bangladesh, Afghanistan, Pakistan or Bhutan) British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-23489-5 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-27674-8 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Ravi Shanker, Delhi 110 095

In Memory of Swami Lokeswarananda Maharaj of the Ramakrishna Mission but for whose affection, care and help I would not have been what I am today

Contents

Preface ix Acknowledgements xi PART 1: TRADE 1. Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean, c. 1600-1800

3

2. Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the Eighteenth Century

35

3. No Ready Money? No Problem! The Role of Hundis (Bills of Exchange) in Early Modern India, c. 1600-1800

68

4. Indo-Persian Relations through Traders in the Pre-Modern Era

85

5. Multiple Currencies and their Complementary Relationship: The Indian Scenario: Early Modern Era

96

6. The Armenians in Dhaka

118

PART 2: POLITICS 7. Sirajuddaullah, the English Company and the Plassey Conspiracy: A Reappraisal

137

8. The Surat Crisis of 1669: A Case Study of Mercantile Protest in Medieval India

174

viii | Contents

9. The Imperatives of the Empire: Private Trade, Sub-imperialism and the British Attack on Chandernagore, March 1757

193

10. Greased Cartridge and the Dharma Sabha: A Myth Exposed

209

PART 3: SOCIETY 11. Medieval Indian Society, State and Social Custom: Sati as a Case Study

223

12. ‘First Ladies’ of Early Eighteenth Century Murshidabad: Contrasting Roles and Characters

246

13. Birth and Expansion of Orientalism: Calcutta Madrasah

258

14. Identity and Composite Culture: The Bengal Case

273

15. Poetical Narratives and Historical Reality: A Study of the Bengali Literature, Fifteenth to Eighteenth Century

302

16. The Calcutta High Court: A Historical Perspective

319

Index 335

Preface

I cherished the idea of bringing out a collection of my articles published in different journals, books and the presentations I gave in different international and national conferences or seminars in the last four decades and a half. But it was only a half-hearted desire without much conviction. However, my wife was very persuasive about the idea and almost forced me to go ahead with the project. Fortunately, Mr. Ramesh Jain of Manohar warmly welcomed the idea and came forward to publish the volume. And thus the volume is here. The main difficulty however was how to pick and choose the essays for publication out of more than fifty such pieces, especially to group them thematically in two volumes. I could somehow manage to select seventeen essays which would fit into a volume with the title Companies, Commerce and Merchants: Bengal in the Pre-Colonial Era as most of them are concerned mainly with Bengal’s commercial economy during the period. Of the rest of the essays, I have included sixteen of them here in this volume under the title Trade, Politics and Society: The Indian Milieu in the Early Modern Era as they deal with a potpourri of Indian history in the eighteenth century. I have divided them into three Sections – Trade, Society and Politics – for the convenience of the readers. Since the essays were written at different times and in different perspective, there are bound to be some repetitions and this could hardly be avoided. But I can assure the readers that the repetitions, wherever they occur, are very relevant for the clarity of that particular chapter. At some point I thought of trying to revise the repetitions as far as possible, correct the essays and make them up to date, bring uniformity in spellings,

x | Preface

update the bibliographies wherever needed. But I have resisted from this except reluctantly in correcting some factual mistakes and in intervening despairingly to bring about some uniformity of spelling. But these, I am glad to say, have been done very sparingly. I am extremely thankful to Mr. Ramesh Jain of Manohar Publishers & Distributors for taking great care and interest in publishing the book. My wife Mahasweta, as always, has been very helpful in reading the manuscript, correcting the proofs and the errors which escaped my eyes. Perhaps it will be superfluous to thank her after more than half a century of married life. Sushil Chaudhury

Acknoweldgements

Profuse thanks from the author and publisher to the following Publishers/Editors/Authors for granting permission to reproduce the articles published in this volume: Aligarh Historians Society (Chapters 10, 15); Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, Dhaka (Chapters 1, 5, 14); 400 Years of Capital Dhaka and Beyond, vol. II (Chapter 6); Calcutta High Court (Chapter 16); Calcutta Historical Journal (Chapters 8, 11); Indian Historical Review (Chapter 7); Indian History Congress (Chapter 12); Indo-Iranica (Chapter 4); Maison de Sciences de l’Homme, Paris (Chapter 2); Markus A. Denzel (Chapter 3); R.K. Mission Institute of Culture, Calcutta (Chapter 13); Sage India (Chapter 9)

PART 1

TRADE

chapter 1

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean, c. 1600-1800*

The paper is mainly concerned with the maritime trade in the middle Indian Ocean from around 1600 to 1800. It will be discussed in two parts – first, the Portuguese presence and the Indian Ocean trade in the sixteenth century, and second, Indian overseas trade after the coming in of the European trading companies in the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. The main questions that I shall tackle here are: (1) What was the impact of the Portuguese presence in the trading world of the sixteenth century? (2) How did the arrival of the European trading companies, especially the Dutch and the English, the two most important ones, affect the Indian Ocean trade in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries? But before I dwell on these questions, I shall try to give a rough idea of the trading world in the Indian Ocean at the dawn of the sixteenth century when the Portuguese appeared on the scene. As regards the first question, I shall argue that the presence of the Portuguese in the Indian Ocean did hardly affect the maritime trade of the Indian merchants except in a small way. They were unable to bring about radical changes in the Indian Ocean trade though they were successful to some extent in diverting trade in some goods and force the Indians to pay extra customs duties. One of the important developments in the Indian Ocean in the sixteenth century was the increasing dominance of the Red * This is the first F.I.M. Nurul Abedin and Anjuman Ara Begum Lecture delivered at the Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, Dhaka in 2010 and later published in The Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bangladesh (Humanities), no. 1, June 2010, pp. 1-24.

4 | Trade, Politics and Society

Sea trade while their trade to South-East Asia was marked by a slide over the period. As to the second question, I would try to establish that Indian maritime trade was rearranged in the seventeenth century, the salient feature of which was that the Gujarati fleet which was so predominant in the western Indian Ocean earlier dwindled into insignificance during the period while the Calcutta (Kolkata) fleet of the British private merchants reigned supreme in the eastern Indian Ocean. Yet at the turn of the century, the Gujarati trade in western Indian Ocean was still very prosperous though by this time it had passed its heydays. I Before I take up the Portuguese presence in the Indian Ocean, let us have a look at the scenario that emerges at the dawn of the sixteenth century when the Portuguese appeared on the scene. This can be portrayed as follows: Indian shipping, largely in the hands of the Gujarati Muslims, was engaged in trade mainly in the middle Indian Ocean, dominating the sea-routes between Cambay and Malacca. To the west, Indian ships made regular trips to the Red Sea and Persian Gulf ports but Arab shipowners dominated the carrying trade in the Arabian Sea. Chinese ships excluded all others from the waters between southern China and Malaya while Malay and Javanese vessels were dominant in the Indonesian waters. This loosely knit structure of Indian overseas trade remained almost intact in the next three hundred years. Moreover, the distinction between coastal shipping interests, predominantly Muslim, and the shore-based merchants feeding the Indian shipping, among whom Hindus were predominant, was not altered to any significant extent throughout the period.1 Thus when we look at the major trade routes in the Indian Ocean and the important commodities traded at the turn of the sixteenth century, we find that the longest and glamorous route was from Aden to Malacca via either Gujarat or Malabar where the goods entering the Red Sea included cottons, indigo, spices and drugs. The imports consisted of European woollens, silk and

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 5

bullion. Most of the cloths and indigo came from Gujarat which took much of the bullion. Some of the pepper came from Malabar through Cochin and cinnamon from Sri Lanka. Malacca received cloths from India and bullion from the Red Sea in return for pepper, mace, nutmeg and cloves from eastern Indonesia, and silk and porcelain from China. Another major sea-route, dominated by the Gujaratis, brought slaves, ebony, ivory and gold from East Africa while cloths, beads and foodstuff were provided in return. Through another route from the Hadramaut and the Persian Gulf via Hormuz came horses, pearls from the gulf, Persian silks and carpets. In the Bay of Bengal, Bengal provided cloths and provisions; Coromandel exported cloths and yarns. In the south, Sri Lanka produced precious stones and cinnamon, and to the east, Pegu supplied precious stones and metals in return for cloths. And at the end of the fifteenth century, Indian traders with their large concentration in Malacca, their regular voyages to Sumatra and the strong connection they had with the Javanese port of Grise, maintained a strong presence in South-East Asia.2 II Now let us turn to the advent of the Portuguese. The discovery of direct maritime route to Asia round the Cape of Good Hope by the Portuguese under Vasco da Gama in 1498 is generally regarded as the beginning of a ‘new era’ in the history of EuroAsian trade. It brought about an integration of trade on a global scale in the early modern era. This is the period when India was gradually incorporated into the capitalistic world system through oceanic trade with Europe. The flow of silver from the ‘New World’ of America facilitated the trade between Europe and Asia. A part of the silver that entered into Europe from the Americas was used for trade in Asia and this along with the silver that came from Japan enhanced the purchasing power of the Europeans for procuring export goods for Europe.3 The objectives of the Portuguese in coming to India were apparent in Vasco da Gama’s reply to some Tunisian merchants when his ships reached Calicut. He said that the Portuguese

6 | Trade, Politics and Society

came to seek for Christians and spices.4 Indeed, the Portuguese aim in India in the sixteenth century was to enrich their state and themselves, by the use of military force. The general purpose was twofold: to try and monopolize the supply of spices to Europe, and to control and tax Asian trade by force. During the first two decades of the sixteenth century, there was a radical shift from the earlier stage when the Portuguese were carrying individual attacks on Muslim ships trading between the Red Sea and the western coast of India in which a carefully calculated policy was adopted for a systematic and comprehensive control of the spice trade. In 1502, when Vasco da Gama came back to India, he was asked to build forts, and to leave a fleet permanently in the Indian Ocean. In 1505 the first viceroy, Francisco d’Almeida, was despatched to India to establish formally the ‘State’ of India. He was given clear and wide-ranging instructions that forts had to be established, not for defensive purposes but in order to enable the Portuguese to control the trade of the Indian Ocean. Almeida, however, demurred and it was his successor, Afonso de Albuquerque (1509-15), along with da Gama, who laid the foundation of the Portuguese empire in Asia. Two essential conditions were necessary for the success of the Portuguese plan: first, a clear and absolute naval superiority over Asian shipping and secondly, the establishment of a few key outposts which would act as strategic bases for the naval fleets and men left in charge of trading operations.5 The Portuguese attempt towards the realization of their goal began with the bombardment of Calicut in 1502 when it became apparent that its ruler, the Zamorin, was not ready to expel the Muslim traders from the port. On the other hand, the Raja of Cochin on the Malabar coast was more amenable and the first Portuguese fort on the Indian soil was established in his kingdom in 1503. But it was not until the capture of Goa from the Bijapur Sultan by Albuquerque in 1510 that the foundation of the future maritime empire in the Indian Ocean region was truly laid. This was followed by the foundation of Goa as the chief administrative seat of the Portuguese in the East and soon followed the

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 7

occupation of Malacca (1511) which was extremely important as an entrepôt in South-East Asia and which controlled the searoutes in the area. In 1515 the important port of Hormuz at the mouth of the Persian Gulf was conquered and this virtually completed the Portuguese plan of establishing forts in key areas for controlling trade in the Indian Ocean. True, the land acquired in these places was tiny in size but their strategic importance was immense. Further conquests followed spasmodically throughout the sixteenth century. Thus in 1518 a fort was established in Colombo and by the end of the century, the Portuguese controlled most coastal areas of that region. Diu, another port-city, was conquered in 1535. Bassein was occupied a year earlier. The main objective was to control the vast sea-borne trade of Gujarat. Again, Daman was conquered in 1559 in order to increase the effectiveness of the patrols across the mouth of the Gulf of Cambay. The Portuguese did not stop at that. They erected a number of other forts across the Indian Ocean littoral, several in East Africa, in the Moluccas, and on the Konkan and Malabar coasts in India. And ultimately they finished up with a string of some fifty forts and fortified areas across the Indian Ocean, and a total fleet of 100 ships of various sizes in the area.6 The Portuguese overseas enterprise in Asia was dominated by the Portuguese Crown from the very beginning. The principal organizing unit at the Lisbon end was the Casa da India, a royal trading firm with the overall charge of the trade with Asia. The Asian end of the enterprise was supervised by an administrative set up described from the 1560s onwards as Estado da India, with its headquarters, for all practical purposes, in Goa since 1515 (earlier in Cochin), under the charge of the viceroy. With all the forts and a strong fleet in the Indian Ocean region, the Portuguese wanted to achieve several economic objectives. First, a monopoly of the spice trade to Europe; secondly, a monopoly of the trade between various specified ports in Asia; third, the control, direction and taxation of all other trade in the Indian Ocean and lastly, private trade, done on their own behalf by most Portuguese living in Asia.7

8 | Trade, Politics and Society

From the very beginning of their trading operations in India, the Portuguese tried to monopolize all trade in spices. The principal item sought by the Portuguese Crown in Asia was no doubt spices but overwhelmingly pepper. Indeed, pepper was the raison d’être of the Portuguese-Asian trade in the beginning, accounting for in the first two decades of the sixteenth century as much as 95 per cent of the total Asian cargo in physical and 85 per cent in value terms. Pepper for the most part came from Malabar in India and other spices like cloves and nutmeg came mainly from the Moluccas and cinnamon from Sri Lanka. Before the Cape route was opened up, pepper and other spices were exported to Europe by a complex land and sea-route. The Indian and south-eastern ports exported these commodities to Hormuz and Aden from where they were taken by caravans to the ports of eastern Mediterranean. The merchants of West Asia and North Africa played a significant role in this trade. Once in the Mediterranean, the carrying trade was in the hands of another set of merchants of the Italian city-states and a few other nationalities of the northern littoral of the Mediterranean.8 Throughout the sixteenth century, a number of instructions and decrees were issued to emphasize that all trade in spices was reserved entirely for the Portuguese Crown and its agents. If this monopoly could be enforced, the indigenous traders in India, the Red Sea and Egypt would lose their most profitable trade, and the Portuguese could buy cheap in Asia and sell dear in Europe. At the same time, the Portuguese tried to organize voyages to specified places within Asia on a monopolistic basis. Only the designated ship could make a given voyage in a particular year. In the beginning, such voyages were carried out by royal ships though most of the cargoes belonged to private merchants. But later on, from around the 1540s, individuals were licensed to undertake these voyages. Another area of the Portuguese involvement was the attempt to control and tax the trade carried on by Asian merchants in the Indian Ocean. It was here in their cartaz-armada-qafila system that the Portuguese produced their greatest impact on Asian trade. The main instrument used for this was the cartaz (passport) backed by armadas. In this context

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 9

it is well to remember that levies on trade were not unknown in India. Indian rulers had for centuries exercised such control over trade which was carried on through their territories and in the overland trade between Asia and Europe. The levies collected by the various land-powers, no doubt, made an inroad into the profits of the traders. But where the Portuguese introduced a relatively new concept was in their claims to control exclusively the sea-routes and the maritime trade of land-based states and empires of Asia. The near-absence or the inferiority of the naval power of the Asian states greatly helped the policies of the Estado da India.9 Under the cartaz system, every Asian ship was required to take a cartaz from the Portuguese. The pass issued contained the name of the captain of the ship concerned, its size and the crew it carried. It authorized the vessel to embark on a specified trip. The ports of call were also specified and generally included a visit to a Portuguese-controlled port to pay duties before proceeding to its destination. The enemies of the Portuguese and banned goods such as spices were prohibited on such voyages. If a ship was found without a cartaz, it was automatically confiscated and its crew immediately killed or sent to the galleys. Again, if a ship, even with a cartaz, violated the conditions laid down in it, it was liable to confiscation. The fee charged for a cartaz was, however, very small.10 Again, the Portuguese introduced the so-called qafila (caravan) system in the western coast of India in the second half of the sixteenth century. The main purpose of this was to ensure that the ships carrying cartaz were not able to evade calling at the Portuguese-controlled ports, and pay customs duties on their goods as also to obviate the risk of attacks by Malabari pirates on these ships. Under this system, the ships operating between the specified ports were required to sail in a group escorted by a Portuguese fleet. By the 1570s, the system was reasonably well established and it was made obligatory in 1596. Every year two or three qafilas set sail to the north from Goa, bound for Gujarat. Equally vital was the qafila from the south of the Kanara region because of the fact that provisions came from that area. As with

10 | Trade, Politics and Society

the cartaz, the main principle behind the qafila system was to earn profit for the Portuguese customs houses and to ensure the safety of the native ships. But many Indian traders were reluctant to join the qafilas and call at Goa to pay customs duties there and engage in virtually forced trade. Hence the Portuguese escort fleet had to perform two functions: to guard the merchant ships against pirates and to ensure that none of them slipped to trade outside the Portuguese system.11 The principal item exported by the Portuguese to Europe was spices – overwhelmingly pepper, though some other varieties were also exported in the early sixteenth century. The Portuguese occupation of Malacca (1511) notwithstanding, they procured the bulk of the pepper from the Malabar region (later on from Kanara as well) on the south-west coast of India. Thus India became the main theatre of their trading activities in Asia. It was only in the context of the intra-Asian trade that other parts of Asia, including China and Japan, became quantitatively significant. The Portuguese also attempted at the monopoly of horse trade. Before their arrival, there was an important trade in horses. These horses were imported from the Persian Gulf region as Arabia and Persia produced the best horses. After the conquest of Goa by Albuquerque, the Portuguese made every effort to boost this trade. Any ship bringing in at least ten horses from Hormuz to Goa was exempt from customs duties on the remaining goods on board the ship and any merchant leaving Goa, having bought five horses, was given concessions on the customs duties to be paid. From this trade, Portuguese derived both financial and political benefits. There were no import duties on horses but the export duty was about forty cruzados for each horse. The huge tax earned by Goa from this trade is apparent from the fact that while in 1513-14, the revenue from this trade stood at 5,000 cruzados, it rose to 18,000 in 1523 and in the 1540s to 65,000 cruzados. But this fell sharply later in the century. The political benefit derived was in the form of political concessions from the Indian powers in return for a denial of horse sales to their enemies.12

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 11

III At this point it is pertinent to consider how the Portuguese presence affected Indian overseas trade in the sixteenth century. For such an analysis, it is well to have a glimpse of the Indian maritime trade in the fifteenth century. Genevieve Bouchon and Denys Lombard have shown that there was a ‘prodigious’ movement in the Indian Ocean during the fifteenth century before the arrival of the Portuguese.13 The early years of the fifteenth century saw, what can be called, the ‘last flowering’ of the Chinese presence in the Indian Ocean. In fact, Simon Digby has pointed out the importance of the Chinese factor in the Indian Ocean in the three hundred years before the arrival of the Portuguese, though they withdrew from the western routes in the 1430s.14 But Malacca continued to be the meeting place of the Chinese, Indian and Malay traders. Again, during the century, the Arabs were probably losing in the west while the withdrawal of the Chinese left an important vacuum in the east. It was mainly the Gujaratis who filled in the vacuum thus created. Indeed, the fifteenth century witnessed a significant expansion of Gujarati overseas trade. It has been argued quite convincingly by Ashin Das Gupta that the real alteration in the Indian Ocean in the sixteenth century was brought about not so much by Portuguese presence as by the rise of three continental empires in the western Indian Ocean: the Mughal, Safavid and the Ottoman empires. They were responsible for the deepening of the penetration of the interior and strengthening the Islamic force, particularly the pilgrimage of hajj. After the first violent overture, the Portuguese settled within this structure and were in a way ‘swallowed by it’.15 Of India’s exports to the Indian Ocean markets, a few points are worth noting. First, of the textiles which was the major export of India throughout the period, the overwhelming majority was cheap and coarse piece-goods used for everyday wear and exported all over seaborne Asia. In fact, a detailed analysis made recently of the textile export of the Dutch East India Company, which was most active in intra-Asian trade, in the early eighteenth

12 | Trade, Politics and Society

century reveals that ordinary cheap calicoes formed 80-90 per cent of the export to Batavia, medium-quality silk and mixed piece-goods about 80 per cent of the export to Japan, while the share of fine-quality expensive muslins varied between 5 and 12 per cent to Batavia and almost negligible to Japan.16 Secondly, staple food items like rice, wheat, pulses, oil, ghee (clarified butter), etc., were important components of India’s exports and were in great demand in the Indian Ocean region. Bengal, Orissa and the Kanara coast were the major grain-surplus areas. They not only supplied the deficit pockets along the Indian coasts, like Malabar or on occasions, Surat, but their supplies helped feed even cities like Malacca, Hormuz and Aden. It is interesting to note that this evidence actually refutes a part of J.C. Van Leur thesis regarding the characterization of the Indian Ocean trade in the early modern era.17 Van Leur emphasized that Asian trade was characterized by exchange of luxury goods, small in bulk but high in value. This has been ably repudiated by M.A.P. Meilink-Roelofz, Das Gupta, M.N. Pearson, Sushil Chaudhury and Michel Morineau, among others.18 Luxuries were of course exchanged and there is little doubt that India’s prime import was bullion. In fact, the crucial importance of West Asian market for Indian import of bullion can hardly the overstated. It is with much justice that Mocha was described as ‘the treasure house of the Mughals’. As for the exports, it is well to remember that along with the luxury goods, many more mundane goods were also exchanged and actually the latter formed the bulk of the exports from India. As noted earlier, the Portuguese attempt to monopolize the spice trade called for a total exclusion of Asian shipping from the Red Sea and Persian Gulf region. This involved frequent raids on the Indian ships laden with pepper and sailing from Calicut for those areas. But this was a short-lived policy. The Portuguese realized that much more profitable for them was to try to regulate and tax the Indian overseas trade by cartaz-armada-qafila. In the beginning, Gujarati merchants were friendly, thinking that the Portuguese were another trading group like so many in the area. But when they saw the monopolistic design of the

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 13

Portuguese, which was completely new and arbitrary to them, they tried to resist. As this was not possible, given the military and naval strength of the Portuguese, they acquiesced in the Portuguese system. As a matter of fact, for most Gujarati traders, acceptance of the Portuguese system meant only payment of extra customs duties at about 5 per cent on the goods and this comparatively trifling sum could easily be recovered by charging a slightly higher price for the goods. Thus we find that all Gujarati ships leaving the ports of the Gulf of Cambay were calling at the Portuguese port of Diu and paying customs duties there. There is little doubt that the Portuguese control of the Indian overseas trade in Gujarat had some effects, resulting in as it did in the reorientation of Gujarat’s maritime trade in the sixteenth century. As we have seen earlier, at the turn of the century Gujarati overseas trade stretched in two main directions: the Red Sea and Malacca. But in the next hundred years, the Red Sea became much more important than South-East Asia. In all probability, this was a commercial decision but surely Portuguese policies also contributed. Unhappy with the brutal and corrupt Portuguese regime in Malacca, as Pearson holds, Gujarati merchants looked for new markets. Again, the apathy and opposition of the Portuguese to the Muslim traders from the Red Sea and Middle East in general also helped the Gujarati traders in increasing their share in the trade to those areas. Thus one of the major changes in the Indian Ocean in the sixteenth century was the increasing dominance of the Gujaratis in the Red Sea area while their trade in South-East Asia was marked by a slide over the period. And the Portuguese contribution in these shifts can hardly be ignored.19 Even in the areas where Portuguese aims were achieved to some extent, this did not really lead to any substantial change in the existing patterns. The Portuguese were not able to bring about radical changes in routes, products or productive techniques at any level. In other words, they could do nothing except divert trade in some goods and force the Indian traders to pay extra customs duties. The Portuguese system, at most, manipulated but could not transform the existing pattern. The Portuguese control

14 | Trade, Politics and Society

in most parts of India was much less evident than in Gujarat so that the powerful Chettiyar merchants of Coromandel were hardly affected at all. Even in Malabar where the Portuguese control was both tight and irksome, their control could often be circumvented. At the same time it has been argued recently that the Portuguese system was at least partly responsible for introducing certain changes in the structure of the Indian maritime trade in the sixteenth century. One such case was the alteration in the relative importance of Indian ports reflected in the decline of Bhatkal in Kanara, Calicut and Cannanore in Malabar followed by the rise of Cochin, the replacement of Pulicat by Masulipatnam as the premier port of the Coromandel and the emergence of Hughli as the principal port of Bengal consequent to the decline of Satgaon.20 But this is not wholly true at least so far as the rise of Hughli is concerned because the decline of Satgaon and the consequent emergence of Hughli was mainly due to the freak of nature, namely the silting of the Saraswati River on which Satgaon was situated, and had little to do with the Portuguese, though it cannot be denied that by settling in Hughli, the Portuguese greatly helped in making it the premier port of Bengal in the seventeenth century.21 Finally, one has to consider the general impact of the Portuguese presence in the Indian Ocean. To W.H. Moreland,22 the advent of the Portuguese ushered in a new era in the region. Even admitting that Asian ships were still active in some oceanic routes, he asserted that the Portuguese controlled the main channels of trade in the region. The idea was so much entrenched that K.M. Panikkar,23 writing about forty years after him, talks of ‘Western Dominance’ with the arrival of the Portuguese under Vasco da Gama. The first challenge to the above came from Van Leur24 who emphasized that even in the sixteenth century, Asian maritime trade continued to be of vital importance. He argued that the Portuguese failed to control even the vital pepper and spice trade. This part of Van Leur thesis is generally accepted by most historians. Niels Steensgaard has shown that there was no dramatic increase in the volume of pepper and spice export by oceanic route to Europe before the export of these commodi-

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 15

ties by the Dutch and English East India Company in the early seventeenth century.25 Even Boxer admits that almost certainly more pepper was being carried by Gujarati ships from Acheh to the Red Sea at the end of the sixteenth century than was being taken by the Portuguese round the Cape to Lisbon.26 Again, an estimate by L.F. Thomaz puts the Portuguese export of cloves to Europe over the whole of the sixteenth century at only one-tenth of the total production in Moluccas.27 Even in western India, which was their stronghold, the Portuguese were relatively unsuccessful. What is of greater significance was that in terms of the total Asian spice trade – not just the small amount which went to the Red Sea and Europe – the role of the Portuguese was even limited. They were ‘irrelevant’, as Pearson points out, for most of the time for most part of Asia over the huge amount of spice consumed in Asia.28 However, Van Leur’s above thesis has been challenged by Charles R. Boxer and Meilink-Roelofsz. They have both drawn our attention to the long route, say from Goa to Malacca, which the Portuguese established. We are thus left with a picture of composite colours – the Portuguese brought in something but Van Leur’s verdict also stands. Yet on the whole, most historians have followed Van Leur in emphasizing the marginality of European presence at least up to the middle of the eighteenth century.29 It has been suggested that any picture of Asian trade in the sixteenth century must emphasize continuity rather than change.30 But Steensgaard regards this part of Van Leur thesis as ‘too drastic a reaction to the European paradigm’. While pointing out that the Portuguese had never really achieved mastery over the Indian Ocean, he stresses the fact that the Portuguese evdeavour to enhance their claims to sovereignty in the Indian Ocean brought about changes in the ‘embryonic world system’ of the Indian Ocean. He holds that the official Estado did interfere, however little, with the Indian Ocean network – the link between Aden and Calicut was snapped, and the major part of the East African trade was diverted to Goa. On the private side of the Portuguese empire, both small and big merchants along with the peddlers of the Portuguese origin or descent merged into the

16 | Trade, Politics and Society

trading world of Asia, and traded on equal terms with their Asian counterparts. These Portuguese, as private entrepreneurs, were just another group added to the various ethnic groups trading in the Indian Ocean.31 Thus the tarnished image of the Portuguese is being rehabilitated now, with special reference to private trade, by Steensgaard and followed by Sanjay Subrahmanyam and L.F. Thomaz.32 In a recent study, R.J. Barendse decries the ‘tendency in recent studies to debunk “Eurocentric” colonial history – to the extent of exaggerating in the opposite direction’, i.e. even to ‘ignore the European role altogether’. In his support, he cites the case study of Bengal by Om Prakash where it has been attempted to show the great impact of European commerce in generating full-time job equivalent in the regional economy. But Prakash’s thesis is arguable and can hardly be accepted in its totality.33 There is little doubt that trade in the Indian Ocean was firmly in the hands of the Indian maritime merchants throughout the period. One of the factors for the vitality of the Indian shipping vis-à-vis that of the Europeans was that the latter charged freights almost double the rates of the Indians which can be precisely documented.34 Secondly, as Ashin Das Gupta has pointed out, Indians preferred the ships belonging to persons of their own community mainly because of the difference in the customs known to the freighter and the owner, not to speak of the differences in language, though this is arguable. Third, Indian freighters used to split their risks by distributing their freight among the available shipping. Again and more important, Indian maritime merchants never conceded superiority to the Europeans because they were thriftier, spent much less on equipping their ships and maintaining their establishments, and were content with a much smaller margin of profit. Besides, they had a thorough knowledge of the ins and outs of the market.35 Even Moreland had to acknowledge that though the ‘European merchants dominated the markets for particular commodities, but it cannot be asserted that they ever dominated the commercial outlook’ and that ‘Indian markets were not dominated by the European trade’.36

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 17

In the final analysis, Van Leur’s assertion that ‘the belligerent activity of the Portuguese had become by the close of the 16th century one thread more in the fabric of the international exchange of goods in the Indian Ocean’. His further comment that the ‘Portuguese trade was exceeded many times by the trade carried on by Chinese, Japanese, Siamese, Javanese, Indians from Coromandel, Gujarat and Malabar, and Arabs’ also seems to be quite tenable.37 And in this context very appropriate is Ashin Das Gupta’s assertion that the European was not a particularly important person in Indian maritime trade till he began to effectively beat the natives. Spectacular, yes. Significant in his own way, certainly. The dominating presence, no . . . there was no Vasco da Gama epoch in Indian maritime history that was inaugurated in 1500.38

IV Indian overseas trade in the seventeenth and the first half of the eighteenth century underwent a considerable expansion compared to the position in the sixteenth century. In fact, India’s foreign trade as a whole witnessed a tremendous growth in the seventeenth and the first half of the eighteenth century as a result of the tripartite participation of the Dutch, English and the French, besides the role played by the Indian maritime merchants. But the question that crops up is, how and why did the European companies come to India for carrying on the overseas trade? The discovery of the Cape route threw open direct oceanic trade between Europe and Asia, and the Portuguese set the example of extensive and direct as also lucrative spice trade from Asia to Europe in the sixteenth century. It was the vast market for spices in Europe and the high profit derived from it by the Portuguese that prompted the establishment of the English East India Company in 1600 and Dutch East India Company (Verenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie) in 1602. The French East India Company came into being later, only in 1664. But it was not till the Company was restructured as ‘Compagnie

18 | Trade, Politics and Society

Perpetuelle des Indes’ in 1723 that it played any meaningful role in Indo-European trade and thus it was of importance only between 1725 and 1770. Among other European companies, the Ostend, Swedish and Danish companies began their trade only in the early eighteenth century and that too on a very modest scale. Thus while a host of European companies participated in Indo-European trade, it was really the two giants, the Dutch and the English East India companies who, between themselves accounted for an overwhelming proportion of this trade through the seventeenth and first half of the eighteenth century.39 As the Companies were mainly interested in procuring pepper and spices from the so-called Spice Islands in the Indonesian archipelago, they went there to buy these commodities with silver obtained from the ‘New World’. But to their utter surprise, they found that it was not silver but cheap, coarse Indian piece-goods which were in great demand in those islands. So they turned their attention to India for procuring these textiles so that they could buy spices in the Indonesian archipelago in exchange for Indian cloth. The economy of many of these islands was only imperfectly monetized at this time, and the clothing material from India provided an essential barter commodity which satisfied the needs of everyday wear. So the Companies turned mainly to the coast of Coromandel in India for procurement of cheap and coarse calicoes for exchange in the Indonesian archipelago. But when the Coromandel trade became uncertain and expensive because of wars, famines and political instability in the region, the Companies turned their attention to Bengal. They realized that trade in Bengal had certain advantages. It was not only the largest producer of cheap cotton piece-goods, but also of high quality, inexpensive raw silk for which there would have been great demand in Europe, gradually replacing Persian and Italian silk. A third lucrative item for trade for the companies was saltpetre, an essential ingredient for gunpowder which was in high demand in Europe because of chronic wars, and which could be profitably used as ballast for Europe-bound ships. So it was on these considerations that both the Dutch and the English established their factories or trading posts in Bengal

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 19

in the early 1650s, incidentally both in Hugli, the premier port of Bengal in the seventeenth century.40 But it was not until the mid-1670s that the Bengal trade assumed any significant importance in the Asiatic trade of either Company. It was from about the 1670s that there was a sudden expansion in the European export of Bengal raw silk, which received a further boost in the 1680s because of the high demand for the commodity in Europe. However, it was the big boom in the export of Bengal textiles from around the early 1680s that revolutionized the pattern of the Asiatic trade of the European companies. From then onward, Bengal became the most dominant partner of the European trade from Asia which was mostly carried on by the two major companies, the Dutch and the English East India Company. Thus from about the 1680s till the middle of the eighteenth century, these two Companies among the Europeans played the most important role in Bengal’s maritime and international trade. But after the British victory at the battle of Plassey in 1757, it was a different story altogether. The English company along with its servants, by virtue of its total control over Bengal polity and economy, became intent on wiping out all other European and Asian rivals from any worthwhile trade in Bengal.41 It is thus interesting to note that the Asiatic trade of the European companies which began as a bilateral trade between Europe and the Spice Islands changed its character completely in the course of time. From the original bilateral trade, it changed to triangular trade – between Europe, India (for cheap cotton piece-goods) and the Spice Islands (where the Indian textiles were exchanged for spices to be exported to Europe). Finally, it became bilateral again, mainly between Europe and Bengal, with the marked difference from about the 1680s that Bengal emerged as the chief partner of the Asiatic trade of the European companies. By the beginning of the eighteenth century, Bengal supplied about 40 per cent of the average annual value of Asian commodities the Dutch company sent to Holland. And more than 50 per cent of the total value in textiles the Dutch exported from Asia was in the form of Bengal textiles. Thus in the early

20 | Trade, Politics and Society

eighteenth century, Bengal became the most important theatre of the Dutch company’s activity not only in India but in the whole of Asia.42 Similar was the case with the English East India Company. The Bengal trade was often described by the English factors as ‘the best flower of the Company’s garden’ or ‘the choicest jewel’. An official of the Company wrote towards the close of the seventeenth century that ‘Bengal is the most considerable to the English nation of all their settlements in India’.43 That the Dutch and the English were the major partners in Bengal’s overseas trade in the second half of the seventeenth and the first half of the eighteenth century is also borne by the fact that Alexander Hume, the chief of the Ostend Company in Bengal, wrote in 1730 that ‘the English and Dutch . . . are the greatest traders in this country’.44 As mentioned earlier, other European companies played a very minor role in Bengal’s maritime trade, except for the French under the leadership of Dupleix in the thirties to early forties of the eighteenth century. Indeed, the seventeenth century was marked by a fundamental change in the character of the Euro-Asian trade. An important aspect of the ‘seventeenth-century revolution’ from the Indian perspective was a tremendous increase in the volume and value of the Indo-European trade in the course of the century and the changes in the composition of export commodities from India, both for the European and various Asian markets. While the English were not involved in the intra-Asian trade, for the Dutch this was a very important component of their Asiatic trade for the greater part of the century. Cheap Indian calicoes from Gujarat and Coromandel in the beginning, and then from Bengal, were essential for procuring pepper and spices from the Indonesian archipelago. Bengal raw silk was the principal item exported to Japan while opium, again from Bengal, figured prominently in the exports to the archipelago. Again, during this century, there was a substantial increase in the volume and value of the Dutch Company’s exports to Europe from Asia. Thus from a modest figure of Rs. 2 million over the three year period 1619-21, the Company’s exports to Europe

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 21

had gone up to Rs. 10 million during the three years at the close of the century (1698-1700). Interestingly, the composition of the export commodities had also changed dramatically during the period. Pepper and other spices which comprised as much as 74 per cent of the exports in the early part of the century gradually came down to as low as 23 per cent towards the close of the century. On the other hand, the share of textiles and raw silk which was no more than 16 per cent earlier had gone up to as much as 55 per cent at the end of the century. As Bengal was the main supplier of these two commodities, its share in the exports of goods from Asia by the Dutch and the English rose to as much as 40 per cent at the beginning of the eighteenth century. It seems that in the second half of the seventeenth and the first two decades of the eighteenth century, the Dutch were ahead of the English in the export trade to Europe but the latter nearly caught up with the former at the close of the century, despite the fact that unlike the Dutch they did not take part in intraAsian trade. The total value of the English exports to Europe in the last three years of the century (1698-1700) was more than Rs. 9 million, i.e. almost nearing the Dutch total during these years. It was around the mid-1720s that the English went ahead of the Dutch and this continued till the mid-1740s when the Dutch trade picked up again to almost equal the English trade. The French emerged as a formidable rival of the English and Dutch only from around the third decade of the eighteenth century, though for about three or four decades only.45 The above scenario persisted in the first half of the eighteenth century also with the difference that the value and volume of the export trade by the Dutch and the English to Europe increased further. Bengal still remained the principal theatre of these Companies’ activities and their exports registered a significant increase. Thus while the Dutch exports to Europe in the triennium 1738-40 rose to about Rs. 13 million (f. 19.4m) from the level of Rs. 10 million (f.15m) during 1698-1700, in the case of the English it went up as high as Rs. 15.3 million (f. 23m) from the figure of Rs. 9 million in the last three years of the seventeenth century. Perhaps more significant in a way was the

22 | Trade, Politics and Society

fact that the share of the Bengal commodities, especially textiles, raw silk and saltpetre, in the cargoes exported from Asia by the Dutch company had gone up from 40/42 per cent at the turn of the century to 47 per cent during 1738-40. In case of the English the corresponding figures are 66 per cent during 173840 as against 42 per cent during 1698-1700. It has to be noted here that the Dutch exports do not include their export to the Asian markets which was on the decline from around this period but in all likelihood the Dutch exports taken as a whole almost equalled those of the English around the mid-eighteenth century since the English exports declined marginally in the late 1740s and early 1750s.46 So far as the commodity structure of the Indo-European trade is concerned, we have seen that textiles, raw silk and saltpetre were the principal items exported by the Companies, besides a few minor items. Opium figured prominently in the Dutch export to Batavia. Of the other commodities exported from India, indigo was at first highly prized as a profitable article but was later supplanted by Bengal raw silk and saltpetre. However, textile was the most important item in the export list of all the European companies. This will be evident from the fact that the share of textiles in the English company’s exports went up sharply from 57 per cent during 1668-70 to as much as 70 per cent in the period 1738-40. The Company exported from India 123,000 pieces in 1621 which went up to 221,000 pieces in 1625. And the figures went on increasing gradually. In 1664 the total quantities exported by the English stood well over 710,000 pieces and their value accounted for as much as 73 per cent of the entire value of the Company’s exports to Europe. But the real boom in the export of Indian textiles began in the early 1680s. Thus in two decades the number of pieces exported went as high as 1.5 million pieces and the share of textiles in the total value of the exports rose to 83 per cent. The Dutch company sold 1.12 million pieces of Indian piece-goods in Amsterdam during the quinquennium 1684-9. And there is no doubt that this trend continued till the mid-eighteenth century when the total number of piece-goods exported by the Companies was

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 23

much higher than the total number exported in the 1680s. The great importance of textiles in the export list of the Companies will be apparent from the percentage share of the commodity in the total export value from Bengal which was the largest supplier of Indian textiles through the first half of the eighteenth century. In fact, throughout the period textiles formed the largest single item in the Companies’ export bills. In the early years of the eighteenth century, the share of the textiles value in the total export value from Bengal was 54 per cent for the Dutch company while for the English it was 71 per cent. And around the mid-eighteenth century, the share of the Dutch company ranged between 74 and 78 per cent whereas the English share varied between 80 and 92 per cent.47 So far as the imports of the Companies into India were concerned, the main characteristic was that precious metals, mainly silver, were being exchanged for manufactures and primary goods exported from India. This ‘bullion for goods’ character was the principal feature of the Indo-European trade in the seventeenth and first half of the eighteenth century. Though the Companies imported some other commodities like broad cloth and woollens, and a few minor items like non-precious metals, their volume and value was extremely limited. The amount of treasure imported by the Companies can be gauged from the fact that the proportion of precious metals to the total value of the goods imported into Bengal, the principal theatre of the European activities, by the Dutch company in the second half of the seventeenth and first two decades of the eighteenth century works out to be 87.5 per cent.48 The pattern was not different in the case of the English Company. While the average proportion of treasure in the total English imports into the East Indies as a whole came to about 75 per cent,49 this proportion in Bengal varied between 90 and 94 per cent in the first two decades of the eighteenth century.50 It does not seem that the position changed to any significant extent till the mid-eighteenth century. So far as India’s overseas trade is concerned, the decline of the Portuguese sea power in the western Indian Ocean at the turn of the seventeenth century and the gradual loss of many of their

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settlements along the west coast of India gave an initial fillip to Indian maritime trade. The liberation of the Indian trade from payment of protection costs and customs duties levied by the Portuguese in some of the port cities had its effects in an increase in the volume of trade to the Persian Gulf and southern Arabia. The Indian ships could avoid Hormuz in the Persian Gulf and sail direct to Gulf ports such as Basra or Bandar Abbas (Gombroon). Then with the loss of Hormuz by the Portuguese in 1622, the traffic to the Persian Gulf became completely free and the Indian merchants, especially from Gujarat, took full advantage of this freedom. The fall of Hormuz also facilitated the entry of the Dutch and the English companies into this trade. Their active involvement in the trade of the region contributed to the growth of commercial enterprise in the western Indian Ocean in the seventeenth century and their freight trade of which the Indian merchants made extensive use resulted in the growth of Indian maritime trade in the region.51 The Indian maritime trade was further rearranged in the seventeenth century by the emergence of the Dutch and the English companies in the Indian Ocean. The main feature of this rearrangement was the great emphasis on west Asian trade at the expense of the trade in South-East Asia which was the main characteristic of the Indian overseas trade in the previous century. Though the withdrawal of the Portuguese liberated trade in the western Indian Ocean, in case of the east, the picture was completely different. The Dutch followed in the footsteps of the Portuguese in imposing monopoly of spice trade but with greater efficiency and ruthlessness The Dutch monopoly was very real and almost effective by the middle of the seventeenth century. The result was that the Indian merchants felt the pressure keenly and thus the Gujaratis almost deserted the trade with South-East Asia as was exemplified by the fact that not too many ships were making voyages to Sumatra after 1618. Again, the Dutch conquest of Malacca in 1641 and Macasser in the Celebes in 1669 led to a major dislocation of the Indian maritime trade with the Malay peninsula. But the Indian merchants, especially from the Coromandel, Gujarat and Bengal, tried to circumvent the Dutch

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 25

attempts to control their trade by shifting their operations to Acheh which became a large market for Indian textiles as also an important procurement centre of pepper and tin because of the extensive trade carried on by the Acheh merchants with the ports of Sumatra and Malay archipelago.52 In 1659, following the conclusion of a treaty between the Dutch and the queen of Acheh, the Indian merchants were to be granted passes liberally but they were prohibited from the ports of the Malayan peninsula. Thus from around 1660, the Indian merchants were issued passes liberally for Acheh and Malacca and they made most of the opportunities at Acheh. But they never gave in to the Dutch demand of staying away from the Malayan ports. Kedah which was a major provider of tin, though not a producer of the commodity, was frequented by merchants from the Coromandel. In the further north, Indian ships regularly visited Bangeri and Phuket in addition to Tenasserim and Pegu. But the Dutch conquest of Bantam in 1682 and the consequent exclusion of Indian shipping from the port resulted in the loss of the Java trade for the Indian, especially Coromandel, textiles. And in the process, the procurement of Chinese and Japanese goods, particularly copper, at Bantam suffered too. However, a part of this loss was made up by the increase in Indian shipping to such ports as Johor, Lama and Pankor. It appears that from around the close of the seventeenth century onward, there was a distinct decline in the trade of the Indian merchants with Malay archipelago. But this did not have much to do with the Dutch policies in the region; it was more due to the political and economic developments in the Indian situation and/or those in the corresponding ports.53 The above is borne out by the eastward movement of Indian shipping from the Bengal ports of Hughli and Balasore. This eastward trade from Bengal, as is evident from the shipping lists in the Dutch archives, flourished in the 1670s and 1680s but showed a marked decline in the last two decades the century. But there was no connection between this declining trend and the Dutch policies in the area. Though the reason for the decline remains obscure, it may be partly due to the withdrawal of the

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Mughal nobility, who were one of the most important groups actively participating in this branch of trade earlier, from the overseas trade towards the close of the century. However, the seventeenth century was marked by commercial prosperity of the northern Coromandel. Though Masulipatnam emerged as an important port of the Coromandel in the later sixteenth century, it was actually the fall of Portuguese Hormuz and the establishment of Bandar Abbas in the 1620s that opened the Persian Gulf more effectively to the merchants of this Coromandel port. It may be noted in this connection that the famous Mughal administrator of Golconda, Mir Jumla’s substantial trade mainly directed to the Persian Gulf in the 1640s and 1650s was based at Masulipatnam.54 So it appears that the Dutch East India Company’s attempts at controlling and directing Indian merchants’ overseas trade with Malay archipelago were largely ineffective. It was only in the late 1640s and the 1650s that by using violence whenever necessary that it succeeded in keeping the Indian merchants out of a number of Malayan ports. For the rest of the region, the Indian merchants adjusted to the pressures generated by the Company by shifting their operations to other ports in the area rather than by reducing their trade. Thus the near-abandonment of the trade to the Indonesian archipelago led to the emphasis paid by the Gujaratis on the Red Sea and Persian Gulf trade. As a matter of fact, throughout the seventeenth century, Gujarati trade to the Red Sea remained quite active and prosperous, and neither the Dutch nor the English could affect the flow adversely. Moreover, as spices were no longer obtainable, Indian textiles became the most important item in the trade to the Red Sea. There is evidence to show that during the last three decades of the seventeenth century, Gujarati shipping increased significantly and some trade to South-East Asia and China was also resumed. Thus it is reasonable to hold that the later seventeenth century was the ‘golden period’ of Indian maritime trade as well as the trade in Indian textiles. Though the domination of the Red Sea and Persian Gulf trade by the Gujaratis was unaffected by the activities of the Companies, what was beginning to affect this

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 27

was, however, the entry of the private English enterprise into this trade in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century.55 In the Persian Gulf, the two main ports frequented by the Calcutta shipping were Gombroon in Persia and Basra in Iraq where the usual exports were textiles, raw silk and sugar, and the principal import being precious metals. Other commodities were also imported, including copper, rosewater, Shiraz wine, dates and horses. As for the Red Sea, the principal ports visited were Mocha and Jeddah, and the main item imported was precious metals. As far as the eastward trade was concerned, the private English marine frequented Pegu, Tenasserim, Kedah, Acheh, etc., in South-East Asia, Manila in the Philippines and Canton in China. But it was from around the 1760s that there was a substantive growth in the eastward trade at the expense of the trade to western Indian Ocean which was described as a ‘commercial revolution’ by Holden Furber.56 In fact, the great expansion of the English private trade in the eastward direction in the post-1760s was basically due to the substantial growth in the China trade, which was in turn related to the growth of English power in India following the English conquest of Bengal in 1757. The sharp increase in the volume of trade with China during this period was based on the export of such high-value commodities as Bengal opium and Bombay cotton. Incidentally, this trade also served as an important channel for transmission to Europe of the huge fortune made by the Company officials in Bengal. Thus while in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century, the bulk of the English trade to South-East Asia, which accounted for an overwhelming proportion of the total trade with the eastward region, was carried on from Madras, the picture changed completely in the second half of the eighteenth century. Now the shipping from Madras took the back seat and the bulk of the eastward trade was carried on by the English fleet based at Calcutta and Bombay.57 Be that as it may, the main feature of the Indian overseas trade in the eighteenth century was that the Gujarati fleet which was so predominant in the western Indian Ocean earlier dwindled into insignificance during the period while the Calcutta fleet

28 | Trade, Politics and Society

of the British private merchants reigned supreme in the eastern Indian Ocean. Yet at the turn of the century, the Gujarati trade in the Indian Ocean was still very prosperous though by this time it had passed its heydays. Actually, it was the decline of the Mughal empire and the raids by Shivaji which adversely affected the trade of Surat, the premier port of not only Gujarat but of the whole of the Mughal empire. But still the Gujaratis continued to build more ships and it was in these years, for the first time, that they began to trade, admittedly on a modest scale, with Canton and Manila. Ashin Das Gupta estimates that the total number of Gujarati fleet at this time was well over a hundred, of which the Mughals normally had two at sea while the great Surat merchant, Mulla Abdul Goffur, alone owned seventeen.58 In fact, at the turn of the eighteenth century, a large amount of money and bullion was still being imported to Surat, especially from the Red Sea area. Though it is not possible to make a precise estimate of the amount at this stage, the assumption is that it would be around six million rupees from the Red Sea alone.59 So it is no wonder that the Mughals regarded Mocha as their ‘treasure chest’. The imports from other regions were not so important. European trade at the time formed at most about one-eighth of the total trade of Surat. The imports from the Persian Gulf had fallen away and the ones from South-East Asia were negligible. But the Gujarati trade to the Red Sea began to dwindle from around the middle of the second decade of the eighteenth century. The decline of the Gujarati trade to the Red Sea was accompanied by the withdrawal of Gujarat’s shipping from the Persian Gulf in the early years of the eighteenth century. The Gujaratis were thus on the retreat from both the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf trade in the first two decades of the eighteenth century. To a large extent the debacle of the Indian shipping in the early eighteenth century may be ascribed to the simultaneous political collapse in India and Persia, which was accompanied by the crippling civil war in Yemen as from the second decade of the eighteenth century.60 Gujarat’s overseas trade contracted absolutely in the second half of the eighteenth century. The total turnover of Surat came down from Rs. 16 million to a mere Rs. 5 million around the

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 29

mid-eighteenth century. Yet the Gujaratis actually never gave up the relative concentration on the Red Sea trade which is evident from the fact that even as late as the mid-eighteenth century the English had to face stiff resistance from the Gujaratis in their efforts to monopolize the Red Sea trade. However, the decline of the Mughal port of Surat following the disappearance of the great merchant marine of the Gujaratis based at that port was undoubtedly the most important development in the trade of the Indian Ocean during the period. Only a small part of the loss on the part of the Gujaratis was made up by the expanding English private trade. Later on, the English trade based at Bombay and directed towards China made the real difference in the overall picture of the Indian Ocean trade. In the east coast, Madras replaced Masulipatnam as the premier port and the English private trade to Manila, concealed for the most part under Armenian names, became an important source of silver for India.61 NOTES 1. Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the Trade in the Indian Ocean’, p. 408; Collected Essays, pp. 59-60. 2. Pearson, Portuguese in India, pp. 25-6; Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the Trade in the Indian Ocean’, pp. 408-12. 3. Chaudhury and Morineau, Merchants, Companies and Trade, p. 1. 4. Ravenstein, First Voyage of Vasco da Gama, pp. 48-9; Subrahmanyam, Portuguese Empire, p. 59. 5. Pearson, Portuguese in India, pp. 30-1; Chaudhuri, ‘European Trade’, pp. 382-3; Subhrahmanyam, Portuguese Empire, pp. 68-73. 6. Subrahmanyam, Portuguese Empire, pp. 67-8, 70-1, 74-6; Chaudhuri, ‘European Trade’, p. 383; Pearson, Portuguese in India, p. 31. 7. Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 23-7; Subrahmanyam, Portuguese Empire, p.60; Pearson, Portuguese in India, pp. 35-6. 8. Pearson, Portuguese in India, p. 36; Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, p. 339; Subrahmanyam, Portuguese Empire, pp. 62-4. 9. Chaudhuri, ‘European Trade’, p. 384; Pearson, Portuguese in India, pp. 36-8. 10. Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 44, 64-5; Subrahmanyam, Portuguese Empire, p. 77; Pearson, Portuguese in India, pp. 37-9; Merchants and Rulers, p. 71; Chaudhuri, ‘European Trade’, pp. 384-5.

30 | Trade, Politics and Society 11. Pearson, Merchants and Rulers, pp. 39-47; Portuguese in India, p. 39; Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 64-5. 12. Bouchon, ‘Trade in the Indian Ocean’, pp. 44-5; Pearson, Portuguese in India, pp. 41-2, 49-51; Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, p. 27. 13. Bouchon and Lombard, ‘Indian Ocean in the Fifteenth Century’, pp. 46-70. 14. Digby, ‘Northern India under the Sultanate’, pp. 45-7. 15. Das Gupta, India and the Indian Ocean, pp. 37-8; ‘Indian Merchants and the Trade in the Indian Ocean’, p. 409. 16. Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, pp. 195-202. 17. Van Leur, Indonesian Trade and Society. 18. Meilink-Roelofz, Asian Trade and European Influence; Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the Indian Ocean Trade’, pp. 413-17; Pearson, ‘India and the Indian Ocean in the Sixteenth Century’, p. 75; Chaudhury and Morineau, Merchants, Companies and Trade, pp. 4-5. 19. Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 63-5; Pearson, Portuguese in India, pp. 37-9; 53-5; Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the Trade in the Indian Ocean’, p. 411-12; 426-30; ‘India and the Indian Ocean’, pp. 41-2, 44. 20. Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 65-71; Subrahmanyam, Political Economy of Commerce, pp. 155-66; Pearson, Portuguese in India, pp. 53-5, 77; Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the trade in the Indian Ocean’, pp. 413, 417-18, 426-7; Chaudhury, ‘The Rise and Decline of Hughli’, pp. 33-67. 21. S. Chaudhury, ‘The Rise and Decline of Hughli’, BPP, January-June 1967, pp. 33-67. 22. Moreland, India at the Death of Akbar, pp. 186-8, 192-210. 23. Panikkar, Asia and Western Dominance. 24. Van Leur, Indonesian Trade and Society. 25. Steensgaard, Asian Trade Revolution, pp. 95-103, 157-69. 26. Boxer, ‘A Note on Portuguese Reactions’, pp. 415-28. 27. Thomaz, ‘Portuguese Sources’, p. 101; Godinho, L’Economie de l’Empire. 28. Pearson, ‘India and the Indian Ocean in the Sixteenth Century’, p. 90. 29. Steensgaard, ‘Indian Ocean Network’, p. 132; Pearson, Portuguese in India, pp. 2-3; 77-9. 30. Pearson, ‘India and the Indian Ocean in the Sixteenth Century’, p. 90. 31. Steensgaard, Asian Trade Revolution, pp. 95-103, 157-69; ‘Indian Ocean Network’, pp. 132-6. 32. Subrahmanyam and Thomaz, ‘Evolution of Empires’, pp. 298-332; Subrahmanyam, Portuguese Empire. 33. Barendse, The Arabian Seas, pp. 491-2; Om Prakash, Dutch East India Company; S. Chaudhury, ‘European Companies and Bengal Textile Industry’, MAS, 27, 2 (May 1993).

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 31 34. S. Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, pp. 88-9. 35. Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the Trade in the Indian Ocean’, Collected Essays, pp. 67-8, 80-1; Cambridge Economic History of India, vol. I, pp. 417, 428-9. 36. Moreland, India at the Death of Akbar, p. 152. 37. Van Leur, Indonesian Trade and Society, pp. 164-5. 38. Das Gupta, Collected Essays, p. 6. 39. Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, p. 27; Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 72-81; Chaudhuri, ‘European Trade with India’, p. 386. 40. Chaudhuri, Trading World, 386-7; Chaudhury, Trade and Commercial Organization, pp. 11-16; FromProsperity to Decline, pp. 27-8. 41 . Glamann, Dutch Asiatic Trade, p. 144; Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, pp. 28-9, 255; 334-5. 42 . Prakash, Dutch Company, p. 8. 43. B.M. Addl. Mss., 34,123, f. 40a; D.B., 2 July 1684, vol. 90, f. 330; Rawl. A. 257, f. 254. 44. Alexander Hume’s ‘Memoir’, Stadsarchief Antwerp, General Indische Compagnie, 5769. 45. Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 114-18; 340-2; Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, pp. 41-6; Chaudhuri, Trading World, pp. 391-3. The figures are mainly taken from Om Prakash, converting the Dutch florin into Indian Rupees, the conversion rate at the time being Re. 1 = f. 1.5. 46. Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, pp. 41-6, 302-3. Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 114-19; 345-6; 348; Om Prakash thinks that the value and volume of the Dutch exports during the period was higher than that of the English during this period but this is perhaps not tenable, See, Prakash and Chaudhury. 47. Chaudhuri, ‘European Trade with India’, pp. 400-1; Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 118-19; Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, pp. 181-2. 48. Om Prakash, Dutch Company, pp. 65-8. 49. Calculated from Chaudhuri, Trading World by Prakash, Dutch Company, p. 12. 50. Chaudhury, Trade and Commercial Organization, p. 208. 51. S. Arasaratnam, ‘India and the Indian Ocean in the Seventeenth Century’, pp. 107-8; Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the Trade in the Indian Ocean’, pp. 431-2. 52. Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the trade of the Indian Ocean’, pp. 430-1; Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 234-6; Arasaratnam, ‘India and the Indian Ocean in the Seventeenth Century’, pp. 111-13. 53. Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 236-7; Arasaratnam, ‘India and the Indian Ocean in the Seventeenth Century’, pp. 111-

32 | Trade, Politics and Society 13; Das Gupta, ‘India Merchants and the Trade in the Indian Ocean’, p. 431. 54. Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the Trade in the Indian Ocean’, pp. 431-2; Chaudhury, Trade and Commercial Organization, pp. 8694; Prakash, Dutch Company, Chap. 8; European Commercial Enterprise, p. 237. 55. Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, p. 239; Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the Trade in the Indian Ocean’, pp. 431-2; Arasaratnam, ‘India and the Indian Ocean in the Seventeenth Century’, pp. 110-14. 56. Furber, John Company at Work. 57. Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise, pp. 286-7. 58. Das Gupta, ‘India and the Indian Ocean in the Eighteenth Century’, pp. 134-5. 59. Ibid., p.136. 60. Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the Trade in the Indian Ocean’, pp. 431-2; ‘India and the Indian Ocean Trade in the Eighteenth Century’, pp. 134-8. 61. Das Gupta, ‘Indian Merchants and the Trade in the Indian Ocean’, p. 433; ‘India and the Indian Ocean in the Eighteenth Century’, pp. 141, 150.

REFERENCES Alexander Hume’s ‘Memoir’, General Indische Compagnie, 5769, Stadsarchief, Antwerp. Arasaratnam, S., ‘India and the Indian Ocean in the Seventeenth Century’, in Ashin Das Gupta and M.N. Pearson (eds.), India and the Indian Ocean, Calcutta, 1987. Barendse, R.J., The Arabian Seas: the Indian Ocean World of the Seventeenth Century, New Delhi, 2002. Bengal Past & Present (BPC), Calcutta. Bengal Public Consultations (BPC), India Office Records, British Library, London. Boxer, Charles R., The Portuguese Seaborne Empire, 1415–1825, London, 1969. ———, Portuguese Conquest and Commerce in Southern Asia, London, 1985. ———, ‘A Note on Portuguese Reactions to the Revival of the Red Sea Trade and the Rise of Atjeh, 1540–1600’, Journal of the Southeast Asian Studies, December 1969, pp. 415-28. Bouchon, Genevieve, ‘Trade in the Indian Ocean at the Dawn of the Sixteenth Century’, in Sushil Chaudhury and Michel Morineau (eds.), Merchants, Companies and Trade, Europe and Asia in the Early Modern Era, Cambridge, 1999, pp. 42-51.

Maritime Trade in the Indian Ocean | 33 Bouchon, Genevieve and Denys Lombard, ‘The Indian Ocean in the Fifteenth Century‘, in Ashin Das Gupta and M.N. Pearson (eds.), India and the Indian Ocean, 1500–1800, Calcutta, 1987, pp. 46-70. British Museum Additional Manuscripts (B.M. Addl. Mss.), British Library, London. Chaudhuri, K.N., ‘Foreign Trade: European Trade with India’, in T. Raychaudhuri and Irfan Habib (eds.), Cambridge Economic History of India, vol. I, Cambridge, 1982, pp. 382-407. Chaudhury, Sushil, Trade and Commercial Organization in Bengal, 16501720, Calcutta, 1975. ———, From Prosperity to Decline: Eighteenth Century Bengal, New Delhi, 1995. ———, The Prelude to Empire: Plassey Revolution of 1757, New Delhi, 2000. ———, ‘The Rise and Decline of Hughli: A Port in Medieval Bengal’, Bengal Past and Present, January-June 1967, pp. 33-67. Chaudhury, Sushil and Michel Morineau (eds.), Merchants, Companies and Trade: Europe and Asia in the Early Modern Era, Cambridge, 1999. Chaudhury, Sushil and Kéram Kévonian (eds.), Armenians in Asian Trade in the Early Modern Era, Paris, 2007; rpt. Delhi, 2014. ———, ‘European Companies and the Bengal Textile Industry: The Pitfalls of Applying Quantitative Techniques’, Modern Asian Studies, 27, 2, (May 1993), 321-40. Das Gupta, Ashin, ‘Indian Merchants and Trade in the Indian Ocean, c. 1500–1750’, in The Cambridge Economic History of India, vol. I, pp. 407-33. ———, The World of the Indian Ocean Merchant, 1500–18: Collected Essays of Ashin Das Gupta, New Delhi, 2001. Das Gupta, Ashin and M.N. Pearson (eds.), India and the India Ocean, 1500–1800, Calcutta, 1987. Despatch Book (DB), India Office Records, British Library, London. Digby, Simon, ‘The Maritime Trade of India’, in The Cambridge Economic History of India, vol. I, pp. 125-59. Furber, Holden, John Company at Work: A Study of European Expansion in India in the Late Eighteenth Century, Cambridge, Mass., 1948. Glamaan, Kristof, Dutch Asiatic Trade, 1620–1740, The Hague, 1958. Godinho, V. Magalhaes, L’Economie de l’Empire Portugais aux XVe et XVIe Siecles, Paris, 1969. ———, Os Descobrimentos e a Economia Mundial, 4 vols., Lisbon, 1980-4. Mathew, K.S., Portuguese Trade in India in the Sixteenth Century, Delhi, 1983. Meilink-Roelofsz, M.A.P., Asian Trade and European Influence in the Indonesian Archipelago between 1500 and about 1630, The Hague, 1962.

34 | Trade, Politics and Society Modern Asian Studies, (MAS), Cambridge. Moreland, W.H., India at the Death of Akbar, London, 1920. Panikkar, K.M., Asia and Western Dominance, New York, 1959. Pearson, M.N., The Portuguese in India, Cambridge, 1987. ———, ‘India and the Indian Ocean in the Sixteenth Century’, in Ashin Das Gupta and M.N. Pearson (eds.), India and the Indian Ocean, Calcutta, 1986. ———, Merchants and Rulers in Gujarat: The Response to the Portuguese in the Sixteenth Century, Los Angeles, 1976. Prakash, Om, ‘On Estimating the Employment Implications of European Trade for Eighteenth Century Bengal Textile Industry – A Reply’, Modern Asian Studies, 27, 2 (May 1993), pp. 341-56. ———, European Commercial Enterprise in Pre-Colonial India, Cambridge, 1998. ———, ‘The Portuguese and the Dutch in Asian Maritime Trade: A Comparative Analysis’, in Sushil Chaudhury and Michel Morineau (eds.), Merchants, Companies and Trade: Europe and Asia in the Early Modern Era, Cambridge, 1998. Ravenstein, E.G., A Journal of the First Voyage of Vasco da Gama, 149799, London, 1898. Steensgaard, Niels, The Asian Trade Revolution of the Seventeenth Century: the East India Companies and the Decline of the Caravan Trade, Chicago, 1974. ———, ‘The Indian Ocean Network and the Emerging Economy, c. 15001750’, in Satish Chandra (ed.), The Indian Ocean: Explorations in History, Commerce and Politics, New Delhi, 1987. Subrahmanyam, Sanjay, The Portuguese Empire in Asia, 1500–1700, London, 1992. ———, The Political Economy of Commerce, South India, 1500–1650, Cambridge, 1990. ———, Improvising Empire, Portuguese Trade and Settlement in the Bay of Bengal, 1500-1700, Delhi, 1990. Subrahmanyam, Sanjay and L.F. Thomaz, ‘Evolution of Empires: The Portuguese in the Indian Ocean during the Sixteenth Century’, in J.D. Tracy (ed.), Political Economy of Merchant Empires, Cambridge, 1990. Thomaz, L.F., ‘Portuguese Sources in Sixteenth Century Indian Economic History’, in John Correia-Affonso (ed.), Indo-Portuguese History: Sources and Problems, Bombay, 1981. Tracy, J.D. (ed.), The Rise of Merchant Empires: Long-distance Trade in the Early Modern World, 1350-1750, Cambridge, 1990. Van Leur, J.C., Indonesian Trade and Society: Essays in Asian Social and Economic History, The Hague, 1955.

chapter 2

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the Eighteenth Century*

It is more or less well known now, thanks to the pioneering researches of several scholars in the field in the last few decades (Sinha 1956-70; Husain 1995; Chaudhury 1995; Chatterjee 1996), that the Armenians played a significant role in the commercial and economic life of India, especially Bengal which was the one of the most prosperous provinces of the erstwhile Mughal Empire in the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. By the early eighteenth century, the great Mughal Empire had already disintegrated, bringing in its train political chaos and economic decline in most parts of north India. But Bengal was a singular exception where trade, commerce and economy as a whole flourished under its almost independent nawabs (title of the rulers). It is to be noted here that it was Bengal textiles and silk, together with few other commodities, which were most sought after in the then world. There is little doubt that the Armenians were active in Bengal trade from at least the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century. As an important trading group, their presence was a common feature in all the prominent centres of trade and manufacture, cities and ports. But what was most striking about them was that if there was any possibility of profit in trade they would even go to remote places and deal in any commodity, unlike many other trading groups in Bengal. Through their commercial acumen, their thorough knowledge of markets and products, a chain of *Published in Sushil Chaudhury and Kéram Kévonian, eds., Armenian in Asian Trade in the Early Modern Era, Paris, 2007, pp. 149-70.

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connection with the important producing and consuming centres maintained through their own agents who were most often than not their own family members or kinsmen, their low overhead cost and capacity to thrive on low profit margin, the Armenians could compete successfully with not only the Indian and other Asian merchants but also with the European companies trading in Bengal, It is significant to note that while writing to Bengal, the Court of Directors of the English Company in London observed in 1689: Those people [the Armenians] are a thrifty, close, prudent sort of men that travel all India over and know almost every village in the Mughal’s dominions and every sort of goods with such a perfect skill and judgement as exceeds the ancientest of our linen drapers.

The Directors of the Company noted again in 1690 that the Armenians ‘are diligent, frugal and very experienced merchants’ and asked their employees in Bengal to try to procure some fine Bengal piece-goods through the Armenians as they would ‘know how to buy better than you can’. It was obviously the commercial expertise of Armenians in Bengal that prompted the Directors of the English East India Company to enter into an agreement with Khoja Phanous Kalantar in London by which the Armenians were to provide Bengal goods for the Company’s investments in Bengal with their own capital and at their own risk at a certain profit.3 A few years later, the Company made another agreement with the same Kalantar which provided that the Armenians would provide specially Patna4 goods for the Company with their own money and deliver them to the Company either at Hughli or Calcutta for which they were to be allowed 15 per cent upon the prime cost and necessary charges.5 Again it was in recognition of the economic and political importance of the Armenians that Khoja Surhaud Israel was made a member of the famous Surman embassy which was despatched from Bengal to Delhi by the English East India Company in 1715 and which obtained the controversial farman (imperial edict) from the Mughal emperor

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 37

Farrukhsiyar in 1717 (Chaudhury 1975: 41-3). This Surhaud was the nephew of Phanous Kalantar with whom he went to England in 1688 (Seth 1929: 2). Thus it is not surprising that there were many important Armenian merchants and traders in the flourishing Armenian settlements of Saidabad,6 a suburb of the capital Murshidabad, Hughli, Calcutta, Kasimbazar, Dhaka (Dacca) and Patna with their own localities and churches. Though it is not known when exactly did the Armenians settle in Bengal, there can be little doubt that they were in Bengal at least from the early seventeenth century. In the Armenian church in Calcutta which was built in 1724 on the site of the old Armenian cemetery, there is a grave of an Armenian lady bearing the date 1630 (Seth 1929: 1). It is said that the Armenians settled in Saidabad in 1665 under a farman from the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb and there they built a church in that year (Walsh 1902: 75; Majumdar 1905: 233). Among the Armenians in Bengal, however, it was Khoja Wajid [Wazid, Wazeed] who played the most significant role in the commercial economy and political life of Bengal in the forties and fifties of the eighteenth century. I Wajid was one of the three merchant princes – the others being the Jagat Seths and Umichand7 – who collectively dominated the commercial life and hence, to a great extent, the economy of Bengal in the last three decades of the first half of the eighteenth century. He operated his extensive business empire from Hughli, the then commercial capital of Bengal. Like several other Armenians of Bengal at the time, it is possible that he too had links with New Julfa.8 According to Zamia-i-Tadhkira-i-Yusufi, though Wajid was born in Azimabad (Patna), his forefathers belonged to Kashmir and that he settled in Hughli (Subhan 1978: 17). The early career and activities of Wajid are not very clear to us as yet. But we know this much from the Memorie of Alexander Hume9 and those of the Dutch Directors that Wajid was the son of ‘Coja Mahmet Fazel’, an influential Armenian merchant in the 1730s

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and the early 1740s. The Dutch Director Louis Taillefert wrote in 1755 that Khoja Wajid’s father was ‘Choja Mhamet Fazil’10 and the previous Director, Jan Kerseboom, also mentioned Wajid as ‘Choja Wasit Fazil’.10 However, it is known from Calcutta Mayor’s Court Records that around the early 1740s, Wajid obtained a foothold at the darbar (court) of the Hughli faujdar (an administrative official in the Mughal set-up) as the representative (vakil) of the Armenian community of merchants. It was deposed in the case of Tenesuse vs. Khoja Manuel that there was move by many of the Armenian merchants at Hughli in 1741 to replace Khoja Petruse by ‘Coja Avid’ as their vakil.11 From then onward, there was no looking back for Wajid who rose in power and position throughout the 1740s to be reckoned not only as a merchant prince, but by the late 1740s also as one of the most important figures in the commercial and political life of Bengal. It is to be noted here that in the first half of the eighteenth century, politics and commerce were closely intertwined in Bengal. The main prop of the prosperity of the three important merchant princes was their close connection with the darbar. Thus Wajid too seems to have consolidated his position through political connections and extended his influence to the court at Murshidabad. Through subtle diplomacy and judicious financial support to Nawab Alivardi Khan, he built up a powerful position at the darbar. It seems that by the mid-1740s, he had developed from being a ‘creature’ of the Hughli faujdar’s darbar to one of the central figures in the Murshidabad court. In the late 1740s, he began to reap the fruits of his darbar connections and managed to gain the virtual control of the economy of Bihar. It is significant that he was not only the leader of the Armenian merchants but also of the community of merchants in Hughli. This is borne out by the fact that when the English fleet captured two ships of the Hughli merchants including the Armenians, the merchants comprising ‘Syeds, Mogulls, Armenians & ca.’ had an audience with the Nawab through Wajid and it was he who spearheaded the protest against the English.12

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 39

Khoja Wajid operated his business empire from his main base at Hughli. He was actively engaged in the inland trade of Bengal both on his own account and as a supplier to the European companies. He had extensive business transactions with the French and the Dutch, and through Umichand, another merchant prince, with the English. Robert Orme, the official historian of the English East India Company and who lived in Bengal in the early 1750s, observed that ‘Coja Wazeed managed the greatest part of the French trade in Bengal with great profit to himself’ (Orme, 1803, II-1: 138). Extremely devious as he was, he had a passion for extending his commercial hegemony at any cost and was ready to swing his allegiance at the slightest prospect of commercial advantage. Utilizing his close connection with the darbar, he tried to operate his business with a monopolistic design. The main props of Khoja Wajid’s extensive operations in Bengal’s internal trade were the monopoly of saltpetre and salt trade. Through his influence with the Bengal administration, he actually gained a virtual monopoly of the trade of Bihar from at least the late 1740s. He secured the monopoly of saltpetre, one of the most important commodities in the export list of the European companies, in 1753.13 Of course, he was involved in saltpetre trade even long before this through his close association with Umichand and his brother Deepchand who was the faujdar of Chapra, the main saltpetre producing centre of Bihar. The Dutch Director Jan Kerseboom noted that in 1747 the Dutch company bought 21,000 sacks of saltpetre – 42,000 mds., each sack weighing 2 mds. (1 maund = 40 seers or 78 lbs) – sent from Bihar by Deepchand to his authorized dealer (gemagtigden) Khoja Wajid in Hughli. In his Memorie, he also refers to the fact that Wajid later obtained the ‘privilege’ of monopoly trade in saltpetre from the Murshidabad court. He further comments that as a result ‘this trade [in saltpetre] has fallen entirely in his hands and completely under his control.’14 Wajid’s monopoly of the saltpetre trade was a great irritant to the European companies who were the main buyers of the commodity. Hence the

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next Dutch Director in Bengal, A. Bisdom, dwells at length on the mechanism of Wajid’s operations in saltpetre trade in Bihar. He mentions that Wajid obtained a parwana (letter patent) from the Bengal Nawab Alivardi Khan by which he got the ‘special privilege’ to deal in saltpetre for which he paid only a paltry sum of Rs. 25,000 to the Nawab. He operated the saltpetre trade through his agents Mir Afzal and Khoja Ashraf (his brother) who were based in Bihar.15 The European companies no doubt tried every means to get out of Wajid’s stranglehold on the saltpetre trade but only in vain. So immediately after the British conquest of Bengal at Plassey in 1757, the English factor Mr Parkes at Patna wrote to the Council at Calcutta to ‘apply to the New Government to set aside Coja Wazeed’s exclusive parwannah for saltpetre’.16 But the Company’s resident representative at Murshidabad wrote back to Calcutta that ‘they cannot with propriety apply to the Darbar for abolishing Wazeed’s monopoly or regulate the Patna trade’.17 Wajid managed to obtain a parwana from the new Nawab, Mir Jafar Khan, ‘for the entire possession of the saltpetre trade at Patna’ of which the English were informed by the Dutch Director at Hughli in October 1757.18 Wajid, however, did not live in a fool’s paradise. He knew that it would be almost impossible for him to continue the monopoly trade in saltpetre under the vastly altered circumstances after the British became the virtual ruler following their conquest of Bengal at Plassey in 1757. So he was quick to assure the English representative at Murshidabad that he would use his power to the utmost to assist the English in procuring saltpetre at the cheapest rate, provided they ‘assisted him in return to make the Dutch purchase from him’.19 That was the last straw to which he desperately hoped to cling and save at least part of his commercial empire. But that was not to be. He lost his saltpetre monopoly in 1758 which was now grabbed by the English company.20 The most important of Wajid’s trading empire, however, was the more lucrative monopoly of salt trade which was farmed by him in 1752 for a mere Rs. 25,000 to 30,000 a year. Writing

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 41

as late as 1763, Batson, an English factor, noted: ‘Coja Wazeed of Hughli had the salt farm of Bengal for many years for an inconsiderable sum’.21 The anonymous author of an English manuscript Historical Sketches of Taxes on English Commerce wrote the following under the year 1752: Salt on account of Coja Wazeed is exempted from [. . .] duties and pays only Import per 100 md. One rupee which is Rs. 0.8 per cent Export per 100 md. One rupee which is Rs. 0.8 per cent Total: per 200 md. Two rupees which is Rs. 1.00 per cent.22

When an estimate made in 1773 of the annual proceeds of salt production and sale in Bengal put the value at Rs. 1 million, one can easily guess how much Wajid earned from the virtual monopoly of salt trade in the 1750s.23 The extent of Wajid’s deep involvement in the inland commerce of Bengal is evident from the fact that he also tried to monopolize the opium trade of Bihar through his close link with the Murshidabad darbar. Though the detailed mechanism of his operations in the opium trade is not very clear, it is known from the Dutch records that Wajid managed the opium trade through his brother Khoja Ashraf at Patna. The Dutch Director Huijghens reported that the Company could buy only 1,479 mds. of opium in 1749-50 because Khoja Ashraf had already bought or contacted for all the opium in December 1749. Drabbe, the Dutch factor at Patna, however, managed to influence the administration (actually the diwan) by giving a bribe of Rs. 1,000 who prevented Ashraf from sending the opium out of Patna and thus the Dutch were able to procure the said amount.24 It seems that as the Dutch, who were the principal buyers of opium in Bihar for export to Batavia, and the English did not have much liquid cash to contract for or buy opium in the proper season, Wajid through his brother cornered (of course, with the assistance of the Bihar administration) most of the produce with ready money and later sold the commodity to the Dutch, English and Indian merchants (the last two having only marginal interest during the period) at a high premium.

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II It is no wonder that the Armenian merchant prince settled in Hughli with its rich tradition of handling Bengal’s maritime trade ventured also in intra-Asian and coastal trade. In the shipping lists of the Dutch records there are many instances of Armenian merchants sending their trading vessels to different parts of India and West Asia with rich Bengal commodities and bringing back bullion and other cargoes from those parts in the first half of the eighteenth century.25 The rapid growth of Calcutta notwithstanding, Hughli was as yet the traditional Asian port, which was frequented by most of the Asian ships besides those of the Dutch, French and other Europeans except the English.­26 It seems that after consolidating his position in the inland commerce of Bengal, Wajid started venturing in overseas trade. In the beginning, in all probability, he was engaged in seaborne trade in partnership with other Hughli merchants. This is evident from the fact that the ship Chandernagore captured by the British navy in 1744-5 on its return voyage from Basra and Mocha on the pretext of its flying French colours was owned by Wajid and other Hughli merchants. The merchants led by Wajid made a strong complaint to the Nawab Alivardi Khan who directed the British to compensate the merchants.27 Soon after, however, he began his own venture in overseas trade and we find in the lists of the Dutch records that his first ship Salamat Ressan left Hughli in 1746 for Surat with a considerable cargo of rice, sugar, textiles and silk.28 In July 1747, his ship Salamat Manzil returned from a successful trading voyage to Surat with cotton, rosewater, coral, almond, porcelain, etc., and it left Hughli in January 1748 with large cargo for Surat again.29 Unfortunately there is a gap in the shipping lists of the Dutch records from 1748 till the end of monsoon in 1754 and hence we cannot enumerate the total strength of Wajid’s trading fleet. But there is little doubt that by the early 1750s Wajid had acquired a fleet of trading vessels, which dominated the Asian maritime trade of Hughli. Between 25 November 1754 and 28 January 1755, his ships were engaged in five voyages – two inbound from Basra and Jeddah; three out-

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 43

bound to Masulipatnam and Jeddah.30 The gap in the shipping list notwithstanding, we come across six ships owned by Wajid namely, Salamat Ressan, Salamat Manzil, Mobarak, Gensamer, Medina Baksh and Mubarak Manzil.31 These ships operated from Hughli to Jeddah, Mocha, Basra, Surat and Masulipatnam. Significantly Wajid had a trading house at Surat which was referred to by the Dutch Director Jan Kerseboom and also by the Fort William Council.32 III It is interesting to note that Wajid, like the two other merchant princes of his time, also played a significant role in the crucial period of the 1750s. As has been pointed out earlier, all these merchant princes owed their prominence and rise to great height of wealth and power mainly because of their closeness to the nawabs of Bengal (Chaudhury 1995: 109-23). The Persian chronicler, Yusuf Ali (Subhan 1978: 17) wrote that a ‘favourite personal friend’ of Nawab Alivardi, Wajid flourished as a great merchant of Hughli and that his ‘business prospered so well that he built up a vast amount of wealth and affluence.’ He also stated that Wajid was commonly known as Fakhru’lTujjar (Pride of the Merchants). That Wajid had already become a key figure in the Bengal politics by the late 1740s is evident from the fact that the Dutch Director Huijghens wrote in his Memorie in early 1750 that the Dutch should maintain good relations with Wajid because he was held in high esteem (groot aanzien) at the Murshidabad court.33 In the early 1750s, Robert Orme (1803, II-1: 58) described him as the ‘principal merchant of the Province’. Wajid’s close connection with the ruling elite is clearly reflected in numerous references in the Dutch and English records. In the course of Fort William (Calcutta) Council’s debate in 1753 whether the contract for saltpetre should be made with Wajid or Umichand, Wajid’s link with the government comes out clearly. Most of the Council members referred to him either ‘as an officer of the government’ or ‘intimately connected with it’.34 That the merchant prince Wajid was also a political heavyweight

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in mid-eighteenth century Bengal is abundantly clear from Jan Kerseboom’s Memorie of 1755: ‘While mentioning those persons whose friendship would be very useful to your honour I cannot neglect Coja Mahmet Wazit, recently honoured with the title of Faqqur Tousjaar meaning the supporter of the treasure because he is truly the maintainer of the riches of the rulers. He gives them a lot willingly rather than under compulsion.35

In that very year Louis Taillefert, who succeeded Kerseboom as Director in Bengal, significantly remarked while commenting on the residents of the Company’s village, Chinsurah, that the Company should not have admitted respectable persons of so high standing as the Moorish merchant Coja Wazeed who trade overseas or who have such internal trade that in some respects they can be considered as competitors of the Company and who deem themselves to be on an equal footing with the Directors of the Dutch Company if not their superiors.36

By the early 1750s Wajid had emerged as an extremely powerful political figure and seems to have tied his fortunes with the heir-apparent Sirajuddaulah. Along with the Hughli faujdar, he seems to have virtually forced the English Council at Hughli to pay obeisance to Sirajuddaulah upon his investiture as heir to Nawab Alivardi Khan.37 But the relation between the English and Wajid soured by the early 1750s mainly because of Wajid’s monopoly of saltpetre and his virtual domination of the Bihar economy, both of which were hampering the cheap investments of the Company. The relationship was further strained because of a dispute between the English and Deepchand, Umichand’s brother and ex-faujdar of Chapra in which Wajid was involved as security for Deepchand. The case was referred to England but Wajid made repeated demands on the English Company for payment of his security deposit of Rs. 78,000.38 As he had now considerable political influence, Wajid threatened the Company in 1752 to have its business stopped if he was not satisfied and in 1755 he bluntly told the English that if he was not paid, he would not use his good offices to stop the Hughli merchants from raising a serious complaint against them at the darbar.39

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 45

It is against the backdrop of these circumstances that the crucial role played by Wajid assumes great significance. The assertion of Karam Ali, the author of near-contemporaneous Persian chronicle Muzaffarnamah, that Wajid instigated both Alivardi and Sirajuddaulah against the English is nothing but an echo of the English attitude (including that of Robert Clive, the conqueror of Bengal later) and can hardly be relied upon (Sarkar 1952: 56, 63).40 Wajid knew well his own interest and that he would hardly gain much by turning out the English. His saltpetre and salt monopoly, exclusive trade in opium and his maritime ventures would have benefited little from their removal. True, he was more inclined to the French and the Dutch than the English. But his relations with the former two vis-à-vis those with the latter were not mutually exclusive. As Jean Law, the chief of the French factory at Kasimbazar (a suburb of Murshidabad), pointed out Wajid ‘wanted to be on good terms with everybody’ (Hill 1905, III: 190). Governed by a strong passion to extend his commercial empire at any cost, he, however, tied up with the fortune of Sirajuddaulah probably because he knew that the main prop of his commercial prosperity was the darbar backing. Thus he soon became an important member of the inner circle of Siraj’s advisers. That Wajid was a key figure at the Murshidabad darbar is evident from the fact that Sirajuddaulah appointed him as his emissary to negotiate with the English soon after his accession and before his march against them in Kasimbazar and the subsequent attack on Calcutta. Wajid’s diplomatic mission came to nothing, but for that he was certainly not responsible. The chief of the English in Bengal, Governor Drake, treated him with ignominy and turned him out of Calcutta (Chaudhury 1986-7: 111-34; cf. Hill 1905, I: 58). Thus it is amply clear that Wajid bore no special enmity towards the English and that he was eager to bring about a rapprochement between the English and the Nawab. The expeditionary force, which came from Madras in the wake of the fall of Calcutta, realized well the influence of Wajid in Bengal economy and politics. So Colonel Clive and Major Killpatrick, the two in-charge of the expedition to Bengal,

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wrote to Wajid, among a few others, to mediate between the Company and the Nawab (Gupta 1962: 89-90). Meanwhile, however, the English after recapturing Calcutta from the Nawab, sacked the premier port of Hughli on the ostensible ground of avenging the Nawab’s earlier attack on Calcutta. This severely jeopardized the commercial fortune of Wajid, as Hughli was the principal base of all his business operations. But it appears from available evidence that even after that he was eager for a negotiated settlement between the English and the Nawab. He wrote to Clive: Though I have always been a well-wisher and an old friend of the English Company, yet no person has been so great a sufferer in the last disturbance [meaning the British sack of Hughli] as I am. Notwithstanding this I still look upon your interest as my own. I will use my utmost endeavour with the Nawab for the success of your affairs.41

A few days later he wrote to Clive again to ‘consider and weigh [. . .] the consequences of continuance of the present disturbances’ and whether it would not be in the interest of the Company ‘to put an end to these troubles by an amicable composition’. He assured Clive that he would ‘not be wanting in my endeavours in conjunction with Juggutseat to adjust matters’ to the advantage of the Company. On his side Clive replied to Wajid that he could safely rely on the ‘integrity and friendship’ of Wajid, and expected that Wajid and the Seths would act as mediators between the Nawab and the English,43 though he always suspected Wajid to be a French agent.44 In all probability, Wajid got scared about the prospect of his commercial empire after the British onslaught on Hughli and had suggested to Sirajuddaulah regarding an alliance with the French against the British. The report of William Watts, the English chief at Kasimbazar, following the fall of French Chandernagore at the hands of the British in March 1757, that the Nawab was ‘very angry with Coja Wazeed for telling that the French were superior in everything and that we should be able to do nothing against them’ suggests that Wajid’s hope of survival was pitched on the

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 47

French.45 Even so he was the last one to join the bandwagon of the Indian conspirators who joined hands with the British to bring about the downfall of the Nawab leading to the British conquest of Bengal. In fact, Wajid was a serious obstacle to the success of the coup until May 1757. It was in recognition of his power and influence in Bengal polity and economy that Hazari Mal, Umichand’s vakil (representative) at Murshidabad, reported in November 1756 that Wajid was obstructing the British interests in opposition to the Jagat Seths.46 Though he was outside the ‘revolutionary movement’, there should be little doubt that several of the influential persons at the darbar were involved in the conspiracy. Umichand, one of the main conspirators, as Robert Orme points out, was ‘the friend and in most trade his partner’47 and sure to have divulged it to Wajid. Besides, in view of his close links with the darbar officials and his network of agents throughout the country, it is unlikely that Wajid was in the dark about the conspiracy. But extremely shrewd and calculating as he was, Wajid took the final leap when he saw no hope of the Nawab’s survival. He joined the conspiracy as late as May 1757 as he badly needed a revolution to restore the political backing for his commercial empire and as by then with the expulsion of Jean Law from Murshidabad, the chances of French intervention on behalf of the Nawab had already vanished. At the same time with the bankruptcy of his policy – the suggestion to the Nawab of an alliance with the French – the Nawab’s confidence on the Armenian merchant prince ended and he was discarded like a broken toy. By early May his position at the darbar had deteriorated so much and he felt so insecure at the court that he apparently took refuge in the English factory at Kasimbazar (Hill 1905, II: 379). Unfortunately for him, as for other merchant princes, Wajid’s gamble in joining the Plassey conspiracy failed. Plassey brought about the downfall, sooner or later, of all the three merchant princes. With Plassey went the foundation of their commercial empires – court backing for monopolies of various sorts and contracts for investments with the European companies.

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IV The fall of Wajid was no less spectacular than his rise. As we have seen he had taken energetic steps to avoid a commercial crash and joined the Plassey conspiracy at the last moment. But the British dealt a great blow to his fortune in January 1757 when they sacked Hughli burning his salt warehouses and destroying his commercial headquarters. Soon after Plassey, he suffered a further blow from the piratical activities of the British naval squadron off the Bengal coast when one of his trading vessels with rich cargo was captured on 5 September 1757 on the pretext of its flying French colours.48 In the completely altered political situation after Plassey, he was unable to turn to the darbar for redress, which he had successfully done from about the mid-1740s till the mid-1750s. Of greater consequence for his doom was the destruction of his control over much of Bengal’s internal commerce. The main props of his commercial empire – the darbar backing and investments for European companies – were either swept away or undermined after Plassey. The domination of the English Company at the Murshidabad darbar led to the loss of his saltpetre monopoly in 1758.49 More disastrous for his commercial supremacy was the open flouting of his control over the salt trade by Company servants, which was soon to become the Company monopoly. At the same time, his position as a supplier to the European companies faded away with the destruction of the French and decline of the Dutch Company in Bengal. His ruin was complete by 1758 when he bitterly complained that the English had destroyed his commerce and had driven him to the brink of ruin. There is little doubt that the fall of Wajid was a logical conclusion to the English victory at Plassey and hence it is difficult to subscribe to Jean Law’s observation that Wajid ‘finally fell a victim to his diplomacies, perhaps also to his imprudences’ (Hill 1905, III: 190 n. 1). If any single factor accelerated his doom, it was the wrath of Clive who wanted to ruin the Armenian merchant prince whom he considered to be a ‘villain’ for his support to the French. Clive had a strong suspicion that Wajid

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 49

was connected with the plan for French intervention in Bengal in 1757 and wrote to William Watts: ‘There is among the papers one to Coja Wazeed, mentioning these matters. I wish you could effect the ruin of that villain who is a Frenchman in his heart.’50 The opportunity for the British to complete Wajid’s destruction came in 1759. By then it must have dawned on Wajid that with the British at the helm of affairs in Bengal, he had absolutely no chance of rescuing his crumbling commercial empire. In desperation he gambled again, perhaps realizing that he had nothing to lose but everything to gain if he could succeed in his venture. So he now plotted with the Dutch for them to invade Bengal and act as a counterpoise to the British. Like Plassey, his second gamble failed and that too miserably. With the failure of the Dutch expedition, his doom was beyond succour. Clive described, as if joyfully, the destruction of the great Hughli merchant: As I know that rascal Coja Wazeed was the principal cause of our late troubles at Calcutta, and was even now doing his utmost to set the Dutch and us at variance, I thought proper to lay hold of him that he might not attempt to break the firm friendship which subsists between his Excellency (Mir Jafar, the new Nawab), you (Miran, Mir Jafar’s son) and myself.51

On his capture Wajid was jailed where he conveniently poisoned himself.52 With Wajid’s death, his rival in the 1740s and one of the early Plassey conspirators on the side of the English, Khoja Petruse, took his place as the leader of the Armenian community in Bengal. V Among other prominent Armenian merchants in Bengal was Khoja Petruse who joined the bandwagon of the conspirators led by the British against the Bengal Nawab Sirajuddaullah (Chaudhury 2000: 94, 97, 106). He along with his two brothers Khoja Gregory, popularly known as Gurgin Khan, and Barsick Aratoon came to Bengal from New Julfa. Petruse was the vakil of the Armenian merchants in Hughli but was replaced by ‘Coja Avid’ around 1741.53 After this most probably he moved down

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to Calcutta where he came in close contact with the British. It may be noted that Khoja Petruse built the Armenian Church at Saidabad in 1758 at a cost of Rs. 0.236 million near the ruins of the old Church, built in 1665 (Majumdar 1905: 233). He also repaired and embellished the Armenian Church of Calcutta in 1763 (Seth 1929: 15). As noted earlier Barsick Aratoon was engaged in salt trade in Saidabad (Seth 1937: 360-70). But it was Khoja Gregory or Gurgin Khan who played a vital role in the trade and politics of Bengal, especially in the 1760s. He is said to have begun his career as a cloth merchant in Hughli and perhaps that is why Gholam Hossein Khan, the author of the nearcontemporaneous Persian chronicle, Seir-ul-Mutaqherin (1975 [1789], II: 389, 422, 447, 455) wrote about him with a sneer, describing him as a ‘cloth seller by the yard’ and ‘who knew nothing of military affairs’. Perhaps Gregory was introduced to Mir Qasim by his elder brother Petruse. Soon he became a close confidant of Mir Qasim and when the latter became the Nawab of Bengal he appointed Gregory as the commander-in-chief of his army. It was at the instance of Khoja Gregory, renamed Gurgin Khan by Nawab Mir Qasim, that the Nawab’s army was reformed and re-modelled after the European fashion for the first time. Indeed, Khoja Gurgins’s elevation to the top position was the cause of jealousy for many and surprise for others. It did not escape the attention of the Dutch Director in Bengal, Louis Taillefert, who wrote: Armenians play a big role in Bengal since the revolution of 1757. They have not only assisted the English in fomenting treason against Sirajuddaula as a result of which Bengal has been enslaved to the English [. . .] but also have been able to (I do not know how) acquire a fame among the Muslims as good soldiers. Consequently, Mir Qasim has chosen Choja Gregory, brother of the famous Choja Petrus, the chief commander of his army.54

The officials of the English Company in Bengal too were much concerned with the eminence acquired by Khoja Petruse and Khoja Gregory in Nawab Mir Qasim’s darbar. The Fort William Council wrote to the Secret Committee in London in 1762 that ‘Armenian Ministers of the Revolutions’, Khoja Petruse

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and Khoja Gregory, ‘are in the highest degree of favour with the Nabob,’ and that the ‘latter has posts of greatest trusts near the Nabob’s person’. It also noted that with the help of these two, the Armenians were ‘setting up an independent footing in the country and are carrying on a trade greatly detrimental to our investments in all parts’.55 Mesrov Seth, the historian of the Armenians in India, was of the opinion that Gurgin Khan who was assasinated by an unknown assailant in 1763 would have become Bengal Nawab in course of time. This is perhaps an exaggeration. He wrote: Had he not fallen a victim to the sword of an unknown assasin [. . . ] [Gurgin] who for three years (1760-1763) was the virtual ruler of Bengal, Behar and Orissa, would, in time, have become the Nawab of Bengal with the help of the well-disciplined and powerful army at his command. (Seth 1937: 385)56

VI The extensive trading network of the Armenians in Bengal will be apparent from the fact that their presence not only in the various trade marts but also in the numerous production centres, even in the remote villages, especially of textiles and raw silk, of Bengal throughout the seventeenth and first half of the eighteenth century is well borne out by documentation in European records of the period. Their prominent role in the silk and textile trade of Bengal is beyond any doubt. Though we are not in a position as yet to make any estimate in quantitative terms of the Armenian involvement in Bengal’s export trade in silk and textiles, there is no dearth of qualitative evidence indicating a significant role played by them in these sectors of Bengal’s commercial economy. The extraordinary diffusion of silk and textile industry, especially the textile industry, in Bengal was perhaps best matched by the Armenian diaspora and their extensive network which made them one of the most important groups of merchants in Bengal, often competing successfully with even the most powerful local merchant groups, not to speak of the Europeans. As the textile industry in Bengal was basically a rural domestic handi-

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craft industry (Chaudhury 1995: 135-44), the natural corollary was its extreme diffusion which suited the Armenians with their extensive networks throughout Bengal. That was why they could become formidable rivals of the local/Indian merchants, let alone the European trading companies, in procuring textiles for export markets. In an estimate of the textile export from Dhaka in 1747, the Armenian share, among the Asian merchants, is said to have been as large as 23 per cent, the exact figure as given by John Taylor in his estimate of Dhaka cloth production in 1747 is Rs. 0.5 million.57 As a matter of fact, Taillefert writes in his Memorie in 1755 that the Armenians, Greeks and other minor trading groups generally export textiles from Dhaka to Surat, the Red Sea and Persian Gulf on an average of Rs. 0.7 to 0.8 million every year.58 Considering that the Greeks and others were only marginal in the textile export from Dhaka, the share of the Armenians could well have been Rs. 0.5 to 0.6 million, which tallies well with the estimate of John Taylor. In the silk market too, they along with other Asian merchants (mainly Gujaratis and north Indian merchants from Lahore, Multan, Delhi, Agra, etc.) were the dominant buyers, often responsible for pushing up prices with their heavy purchases and to the detriment of the European companies (Chaudhury 1995: 228-36). There were quite a few independent Armenian traders like Agha Seat and Agha Gregory in Saidabad in around the mid-eighteenth century who were engaged in exporting raw silk to Surat. Their joint exports amounted to 1,000 maunds. They shared this trade with the Gujarati merchants.59 The above scenario prevailed till the mid-eighteenth century after which the British, with their victory in the battle of Plassey in 1757 and their consequent mastery over Bengal polity and economy, tried to eliminate their Asian competitors, including the Armenians, from Bengal trade. William Bolts, one of the important officials of the English Company in Bengal in the 1760s, wrote that, as the Company tried to establish monopoly over the export of piece-goods to Basra, Jeddah and Mocha especially, and its attempt to force the Armenians to send their goods as freight in English ships, ‘by all which circumstances there have

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been in Bengal many instances of families of Armenians, principal traders in this branch [of trade] to Persia and Arabia, who have been totally ruined’ (Bolts 1772-5, I: 196-7). But still, one of the dominant ethnic groups among the merchants in Murshidabad, one of the most important centres of silk and textiles production and trade, even in the second half of the eighteenth century was the Armenians in Saidabad. Many of them, however, acted as agents of the Armenian merchants of Calcutta and purchased cloth for them in lieu of small sums. At the same time it is true that there was no dearth of rich Armenian traders, though perhaps only a few were operating in Bengal during this period as will be borne out by the case of Agha Hajee Ahmed. This Hajee Ahmed sold and delivered jewels to the value of Rs. 50 lakhs (5 million) to the father of Jagat Seth Kushalchand (one of the descendants of the famous banking house of the Jagat Seths) in good faith without any bond. Later Kushalchand failed to pay the amount to Hajee Ahmed because ‘he possessed himself of a very low sum’.60 In fact the Armenian diaspora and their trading networks were so extensive that it was really difficult to write them off. Despite some setback, the Armenians thrived in Bengal trade and their influence was quite significant even in the 1770s. The Supreme Court of Calcutta observed in 1775 that the Armenians were ‘a very rich body of people, whose extensive dealings and universal correspondence make them particularly useful in this country.’ The Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, Sir Eliza Impey, noted in the same year that ‘the greatest part of the foreign trade of this kingdom [Bengal] is managed’ by the Armenians and English free merchants and that ‘except a little silver imported by the Dutch and French, the only resource for keeping up the currency of this country lies in the honesty, integrity and perseverance of the English and Armenian independent merchants residing in Calcutta’.61 In fact, the importance of the Armenians and the benefits of their trade in Bengal was such that earlier, in the late 1740s, there was a proposal following a dispute regarding the compensation the Company had to pay to the Armenians of Hughli for the alleged seizure of two

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Armenian ships coming to Hughli from Jeddah and Basra by English ships, and the Company’s attempt to realize the money from the Calcutta Armenians, to expel them from Calcutta. But it was ultimately dropped in consideration of the fact that the French at Chandernagore would then give shelter to the Armenians and deprive the Company of the huge benefit that was derived from the Armenian trade in the form of 5 per cent tax paid by them in Calcutta for their imports and exports.62 It would be interesting to note here the activities of a typical small Armenian merchant who formed the majority of the Armenian community in Bengal in the second half of the eighteenth century as reflected in the will of Aratoon Johannes dated 1791. He was considered ‘a leading merchant of Murshidabad’ in those days. The relevant portion runs thus: I am indebted to nobody except, first, I have an account subsisting between the deceased Ephrianes Isiah concerning Bassorah relating which I have diamond of seventy eight thomasses and some thousand of current diams [. . .]. I have sent a bale of cloths for the balance of which I have a demand of 280 sicca rupees. I have deposited with Mr. Nasir Shah one hundred rupees in a bag. I have a demand on Roop Chand Paramanic, my dellol at Sheerpore upon a bond the sum of three hundred and sixty rupees. I have a demand on Mr. Morat Khan of one hundred rupees for money lent to him [. . .]. I have a house in Saidabad near the church [. . .] and it is occupied by Ovsianna Pogosse who pays rent for the same. The rent for this year until the first theerah [?] amounts to one hundred and eighty rupees [. . .]. Moreover I am indebted to the deceased Johannes Baithasaar on a bond of the sum of one thousand six hundred arcot rupees [. . .] altho, I am very much injured in this business but I leave to my executor to settle the matter and pay what is due from me [. . .]. Out of the amount sent by deceased Ephrianes Isiah for the purchase of piecegoods remained in my hands the sum of one thousand five hundred rupees of which I have purchased piecegoods and there are in Sheerpore in the possession of Mr. Chattoor Thoman 100 pieces of superfine sonnas and 100 pieces of superfine baftas […]. The purchase made by myself jointly with Mr. Chattoor Thoman this year [. . .]. My share of commission [. . .] should be deposited with my heirs.63

The above reveals some of the important characteristics of the Armenian traders in Bengal. First, the linkage between the mar-

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kets for silk piece-goods in distant Basra and Murshidabad was established through a group of merchants, each of whom acted as a link for another at a given place. But none of the merchants in this case travelled far by himself. This can be termed ‘relay trade’ in contrast to and existing side by side with the classical itinerant merchants travelling from one place to another and investing small capital in their business transactions. Secondly, it is apparent from Aratoon Johannes’s will that the Armenian merchants in Bengal were engaged in all sorts of mercantile and banking activities, right from lending money, renting house and supplying silk piece-goods to Basra. In other words, no activity was too low or too high for him, so long as it has the prospect of a profit, however small it may have been. In this respect he resembles his predecessor of a hundred year earlier, the famous Hovhannes Jughayetsi. Of course, Murshidabad being the main production and trade centre of silk piece-goods, for most of the Armenian merchants there, dealing with silk piece goods was their main business. But this did not turn them into any kind of specialized traders as they were engaged at the same time in other mercantile activities as well. Third, trade on commission was not entirely absent, at least in Bengal, Steensgaard’s assertion (1974: 15-16) that this ‘is at any rate not demonstrable in the sources’ notwithstanding. Aratoon Johannes received his commission alright from Chatoor Thoman for his services. Fourth, the Armenians tried to maintain mutual trust and understanding with their fellow community members, a feature which characterized the community in every part of the world. Though Aratoon was apparently unhappy with a fellow merchant’s transanctions with him, yet he urged the executor of his will to repay his due. This kind of mutual dependence on the basis of clan solidarity was extremely vital for the success of the Armenian merchant community in different parts of the world in the seventeenth and the eighteenth century (Bhadra 1976: 326). Though the Armenians had close links with the English and often assisted them in their trade and procured commodities for them on commission, nevertheless there was no love lost between them. The English were often very critical in their observations

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about the Armenians which of course was a reflection of the former’s frustration arising out of their failure to make the latter subservient to them. Thus in 1768 a Company official observed that ‘it is well known how designing and intriguing a set of people the Armenians are’ while the Bengal Council of the Company wrote to the Directors in London in 1771 of ‘the intriguing spirit of the Armenians’.64 However, there is no denying the fact that the Armenians in general, as the Bengal case will bear out clearly, were driven by a strong passion for extending their commercial hegemony at any cost and were ready to swing their allegiance at the slightest prospect of commercial advantage. The case of Khoja Wajid, as we have seen earlier, is a point in illustration. In the mid-eighteenth century, trade and politics were closely intertwined, and all the successful merchants tried to cultivate close relationship with the ruling authorities so that they could extract special privileges for themselves. Thus all the three merchant princes of the mid-eighteenth century Bengal, including Khoja Wajid, had developed close links with the ruling power and the main props of their business prosperity was the backing of the ruling court (Chaudhury 1995, 92-131). Realizing this well, Wajid threw his lot with the heir apparent Sirajuddaulah as soon as it was announced that the latter would succeed the old Nawab Alivardi Khan. Soon he became one of the closest confidants of the new Nawab but later on when he saw that the young Nawab had little chance to survive in the face of the onslaught from the British who roped in some of the powerful courtiers of the darbar to their ‘project’ of a revolution in Bengal, he deserted the Nawab and joined the bandwagon of the British who, however, ruined him after the revolution. Some of the Armenians of Calcutta joined the British side in the so-called Plassey revolution as they thought it would enhance their business prospects. Later on when the British had absolute sway in Bengal politics and economy, some of the Armenians shifted their place of operations from Bengal to the independent kingdom of Oudh, in north India, where they tried to cultivate the friendship of the Nawab there vis-à-vis the British.65

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 57

As noted earlier, the Armenians in Bengal were not dissociated from their mainstream in New Julfa. They had regular traffic with New Julfa. More interestingly, sometime the Armenians in India borrowed money from rich merchants in New Julfa by executing bonds.66 In a case concerning an unpaid bill of exchange (hundi), an appeal for witness was addressed to the Armenian community (jumiat) in Saidabad so that the bill could be returned to New Julfa for settlement. This suggests that some cases at least were referred to New Julfa rather than being settled locally, or perhaps that the mother colony acted as a sort of court of appeal if local efforts in Bengal for judgement and arbitration failed. The Armenian merchants in Bengal transacted business with bills of exchange on such faraway places as Surat or Agra and Delhi.67 In fact, Khoja Wajid had a trading house in Surat. The British Library Lansdowne Manuscripts (nos. 1047, 1048) contain a number of bills of exchange between towns in Bengal arranged by Indian sarrafs for Armenian merchants. The vast networks of enterprises created by the Armenians in Bengal in the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries is evident from the analysis of Bengal’s silk and textile markets made earlier. And we have seen that they were conspicuous by their presence even in the remote parts of Bengal whenever there was the possibility of good profit in mercantile activities. It is pertinent to point out that they did not enjoy any special concessions in Bengal as an ethnic and minority foreign religious group of merchants, and yet they were able to compete successfully with the local as well as the foreign group of merchants operating in the region. That the Armenians often acted as a group rather than individual entrepreneurs is because of the pride they took in their identity. That they had one language, one culture and one religion was the most crucial factor, which helped them in developing and extending their networks. Unlike other groups of Indian or foreign merchants, the Armenians had built their own colonies and settlements with their own churches in different parts of India which only underlines the strong ethnic and cultural overtones of the Armenian entrepreneurs and their enterprises. Thus we

58 | Trade, Politics and Society

find that the Armenians had their exclusive settlement in Saidabad where they built their own church. Similarly, they had their own localities with churches in Kasimbazar, Hughli, Patna and other important centres of trade in Bengal. Calcutta still bears the name of an area named after the Armenians, Armanitola, meaning the habitat of the Armenians), an Armenian church and even a place on the banks of the Ganges called Armani Ghat where the goods of the Armenians were off-loaded or on-loaded. VII While speaking about the entrepreneurial networks of the Armenians and their enterprises, the question that naturally crops up is whether the Armenians were mere peddlers as typified by the famous (made so by Niels Steensgaard as an example of Asian peddler) Armenian Hovhannes Jughayetsi who had travelled widely in India and Tibet for business transactions as factor of his masters in New Julfa (Khachikian 1966: 153-86). Though Jacob Cornelis van Leur was the first historian to challenge the Eurocentric view that the Indian Ocean trade in the sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries was dominated completely by the Europeans, his thesis of the Asian trade being the sum total of peddling trade, later reinforced by Steensgaard, can hardly be accepted now.68 Among the Armenian merchants, as among the Indians, there were small peddlers along with the wealthy and powerful merchants, with varied and extensive business operations, who can easily be compared with the Medicis, Fuggers or Tripps of Europe. Hovhannes was not really a peddler working on his own, as one may gather from a rather summary account of his activities by Steensgaard, but ‘a cog in a very large commercial wheel’ operated by the wealthy merchant families of New Julfa. It may be pointed out here that the peddler’s trade and the long-distance ‘relay trade’ were by no means always mutually exclusive. At least in Bengal’s case there is evidence of a peddler transforming himself to a big ‘relay merchant’ in the second half of the eighteenth century. Such was the case of Mathew Johannes

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 59

who was born in New Julfa and came to Calcutta in the early 1760s and was engaged in silk trade between Calcutta and Murshidabad. He established contacts in Calcutta and it seems, after accumulating some capital for his business, he transferred his business operations to Canton and Macau. After setting himself up as an established businessman, he revived his old contacts in Calcutta. While he himself stayed in Canton, through a network of earlier contacts, he was engaged in quite a long-distance trade between three centres – Macau, Calcutta and Canton. He is said to have invested Rs. 50,000 through his trading agents in Calcutta and used his connections there to augment his business operations.69 In fact, the way the networks of Armenian entrepreneurs functioned, the way the circulation of capital and commercial intelligence was effected will only reiterate that the Armenian entrepreneurs were no ‘insecure men’, made so ‘by limitations of information and vagaries of commerce’ as Ashin Das Gupta (1979) would have us believe in the case of Mulla Abdul Goffur, the greatest merchant-trader of the Mughal Empire in the third quarter of the seventeenth century. The crucial question that remains to be answered, however, is what were the reasons for the fabulous success of the Armenian merchants vis-à-vis even the advanced organizational form of the European joint stock companies – a question which was raised earlier by Fernand Braudel (1982-4 [1979]) and Philip D. Curtin (1984). It has been suggested recently that the success of the Armenians was primarily due to ‘organizational form or arrangements’ which seems to be quite tenable (Baladouni, Makepeace 1998). Indeed, the widely spread but highly interrelated Armenian enterprises operated under the ‘ethos of trust’ which served as a human capital, accrued to the community as a result of their ‘collective socio-political experiences over many generations’. The structuring of their business enterprises, based as it was on family kinship and trusted fellow-countrymen, gave the Armenian merchants two significant advantages – organizational cost savings and organizational innovations. In all probability, the Armenians succeeded because they were able to create networks of trust, shared information and mutual support

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based upon the fact that they were a distinctive ethnic and religious minority. This very characteristic differentiated them from other merchant groups in Bengal. There is no doubt that some of the other diaspora people like the Jews had all these characteristics but perhaps the Armenians were ahead of the ‘others in these respects and hence their success was more spectacular than that of the others’. However, the Armenian commercial system, based as it was on close family ties, was not something extraordinary. The wellknown Italian merchant families are a European example of the same family system. This was a common trading pattern in the early modern period. The Indians, especially the Marwaris and Gujaratis as also the Parsis in India, had the same system of operations. And all of them were quite successful in their enterprises. In fact, one of the main factors that contributed to the fabulous success of the Armenians was their will to better their station in exile, which gave them their knowledge of languages and of the custom of others. Their flexibility was an asset. They were capable of assuming multiple identities as and when required for the sake of their commercial prosperity (Baghdiantz McCabe 1999: 358-9). At the same time the Armenians had a higher level of awareness of the international scene and the expertise to link up local and regional markets to intra-Asian markets. In this context the observation of Georges Roques is worth quoting: These people are shrewder than the Indian sarrafs, because they do not work alone, when it comes to evaluating their merchandise and money. More enterprising amongst them deal with all that is there [to trade in], and do not ignore the price of any merchandise, either from Europe or Asia, or any other place because they correspond with all others and receive rapid information on current prices wherever they are. Thus they do not get cheated in their purchases, and are very economical, and work unbelievably hard to trade so as not to overpay on the merchandise. They spend very little towards living. They are by nature accustomed to living frugally [. . .] (Husain 1995: 939).

In fact, the Armenian merchants, as has been rightly pointed out by K.N. Chaudhuri (1978), were highly skilled arbitrage

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 61

dealers who were forced through historical circumstances to develop very flexible and geographically mobile forms of commerce. An ability to measure the risks of overland trade and a readiness to vary the size of commercial transactions were the special service which the Armenians brought to the trading world of the Middle East, India and even Europe, and this was one of the secrets of their tremendous success. Indeed, the ability of the Armenians to thrive on low profit margin, their readiness to deal in any commodity and move into even remote producing centres when there was the prospect of a profit, their ability to adapt themselves to the language and culture of their trading country without losing their own identity were some of the important factors behind their phenomenal success in inter-regional and international trade in the sevneteenth and eighteenth centuries. NOTES 1. London, British Library, India Office Records (henceforth IOR), Despatch Book (henceforth DB), vol. 92, fol. 25, 15 February 1689. 2. IOR/DB, vol. 93, fol. 38, 18 October 1690. 3. IOR/DB, vol. 92, fol. 25, 15 February 1689. See also Chaudhury, 1975: 131. 4. Patna in Bihar was the most important trade centre in that province and was famous for production of saltpetre, opium and textiles in the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. 5. IOR, Home Miscellaneous Series (HM), vol. 36, fols. 81-2. 6. While Saidabad was an exclusive Armenian colony, founded around 1665, Kasimbazar, another suburb of Murshidabad, was the most important centre of silk production, and Dhaka was the most important centre of the finest and expensive textiles, especially the legendary muslins. 7. For Jagat Seth, the greatest banker of the then India and possibly Asia: Chaudhury 1995: 109-16. For Umichand: ibid., 116-20. 8. That the Armenians of Bengal had links with New Julfa is evident from the fact that after the death of ‘Coja Avatook Cunnon and Coja Surhaud Cunnon’, their brother, ‘Coja Turcawn Cunnon Armenian’ came to Bengal from New Julfa to claim their ‘effects’ from Khoja Nazar Jacob of Calcutta. IOR, Bengal Public Consultations (BPC), Range 1, vol. 5, fol. 451, 16 March 1723. In all probability Khoja Surhaud was connected with one of the greatest merchant families of New Julfa, the Shareemans (or Surhaud?): Herzig 1986.

62 | Trade, Politics and Society 9. Memorie of Alexander Hume, Stadsarchief Antwerpen, General Indische Compagnie, 5768, Antwerp. 10. Memorie of Louis Taillefert: The Hague, Algemeen Rijksarchief (henceforth AR), Verenigde Oost Indische Compagnie (henceforth VOC), 2849, fol. 164b, 27 October 1755; Jan Kerseboom’s Memorie: AR/VOC, vol. 2849, fol. 103b, 14 February 1755. 11. IOR, Mayor’s Court Records (MCR), Calcutta, Range 155, vol. 24, fol. 30b, 7 May 1741. Wajid/Wazeed is perhaps a form of ‘Avid’ (Aved or Avet (trsl Awet(ik’)]. 12. IOR, Factory Records (FR), Kasimbazar, vol. 7, Consultations, 24 December 1748; 9 January 1749; 12 January 1749; IOR/BPC, Range 1, vol. 22, fol. 49b, 19 December 1748; fol. 64b, 31 December 1748; fol. 96, 9 January 1749. 13. IOR, Bengal Letters Received (BLR), vol. 22, par. 18, fol. 410; IOR/ BPC, Range 1, vol. 26, fol. 110, 2 April 1753. 14. Memorie of Jan Kerseboom: AR/VOC, vol. 2849, fol. 103b, 14 February 1755. 15. Memorie of A. Bisdom: AR/VOC, vol. 2849, fols. 498a-301b, 10 January 1756, IOR, Clive Mss., vol. 269, no. 982. 16. IOR/BPC, Range 1, vol. 29, fol. 133, 18 July 1757. 17. Ibid., fol. 170b, 2 September 1757. 18. Ibid., fol. 245, 31 October 1757. 19. Ibid., fol. 285, 24 November 1757. 20. The Dutch Director Louis Taillefert also mentioned that the English Company obtained the saltpetre monopoly from Mir Jafar in 1758. The second Memorie of Louis Taillefert: AR, Hoge Regering van Batavia (RRB), 246, fol. 174, 17 November 1763 (for the first Memorie, cf. supra, n. 10). 21. IOR, Orme Mss., OV, 134, fol. 13. 22. IOR, Eur. Mss., D 283, fol. 22. 23. IOR, Orme Mss., OV, 134, fols. 21-2. 24. Memorie of Huijghens: AR/VOC, 2763, fol. 458, 20 March 1750; ibid., 2732, fols. 9-10, Hughli to Batavia, 27 January 1750. 25. For details, see, shipping lists in the AR/VOC records. 26. Peter Marshall’s assertion (1976: 54-8; 1987: 65) that by the 1720s Hughli was completely overshadowed by Calcutta port, is not beyond doubt. The lean period of the 1720s and the 1730s was only a temporary phase for the Hughli port which recovered from the late 1730s and the early 1740s with considerable increase in the French and Asian shipping. Chaudhury 1995: 24-5, 314-19. 27. IOR/BPC, Range 1, vol. 17, fol. 702, 3 October 1745; fol. 706b, October 1745; fol. 717, 24 October 1745. Ibid., vol. 18, fol. 165b; 9 April 1746; fol. 318b, 6 August 1746. 28. AR/VOC, 2661, fol. 163.

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 63 9. AR/VOC, 2689, fols. 136, 140. 2 30. AR/VOC, 2862, fols. 837, 1079, 1080. 31. AR/VOC, 2661, 2689, 2862: shipping lists in these volumes. 32. AR/VOC, 2849, fol. 105b, 14 February 1755; Cf. Hill 1905: II, 87. 33. AR/VOC, 2763, fol. 467, 20 March 1750. 34. IOR/BPC, Range 1, vols. 26, fols. 131b-132b, 3 May 1753. 35. AR/VOC, 2849, fol. 128b, 14 February 1755. 36. Taillefert’s Memorie: AR/VOC, 2849, fol. 264, 27 October 1755. It is obvious from this reference that Wajid lived in Chinsurah for some time. But this must have been for a short period because in early 1750, in a letter from Bengal, Wajid was referred to as ‘the merchant who was removed’ (from Chinsurah): AR/VOC, 2732, fol. 9b, Hughli to Hereen XVII, 11 February 1750. It is of interest that in the Dutch records, Wajid was frequently referred to as ‘Moor Merchant’ (Moors Koopman). There can be hardly any doubt that Wajid was an Armenian and there is no evidence that he ever converted to Islam. It might have been possible that because of his close connection with the Muslim rulers, the Dutch referred to him as ‘Moor Merchant’ or ‘Coja Mhamet Wazid’. There is evidence that the Armenian merchants changed their names often for the sake of convenience in trade. Thus in the second half of the seventeenth century, Khoja Philippos of New Julfa was known as Philippo de Zagely, Philip von Zagely, Philip de Zagly in Courland, as Philippe de Saghli in France, while in Persia his name was Imam Kuli Beg (Gulbenkian 1970: 361-99). So it might be possible that Wajid also added Muhammed to his name, perhaps like his father, Khoja ‘Mhamet’ Fazel, to enhance his business prospects. 37. IOR/BPC, Range 1, vol. 25, fol. 229b, 31 August 1752. 38. Ibid., vol. 17, fol. 429b, 24 December 1744; vol. 22, fol. 126b, 13 February 1749. 39. Ibid., vol. 28, fol. 122, 12 May 1755. 40. Karam Ali states that Wajid told Nawab Alivardi Khan that if the latter drove the English out of Calcutta, he would have gained Rs. 3 crores (Rs. 30 million). He again asserts that Wajid who ‘bore enmity’ to the English instigated Sirajuddaula to attack the English (Sarkar 1952: 163). As Siraj dismissed Karam Ali from the office of the faujdar of Ghoraghat and imprisoned him later in Purnea (Bihar), he had every reason to be biased against young Nawab Sirajuddaula and also against Wajid who belonged to the inner circle of the Siraj’s advisers (ibid.: 70). That Karam Ali echoes the sentiment of the English is evident from the fact that even Robert Orme and Clive thought that Wajid was behind Siraj’s attack on Calcutta. IOR, Orme Mss., OV, 28, fol. 52, Orme to John Payne, 3 November 1756. For Clive’s attitude: IOR, Clive Mss., vol. 269, no. 982, Clive to Miran, 27 November 1759. 41. IOR/HM, vol. 193, fol. 14, Wajid to Clive, 10 January 1757.

64 | Trade, Politics and Society 2. Ibid., fol. 15, Wajid to Clive, 17 January 1757. 4 43. Ibid., fols. 25-6, Clive to Wajid, 21 January 1757; Hill 1905: II, 125-6. 44. Clive to Watts, 4 August 1758, lOR, Orme Mss., India X, fol. 112b. 45. William Watts’ letter to the Select Committee: IOR, Select Committee Consultations, Orme Mss., India V, fol. 1210; OV, 170, fol. 215. 46. IOR, Bengal Secret and Military Consultations (BSMC), Select Committee Consultations, Range 1, vol. 1, 23 November 1756. 47. Robert Orme to John Payne, 3 November 1756: IOR, Orme Mss., OV, 28, fol. 52. 48. IOR/BPC, Range 1, vol. 29, fol. 173, 5 September 1757. 49. AR/HRB, 246, fol. 274, 17 November 1763. 50. Clive to Watts, 4 August 1758: IOR, Orme Mss., India X, fol. 112b. 51. Clive to Miran, 27 November 1759: IOR, Clive Mss., vol. 269, no. 982. 52. IOR, Eur. Mss., G 37, Box 22. 53. IOR/MCR, Range 155, vol. 24, fol. 30b: Coja Manuel Azarmall vs. Coja Tenesuse, Calcutta, 7 May 1741. Cf. supra, n. 11. 54. AR/HRB, 17 November 1763, fol. 285. 55. Fort William Council to the Secret Committee, 11 March 1762, Seth 1929: 12. 56. More generally, about Gurgin Khan: Seth 1937, chap. XXXI: 383-418. Translation of this chapter into west. mod. Arm. by S. Mgrditchian: Sethian [= Seth] 1930: 1-39. 57. IOR/HM, vol. 456 F. 58. AR/VOC, vol. 2849, fol. 245b. 59. The evidence of Sadananda Bandopadhyay, Board of Trade – Commercial, West Bengal State Archives, Calcutta: 13 March 1789, Bhadra 1976: 325. 60. Case ‘Coja Hajee Ahmed vs. Juggut Seat Cossaul Chand’, 19 July 1799: Row 1911-16: I, 162, quoted in Bhadra 1976: 320. 61. IOR/HM, vol. 212, 289-91. 62. IOR/BPC, Range 1, fol. 12b, 2 January 1750; fol. 22b, 9 January 1750. 63. Will of Aratoon Johannes, OW, 4522, Testamentary Section, High Court Records, Calcutta. Cf. Bhadra 1976: 325. 64. Letter of Captain Harper to Verelst, Faizabad, 14 March 1768: Verelst Papers, IOR, Eur. Mss., F 218, no. 67; Fort William Council to the Court of Directors, 17 April 1771: ibid., no. 68. 65. Letter from Robert Maddison to Verelst, 23 October, 26 November 1767: ibid., no. 67. 66. Khoja Petruse’s petition to the Court of Directors, 5 February 1760: IOR/HM, vol. 68, fols. 937-9. 67. IOR/BPC, Range 1, vol. 11, fol. 410b, 6 September 1762. 68. Van Leur 1955; Steensgaard 1974. For an opposing view: Chaudhuri 1978; Chaudhury and Morineau 1999; Baghdiantz McCabe 1999.

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 65 69. Case ‘Sarkes Johannes vs. Padri Aratoon’, 3 December 1794, National Library of Wales, Mss. 5476, 398, quoted in Bhadra 1976: 326 n. 1.

REFERENCES Baghdiantz McCabe, I., 1999, The Shah’s Silk for Europe’s Silver: The Eurasian Silk Trade of the Julfan Armenians in Safavid Iran and India (1590-1750), Atlanta, Scholars Press. Baladouni, V. and M. Makepeace, 1998, ‘Armenian Merchants of the Seventeenth and Early Eighteenth Centuries: English East India Company Sources’, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society held at Philadelphia for Promoting Useful Knowledge, Philadelphia, 18 (5). Bhadra, G., 1976. ‘Social Groups and Relations in the Town of Murshidabad, 1765-1793’, Indian Historical Review, New Delhi, 2 (2). Bolts, W., 1772-5, Considerations on Indian Affairs, Particularly Respecting the Present State of Bengal and its Departures, 2 vols., London, S. Almon. Braudel, P., 1982-4 [1979], Civilisation and Capitalism, 15th-18th Century, 3 vols., New York: Harper and Row. Chatterjee, K., 1996, Merchants, Politics and Society in Early Modem India, Bihar, 1733-1820, Leiden: E. J. Brill. Chaudhuri, K.N., 1978, The Trading World of Asia and the English East India Company, 1660-1670, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chaudhuri, S. [=Chaudhury, S.], 1975, Trade and Commercial Organisation in Bengal, 1650-1720, with Special Reference to the English East India Company, Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay. ———, 1986-7, ‘Sirajuddaullah, the English East India Company and the Plassey Conspiracy: A Reappraisal’, Indian Historical Review, Delhi, 13 (1-2). ———, 1995, From Prosperity to Decline, Eighteenth Century Bengal, New Delhi: Manohar. ———, 2000, The Prelude to Empire: Plassey Revolution of 1757, New Delhi: Manohar. Chaudhury, S. and M. Morineau, eds., 1999, Merchants, Companies and Trade. Europe and Asia in the Early Modem Era, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; Paris: Editions de la Maison des sciences de l’homme. Curtin, P.D., 1984, Cross-Cultural Trade in World History, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Das Gupta, A., 1979, Indian Merchants and the Decline of Surat, c. 17001750, Weisbaden: F. Steiner.

66 | Trade, Politics and Society Gulbenkian, R., 1970, ‘Philippe de Zagly, marchand arménien de Julfa, et l’établissement du commerce persan en Courlande en 1696’, Revue des études améniennes, n.s., Paris, 7. Gupta, B.K., 1962, Sirajuddaullah and the East India Company, 1756-57, Leiden: E.J. Brill. Herzig, E., 1986, ‘The Armenian Commercial Documents in the Archivo Di Stato of Venice’, paper presented at the conference Les Arméniens face à l’Occident (XIl-XXe siécles) et la question de la modernité, Paris, 19-21 June 1986. Hill, S.C., 1905, Bengal in 1756-1757: A Selection of Public and Private Papers Dealing with the Affairs of the British in Bengal During the Reign of Sirajuddaula, 3 vols., London: J. Murray. Husain, R.K., ed., transl., 1995, ‘Persian Trade: Armenian and Indian Merchants in Persia in the 17th Century: Roques’ Report’, in Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, 55th Session, Aligarh, 1994, Delhi: Indian History Congress. Khachikian, L., 1966, ‘The Ledger of the Merchant Hovhannes Joughayetsi’, Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, Calcutta, 4th ser., 8. Khan, T. Seid Gholam Hossein. See Seir Mutaqherin. Majumdar, P.C., 1905, The Musnud of Murshidabad (1704-1904), Being a Synopsis of the History of Murshidabad for the Last Two Centuries, to Which is Appended Notes of Places and Objects of Interest at Murshidabad, Murshidabad: Saroda Ray. Marshall, P.J., 1976, East Indian Fortunes: The British in Bengal in the Eighteenth Century, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Orme, R., 1803 [1763-78], A History of the Military Transactions of the British Nation in Indostan from the Year 1745, 3 vols., London: Wingrave. Sarkar, J., ed., 1952, Bengal Nawabs: Naubahar-i-Murshid Quli Khan, Muzaffarnamah, Ahwal-i-Mahabat Jang, Calcutta: Asiatic Society. Seir Mulaqherin, 1975 [1789], [Nota-Manus (Hajee Mustapha, alias M. Raymond), transl.] A Translation of the Seir Mutaqherin or View of Modern Times, Being a History of India, from the Year 1118 to the Year 1195 . . . of the Hidjirah, Containing, in General, the Reigns of the Seven Last Emperors of Hindostan, and, in Particular, an Account of the English Wars in Bengal . . . , the Whole Written in Persian by Seid Gholam Hossein Khan . . . , 2 vols., Lahore. Seth, M.J., 1929, ‘Khoja Petruse: The Armenian Merchant-Diplomat of Calcutta’, Bengal Past and Present, Calcutta, 37 (2); rpt. Sethian, M.J. [= Seth, M.J.], 1930, Gorgin Khan, the Armenian Minister and Commander-in-Chief of Nawab Mir Qasim in Bengal, 1760-1763, Venice: Mekhitarist Printing House. Seth, M.J., 1937, Armenians in India, from the Earliest Times to the Present Day, Calcutta: P. C. Ray & Sri Gouranga Press.

Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century | 67 Sinha, N.K., 1956-70, The Economic History of Bengal I-II: From Plassey to Permanent Settlement (1956-1962); III: 1793-1848 (1970), 3 vols., Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay. Steensgaard, N., 1974, The Asian Trade Revolution of the Seventeenth Century, The East India Companies and the Decline of Caravan Trade, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Subhan, A., ed., 1978, Zamia-i-Tadhkira-i-Yusuf (Hadiqat al-Safa) of Yusuf Ali Khan. Persian Text Edited with Notes and Introduction, Calcutta: Asiatic Society. Van Leur, J.C., 1955, Indonesian Trade and Society: Essays in Asian Social and Economic History, The Hague: Bandung, W. van Hoeve. Walsh, J.H.T, 1902, The District of Murshidabad, London: Jarrold & Sons.

chapter 3

No Ready Money? No Problem! The Role of Hundis (Bills of Exchange) in Early Modern India, c. 1600-1800*

The main thrust of the paper is to examine the role of hundis (bills of exchange) in the early modern time in India, with special reference to Bengal. Needless to say that Bengal in the seventeenth and the early eighteenth century was one of the most prosperous subas (province) of the erstwhile Mughal Empire. Attracted by the immense possibilities of trade in the province which emerged as a great centre of international trade and the consequent handsome profit, it was not only the European trading companies like the English East India Company, the Dutch East India Company, the French East India Company, etc., that began their trade in Bengal in right earnest from around the mid-seventeenth century, but also the merchants and traders from different parts of India and Asia thronged there to procure export commodities for trade to various parts of India and Asia. While the Europeans exported mainly textiles, raw silk and saltpetre, the Asians concentrated primarily on textiles and raw silk. What is significant in this connection is that Bengal had a highly favourable balance of trade, and all the traders, whether Europeans or Asians, had to bring * Paper presented at the International Economic History Congress, Helsinki, 2006 and later published in Sushil Chaudhury and Markus A. Denzel, eds., Cashless Payment from Antiquity to 1914, Stuttgart, 2008, pp. 139-52. In writing this paper, especially the section on Mughal Practice, I have taken a lot of help from Irfan Habib, ‘The System of Bills of Exchange (Hundis) in the Mughal Empire’, in Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, Muzaffarpur, 1972, pp. 290-303.

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in silver or cash for the procurement of the export commodities from Bengal. It is also important to note that it was the Asians, and not the Europeans, who were the major importers of bullion/cash into Bengal throughout the period under review. As there was brisk trade in Bengal during the period, there was bound to be lot of financial transactions. But as transfer of ready money/cash from one place to another was not always safe, there had to be some means for transfer of the necessary funds, sometimes quite a large amount, even to distant places. As for example, huge amount of cash had to be transferred quite often from Murshidabad,1 Kasimbazar,2 Hughli,3 or Calcutta and other trade marts and cities to places in northern India like Agra, Delhi, Patna,4 Lahore, Multan, or Surat, Ahmedabad, etc. in western India. Not only that, even the surplus revenues of Bengal, to the tune of Rs. 1.3 million a year, had to be sent to Delhi as tribute to the Mughal emperors. Luckily, the credit market in Bengal during the period under study was highly organized and efficiently managed. There was indeed a remarkable growth of the financial machinery for credit and exchange, and the specialized activities of a large class of merchants, especially shroffs, undoubtedly point towards the fact that merchant capital and commercial organization were highly developed in the early modern period. And it was the hundis which served the purpose of transferring cash and/or securing loans very well. It was not only the European trading companies which resorted to hundis for their transactions but also the Asian merchants and even the Armenians used this instrument for their commercial activities. In the Indian usage the bill of exchange was termed hndvi or hundi whereas the Armenians who used this instrument extensively as a system of crediting and money transfer called this avak in the New Julfan documents, as barat in the law book of the Armenian colony in Astarakan and as hndvi or hundi among the Armenian merchants trading in India.5 In fact, the political instability and chaos in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century in India helped strengthen the ties between distant credit markets through the hundis. Actu-

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ally the use of bills of exchange and hundis in place of ready money became increasingly common. The merchant networks provided channels and trust for the hundis used for financing trade and remittances of tribute and revenue by regional authorities. From around the 1730s, the house of Jagat Seth6 transferred the surplus revenues of Bengal amounting to Rs. 1.3 million for payment to the Mughal emperors by hundis to its agents in Delhi and Agra. MUGHAL PRACTICE It is difficult to say when the use of hundi started in India. But it should have been from a very early period. Writing about 1596, Abul Fazl, the greatest historian of medieval India, has given a detailed account of hundi from which it appears that the instrument was quite well known by that time, and frequently used in monetary transactions. He writes:7 In this country when any one wishes to transmit money to a distant place, without undertaking the risks of journey and expenses of conveyance, he delivers the money to a financier. The latter gives him a written paper, which he draws on the place desired; and there he (the drawee) hands over the money upon sight of that hand-written paper. Wonderful it is that no seal or witness is required. That document they all know by the said name (hundi). In accordance with place and time, on some occasions the payment is made at par while on others gain accrues to one of the two parties.

What Abul Fazl implies is that depending upon the stream of remittances and reverse-remittances between any two places, a hundi, drawn at one place upon the other, might carry either a premium or discount. Some of the important features of hundi are revealed from the description of another historian, Sujan Rai Bhandari, who wrote in 1695-6:8 If, because of dangers on the routes, a person cannot convey sums of money to a near or distant place, the sarrafs take it from him, and give him a piece of paper written in Hindvi characters, without a seal or envelope addressed to their agents, who have their shops in the various towns and places throughout these lands; and this paper in the

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language of this country is known as hundi. The gumashtas (agents) of these honest dealers, pay out the money, in accordance with that document, without any argument or objection, though the distance may be two hundred leagues and so they keep their dealings straight. It is still more wonderful though that document is nothing more than a piece of paper, if its possessor wishes to sell it at a place other than the one where payment is promised, it is sold for the sum that it specifies, and the purchaser, obtaining a small amount from the seller, receives the sum stated in it, at the promised place.

Two things emerge very clearly from the above. First, it was the shroffs who specialized in issuing hundis to facilitate remittances to be made. This is also corroborated by foreign travellers, the most prominent among them being the French traveller, Tavernier.9 The records of the Companies also attest to the above. In general, more often than not, the Companies approached the shroffs for bills of exchange/hundis for remittances to different subordinate factories. Secondly, it is amply clear from Sujan Rai’s description that the hundi was a negotiable instrument, usually transferred at a small discount. It was thus convertible from a means of remittance to an instrument of credit. It is also clear that the shroffs specialized not only in issuing hundis but also in discounting them. This is apparent from the records of the English Company. The English factors in Agra reported that the shroffs were not lending out money at interest for they could earn ‘more profit by exchange’, that is by using their funds to discount hundis.10 RATES OF EXCHANGE It is probable that when remittances and loans were few, or trade was not extensively supported by credit, the rate of exchange, that is the amount of money paid at the place of issue of the hundis as against the amount to be paid by the drawee, might vary considerably on hundis drawn by shroffs and on those discounted by them. But if extensive dealing in such bills had been established, the two rates converge. Thus we find in the English Company records that only a single rate of interest is quoted for

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bills drawn at one place upon another, irrespective of whether it was a hundi drawn by shroffs to arrange remittance or one drawn by a merchant seeking credit. However, it is important to note that whenever there was stiff competition among the shroffs and a sizeable development of commerce, the rates of exchange between any two places were likely to be determined by the total ‘balance of payments’ position of each place. A sudden spurt of payments made in any direction might create pressure on the shroffs for cash at one place, while leaving more in their hands at another – a situation that they could only rectify by discouraging remittances from the former to the latter and encouraging reverse remittances, through modifying the exchange rate. However there were seasonal fluctuations, too, in the premiums/discounts on remittances, depending on when the local produce (say raw silk of Kasimbazar) came to the market at one place (Kasimbazar) and sold at another (Patna/Agra). This is well borne out by the correspondence of John Kenn, the chief of the English factory at Kasimbazar, in 1661:11 To pay money in Kasimbazar and receive it in Patna, upon bill of exchange a month after date, always yields profit. I have known it from 1 to 6 p.c. when the silk sells well at Agra, the produce (proceeds) is usually sent to Kasimbazar in money overland, which is the reason that when great sums of money come from thence the exchange of money to Patna in one day doth sometimes fall 2 and half to 3 p.c.

In 1678 the Kasimbazar factors reported that ‘exchange to Agra is much fallen from 99 to 96 the 100 (i.e. the rate of exchange has fallen from Rs. 99 to 96 per 100 rupees) and leave came to the Gujarat merchants to draw thither which makes us fear our silver will not sell so soon as otherwise it might have done’.12 The next year they wrote that ‘rise in the exchange caused abatement’ in the price of silver.13 TIME SCHEDULE The hundi itself specified whether it was to be payable on sight, or payable at the end of a particular period after its presentation to the drawee. It is very probable that the payment schedule

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varied broadly considering the distance. A few examples14 will suffice to establish the point. A bill drawn on Cambay (in western India) to Allahabad (in northern India) was payable ‘two-and-ahalf double days’ (i.e. 5 days) after sight. A bill drawn on Surat from Burhanpur (central India) was described as payable ‘four double days as per custom’. Another bill from Allahabad upon Surat was ‘payable four double days accustomed’. Thus it can be assumed that hundis between these towns were usually payable eight days after sight. It took a messenger less than nine days to convey letters from Ahmedabad to Surat. So it can be further assumed that the discount/premium on the bill between these two places had to allow for interest for about 17 days. Between Agra and Patna, the specified period was 40 or 45 days, and allowing eleven days for fast messengers to cover the distance, it would mean interest to be calculated for 51 or 56 days. However, for longer distances, the period might have been for 60 days or more. Tavernier15 states that 60 days were customary for payment of bills from inland towns to Surat. And as the bills from towns in eastern India such as Dhaka, Patna, Benaras, etc., were to be drawn first upon Agra, and then only upon Surat, and taking into consideration that it took a messenger to traverse the distance in about 34 days, the discount/premium must have had to allow for interest of a period of more than 90 days.16 OBLIGATIONS We have already mentioned that Sujan Rai Bhandari stated that hundis were transferable instruments. An ‘established customary law’ appears to have governed the obligations of the different parties involved. If the drawee refused to pay, then hundi was returned to the drawer, and the latter had to pay 5 per cent over and above the value of the hundi.17 It appears from English Company’s records that the drawee, too, was held liable, until the drawer paid up, and even after that the drawee might be called upon to pay 1 per cent of the value of the hundi. It is quite significant that where the hundi had passed through many hands, the person who presented the hundi to the drawee could

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on the latter’s refusal to pay, demand its value from the person who had sold it to him; and so, up the chain, the principal could ultimately be claimed from the drawer.18 The English reports also mentioned that this custom of the country is quite different from others since elsewhere, e.g. in England, a person who had once sold a bill was no longer under any obligation to pay anything if it was not honoured.19 Thus it becomes apparent that a hundi, which had been discounted by merchants of credit, could be confidently purchased in the knowledge that in the event of the drawee’s failure, the amount of the principal could be claimed from those who had discounted it earlier. Moreover the negotiability of the hundis led to a situation in which a large number of hundis were simply drawn and honoured against other hundis without the intermediation of actual cash payments. The simplest case is represented by the drawing of a hundi to meet another which was due. One hundi may then be exchanged for another. It is also probable that during the seventeenth century, the system of book-settlement of hundis already existed, so that the hundis served as alternative means of payment. If then, the hundis or bills served as alternative currency, it was simply a voluntary process, arising out of commercial convenience. But how far the hundis substituted for coins, or contributed to the money in circulation, can hardly be answered. But comparing the situation in contemporary England, Irfan Habib holds that towards the end of the seventeenth century, according to the estimate of Davenent, the assignable instrument in circulation in England totalled 15 million and exceeded the coinage in the proportion of 5 to 4. No such estimate is available for India. However, as Habib thinks, ‘there is little reason to believe that at that time the hundi was any less used in Indian commercial transactions than bills in England’.20 That the hundis were quite popular and widely used for remittances is clear from Tavernier’s observation, perhaps with some exaggeration, that ‘in India a village must be very small indeed, if it has not a money-changer, called a shroff who acts as banker to make remittances of money and issue letters of exchange’.21

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However, the transfer of very large sums of money by hundis attest to the vast volume of money carried by hundis, for obviously a single large transaction in one direction did not only imply a converse transaction in the other, but generally speaking, a stream of such transactions. The record relating to large transfers and remittances by the English Company is very impressive as has been shown by Irfan Habib as well as the present author.22 The French traveller Tavernier mentioned that hundis or letters of exchange on Agra could be given from Surat, Dhaka, Patna, and Benares, etc. So it can be assumed that there were many shroffs/bankers with their kuthis (agency houses/branches) at Agra, and also at other places. This is the implication, too, of bills/hundis being drawn on Surat from (besides Agra) Lahore, Ahmedabad, Burhanpur, Golconda and other places. The shroffs/ merchant-bankers must have had kuthis at Surat as well as at other places.23 Some shroffs had branches closer together as well. In 1717 Keshav Rai Kishanchand, whose headquarters seem to have been at Agra, discounted Surman Embassy’s (official embassy of the English Company to the Mughal emperor) bills of exchange on Calcutta through his factors at Delhi, Kora and Allahabad to the total sum of Rs. 59,000.24 It is not only the merchants and shroffs that remitted large sums of money through hundis, but the administration as well as the nobles did the same. It is reported that the entire tribute of Golconda amounting to Rs. 1 million was sent to the Mughals by hundis drawn on Aurangabad. Similarly, the Mughal nobles also sent vast amount by bills. Thus we find a Mughal noble, Muqarrab Khan, delivered Rs. 0.3 million to the shroffs at Patna to be paid to him in Agra. In 1706, another noble Sultan Ghakkar, an important chief in the Punjab, remitted Rs. 50,000, being part of his tribute to the imperial camp in the Deccan by hundis. But the most important evidence of the capacity of hundis to remit vast sums of money is provided by the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb who ordered Prince Azim-us-Shan, the subadar (governor) of Bengal suba, that the accumulated wealth of Bengal and Bihar to the tune of Rs. 8 or 10 million be transported to the imperial

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camp in the Deccan, because he was apprehensive that remitting the money through hundis would have involved much delay.25 THE ARMENIAN PRACTICE AND BENGAL As the Armenians were one of the important groups of foreign traders in Bengal right from early seventeenth century, if not earlier, and as they usually followed the indigenous practices of trade, it will be interesting to examine how they perceived and took the advantage of hundis for their commercial activities. We have already mentioned earlier that in the Indian usage they used the term hundi while in New Julfa it was known as avak. It is significant that they resorted to hundis in their transactions not only in New Julfa but also in Astrakhan.26 To the Armenians, hundi or avak was a system of credit and money transfer. In this context, it will be instructive to consider the differences and/or similarities, if any, between the Indian and Armenian practices. In the Armenian usage, the whole amount and its half were mentioned in the bill of exchange in order to avoid any misunderstanding or tampering. The place where the payment was to be made and the time schedule were also stated in the bill. It is known from extant bills of exchange that in almost all the documents drawn in Isfahan which were to be repaid at different places in Bengal, the payment period was five months. For hundis between Dhaka and Calcutta, it was 15 days while it was 61 days between Basra and Madras. The same was the time schedule between Basra and Isfahan, from Amsterdam to Basra via Venice it was seven months, while it was 105 days between Moscow and Amsterdam. Thus it seems that when fixing the payment schedule, the distance, the state of the routes and means of transportation were taken into consideration. It is known from the bills of exchange preserved in New Julfa and in the Lansdowne Collection of the British Library that there were a number of cases where the loan-payer/drawee refused to pay the money stipulated in the hundi. In such cases the procedure was that the loan-demander sent the creditor a document about the loan-payer’s refusal to repay the debt, attested

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by witnesses (Armenian merchants as a rule). According to this document, the loan-taker or his family, by the order of the selfadministrative bodies of New Julfa, had to repay the loan-giver the claimed sum. Quite a few such cases are found in the records. In an extant document from Bengal, one certain Hovhannes, son of Emniaz, wrote in 1744 from Saidabad in Bengal that the loanpayer had presented a bill of Rs. 220 to Paron Petros who was to repay the loan but the latter refused to pay. The letter was attested by three merchants from the Armenian jamat (community of merchants) of Saidabad. The rate of fine for delay in paying the promised sum beyond the stipulated period in the hundi is also mentioned in the documents. It appears that in general the fine ranged between 6 and 12 per cent. In all probability, it was the lowest when all the parties of the contract belonged to or were economically associated with the same Armenian trading company. This is implied by the fact that in a number of bills of exchange it was mentioned that the loan should be paid ‘out of the money belonging to our company’. In the Armenian usage, the hundi was often used as an instrument of credit. New Julfan ladies took loans to meet their household expenses but transmitted the responsibility for the loan to their husbands or other male members of the family who were abroad. In such cases, however, the rate of interest was usually as high as 0.75 per cent per month or 9 per cent per annum. An example for this comes from that of a lady in New Julfa, named Anam, mother of Shahamir Shahamirean, a prominent figure of the Armenian liberation movement of the eighteenth century, had borrowed Rs. 85,521 in 1747 from different merchants for a period of five months. It was stipulated in the hundi that the loan was to be repaid by her husband Sultanum in Bengal or wherever he happened to be. In the Armenian tradition, the hundi could be transferred to a third party by a special warrant. The transfer operation was considerably simplified in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries by a new, more flexible, type of bill of exchange (endorsement). Here a note on the bill of exchange about transmitting the right to receive the loan to another person, made by the

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loan-demander sufficed, and no special document was needed any longer. There is documentary evidence that the practice of endorsing bills was also practiced by the Armenian merchants. Thus according to a note made on a bill of exchange in 1679 in Calcutta by a certain Moscov, the loan-demander, the sum of the bill was to be received by Paron Hovhannes. It can be reasonably assumed, though not too many examples have been found as yet of such endorsements, that endorsement was widely used in the Armenian milieu. Thus we find, from the above discussion, there were quite a few similarities as well as some differences between the Indian and the Armenian practices regarding the hundis. THE BENGAL MILIEU As we said at the very outset that the credit machinery and financial institutions were well organized and highly developed in Bengal in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, there is little doubt that hundis played a significant role in the commercial life of the province. The Armenians were one of the major foreign groups of traders who were very active in Bengal trade even before the arrival of the Europeans. As they were quite familiar with the indigenous mechanism of trade and well-acquainted with hundis which were widely in use in New Julfa, it is no wonder that they availed of this instrument in their numerous transactions in the province, some indications of which we saw in the earlier section. They even accepted bills of exchange on the Company in London for goods supplied in Bengal. Thus one of the most prominent Armenian merchants of Calcutta, Khoja Surhaud Israel, in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century, received three bills of exchange on the Company in London for 1,356 Pounds Sterling against Rs. 7,000 worth of goods supplied by him.27 As a matter of fact it was a practice for long in Bengal that Asian merchants from various places came to Bengal for procuring export goods with cash or bill of exchange which is borne out by the observations of many Company officials who lived in Bengal in the 1750s and 1760s, prominent among them being Luke Scrafton who wrote in 1757:28

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Till of late years (referring mainly to the period prior to 1757) inconceivable numbers of merchants from all parts of Asia in general, as well as from the rest of Hindostan in particular, sometimes in bodies of thousands at a time, were used annually to resort to Bengal with little else than ready money or bills to purchase the products of these provinces.

We are fortunate that Edmund Herzig came across in the British Library a hundi from Saidabad, an Armenian colony in Murshidabad, which is written in both Gujarati and Armenian. It will be interesting to have a look at it:29 In the name of God Saidabad: I, Grigor’s son Yohannes received from sarraf Mearam Dearam four thousand and seventy mint rupees, half of which is 2,035 rupees. I gave this hundi, which God-willing will go to Calcutta, and on three days usance after its arrival the late Khojamal’s son Sahib Khachik Aga or the late Manuel’s son Paron Estepan will give the above sum of 4070 rupees, 28 in current mint rupees to Puri Mal Devchand. 15th Nirhan (11th March), 1746, Saidabad. Verso: The amount of this hundi is correct and accepted by us, Khojamal’s son Khachik and Manuel’s son Estepan. 17th Nirhan 1746, Calcutta.

It should be noted in this context that there are quite a few of such hundis in the Lansdowne Collection of the British Library.30 Needless to say that the European Companies who suffered from chronic shortage of working capital had to resort to hundis for their commercial operations. What they usually did was to take money from bankers and shroffs in prominent towns and send the money to their different factories in smaller places. The main creditor of the Companies was the house of the Jagat Seth, the greatest banker of the then known world as attested by several foreign travellers, and especially all the Directors of the Dutch Company in Bengal. As the Seths had their kuthis in all the important trade marts all over India, and even in the Red Sea and Persian Gulf regions, the bills issued by the house were welcome everywhere. As a matter of fact, the house was like a banker to the Bengal government from around the 1720s to 1770s, as reported by Luke Scrafton.31 To give just

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one instance of how rich the house was and how much it was involved in issuing bills of exchange/hundis, it can be mentioned that in a raid on Murshidabad by the Maratha army in 1742, a sum of Rs. 20 million was looted from the house of the Seths. The translator of the near-contemporaneous Persian chronicle, Seir-ul-Mutaqherin, was struck by the remarkable fact that ‘so amazing a loss which would distress any monarch in Europe, affected him so little, that he (Jagat Seth) continued to give government bills of exchange at sight of full one crore (10 million) at a time’.32 It was this house which sent the Bengal revenues on behalf of the Bengal nawabs (rulers) to the Mughal emperors from around early 1730s to early 1740s amounting to Rs. 1.3 million every year by hundis on its kuthis in Delhi/Agra.33 It was not only in Bengal that the Company took recourse to hundis to finance its trade in smaller factories, it also used this instrument to finance its commerce in different parts of India. The hundis were often drawn on the merchants in Murshidabad to transact the Company’s business at Surat which will be apparent from the following letter:34 Our customary method of supply has been by the bills drawn in favour of the Surat factory by the Moorshidabad merchants . . . we cannot suppose that with all our endeavours we shall be able to raise drafts to near the sum (13 lakcs – 1.3 million of sicca rupees) they require.

In the 1760s, even the English Council at Bombay asked for a loan from the merchants in Murshidabad which was to be sent there by hundi. We can have a rough estimate of the amount usually asked for as loans from Murshidabad to be sent by hundis from the following excerpt: ‘In one year the amount of draft on us (at Murshidabad) for the sums from Bombay and Surat exceeded 4 lacs (0.4 million) of rupees and seldom has it equalled 3 lacs.’35 As we have mentioned earlier, the house of Jagat Seth whose headquarter was at Murshidabad, stood as a colossus in the world of commerce and finance in India, and it was this house which provided maximum facilities for hundis till 1765. Up to 1765 we find bills of exchange drawn for the Company’s investment in favour of the house of Jagat Seth. A sum of Rs. 1 lakh

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was drawn in Dhaka for the purpose of investment. Again three hundis, one for Rs. 500,000 and two for Rs 100,000 were drawn in the year 1765. But after the acquisition of diwani (the right to collect revenue) by the Company in 1765, the house began to lose its importance in the financial world of Bengal. This is demonstrated by the fact that in 1767, the Company asked the Seths to issue hundis for Rs. 0.5 million on the Surat merchants but the latter expressed their inability to comply with the request as they had stopped business at Surat and had no agent or kuthi there.36 So it can be said in conclusion that the instrument of hundis played a very significant role in the commercial life of India, especially in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. As it has been shown in the previous sections, there was no problem in remitting money from one place to another, however distant it might have been. At the same time, the hundis also provided the facility for credit not only in India but also in the Armenian usage. It is also to be noted that it was because of the hundis that the European Companies found it much easier to trade in different parts of India even though they suffered from a chronic shortage of working capital. And needless to say, that all the groups of Asian merchants trading in India found the system of hundis very convenient for their trade and resorted to it extensively. The system was so perfected that the merchants, whether foreigners or Indians, did avail of the instrument without any hesitation or doubt about the hundis being honoured. They were absolutely certain that even if the hundi was not honoured by the shroff/ banker on whom it was drawn, which was very unusal, they knew that the drawer would return the money without much acrimony. So even if the traders had no ready money, there was no problem – the instrument of hundi came to their rescue, and they could go ahead with their commercial pursuits. SUMMARY The main objective of the paper is to demonstrate how significant was the role of the hundis in the commercial life of India/

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Bengal in early modern India. As India/Bengal was one of the most important theatres of international trade in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, traders from various parts of the world including Europe thronged there in search of export commodities. While the Asians procured mainly textiles and raw silk from Bengal, the Europeans exported, besides these two commodities, saltpetre too. But as Bengal was self-sufficient and as the balance of trade was highly in favour of Bengal, there was only a demand for silver or cash in the province, and nothing else was accepted in exchange for the export commodities. As a result, the traders, whether Europeans or Asians, had to bring in silver/cash for procuring Bengal commodities. But as the commodities had to be procured from different centres in the country, the traders had to transmit money/cash, sometimes very large amount, from one place to another. But given the risk involved in transporting cash, the traders, both Europeans and Asians, availed universally of the system of hundi which was in vogue in India from a very early time, as is apparent from the observation of Abul Fazl, the sixteenth century Mughal historian. In fact, the political instability and chaos in late seventeenth and early eighteenth century India helped strengthen the ties between distant credit markets through the hundis. The merchant networks provided channels and trust for the hundis used for financing trade and remittances of tribute and revenue by regional authorities. The hundis were issued mainly by a specialized category of merchants, known as shroffs (money-changers) or merchant-bankers. The paper has explained the different characteristics of hundi – the rates of exchange, time schedule, obligations, the fines in case the drawee failed to make the payment on schedule, the measures to be followed if the drawee refused to make the payment, which was however very rare. It also shows that the hundis could be drawn from any place to another, irrespective of the distance involved. It first examines the Mughal practice regarding the hundi, then tries to compare it with the Armenian usage as it was resorted to by them extensively in New Julfa as well as in India, and finally it explains the working of the instrument in the Bengal milieu.

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NOTES 1. Murshidabad was the capital of Bengal for most part of the eighteenth century. It was also a great centre of silk and textile production and trade. 2. Kasimbazar, a suburb of Murshidabad, was the most important centre of raw silk and textile production and trade. 3. Hughli was the premier port of Bengal in the late sixteenth to mideighteenth century. 4. Patna was the most important centre of saltpetre production and trade; It was also a centre of textile production. 5. Sushanik Khachikian, ‘The Bill of Exchange in the Milieu of New Julfan Armenian Merchants’, paper presented at the International Seminar on ‘Armenians in Asian Trade, 1600-1800’, MSH, Paris, 1998. 6. For the house of Jagat Seth, see, Sushil Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline: Bengal in the Eighteenth Century, New Delhi 1995, pp. 10916; idem, The Prelude to Empire: Plassey Revolution of 1757, New Delhi, 2000, pp. 117, 123. 7. Abul Fazl, Akbarnama, Bib. Indica, vol. III, p. 762, quoted in Habib, ‘The System of Bills of Exchange’, p. 290. 8. Sujan Rai Bhandari, Khulasatu-t Tawarikh, ed. Zafar Hasan, quoted in ibid., p. 291. 9. Tavernier, Travels in India, 1640-67, tr. V. Ball, ed. W. Crooke, London, 1925, p. 24. 10. W. Foster (ed.), English Factories in India, 1655-60, London, 1922, pp. 18-19. 11. British Museum Addl. Mss., 34123, f. 42a, British Library, London. 12. Factory Records, Kasimbazar, vol. 1, Diary, 17 August 1678, India Office Records (henceforth IOR), British Library, London. 13. Ibid. Diary, 29 September 1679. 14. All these examples are taken from Habib, ‘The System of Bills of Exchange’, passim. 15. Tavernier, Travels in India, vol. I, pp. 30-1. 16. Foster (ed.), English Factories in India, 1622-23, p.79. 17. Ibid., 1655-60, p. 363. 18. Ibid., 1622-23, pp. 110, 115-16. 19. Ibid., 1668-69, p. 177. 20. Habib, ‘The System of Bills of Exchange’, p. 300. 21 . Tavernier, Travels in India, vol. I, p. 24. 22 . Habib, ‘The System of Bills of Exchange’, p. 300; Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, pp. 47-91; idem, Trade and Commercial Organization in Bengal, 1650-1720, Calcutta, 1975, pp. 128-33. 23. Tavernier, Travels in India, vol. I, p. 30.

84 | Trade, Politics and Society 24. Irfan Habib, ‘Merchant Communities in Pre-Colonial India’, in James D. Tracy (ed.), The Rise of Merchant Empires, Cambridge 1990, pp. 371-99, at p. 391. 25. Habib, ‘The System of Bills of Exchange’, p. 301. 26. Most of the material in this section is taken from Khachikyan, ‘The Bill of Exchange’, passim. 27. Chaudhury, Trade and Commercial Organization in Bengal, p. 131. 28. Idem, ‘The Asian Merchants and Companies in Bengal’s Export Trade, Circa Mid-Eighteenth Century’, in idem/Michel Morineau (eds.), Merchants, Companies and Trade: Europe and Asia in the Early Modern Era, Cambridge, 1999, p. 316. 29. Edmund M. Herzig, ‘The Armenian Merchants of New Julfa, Isfahan’, D. Phil. thesis, University of Oxford, 1991. 30. Ibid.; Khachikian, ‘The Bill of Exchange’, passim. 31. Luke Scrafton to Robert Clive, 17 December 1757, Orme Mss., India XVIII, f. 5041, IOR. 32. Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, p. 114. 33. Ibid., pp. 114-15. 34. Quoted in Gautam Bhadra, ‘Social Groups and Relations in the Town of Murshidabad, 1765-1793’, Indian Historical Review, 1976, p. 316. 35. Ibid., p. 318. 36. Ibid., pp. 318-19.

chapter 4

Indo-Persian Relations through Traders in the Pre-Modern Era*

I shall try to analyse here how the merchants and traders of the two countries helped develop a close relation between India and Iran in the pre-modern era. In this context it may be noted that the relation between the two countries, as developed through these merchants and traders, is not that perceptible outwardly but as we shall proceed, we shall see how close the relation was through the activities of these merchant-traders. It may be mentioned at the very outset that the merchants and traders had always played a vital role in the dissemination of culture and civilization throughout the history of mankind. It is common knowledge that it was the Arab traders, and not the conquerors or rulers, who first brought Islam to India, especially to Sind and north-western India. That Islamization of several parts of South-East Asia was possible through the Arab traders is well established now, thanks to the works of the distinguished French historian, Denys Lombard. Before we dwell on our subject, it may be asked why was it that there was a close connection between Iran and India through merchants and traders in the pre-modern era. In this regard, it may be pointed out that Iran’s geographical position rendered this possible and inevitable. Iran occupied an intermediate position between two highly commercialized zones of the medieval world: the Levant in the west and the Mughal Empire in the east. Iran’s strategic location provided it with an opportunity not *Dr M. Ishaq Memorial Lecture, Iran Society, Calcutta, 2001, and later published in Indo-Iranica, Calcutta, vol. 54, nos. 1-4, 2001, pp. 22-32.

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only to spread its arms in opposite directions but also to act as a transit point for long-distance trade between Europe and the East. Raphael Du Mans, a seventeenth-century French Jesuit and a resident of Isfahan, summarized Iran’s unique geographical locale by calling it a caravansarai with two doors, one opening to the West and the other to the East.1 Iran’s location was buttressed by a complex network of primary and secondary trade routes which criss-crossed its vast plateau and linked a string of cities which served as entrepôts for regional and international trade between the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean. Of these several routes, the eastern one stretched to Central Asia via Mashhad and to the plains of northern India via Qandahar, and the southern left for the port cities of the Persian Gulf, Basra, Hormuz and Bandar Abbas. The French traveller, Tavernier, has offered the most detailed account of the six routes which he himself took, at one time or another, and other European merchants and travellers have documented the individual routes which they traversed in order to reach India via Iran.2 The choice of a particular route by merchants was dictated by the length of travelling time, safety and transaction costs. Though time was an important element, it was often subordinated in consideration of security and costs. For instance, the shortest land route between Isfahan and Agra, via Bhakkar and Ajmer, which took two months on horse back including compulsory halting-days, was least frequented by caravans because of the Thar desert, while the most preferred was the longest route via Qandahar, Kabul and Lahore which took double the time.3 The decline of long-distance trade through Hormuz from around 1610 onward occurred because of the Safavid offensive to regain Hormuz and the mounting pressure of a hostile Anglo-Dutch presence on Portuguese shipping.4 As a result the currents of trade turned from Hormuz to the caravan route linking Tabriz and Isfahan with Lahore and Agra via Mashhad and Qandahar. The annual traffic on this parallel and less expensive route, eclipsed earlier by the less cumbersome passage to Hormuz from Sind, Gujarat and the Deccan, reportedly grew four

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times in 1615 from the previous level. In his letter from Isfahan, Richard Steel (1615), mentioned the passing of 12,000-14,000 camel loads of merchandise from Lahore to Isfahan every year while, according to him, not more than 3,000 camels travelled on this route in times of peace.5 Robert Coverte (1610) who travelled with a caravan from Agra to Isfahan reported that ‘7 or 8 thousand camels’ carried merchandise from Qandahar alone.6 Regular movements of ships in the Persian Gulf appears to have resumed in the 1630s, and continued, with brief interruptions, throughout the seventeenth century. The settlement of the conflict over Hormuz and the rise of Bandar Abbas due to its convenient connection with the Iranian hinterland contributed to the successful renewal of this branch of Indian Ocean commerce.7 It seems the decision to fortify the customs house of Bandar Abbas was part of a comprehensive plan by the Safavids to harness its potentials in developing their overseas trade. At the same time, there were additional developments on the Indian side which contributed favourably to the expansion of the Persian Gulf trade. India was the biggest trading partner of Iran in this period and figures worked out from an inventory of Indian exports to Iran in the 1630s suggest that the total value of merchandise was over 32 metric tons of silver equivalent.8 Compared to the estimated value of merchandise brought to Hormuz at the turn of the seventeenth century (36 metric tons of silver), the share of India appears to be quite overwhelming (89 per cent). The movement of merchandise in Safavid Iran was of two types: the one in which goods produced in Iran were exported in two directions, to Ottoman Turkey and Europe in the West and to India in the East. The other type represented goods in transit, those moving in the long-distance network from India to the Levant for which Iran worked essentially as a redistributive centre. Of the goods in transit, the share of India was the largest. The value of the total imports from India, by land and sea, was estimated at around Rs. 2.83 million (32.23 metric tons of silver) in 1632 of which the contribution of the Mughal Empire was Rs. 1.56 million (17.76 metric tons of silver). A higher estimate

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of Rs. 2.3 to 3 million was arrived at by Shireen Moosvi.9 The most important merchandise from India comprised four major groups – textiles, indigo, sugar and spices. The major item of import to India from Iran was silver. For one reason or another, which we cannot explain here for shortage of space and time, a large portion of precious metals imported to Iran in exchange for its silver exported to the West, made its way to India and further east. Monetization which was an important aspect of Mughal economic development and state formation owed a great deal to India’s long-distance linkages with Iran and the manner in which Iran facilitated the transmission of bullion from Europe to India. Two merchant communities namely, the Armenians and Indians, both powerful and broadly comparable, played the most vital role in the Indo-Iranian long-distance trade. The Armenians were the most active in the export of silk to the West and the import of foreign bullion. Almost all European accounts testify to their enormous presence in the exchange of silk for silver. During periods of fiscal and monetary crises, it was customary to blame the Armenian merchants for creating the imbalance between the influx of money into Iran and its outflow to India.10 Indian merchants too had a powerful presence in Iran though not of the same order as the Armenians. There were two types of Indian merchants trading in Iran: those who were itinerant, notably the Khatris who were cloth merchants, and those who lived in Iran, notably the baniyas from Gujarat. There were at least 10,000-12,000 baniyas living in Isfahan alone, described as money-changers, bullion traders and bankers by Chardin, Tavernier and Du Mans.11 They lent money on interest against security, accepted deposit from the wealthy of the city, issued and discounted bills of exchange and changed money. Their business allowed them huge access to capital, both national and international, and they too, much like the Armenians, were derided for bleeding the country. Throughout the seventeenth- century Indian merchants were to be found in all the major cities of Iran namely, Bandar Abbas, Isfahan, Shiraz, Teheran, Tabrez, Kum, Mashhad, etc. From Iran, some of these merchants moved on to the trade centres in the Caucasus and to the Russian river port

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of Astrakhan on the mouth of the Volga where it falls in the Caspian Sea. The hostile situation following the Afghan occupation of Iran in 1722 could not deter the Indians to any appreciable extent. This was because the new Afghan rulers of Iran were aware of the importance of the Indians. The invading Afghan army was accompanied by Indian merchants who were to look after their financial interest and manage their economic affairs.12 Under the Afghan occupation and subsequently under Nadir Shah’s dispensation, the Russian support was an important factor in keeping Indian trade alive. The Russian government even entered into a treaty with the Persians which stipulated that Russians, Armenians and Indians residing in Russia be given free access to the Iranian territory for purpose of trade.13 The Indians based in Astrakhan were carrying on a lucrative trade with Iran. Even their agents were travelling to Iran. The Indians in Iran too reciprocated these visits. In February 1741 eighteen Indians left for Baku aboard two Russian ships owned by Russians.14 Some time the Indians carried goods on behalf of the Persian Shah. In April 1741 the Persian governor of Gilan forwarded the names of seventeen Indians along with a list of commodities they were carrying to the Russian Consul who sent it to the Russian ministry. Of these names, five have the prefix Marwari, one the prefix Lahori and five the suffix Multani.15 Contemporary Russian documents attest to the enhanced role of the Indians in the Perso-Russian trade. The Russian Consul informed the Foreign Ministry that eight Indian merchants were carrying goods on behalf of the Shah.16 The close ties of the Indians in Astrakhan with their compatriots residing in Iran is evident from the fact that in 1747, of the 45 Indians residing in Astrakhan, 32 had business connections with Iran. Many had relatives and friends, and incidentally almost all of them hailed from Multan or its neighbourhood.17 But from around the 1760s, a new group of Indian merchants came to the forefront. Indians residing in Iranian cities were joined in increasing numbers by their compatriots hailing from Shikarpur in Sindh. In fact, gradually the Shikarpuris emerged as the most active and

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visible group among the Indian traders in Afghanistan, Iran and Central Asia. The Shikarpuris had replaced the Multanis, and Indians were now generally identified as Shikarpuris. As India was by far the most important trading partner of Iran and as the Armenians were the most prominent group involved in the export of Iranian silk to Europe in exchange for silver, a great part of which ultimately found its way to India, it would be worthwhile to recapitulate the rise and growth of this community in Iran. This is also pertinent in view of the fact that the Armenians in India had always been a part of the entire New Julfa system. The emergence of Armenian trading network and diaspora in the seventeenth century was to some extent helped by the historical developments of the preceding century when the old Armenia fell a victim to Perso-Ottoman rivalry. In the early seventeenth century, the Persian emperor, Shah Abbas I, forcibly moved the professional Armenian merchants and artisans, and settled them in the new township of New Julfa in the suburb of Isfahan. The emperor’s main objective was to utilize the services and expertise of the Armenian entrepreneurs in transforming his newly-founded capital city of Isfahan into a major trade centre. The latter did not disappoint him. As they had the necessary capital and commercial network in Asia and Europe, the Armenians were able to develop ‘Persia’s foreign trade in raw silk, create new markets and products and expand the scope of trade routes’. And they ceaselessly contributed to Persia’s economic prosperity under the succeeding Shahs until the invasion of Persia by the Afghans in 1722 which dealt a severe blow to the Armenians of New Julfa, and after which many of the prominent Armenian merchants migrated to other countries.18 The Armenians who played a significant role in Indian economy and polity in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries had, most of them, a strong connection with their main centre at New Julfa.19 In Bengal, as in many other parts of India, they had many settlements. In Bengal, there were many important Armenian merchants and traders in their flourishing settlements in Saidabad (a suburb of Murshidabad) as also in Kasimbazar, Hughli, Dhaka, Malda, Patna, etc. The famous Armenian

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merchant, Khwaja Surhaud Israel, who was made a member of the Surman Embassy that was sent to the Mughal Emperor Farrukhsiyar by the English East India Company in 1714, was connected with one of the greatest merchant families of New Julfa, the Sharimans (or Surhaud?).20 One of the prominent Armenian traders in the Mughal Empire in the second half of the seventeenth century with close link with New Julfa was Khwaja Minhas who had collaborated closely with the Mughal nobility as also with some of the influential merchants of Surat.21 In this context one is reminded of the various exploits and business transactions of the famous Armenian merchant (made so by the ‘peddler thesis’ of the Danish historian, Niels Steensgaard22) in India and Tibet, Hovannes, who was himself a factor of one the wealthiest merchant families of New Julfa. Such illustrations of Armenian merchants, coming to India as factors of wealthy merchant families of New Julfa and through whom a regular contact was maintained between India and Iran, abound in contemporary sources.23 It was not only the Armenians of New Julfa that had a significant presence in various parts of India but even the Iranians, especially merchants and noblemen, maintained a regular connection with India where some of them settled and took active part in the political and economic life of the country. As a matter of fact, it is well known that Hughli, the premier port of Bengal in the seventeenth and early eighteenth century,24 became a haven for the Iranian Shi‘ites in the early eighteenth century, and that under the patronage of the Bengal nawab Murshid Quli Khan, it became an important colony of the Shi‘ites from Iran.25 Indeed the Persian migration into the Deccan can be traced back to the late fourteenth or early fifteenth century. Ahmed Shah Bahamani (r. 1422-35) himself was a disciple of the southern Iranian leader Shah Nehmatullah, and gave a place of considerable importance to the entrepreneur Khalaf Hasan Basri in his own entourage. Again, in the first half of the fifteenth century there was an extensive commercial contact between the ports of western Deccan and the Persian Gulf, mediated by the Kazaruni merchants, originating from a centre west of Shiraz.26 In the second half of

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the fifteenth century we come across at least one major figure in Deccani politics who was of a Persian origin namely, Mahmud Gawan Gilani, wazir of the Bahamani kingdom in the 1460s, and a central actor in the gradual process of Bahamani decline until his own death in 1481. He styled himself as malik-ut-tujjar or ‘the pride of merchants’ as Khalaf Hasan before him, stressing thereby his mercantile-cum-political role.27 Among the Iranians that migrated to India, the case of Mir Muhammad Sayyid Ardestani will be of great interest. Born in or around Isfahan in the early 1590s, he arrived in the Deccan at the age of about thirty, in the retinue of a horse-trader. Thereafter he proceeded to farm a diamond mine, and having made a financial success in this venture, bought into the fiscal administration of the Sultanate of Golconda. By the close of the 1630s, he had the title of sar-i-khail of the Golconda Sultanate. Finally in 1643 he was also appointed mir jumla and nawab of the southern conquests. In the decade after his appointment as mir-jumla, and until his defection to the Mughal service in the mid-1650s, Muhammad Sayyid curved out an unusually sizeable but not unique enterprise. Based in the interior fortress-town of Gandikota, he managed a substantial prebend, kept a close control over diamond production and trade in the area, and at the same time managed interests on the coast and overseas.28 To grasp the magnitude and diversity of his activities, it will be appropriate to see what two factors of the English Company wrote about him. They noted that he had of his own 4,000 horses, 300 elephants, 4,000 or 5,000 camels and 10,000 oxen, which transported his goods to the various parts of the Deccan, the Mughal empire as also to Pegu, Tenasserim, Achin, Maldives, Macassar, Mocha, Persia, etc. He had also ten vessels of his own and intended to build many more for his overseas trade.29 Thus in concluding remarks it may be pointed out that merchants and traders, both Indians and Armenians, residing whether in India, Iran or Astrakhan, kept alive a close relationship between India and Iran throughout the pre-modern era, despite all political upheavals in the two countries. In this context, the role of the Armenians of New Julfa in Iran and their

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diaspora network extending up to India can hardly be overestimated. It was they who, by exporting Iranian silk to the West and bringing in silver in exchange, helped the process of statebuilding in Safavid Iran. At the same time it was the Indian and Armenian merchants who were responsible for import of silver from Iran into India. This led to a greater monetization which was an important aspect of Mughal economic development and state formation as well. The Indian merchants in Iran combined wholesale trade with long-distance commerce with money lending, discounting of hundis, issuing of letters of credit, etc. Father Crusinky wrote: “The first Indians that dwelt in Persia, came from the city of Multan. They drive the principal trade in Isfahan, are great usurers and have almost all the money of the Capital in their hand.”30 A recent scholar has aptly summarized the role of the Indians in Iran during the period under review: The ability of Indians to accumulate capital from trade and money lending gave them a similar position in Iranian society to which a smaller number of their compatriots occupied in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century Astrakhan. They became bankers in a society that possessed no formal institutions that accumulated capital and extended credit. Indians in most of Iran’s major cities are known to have lent money to Iranian merchants; in Astrakhan it is virtually certain that most loans were given for this purpose.31

NOTES 1. Raphael Du Mans, Estat de la Perse en 1660, ed. C. Schefer, Paris, 1890, p. 192, quoted in Najaf Haider, ‘Global Networks of Exchange and the Mercantile Economy of Iran in the 16th and 17th Centuries’, Papers from the Aligarh Historians Society, Indian History Congress, 62nd Session, 28-30 December 2001. 2. Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, Travels in India, tr. V. Ball, London, 1889, 2 vols., vol. I, pp. 157-69. 3. Ibid., pp. 69-80. 4. Francisco Pelsaert, Jahangir’s India: The Remonstratie of Francisco Pelsaert, ed. W.H. Moreland and P. Geyl (Cambridge, 1925), pp. 39-40. 5. Richard Steel and John Crowther, ‘A Journal of the Journey of Richard Steel and John Crowther’, in Hakluyt’s Posthumous or Purchas His Pilgrimages, ed. Samuel Purchas, Hakluyt Society, London, 1905, vol. 4, pp. 268-69.

94 | Trade, Politics and Society 6. Robert Coverte, A True and Almost Incredible Report of an Englishman that . . . Travelled by Land through many Unknowne Kingdoms and Great Cities, Amsterdam, 1931, p. 74. 7. Niels Steensgaard, Carracks, Caravans and Companies: The Structural Crisis in the European-Asian Trade in the Early 17th Century, Copenhagen, 1972, pp. 398-462. 8. Bronnen tot de Geschiedenis der Oostindische Compagnie in Perzie, 1611-1638, ed. H. Dunlop, s’-Gravenhage, 1930, I, pp. 482-94. 9. Shireen Moosvi, Economy of the Mughal Empire, Delhi, 1988, p. 382. 10. Edmund Herzig, ‘The Rise of the Julfa Merchants in the late Sixteenth Century’, Safavid Persia, ed. Charles Melville, London, 1996, pp. 30717. 11. John Chardin, Voyages de Chevalier Chardin, 10 vols., ed. L. Langles, Paris, 1811, vol. VI, p. 164; Tavernier, Les Six Voyages, I, pp. 586-8, Quoted in Najaf Haider, ‘Global Networks of Exchanges’, op. cit. 12. Surendra Gopal, ‘Indians in Iran in the 18th Century’, paper presented at the International Conference on Economy, Culture and Social Changes in Medieval India, Aligarh, 5-7 January 2002, p. 1. 13. Ovchinnikov and Sidirov (compilers), Russko-Indiiskiye Otnosheniya v XVIII v (hereafter R-I.O. v XVIII v), Moskva, 1965, p. 170, cited in Surendra Gopal, op. cit. 14. R-I.O. v VIII v, Doc. no. 95, quoted in Surendra Gopal, op. cit. 15. Ibid., Doc. No. 98. 16. Ibid., Doc. Nos. 100 & 101, in Surendra Gopal, op. cit. 17. Ibid., Doc. No. 134, in Surendra Gopal, op. cit. 18. Vahe Baladouni and Margaret Makepeace, ed., Armenian Merchants of the Seventeenth and Early Eighteenth Century: English East India Company Sources, Philadelphia, 1998, Introduction. 19. That the Armenians of Bengal had links with New Julfa is evident from the fact that after the death of ‘Coja Avatook Cunnon and Coja Surhad Cunnon’, their brother, ‘Coja Turcawn Cunnon Armenian’ came to Bengal from New Julfa to claim the ‘effects’ from Khwaja Nazar Jacob of Calcutta, See, Bengal Public Consultations, Range 1, vol. 5, f. 451, 16 March 1732, India Office Library and Records, British Library, London. 20. Edmund Herzig, ‘The Armenian Commercial Documents in the Archivo Di Stato of Venice’, typed mss. 21. See, Shireen Moosvi, ‘Armenian Traders in the Mughal Empire’, paper presented in the International Conference on ‘Armenians in Asian Trade in the Pre-Modern Era’ held in Paris in 1998 and now edited by Sushil Chaudhury and Kéram Kévonian and published, MSH, Paris, 2009. 22. Niels Steensgaard, Carracks, Caravan and Companies, op. cit. 23. For Hovannes, See, Levon Khatchikiyan, ‘The Ledger of the Merchant

Indo-Persian Relations through Traders | 95 Hovannes Joughayetsi’, Journal of the Asiatic Society, 8, no. 3, Calcutta, 1966, pp. 153-86. 24. For Hughli, S. Chaudhury ‘The Rise and Decline of Hughli’, Bengal Past and Present, 86 (1967), pp. 33-67. 25. Sir J.N. Sarkar, ed., History of Bengal, vol. II, Dhaka, 1948. 26. Jean Aubin, ‘Marchands de Mer Rouge et du Golfe Persiqueau Tournant des 15e et 16e Siecles’, in Denys Lombard and Jean Aubin, eds., Marchands et hommes d’affaires asiatiques dans le Ocean Indien et la Mer de Chine, 13e-20e siecles, Paris, 1988, pp. 83-90. 27. Sanjay Subrahmanyam and C.A. Bayly, ‘Portfolio Capitalists and the Political Economy of Early Modern India’, in Sanjay Subrahmanyam, ed., Merchants, Markets and the State in Early Modern India, Delhi, 1990, pp. 249-50. 28. Jagadish Narayan Sarkar, The Life of Mir Jumla, 2nd edn., New Delhi, 1986; H.K. Sherwani, History of the Qutb Shahi Dynasty, New Delhi, 1974, pp. 441-2. 29. Walter Littleton and Venkata Brahman at Fort St. George to the Company, 17 January 1651 in William Foster, ed., The English Factories in India, 1651-54, Oxford, 1915, pp. 12-13. 30. Father Krusinki, The History of the Late Revolutions of Persia, vol. II, London, 1834, p. 197. 31. Stephen Frederic Dale, Indian Merchants and Eurasian Trade, 16001750, Delhi, 1994, pp. 74-5.

chapter 5

Multiple Currencies and their Complementary Relationship The Indian Scenario: Early Modern Era*

An attempt has been made in this paper to show that, though multiple currencies were used simultaneously in many parts of early modern India, especially before the Colonial rule, there existed a complimentary relationship among different varieties of currencies, and as such there was hardly any confusion or chaos in the monetary system. It worked quite smoothly because of the indigenous system of money-changing (there were numerous shroffs (money-changers) in most parts of the country) and long-distance credit, known as hundi (bill of exchange), facilitating the smooth functioning of the monetary system. That there was no chaos is evident from the fact that none of the contemporaries, whether merchants/bankers (led by the Jagat Seths who were the greatest bankers of the then world, as attested by the English and Dutch Company officials), or primary producers, or even foreigners, ever referred to any chaos, unlike the case in China1 or some other countries. It was only after the English East India Company gained complete mastery over Bengal politics and economy following the British conquest of Bengal in 1757 that one hears about the chaos and confusion in the monetary system resulting from multiplicity of currencies in the country. *This is a revised and expanded version of the paper presented in the presession of World Economic History Congress, Tokyo, March 2009 and the final session in Utrecht, Netherlands, August 2009. Later published in The Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, vol. 56 (Diamond Jubilee Volume), nos. 1-2, 2011, pp. 361-80.

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Though the paper is concerned with the scenario in early modern India, I shall concentrate mainly on the situation in Bengal which was one of the most prosperous subas (provinces) of the erstwhile Mughal Empire. Indeed, Bengal was the most important centre of international trade in India in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and as a consequence, a repository of currencies and bullion from different parts of India and abroad. Thus Bengal is an ideal region for a comprehensive study of the subject under review. For the convenience of analysis, I shall discuss the problem in five sections. The first will be devoted to a survey of the monetary system of the Great Mughals who could well boast of one of the finest coined currencies in the contemporary world. As the Mughal system formed the basis later of the coinage in Bengal under the nawabs (1704-65) and then the early colonial period, it will be useful to have a close look at it. Here it will be shown how the trimetallic currencies of the Mughals, with the silver rupee as the basic coin, worked without much problem till the early eighteenth century. The second section will examine the scenario in Bengal in the pre-colonial era when despite prevalence of multiple currencies, the monetary system did not witness much chaos or confusion, and everything worked well with complementary relationship among various currencies. The third will be concerned with the chaos and confusion under the early colonial period as reported by the Company administration, and how the latter tried to cope with the situation and with what success. The next section will deal with the question of ‘humble monies’ like copper coins, cowries, etc., which were used for small transactions, and try to find out the complementary relationship between them, and currencies of higher value like gold and silver. In the last section some tentative conclusions will be drawn on the basis of earlier analyses. I The currency system of the Great Mughals (1575-1707), who had developed one of the finest coined currencies in the then

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world, was based on a trimetallic currency of great uniformity and purity. They coined gold, silver and copper. Though it was the Pathan king Sher Shah (ruled for just five years from 1540 to 1545 in between the Great Mughals) who laid the foundation of the currency system, it was only firmly established under the Great Mughal emperor Akbar (1556-1605). It was indeed a notable achievement of the Mughals that they were able to establish a currency of high metallic standard and uniformity throughout their vast empire. During the height of its power the Mughal state had maintained an effective and a centralized monetary system throughout its areas of control. The Mughal currency system was one of ‘free’ coinage, i.e. the mint was open to anyone where one could take the bullion/coins and get them converted into specie. As a result the coins circulated at values practically corresponding to their weights in the respective metals, and the ratios at which one unit exchanged for another of a different metal was a matter to be determined by the market, and not the administration.2 The Mughal state was ‘an insatiable Leviathan’, and its economy was characterized by an unlimited appetite for resources.3 The multi-faceted economic activities under the Mughals created considerable demand for money. One of the remarkable features of Mughal India was the growth of market towns and cities, and of trade, both inland and foreign. In the northern plains which formed the core of the Mughal empire, there grew up urban centres (which developed either as markets for particular commodities or as administrative centres) which could rival their counterparts in contemporary Europe.4 The expansion of local, inter-regional and foreign trade during the Mughal era resulted in raising the level of market demand to a considerable extent. And the high degree of centralization during the Mughal rule had a broad financial and monetary base which was strengthened by a long tradition of banking and commercial exchange.5 At the same time there emerged under the Mughals ‘a prosperous and enterprising commercial community responsible for the distribution and marketing of both the products of agriculture as well as industrial handicrafts’.6

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It is now widely believed that there was considerable monetization in India during the Mughal period, and the growth of money economy was greatly fostered by the revenue policy of the Mughals which insisted on payment of revenue in cash rather than in kind as in previous regimes. And this clearly indicates that the cash nexus was established by the Mughals. The theory that the Mughal economy was based on village self-sufficiency and had little use of money has now been discarded.7 With the import of silver from Europe in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the supply of money in the market was rising, and equilibrium between demand for money and its supply was on the whole maintained during the Mughal period. It has now been argued that unlike the contemporary rulers in Ming China, the Mughals did not collect, store and disburse large amounts of food grains, and that they demanded land tax in money terms. And it’s a fact that the expanding imperial land tax acted as a constant stimulus to market activity. Further, the demand of the state for a large share of the production increased the demand for money and the system encouraged all the parties involved in the process to support and facilitate the conversion of agricultural products into money.8 In the trimetallic system of the Mughals, rupaya or rupee (the silver coin) was the basic coin, weighing 178 grains troy in which the alloy was never allowed to rise above 4 per cent. The rupee became the principal currency for commercial taxation and tax payment while the gold coin of the Mughals, called muhr or ashrafi of 169 grains troy and practically of unalloyed metal was mainly used for hoarding. Finally, the Mughals had a copper coin, called dam of 323 grains, which was used for small transactions. The Mughal coins were issued from a large number of mints throughout the empire. As the mints were free, anyone could coin money by paying a very nominal charge. The total charges for minting and seigniorage amounted to about 1.6 per cent of the total value of the coins minted. The Mughal coins were subject to certain discounts on the basis of age. Each coin bore the name of the mint and the year of issue. The newlyminted coins, having coined in the current or previous year,

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enjoyed the full value. The ordinary coins current were naturally older coins and hence suffered a small discount but the coins minted in the previous reign were subject to a larger discount. However, the total amount of discount did not exceed the minting cost and seigniorage.9 It seems that the problem of wear and tear of a coin through use was tackled ingeniously by a complex system of equivalence based on a varying degree of premium being enjoyed by a new coin over older issues. The sicca rupee, as we have seen, defined as a coin minted in the current or previous year, enjoyed such a premium over all older issues which routinely carried the year of issue on them. The rate of this premium was controlled for all practical purposes by highly professional and experienced money dealers known as shroffs. Once the premium enjoyed by a new coin over an older issue exceeded the threshold level, the older coin would simply be brought to the mint for recoinage. This will be encouraged by the government in so far as its income from seigniorage would go up.10 As the coinage was free, the value of the three metallic coins of gold, silver and copper fluctuated in relation to each other accordingly as the values of gold, silver and copper changed from time to time. After Akbar’s death (1605), the standard ratio of 40 dams to a rupee could not be maintained as the price of copper appreciated in value. This led to the conversion of the dam of official accounts into a mere notional fractional unit of the rupee, having no real relation to the dam-coin. The fractional pieces of the rupee now came to be based on the small silver pieces, ana, which was one-sixteenth of the rupee. It seems that by 1600 the rupee attained a dominant position in the Mughal empire which was only challenged in Gujarat (a province of the Mughal empire) where in several ports the mahmudi, the old coin of the Gujarat Sultanate, now minted by one or two chiefs, continued to be used side-by-side with the rupee. Though the copper coins were used generally for small transactions, cowries imported from the Maldives formed a popular uncoined currency for still smaller payments. It was in Bengal and Orissa where cowries were most commonly used. Usually 2,500 cow-

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ries went to a rupee though the rate often fluctuated depending on the import from the Maldives. It is interesting to note that in Gujarat imported almonds were used for small transactions.11 An essential feature of the Mughal monetary system was that in case of large transactions the deal was usually done by credit money which in the Indian usage was termed as hundi or hundawi whereas the Armenians who used this instrument widely as a system of crediting and money transfer called this avak in the New Julfan documents, and as barat in the Law book of the Armenian colony of Astrakhan, and as hndvi/hundi among the Armenian merchants trading in India.12 In fact, the credit money arose out of the development of a brisk use of the negotiable bills of exchange. As the commodities for trade had to be procured from different parts of the country, the traders, whether Europeans or Asians, had to transmit money, often a large amount, from one place to another. But given the risk in transporting cash, they universally availed of the system of hundi which was in vogue in India from a very early time, as is apparent from the observation of Abul Fazl, the sixteenth century Mughal historian. As a matter of fact, the political instability and chaos in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century in India helped strengthen the ties between distant credit markets through the hundis. In long-distance trade the system of hundis not only met the requirements of an expanding demand for credit but reduced the risks involved in sending cash to a distant place by qafilas (caravan) of bullock-carts. In the seventeenth century the land revenue from Bengal was carried to Agra by qafilas but from around the 1730s till the mid-1740s, the House of Jagat Seth, the greatest banker of the world,13 transferred every year the surplus revenue of Bengal amounting to Rs. 1.3 million for payment to the Mughal emperor by hundis on its agents in Delhi and Agra. The merchant networks provided channels and trust through the hundis used for financing trade and remittances of tribute and revenue by regional authorities. The hundis were issued mainly by a specialized category of merchants known as shroffs (money-changers) or merchant-bankers. The shroffs had to be paid a charge for the transfer of cash. The hundis clearly indicate

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the rates of exchange, the time schedule, rights and obligations of the drawer and the drawee, etc.14 Thus such paper money substituted for coins to a considerable extent for large transactions in early modern India.15 At the same time the fact that the shroffs also accepted deposits at interest16 naturally points to the development of credit money that existed only in their books. It is also known that the bankers accepted ‘accommodation bills’ from the drawers and entered the amounts in their books at interest. Though they permitted the bills to be transferred, they did not give the holders the right to enforce cash payment. Thus a large amount of book money could be created without any backing in coin or bullion but only on the strength of the general credit enjoyed by the shroffs.17 The Mughal currency system was thus a well organized structure. The entire system was highly centralized with the Mughal emperor at the top and the imperial machinery controlling the whole system without almost any variation at any local level. It ensured a fairly steady supply of currency which was adequate to meet the demand of both domestic consumption as well as that of expanding trade. It has been aptly said that ‘the Mughal currency had currency’.18 But the system worked extremely well only as long as the Mughal emperor at the top exercised real authority as it was only appropriate to an absolutist centralized state. Uniformity, standardized issues, centralized control, strong and deep coin issues characterized the Mughal currency system. There is contemporary evidence that Mughal imperial currency circulated freely and uniformly from Kabul in the west to Dhaka in the east, and from Surat in the west to Madras in the south. However, the near contemporaneous Maratha system in western India was rather a little different inasmuch as individuals used different coins for different transactions, and the coin used was often specific to the locality or region which was appropriate to a decentralized state.19 But things changed, as we shall see later, with the disintegration of the Mughal empire from around the early eighteenth century, and the English East India Company found the Indian currency system utterly confusing after it conquered Bengal in 1757.

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The most notable fact that emerges from a study of the Mughal currency system is that there was absolutely no confusion or chaos in the money market though multiple currencies – not only coins of silver with minting dates of different years but also copper coins and cowries for small transactions – were widely used during the period. This is in sharp contrast to the case in China20 or some other countries. This was probably due to the fact that, as we have explained earlier, a complementary relationship prevailed among the different varieties of currencies. The indigenous system of money-changing and long-distance credit, hundi, facilitated the smooth functioning of the currency system under the Great Mughals. Free coinage in the mint also helped to a great extent. The fact that the merchant-bankers, shroffs, and others could very well take their bullion or coins to the mint and convert them into the particular kind they wanted was the key to the complementary relationship among monies in the period under review. In this context it is important to point out that the territories in the south, outside the pale of the Mughal imperial authority, were on a gold standard in contrast to the silver standard of the Mughals. The Muslim and Hindu states of the south had a far more decentralized mints as opposed to the tightly-administered imperial mints. In the former, seignorage costs were lower, but coin types proliferated and the quality of issues fluctuated widely. However, the Mughal conquest of most of the southern states in the 1680s pushed the zone of imperial mints and silver currency deep into the south.21 Similarly, it will be useful for our purpose to have a look at the currency system of the Marathas, the successors to the Mughals. There were significant differences between the Mughal imperial system and that established by the rebels who successfully challenged that empire. The qualities attributed to the Mughal system that we have noticed earlier – consistent high-quality, standardized coinages, trimetallic coinage resting upon the silver rupee, centralized control of production, high velocity and widely circulating issues – are conspicuous by their absence in the Maratha system. The new order relied upon far more intricate, convoluted and balanced

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relationships between the state, ‘moneyers’ (people who make money by minting), bankers and other groups in the local economy. Maratha coinage and monetary policy, in common with the Maratha polity, although less directly ordered by the state, was in the end perhaps more resilient and certainly deeper rooted in indigenous institutions than that of the Mughal empire.22 So it appears that while the Mughal currency system was unitary in that all segments of society used the standard Mughal copper and silver issues, the Maratha system was diverse in that individuals used different coins for different transactions, and was often specific to the locality or region – a system appropriate to a largely decentralized state unlike the Mughal system which was an absolutist centralized state. II Now let us have a look at the scenario in Bengal which was the most prosperous province of the Mughal empire. From around the mid-seventeenth century to mid-eighteenth century Bengal was the chief trading partner of the European Companies, especially of the two most important ones which dominated the Indo-European trade during the said period. And it was because of Europe’s inability to supply goods which could be sold in India in reasonably large quantity at competitive terms, most of the imports from Europe by the Companies to purchase export commodities from India/Bengal – mainly textiles, raw silk and saltpetre besides opium and indigo – consisted of treasure in the form of silver and gold bullion, and coins of various denominations and origins. Important among silver coins were reals of various origins (Spanish, Seville, and Mexican), dollars of various kinds and ducats. Among the gold coins imported was the oval-shaped koban which the VOC (Dutch Company) imported in fairly significant quantities, particularly in the last quarter of the seventeenth century. But it was not only the Europeans, even the Asians from various parts had to bring in bills of exchange or cash, mainly in silver, to procure the Bengal commodities for export.23 And in fact as the exports of the Asian merchants

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were higher than those of the Europeans, the Asians imported more silver/bullion than the Europeans.24 As a result Bengal was flooded with coins from various parts of the world. From around the early eighteenth century Bengal was ruled by nawabs (kings) who, though acknowledged the sovereignty of the Mughals, were independent for all practical purposes. They did strike coins of their own but only in the name of the reigning Mughal emperor. The general practice in Bengal during the nawabi period was that at the end of three years the sicca rupees were termed sonauts, and the ‘denomination, sank gradually in three years in the proportion of 116 to 111’.25 Thus triennial recoinage became a feature of the currency system of Bengal. But there were imperial mints at Dhaka, Patna and Murshidabad where individuals could procure new siccas by sending the old coins or bullion to the mints for coinage or by disposing off them to shroffs in exchange for new siccas at current batta, which was seldom more than what was sufficient to indemnify the shroffs for charges of the mint and to compensate him for his troubles.26 Though the worn-out coins were subject to a discount, the government assay-masters did their work with ‘utmost accuracy, care and fairness’. So it is said that there was no welter of currency under the nawabs to help the shroffs to carry on a brisk traffic.27 It must be said to the credit of the nawabs of Bengal that they did not debase the coin as was done elsewhere for temporary gain. But the practice of lowering the siccas until they became sonauts placed great power in the hands of the shroffs, especially the House of the Jagat Seth, who managed the currency of Bengal from the early eighteenth century. But the siccas and sonauts were not the only form of currency media in Bengal. Copper coins and cowries were used for small transactions. Besides, Bengal’s favourable balance of trade with other parts of India brought into the province from the mints of Arcot, Benares, Lucknow, Madras, Surat and other parts of India rupees of different varieties, many of them debased. The Arcot rupees were originally struck by the nawab of Arcot in south India but later, taking advantage of the privilege extended to the Europeans, Arcot rupees coined by them poured into

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Bengal. Though there were so many provinces and so many mints under the Great Mughals, coins of one suba (province) were equally current in another without any batta or discount. But the state of things changed now. The coins of one suba were not current in another without a discount. An English visitor to Bengal around the mid-eighteenth century gave a list of coins he found in the trading circles of Calcutta – sicca rupees coined in Murshidabad, Surat rupees, Madras rupees, Arcot rupees and Ely (Patna) rupees.28 But despite the multiplicity of currencies in Bengal in the first half of the eighteenth century, there does not seem to be any chaos or confusion in the monetary system. This is in all probability primarily because of the absolute domination of the Jagat Seths over the monetary system and money market. In fact, the monetary policy of Bengal was fully controlled by the Seths. They could do whatever they considered to be expedient, subject, of course, to the approval of the nawab which was always forthcoming. The extent of the hold of the Seths over the money market is borne by the fact that after repeated failures of the English Company’s prayer to the Seths to reduce the rate of interest, which it considered as ‘rank poison’ to its trade, the Seths acceded to the request at last in 1742, and reduced the interest rate from 12 to 9 per cent. From then onward the rate of interest came down to 9 per cent in the whole of northern India.29 In fact, all the merchants/bankers and shroffs in Bengal were under the complete control of the Seths, and they knew that if they defy the directives of the Seths, they would be out of business in no time. The near-contemporaneous Persian chronicler Ghulam Husain Tabatabai wrote in his Seir-ul-Mutaqherin that ‘all the bankers of their (Seths’) time were either their factors or some of their family’.30 The Seths had their kuthis (branch offices) in almost all the major trading and manufacturing centres, and through their branches, agents and correspondents, they established an elaborate network throughout the whole of northern India. And the virtual monopoly they had over minting, made it quite simple for them to get the bullion or old coins

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minted into siccas at any given time.31 Moreover the presence of numerous merchant/bankers and shroffs even in remote places made the task of exchange from one currency to another just by paying some charges quite easy for artisans, producers, traders alike, and transact business without much hassle. The fact that the different varieties of currency that circulated in a particular area could be readily changed into any other currency needed for financial transaction established a kind of complementary relationship between multiple currencies, and hence one does not come across much evidence of chaos or confusion in the monetary system of Bengal till the mid-eighteenth century when the British took over. III The English Company officials found that the currency situation in Bengal was confused and chaotic. However, even before 1757, because of the fluctuating value of the different species of money that passed in payment in Bengal, the English felt the necessity of fixing an imaginary coin to ascertain the value of all the rest by it. Hence they began to keep their books in an imaginary coin calling it ‘current rupee’. The position of the sicca rupees in relation to the ‘current rupees’ was determined in the following manner: the sicca rupees of the first year of their coining were considered 16 per cent better than the current rupees, i.e. 100 sicca rupees were equal to 116 ‘current rupees’, siccas of the second year were adjusted as 113 ‘current rupees’ while siccas of the third year, the sonauts, were taken as 111 ‘current rupees’. All other coins struck at Madras, Surat, etc., were considered 10 per cent better than the sonauts though in weight and fineness they were as good as the sonauts.32 However the knowledge of ‘current rupee’ did not extend beyond the city of Calcutta. The English East India Company was fully aware of the influence of the big merchant/bankers and shroffs over the currency system, and tried to eliminate them after the establishment of its authority in Bengal so that it could control the monetary system and finances of Bengal. But with the elimination of the big bank-

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ers and shroffs including the Jagat Seths, the Company was faced with the problem of multiple currencies and thus emerges the picture of currency confusion. For a trading Company like the East India Company that was constantly transhipping money and goods from one part of India to another and was in the position of having to make very large disbursements in local currencies, the problem of multiple currencies and the resultant confusion had very serious implications. As such the Company made great efforts to introduce a stable and uniform currency. So in 1765 the English proclaimed a plan of currency reform. It was not one of recoining all the different varieties in circulation but of merely putting an end to sicca-sonaut confusion, and of having as standard coin the sicca which would not depreciate. The Company officials failed to realize that the problem was not so simple. In 1765 the Court of Directors in London ordered that all the different varieties of rupees circulating in Bengal should be made to the sicca standard, by a general recoinage and by stopping the annual discount on sicca rupees.33 The Directors again asked the Bengal Council in 1768 to abolish the batta on sonauts. But the latter felt that the scarcity of silver34 was the more pressing problem and that it was necessary to relieve this by introducing gold coinage side by side with silver coin. But this experiment failed as they overvalued gold when they issued gold coins in 1766 and 1769. So the Directors repeated their order again in 1771 for abolishing the batta on sonauts. Accordingly the Bengal Council decided to stabilize the sicca by issuing a regulation that ‘the coinage of 12 sun (year) Sicca [i.e. siccas coined in the 12th year of Mughal emperor Shah Alam’s reign, i.e. 1771] would not cause the 11th sun sicca to fall in value, and in future years siccas up to 11th sun would not be reduced to the state of sonauts.’35 This might have been a step in the right direction had provision been made for the recoinage of clipped or worn-out coins. However, apprehending loss of revenue, the Directors did not approve the regulation. So some of the Company officials in Bengal, basing on the suggestions of Sir James Steuart, advocated the establishment of a single mint for the whole province. As different kinds of rupees circulated in

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different districts, and even the same rupee could not be used in any one district for all commodities, the measure to stabilize the sicca rupee could be effected only by means of heavy recoinage. As such Governor-General Warren Hastings declared by a regulation in 1777 that only one mint, i.e. the one in Calcutta, would be allowed to coin money for the use of the entire province, and all other mints at Murshidabad, Dhaka and Patna would be closed. It was also resolved that sicca rupees coined in future would pass without deduction of batta. Orders were sent to different districts to send to Calcutta all rupees to be recoined, and to encourage people to bring bullion to the mint a duty of 2.5 per cent was established on recoinage. Though this was the first systematic attempt to establish a uniform currency in Bengal and though Hastings thought that he had succeeded in securing uniformity in sicca coinage in the place of four different varieties in circulation, the experiment, however, did not succeed. The government was alarmed by the enormous expenses involved in a total recoinage while the people, ignorant of the benefits which might have accrued and suspicious of the change, did not bring in the old rupees. Besides it also involved delay, risk and expense in transporting old coins to Calcutta from remote districts.36 Warren Hastings also tried to tackle the problem of batta on sonaut rupees. So in 1778 he introduced the practice of putting an unvarying date on the coins and issued orders that all coins struck since 1778 would bear the same date, i.e. the 19th regnal (sun) year of Shah Alam so that the shroffs would not be able to make out which coins would become sonauts because all these would bear the same date. But the insertion of the correct Hijra (Muslim year) year completely defeated the purpose for which the same regnal year was put on coins of all subsequent years. However, this arrangement – one mint, one regnal year – added confusion to the currency situation. When three other mints were open, the farmers and landholders who had to pay their revenue in siccas, could always procure these without any difficulty. But the shroffs now bought up the sicca rupees and at the time of revenue collection sold them at a very high premium. The

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landholders and farmers in the interior could not afford to send their money to be coined as siccas in the Calcutta mint. Thus the regulations of Hastings failed to bring about uniformity in currency. As a result, a particular variety of currency became the standard measure of value in a district and other kinds of currencies were considered as bullion. Every district having a district currency, the shroffs would buy up rupees where they were not current and send them to the districts where they fetched a higher batta. This explains why the Arcot rupees in Dhaka came to pass at the same value as the siccas though intrinsically Arcots were worth 7 per cent less than siccas. There is plenty of evidence that even after Hastings’ regulation, different variety of coins were in circulation in the districts where one particular currency was in vogue while other currencies were unacceptable to producers and artisans. At Lakhipur, one of the important textile producing centres, only Arcot rupees were acceptable to the artisans while in Sonamukhi only sonaut rupees were current, and French Arcot rupees in Rangpur and Dinajpur.37 Thus Hastings failed in his most important object of establishing the sicca as the standard coin of the province. Currencies of different varieties continued to be in circulation and with this the nuisance of batta. Even in 1788, after more than twenty years of currency experiments by the English, the currency situation in Bengal was one of utter confusion. According to the Collector of Dhaka there were thirty-six varieties of coins in circulation in the district. The confusion was at its worst in Rajshahi district. There in a few parganas (a small division of a district) grain was purchased in sicca rupees while all other merchandise was bought in sonauts. In several others either Madras Arcots or French Arcots only were current in trade and commercial transactions.38 The chaos and confusion in the currency system in Bengal is well portrayed by the reports of the different Collectors of the districts when they wrote that almost every district and pergunnah (paragana) throughout the provinces has a separate currency consisting chiefly of the old sicca rupees of the 11, 12 or 15 sun or arcots or sunauts of the various

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years and denominations, some struck at the Public mints formerly established at Patna, Dhaka and Murshidabad and others clandestinely coined by individuals.39

In an attempt to tackle the problem, the next GovernorGeneral, Cornwallis, issued an order in 1792 that 19th sun sicca would be the only rupee in the province. To facilitate the recoinage of the different types of currencies he ordered the reopening of the mints of Dhaka, Patna and Murshidabad. He also ordered in 1794 that only the 19th sun sicca would be received at the treasuries and issued therefrom. It was provided that for all bullion or old coin of sicca standard delivered into the mint, an equal weight of sicca rupees to be returned to the proprietors without any charges whatsoever. It was also stipulated that the rupees coined at Dhaka, Patna and Murshidabad should be made precisely of the same weight, shape and standard, and should bear the same impression as the 19th sun sicca coined at Calcutta so that the rupees struck at the said mints may not be distinguishable from each other, and that they may be received and paid indiscriminately in all public and private transactions. The insertion of the Hijra years on the coins was also discontinued. And the current rupees ceased to be the money of account from 1 May 1794.40 However, it was only around 1835 that the Company’s government was able to establish a uniform currency in Bengal.41 IV It is pertinent to say a few words about currencies which have aptly been termed ‘humble monies’. Of these the dam, the copper coins of the Mughals (introduced by Akbar), lost much of its use in later years. The steady influx of the New World silver reduced the price of the metal in relation to gold and silver with the result that the copper-based imperial system was replaced by that of silver. As silver rupees came to be used more and more, and became the dominant currency by 1660, copper coins were largely used in petty transactions. As such the minting of copper hitherto plentiful slowed down around 1627.42 Under the Com-

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pany rule, the use of copper as a subsidiary currency was dated from the days of Warren Hastings. The ratio between one silver rupee, one copper ‘pice’ and one cowrie was 1:64:5152. But the price of cowries fluctuated very often and as a result the government had to suffer losses. So in 1781 Hastings introduced copper coins as subsidiary currency and hoped that copper coins would displace cowries in retail trade transactions. But copper coins did not become popular, and cowries continued to be in use in small transactions rather than the former. So copper coining was discontinued from 1783.43 However, it was revived in 1795-6 but this too did not succeed very much. Cowries remained the most popular currency in petty transactions. We have already mentioned that cowries were extensively used for small transactions in several parts of India, especially in Bengal and Orissa. In fact, their use seems to have been universal in Mughal India, and there can be little doubt, for many of the daily transactions of the ordinary people the cowries would have sufficed. At the same time there is evidence that cowries were also used for payment of government revenue as in Sylhet, a small district in Bengal. Contemporary writers and travellers refer to the extensive use of cowries in both urban and rural areas, and maintained that these have virtually become the currency of the mass of the people in Bengal.44 Definitive assertions such as ‘all the small money are in cowries’, or ‘cowries pass for money’ etc. are in abundance in the writings of the travellers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. So far as Orissa is concerned it was observed by an English factor that ‘there is very little specie in gold and silver in circulation, and the rents are paid in cowries’.45 It appears that sometime cowries were also used, though occasionally probably, in large transactions as will be apparent from the fact that a Bengali poet mentioned that the heroine of his poem, a rich lady named Malini, went to the bazaar (market) to buy expensive articles in her native town, Burdwan, with several bags of cowries.46 Badam (almonds) presents a similar, though a much more obscure picture, low-value money form, the commerce and use of which was intimately interwoven with the commercial expan-

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sion of the period. Badam was imported from Persia into Surat for circulation within the somewhat special monetary zone constituted by south and central Gujarat, thus while geographically more restricted than cowries, nevertheless utilized in some of the most commercialized parts of seventeenth century India. There is great urgency therefore in examining the evidence for use of humbler kinds of exchange media such as copper and cowrie, and determine their complementary relationship with each other as also with other currencies of higher value. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries there is plentiful evidence that that these low-value currencies became media of payments for large numbers of urban and country people caught up in relationships transcending the merely local sphere. So if it can be hypothesized that use of small uncoined currencies were structurally linked with the circulation of silver and gold currencies, and that imports of copper, cowries and badams were complementary with the importation of the precious metals, their study must then assume major significance. V It can be reasonably concluded on the basis of the above analyses that there was neither any chaos nor any confusion in the monetary system under the Great Mughals because of the multiplicity of currencies during the period. A centralized and well-organized system as it was with the imperial machinery having a constant check on its smooth functioning, there was hardly any scope for any manipulation taking advantage of the multiplicity of currencies in the empire. There was no dearth in supply of currency to meet the requirements of trade, industry and agriculture. The currencies of different metals or different origins or different regions or even bullion could be easily exchanged/converted into required species taking these to the free mints or to the numerous bankers and shroffs whose services were readily available even in remote parts of the country. The assertion that ‘the Mughal currency had currency’ is quite appropriate. It has been established beyond doubt that Mughal currency was circulated freely and

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uniformly throughout the empire. At the same time the traditional institution of hundi facilitated log-distance trade and also helped obviate any problem that might have cropped because of the multiplicity of currencies. But as the Mughal monetary system was only appropriate to an absolutist centralized state, it worked extremely well as long as emperor could exercise real authority. Thus with the decline of the Mughals the scenario in the currency situation changed completely. However, so far as Bengal under the nawabs was concerned, there was hardly any confusion in the monetary system. The nawabs did not mint money in their own name but did it in the name of the Mughal emperor. The currency system in Bengal was based on silver rupees, called siccas, which after three years of coining became sonauts, and were current at a discount. Like the Mughal system, minting was free in Bengal, and any person whether a shroff or an individual could take bullion/coins to the mint and get it converted into sicca rupees. Though there was multiplicity of currencies, the presence of the Jagat Seths who controlled the entire money market in northern India and other shroffs/bankers even in the remote parts of the country helped maintain a complementary relationship between different currencies as these could be easily converted to the particular specie needed. Then there were hundis which facilitated long-distance trade and eased the problems arising out of the multiplicity of currencies. But the situation changed completely during the early colonial period. The officials of the English East India Company were faced with chaos and confusion in the monetary system arising out of multiplicity of currencies in the province. One of the main reasons for this was that the officials had little expertise to deal with the indigenous money market which was completely controlled by the bankers and shroffs. Most of these moneymerchants in Bengal were again under complete control of the Jagat Seths, who for all practical purposes, managed the monetary system under the nawabs. With their agents all over Bengal, the Seths and the shroffs helped establish a complementary relationship between different types of currencies, and there was no

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cause for any confusion or chaos. Free minting and hundis also helped in the process. But all this traditional structure which was primarily instrumental in maintaining a stable and complementary relationship among multiple currencies changed completely with the British takeover and the subsequent elimination of the Jagat Seths, and thus followed the chaos and confusion in the monetary system. Finally, it should be emphasized that perhaps it is time that more attention is paid to ‘humble monies’ and examine their complementary relationship with high-value currencies like gold and silver currencies. Here again especially the role of cowries which were almost universally used for petty transactions and their complementarity with other form of exchange need be given more emphasis than has been received so far. NOTES 1. Akinobu Kuroda, ‘Concurrent but Non-integrable Currency Circuits: Complementary Relationships Among Monies in Modern China and Other Regions’, in Financial History Review, 15.1 (2008), pp. 17-36. 2. Irfan Habib, ‘The Currency System of the Mughal Empire (15561707)’, Medieval India Quarterly, vol. IV, 1961, pp. 1-2; ‘The Monetary System and Prices’, in Cambridge Economic History of India (henceforth CEHI), vol. 1, ed. Tapan Raychaudhuri and Irfan Habib, Cambridge, 1982, p. 360. 3. Tapan Raychaudhuri, ‘The State and the Economy: The Mughal Empire’, in CEHI, vol. I, p. 173. 4. Dietmar Rothermund, The Phase of Nationalism and Other Essays, Bombay, 1970, p. 228, cited in D.B. Mitra, Monetary System in the Bengal Presidency, Calcutta, 1991, p. 5. 5. D.B. Mitra, Monetary System, pp. 5-8. 6. K.N. Chaudhuri and Clive Dewey, eds., Economy and Society, Oxford, 1979, p. 144. 7. Irfan Habib, ‘Banking in Mughal India’, in Tapan Raychaudhuri, ed., Contributions to Indian Economic History, Calcutta, 1960, p. 2. 8. J.F. Richards, ed., The Imperial Monetary System of Mughal India, Oxford, 1987, p. 4. 9. Irfan Habib, ‘Monetary System’, in CEHI, vol. I, p. 361. 10. Om Prakash, European Commercial Enterprise in Pre-Colonial India, Cambridge, 1998, p. 158.

116 | Trade, Politics and Society 11. Irfan Habib, ‘The Currency System of the Mughal Empire’, Medieval India Quarterly, vol. IV, 1961, p. 15. 12. Shushanik Khachikian, ‘The Bill of Exchange in the Milieu of New Julfan Armenian Merchants’, in Sushil Chaudhury and Keram Kevonian, eds., Armenians in Asian Trade in the Early Modern Era, Paris, 2007, pp. 277-82. 13. For the Jagat Seths, see, S. Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline: Bengal in the Eighteenth Century, New Delhi, 1995, pp. 109-16; The Prelude to Empire: Plassey Revolution of 1757, New Delhi, 2000, pp. 117-23; J.H. Little, The House of Jagat Seths, Calcutta, 1956. 14. S. Chaudhury, ‘No Ready Money? No Problem: The Role of Hundis (Bills of Exchange) in Early Modern India, c. 1600-1800’, paper presented in Session 2 of the XIVth International Economic History Congress, Helsinki, August 2006. See also, Irfan Habib, ‘The System of Bills of Exchange (Hundis) in the Mughal Empire’, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, Muzaffarpur Session, 1972 15. The way in which such paper money substituted coins is described by the author of Mirat-i-Ahmadi (1761), Irfan Habib, CEHI, vol. 1, p. 362. 16. W. Foster, English Factories in India, 1642-45, Oxford, 1907, p. 303. 17. John Malcom, A Memoir of Central India, vol. II, London, 1824, p. 90. 18. John S. Deyell, ‘The Development of Akbar’s Currency System and Monetary Integration of the Conquered Kingdom’, in J.F. Richards, The Imperial Monetary System, p. 45. 19. J. F. Richards, The ImperialMonetary System, ‘Introduction’, p. 12. 20. Akinobu Kuroda, ‘Concurrent but Non-integrable Currency-circuits: Complementary Relationships among Monies in Modern China and Other Regions’, Financial History Review, 15.1 (2008), p.17. However Kuroda points out that the complaint of a chaos and confusion came mostly from foreigners. Similar was the case in Bengal as it was the Company officials who cried hoarse about the currency confusion in the late eighteenth century, and not so much from indigenous groups. 21. Om Prakash, ‘Foreign Merchants and Indian Mints in the Seventeenth and the Early Eighteenth Century’, in J.F. Richards, ed., The Imperial Monetary System of Mughal India, Delhi, 1987, pp. 182-3. 22. Frank Perlin, ‘Money-use in Late Pre-colonial India and the International Trade in Currency Media’, in J.F. Richards, ed., The Imperial Monetary System of Mughal India, pp. 294-7. 23. S. Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline; p. 11; The Prelude to Empire: Plassey Revolution of 1757, New Delhi, 2000, pp. 25-6; S. Chaudhury, ‘Introduction’, in S. Chaudhury and Kéram Kévonian, eds., Armenians in Asian Trade in the Early Modern Era, pp. 3-18. 24. S. Chaudhury, ‘The Asian Merchants and Companies in Bengal’s

Multiple Currencies and their Complementary Relationship | 117 Export Trade, circa Mid-eighteenth Century’, in S. Chaudhury and Michel Morineau, eds., Merchants, Companies and Trade: Europe and Asia in the Early Modern Era, Cambridge, 1999, pp. 300-20. 25. Harry Verelst, A View of the Rise, Progress and Present Position of the English in Bengal, London, 1972, p. 93. 26. Mint Committee Proceedings, 26 June 1792, National Archives of India, New Delhi, cited in N.K. Sinha, Economic History of Bengal, vol. I, p. 129. 27. N.K. Sinha, Economic History of Bengal, vol. I, p. 29. 28. Robert Stevens, The New and Complete Guide to East India Trade, p. 96, cited in N.K. Sinha, Economic History of Bengal, vol. I, p. 130. 29. S. Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, p. 112. 30. Ghulam Husain Tabatabai, Seir Mutaqherin, vol. II, tr., Haji Mustafa, 2nd reprint, Lahore, 1975, pp. 457-8. 31. Seir, vol. II, p. 458. 32. James Stuart, The Principles of Money Applied to the Present State of the Coin of Bengal, London 1772, p.16. 33. K.M. Mohsin, ‘Banking in Mughal Bengal’ in History of Bangladesh, vol. II, ed., Sirajul Islam, Dhaka, 1992, p. 232. 34. For the reasons behind the scarcity of silver, see, N.K. Sinha, Economic History of Bengal, vol. I, p. 132. 35. Bengal Public Consultations, 26 August 1771, India Office Records, British Library, London, cited in K.M. Mohsin, ‘Banking in Mughal Bengal’, vol. II, pp. 232-3. 36. K.M. Mohsin, History of Bangladesh, vol. II, pp. 233-4 37. D.B. Mitra, Monetary System, pp. 45-6. 38. N.K. Sinha, Economic History of Bengal, vol. I, pp. 135-8. 39. J.C. Sinha, Economic Annals of Bengal, London, 1927, p. 142. 40. N.K. Sinha, Economic History of Bengal, vol. I, pp. 138-41. 41. D.B. Mitra, Monetary System, p. 232. 42. D.B. Mitra, Moneytary System, p. 9. 43. N.K. Sinha, Economic History, pp. 142-4. 44. K.M. Mohsin, A Bengal District in Transition: Murshidabad, 17651793, Dhaka, 1973, p. 119; D.B. Mitra, The Monetary System, p. 16. 45. Quoted in ‘Currency System in Medieval Orissa’, Quarterly Review of Historical Studies, 9.2 (1969-70), pp. 75-6. 46. Bharatchandra, Vidyasundar, cited in S. Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, p. 301.

chapter 6

The Armenians in Dhaka*

In this paper I have tried to focus on the role of the Armenians in the commercial and economic life of Dhaka. It will be shown that, shrewd and foresighted traders and businessmen as they were, the Armenians in Dhaka shifted from textile trade, which was their main prop earlier, to landholding in the late eighteenth century in the wake of the decline in textile trade following the British conquest of Bengal in 1757. Again, I shall demonstrate that when they saw later on the prospects of new business opportunities, they did not hesitate to embark on these new ventures, and thus they became pioneers in jute trading in the late nineteenth century. At the same time it will be emphasized that it was not only in the economic activities of the city that the Armenians were involved but also in the philanthropic and other social activities. All this, I shall try to argue, underscores the fact that the Armenians of Dhaka were quite a bit different from other Armenian groups settled in different parts of India. But more importantly I shall try to explain, in the larger context, the reasons for the phenomenal success of the Armenians everywhere they settled and traded in the early modern period – which is a riddle to historians the world over. To be frank, my main difficulty in writing this paper is the paucity of relevant archival material. While working on the broader topic ‘Armenians in Indian Trade and Politics, 1600* The paper was presented in the International Conference organized by the Asiatic Society of Bangladesh on the occasion of the 400 Years of Dhaka in 2010. It was subsequently published in 400 Years of Capital Dhaka and Beyond, vol. II, Economy and Culture, ed. Mufakharul Islam et al., Dhaka, 2011, pp. 85-94.

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1800’ in different European and Indian archives, I did not find much information on Dhaka, perhaps because of the fact that then I was mainly concentrating on the activities of the Armenians in their principal settlements like Murshidabad/Saidabad, Calcutta, Madras, Surat, etc., and did not pay much attention to Dhaka as it was not so important as their other centres in India. Two visits, though short, to the Dhaka archives, in the last few years, did not yield much either, especially for the seventeenth and early eighteenth century. So I have depended on whatever I could lay hand on, and tried my best to give an idea, as comprehensive as possible within the given limitation, of the role of the Armenians in Dhaka. The main sources for this study are the records of the English East India Company in the British Library, those of the VOC (Dutch East India Company) in the Algemeen Rijksarchief (now Nationaal Archief), Den Haag, records in the Dhaka archives, two interviews with M.J. Martin of the Armenian Church in Dhaka, and some authoritative secondary works on the subject. I Though the Armenians were important traders in several parts of India, it was in Bengal where they were most active. As such I shall analyse the role of the Armenians in Dhaka in the backdrop of their activities in Bengal which will enable us to appreciate their role in Dhaka much better. There can be little doubt that the Armenians settled in Bengal and were active in Bengal trade from the early seventeenth century, if not earlier. As an important trading group, their presence was a common feature in all the important trading marts, cities, ports and manufacturing centres. But what was most striking about them was that if there was any possibility of profit in trade, they would even go to remote places and deal in any commodity, unlike many other trading groups in Bengal. Through their commercial acumen, their thorough knowledge of markets and products, a chain of connection with the important producing and consuming centres maintained through their own agents who were most often than not their

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own family members or kinsmen, their low overhead cost and capacity to thrive on low profit margin, the Armenians could compete successfully with not only the Indian and other Asian merchants but also with the European Companies trading in Bengal.1 It is relevant to point out here that in their letter to Bengal, the Court of the Directors of the English East India Company in London wrote in 1689: those people [the Armenians] are a thrifty, close, prudent sort of men that travel all India over and know almost every village in the Mughal’s dominion and every sort of goods with such a perfect skill and judgment as exceeds the ancientest of our linen drapers.2

They noted again in 1690 that the Armenians ‘are diligent, frugal and experienced merchants’ and asked their factors in Bengal to try to procure some fine piece-goods through the Armenians as they would ‘know how to buy better than you can’.3 It is significant that the Directors were advising their employees in Bengal to seek the help of the Armenians for procuring fine calicoes – a fact which clearly brings to relief that the Armenians specialized in textile trade, and as Dhaka was one of the most important centres of fine textiles, it is quite natural that they played an active role in Dhaka’s commercial life. II It is well established now that many important Armenian merchants and traders were settled in the flourishing Armenian settlements of Saidabad (a suburb of the then capital, Murshidabad), Hughli, Kasimbazar, Dhaka and Patna, etc., with their own localities and churches. Before we take up the question of the arrival of the Armenians in Dhaka, let us first see when they did come to Bengal. Though it is not known exactly when the Armenians did settle in Bengal, there is no doubt that they were in Bengal in the early seventeenth century. In the Armenian Church in Calcutta, built in 1724 on the old site of the Armenian cemetery, there is a grave of an Armenian lady bearing the date 16304 which clearly indicates that the Armenians

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settled in Bengal at least in the early seventeenth century. It is said that they settled in Saidabad in 1665 under a farman from the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb and there they built a church in that year.5 If that was so, there is every reason to assume that the Armenians were in Dhaka around the early seventeenth century as Dhaka was one of the most important centres of textile trade and production like Murshidabad, and as the Armenians’ main occupation then was textile trade. But several historians6 have noted that the Armenians were settled in Dhaka around the early or mid-eighteenth century. In his famous work on Dhaka, James Taylor noted that the Armenian settlement there dates back to 1765 when the English Company acquired the diwani of Bengal. But unfortunately he cites no source on which he based his assertion. That the Armenians were already an established trading community before 1765 is absolutely clear from the account of the textile export from Dhaka in 1747 by John Taylor who stated in unequivocal terms that the Armenians had a large share in the said trade in the mid-eighteenth century. A.H. Dani holds that the Armenian colony was founded in Dhaka in the early eighteenth century on the basis of the fact that some old graves of the Armenians who died between 1714 and 1795 are found in Tezgaon near Dhaka.7 But given the fact that the Armenians were always keen to settle in places where there was power that be as is exemplified in the case of Murshidabad and later Calcutta, it is natural that they would settle in the Mughal capital, Dhaka, in the wake of its foundation. So considering what has been said above, the assertion of Anne Basil that the first Armenian traders of Dhaka ‘are reputed to have reached that city in 1613’ and that the ‘Armenians flourished in Dacca from the first half of the 18th century until the close of the 19th century’8 seems to be more plausible. III The extensive trading network of the Armenians in Bengal will be apparent from the fact that their presence, not only in the various trade marts but also in the numerous production centres even in

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the remote villages of Bengal throughout the seventeenth and the first half of the eighteenth century, is well borne by the documentation in the European archives. The extraordinary diffusion of the textile industry in Bengal9 was perhaps best matched by the Armenian diaspora and their extensive network which made them one of the most important groups of merchants in Bengal, often competing with the most powerful local merchant groups, not to speak of the Europeans. Unlike in Murshidabad which was one of the most important centres of textile and silk production in Bengal, the Armenians in Dhaka were engaged mainly in textile trade. That textile was the main prop of the Armenian trade in Bengal is very clear from the Dutch Director in Bengal, Louis Taillefert’s ‘Memorie’ of 1755 wherein he observed that the Armenians were ‘engaged mostly in textile trade’ and that they are ‘generally active in trade to Surat and Persia’.10 Though we are not yet in a position to make any estimate, in quantitative terms, of the Armenian involvement in Bengal’s export trade in textiles, we are fortunate to have found some quantitative evidence – admittedly not enough for such an exercise but nevertheless extremely valuable considering the fact that quantitative evidence on the trade of the Asian merchants is hard to come by – in the European archives. In an estimate of the textile export from Dhaka in 1747, the Armenian share, among the Asians, is said to have been as large as 23 per cent, the exact figure as given by John Taylor, the Commercial Resident of Dhaka in 1800, in his account of the Cloth production in Dhaka in 1747, being Rs. 5 lakh. In fact, they were the largest exporter of Dhaka cloth, even much ahead of the English, Dutch or French Company.11 Taillefert wrote in his ‘Memorie’ in 1755 that the Armenians and other minor trading groups, like the Greeks, etc., export textiles from Dhaka to Surat, Red Sea and the Persian Gulf on an average to the tune of Rs. 7 to 8 lakh every year.12 Considering that the Greeks and others were marginal trading groups in mid-eighteenth century Dhaka, the share of the Armenians could well have been between Rs. 5 to 6 lakh a year, which tallies well with the estimate of John Taylor. It is significant to note here that the share of the Armenians in textile

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export from Dhaka is not much short of the total export of all the European Companies put together.13 It seems that the Armenians exported Dhaka textiles to the Red Sea ports, the Persian Gulf, etc., through their correspondents and agents, who were mostly their relations or kinsmen, in Hughli and later Calcutta. It is to be noted that the Armenians were also involved in the internal trade of Bengal in the first half of the eighteenth century, though trade in textile and raw silk was their main forte. A typical example of this was the Armenian merchant prince of Hughli, Khoja Wazid. Besides his extensive operations in silk and textile trade, and his strong participation in maritime trade, he was also engaged in internal trade in saltpetre and salt. In fact, he had farmed the virtual monopoly of salt and saltpetre trade for several years in the early 1750s. Wazid also tried to monopolise the opium trade.14 In Dhaka too the Armenians were engaged in internal trade in salt, betel nut, etc.15 though we have no evidence to what extent except that one Paniati Alexander became wealthy by trading in salt in Chittagong and ‘Bhulua’ (Noakhali) in the 1770s and early 1780s.16 However, Armenian involvement in internal trade in Dhaka was no doubt in tune with their commercial philosophy to trade in any commodity if it brings profit to them. IV What is unique about the Armenians in Dhaka was that when they found that the trade in textile was no more attractive, they did not hesitate to shift to other investments which seemed lucrative. There is little doubt that the Armenians were losing out in textile trade to the British private traders in the late eighteenth century. This is corroborated by William Bolts, an important English Company official in the 1760s, who stated in unequivocal terms that as the Company tried to establish monopoly over the export of piece-goods to Basra, Jeddah and Mocha especially, and its attempt to force the Armenians to send their goods as freight in English ships, ‘by all which circumstances there have been in Bengal many instances of families of Armenians, princi-

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pal traders in this branch [of trade] to Persia and Arabia, who have been totally ruined’.17 With the decline of the textile trade they turned to new ventures which seemed profitable and thus they invested in land. This is something unique about the Dhaka Armenians since we don’t have much evidence of their involvement in landholding anywhere in India. The most important Armenian zamindar in the early nineteenth century was the famous Agha Aratoon Michael, of the ‘noble family’ of Agah Sarkies of New Julfa. It is said that he died ‘a millionaire’ on 29 April 1823 at the young age of 49.18 Another prominent Armenian zamindar was Nicholas Marcar Pogose who at the time of his death in 1829 ‘possessed diverse zamindaries, taluks, parganas and other lands, messuages, tenements, etc.’ It is also said that he left zamindari properties at Dhaka, Bakhargunge, Mymensingh, Dhaka Jalalpur and Tripura.19 It has been suggested, and rightly so, that Pogose, the trader, ‘had been transformed into a zamindar’. He made his will and the testament in Bengali language and appointed his two sons managers of his property. It is significant that though a zamindar ‘by purchase, he had imbibed the spirit of a traditional zamindar’ which will be borne by the fact that he wrote: All my trustworthy people who are in my concerns as gomastahs in the Sudder and the mofussil, they [his sons] will not be able to remove [them – his gomastahs] from their appointments. They will keep them in their office down to their sons, grandsons and so on; it behoves them [gomastahs] also that after the conscientious manner they have done business with me they will in like manner attend to their respective duties.20

It seems that there were only three Armenian zamindars around 1836-7 paying revenue above Rs. 1,00021 but later on the number rose considerably. Besides the families of Michael, there were other families like the Sarkies, Aratoons, Stephens, Lazarus, etc., who invested their capital in land and became zamindars.22 In the Dhaka archives there are several bills of exchange, drawn by Armenians on their Armenian associates in Calcutta, which the Collector of Dhaka, Mathew Day, sent to David Anderson,

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President of the Committee of Revenue in Calcutta, with the comment that they are ‘part of my collections’ for different months in the year 1784-5. Most of these were drawn by ‘Coja Michael’ and it seems that these are the revenues of the zamindari held by the Armenians.23 It is known from the records of the English Company that Khoja Michael bought the zamindary of south Shahbazpur (Bhola) in 1786, Aratoon was the zamindar of pargana Hussain Shahi and the zamindar of Doulat Khan was Lucas.24 As the Armenians were a small but wealthy community in Dhaka, they lived close together as a well-knit community with a close relationship with the British administration and European merchants in the city, and with their kinsmen in Calcutta. Thus it is natural that a number of Armenian merchants entered into business partnerships with the British private traders and indigo planters as these had prospects of earning handsome profit. So when the European indigo planters and the free merchants established the ‘Dacca Bank’ in 1846, J.G.N. Pogose, probably the son of Nicholas Marcar Pogose, became a Director of the bank.25 The Armenians also played a prominent role in the jute trade in Dhaka and are reputed to be the pioneers of that trade in the second half of the nineteenth century. At that time they had an almost unassailable position in that branch of trade.26 The fact that the Armenians were the first Dhaka merchants, and not the Europeans or other Asians, to visualize the bright prospects of jute trade clearly underlines the business acumen and foresight of the community. They purchased jute not only in Dhaka but also in Narayanganj, and then shipped it to Calcutta. They also bought on commission for Calcutta firms. And it is significant that most of the Armenian families in Dhaka were involved in this trade. As it was typical of them, they bought jute in the interior of the country from the cultivators and small traders, bypassing the merchant-middlemen to ensure a handsome profit. This was possible because of the fact that everywhere the Armenians went to trade, they learnt the local language unlike other Asian or European merchants, and hence could directly deal

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with the primary producers. The jute-bailing firms of M. David & Co and M. Sarkies & Sons were established in Narayanganj, near Dhaka, about the year 1875 by the two Armenians, Margar David and Michael Sarkies respectively. There were about twelve ‘eminent’ Armenian merchants engaged in jute trade in Dhaka and Narayanganj in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century.27 It was during the 1860s and 1870s that there was a boom in jute trade and as such the business of the Armenian merchants flourished beyond expectation which in its train brought wealth to the Dhaka Armenians engaged in this trade. Among these Armenian merchants, the most prominent were Abraham Pogose, Margar David, J.C. Sarkies, M. Catchatoor, A. Thomas, J.G.N. Pogose, Michael Sarkies, and P. Aratoon. Of these merchants, the most eminent was Margar David, reputed to be the ‘merchant prince of East Bengal’ and the founder of the jute-bailing firm, M. David & Co. It appears that he came to Dhaka from Calcutta in 1852 only as a trader in mundane goods like rice, oilseeds, etc., but soon entered into a partnership with Abraham Pogose and established the firm ‘Abraham and David’ around 1857 which was described as ‘Commission Agents’ in the Calcutta Directory in 1857. But it did not last long and split in the 1860s.28 M. David & Co. occupied an important position in jute trading in the later half of the nineteenth century. It owned twelve motor launches, each of which, it is said, was named after a snake, the best known being the ‘Cobra’.29 In the 1880s Margar David entered into a partnership with the Hendersons, the prominent jute merchants of Calcutta and London. That he had sharp business acumen is borne by the fact that he decided to export jute not to Calcutta but direct to London through Chittagong which was then opened as an international port. In the return trips from Chittagong his brigs, and later on his steamers, were laden with salt. This two-way traffic in two important commodities was the key to his commercial success, and as a result he amassed a vast fortune. The Armenian jute merchants were also credited with introducing new techniques in jute industry. Margar David founded steam presses in both Dhaka

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and Narayanganj for pressing and bailing jute while Michael Sarkies founded a hydraulic press in Dhaka. That Margar David was a great merchant is attested by a contemporary observer who wrote that ‘his [David’s] vessels are easily kept in active employment by your wealthy fellow townsman, Mr. David, the merchant prince of Eastern Bengal, whose shipments are simply gigantic’.30 That his jute firm occupied a prominent position in Dhaka is borne out by the following incident. The English East India Company owned a launch named ‘Baranagore’, a luxury boat complete with saloon and promenade deck and costing 9,000 pounds sterling, and the first ‘steam-craft’ seen on the River Hughly. It sank in the river twice but was retrieved each time. Thereafter the English Company sold it to M. David & Co in 1880 as the former found it too expensive to maintain it. M. David & Co. used the ‘Baranagore’ for many years and then sold it to the Nawab of Dhaka who kept it as a pleasure boat.31 V An interesting aspect of the Armenian community in Dhaka is that it contributed a lot to the civic life of the city. It was the Armenian Nicholas Pogose, the great Armenian zamindar, who founded the first private school, Dhaka Pogose school, in the early nineteenth century which is still running.32 Again, the founder of the business house G.M. Shircore & Sons, Shircore pioneered the transport ‘revolution’ by introducing ticca-garry or hackney carriage. His ‘horse carriage’ business became such a success that many Armenians and other local businessmen followed suit. Thus the ticca-garrys became the chief mode of public transport until they were replaced by cycle-rickshaws in the last century. Though there were only sixty ticca-garrys plying in Dhaka in 1867, the number rose sharply to 300 in 1874 and to nearly 600 in 1889.33 The Dhaka Armenians were also pioneers in introducing European and British goods in the city and in setting up western-style departmental stores. Several prominent Armenian merchants in this respect were C.J. Manook, G.M. Shircore, J.A. Minas and Anania, who opened big stores

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in different parts of the city. It is interesting to note that G.M. Shircore and Sons sold such novelties as tea and were probably responsible for popularizing tea drinking in Dhaka. Perhaps the list of goods sold at the store helped the Dhaka elite to imbibe a western life style. The goods included wines, spirits, cigars, ham, bacon, reading lamps, shoes, dolls, toys, table cutlery, essence, shaving soap, etc. There were also saucepans, frying pans, travelling bags, umbrellas, fancy walking sticks, etc.34 Even in the early twentieth century, an Armenian made his mark in Dhaka’s neighbouring Narayanganj. Born in Calcutta in 1874, Herbert Michael Shircore, son of Stephen Aratoon Shircore, came to Dhaka where he worked as manager of Armenian jute firms at Narayanganj and subsequently became the chairman of Narayanganj municipality. That a school and a road were named after him in Narayanganj is a tribute to his contribution to the social and cultural life of the city.35 Nekie Pogose, the founder of the Pogose school in Dhaka, was a member of the Dhaka Municipality for long in its early years. He moved a resolution in 1863 that the Dhaka Municipality Committee had no corporate entity and that steps should be taken for making it as much. It was after this that the government came out with the District Municipality Act of 1864 whereby the Dhaka Municipality Committee became a statutory body with a legal entity of its own.36 In Dhaka there was only a small Armenian population, compared to Murshidabad where Saidabad was a full-fledged Armenian colony. Yet they lived in their own mahalla (area), still known as Armanitola (the habitat of the Armenians) bearing ‘witness to the role played by the Armenians in Dhaka’.37 It is relevant to point out that in Calcutta too there is an area still called Armanitola, an important street still known as ‘Armenian Street’ and even a place on the banks of the river Ganges called Armani Ghat where the goods of the Armenians were off-loaded or on-loaded. Be that as it may, in the early nineteenth century, the number of the Armenians living in Dhaka was quite small. Bishop Heber who visited Dhaka in 1827 stated that ‘there were still a few Armenian resident in Dhaka, some of them wealthy

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with a church and two priests’.38 According to a survey undertaken in 1870 by G.N. Pogose, who was also a Dhaka Municipal Commissioner, there were in Dhaka at that time 107 Armenians of whom 39 were men, 23 women and 45 youngsters. Vocationwise one was a priest, five zamindars, three merchants, one barrister, five shopkeepers and four government employees.39 But according to the census of 1961, in 1830 there were 126 Armenians of whom 49 were above sixteen years, living in 42 houses.40 But it seems the population decreased to some extent in the early twentieth century when most of the jute trade was taken over by the British. After the partition in 1947 many of them left for Calcutta.41 At present there are only 8 Armenian families living in Dhaka.42 VI The crucial question that crops up is how to explain the reasons for the fabulous success of the Armenians in different parts of the world, including Dhaka, in the early modern era vis-à-vis even the advanced organizational form of the European joint stock companies – a question which earlier engaged the attention of such reputed historians as Fernand Braudel and Philip D. Curtain.43 It has been suggested recently, and which seems perfectly tenable, that the success of the Armenians was primarily due to their ‘organizational form or arrangements’.44 Indeed the widely spread but highly interrelated Armenian enterprises operated under the ‘ethos of trust’ which served as a human capital, accrued to the community as a result of ‘collective sociopolitical experiences over many generations’. The structuring of their business enterprises, based as it was on family kinship and trusted fellow-countrymen, gave the Armenian merchants two significant advantages – organizational cost savings and organizational innovations. In all probability, the Armenians succeeded because they were able to create networks of trust, shared information and mutual support based upon the fact that they were a distinctive ethnic and religious minority. This very characteristic differentiated them from other merchant groups

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in various places. There is no doubt, however, that some of the other diaspora people like the Jews possessed all these characteristics but perhaps the Armenians were ahead of the others in these respects and hence their success was more spectacular than that of the others. In this context it should be remembered that the Armenians were almost fanatically obsessed with their business enterprises and did not hesitate to take recourse to any means whatsoever if need be to save their commercial empire. This is very well reflected in the case of Khoja Wazid, who though a staunch supporter of the Bengal Nawab Sirajuddaullah from the very beginning, did have no qualms to join the bandwagon of the conspirators led by the British at the last moment before the battle of Plassey in 1757 only to save his commercial empire. Strange is that even then the British did not spare him after the victory at Plassey. Robert Clive described him as a ‘villain’ and ‘rascal’ and as a ‘Frenchman at heart’ while instructing William Watts to finish off Wazid.45 In the aftermath of Plassey, the Armenians tried to have close links with the British who, as they realized, were the new masters of the country, for the sake of their commercial interests. Nevertheless there was no love lost between them. The British were often critical in their observation about the Armenians which was a reflection of the former’s frustration arising out of their failure to make the latter subservient to them. Thus in 1768 a Company official observed that ‘it is well known how designing and intriguing a set of people the Armenians are’ while the Bengal Council of the Company wrote to the Directors in London in 1771 of ‘the intriguing spirit of the Armenians’.46 Finally, it would be interesting to point out that the Dhaka Armenians were quite a bit different from their counterparts in other parts of Bengal or India. First, nowhere else in Bengal, and for that matter in any other part of India, did the Armenians invest in land and thus became zamindars. Though there were quite a few prominent and wealthy Armenian merchants in both Murshidabad and Calcutta, none of them ever engaged in landholding though that was a trend in Bengal among the commercial class in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century.

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Secondly, none of the Armenians ever wrote their wills and testament in Bengali as was done by the famous Armenian zamindar of Dhaka, Nicholas Marcar Pogose, in as early as 1829. This is something unique as nowhere else in India did any Armenian ever make his wills and testament in the local language. The recently discovered will of the legendary Armenian merchant of Madras in the early eighteenth century, Khoja Petruse Woskan, was written in Armenian. And in Bengal, whether Murshidabad/ Saidabad or in Calcutta, where there were several prominent Armenian merchants, none made any will in Bengali. And as such Nicholas Marcar’s will and his instructions in it about his employees only indicate that he was not only a typical and benevolent Bengali zamindar but himself became a Bengali par excellence. Again another Armenian zamindar, Aratoon, who had his residence in Dalbazar on the river front, imbibed the lifestyle of the nineteenth-century Bengali Babus and zamindars, and as such he was known as ‘shouqhueen Aratoon’ (Aratoon, the fastidious) because of his many aristocratic diversions such as cock-fighting, kite-flying, dance, music, etc.47 But I really don’t know how to explain this. I can only hazard a guess. Was it because of the friendly and cosmopolitan ambience of Dhaka which is still an important feature of the city? NOTES 1. S. Chaudhury, ‘Armenians in Bengal Trade and Politics in the 18th Century’, in Sushil Chaudhury and Kéram Kévonian (eds.), Armenians in Asian Trade in the Early Modern Era, Paris: Maison Des Sciences de l’Homme, 2007, p. 149. The Indian edition of the same, Manohar, Delhi, 2014. 2. Despatch Books (henceforth DB), India Office Records (henceforth IOR), vol. 92, f.. 25, 15 February 1689, British Library, London. 3. Ibid., vol. 93, f.38, 18 October 1690. 4. M.J. Seth, Armenians in India, rpt., Calcutta, 1983, p. 1. 5. J.H.T. Walsh, The District of Murshidabad, London, 1902, p. 75; P.C. Majumdar, The Masnad of Murshidabad, 1704-1904, Murshidabad, 1905, p. 172. 6. James Taylor, A Sketch of the Topography and Statistics of Dacca, Calcutta, 1840, p. 254; A.H. Dani, Dacca: A Record of its Changing

132 | Trade, Politics and Society Fortunes, Dacca, 1956, p. 37; Abdul Karim, Dhaka: The Mughal Capital, Dacca, 1964, pp. 47, 71. 7. Dani, op. cit.; S.M. Tafoor, Glimpses of Old Dacca, Dhaka, 1956. 8. Anne Basil, Armenian Settlements in India, Calcutta, 1969, p. 70. 9. S. Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline: Bengal in the Eighteenth Century, New Delhi, 1995, pp. 135-44; 148-54. 10. Louis Taillefert’s ‘Memorie’, 1755, Verenighde Oostindische Compagnie (henceforth VOC), vol. 2849, ff. 245vo-246vo. 11. John Taylor, ‘Account of Cloth Production in Dhaka, 1747’, Home Misc., vol. 456F, ff. 93-95, IOR. 12. Louis Taillefert’s ‘Memorie’, VOC 2849, f. 245vo. 13. John Taylor, ‘Cloth Production’, op. cit. 14. S. Chaudhury, ‘Trading Networks in a Traditional Diaspora – Armenians in India, c. 1600-1800’, in Ina Baghdiantz McCabe et al. (eds.), Diaspora Entrepreneurial Networks, Oxford, New York, 2005, pp. 55-7; ‘Merchants, Companies and Rulers: Bengal in the Eighteenth Century’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, vol. XXXI (February 1988), pp. 74-109; From Prosperity to Decline, pp. 120-3; The Prelude to Empire: Plassey Revolution of 1757, New Delhi, 2000, pp. 133-9; Nawabi Amale Murshidabad (in Bengali – Murshidabad under the Nawabs), Calcutta, 2004, pp. 124-9; Palashir Ajana Kahini (in Bengali – The Untold Story of Plassey), Calcutta, 2002, pp. 128-33. 15. James Taylor, Topography and Statistics of Dacca, p. 254. 16. Muntasir Mamun, Dhaka Smriti Bismritir Nagari (in Bengali), Dhaka, 1993, p. 15. 17. William Bolts, Considerations on Indian Affairs, vol. 1, London, 1772, pp. 196-7. 18. M.J. Seth, Armenians, p. 575. 19. N.K. Sinha, The Economic History of Bengal, vol. III, Calcutta, 1970, p. 156. 20. Calcutta High Court Records, Case, Joachim Gregory Nicholas Pogose an infant and another vs Petruse Nicholas Pogose and another, 1835, quoted in N.K. Sinha, Economic History, vol. III, p. 156. 21. James Taylor, Topography and Statistics of Dacca, p. 159. Taylor in fact mentioned ‘three Christians’, not exactly three Armenians. But given the fact that the other Christians in Dhaka at that time including the Greeks were not in a position to hold zamindaries like the wealthy Armenians, it seems that the three Christians were in all probability Armenians. 22. Sharifuddin Ahmed, Dhaka, 1840-1885, Dhaka, 1986, p. 104; Interview with David Martin, Armenian Church, Dhaka, 6 June 2005.

The Armenians in Dhaka | 133 23. Letters from Mathew Day to David Anderson, 1784-5, National Archives of Bangladesh, Dhaka, NAB, A.4.2/123, p. 7, 16, 28, 49-50, 58, 78, 82, 89, 90,138, 149, 154, 157, 168, 190. 24. Muntasir Mamun, Dhaka Smriti Bismritir Nagari, p. 15. 25. Sharifuddin Ahmed, Dhaka, p. 105. 26. Anne Basil, Armenian Settlements, p. 71; Seth, Armenians, pp. 575-8. 27. Seth, Armenians, pp. 575-8. Anne Basil, Armenian Settlements, p. 71. 28. Sharifuddin Ahmed, Dhaka, p. 105. 29. Anne Basil, Armenian Settlements, p. 71. 30. Sharifuddin Ahmed, Dhaka, pp. 105-6. 31. Anne Basil, Armenian Settlements, pp. 71-2. 32. Interview with Mr. David Martin; M.J. Seth, Armenians, p. 575. 33. Sharifuddin Ahmed, Dhaka, pp. 104-5. 34. Ibid., p.104. 35. Anne Basil, Armenian Settlements, pp. 72-3. 36. Azimusshan Haider, Dacca: History and Romance in Place Names, Dacca, 1967, p. 19 37. Abdul Karim, Dacca: The Mughal Capital, Dacca, 1964, p. 47. 38. A.H. Dani, Dacca, p. 67. 39. Azimusshan Haider, Dacca, p. 19. 40. N.K. Sinha, Economic History, vol. III, p. 155; Sharifuddin Ahmed, Dhaka, p. 104. 41. Anne Basil, Armenian Settlements, p. 74. 42. Interview with M.J. Martin, Warden, Armenian Church, Dhaka, 11 February 2010. 43. Fernand Braudel, Civilization and Capitalism, 3 vols., New York, 1982-84; Philip D. Curtin, Cross-Cultural Trade in World History, Cambridge, 1984. 44. Vahan Baladouni and Margaret Makepeace, ‘Armenian Merchants of the Seventeenth and Early Eighteenth Centuries: English East India Company Sources’, in Baladouni and Makepeace (eds.), Transactions of the Armenian Philosophical Society held at Philadelphia for Promoting Useful Knowledge, Philadelphia, 1998. 45. Clive to Watts, 4 August 1758, Orme Mss., India X, IOR, f. 112vo. 46. Letter of Captain Harper to Verelst, Faizabad, 14 March 1768, Verelst Paper, Eur. Mss.F 218, no. 67, IOR; Fort William Council to the Court of Directors, 17 April 1761, ibid., no. 68. 47. Azimusshan Haider, Dacca, pp. 19-20.

PART 2

POLITICS

chapter 7

Sirajuddaullah, the English Company and the Plassey Conspiracy A Reappraisal*

Historians have for long propounded the thesis that Sirajuddaullah was not only cruel, ruthless and swollen-headed but also steeped in debauchery and sensuous pleasures which made him universally hated by his nobles and subjects alike. They have also held that the young nawab was mainly responsible for the conflict with the English Company which ultimately cost him his throne, and that the treachery of Mir Jafar, the nawab’s disgruntled commander, led to the Plassey conspiracy and ultimately the fall of the independent nawabship of Bengal. As if all these were not enough, some of these historians, probably in an attempt to find a justification for the British conquest of Bengal, would have us believe that on the eve of Plassey, the society in Bengal was vertically divided along communal lines, the majority Hindus were tired of the Muslim government and hated it so much that they earnestly yearned for a saviour. Hence they heartily welcomed the British as the deliverer from the tyranny of Muslim rule. *This is an expanded and revised version of a lecture given at the Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, Dhaka, in October 1986. A short-term fellowship by the Asiatic Society enabled me to do some research in Bangladesh. The major part of the paper was written at the Maison des Sciences de l’Homme Inst., Paris. I thankfully acknowledge the support and academic hospitality extended to me by the MSH during May-July 1987. I also acknowledge the support I received from the Indian Council of Historical Research, New Delhi. Subsequently this essay was published in Indian Historical Review, vol. XIII, nos. 1-2, 1972, pp. 111-34.

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This paper is a critical scrutiny of the propositions stated above in the light of new evidence found in the archives of the European Companies. It also takes a fresh look at contemporary Persian and vernacular literature. Though above suppositions were at times challenged, they were not supported by sound evidence that could not be easily refuted. Often the challenge came from non-professionals and at times with too much nationalistic fervour.1 ISSUES INVOLVED Let us, for the sake of convenience of analysis, clarify the issues involved. First, there is a consensus among historians as also among contemporary observers that as a young man Sirajuddaullah was such a cruel, ruthless and profligate person that everyone was scared of his becoming nawab, and that his vicious character alienated almost everyone in the elite class, not to speak of the common people. Second, it was Nawab Sirajuddaullah who was mainly responsible for the conflict with the English East India Company. Third, Mir Jafar is regarded by everyone as the traitor who for his selfish ends joined the conspiracy with the British to remove Sirajuddaullah and put himself on the masnad of the Bengal suba. And finally, it has been argued that the society was vertically divided along communal lines, and the Hindus having been oppressed by the Muslim nawabs were eager to welcome the British who would deliver them from the tyranny of Muslim rule. SIRAJUDDAULLAH’S CHARACTER That Sirajuddaullah, as a young man and particularly before becoming nawab, was of a ruthless, cruel and profligatious character can hardly be denied even by his strong supporters as that is the impression given in no uncertain terms by contemporary European observers and Persian chronicles. But while analysing either the causes of the conflict or the circumstances leading to the Plassey conspiracy, one is not really concerned with this

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‘dark’ side of his character before he became a nawab. Even if one argues that this was really important, one should also consider the fact that every Bengal nawab was profligate and cruel and Siraj was no exception. The cruelty and ruthlessness of Murshid Quli Khan were almost proverbial. Shujauddin and Sarfaraj were both profligates.2 So why the attempt to single out Siraj for ‘bad character’? Again, every Bengal nawab was tyrannical – from Murshid Quli to even Alivardi. Why the allegation against Siraj only? Is it to justify the British conquest of Bengal which otherwise becomes a bit awkward, especially in the face of the treachery and conspiracy at Plassey? No attempt is being made here to dispute the character of Siraj before he became nawab. But the question is whether Siraj showed the same traits after he became nawab or was there any change in him? To be sure, no direct evidence in this regard is available in our sources. But we can find out from stray and indirect references how Siraj behaved as a young nawab. Significantly, all references to the ‘dark’ side of Sirajuddaullah’s character relate to the young man before he became nawab, and any direct evidence categorically condemning his character after he became nawab is hard to come by. The reason possibly lay in Siraj behaving differently after he succeeded Alivardi Khan as the nawab. That such a dramatic change was possible and even expected was indicated by none other than Monsieur Law, the then chief of the French factory at Kasimbazar who referred to the ‘worst ever known’ character of Siraj but pointedly noted that it was ‘before the death of Alivardi Khan’. He wrote rather significantly: ‘People however flattered themselves that when he [Siraj] became Nawab he would become more humane’.3 Even he thought that Siraj might ‘some day [after becoming nawab?] be a good man’. There was reason for him to believe so as he writes: ‘Nawazis Muhammed Khan,4 the young Nawab, had been at the least as vicious as Sirajuddaulah, and yet he had grown up to be the idol of the people’.5 Let us now see how Siraj behaved after his accession to the throne of the Bengal suba. Law shows that Siraj ‘was very well

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disposed’ towards the French and that he held a ‘friendly feeling’ towards them.6 At least it is clear that in his dealings with the French, Siraj did not show any violent temper or ruthless cruelty. Then how did he face the immediate problems that threatened his nawabship, especially the challenges from his arch rivals Ghasiti Begum and Shaukat Jung? Did he do something rash and immature that would fit in well with the character he was supposed to possess? The answer is an emphatic no. He dealt with Ghasiti Begum with such shrewd diplomacy that even Yusuf Ali Khan, the author of Tarikh-i-Bangala-i-Mahabatjangi, could not but be appreciative. He wrote that the people supporting the Begum ‘withdrew from the side of Bibi Ghasiti’ and joined Sirajuddaullah ‘being won over by his persuasive and conciliatory policy’.7 Shaukat Jung was a more dangerous and powerful enemy, and Siraj used a ‘show of force’ to suppress this threat to his nawabship. Even in his dealings with the English, Siraj first tried diplomacy without a show of force, and only then diplomacy backed by a show of force through Khwaja Wazid and by marching on Kasimbazar. What greater maturity could one expect from a young nawab who was just in his early twenties? Siraj might have been a young man, ‘intoxicated with power and wealth’ as mentioned by William Watts, the English chief at Kasimbazar, but during his brief rule of fifteen months, Siraj showed little sign of immaturity, insanity or cruelty. It seems that as a nawab he meant business and wanted everyone, including the Europeans, to know that he was the master and would not tolerate any nonsense. As the nawab, as Watts again points out, he expected ‘an immediate obedience to his will’. It is rather significant that a young man who was accused of a ‘violent character’ and ‘revolting cruelty’ treated the English ‘generously and humanely’,8 after the fall of Kasimbazar. There was no plunder, no ruthless killing or cruelty; only Watts and Mathew Collet (a member of the Council of the Kasimbazar factory in 1756) were asked to accompany the nawab in his march to Calcutta but not even in chains or as prisoners. In all probability, this was just to bring pressure on the English Governor, Drake, at Calcutta to come to terms with the nawab. Regarding Siraj’s character,

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William Watts wrote that in ‘his own nature [Siraj was] timid to the last degree’.9 CAUSES OF THE CONFLICT BETWEEN THE ENGLISH COMPANY AND SIRAJUDDAULLAH S.C. Hill attributes the conflict between the English and Siraj mainly to the young nawab’s ‘vanity and avarice’. He simply brushes aside the grievances of Siraj against the English as mere pretexts on the part of the nawab for attacking the British. Siraj might have been vain before he became nawab, but there is little evidence in his dealings with the English Company that his vanity was one of the main causes for the outbreak of hostility. And as regards avarice, it can be proved from the writings of the English Company’s servants that Siraj’s greed for money, if at all, hardly played any decisive role in the conflict. On the contrary, evidence exists that if any single factor precipitated the crisis, it was the rigidity and uncompromising attitude of Roger Drake, the governor of Calcutta, about whose role Hill surprisingly, though conveniently, remains silent. VANITY It is not true that Sirajuddaullah harboured any ill-feeling towards the English even before he became the nawab. When the English factors visited the prince in 1752, they reported that they were ‘received with the utmost politeness and distinction far superior than was paid to the Dutch or French’.10 But gradually Siraj began to suspect English designs against his succession. So when he became nawab in 1756, he was really concerned about the intentions of the English to support his rivals in the succession race, and not without some justification. It is not only on the authority of Monsieur Law but also several factors of the English Company that we know that the English were harbouring a design and were even involved with the parties which were working against Sirajuddaullah’s succession. Law writes that among others the English thought that Siraj would never

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become ‘subadar’ and ‘they never addressed themselves to Sirajuddaulah for their business in the Durbar but on the contrary avoided all communication with him’.11 He further writes: It was in the effervescence of these troubles that the English gave Sirajuddaula reason for complaint against them. Always led away by the idea that he would not have sufficient influence to get himself recognised as subahdar they carried on a correspondence with the Begum [Ghasiti]. . . . It is even said they had an understanding with the Nawab of Purneah [Shaukat Jung].12

The partisan attitude of the English is also referred to in the account of a servant of the French Company who states that ‘the English were in league with [Ghasiti] Begum and his [Siraj’s] cousin Shaukat Jung to assassinate him and put another nawab in his place’.13 Holwell was convinced that the Begum’s faction had a good possibility of success against Sirajuddaullah.14 Ghulam Hussain Khan, the author of Seir-ul-Mutaqherin and an adviser to Shaukat Jung, also mentions that the latter was confident of receiving assistance from the English in his bid against Siraj for the nawabship.15 Despite all this, how did Siraj treat the English? If he was vain and if his vanity was one of the main causes of the conflict, as Hill would have us believe, he would have taken revenge on the English immediately after humbling his two main adversaries for succession. But he did not do that. A few days after his accession,16 he sent a letter to the English Company demanding the extradition of Krishnadas, who had taken shelter in Calcutta with an estimated treasure of Rs 5.3 million. Krishnadas had taken this money from his father, Raj Ballav, the revenue administrator of Dacca and a confidant of Ghasiti Begum, under whose deceased husband Nawazish Muhammed (the nawab of Dacca) Raj Ballav was an assistant. Raj Ballav was suspected of embezzlement of government funds and while his accounts were being checked, he sought the English protection at Calcutta for his son and family who arrived there on 13 March 1756, less than a month before Alivardi’s death.17 A few weeks later, Siraj wrote another letter asking the English Company to desist from erecting any new fortifications and ask-

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ing it to demolish the redoubt and drawbridge already erected at Fort William. Drake not only rejected the first letter but its bearer Narain Singh – who was the brother of Rajaram, the faujdar of Midnapur – was unceremoniously dismissed on the pretext that he was a spy, though he was introduced by no other person than Umichand. Drake sent a reply to Siraj’s second letter, which carried a ‘tacit reflection’ on the nawab’s power to maintain neutrality between the English and the French in the case of an extension of the Seven Years’ War to Bengal.18 This increased Sirajuddaullah’s suspicion that the Europeans, especially the English, might repeat what they had done a few years earlier in the Carnatic. Watts wrote from Kasimbazar: ‘The moment I was acquainted with the affair [of Narain Singh] I dreaded the consequences of affronting so considerable a servant of a young man intoxicated with power and wealth, and who expected an implicit obedience to his will’.19 From the events that followed it is unfair to say that Siraj showed any signs of vanity or did anything rash. He consulted his nobles and officers as to the course of action to be taken and a group of them, including Mir Jafar, Rai Durlabh Ram and Khwaja Wazid, advocated ‘a policy of firmness and diplomacy combined with a show of force’.20 Accordingly, he appointed the Armenian merchant, Khwaja Wazid, to negotiate with the English. But Wazid’s diplomatic mission was fruitless. Drake treated him with ignominy and turned him out of Calcutta. Watts tells us: ‘Khwaja Wajid . . . went four times to Calcutta in order to persuade the gentlemen to make up matters with the nawab but was threatened to be ill used if he came again on the same errand’.21 While Wazid was busy negotiating in vain, the nawab asked two of his military officers to besiege the Kasimbazar factory22 and on 24 May the nawab’s troops (numbering 300 on that date) arrived before the English factory at Kasimbazar. It was only on 3 June that the nawab appeared at Kasimbazar, when the nawab’s soldiers swelled to 30,000 and that too while marching to Rajmahal where he had heard from Narain Singh of the latter’s ill-treatment by the English. The factory at Kasimbazar capitulated without a shot being fired and the nawab asked

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Watts to sign a capitulation which the latter did.23 Though Watts and Collet were asked to accompany the nawab in his march to Calcutta, the nawab did not confiscate English property, except artillery and ammunition in the factory. In his dealings with the English so far, one fails to find any trace of the nawab’s vanity. As is clear from the above, Siraj gave the English ample time for peaceful negotiations before launching his attack on Calcutta. First he tried diplomacy without force, failing which, he resorted to diplomacy with a show of force. AVARICE As to the ‘avarice’ of Sirajuddaullah, one hardly finds any evidence in contemporary records which could prove this ‘vice’. The significant point in the refutation of Hill’s thesis in this regard is that in the capitulation which Watts signed at the instance of Siraj, there was no mention of any demand for money which was almost a general practice with all the Bengal nawabs under these circumstances. The terms of the capitulation were the same as the grievances of Siraj. That Siraj wanted to settle matters with the English and that his alleged ‘avarice’ was not a factor at all is borne out by Watts and Collet: ‘A proof that the nawab’s intent was to accommodate matter was that he touched none of the Company’s effects at Kasimbazar except warlike stores’.24 The demand for money was made at a later stage by Rai Durlabh Ram, when Watts and Collet were marching with the nawab’s army to Calcutta. However, on his way back to Murshidabad after the fall of Calcutta (which he left on 24 June), Siraj compelled the European Companies to pay him complimentary presents; the Dutch paid him Rs. 0.45 million and the French Rs. 0.35 million. In the English treasury he found only Rs. 40,642.25 This sort of customary gift was exacted by all the Bengal nawabs from Murshid Quli down to Alivardi, and sometimes even bigger sums were taken. So Sirajuddaullah cannot be legitimately accused of ‘avarice’. The English Company’s losses26 were to some extent caused by fire during the hostilities at Calcutta. Sometimes there was

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plunder too, for which, if Orme is to be believed, Raja Manickchand was mainly responsible. Siraj imprisoned him later and on release made him pay a fine of a million rupees ‘for the effects he had plundered at Calcutta’.27 That the charge of avarice against Siraj is superfluous is clearly borne out by an anonymous author of an English manuscript in the British Library, London who states that the plunder of Calcutta ‘was a subordinate motive’ for the nawab’s march to Calcutta. He emphasizes that ‘it was not money that the Subadar required, it was nothing short of the demolition of the fortifications of the Europeans’.28 Even the case of Holwell would testify that Siraj was not at all avaricious. After the fall of Calcutta when Holwell was presented to the nawab as a prisoner, he pleaded that despite his losses at Calcutta, he still ‘possessed enough to pay a considerable sum of money for his freedom’. The nawab’s reply was: ‘It may be, if he has anything left, let him keep it; his sufferings have been great; he shall have his liberty’.29 This clearly brings out the fact that Siraj had really no lust for money and that he was quite humane. SIRAJUDDAULLAH’S GRIEVANCES WERE NOT MERE PRETEXTS A thorough and critical scrutiny of the available evidence would leave little doubt that Siraj’s grievances were absolutely genuine and can in no way be brushed aside as mere ‘pretexts’ for attacking the English, as characterized by Hill. The nawab clarified his intentions in taking action against the English in a letter to Khwaja Wazid, who was appointed by Siraj to negotiate with the English. He wrote: I have three substantial motives for extirpating the English out of my country: one that they have built strong fortifications and dug a large ditch in the king’s dominions contrary to the established laws of the country; the second is that they have abused the privilege of their dustuks by granting them to such as were in no ways entitled to them, from which practice the king has suffered greatly in the revenue of his customs; the third motive is that they give protection to such of the king’s subjects as have by their behaviour in the employs they were entrusted with made themselves liable to be called to an account.30

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Whether the issues involved were real or mere pretexts for attacking the English should be examined carefully. There is little doubt, as all the evidence will bear out, that the Europeans, especially the English, had built strong fortifications. Taking advantage of the general permission given to them following the rebellion of Sobha Singh, a zamindar of Chandrakona in Midnapur, towards the close of the seventeenth century, the Europeans fortified their settlements in Bengal.31 In the 1740s the English erected a redoubt and drawbridge on Perrin’s corner of Fort William, and following the Maratha invasions dug the Maratha Ditch surrounding Fort William. The Court of Directors advised the Fort William Council to further fortify Calcutta with the approval of Nawab Alivardi Khan ‘or at least [with] such a connivance [with the nawab’s officers]’.32 Watts’ suggestion to Drake typifies the scant regard the English had for the nawab’s authority: ‘It is far from being certain that he [Alivardi] will take any notice of our making Calcutta defensible . . . Your Honour . . . should determine to set about fortifying without applying for leave’.33 The Fort William Council and the Governor began fortifying Calcutta without the nawab’s permission. All this evidence undoubtedly shows that the English were fortifying themselves, even ignoring the authority of the nawab and Sirajuddaullah had cause to be concerned about the fortifications in the face of what happened in the South. Our anonymous author writes significantly: The new Soubah was jealous of the independent powers of the Europeans in his country and determined to reduce it. The English being the most formidable, they became the first object of his just policy and he swore that he would reduce the power of the English in Bengal and drive them out of the country unless they were satisfied to trade in it on the footing they did in the time of Jaffier Khan. It is clear that the leading and real object of Surajah Dowlah was the demolition of the forts and garrisons.34

As for the abuse of dastaks, Siraj’s grievances were more than justified. Even a glance at the records of the English Company would reveal that the Company servants in Bengal abused the privilege. Not only did the servants of the Company illegally

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cover their own private trade through dastaks, they covered the trade of the Asian merchants, who frequently bought the dastaks for duty-free trade from the former to evade the legitimate customs duty of the state. Thus the state was defrauded of a large amount of revenue that was its due. The servants of the Company, however, claimed that the farman of 171735 sanctioned duty-free trade not only to the Company but also included their own private trade – a claim which was absolutely baseless. The real intent and purpose of the farman was to give duty-free concession only to the Company’s imports and exports, and it was never intended for the duty-free trade of the Company servants’ private trade.36 As a result, this issue was a bone of contention between the nawab and the Company servants right from the time of Murshid Quli Khan down to Alivardi. Whenever the controversy took a serious turn, a compromise was reached after paying a lump-sum to the nawab by the Company. As the anonymous writer puts it: ‘The abuse of the Company’s Dustuck gave too just a handle to the Durbar for frequently putting a stop to the provision of the Company’s Investment’.37 Dwelling at length on the exaction of the nawabs on the issue of dastaks, he comments: ‘Light pretences are sufficient for arbitrary governments to act upon, but here the abuse of dustucks was too truly a real cause for these exactions, therefore they were not extraordinary’.38 It was, therefore, not Siraj who first raised this vital issue; he apparently wanted to put an end to this illegal practice which might have made the Company servants apprehensive of losing the most lucrative means of amassing wealth in Bengal. Our anonymous author refers to the abuse of dastaks as ‘shameful prostitution’39 and states that the spies of the ‘Durbar were well acquainted with the prostitution of the Company’s dustucks and reported it daily to the Durbar’.40 Even so Siraj did not challenge the more basic issue, namely, the alleged privilege of the Company’s servants to cover their own private trade through dastaks; he only wanted to stop the illegal practice of the Company servants covering the trade of the Asian merchants by dastaks, thus defrauding the state of its customs revenue. As the anonymous author states, Sirajuddaullah ‘declared he would

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prove from vouchers in his possession that since the grant of the Firman by Ferroekseer, the English had defrauded the Shah in his legal revenue of customs to the amount of a crore and half by covering the trade of the Native with the Company’s dustuck’.41 So there could be hardly any room for doubt that the abuse of dastaks was not a mere ‘pretext’ but a genuine grievance of the young nawab against the English and ‘was also a fair cause of complaint’.42 As far as the question of shelter given to the nawab’s offending subjects is concerned, the case of Krishnadas is a typical example of how the English were defying the authority of the nawab. Even Alivardi Khan was extremely upset about this and complained to the English Company in strong terms.43 But the shelter given to Krishnadas had a different dimension altogether. In all probability, as the evidence indicates, it was politically motivated and Siraj had every reason to demand the extradition of Krishnadas, especially in the face of his struggle in the succession race. Watts recommended to the Fort William Council and Governor Drake that protection be given to Krishnadas on the assumption that Ghasiti Begum’s faction (of which Raj Ballav was a leading member) had a very strong chance of success against Sirajuddaullah. But when he realized just shortly before Alivardi’s death that Sirajuddaullah’s succession to the nawabship was assured, he advised Drake and his Council that ‘Krishnadas and the rest of Raagbullob’s family should have no longer protection in Calcutta as it was very uncertain what a turn things would take after the decease of the Suba’.44 Drake turned a deaf ear to Watts’ suggestion, although even Holwell and Manningham of the Council advised the dismissal of Krishnadas from Calcutta ‘fearing it might be productive of troublesome consequences and possibly embroil us with the new government’.45 But Holwell had his doubts even later (just after the death of Alivardi) about the course of action to be taken as he wrote that it ‘became at the juncture a dangerous step to the Company’s interest to turn his family out of the settlement, the more especially as for some days advices from all quarters were in favour of the Begum’s party’. It is thus evident that the shelter given to Krishnadas was motivated

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by the consideration of political expediency and meant, in the final analysis, not only a defiance of the nawab’s authority but active involvement with the group opposed to Sirajuddaullah’s succession. And, as such, the young nawab’s allegations against the English were absolutely justified. Although he was a strong critic of Siraj, even Hill had to admit, perhaps unwittingly, that Siraj ‘had a show of reason in all the pretexts he alleged for his attack on the British’. But as if blame he must Siraj for the outbreak of the hostility, he qualifies his statement by saying that ‘where he [Siraj] displayed his folly was in resorting to such violent means for reducing to submission a useful people when his grandfather had always been able to manage by much milder measures’.46 He further accused the young nawab of ‘publicly exhibiting his own contempt for law and order by claiming the right to abrogate the farman [of 1717]’. For Hill, even that was not a sufficient condemnation of Siraj and he goes on to narrate how seeing the nawab’s ‘mad behaviour’, ‘the people of the country were delighted and thought he was marching to his ruin’ and how ‘they hugged themselves in the expectation that the English would defeat the Nawab and deliver them from his tyranny and oppression’.47 But from the evidence and events we have analysed so far, there is hardly anything to prove the young nawab’s ‘mad behaviour’ or to brand his action as ‘folly’. Moreover, it is not he who tried to abrogate the farman but the English who violated its provisions. He only tried to limit the activities of the English within the terms of the farman. Nor was it a fact that Alivardi took milder measures against the English, though he had never had the occasion to attack the English factories as they submitted meekly to the strong nawab. In the case of Sirajuddaullah, circumstances were different; the English were now indulging in court politics, even supporting the factions against Siraj which they would have never dared to do earlier. And we have seen how earnestly, through various emissaries, Siraj tried for a peaceful settlement which was not to be. Our anonymous English author has this to say while commenting on the treaty of capitulation: ‘. . . [Watts] signed a capitulation of three articles, all highly creditable to the

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good policy and the moderation of the power which dictated them’.48 SIRAJ’S INTENTIONS: GOVERNOR DRAKE’S ATTITUDE It has been alleged that Sirajuddaullah wanted to drive the English out of Bengal, and Hill perhaps considers this as the young nawab’s ‘folly’. This notion has been taken so much for granted for such a long time that even C.A. Bayly, in a very recent paper, talks of how the ‘Bengal Nawab chased the English out of Bengal’.49 He emphasizes in his recent book,50 ‘Siraj-ud-Daulah attempted to expel all the English from Bengal’.51 But our evidence actually negates such an allegation. The nawab made his intentions absolutely clear in his letter to Khwaja Wazid: . . . if the English are contented to remain in my country they must submit to have their forts razed, their ditch filled up, and trade upon the same terms they did in the time of Nawab Jaffier Khan [Murshid Quli]; otherwise I will expel them out of the provinces of which I am the Subah [nawab]. I am fully determined to reduce that nation to the above-mentioned conditions. . . .52

Even in the second letter written a few days after this to Khwaja Wazid clarifying his motives for action against the English, Siraj added, ‘. . . if they [the English] will promise to remove the foregoing complaints of their conduct . . . I will pardon their fault and permit their residence here. . . .’53 He intended to restrict the English activities within the confines of the provisions of the farman and not allow them to grossly misuse the concessions spelled out in the said farman. That he had no intention of expelling the English is also hinted in the letter he wrote to Governor Pigot of Fort St George in which he specifically mentioned that ‘it was not my intention to remove the mercantile business of the Company belonging to you from out of the subah of Bengal’.54 Our anonymous writer also points out that Sirajuddaullah wanted ‘to reduce the power of the English in Bengal and drive them out of the country unless they were satisfied to trade in it on the footing they did in the time of Jaffier Khan’.55 Boastful as he was in his early youth and in his inexperience, Sirajuddaullah

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no doubt spoke about driving the English out of Bengal. However, that seems to be really a threat to pressurize them to come to terms with the nawab. Hill’s assertion that Sirajuddaullah adopted violent means without trying diplomatic negotiations ignores the diplomatic offensive taken by the nawab, which continued till three days before the outbreak of hostilities. Siraj’s efforts to negotiate through Narain Singh and Khwaja Wazid failed mainly because of Drake, whose attitude towards the nawab’s emissaries was ‘defiant and belligerent’. Drake was adamant and arrogant, and was intent on a war against the young nawab. While on march from Kasimbazar to Calcutta, Watts informed Drake through a secret letter the conversation he had with Durlabh Ram, the nawab’s commander, for a peaceful settlement, but Drake, as Watts states, was ‘resolved not to come to any terms’ with the nawab.56 Probably Drake believed that the nawab’s grievances were mere pretexts for driving the English out of Bengal and capturing their wealth, and so he was determined to make a show of force. The suggestion made by Watts, Collet and Watson on 31 May to Drake and his Council to write a letter to the nawab in the spirit of rapprochement was ignored. Again, the attempts of Umichand and Sri Babu (Khwaja Wazid’s agent in Calcutta) to reduce the tension came to nothing in the face of Drake’s intransigence. He was so incensed by the capitulation of Kasimbazar that he is reported to have told Sri Babu that ‘sooner he [Siraj] came [to Calcutta] the better and he [Drake] would make another nawab’.57 However, on a second representation on 10 June, Sri Babu persuaded Drake to write a letter to Siraj, but the spirit of accommodation, if any, shown in that letter was reversed by his order the same day to attack Thana and Sukhsagar, two of the nawab’s outposts.58 That Drake was intent on a showdown is also evident from his reply to the letter dated 12 June of Watts and Collet (still on their march to Calcutta with the nawab’s army) in which they proposed that an emissary be sent to the nawab to settle the dispute. Drake replied that ‘after the disgrace the Company had suffered at Kasimbazar . . . they were resolved not to come to any agreement’.59 The final attempt

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to settle the matter was made by Marquis de St Jacques, a French renegade and commander of the nawab’s artillery, on 13 June. Drake’s reply was to leave the nawab and join the English side.60 Therefore, Governor Drake’s rigidity, intransigence and bellicosity were largely responsible for the outbreak of hostilities between the nawab and the English on 16 June 1756. PLASSEY CONSPIRACY: MIR JAFAR’S TREACHERY? Mir Jafar has almost universally been regarded as traitor in the Plassey conspiracy and the very word ‘Mir Jafar’ is a synonym for a traitor. More unfortunate is the fact that a particular community is often referred to as ‘Mir Jafar’s community’ implying that this community is by nature ‘treacherous’. No doubt such a prejudice thrived for long on the assumption that the conspiracy and the debacle at Plassey were solely due to the machination of Mir Jafar. It is important to see how far this assumption is based on historical fact. No attempt is being made here to deny that Mir Jafar joined the conspiracy and betrayed the nawab at Plassey. The main question that is being enquired into is whether Mir Jafar was the only one or even the main person who was responsible for the conspiracy. Was there any other person or force who or which played the most vital role in the conspiracy and was Mir Jafar used only as a pawn in the whole game? It is noteworthy that the idea of conspiracy was first mooted in the Madras Resolution adopted on the eve of Clive’s expedition to Bengal, which urged ‘to effect a junction with any powers in the Provinces of Bengal that may be dissatisfied with the violence of the Nawab’s government or that may have pretensions to Nawabship’.61 Accordingly, on 23 April 1757 the Select Committee of the Fort William Council adopted coup d’etat against the nawab as its official policy.62 The floodgates of the conspiracy were thus opened. The main force behind the conspiracy was, however, not Mir Jafar but the house of the Jagat Seths. The English choice was first Yar Latif Khan,63 but they had to abandon him in favour of Mir Jafar64 who was

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the candidate of the Seth brothers without whose support, they knew well, any coup d’état was impossible. Jean Law writes: ‘They [the Seths] are, I affirm, the originators of the revolution; without them the English would never have carried out what they have’.65 So, if Mir Jafar is to be blamed for treachery, the blame falls equally or even more on the Seths. In fact, it was the house of the Jagat Seths which indulged in political revolutions in Bengal throughout the first half of the eighteenth century and it was they who were the real kingmakers. As Law points out: ‘It was this family [of Jagat Seths] who conducted all his [Alivardi’s] business and it may be said that it had long been the chief cause of revolutions in Bengal’.66 Robert Orme even suspected that Yar Latif Khan was ‘employed by the Seths to find out the real intentions of the English towards the Nabob’.67 In their intrigues with the English both Yar Latif and Mir Jafar assured the English agents of the support of the Jagat Seths for their candidature. Realizing that the revolution in Bengal was impossible without the support of the Jagat Seths, the Select Committee of the Fort William Council, even before adopting coup d’etat as its official policy, sent instructions to Watts at Kasimbazar to make his ‘utmost endeavour to keep Juggut Seth’s family attached to our interest’.68 That the house of the Jagat Seths was the main force behind the conspiracy is borne out even by Clive’s correspondence. He noted on 30 April 1757 that the conspiracy against Sirajuddaullah was led ‘by several of the great men, at the head of which is Jugget Seit himself’. He further wrote in June about Jagat Seth that ‘as he is a person of the greatest prosperity and influence in the three Subas and of no inconsiderable weight at the Mogul’s court, it was natural to determine on him as the properest person to settle the affairs of this Government’.69 The role of the house of Jagat Seths was so crucial in the Plassey conspiracy that even twenty years after the revolution Jean Law de Lauriston, the Governor of the French East Indies in the late seventies, noted in 1777 that without the intrigues of the house of Jagat Seth, the revolution in Bengal would have never taken place.70

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REVOLUTION OF THE HINDU/ JAIN COMMERCIAL/BANKING CLASS'? It has been suggested in recent years that the Plassey conspiracy should be seen in the light of the emergence of the Hindu commercial class connected with European trade in the eighteenth century. Brijen K. Gupta emphasizes that as a result of the IndoEuropean oceanic trade ‘a community of interests had developed between the Hindu mercantile class and the European Companies’,71 and he links this with the thesis of Hindu revivalism and the schism in Bengali society. But then he writes that the ‘Calcutta merchants later became the catalytic agent in the English occupation of Bengal’.72 Of the conspirators/collaborators, only Umichand could be described as a Calcutta merchant; other commercial and/or banking interests were certainly not Calcutta merchants. They were Bengal merchants, and certainly not all Hindus. Even Umichand, with his extensive operations covering the whole of the Bengal suba, should be described as a Bengal merchant. The really influential Calcutta merchant families, the Seths and Basaks of Sutanuti and Govindapur, were not visible anywhere in the conspiracy. And the three main merchant princes who were involved at some point in the conspiracy (Jagat Seth, Umichand and Khwaja Wazid), though they developed a community of interests with the Europeans (any merchant trader would possibly develop such an interest with another trading concern), still had mercantile operations quite independent of the Companies and often on a much larger scale. Hence the community of interests between the Hindu mercantile class and the Europeans was not really such an important factor as to cause the revolution of 1757. Only recently, in an interesting essay, Chris Bayly has reiterated the role of the Hindu and Jain commercial and banking class in the revolution of 1757. Bayly refers to Laurington’s view that the ‘internal and external trade of the Hindu and Jain commercial communities had become intimately entangled with European commerce’ on the eve of Plassey73 and observes: ‘The English revolution which seized Bengal in 1757 was in effect a

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revolution of the Hindu commercial class who could not afford to see the Bengal Nawab chase the English out of Bengal’.74 But cautious and careful a historian as he is, Bayly remains silent about the schism in society, though in a way his thesis about the revolution of the Hindu commercial class fits in well with the schism notion. In order to emphasize the ‘entanglement’ hypothesis, he points out that the ‘role of commercial people in the financial [and hence political] structure was also enhanced by the growing importance of European trade in providing inflows of money [bullion?] into the Empire, which Om Prakash has also shown’.75 Elaborating his thesis further in his book,76 Bayly holds that the Bengal zamindars who were ‘typical late Mughal fiscal lords’ were ‘at risk from the envy of a cash-hungry ruler’, and more so were the Jagat Seths and other banking interests who were looked upon as milch cows by the Bengal nawabs.77 The occasion for crisis, he maintains, was provided by the young Nawab Sirajuddaullah, who in order to consolidate his power, began to ‘squeeze resources out of the large zamindars and the Jagat Seths’.78 The ‘expulsion’ of the English from Calcutta, he points out, could not be borne for long by the Indian merchants, bankers and zamindars, for ‘their own interests had become far too closely intertwined with the fate of the Europeans who imported silver and bought the productions of their zamindaris and their trade goods’.79 But there are certain problems in accepting Bayly’s thesis. First, if Plassey was the revolution of the Hindu and Jain banking and commercial class, how does one explain the role (which was not insignificant) of the Armenian merchants and even some Muslim traders in the Plassey conspiracy? Though the Armenian merchant prince Khwaja Wazid was the last to join the bandwagon of the conspirators, there is little doubt that he played an important role in the revolution of 1757. According to Robert Orme, the official historian of the English Company, it was the Armenian Khwaja Petruse who conveyed Mir Jafar’s proposal (to join hands with the English) to Watts. The involvement of the Armenians in the Plassey revolution is clearly indicated by Taillefert, the Dutch director in Bengal, who categorically stated

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in his Memorie (1763) that the Armenians joined the British against the nawab in 1757.80 Evidently Bayly’s thesis completely ignores the role of the Armenian merchants in the conspiracy. Even some Muslim merchants were in the thick of the conspiracy and wanted to see the young nawab replaced. We know on the authority of William Forth (the Company’s surgeon) that two Muslim merchants of ‘distinction’ and ‘great friends of the old nawab’, being afraid of ‘meeting with the same fate with most of the old nawab’s intimates’, fled from Murshidabad to Chinsura (from where Forth wrote his letter) in the wake of Sirajuddaullah’s success against his rivals.81 The surgeon also informs us that Fakir Muhammed particularly informed him that many of the principal people of the country would flee to Calcutta if the English were firmly established there and the ‘whole country would be glad if the English would get the Nabob in irons’. In the face of all this evidence, it is difficult to accept the thesis of Plassey being a revolution of only the Hindu and Jain commercial and banking class. Secondly, the banking and commercial class emerged as a powerful force in Bengal at least from the late 1720s as the case of Jagat Seth and Umichand bears out, while the Armenians were there as a strong commercial force even when European commerce was not very significant. Hence the emergence of this class in Bengal was not just prior to Plassey and as such not a new phenomenon. If Plassey is explained only as a revolution of the commercial and banking class, how is one to explain the revolutions of 1727 and 1739/40? It is well known that the house of Jagat Seth was the main force behind these upheavals, but the Seths were also aided and abetted by a clique of the ruling elite which was composed of both the commercial and landed military aristocracy. The revolution of 1739/40 was the handiwork of the triumvirate – Diwan Alamchand, Jagat Seth and the Alivardi brothers, Haji Ahmed and Alivardi – who represented Bayly’s fiscal lords and commercial interests in a way but had not as yet reaped much benefit from European trade. Thirdly, Bayly’s categorical statement that the interests of the Indian merchants and zamindars had become far too closely

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entangled with the fate of the Europeans so that the expulsion of the English (Europeans?) could not be borne for long by them and hence the revolution is open to question. Two significant assumptions underlie this statement, to both of which the most recent research casts grave doubts. The first assumption is that by 1757, that is, on the eve of Plassey, European trade was the most important factor in the commercial life of Bengal. Of course, the works of K.N. Chaudhuri82 and Om Prakash83 would have us believe in such a thesis. But in a recent paper, Shireen Moosvi has ably challenged their thesis stating that the situation might have been otherwise, and that the Europeans were not the only importers of bullion to India and not possibly even the largest importer at that.84 From whatever quantitative evidence we could gather from different sources so far (one hopes to unearth more quantitative data from European and indigenous sources), it seems that the volume of trade by Asian merchants in Bengal was much bigger than that carried on by the Europeans even in the late forties and early fifties of the eighteenth century. The share of the Asian merchants in the trade of the two major export commodities (namely, textiles and silk) was much higher than that of the Europeans. In the estimate of the amount of cloth exported from Dhaka in 1747, the Asian share (including that of the Armenians) stands at two-third of the total compared to onethird of the Europeans including the European private trade.85 The Asian lead in textile trade in general is confirmed by Dutch sources, which refers to investment in textiles in 1742 to the tune of Rs. 76 lakh by the Asians and other Europeans, excluding the Dutch, of which the English and French share could not possibly have been more than 25 to 30 lakhs at the most.86 The position is much clearer with regard to the silk trade where the Asians exported from 1749 to 1757 (including the years of Maratha disturbance till 1751, and the conflict between the English and the nawab in 1756 when the total investment in silk amounted to only Rs. 21 lakh) on an average silk worth Rs. 48 lakh which far exceeded (the highest being Rs. 66 lakh in 1751) the total European export of silk and which was nearly the total value of the export of the European Companies from Bengal during

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these years.87 So the thesis that the Europeans were the principal agencies through which silver came to Bengal is hardly tenable. The second assumption that the interest of the commercial and banking class, as also that of the zamindars, closely intertwined with the fate of the Europeans could be regarded as valid only when it could be established that the main source of income of this class (and hence its rise to power) was through its connection with European trade. But as European trade was not yet the major factor in the commercial life of Bengal and Asian trade was still more important than the former, the question of this class hanging on to the fortunes of the European Companies does not arise. This can be further corroborated from the sources of the accumulation of wealth of this class and hence the power of the three merchant princes (Jagat Seth, Umichand and Khwaja Wazid) who were the ring-leaders of the revolution. It can be established from the estimate of the annual income of the house of the Jagat Seths made by Luke Scrafton in 1757 that out of an annual income of about Rs. 50 lakh, the share from coinage (minting – which was the monopoly of the house), batta or interest on loans was only Rs. 15 lakh at the most and hence there is no reason to believe that all this was due to the European import of silver and European trade only.88 Similarly, though Umichand and Khwaja Wazid were connected with European trade, the main source of their income was monopoly trade in saltpetre and salt. Umichand also attempted a monopoly of opium and grain trade while Khwaja Wazid was largely engaged in Surat, the Red Sea and Persian trade with his own fleet of seafaring vessels.89 It is, therefore, too much to hold that the interests of these merchant princes who represented the commercial and banking class were intertwined with the fortunes of the European Companies. Bayly’s thesis, an adaptation from Hill and other proponents of the school, of Siraj chasing the English out of Bengal hardly conforms to fact. But interestingly enough, Bayly proposes something new about Siraj (which fits in well with his general thesis of the crucial role of indigenous capitalism represented by fiscal lords and the commercial and banking class) that the young nawab ‘in an attempt to consolidate his power began

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to squeeze resources out of the large zamindars and the Jagat Seths’.90 Siraj no doubt launched his onslaught against Ghasiti Begum, her chief confidant Raj Ballav and Shaukat Jung, but it was not just to ‘squeeze’ them; his main motive was to suppress the challenge to his succession represented by these people. He did not try to extort money either from the zamindars or from the banking and commercial houses. It was his grandfather and the previous Nawab Alivardi who in his desperate bid for money to ward off the Marathas tried to squeeze not only the merchants and zamindars but even the European Companies. Even Orme (surely not a sympathiser of Siraj) maintains that on his succession Sirajuddaullah had a ‘full treasury’ (perhaps after the peace of 1751 with the Marathas, Alivardi had enough time and opportunity to replenish the treasury) and hence no need of squeezing resources out of the merchants and zamindars. According to Orme, ‘to the Seths, the young nawab behaved with civility’.91 No indication of any squeezing of the merchants or zamindars by the young nawab is found in any contemporary Persian source either.92 SCHISM IN SOCIETY? S.C. Hill is the most vocal proponent of the schism thesis. He asserts that in the mid-eighteenth century, Bengali society was divided vertically along communal lines with the majority of the Hindus eager to get rid of the tyranny of the Muslim rulers. To prove this theory, he refers to the observations of two contemporary European writers, Jean Law and Colonel Scot. Jean Law of the French factory wrote: They [the Hindu Rajas] detest the Muhammedan Government, and if it had not been for the Seths, the famous Bankers, with whom they have close connection, it is possible that after the Revolution in which Sirajud-daula was the victim, they would all have risen together to establish a Hindu government.93

To corroborate his thesis of the disaffection of the Hindu Rajas with Muslim rule, Hill then refers to the statement of Colonel Scot who wrote to his friend Mr Noble in 1754 that

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‘the Jentu rajahs and the inhabitants were much disaffected to the Moor Government and secretly wished for a change and the opportunity of throwing off the tyrannical yoke’.94 On the basis of this evidence, Hill concludes: ‘There was the discontent of the Hindus towards Muhammedan Government. . . . Hindus were quietly looking round for a possible deliverer’.95 As if taking the cue from Hill, Brijen K. Gupta upholds the theory of schism in Bengali society in the middle of the eighteenth century. He writes: ‘They [the English] themselves believed that the Hindu subjects of the kingdom were not only at the point of revolt against the Muslim nawab, but that the Hindus were willing to support the English in replacing the Muslim authority in Bengal’.96 Thus it appears that both Hill and Gupta would have us believe that on the eve of Plassey there was already a schism in Bengal’s body politic, that the Hindus were greatly discontented with Muslim rule and that they wanted a change in the government. Before we analyse the social relations in Bengal in the mid-eighteenth century and see whether there was really a schism in the society, which facilitated the British occupation, let us try to explain the motivation, if any, of the European observers in drawing such a picture of the serious division in society along communal lines. In the mid-eighteenth-century Bengal was considered an easy prey by most of the European traders or adventurers, who, by this time, were almost universally harbouring the dream of conquering Bengal and were confident of achieving an easy victory. This attitude of the Europeans can be documented precisely. Dupleix, who was the chief of the French Company in Bengal for some time, wrote to Bussy on 15 June 1751: ‘I have just had word from Bengal that the nawab extorts money from us without rhyme or reason. Would it not be possible to get from the great Mogul . . . an order compelling the nawab to leave us alone? Without this we shall be forced to drive him out’.97 Again on 16 July 1751 he wrote: ‘Nothing can be easier than to humble the pride of that man [Alivardi Khan] whose troops are as worthless as those you already know. . . . By taking a few precautions we could make ourselves masters of Hughli.’98 On 11 September 1751 he seems

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to have given the final verdict: ‘The nawab is hated there because of his vexations. . . . You alone are strong enough to become the master of the country which is ripe for invasion because of the tyranny of the present government’.99 Colonel Mill, an English soldier of fortune, also wrote: ‘. . . the country might be conquered and laid under contribution as easily as Spaniards overwhelmed the naked Indians of America. . . . Three ships with fifteen hundred or two thousand regulars would suffice for the undertaking.’100 Even Robert Orme wrote to Clive on 25 August 1752: ‘it would be a good deed to swing the old dog [Alivardi]. I don’t speak at random when I say that the Company must think seriously of it or it will not be worth their while to trade in Bengal’.101 If this was the attitude of the Europeans whose main motive was the conquest of Bengal, it is no wonder that they would try to find some excuse to justify the conquest in the concocted schism of Bengali society in the mid-eighteenth century. Arguing along these lines, we need not perhaps take seriously the offhand comments of Jean Law and Colonel Scot which formed the basic evidence behind the thesis propounded by Hill and Gupta. That Bengal would fall an easy prey to the English design of conquest is quite apparent from the Madras Resolution adopted before sending reinforcements to Bengal under Clive, subsequent to the capture of Calcutta by Sirajuddaullah in 1756. The most significant part of the resolution is: We need not represent to you the great advantage which we think it will be to the military operations, and the influence it will leave in the Nabob’s Council to effect a junction with any Powers in the Provinces of Bengal that may be dissatisfied with the violence of the Nabob’s government or that may have Pretensions to the Nabobship.102

This actually opened the floodgates of conspiracy in which a section of the ruling elite, comprising both Hindus and Muslims, took part and which ultimately brought about the downfall of Siraj, and no schism in the society helped the process. Probably there would have been a revolution in 1757 even without the role played by the English as there had been two revolutions ear-

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lier without any English hand. However, there is little doubt that the participation of the English in 1757 made the process much easier. In all the three revolutions in Bengal in the first half of the eighteenth century a certain pattern is discernible – the situation became revolutionary with the death of a nawab when the new ruler threatened the position of the incumbent ruling clique in a society where personal allegiance replaced the rule of law. This familiar pattern emerged on the death of the nawabs in 1727, 1739 and 1756.103 As there was no question of a schism in the society in 1727 and 1739-40, so also there was none in 1756-7. It is strange that the theory of a rift in society along communal lines had held ground for such a long time despite the fact that most of the high officers and zamindars during Alivardi’s reign – and for that matter during Sirajuddaullah’s time too – were Hindus. We get a complete list of the principal officers and zamindars of Alivardi’s court in the Orme Manuscripts as also in the memoirs of the Dutch Director Jan Kerseboom. In Orme’s list, out of seven important positions in the state in 1754 (such as diwan, tun-diwan, sub-diwan and buxie), as many as six were held by Hindus while the sole Muslim buxie was Mir Jafar.104 Again, of the nineteen important rajas or zamindars, as many as eighteen were Hindus. The list drawn up by Kerseboom in 1755 also indicates the predominance of Hindus in important offices headed by Rai Rayan Omeed Ray as naib diwan of the subadar.105 If this was the situation in 1754-5 (and there is little evidence to show that it had altered to any substantial extent during Sirajuddaullah’s reign), one must concede that the Hindus were in a much more privileged position under the Muslim rulers than the Muslims themselves. Struck by the predominance of the Hindus during Alivardi’s time, Robert Orme commented that the ‘Gentoo connection’ became ‘the most opulent influence in his [Alivardi’s] government of which it pervaded every department with such efficacy, that nothing of moment could move without their participation or knowledge’.106 The Hindu influence was in a way more pronounced during the short reign of Sirajuddaullah. The chief confidants of the young nawab were the two Hindus – Mohanlal and Mir Mardan [Mir Mardan

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was, however, a Muslim though in popular perception he was regarded as a Hindu]. Indeed the most dominating influence on the nawab was that of Mohanlal, who ‘was like a firm pillar to him’.107 Even the author of Tarikh-i-Bangala-i-Mahabat Jangi was irritated at the prominence given to ‘this infidel’.108 Orme also noted the tremendous influence of Mohanlal: ‘Moonlall, who although no public minister, had more influence than all of them together’.109 In the face of all the evidence it is difficult to subscribe to the thesis of schism in pre-Plassey Bengal. If there were any schism it should have been reflected in the contemporary Persian chronicles and vernacular literature. But no corroborative evidence of the rift in society as a whole is to be found in them. The fact is that in Bengal Hindus and Muslims, particularly the lower strata of the society, lived for centuries in peace and harmony. The process of assimilation of the two cultures and fusion of the two religions which started earlier continued through the eighteenth century. In Kshemananda’s Manasamangala, written in the later part of the seventeenth century, a passage tells us that in the steel chamber prepared for Laksmindar, the hero (a Hindu), a copy of the Quran was kept along with several other charms to avert the wrath of the goddess of snakes, Manasa.110 Again, in a poem called Behula Sundar written about the same period, we find the Brahmins consulting the Quran and advising a Hindu merchant to recite the name of Allah so that he might be blessed with a son. The same poem tells us that the Brahmins consulted the Quran to find an auspicious day for the hero’s journey abroad. The hero, who was the son of an orthodox Hindu merchant, obeyed the injunctions ‘as if they were laid in the Vedas’ and started on his journey praying to Allah for his safety.111 This process of mutual assimilation reached its culmination by the middle of the eighteenth century. Nawab Sahamat Jung (Nawazis Muhammed) with Saulat Jung, who came from Patna at that time, enjoyed the festival of Holi for seven days in the garden of Motijheel in Murshidabad.112 Sirajuddaullah too hurried to Murshidabad after the Treaty of Alinagar in February 1757 and enjoyed the festival of Holi in his palace.113 It was very com-

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mon in the eighteenth century for Muhammedans to offer puja at Hindu temples and for Hindus to offer sinni at Muhammedan shrines.114 This fusion of ideas and customs had long before led to the evolution of a common god, Satyapir, worshipped by Hindus and Muslims alike.115 In Bharatchandra’s poem on Satyapir, we find a complete picture of the fusion of the two cultures and religions. It is mentioned in the Samser Ghazir Punthi, written in the middle of the eighteenth century, that a Hindu goddess appeared twice before the Ghazi in his dream, and in obedience to her behest the Ghazi worshipped her the next morning, with the help of Brahmins and according to prescribed rites.116 A Bengali document (dated ad 1732),117 which marks the victory of the Sahajiya cult over the orthodox Vaishnava cult, has got a few Muhammedan signatures as its witnesses. It is significant that even in social and religious matters the opinion and testimony of the Muhammedans were sought and obtained by their Hindu brethren. When we compare the large number of works composed by Muslim writers of the age in praise of Hindu gods and goddesses and on Hindu music, we cannot but conclude that Vaishnava and orthodox Hindu notions and thought had deeply influenced the inner strata of the Muhammedan society in Bengal. In fact, the two communities were living side by side in harmony and mutual attachment in ordinary life. In an interesting essay, Edward C. Dimmock Jr. observes that a reading of the texts from medieval Bengali literature (fifteenth to eighteenth century) gave little indication of any ‘deep-rooted antagonism’ between the two communities.118 The mutual tolerance for each other’s faith in eighteenth-century Bengal is typically reflected in a poem called Satyapir by Faizullah, where the poet laid down that ‘what the Muslims call Allah is Hari [God] to the Hindus’.119 All this literary evidence only negates the schism thesis. SIRAJUDDAULLAH: A THREAT TO THE RULING CLIQUE How does one explain the Plassey conspiracy and the revolution of 1757? The accession of Sirajuddaullah, the unpredictable young nawab, threatened the position of the dominant section of

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the ruling clique to which a section of the commercial and banking class as also the landed and military aristocracy (the fiscal lords) belonged. This was the group which was involved in the accumulation of wealth during the reign of earlier nawabs. With Siraj’s accession the ruling clique saw danger to their appropriation of the major sources of accumulation of their wealth. The immense wealth of the Seths was accumulated through various monopolies – minting, recoining, batta, revenue farming, etc. – conferred on them as favours by the previous Bengal nawabs. Umichand held the monopoly in saltpetre, grain and opium which had been sanctioned by the nawab. The Armenian Khwaja Wazid’s monopoly trade in saltpetre and salt was also a favour conferred by the nawab’s court. The merchant princes in particular and the commercial and business class in general feared sudden withdrawal by the young nawab of the favours granted by the previous nawabs. People like Mir Jafar, Rai Durlabh and Yar Latif, who represented the military and landed aristocracy, were closely connected with the commercial class and they too apprehended that the young nawab might try to alter the balance of power held so long in their favour. The suggestion by Orme that Yar Latif was on the pay roll of the Seths and that Mir Jafar was a close acquaintance of the Seths only substantiates the close connection between the fiscal lords and the commercial class. It was through these fiscal lords that the banking and commercial class exerted its influence in the nawab’s court. This ruling clique enjoyed the main avenues to the accumulation of wealth which were suddenly threatened by the daring young nawab. The warning of a threat to the ruling faction was given by the removal of Mir Jafar as the commander-in-chief, the imprisonment of Raja Manickchand and, above all, the banishment of Hakim Beg. Through these events and the young nawab’s close connection with a new elite group represented by people like Mohanlal, Mir Mardan and Khwaja Abdul Hadi Khan, the ruling clique presumably saw the writing on the wall. As Fakir Muhammed asserted, most of the ‘old nawab’s intimates’ were scared of the young nawab probably because with the latter’s accession, the balance of power was at stake. In fact, there was

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no love lost between Sirajuddaullah and the close associates of Nawab Alivardi who, after the old nawab’s death, were shaky about their position in the new set-up with young Siraj at the helm of affairs. That Siraj would not hesitate to strike at the ruling group engaged in the accumulation of wealth was vindicated by the removal of Hakim Beg, the powerful patchotra daroga of Murshidabad and a close associate of the old nawab.120 Hakim Beg was well known for his notorious exactions and monopoly of certain commodity trade. He derived his authority from Alivardi and was a typical ‘fiscal lord’ of Bayly’s description. That even such a powerful official and close lieutenant of the old nawab could be banished from the country by the young nawab alarmed the ruling group. The removal of Mir Jafar and Raja Manickchand’s imprisonment left little doubt in the minds of this group about the intentions of the new nawab. Raja Durlabh Ram could hardly like that his actions would be liable to the scrutiny of Mohanlal. Mir Jafar could hardly tolerate his replacement by Khwaja Abdul Hadi Khan. The Jagat Seths and the merchant princes Umichand and Khwaja Wazid were scared that they might lose the monopolies and privileges which were the main props of their accumulation of wealth. Siraj – the seemingly erratic and daring young nawab – had to go so that the balance of power was not disturbed, the avenues to accumulation of wealth were not closed to the ruling faction and no new group emerged to challenge the old clique’s undisputed position. Yet no revolution would have been possible without the English. The accession of Sirajuddaullah was a threat to them too – not so much to the Company as to the servants of the Company. Siraj was shaking the very root of the pagoda tree – the private trade of Company servants and the abuse of dastaks by them which no one was willing to give up. The young nawab raised the question of abuse of dastaks and was in no mood to put up with it unlike the previous nawabs. The servants of the English Company were scared, probably not so much about the abuse of dastaks through which they covered Asian merchants’ trade and gained handsome fortune, but because the nawab might sooner or later raise the question of their illegal private trade – their

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most lucrative avocation in Bengal. For them too Siraj was a threat. The English Governor Drake and his colleagues in Bengal were most unwilling to sacrifice the extremely lucrative means of amassing fortune in Bengal. Hence they were eager to oust the nawab. CONCLUSION From the foregoing analysis it is reasonable to conclude that it is not fair to hold Sirajuddaullah and his ‘vanity and avarice’ solely responsible for the conflict. Drake was equally to blame for the outbreak of hostilities. No doubt Siraj had shown traits of ruthlessness, cruelty and profligation before he became a nawab. However, after his accession his activities and policies do not indicate any injudicious, immature or rash decisions. He never intended to drive the English out of Bengal – he only wanted to limit the power and trade of the English within the framework of the farman of 1717. He tried diplomatic negotiations without a show of force and, when that failed, he turned to diplomacy with a show of force. It was the rigidity, uncompromising attitude and belligerence of Governor Drake which finally precipitated the crisis. The grievances of Sirajuddaullah against the English on the question of fortifications, abuse of dastaks and shelter given to the offending subjects of the nawab were quite genuine and not mere pretexts of war, as Hill would have us believe. It was not Mir Jafar but the house of Jagat Seth which was the major force behind the Plassey conspiracy – Mir Jafar was used only as a pawn in the game. There was really no schism in society along communal lines, however hard Hill and Gupta might try to prove the contrary. There might have been tension, but it never grew enough to divide the society vertically. It was not only a section of the Hindus but also a group of Muslims and Armenians who wanted a change in the government for reasons other than communal. Again, the Plassey revolution can hardly be explained only in terms of the revolution of the Hindu and Jain banking and commercial class. It was a revolution of the ruling clique which was involved in accumulation of wealth and

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to this group belonged not only the Hindu and Jain banking and commercial class but also a section of Muslim and Armenian commercial and fiscal lords who saw in Sirajuddaullah a threat to their monopoly position. In the final analysis, the revolution would not have been possible without the British who really sowed the seeds of conspiracy and it was the Madras Resolution which opened the floodgates of conspiracy. The English position was also threatened by Sirajuddaullah – especially that of the servants of the English Company whose abuse of dastaks and illegal private trade were challenged by the young nawab. So Siraj had to go – both for the benefit of the English and the ruling clique. Hence the revolution of 1757. NOTES 1. For example, Akshoy Kumar Maitra, Sirajuddaullah (in Bengali), 3rd edn. (Calcutta, 1908); Sachin Sen Gupta, Sirajuddaullah (drama in Bengali), 2nd edn (Calcutta, 1942). Among recent historians Brijen K. Gupta tries to refute some of the propositions, but does not take up all the issues involved (Sirajuddaullah and the East India Company, 1756-57, Leiden, 1962), while K.K. Datta (Siraj-ud-Daulah, New Delhi, 1971) ignores most of the questions raised here. 2. Brijen K. Gupta, op. cit., p. 30. 3. S.C. Hill, Bengal in 1756-57, vol. III, London, 1905, p. 162. 4. Uncle of Siraj and the Nawab of Dacca (now Dhaka). 5. Hill, op. cit. 6. Ibid., p. 163. 7. Yusuf Ali Khan, Tarikh-i-Bangala-i-Mahabatjangi, tr., Abdus Subhan, Calcutta, 1982, p. 118. 8. Brijen K. Gupta, op. cit., p. 57. 9. Watts to his Father, 13 August 1757, in Hill, op. cit., vol. II, p. 467. 10. Bengal Public Consultations (hereafter BPC), India Office Library and Records (IOLR), London, 18 September 1752. 11. Hill, op. cit., vol. Ill, p. 162. 12. Ibid., pp. 163-4. 13. Ibid., p. 219. 14. Holwell to the Court of Directors, 10 August 1757, in Hill, op. cit., vol. III, p. 349. 15. Ghulam Hussain Khan, Seir-ul-Mutaqherin, vol. II, Calcutta, 1902, pp. 198-9.

Sirajuddaullah, the English Company | 169 16. Sirajuddaullah ascended the throne after Alivardi’s death on 10 April 1756. 17. The letter arrived in Calcutta on 15 April 1756, Drake’s Narrative, in Hill, op. cit., vol. I, p. 125. During his tenure at Dacca Raj Ballav was estimated to have accumulated over 20 million rupees, cf., W.W. Hunter, Statistical Account of Bengal, vol. V, p. 123. Drake to Fort William Council, 17-25 January 1757, Hill, op. cit., vol. III, p. 136; Holwell to Court of Directors, 10 August 1757, in Hill, op. cit., vol. III, p. 348. 18. Drake’s Narrative, in Hill, op. cit., vol. I, p. 125; Holwell to the Court of Directors, 30 November 1756, in Hill, vol. II, p. 8. Siraj received the reply to his second letter on 20 May 1756, only a few days after he had vanquished Shaukat Jung. 19. Watts to Court of Directors, 30 January 1757, in Hill, op. cit., vol. III, p. 332. 20. ‘Muzaffarnama’, quoted in Brijen K. Gupta, op. cit., pp. 63-4. 21. William Watts and Mathew Collet to Fort St George Council, 16 July 1756 in Hill, op. cit., vol. I, p. 108. 22. The blockade of the European factory or trade was a usual practice for Bengal nawabs to force the former to accede to their demands throughout the first half of the eighteenth century. 23. For the terms of the capitulation, see Brijen K. Gupta, op. cit., p. 55. 24. Watts and Collet to Fulta Council, 8 July 1756, in Hill, op. cit., vol. I, p. 61. 25. Bengal General Journals and Ledgers, 1756, f. 1 quoted in Brijen K. Gupta, op. cit., p. 82. 26. Estimated at about Rs 1.65 million. See ibid., p. 81. 27. Robert Orme, History of the Military Transactions of the British Nation in Indostan (hereafter Military Transactions), vol. II, London, 1803, p. 147. 28. European Manuscripts (hereafter MSS Eur.), IOLR, D. 283, f. 283. The manuscript is entitled ‘Historical Sketch of Taxes on the English Commerce in Bengal from 1633 to 1820’. The note in the Catalogue of the European Manuscripts in the India Office Library states that ‘the compiler quotes largely from official documents, but never indicates the sources whence his material is obtained’. The authenticity of the information given by this anonymous author is beyond doubt. I have even verified some of the statistical data mentioned by the author which exactly conforms to the official figure. To take an example, our anonymous author states that the Asian traders exported raw silk worth Rs. 70 lakh per year from Murshidabad. The figure more or less tallies with the one given in BPC, Range 1, vol. 44, Annexure to Consultations, 19 June 1769. The export refers to 1751. The water mark on the manuscript is of 1829/30.

170 | Trade, Politics and Society 29. Holwell’s Genuine Narrative, in Hill, op. cit., vol. III, p. 152. 30. Siraj to Khwaja Wazid, 1 June 1756, in Hill, op. cit., vol. I, p. 4. 31. Chaudhuri, Trade and Commercial Organization in Bengal, 16501720, Calcutta, 1975, pp. 39-40. 32. Court of Directors to Fort William Council, Despatch Book, IOLR, vol. III, 16 January 1752. 33. Watts to Governor Drake and Fort William Council, BPC, vol. XXVIII, 15 August 1755. 34. MSS Eur., D. 283, f. 26. 35. For the provisions of the farman, see S. Bhattacharya, The East India Company and the Economy of Bengal, London, 1954, pp. 28-9. 36. S. Chaudhuri, op. cit., p. 42. 37. MSS Eur., D. 283, f. 15. 38. Ibid., f. 25. 39. Ibid., f. 15. 40. Ibid., f. 25. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid., f. 26. 43. See Brijen K. Gupta, op. cit., pp. 38-9. 44. Holwell to the Court of Directors, 30 November 1756, in Hill, op. cit., vol. II, p. 5. 45. Ibid. 46. S.C. Hill, op. cit., vol. I, p. xlviii. 47. Ibid. 48. MSS Eur., D. 283, f. 24. 49. Lectures delivered by C.A. Bayly at Centre d’Etudes de l’Inde et de l’Asie du Sud, Paris (hereafter Paris lectures), May 1986 (Enseignments & Travaux, no. 1, 1986). I am thankful to Dr Bayly for his kind permission to quote from his lectures. 50. C.A. Bayly, Indian Society and the Making of the British Empire: The New Cambridge History of India (hereafter Indian Society and the Making of the British Empire), Cambridge, 1988, p. 46. 51. Ibid. 52. Siraj to Khwaja Wazid, 28 May 1756, in Hill, op .cit., vol. I, p. 3. 53. Ibid., p. 4. 54. Sirajuddaullah to Pigot, 30 June 1756, in ibid., p. 196. 55. MSS Eur., D. 283, f. 26. 56. Watts and Collet to the Court of Directors, 17 July 1756, in Hill, op. cit., vol. I, p. 103. 56. Watts and Collet to the Court of Directors, 17 July 1756, ibid., pp. 116-17. 58. Ibid. 59. Ibid., p. 104. 60. Ibid., pp. 142-3.

Sirajuddaullah, the English Company | 171 61. Records of Fort St. George, Diary and Consultation Books, Military Department, 1756 (Madras, 1913), p. 330; Orme Manuscripts (hereafter Orme MSS), IOLR, vol. 170, f. 99; Hill, op. cit., vol. I, pp. 239-40. 62. Hill, op. cit., vol. II, p. 368. 63. Significantly enough, Orme holds that Yar Latif Khan, though a commander in the nawab’s army, was on the pay roll of the Seths ‘to defend them upon any occasion of danger even against the Nawab himself’, Orme, Military Transactions, vol. II, Sec. I, p. 148. 64. Orme rather significantly points out that the Seths had long been connected with Mir Jafar ‘who although despised the wretched character of Si-rajah-Dowla, dreaded the excesses of it’, ibid. 65. Hill, op. cit., vol. III, p. 185. 66. S.C. Hill, Three Frenchmen in Bengal, London, New York, 1903, p. 77. 67. Orme, Military Transactions, vol. II, Sec. I, p. 148. 68. Orme MSS, O.V. 170, f. 397. 69. Clive to Pigot, 30 April 1757, in Hill, Bengal in 1756-57, vol. II, pp. 457, 468; Clive to Select Committee, Calcutta, 30 June 1757; cf. C.A. Bayly, Indian Society and the Making of the British Empire, p. 50. 70. C.A. Bayly, Paris lectures, op. cit., p. 18. 71. Brijen K. Gupta, op. cit., p. 32. Of course Hill also pointed out the close connection between the Hindu commercial class and the European Companies, cf., Hill, Bengal in 1756-57, vol. I, p. xxiii. 72. Brijen K. Gupta, op. cit., p. 32. 73. C.A. Bayly, Paris lectures, op. cit., p. 18. 74. Ibid. 75. Ibid., p. 15. 76. C.A. Bayly, Indian Society and the Making of the British Empire, op. cit. 77. Ibid., p. 49. 78. Ibid., p. 50. 79. Ibid. 80. The Memorie of Taillefert, 17 November 1763, f. 285, Hoge Regering van Batavia, 246. 81. Orme MSS, O.V. 170, ff. 104-6. 82. K.N. Chaudhuri, The Trading World of Asia and the English East India Company, 1660-1760, Cambridge, 1978. 83. Om Prakash, The Dutch East India Company and the Economy of Bengal, 1630-1720, Princeton, 1985. 84. Shireen Moosvi, ‘The Silver Influx, Money Supply, Prices and RevenueExtraction in Mughal India’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, vol. XXX (1987), pp. 92-4. 85. Home Miscellaneous Series, IOLR, 456F, ff. 93-95, Taylor’s Report.

172 | Trade, Politics and Society 86. The Memorie of Taillefert; 27 October 1755, ff. 188vo-189, Verenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (hereafter VOC), 2849, earlier Koloniaal Archief, (K.A. 2741), Algemeen Rijksarchief, The Hague. 87. BPC, Range 1, vol. XLIV, Annexure to Consultations, 19 June 1769. 88. Luke Scrafton to Col. Clive, 17 December 1757, Orme MSS, India, vol. XVIII, f. 5043; Eur. G. 23, Box 37, IOLR. For the detailed breakdown, see my article ‘Merchants, Companies and Rulers: Bengal in the Eighteenth Century’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, vol. XXXI, Pt I (February 1988), p. 96. 89. For details, see ibid. 90. C.A. Bayly, Indian Society and the Making of the British Empire, p. 50. 91. Orme, Military Transactions, vol. II, pp. 147-8. The story of Siraj’s maltreatment of the Seths seems to be a later concoction. 92. No reference to the Nawab’s attempt to squeeze merchants and zamindars is to be found in Sier-ul- Mutaqherin, Riyaz-us-Salatin, Tarikh-i-Bangala and Tarikh-i-Bangala-i-Mahabat Jangi. 93. Hill, Three Frenchmen in Bengal, p. 120. 94. Hill, Bengal in 1756-57, vol. I, p. xxiii. 95. Ibid., p. lii. 96. Brijen K. Gupta, op. cit., p. 41. 97. Quoted in Brijen K. Gupta, op. cit., p. 36. 98. Ibid. 99. Ibid. 100. Ibid. 101. Orme MSS, O.V., vol. XIX, Orme to Clive, 25 August 1752. 102. Orme MSS, vol. 170, f. 99; Records of Fort St. George, Diary and Consultation Books, 1756, p. 33. 103. J.D. Nichol, ‘The British in India, 1740-63; A Study in Imperial Expansion to Bengal’, Ph.D. thesis (Cambridge, 1976), p. 70. 104. Orme MSS, India, vol. VI, ff. 1500-2. 105. VOC 2849 (K.A. 2791), ff. 125-6. 106. Robert Orme, Military Transactions, vol. II, pp. 52-3. 107. Yusuf Ali Khan, Tarikh-i-Bangala-i-Mahabat-Jangi, English tr., Abdus Subhan, Calcutta, 1982, p. 132. 108. Ibid., p. 130. 109. Robert Orme, Military Transactions, vol. II, pp. 127-8. 110. D.C. Sen, History of Bengali Language and Literature, Calcutta, 1911, pp. 288, 793. 111. Ibid., pp. 319, 793. 112. Karam Ali, ‘Muzaffarnamah’, in J.N. Sarkar, Bengal Nawabs, Calcutta, 1952, p. 49; text, ff. 86a-86b. 113. Ibid., text f. 123b, tr. Sarkar, op. cit, p. 72.

Sirajuddaullah, the English Company | 173 114. D.C. Sen, op. cit., p. 793. 115. Ibid., pp. 396-7. 116. Bharat Chandra, ‘Satyapirer Katha’, Bharat Chandra Granthabali, Calcutta, 1963. 117. S.R. Mitra, ‘Types of Early Bengali Prose’, pp. 135-8; Sahitya Parishad Patrika, 1308 B.S., pp. 8-10. 118.  Edward C. Dimmock Jr, ‘Hinduism and Islam in Medieval Bengal’, in Rachel van M. Baumer (ed.), Aspects of Bengali History and Society, New Delhi, 1976, p. 2. 119. Ahmed Sharif, Maddhyajuger Sahitye Samaj O Sanskritir Rup (in Bengali), Dhaka, 1977, p. 423. 120. Jan Kerseboom described Hakim Beg in 1755 as ‘Daroga van de Pansjoutra of tholplaatsen’ and ‘een grote favoriet van den Nawab’, VOC 2849 (K.A. 2741), ff. 125, V.O. 127 V.O. The Memorie of Director Jan Kerseboom, 14 February 1755.

chapter 8

The Surat Crisis of 1669 A Case Study of Mercantile Protest in Medieval India*

An attempt has been made here to analyse the social impact of Aurangzeb’s edict of 1669 relating to demolition of temples and how successfully the merchant community resisted the implementation of the imperial order in Surat in 1669.1 This paper also aims at an analysis of the socio-economic organization of the Surat merchants as can be gleaned from the events of 1669 as also the position of the Mughal merchant vis-à-vis the State. However, it should be made explicitly clear that no conclusive generalization can be expected to be reached at from the analysis of a single case study made here. Nevertheless, certain deductions can perhaps be made on the basis of the evidence – meagre though they are – we come across in connection with this study. These deductions are bound to be highly uncertain but they must not be altogether disdained. Although they cannot offer any very firm answers, they can at least help to eliminate most infirm of answers and to limit the range of likelihood. It is perhaps imperative to have a look at the Surat society and the people involved in the incident in 1669 or thereabout before dealing with the story of the mercantile strike of Surat. We are indeed lucky to have contemporaneous account of the society at Surat in the records of the European Companies which undoubtedly still hold immense importance as source material *The Calcutta Historical Journal, vol. V, no. 2, Jaunary-June 1981, pp. 129-46.

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for the study of the socio-economic history of medieval India, if used with necessary caution. In 1672 in a lengthy private letter home, a servant2 of the English Company wrote: ‘This Province or Part of India is principally Inhabited by 3 Nations or sorts of people, that is the Moors or Mohamedans, the Hindooes and Parsees.’3 We know from the admirable work of Professor Ashin Das Gupta4 that the Muslim merchants of the city of Surat formed numerically a small proportion of its mercantile population, though they made up for it by their social and economic importance. As we are more concerned with the Hindu community of Surat for the purpose of this paper, let us see what was its composition like during the period. According to the author of the letter referred to earlier, ‘the most considerable sects’ of the Hindus were (1) the Rajputs, (2) the Brahmins, (3) the Banias ‘who are for the most parts the Merchants, Tradesmen and Brokers’, (4) the ‘Gentooes who are commonly the handycrafts Men, as Carpenters, Smiths, Taylors, Shoe Makers, Seamen & ca’, (5) the ‘Coolies who are the Poore Country Peasants that Plough and Sow . . . but (God knows) the least part for themselves, for they have only soe much as will keep them and their families alive, the greater part being for the king and his officers.’5 But the most interesting part of his account seems to be the following comment which is a positive indication of social mobility in medieval India: These are the Principale Tribes, or as (we) call them casts of the Indians that Inhabit Guzuratt, and these are generally their professions, but that severall of them are one anothers and many of them of other professions . . . as there are BRAHMANS that are Souldyers and Merchants soe well as Priests, and there are Banians that are Labourers, Handicraftsmen (and soe well as Merchants) and curers of Herbs, and there are Weavers of all sects Moors, Hindooes and Parsees.6

It should be noted here that the Europeans in general were not as witty as the author of this letter to distinguish so many sub-castes of the Hindus. Most often they referred to all the Hindus in general terms like ‘Gentiles’, ‘Gentooes’ or ‘Banias’. This will be apparent from the document which gives detailed

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account of the crisis of 1669. However, as the Banias were the most involved group in our story, it is important to see what the contemporaneous records have to say about them. The Banians with whome we deale most, they being our Brokers, eat noe flesh nor anything that had life in it, nor garlike nor onyons, and Drinke noe Wine nor strong Drinke, soe that they are generally wary and considerative and Cunning People, and soe they have need be, for they are great Traders and very Rich, and have nothing to support themselves in their Reputation and honour but their Riches, which they are allsoe put to it to preserve by their Witts. For they are altogether a Passive and Suffering People, and against all the violent assaults that are made upon them have noe other defence then their Witts and that Interest which their money makes, and for which only they know they are soe often Pecked at.7

However, we shall shortly see as is reflected in the incident of 1669 that the Banias were not really that passive and suffering people, and if need be they could rise to the occasion and face the devil on the latter’s own terms. But what a remarkable consistency one finds in their religious belief and life style. In their protest against the oppressive state machinery they resorted to completely non-violent method and that too very effectively. Arnold Wright writing on Surat and the English factory in Annesley of Surat and His Times8 says that though the Hindus as a conquered race occupied an inevitably inferior place, a very effective counterpoise to the Bohra Muslims was supplied by the Banias, ‘a sect of the Jains who were and are famous in the life and trade of Western India’. He writes on the basis of the documents of the period: ‘This community unites to a keen commercial aptitude a Quakerlike pertinacity in carrying its religious beliefs to their logical extremes.’9 Of the Banias again we are mostly concerned here with the Parekh family of Surat which provided the famous brokers of the English Company at the port city. As the leader of the mercantile protest was none but the head of the Parekh family, it is pertinent that we should try to learn something about the Parekhs. They were the heads of the Bania community of Surat, at least from the 1660s through the rest of the seventeenth century, the lead-

The Surat Crisis of 1669 | 177

ing members of the family in succession becoming the brokers of the English Company. It is common knowledge by now that the position of the Indian broker in a port town like Surat was one of great financial responsibility and highly lucrative in ordinary peaceful times. These brokers, as individuals, were typical Banias with all the strength and weaknesses of their caste. Samuel Annesley of the English factory at Surat who was dismissed from service in 1698 and who had a row with the Parekhs writes the following about them: ‘The PARRACKS (with whom chiefly we have to doe) are Heads of the Gentues in this place, and the whole body of them moves at their back in any dispute with the oppressive officers. They are wealthy, subtle and malicious, as well as powerful; can bribe, divide, menace and by il arts remove those that oppose them, being above shame and uncontrolled by conscience. They will suppress or forge accounts, and back it with Witnesses or stifle evidence, and know how to time any such artifices as their occasion serves; and when hardly prest wil fling a part overboard to save the Remainder. And what can’t such Persons do, so qualifyed, with an arbitrary Government, where money answers al things.’10

Though the eminence of the Parekh family in the mercantile community of Surat dates from the time of Bhimjee Parekh in the 60s of the seventeenth century, the earliest of the Parekhs that we can trace in the records of the Company is Tulsidas Parekh,11 Bhimjee’s father. It seems that it is in the early 1660s that the Parekhs became the brokers of the English Company in Surat.12 Till his death in 1686, Bhimjee held sway in Surat and amassed a vast fortune to become one of the most prominent figures of the city. In an interesting letter to the President and Council at Surat, the Court of Directors wrote in 1682: . . . that our old Broker Bimgee Parrack was arrived at so vast an estate as to be computed one million of Pounds Sterling which gives us cause to suspect that he hath made too great advantages of us in the former course of our business . . . and although we are unwilling wholly to part with him, he and his relations having been so long and well acquainted with our business, yet you may tell him that after all his prodigious gains, wee hope he will think himself bound in conscience to serve no more to our [dis] advantage for the future.13

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After Bhimjee’s death, the office of the broker was taken over by his two brothers, Vitaldas and Kesabdas who associated the two sons of Bhimjee, Banwalidas and Shankardas with them. By 1696, as a Surat letter states, the two brokers, Vitaldas and Kesabdas ‘have raised such great estates and credit as to be accounted the principal Banjaras in the Towne’.14 But in the year 1697 Banwalidas managed to oust his two uncles from the office of the broker with the help and assistance of the Armenian Aga Perry, though the latter would not be ‘joined with him, chiefly we presume for that it is contrary to the custom of Surat where none else are brokers but Gentue Cast’.15 It seems that his promise to procure investment for Rupees four to five lakhs for the Company helped him in securing the office of the broker.16 The exalted office was now all Banwalidas’s own but it was no longer the prize it had once been. As Ashin Das Gupta puts it, besides the relentless pressure by Abdul Goffur on everyone connected with the Europeans because of piracies, the English themselves were split into two and the New Company appointed an astute Parsee merchant, Rustomjee Manakjee, as their broker.17 A Surat letter of 1700 states that there was an attempt ‘for turning out of our Present Broker being the first of the Parcee cast that hath any time being in such publick employment which being in prejudice to all the Banian cast, the old and chief managers of all business here hath occasioned a storm of envy from the cast’.18 The Parekhs however were there in Surat in the first half of the eighteenth century but their monopoly and importance seem to have declined gradually during that period. There is little doubt that the Banias of Surat were a prosperous trading community in the 1660s of the seventeenth century. As such there were other wealthy and influential merchants and shroffs in Surat belonging to the Bania community, besides the Parekhs. Though detailed information about them is lacking, we know something about their financial standing from the English records. Between 31 March and 25 July 1670, 14 Surat Banias lent a sum of Rs. 523,501 to the English Company. Of this amount Ballavdas Goculdas’ share was Rs. 50,000, that of Ballavdas Banwalidas Rs. 80,000, Kalyanchand Jeswung’s

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Rs. 100,001 and Ballavdas Kishoredas’ Rs. 50,000.19 From another account we know that the English Company owed the Banias in Surat a sum of Rs. 700,960 on 1 August 1673.20 The share of the prominent Banias was as follows : Ballavdas Banwalidas Rs. 71,426, Ballavdas Goculdas Rs. 50,000, Ballavdas Kishoredas Rs. 50,000, Jivandas Banwalidas Rs. 50,000, Purusuttom Permanundas Rs. 51,000, Shamdas Banwalidas Rs. 54,500. Jagjivandas Permanundas Rs. 57,538. One has to keep in mind that this loan was advanced only to the English Company and that similar loans were also advanced to the Dutch and other Europeans as also to Indian merchants by the Surat Banias. I think by now I have been able to give a rough sketch of the world of the Bania in Surat in the late ’sixties and early ’seventies of the seventeenth century which is a necessary prologue for the proper understanding of the main theme of this paper – the mercantile resistance to administrative policy in 1669. Faced with the threat to their religion, the Banias of Surat left the city, thus paralysing the life and trade of the port town. This seems to be one of the earliest and successful protests of the mercantile community of Surat against the social policy of the Mughal State and its representative in Surat. Before we enter into the details of the story, I shall relate it in nutshell as gleaned from the records. Following the conversion of the son of a Bania to Islam by the Qazi of Surat, the Banias left the city in accordance with the decision of their Mahajan or Council of their community. This resulted in the complete paralysis of the life of the city and its trade. About two months later the Banias returned to Surat after an assurance of security of their religion from the imperial court. It is well known that Aurangzeb issued an edict in 1669 ‘to demolish all the schools and temples of infidels and to put down their religious teaching and preaching’. It is also on record that Aurangzeb tried to put economic pressure on the Hindus and offered rewards for conversion.21 This general policy seems to have affected the Banias of Surat even before 1669. We learn from a letter of 6 October 1668 that a determined effort was launched to convert the Banias of Surat to Islam. One of the prominent

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Banias thus threatened was Bhimjee Parekh, the broker of the Company. The letter tells us that Bhimjee who was ‘useful and serviceable to the Company’ had created many enemies and that ‘but for the protection of the Company others would spitefully use him’. It is very significant from what follows is that Bhimjee Parekh wanted to leave Surat and settle in Bombay as far back as 1668. The letter notes: ‘Besides the persecution of the Banians for the conversion of them to the Mohametan religion is so very cruel and grievous to them that they were in perpetual feare and would run if they knew where.’ Bhimjee was so much scared that he petitioned to the English for grant of some land in Bombay. The record points out: Soe much ground upon Bombay as may be sufficient to build him houses and for outhouses for him and his familye (for they are somewhat numerous) to retire to, that he and his [family] may live under [our] shadow and protection for ever.22

The real trouble started in 1669. The detailed account of it is given in a lengthy letter of 26 November written by the Surat Council to the Court of Directors which runs thus: You have bin formerly advised what unsufferable tyranny the Banians endeared in Surat by the force exercised by these Lordly Moors on account of their religion the sweetness of which the Cozzy and other officers finding by the large incomes paid by the Banians (to redeeme their places of Idolatrous worship from being defaced and their persons from their mallice) . . . avenges with that frequency and furious zeale that the general body of the Banians began to groan under their affliction and to take up resolves of flying the country.23

So it appears from above that the situation was highly explosive in Surat, if we are to believe the report, and there is no earthly reason why we should not. The necessary spark for the conflagration was provided when ‘a nephew of your ancient shroff Tulcidas Parrack was among others inveilged and turned Moor’. As if it was not enough, the last straw on the camel’s back came soon. On 20 September a Persian Scriver [writer] who formerly had relation to your family was forcibly circumcised for noe other reason but yt 5 years past he

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had eaten part of a water mellon which ye Cozzy had eaten, of which argument, it seems, for want of better served the Cozzy’s turne but the poor Banian as ‘tis [it’s] said killed himselfe in griefe.24

The implication is obvious. When the Persian writer shared the fruit with the Qazi five years ago, not the slightest flutter was made in the city. But after Aurangzeb’s edict of 1669, the Qazi made this the convenient pretext for persecution. Be that as it may, the letter goes on to say that ‘this violent action makes the Banians sencible of the common danger’ and they resolved to leave the port city. But before doing so ‘five of the most eminent’ merchants along with the Company’s chief broker Bhimjee Parekh on ‘behalf of all the rest’ came to see Gerald Aungier, the chief of the English factory ‘declaring with all the symptoms of an enframed passion the miserable condition imploring his assistance and protection on your Island Bombay’ in case they did or could fly thither’.25 Aungier was rather surprised at the move of the merchants but none too unhappy about it. He immediately realized the inherent advantages for the Company in developing Bombay as an alternative to Surat and would have definitely supported the move but for several reasons. As the letter points out: Ye present conjuncture did not appear safe to enter on such an action in regard you had above 1200 tuns of goods here in your severall factorys all which would have bin embargued, your ships loose ye voyages and lye on demurrrage and your Island Bombay would have become an eye sore to ys King against whose vast forces it would be impossible to defend ourselves in regard of its naked and weak condition at present.26

In his approach to the situation, Aungier was diplomatic and businesslike. Neither did he want to disoblige the merchants nor was he willing to take the risk of invoking the wrath of the Mughal emperor. So what he did was this: After many obliging expressions of comfort and assurance of our friendship he told ym [them], yt [that], yr [your] ships not being yet arrived we were in an ill posture to engage in such a great designe, nor was Bombay as yet fortified sufficiently to protect ym [them] against the fury of so great a prince. Wherefore he advised them to convey themselves at present towards Ahmedabad and from thence make their

182 | Trade, Politics and Society general humble requests to the King who would certainly ease your present burthen in some degree though they must never expect to be safe in this country and therefore as occasion offered they might with more ease and security convey their effects and ffamilies to Bombay by degrees where they might assure themselves of all favour, friendship, freedome in their religion, and encouragement in their trade as they could in reason expect from us.27

The merchants, according to the report, approved of Aungier’s advice and on the 23 and 24 September ‘all the heads of the Banian families of what condition whatsoever departed the Town to the number of 8000 leaving their wives and children in Surat under charge of their Brothers or next of Kinn’. The Qazi naturally became furious at the flight of the merchants from Surat and in a frantic effort to exert his authority as the custodian of morals, asked the governor in the King’s name to stop them from deserting the port. The governor, however, was least interested in doing any such thing. As such he sent the cryptic reply to the Qazi that the merchants were the King’s subjects and ‘might travel in his country where they pleased’. But the latter would not give up easily. As the report puts it: The Cozzy to affright them threatens to pull downe all their remaining churches and to circumcise the most principall of them if they do not returne but the Banians growne hardy by often sufferings defy him, telling him they goe to the King for justice.28

There were several attempts for reconciliation between the two parties, one wonders whether by the prominent Muslim merchants of the city. But they proved unsuccessful. As a result, ‘the Banians increasing dayly in number proceeded as far as Broach where they are under the safe protection and much courted by the great governor of Ahmedabad to settle themselves there’. But the merchants were eager to return to Surat ‘to their trade and families’ provided they could enjoy any reasonable security. What followed was the usual pattern in the Mughal Indian society and polity. Each party sent several representations to the emperor justifying itself and accusing the other. But till 26 November 1669 when this letter was written no decision on the matter was communicated to Surat by the imperial court.

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However, the effect of the flight of the Banias on the economic life of Surat was already profound and telling heavily on the trade of the premier port city. As the letter notes: In the interim the people in Surat suffered great want for the Banians having bound themselves under severe penalties not to open their shops without order from their Mahagen or General Council. There was not any provisions to be got, the Tankshall and Custom House shut, no money to be procured so much as for house expences much less for trade which was wholly at a stand and so it will continue till their returne.29

The whole city was under the grip of great despair as the mercantile strike threatened to ruin the city and everyone was hopefully expecting a favourable imperial order which alone would solve the crisis and save the city. The Surat Council reflected: Ever since the flight of the Banians, the Trade of Surat hath suffered great obstruction and ‘tis the opinion of many wise men that it will prove of fatal consequence to the utter ruine of it in case the king doth not make some effectual healing order for the making up of the breach for most part of the shroffs and money’d men doe think of calling stocks and according to the custome of this country burying ye greatest part underground. So the bulk of trade which is maintained and carryed chiefly on credit must necessarily fall.30

The crisis ended towards the end of December but not before the 23rd December. A Surat letter of that date reported the following: ‘This port of Surat hath of late suffered under some accidentall revolutions which seem fatall as to the trade thereof . . . the king hath not determined anything concerning their grievances.’31 It was about two months since the Banias left Surat and within this period the entire trade of the port as also the city itself was on the verge of a disaster. The Surat Council observed: ‘Their [the Banias’] flight hath caused an universal decay of trade not soon recoverable in regard of the jealousies and disputes which such national breaches do produce naturally in all Commonwealths.’32 However, to the relief of everyone, the Banias returned to the city towards the end of December after receiving ‘letters of favours’ from the

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Emperor and ‘some assurance of their safety and more freedom in their religion’. This caused ‘great satisfaction’ to the local officers as also to the entire population of Surat. The whole city breathed the sigh of relief and the impending danger to the trade and economic life of the port town was thus averted. A slightly different version of the incident is given in the French sources. Francois Martin33 wrote in December 1669 that the ‘Banian merchants . . . who are considerable in all places of commerce, where they are established particularly at Surat’ had retired to Cambay and other places as the Qazi of Surat started to demolish their temples. At first a few were pulled down. The Banias made several representations to the Qazi but to no avail which made these merchants retire from Surat and to send their complaints to the emperor. What Martin says then is rather significant and which is not to be found in English records: ‘They [the representations] were heard; the Qazi was recalled and a moderate one was sent in his place which made the people of this tribe to return to this place’.34 He states that the three chiefs of the European Companies, the English, Dutch and French, with their followers had gone half a league to meet the returning Banias and presented their compliments to the eminent ones among them.35 It seems that the Banias were still apprehensive of the security of their trade and religion in 1673/4. A Surat letter of 12 January 1674 states that the Banias led by Bhimjee Parekh submitted a petition to the Company for settlement in Bombay provided they were allowed several concessions.36 It points out that the petition was signed only by Bhimjee on behalf of the principal merchants, though the earlier petition, possibly following the event of 1669, was signed by all of them. It appears that these merchants were scared to sign the petition again in 1673 and authorized Bhimjee to do so on their behalf. However in this petition Bhimjee states that ‘our permanency and advance consists of your Hons’ patronising’ and that they want to settle in Bombay if allowed the following concessions: (1) every sect among them should have liberty to follow its own manner of worship, (2) in case of disputes among themselves judges of their own choice and sect

The Surat Crisis of 1669 | 185

will adjudicate, (3) that in the ‘Gentue streets’ none other may inhabit that may prejudice their rites, (4) that they would pay 2 per cent for imports and 4 per cent for export as customs duty (5) that Bhimjee may have freedom of trade paying 1 per cent for ready money or bullion imported and 2 per cent for merchandize exported.37 From this document it is clear that the merchants that left Surat did not belong to only one particular sect ; possibly they included Hindus of different sects. It also becomes apparent that they were not only mere brokers or shroffs but included merchants who were engaged in trade in general. Bhimjee too carried business of his own and independent of the Company. The incident of 1669 reveals a few characteristic features of the Indian society and polity in the seventeenth century. It brings to light the fact that the general picture of the merchant community and commercial organization is one of ‘long established and highly skilled tradition which had adjusted to and learned to live with chronic political instability’. The fact that ‘much of the financial and trading expertise was confined, though not exclusively but mainly to closed commercial group and acquired through hereditary channels meant that the social structure itself was able to absorb some of the external impacts.’38 The resilience and capacity of Sarat Banias to withstand the onslaught on their religion was attributed, as we have seen earlier, to their sheer political skills through which they preserved their wealth and family integrity. That men like Bhimjee and his brother Kalyandas who were referred to in the English records as ‘very eminent and intelligent persons’ did not lack in rational thinking minds and were capable of self-analysis was amply borne out by the Surat letter of 16 January 1672. It is reported by the author of the letter that as far back as 1663, he and other members of the English factory in passing discussion on religious practices accused them of idolatry and other moral errors. The two Banias answered that Hinduism also taught them all those virtues which we say our Religion doth, as humility, Patience, Temperance, Chastity, Charity yca [etc.] and forgiveness of offences, and for their Idolatry they say they doe not worship those Images and Idolls

186 | Trade, Politics and Society which we see, as we think they doe, for they know and believe they are no gods but only Representations and Remembrances, for God, they say is a more excellent being then to abide in a temple or under a Tree, but those images are there placed that they may the better direct worshipp to their Deity.39

The Surat crisis of 1669 bears out one of the conclusions of Michael Pearson40 and Ashin Das Gupta41 that the Mughal State like the Gujarati Sultanate was by no means a homogeneous entity. There were different levels of political authority and as the trouble in 1669 demonstrates that Bhimjee Parekh and his associates could use the superior levers of the Mughal State against the Qazi of Surat with great success. The fact that the Qazi was replaced by another moderate one – bearing in mind particularly that the Qazi wanted to implement the imperial edict issued by Aurangzeb – indicates the links the merchants had had with the higher political authorities of the State. Looking at the relationship between the merchants and the State in Mughal India, as seen through this case study, one really wonders whether one of the major findings of Pearson and Das Gupta can be accepted in its totality. They hold that the State did not bother much about the merchants or his world and that he was ‘expected to fend for himself with little help from the State’.42 It is true that it is too risky to generalize from the study of a single case like this. But when we find the State exerting itself to save the port city of Surat and its merchants even if it meant the contravention of the edict of no other an emperor than Aurangzeb, we would like to have a second thought before accepting the thesis of Pearson and Das Gupta. We have already seen that the governor of Surat was most reluctant to persecute the merchants, and that the subadar was most courteous to them at Broach and entreated them to settle there. Another point of significance one should bear in mind is that the State came out to protect the merchants at a time when the ebb of its glory was to set in shortly. What one should really like to know in more detail before arriving at a definite conclusion is what was the relation like between the merchants and the State during the heydays of the Mughals. The events of Surat in 1669 raise another question. Was

The Surat Crisis of 1669 | 187

Aurangzeb really serious in carrying out his order for demolition of temples, etc.? Or was he more interested in saving the port of Surat and its merchants, undoubtedly an important source for replenishing his treasury, even at the cost of sacrificing his own edict? It seems, as at least borne out by the event of 1669, that he was the Mughal emperor who understood that the revenue of the port city of Surat and the peaceful trading of the merchants there were more important for the Empire than the policy of persecution of the Hindus, particularly the merchants. One is really intrigued by the absence of any reference in the records as to the role of the Muslim merchants of Surat during the crisis. Though the most eminent of the Muslim merchants of Surat, Mulla Abdul Goffur or others like the Chellabies, did not come into eminence they were to achieve later in the social and economic life of Surat as yet, there is little doubt that a substantial number of Muslim merchants were trading in Surat in 1669. One can perhaps reasonably guess that as trade was carried largely on credit from the Banias in Surat during the period, the Muslim merchants must have greatly depended on the Banias for their trade. As such a Muslim too, if engaged in trade and commerce, could hardly do without the Banias. Their flight from the city meant complete drying up of credit. As it has been aptly put by Ashin Das Gupta, the Muslims who were mostly shipowners could function only with the help of two other kinds of merchants – shroffs and brokers – who were almost exclusively Hindus.43 So naturally the Muslim traders too would have wanted the Banias to return to Surat which would mean resumption of normal trading activities. Hence no wonder if the Muslim traders were sympathetic to the Banias’ distress. Last but not the least, the question that crops up is whether the Mahajan was something alike the merchant guilds of the European variety. It is well known by now that in Surat in the seventeenth century there were strong organizations of the merchants – like the Mahajan of the Banias, Jamat of the Muslims and Anjuman of the Parsees. Prof. Das Gupta however asserts that Surati merchants did not have any common organization to take care of their basic, mutual interest. He writes:

188 | Trade, Politics and Society It would seem that at the level of particular social community everyone would belong to some organization, but these were essentially social in character. . . . It would thus appear that the basis of even the professional organizations was in fact social and religious.44

In other words he would not call these merchant guilds. From the European experience we know that the chronology of guild history and above all its origin is yet another of the debated problems of economic history. Some historians derive continental guilds from the collegia of craftsmen and traders established in the Roman cities in the closing centuries of the Empire. Others trace the beginnings of guilds to the groupings of artisans in the royal and ecclesiastical estates. But Postan45 thinks that the institutional roots of guilds earliest to trace in English sources are those which reach to the parish guilds i.e. unions of parishoners organized round their churches for miscellaneous activities of mutual interest. They acted as foci of communal action.46 As Henri Pirenne also points out what determined economic organization was not national genius but social necessity. A spirit of close solidarity animated the whole group of merchants who formed the guild.47 The urban artisan forming fraternities (craft guild) on the basis of their profession was motivated by free association on the models of the merchant guild.48 Postan sees the merchant guild as an association for the regulation and control of the market. He asserts that many towns of the twelfth century in England received by charter the right to set up ‘gilda mercatoria’ or ‘hansa mercatoria’, an association of burgesses for common action in matters concerning their commercial activities and interests. The functions of the association were usually confined to the enforcement and administration of monopoly of the local market and to the regulations ancillary to it. He also points out that in large towns harbouring substantial numbers of merchants or craftsmen specializing in certain branches of trade, these branches could themselves be organized into guilds performing functions similar to that of the ‘gilda mercatoria’ but confined to one craft or one branch of trade.49 If this is the European model and what Michael Pearson50 holds in this brilliant study of Gujarat is taken as the charac-

The Surat Crisis of 1669 | 189

teristic of the Mahajan, then perhaps the Mahajans are more akin to European merchant guilds except in the fact that unlike European guilds, the local governments exercised no control or restriction over them. Pearson states that in Gujarat Mahajan meant a body representing a group engaged in the same commercial occupation. Sometimes it meant a body governing all the Bania merchants in a town but it also applied more generally to ‘any assembled or collective body of merchants’ regardless of creed or jati. What is more significant in his assertion, corroborated in a recent article by D.N. Tripathi and M.J. Mehta, that the Mahajan51 was ordinarily concerned solely with commercial matters, regulating such matters as prices, production standards, interest rates and adjudicating disputes within the occupational group. Religious and social matters were outside its province, these being handled by caste or jati panchayats. So here is a flat contradiction of what Ashin Das Gupta holds – the Mahajan as basically social and religious organization. Pearson moreover holds that at least in Ahmedabad there existed a Mahajan (headed by a nagarseth as in the Surat of Das Gupta) which was a city-wide organization where representatives of all the occupational Mahajans sat.52 It regulated general commercial actions in the city such as rates of exchange and discount, etc. The character of the Mahajan though reflected very little in the crisis of 1669 is more analogous to that of the Mahajan Pearson referred to. If that be so, the Mahajan was definitely more like the merchant guild of the European model rather than just a communal organization as Ashin Das Gupta would have us believe. NOTES 1. An earlier version of this paper was presented at the International Seminar on ‘Trade and Urbanization in Western India and Gujrat, 16th to 19th Century’ held at the M.S. University, Baroda, 11-14 October 1980. 2. Henry Yule thinks that the servant was none other than Streynsham Master, c.f., H. Yule (ed.), The Diary of William Hedges, vol. II, London, 1888, p. 304.

190 | Trade, Politics and Society 3. Ibid., pp. 308-9. 4. A. Das Gupta, Indian Merchants and the Decline of Surat, c. 17001750, Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlog, 1979. 5. H. Yule, op. cit., pp. 310-11. 6. Ibid., p. 311. 7. Ibid., p. 312. 8. Arnold Wright, Annesley of Surat and His Times, London, 1918. 9. Ibid., p. 111. 10. O.C. 8556, Quoted in Yule, op. cit., p. 351. 11. In 1668 the President of the Company at Surat, Wyche, and a factor, Bornford, borrowed money for their private trade from Tulsidas, cf., William Foster (ed.), English Factories in India, 1668-69, Oxford, 1927, pp. 21, 32. 12. O. C. [Original Correspondence, India Office], 5001, vol. 43, 30 November 1683. 13. Letter Book [India Office], vol. 7, f. 1, 5 July 1682. 14. O.C. 6311, vol. 52, 5 Dec. 1696. 15. O.C. 6450, vol. 53, 30 Nov. 1697. 16. O.C. 6271, vol. 52, 3 Sept. 1696. 17. A. Das Gupta, op. cit., p. 80. 18. O.C. 7222, Para. 48, vol. 56(2), 14 Sept. 1700. 19. Factory Records, Misc. [India Office], vol. 2, f. 104. Surat Consult, 25 July 1670. The table is given below: Anno. 1670 31 March Ballavdas Goculdas – 50000 Banwalidas Surdas – 25000 Jagjivandas Kishoredas – 25000 4 April Samdas Gopaldas – 26000 Banwalidas Chuadas – 22000 11 April Ballavdas Banwalidas – 80000 27 April Kalyanchand Jeswung – 100001 4 June Banwalidas Haridas – 25000 Ballavdas Kishoredas – 50000 1 July Vellgee Anund – 25000 Rounsy – 25000 Sacekitt Bagivan – 30000 25 July Surdas Kapoorchand – 18000 Beharidas Surdas – 22500 Rs. 523501 20. O.C. 3826, vol. 34, 7 August 1673. 21. J.N. Sarkar, History of Aurangzeb, vol. III, Calcutta, 1928, Chapters 34 and 35. Ram Sharma, Religious Policy of the Mughal Emperors, Bombay, 1972, Chapter 5. 22. Foster, op. cit., pp. 85-7.

The Surat Crisis of 1669 | 191 3. O.C. 3373, vol. 30, 26 November 1669. 2 24.  Ibid. 25. O.C. 3373, vol. 30, 26 November 1669. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid. 31. O.C. 3385, vol. 30, 23 December 1669. Professor Jagadish Narayan Sarkar’s contention, based on W. Foster, English Factories in India, 1668-69, p. 205, that the merchants returned to Surat by 20 December is erroneous cf. J.N. Sarkar. ‘A Mercantile Strike of the 17th Century’, Indian Historical Records Commission, Jadavpur, 1967, p. 130. In his short description of the Surat Strike, Prof. M.J. Mehta also relied on EFI, 1668-69, cf., ‘Some Aspects of Surat as a Trading centre in the 17th Century’, Indian Historical Review, vol. 1, no. 2, 1974, p. 258. 32. O.C. 3385, vol. 30, 23 December 1669. 33.  Memoirs de Francois Martin, 1665-96, 3 vols., Paris, 1931-4, vol. 1, pt. II, pp. 239-40. I am indebted to Dr. Aniruddha Roy for supplying me this information. 34.  Ibid., p. 240. 35.  Ibid., pp. 239-40. 36. O.C. 3921, vol. 34, 12 January 1674. 37. O.C. 3913, vol. 34. 38. K.N. Chaudhuri, The Trading World of Asia and the English East India Company, 1660-1760, Cambridge University Press, 1978, pp. 149-50. 39. H. Yule, op. cit., vol. II, p. 312. 40. Michael Pearson, Merchants and Rulers in Gujarat, Delhi, 1976. 41. A. Das Gupta, op. cit. 42. M.N. Pearson, op. cit., p. 131 ; A. Das Gupta, op. cit., p. 15. 43. A. Das Gupta, op. cit., p. 84. 44. Ibid., p. 87. 45. M.M. Postan, The Medieval Economy and Society, Penguin, 1975, p. 244. 46. Ibid., p. 133. 47. Henry Pirenne, Economic and Social History of Medieval Europe, London, 1972, pp. 94-5. 48.  Ibid., p. 181. 49. Postan, op. cit., p. 242. 50. Pearson, op. cit., pp. 123-4, 131. 51. D.N. Tripathi and M.J. Mehta, ‘The Nagarseth of Ahmedabad: The History of an Urban Institution in a Gujarat City’, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, Hyderabad. 1978, vol. 1, p. 484.

192 | Trade, Politics and Society 52. Tripathi and Mehta do not agree with this version. According to them the individual mahajans never submerged their separate existence into any other corporate body. This however does not in any way negate the economic activities of the mahajan, cf. D.N. Tripathi and M.J. Mehta, op. cit., p. 490.

chapter 9

The Imperatives of the Empire* Private Trade, Sub-imperialism and the British Attack on Chandernagore, March 17571

The British conquest of Bengal at the battle of Plassey, 23 June 1757, was not wholly accidental. Nor is it that the British had no active role in the Plassey conspiracy.2 If not the Court of Directors in London, the Company servants and other merchant adventurers closely connected with the British trade in India, did from time to time advocate in no uncertain terms the acquisition of territory in India and dreamt of an ‘empire’ whatever that might have meant in contemporary vocabulary. A full-fledged imperialism was perhaps not thought of but certainly there was a conscious attempt to establish a ‘dominion’ in India ostensibly for the purpose of carrying on trade vigorously. But trade here meant not only the corporate trade of the Company but also private trade of the Company servants which really was their main interest. This attitude of the Company servants and their activities to enhance the British national as well as their own private trade interest may be termed as sub-imperialism which had developed as an ‘imperium in imperio’ within the framework of a trading corporation. It is true that the European Companies were allowed certain privileges for trade under the imperial farmans and also that the Bengal nawabs turned to the Companies as they did to Asian merchants whenever faced with financial difficulties. But it can *Studies in History, 8, 1; n.s. (1992).

194 | Trade, Politics and Society

hardly be said that the nawabs were in the habit of fleecing the Companies or the Asian merchants.3 The fact of the matter was that the servants of the Company wanted to amass fortunes through illegal private trade and by selling the dastaks or official permits exempting goods from customs duties illegally to cover the trade of Asian merchants. It was because of this that the nawabs and their officers caught the British on the wrong foot and tried to extort money from them. The distinction between the Company’s trade and private trade of its servants was often blurred and the authorities in Bengal were hardly aware of this. The servants on their part never tried to clarify this as it would hamper their own interest. The extent of the abuse of dastaks impelled a near-contemporary anonymous author of a manuscript to wonder at the ‘shameful prostitution this trade in Dastaks had arrived at’. He even asserted that the abuse of dastaks was ‘too truly a real cause’ for the exactions which therefore ‘were not extraordinary’.4 In fact, the last independent nawab of Bengal, Sirajuddaullah, ‘declared he would prove from vouchers in his possession that since the grant of the Firman by Ferroekseer [in 1717], the English had defrauded the Shah in his legal revenue of customs to the amount of a crore and half by covering the trade of the Natives with the Company’s dustuck’.5 Yet the Company servants clamoured about the exactions of the native authorities and made this one of the ‘excuses’ for doing away with the peaceful trade advocated by Sir Thomas Roe. It can be reasonably argued that the private trade interest of the Company servants was the motive force behind the foundation of Empire. As I have tried to show elsewhere,6 the changeover in the Company’s investment pattern from dadni (advance system) to gomasta (paid agents) system in Bengal in 1753 was the result of the Fort William [Calcutta] Council’s attempt to resolve its commercial crisis, mainly concerning private trade, by cutting out the dadni merchants and appointing gomastas who certainly augmented the private trade of the Company servants. The main argument which I shall try to develop here is that it was the private trade interest of the Company’s servants which

The Imperatives of the Empire | 195

made imperative the British attack on Chandernagore in March 1757. The traditional explanation that the destruction of French Chandernagore was necessary to prevent a Franco-Bengali alliance or that it was the result of the outbreak of an Anglo-French war in Europe is inadequate. More important, it seems, was the destruction of the French private trade which had expanded to an alarming proportion so far as the British were concerned. This French trade had to end if the private trade fortunes of the Company servants were to be retrieved. To revert to the story of the development of sub-imperialism: the call for the change from peaceful trade to ‘armed trade’ was given by Gerald Aungier who became President at Surat and governor in Bombay in 1669 and recommended a ‘severe and vigorous’ policy to ensure the stability of the Company’s trade in India. He wrote to the Court of Directors in 1677: ‘Justice and necessity to your estate now require that in violent distempers, violent cures are only successful; that the times now require you to manage your general commerce with your sword in your hands.’7 The advice of Aungier fell on the willing ears of the Company. In 1681 under the guidance of Sir Josiah Child as governor, the Company resolved to undertake a ‘forward policy’ in India. Agent Hedges in Bengal and Sir John Child at Surat had repeatedly urged the Company for some years to fortify settlements for the protection of English trade in Bengal and elsewhere. Hedges had thus expressed his opinion on one occasion: The Company affairs will never be better but always grow worse with continual patching till they resolve to quarrel with these people and build a fort. . . . If this be not speedily taken in hand by us, there is no doubt to be made but it will soon be done by the Dutch who talk of it freely as often as we meet with them; and then we must expect to be soon turned out of this country.8

One of the main objectives of the English East India Company’s war with the Mughals in India in the 1680s was to have a fortified settlement in Bengal. The Court of Directors wrote: We shall be exceeding glad to hear you have obtained a fortified settlement in Bengal, which if it please God to grant us, we would have

196 | Trade, Politics and Society you cultivate with all the vigour and strength you can; that we may be well fixed and settled in a good posture of defence before the Dutch can form any design to drive us out; which may be a means to prevent any attempts from them as well as to secure our interest if they should attempt to disturb us under any colour or pretence. . . .9

More revealing is the despatch of the Court of Directors to its President and Council at Fort St. George on 12 December 1687: That which we promise ourselves in a most especial manner from our new President and Council is that they will establish such a politie of Civil and Military power, and create and secure such a large revenue to maintain both at that place, as may be the foundation of a large, well grounded, sure English dominion in India for all time to come.10

Such was the wild dream then cherished for the acquisition of an extensive, secure and strongly-founded British dominion in India which was to be realized only seventy years later. So how could the conquest of Bengal in 1757 be considered unintentional or accidental? The war with the Mughals ended in a dismal failure of the British and fortified settlement could not be established either in Bengal or anywhere else. But the quest for a fortified settlement in Bengal was successful as a result of an unexpected development towards the close of the seventeenth century. Following the rebellion of Sobha Singh in Bengal in 1696, the nawab gave general permission to the Europeans to fortify themselves. The British were quick to act.11 This was the beginning and the fortifications were strengthened from time to time even in defiance of the nawab’s authority. One of the main causes of the conflict between the nawab and the British in 1756-7 was on the question of fortifications.12 To understand the specifics of the Bengal conflict in 1756-7 we need to probe beyond the question of fortifications and the abuse of dastaks. The crisis could be better understood if we look at the delicate relationships between the Fort William Council and the nawab’s government which depended upon the prosperity of British corporate and private trade in Bengal. With the British settlement in Calcutta, the city developed into a major centre of intra-Asiatic trade. The period between the mid-

The Imperatives of the Empire | 197

1720s and mid-1730s was the high period of British sea-borne private trade from Calcutta. A number of related factors seems to have enabled the British to dominate the carrying trade. The markets they traded in were relatively stable and they were able to depend upon a pool of private capital and an Asiatic commercial organization based in Calcutta, Bombay and Madras. There was close cooperation among the Company servants in the three Presidencies, and their trading firms and partnerships provided a continuity of organization and expertise so essential for commercial success. Moreover the British private traders operating on a net margin of 20 per cent per voyage13 could easily undercut the corporate ‘country trade’ of the Dutch and the French who expected a net return of 50 per cent on their ventures.14 The Company servants also seem to have traded at an advantage to Asian merchants who paid high customs duties at Asian ports. It was claimed in the 1740s that a ship of the Armenian merchant of Hughli, Khwaja Wazid, sailed under French colours because at Basra it could pay the French rate of 3 per cent while the Asians had to pay 6 per cent.15 But British private trade in Calcutta began to decline from the late 1730s and it was faced with a crisis in the 1740s, mainly because of the competition from the French private traders under the energetic commercial management of governor Dupleix.16 From about the mid-1730s French corporate trade too recovered from its low point of the 1720s to a level near that of the British.17 The French Company’s servants who were not officially allowed to participate in the country trade were permitted this liberty in 1722.18 As a result they emerged as a serious rival to British private traders. The primary concern of Dupleix as governor of Chandernagore was commercial, not political.19 From 1731 to 1742 Dupleix organized at least 90 voyages and the pattern of ships sent out by Dupleix and his associates brings out clearly the predominantly east-west orientation of India’s Asian trade during this period,20 as described by Holden Furber.21 Besides the French in Chandernagore, Pondicherry, Dupleix’s associates comprised the chiefs and other employees of the English and Dutch East India Companies in Calcutta and Chin-

198 | Trade, Politics and Society

surah.22 The emergence of major French competition in the Asiatic trade of Bengal, however, resulted in bitter commercial rivalries between the French and the British. The French threat is apparent from Table 1 of Anglo-French shipping in Bengal.23 In the early 1740s the Fort William Council began to accuse the French of disrupting the British private trading fortune. In a desperate attempt to rescue the British private trade, the Fort William Council prohibited further commercial intercourse with the main French settlement at Chandernagore. In 1742 the Council took the following resolution: The French having for some time past been of great disservice to the private trade of this place by the assistance and supply of money and goods that they have had from Calcutta and more particularly to the ports of Judda, Mocha and in the Gulph of Persia and as we have ships bound this year to those places. In order therefore to prevent any ill consequence in future such as we have formerly experienced thereby. Resolved that no merchants of this place white or black either in the Company’s service or otherwise under their protection be permitted to sell or furnish the French with any sortments of goods whatever or to freight goods on any of the French ships bound out of this river. . . .24

Dupleix later wrote of his period as governor of Chandernagore: ‘I made the English tremble for they saw their commerce dwindling and their merchants forced to declare themselves bankrupt. I accomplished all this in nine years’.25 From about the early 1750s the British corporate and private trade in Bengal was again facing difficulties. The end of the Anglo-French war in 1748 and the peace treaty between the Table 1: French and British Ships in Bengal, 1738-42 Year 1738 1739 1740 1741 1742

Total 14 16 23 27 N.A.

French Ships Company Private N.A. N.A. 7 9 2 21 4 23 N.A. 18

Total 25 24 23 26 29

British Ships Company N.A. 6 10 7 7

Private N.A. 18 13 19 22

Source: Shipping Lists in Dutch Records, Algemeen Rijksarchief, Den Haag.

The Imperatives of the Empire | 199

Marathas and the Bengal nawab meant the renewal of French and Asian competition in the already strained markets of Bengal. The French pursued their trade in Bengal with vigour, opened a new factory at Dhaka in 1750,26 and resumed their commercial operations in Hughli, Kasimbazar, Dhaka and Patna.27 To this was added the competition of the Armenian and other Asian merchants.28 The extremely tight situation in Bengal’s money market aggravated the Company’s difficulties with its creditors. The Seths demanded repayment of loans accumulated in the 1740s and imposed restrictions on further credit.29 The situation in the key area of private trade became critical. There was a sharp decline in the consulage which reflected a definite slide in the British private trade of Calcutta. Robert Orme, a Company servant and later official historian of the Company, wrote to his friend Mr. Robbins in 1751: ‘The consulage in years of extensive trade used to be from 20 to 30 thousand rupees to the best of my memory, it is now scarce 5 or 6 clear.’30 Two leading members of the Fort William Council, Charles Manningham and William Frankland, commented in all probability on the decline of private trade when they wrote to Clive, then in Madras, in 1753: ‘. . . the situation of trade since you left us has continued so bad.’31 The competition of the French trade was one of the main causes for this decline in the British private trade from Calcutta. In 1752 Captain Fenwick, a resident of Calcutta, wrote: ‘The French it is probable are now in their zenith of trade in Bengal.’32 The shipping lists in the Dutch archives leave no doubt that in the mid-1750s there was an extremely powerful French fleet in Bengal endangering the supremacy of the British private trade. Table 2 of Anglo-French shipping in Bengal in the mid-1750s will illustrate my point.33 The table indicates that French private trade had a remarkable revival in the mid-1750s. In 1754 while the total English fleet that touched Calcutta numbered only 20 (twelve of the Company’s and only eight belonging to private traders), the French fleet numbered 27 of which as many as 22 were engaged in private trade. While the British shipping in 1751 totalled 7,420

200 | Trade, Politics and Society Table 2: British and French Shipping in Bengal, 1751-54 Year

1751 (British) 1754 (French) 1754 (British)

Tat. Ships

Co's

Private

24

3

21

27

5

22

20

12

8

500 2-400 100 & Below Total Private tons & tons Above 100 TonTonabove nage nage 3 Co. + 8 7 3 7,420 5,020 3 Pvt. 5 Co.+ 10 6 – 10,450 7,450 6 Pvt. N.A. N.A. N.A. N.A. N.A. N.A.

Source: Shipping Lists in V.O.C. Records, Algemeen Rijksarchief, Den Haag.

tons, the shipping capacity of the French fleet in 1754 amounted to 10,450 tons, of which the British private shipping comprised 5,020 tons and the French private shipping totalled 7,450 tons respectively which surely indicates a remarkable increase in French private trading. This tremendous increase in French private trade, obviously at the cost of the British, scared the Fort William Council. In the early 1750s the Council, in an attempt to arrest the decline in British private trade, took resort to several measures. The first was the dastak reforms of 1750 by which the Council decided that in private trade the Indian and French traders were henceforth to be debarred from using the Company’s dastaks.34 In addition to the dastak regulations, the Council restricted in 1753 the issue of trading passes in order to protect the Company servants’ country trade.35 These passes conferred an exemption of the vessels’ cargoes from customs duties at the Indian ports. John Wood, a free merchant of Calcutta, angrily pointed out that this would effectively create a monopoly in the hands of the Company servants over the private maritime commerce of Calcutta. In October 1755 Roger Drake, the governor, suggested more restrictions.36 The dastak and trading pass reforms were matched by the change over in the Company’s investment pattern from dadni to gomasta system in 1753.37 Needless to say, the Fort William Council embarked on all these measures in an attempt to rescue their battered private trading fortunes.

The Imperatives of the Empire | 201

Theoretically the corporate trade of the Company was to be the prime concern of the servants, but for all practical purposes their real concern was their own private trade through which they could accumulate a quick fortune and retire to a decent life in Europe. Far away as they were from effective control from Britain by a sailing time of about six months they had developed ‘what is called its own sub-imperialism’. Most of the decisions were taken locally. But one should not forget that the Company servants were not completely unaware of the inclinations of the authorities in London and knew well that if their actions resulted in advantages for the Company, those would be happily approved by the authorities. At a time when the private trade was in a critical state, the last independent nawab of Bengal raised for the first time the awkward issues of the abuse of dastaks and fortified settlement. So a rupture in the relations between the nawab and the Company became inevitable.38 The nawab moved against the Kasimbazar factory which capitulated quickly and then he marched towards Calcutta. The governor of Calcutta, Roger Drake, who was actively engaged in private trade, was reported to have reacted to mediation offers by declaring ‘the sooner he [nawab Sirajuddaullah] came [to Calcutta] the better and he [Drake] would make another nawab’.39 The nawab overran Calcutta and the British were forced to take refuge at Fulta down the Ganges. An appeal for reinforcement had to be sent to Madras which was carried personally by no other person than Manningham, one of the members of the Fort William Council and one who was actively engaged in private trade. In its instruction of 13 October 1756 the Fort St. George [Madras] Council outlined the objective of the expeditionary force sent to Bengal under Clive and Watson and recommended ‘not mere retaking of Calcutta’ and ‘ample reparations’ but urged to ‘effect a junction with any powers in the province of Bengal that might be dissatisfied with the violence of the nawab’s government or that might have pretensions to the nawabship’.40 Even more significant is the fact that to the suggestion of bringing about a coup d’etat in Bengal,

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the Fort St. George Council added the idea of dispossessing the French of their settlement at Chandernagore: ‘We have desired Mr. Watson, if he thinks it practicable, to dispossess the French of Chandernagore. . . . Should you be of this opinion we desire that you will enforce our recommendation.’41 The British expeditionary force recaptured Calcutta and on the ostensible ground of avenging the nawab’s earlier attack on Calcutta sacked the premier port of Hughli. A close scrutiny of events, however, makes one suspect that the real motive behind the sack of Hughli was to crush the intra-Asiatic trade carried on from Hughli mainly by Asian and French private traders. The British onslaught on Hughli severely jeopardised the trade of the Armenian merchant prince Khwaja Wazid who, from his base at Hughli, was operating his considerable overseas trade to Surat, Red Sea and Persian Gulf areas and who was closely associated with the French.42 After a skirmish with the nawab’s forces in which the latter was defeated, the British entered into the treaty of Alinagar with the nawab on 9 February 1757. The swiftness with which the treaty was concluded led the British to believe that the French could be quickly reduced with the nawab’s permission and they employed William Watts, the chief of Kasimbazar factory in the vicinity of the capital Murshidabad, and Umichand, a Calcutta merchant of considerable influence at the nawab’s court, for the purpose of obtaining the necessary permission from the nawab. The nawab Sirajuddaullah, however, was intent on preventing any conflict among the Europeans in his dominion and tried his best to play one Company against the other without being allied himself to either of them for maintaining the balance of power. His instructions to his deputy Nandakumar who was in charge of Hughli were explicitly clear on this point.43 But the British managed to bribe Nandakumar through Umichand, thus preventing him from coming to the assistance of the French in the event of a British attack. Determined as they were to drive the French out of Chandernagore ever since the treaty of Alinagar, the British would have attacked Chandernagore immediately, but a few things stood in the way of immediate prosecution of the British

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design. The reinforcement from Bombay which was expected did not arrive. So it was risky to attack Chandernagore which might have embroiled the British with the nawab also. With available resources it was impolitic to fight a possible Franco-Bengali alliance. Admiral Watson’s hesitation was attributed to the absence of the nawab’s permission to attack the French. In such a situation Clive was undecided till 4 March 1757.44 But within the following two days there were two developments of considerable consequence. The first was the arrival of the Bombay troops with the Cumberland.45 The second was a letter from the nawab to Clive stating that he intended to proceed to Patna in the face of a possible attack of Bengal by Ahmad Shah Abdali. Clive was offered Rs. 1 lakh a month if he joined the nawab with the British army.46 No sooner had these two developments taken place than Clive changed his earlier position and two days later ‘no longer waxing eloquent about the world’s opinion of English plottings’, Clive began his march towards Chandernagore on 8 March 1757. Alarmed, the French wanted to know the intention of the British. The soon-would-be-hero of Plassey, Colonel Clive, upon whom as Mill pointed out, ‘deception, when it suited his purpose, never cast a pang’ replied on 9 March: ‘I very sincerely declare to you that at this present time I have no intention to attack your settlement. If I should alter my mind, I shall not fail to advise you of it.’47 With the Abdali invasion lurking, the young nawab wrote a letter to Admiral Watson, appealing to him to accept the earlier French offer of a treaty of neutrality. But the letter was written on his behalf by his secretary whom William Watts managed through a handsome bribe ‘to pen this important epistle in a proper style so as to permit the attack immediately and to desptach it without delay’.48 It has been suggested that this letter removed Watson’s scruples regarding the attack on Chandernagore without the nawab’s permission.49 Scrafton, the British resident at Murshidabad, thought that ‘the letter may be well understood as a consent to our attacking Chandernagore though certainly it was not meant as such’.50 The fact of the matter was that Watson never really bothered much about any permission

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from the nawab. For, even before he received the letter from the nawab which was alleged to have removed his scruples about attacking Chandernagore, he had sent his men-of-war to cover the advance of Clive’s forces by land.51 The main reason for Watson changing his mind was the receipt of His Majesty’s declaration of war against France with orders from the Rt. Honourable Lord Commissioners of the Admiralty to act.52 Obviously the orders called for the destruction of the French wherever they might be. The French would fall soon but not as yet, and not so easily, had it not been for the betrayal of a French renegade and the vacillation of the nawab. On 13 March Clive asked the French chief Renault to surrender the fort and the latter’s refusal led to the outbreak of hostilities the same night. The siege of Chandernagore began on 14 March. The nawab, true to his earlier resolution to assist one European power in case of an attack by the other, asked his deputy Nandakumar to defend the French. The deputy who received a fresh bribe from the British wrote to the nawab: ‘That as the French were unable to resist the English, he had therefore ordered his troops to Hughli, lest his [the nawab’s] victorious colours should be involved in their [the French] disgrace.’53 Yet all was not lost. Jean Law, the French representative at the nawab’s court in Murshidabad, received the news of the British attack on 15 March and he graphically described in his memoirs the events that followed and the vacillations of the nawab. In the face of conspiracy in Murshidabad court the nawab hesitated to come forward to the aid of the French. At last when the nawab ultimately sent his assistance under the able commanders, Rai Durlabh Ram and Mir Mardan, which reached Hughli on 22 March, it was too late – the French chief Renault signed the capitulation on 23 March by which the French were obliged to leave Chandernagore, leaving behind all their fortunes and effects at the virtual disposal of the British.54 Scrafton was partly right when he pointed out that the French had fallen because the ‘Nabob floated between his fears and his wishes’ – his fears of the Abdali invasion, of the betrayal of his court officials – his

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wishes of helping the French, the arrival of Bussy with reinforcements and the ultimate defeat of the British. The attack on Chandernagore was thus imperative not only, as traditional explanation has always emphasized, as a consequence of the outbreak of the Anglo-French war and/or for the prevention of a Franco-Bengali alliance. As our foregoing evidence and arguments will bear out, it was to a large extent to retrieve British private trade fortunes which faced a severe crisis from the late 1740s through the mid-1750s and for which the French and their allies in intra-Asian trade from Bengal, the Hughli merchants under the leadership of Khwaja Wazid, were largely responsible. The imperative of empire also necessitated that the French who might have stood in the way of British ambition for the territorial acquisition in Bengal should be driven out before striking at the local ruler who would be isolated after the fall of the French. The elimination of the French from Bengal would also ensure that the pro-French lobby in the Murshidabad court would be weakened so that there would be very few to support the cause of the nawab. And this was proved right by the betrayal at the last moment by Khwaja Wazid who from the beginning was pro-French, anti-British and a close confidant of the nawab. The French fell paving the way for the smooth recovery of the British private trading fortunes and the conquest of Bengal which ushered in an unprecedented growth of private trade not only in intra-Asiatic commerce but also in the internal trade of Bengal resulting as it did in the economic impoverishment of the province. NOTES 1. I thankfully acknowledge the assistance and hospitality extended to me by Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, Paris, in the summer of 1989 when I wrote the final draft of this paper. 2. For the latest advocacy of the thesis, see Peter Marshall, Bengal: The British Bridgehead, The New Cambridge History of India, Cambridge University Press, 1987, pp. 77, 91; C.A. Bayly, Indian Society and the Making of the British Empire, Cambridge University Press, 1987, p. 50; Rajat Kanta Ray, ‘Colonial Penetration and Initial Resistance:

206 | Trade, Politics and Society The Mughal Ruling Class, the English East India Company and the Struggle for Bengal, 1756-1800’, Indian Historical Review, vol. XII, nos. 1-2, July 1985-January 1986, pp. 7, 8, 11, 12. I have tried to refute the above thesis in details in my ‘Plassey and the British Conquest of Bengal’, in History of Bangladesh, vol. 1, Dhaka, 1992, pp. 93-120. 3. For these farmans and the controversy regarding the privileges sanctioned by them, see, S. Chaudhuri, Trade and Commercial Organization in Bengal, with special reference to the English East India Company, 1650-1720, Calcutta, 1975, pp. 39-42; S. Bhattacharyya, The East India Company and the Economy of Bengal from 1704-1740, London, 1954, pp. 28-32; S. Chaudhury, ‘The Myth of the English East India Company’s Trading Privileges in Bengal, 1651-1681’, Bengal Past and Present, vol. 89, 1970, pp. 287-92. 4. Mss. Eur. D.283 (India Officce Records & Library, London, henceforth IOLR), ff. 15,25. For detailed note on this manuscript, see my article ‘Sirajuddaullah, English Company and The Plassey Conspiracy: A Reappraisal’, Indian Historical Review, XIIf. 1-2, fn. 34. 5. Mss. Eur. D 283, f.25. 6. For details, see my article ‘Merchants, Companies and Rulers: Bengal in the 18th, Century’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, vol. XXXI, February 1988, pp. 82-9. 7. Original Correspondence (henceforth O.C.), IOLR, no. 4258, 22 January 1677, vol. 37, f. 8. 8. R. Barlow and H. Yule (ed.), The Diary of William Hedges 1681-1687, vol. 1, London, 1887, pp. 133-4. 9. Despatch Book (henceforth D.B.), IOLR, vol. 91, para 25, f.37, 14 January 1686. 10. D.B. vol. 91, f.4.66, 12 December 1687. 11. For details, see S. Chaudhuri, Trade and Commercial Organization, p. 39. 12. See my article, ‘Sirajuddaullah, English Company’. 13. R.C. Temple, Scattergoods and the East India Company, London, 1931, pp. 128-9. 14. A. Das Gupta, Malabar in the Asian Trade, 1740-1800, Cambridge, 1967, p. 85. 15. J.D. Nichol, ‘The British in India 1740-63: A Study in Imperial Expansion into Bengal’, unpublished Ph.D thesis, Cambridge University, 1976, p. 79. 16. For Dupleix’s activities in Bengal, see I. Ray, ‘Dupleix’s Trade at Chandernagore’, Indian Historical Review, vol. 1, 1974, pp. 279-94. 17. Virginia M. Thompson, Dupleix and his Letters, 1742-54, New York 1933, p. 73. 18. I. Ray, op. cit., p. 283.

The Imperatives of the Empire | 207 19. Ibid., p. 281. 20. For details, ibid., pp. 284-7. 21. Holden Furber, John Company at Work, Cambridge, Mass., 1951, p. 162. 22. For such commercial alliances, see I. Ray, op. cit., pp. 288-9. 23. Collected and computed from Verenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie, (henceforth V.O.C.) earlier Koloniaal (henceforth K.A.), V.O.C. 2469 (K.A. 2361), ff. 1007–8; V.O.C. 2489 (K.A. 2381), ff. 291-91vo., 293; V.O.C. 2504 (K.A. 2396), ff. 1065-6; V.O.C. 2518 (K.A. 2410), ff. 515, 517; V.O.C. 2556 (K.A. 2448), ff. 575-6. 24. Bengal Public Consultations (henceforth B.P.C.), IOLR, Range 1, vol. 15, f. 327, 7 October 1742. 25. Virginia M. Thompson, op. cit., p.723. 26. B.P.C., Range 1, vol. 23, 1’. I59vo., 4 January 1750. 27. Ibid., f. 407vo, 8 December 1750. 28. Ibid., vol. 24, f.58, 7 February 1751. 29. Fort William–India House Correspondence, 1748-1756, vol. I, ed. K.K. Datta, Delhi 1958, p. 472; B.P.C. Range 1, vol. 23, f. 303vo, 23 August 1750. 30. Orme to Mr. Robbins, 10 May 1751, Orme, O.V. 12 (IOLR), f. 83. 31. Eur. G.37, Box 21, 1 September 1753, IOLR. 32. Orme Mss., India, VI (IOLR), f. 111vo. 33. V.O.C. 2754 (K.A.2646), f.227; V.O.C. 2829 (K.A. 2721) ff. 294-7. 34. B.P.C., Range 1, vol. 23, f. 238, 17 September 1750. 35. Ibid, vol. 26, ff. 23-24, 13 January 1753. 36. Ibid, vol. 28, f. 263vo., 20 October 1755. 37. For details, see my article ‘Merchants, Companies and Rulers’, pp. 829. 38. See my article, ‘Sirajuddaullah, English Company’. 39. Watts and Collet to the Court of Directors, 17 July 1756, quoted in S.C. Hill, Bengal in 1756-57, vol. 1 (henceforth Hill), London, 1905, pp. 116-17. 40. Records of Fort St. George, Diary and Consultation Books, Military Dept., 1756, Madras, 1913, p. 330; Orme Mss. vol. 170, f. 90 [IOLR]. 41. Fort St. George Select Committee to Select Committee, Fort William, 14 November 1756, Hill, I, p. 302. 42. For Wazid, see my article ‘Merchants, Companies and Rulers’, op. cit.; and my article ‘Armenians in Bengal’s Trade and Politics: A Study of Khwaja Wazid in mid-18th Century Bengal’, in Indian Historical Review, vol. XVI, nos. 1-2, pp. 137-48. 43. Watts to Clive, 18 Febuary 1757, Hill, II, p. 228; Clive to Select Committee, 22 Febuary 1757, Hill, II, p. 240. 44. Brijen K. Gupta, Sirajuddaullah and the East India Company, 1756-57, Leiden, 1966, pp. 108-10.

208 | Trade, Politics and Society 45. Robert Orme, History of the Military Transactions of the British Nation in Indostan, vol. II, London, 1803, pp. 142-3. 46. Sirajauddaullah to Clive, 4 March 1757, Hill, III, pp. 270-1. 47. Clive to the French Council at Chandernagore, 9 March 1757, Hill, II, 277. For Mill’s comment, see James Mill, History of British in India, vol. III, London, 1840, p. 194n. 48. John Campbell, Memoirs of the Revolution in Bengal, London, 1760, pp. 42-3. 49. Especially by Watts and Ives, the two contemporaries; for details see Brijen K. Gupta, op, cit., p. 111. 50. Luke Scrafton, Reflections on the Government &c. of Indostan, London, 1760, p. 75. 51. Clive to Watson, 11 March 1757, Hill, II, p. 280. 52. Watson to Select Committee, 12 March 1757, Hill, II, p. 283. 53. Scrafton, op. cit., p. 70. 54. For detailed account, see Brijen K. Gupta, op. cit., pp. 112-13.

chapter 10

Greased Cartridge and the Dharma Sabha A Myth Exposed*

One of the unexplored issues regarding the Revolt of 1857 is on the question of the greased cartridge – first, who spread the story/rumour that the greased cartridge contained cow and pig fat and by biting it while firing rifles, the sepoys, both Hindus and Muslims, will lose their caste and religion. Second, how did the story travel so fast like wildfire from Barrackpore to several parts of northern India? Even though 1857 is not my field as a specialist, I shall still try to address the said question with my limited knowledge on the subject. The general impression among people, nay, even among some historians, is that it was the Dharma Sabha of Calcutta which influenced and incited the sepoys with the story of the greased cartridge. In fact it is John William Kaye,1 the historian of 1857, who first propounded the theory that the Dharma Sabha was behind the rumour about the greased cartridge. As a matter of fact the said cartridge, the end of which was to be bitten off by the sepoys, as Kaye himself admits, was greased with the fat of swine and cows, and the story ‘was not a lie’.2 LOTAS, CHAPATIS AND SEPOYS Kaye then tries to explain how the ‘truth first transpired’. On a January day of 1857, a low-caste sepoy (laskar) in Dum Dum *Paper presented at the Aligarh Historians Society Seminar, Indian History Congress, Calicut, 2006.

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(one of the three cantonments where the government established schools of musketry for instruction in the use of Enfield rifles) met a high-caste sepoy and asked him for a drink of water. The Brahmin sepoy refused on the ground of caste but was sarcastically told by the said laskar that caste was no longer relevant as high-caste and low-caste would soon be the same as cartridges smeared with beef-fat and hog’s lard were being introduced by the Company, and would soon be used for general use by the sepoys. It is to be noted, as Kaye pointed out, that at that point of time no greased cartridge had been issued at Dum Dum. In the musketry school there, the sepoys were only given their rudimentary instructions in the rifle education, and had not yet come to need the application of the grease. But as the story of greased cartridge went around and was soon known to every sepoy in the depot, ‘a shudder ran through the sepoy lines’ and the fear of losing their religion was uppermost in the minds of the sepoys, both Hindu and Muslim.3 The Commanding Officers immediately tried to spread the word that it was mutton-fat and wax, but the news, along with chapattis, was spreading out across the land. Kaye tried to identify the agencies that might have been responsible for the ‘rapid circulation of the evil tidings’. He surmised that ‘there were two great motive powers, close at hand, to give an immediate impulse to the promulgation of the story’. He thought that the Company’s recent policies created a ‘political and religious animosity’ among the Indians against the British, and that the former were waiting for an opportunity to vent their grievances. This was now provided by the greased cartridge. Kaye pointed out that the ‘animosities which we have most recently provoked’ had their headquarters in Calcutta. Thus he identified the Dharma Sabha, ‘the great Brahmanical Institution’, as he described it, in Calcutta, and the close associates of the deposed Nawab of Awadh, Wazed Ali, though he spared the Nawab from the slur, as the main agencies for spreading the story of the greased cartridge.4 It seems that Kaye’s assertion about the Dharma Sabha was taken from General John Hearsey, the Commanding Officer at

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Barrackpore. On 28 January 1857, Hearsey reported officially to the Adjunct General’s office that an ill feeling ‘is said to subsist in the minds of the sepoys’. He added further that a report had been spread by some ‘designing persons, most likely Brahmins or agents of the religious Hindoo party in Calcutta’, which, as he believed, is called ‘Dharma Sobha’, that the ‘sepoys are forced to embrace the Christian faith’. He thought that these Hindus who were opposed to the abolition of sati by the Company’s government were trying to thwart the new law by inciting the sepoys and make them believe their religion and religious prejudices were eventually to be abolished by force and they would be converted to Christianity, so that they become a party to Sabha’s cause.5 These rumours, however, were not new. In fact, since 1848, the same rumours had surfaced in relation to the supply depots and caravanserais set up by the Company along the portions of the Grand Trunk Road from Calcutta to Barrackpore. Those roadside food stalls (dhabas), the rumours noted, were built specifically to mix the foodstuffs of castes and force the people to destroy their caste purity. The (ill) intentions of the Company were fodder for general rumours but the Company had always been extra-phobic about the talk in the bazaars. Removed, by language and purpose, from its subjects, the Company forever feared the ‘ill-logic of the native mind’! So it seems that both Kaye and Hearsey were of the opinion that the main agent for spreading the story of the greased cartridge was the Dharma Sabha. As such it would be prudent to have a close look at the composition of the Dharma Sabha and its objective. The Dharma Sabha was formed on 24 January 18306 under the patronage of Raja Radhakanta Deb, along with his father Gopimohan Deb, and other conservative Hindu leaders. The primary object of the Sabha was to arrange for sending a petition to the Privy Council urging repeal of the anti-sati regulation of 4 December 1829.7 It also had in its agenda the task of defending Hindu religious and social system from the onslaughts from various quarters. One has to note here that it was not only the conservative Hindus who joined the Sabha but most of the

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Hindu zamindars (majority of them also conservatives no doubt) who were dissatisfied with the government on account of the new revenue policy (Regulation III of 1828), whereby lands with defective titles were resumed by the government, also joined the Sabha.8 There is hardly any doubt that Raja Radhakanta Deb was the main leader of the group who founded the Dharma Sabha.9 He was the son of Raja Gopimohan Deb who was the adopted son of Maharaja Nabakrishna Deb, the famous munshi of Robert Clive.10 Though an orthodox Hindu, Radhakanta showed marked interest in promoting education, especially English education, among the Hindus. Along with his father, he established the Hindu College in 1816 and was an active director of the college for over 30 years. But he was almost a blind champion of social conservatism. Although a staunch and loyal supporter of the British government, he was vehemently opposed to those who advocated reforms, and to any interference by the government with the social and religious life of the Hindus.11 Among the prominent members of the Dharma Sabha were Radhakanta’s friends – whom he recruited as members of the Calcutta School Society of which he became the native secretary in 1819 – Durgacharan Datta, Ramchandra Ghosh, Umanandan Tagore (also known as Nandalal Tagore). However, Radhakanta was not the only leader of the Dharma Sabha; an equally important leader was Kalikrishna Deb who represented another branch of the Deb family. Both presided over the meetings of the Sabha. Other prominent people who joined the Sabha were Harimohan Tagore, father of Umanandan Tagore, Udaychand and Asutosh Datta of Hatkhola, Ramkamal Sen, Tarinicharan Mitra and Bhabanicharan Bandyopadhyay – all of who belonged to important Calcutta families. Bhabanicharan was the most energetic member of the Sabha.12 He started the newspaper Samachar Chandrika on 5 May 1822. Among his patrons were Raja Gopimohan Deb and Harimohan Tagore. Samachar Chandrika had a prolonged career of 32 years and ceased publication in 1853. With the formation of the Dharma Sabha, Bhabanicharan became its secretary and Samachar Chandrika its mouthpiece.

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One of the main tasks of the Samachar Chandrika was to fight heresy among young Indians. Other Bengali newspapers which subscribed to its orthodox views were Sangbad Prabhakar and Sangbad Ratnakar.13 GREASED CARTRIDGE AND THE SEPOYS Let us see how the sepoys reacted to the greased cartridge. On 6 February 1857, General Hearsey called up an inquiry from the Barrackpore regiments. Byjonath Pandey, called upon, said that he had heard in the bazaars that the paper was tainted. When quizzed what about the paper was tainted, he replied, ‘My suspicion of the paper proceeds from its being stiff and like cloth in the mode of tearing it; it seems to us different from the old paper in use amongst us’. Chand Khan, the next witness, said that ‘when burning, the paper made a fizzing noise and smelt as if there was grease in it’. When the cartridge was burned in the court, Chand Khan failed to detect any smell but refused to take back his statements. General Hearsey wrote to the Presidency that . . . this foolish idea is so rooted in them that it would, I am of opinion, be both idle and unwise even to attempt its removal. I would accordingly beg leave to recommend, for the consideration of the Government, the expediency, of ordering this rifle ammunition to be made up of the same paper used for the common musket cartridge, by which means this groundless suspicion could be at once disposed of.

To which the response was that ‘concessions made to the murmurs and threats of an ignorant race only increase their perversity and folly’. On 24 February 1857, a detachment from the 34th Native Infantry reached the military camp at Berhampore, roughly a hundred miles from Barrackpore. The sepoys talked. That night when cartridges were handed out for a blank ammunition drill in the morning ordered by Colonel Mitchell, the sepoys refused to take the cartridges. Colonel Mitchell argued with them and went to bed. Around 3 in the morning, he awoke to find most of his regiment had forcibly armed themselves and were getting

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into formation. Again, more argument led to their disbanding but left Colonel Mitchell shaken. He had only 200 men against 800 sepoys. News travelled back to Barrackpore and further back to Calcutta and the Governor-General. General Hearsey ordered another general parade back at Barrackpore. He made another attempt at allaying the fears, I then took a letter I received many years ago from Maharajah Golab Sing from a gold tissue kharita and handed it successively to all the native officers, and bid them open it and look at it, and tell me it was not more glossy than the cartridge paper they suspected, and to go into the ranks and show it to their men.

The ranks were hardly impressed. DHARMA SABHA AND GREASED CARTRIDGE After an analysis of the composition of the Dharma Sabha, the background of its prominent members, its agenda and the manner in which the suspicion about the greased cartridge spread among the sepoys, it is hard to believe that Dharma Sabha had any positive role in spreading the story of the greased cartridge and thus provoking the sepoys. What Kaye and Hearsey wrote about the role of the Dharma Sabha is mere assumptions, hardly based on any concrete evidence. That they had mistaken notion about the Sabha is amply evident from the fact that they referred to the Sabha as an association of the Brahmins. It was certainly not an organization of the Brahmins, though of the orthodox Hindus. Most of its prominent leaders like Radhakanta, Kalikrishna, Ramkamal Sen, the Dattas, etc., except Bhabanicharan and the Tagores, were non-Brahmins. That the Dharma Sabha’s role was pro-British and anti-sepoy, and that it had little role in the affair of the greased cartridge will also be apparent from its activities in 1857. It was on 24 January 1857 that the Bengali newspaper, Sangbad Bhaskar, reported for the first time that the Hindu sepoys [surprisingly no mention of Muslim sepoys!] had started saying in Dum Dum that by biting the greased cartridge, they would lose their religion and caste. They maintained that thus the British were trying to make them

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into Christians but they won’t forsake their religion. Not only that, in Calcutta the relations of the sepoys started telling people that the sepoys were in touch with the native rulers and were ready to join the latter and leave the English side.14 Later on, Sangbad Bhaskar accused the English newspapers of Calcutta for printing this news without any acknowledgement to it.15 On 3 February the Sangbad Bhaskar reported that there was an incident of arson in Barrackpore which some people suspected was the handiwork of the Hindu sepoys (again no mention of Muslim sepoys!) as they were scared of the British attempt to defile their caste, and hence they were trying to take revenge against the angrej sarkar.16 The Sangbad Bhaskar reported on 3 February, as if with great relief, that the trouble at Barrackpore subsided after the sepoys adhered to the ‘advice’ of General Hearsey. That the people in Calcutta, including the members of the Dharma Sabha, were completely in the dark about the reasons behind the revolt is apparent from the editorial column of the Sangbad Prabhakar in April 1857 wherein it was stated that it ‘is mysterious’ that the sepoys who were so long loyal to the government had suddenly turned against it.17 However it came out with a vague guess, though much later, that it might have been due to the ‘crooked’ advice of some ‘wicked’ persons.18 It seems that after the closure of Sangbad Chandrika, the mouthpiece of the Dharma Sabha, the Sangbad Prabhakar, took over its role. As such, from the news and the editorials that appeared in this newspaper in the crucial period, especially of May and June 1857, will reflect the attitude of the important members of the Dharma Sabha towards the Revolt of 1857. The editorial of Sangbad Prabhakar, 26 May 1857, wrote that a meeting was conveyed ‘by the prominent citizens’ of Calcutta in Hindu Metropolitan College to ‘condemn the revolt of the sepoys and express solidarity with the government, and extend all necessary support to the British for suppressing the mutiny’. The meeting was presided over by Raja Radhakanta Deb, the founder President of the Dharma Sabha and attended by such important personalities like Raja Kamal Krishna Bahadur,

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Rajendra Datta, Harachandra Ghosh, Kaliprasanna Sinha, etc.19 In the said editorial, the Sangbad Prabhakar, observed that:20 . . . the revolt is completely “irreligious”. The sepoys have adopted an evil course. It is absolutely wrong even to think of doing away with the British rule. During their rule there has been great prosperity – the Hindus are enjoying much more freedom [compared to the Muslim rule]. . . . It is not possible to forget the benefit that accrued from the British rule. So it is the duty of every [British] subject to pray for the defeat of the sepoys and the victory of the British.

In this context it will be interesting to note that the said editorial lamented, though the Bengalis had always been loyal subjects, they lacked physical strength. Hence it was regretted that they were not in a position to fight for the British. So their duty would be to wish and pray for the British victory.21 The role of the members of the Dharma Sabha during the revolt will be clear from the resolutions passed in the said meeting which was presided over by Raja Radha Kanta Deb, and most of the persons who attended it were members of the Sabha or had sympathy with its cause. It passed the following resolutions:22 1. The meeting is extremely sorry for the outbreak of the revolt. It condemns the action of the sepoys. 2. It is happy to note that the people here did not help the mutineers at all. 3. It notes that some sepoys, under the influence of some wicked persons, have adopted an evil course. There is absolutely no reason for them to make such a grave error. 4. It calls upon all the subjects to extend all help and support to the government, if necessary, for keeping peace in the country. 5. The resolutions of this meeting should be translated into all the languages spoken by the people in this country for circulation among them. 6. A copy of the resolutions should be sent to the GovernorGeneral. Even as late as 20 June in the editorial of the Sangbad Prabhakar it was stated that some irreligious, disobedient and ungrateful

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sepoys had become seditionists. Every subject should pray to God for British victory, and that the sepoys and those ‘wicked’ persons who gave crooked and wrong advice to the sepoys be punished accordingly. It also tried to guess why the sepoys who were for long so loyal had suddenly turned so disloyal, and came to the conclusion that it was due to the machinations of some ‘notorious’ people.23 At the same time it came out with a plea that as the Bengalis are physically weak, cowards, very much afraid, devoid of least courage, live on rice and fish, tremble hearing the name of arms, they need not fight for the British against the sepoys. Their only task will be to offer prayers for the victory of the British. The editorial even came out with a poem wherein it said:24 Hey Nath Karunamoy, nibedan tai, Taba Pade ingrezder jai bhiskha chai. Bharater putragan nibedan dhara Ishwarer kacche shabe jai bhiksha kara. [Oh Lord Merciful, we pray thee/ Beg at your feet for English victory/ Thou children of India be it your prayer/British victory is what you ask God for.]

In fact, the attitude of the rich and middle class people of Calcutta, including its prominent citizens, is well reflected in Pandit Gaurisankar’s (editor of Sangbad Bhaskar) assertion in the said newspaper on 20 June 1857 under the title ‘Mangal Samachar’ (Very Good News). He wrote that the Red Fort would be occupied by the British the next day and hence he asked the readers to start dancing with the slogan of ‘Jai, Jai’ (Victory, Victory), and the Hindus [strangely no mention of Muslims] to offer pujas in the temples as ‘our sovereign’ [the British] became victorious. Pandit Gaurisankar, like most other Hindu leaders of the Calcutta society, was extremely scared of the Revolt lest the British were driven out by the sepoys and the Muslims take over. Hence it is a pity that a section of the Hindu middle class, especially the intelligentsia, failed to realize the significance of the Revolt of 1857.25

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CONCLUSION From the above analysis and discussion, it will be reasonable to assert that the very composition of the Dharma Sabha, its agenda, the credentials of its members and the activities of the Sabha during 1857 will preclude any suggestion that it had any positive role in the initiation and/or spread of the story of the greased cartridge. Neither had it used the story of the greased cartridge to influence or incite the sepoys. The President of the Sabha, Raja Radhakanta Deb, though a champion of orthodox Hinduism, was nevertheless a staunch supporter of the British rule and remained so throughout his life. In 1824 he was honoured with a khelat and shiropa by Lord Amherst. He was awarded the title of ‘Raja Bahadur’ in 1837 and a CIE in 1866.26 Had he been anti-British or had he or his association had any role on the question of greased cartridge and/or in support of the Revolt, he would not have received such honours from the British. Similar was the case with most other members of the Sabha. The main agenda of the Sabha, as we have underlined earlier, was to keep orthodox Hinduism intact and save it from the onslaught of the reformists and the interference of the government. This was, however, not in conflict with the loyalty of the Sabha members to the Company Raj. The official meeting of the Sabha unanimously condemned the Revolt, expressed its solidarity with the British, and declared its eagerness to support and help the government in its efforts to quell the mutinous sepoys. The Bengali newspapers – Sangbad Prabhakar, Sangbad Bhaskar, etc., which were the mouthpiece of the Sabha and/or supporter of its ideals, never ever mentioned that the rumour of the greased cartridge originated from the Sabha or that the Sabha either incited or influenced the sepoys on the issue. They specifically mentioned that they had no idea whatsoever who the people responsible for such a thing were, and their suspicion was that it was done by some ‘wicked’ persons. The very fact that the rich and middle-class Bengali Hindus were relieved and happy at the victory of the British, and that they were asked to dance and offer pujas by the editor of Sangbad Bhaskar will

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help mitigate against the assumptions of Kaye and Hearsey that the Dharma Sabha was the main instigator on the issue of the greased cartridge. Be that as it may, it can be said in general that there is much evidence to support the theory that the sepoys were motivated by nothing more than a desire to preserve their caste and religion. There is little doubt that the sepoys did talk in the idiom of religion. In all probability they wanted to express the socio-economic grievances of the people under the Company Raj through the medium of religion. As a matter of fact, in the Indian psyche, religion is a powerful weapon, and given the religiosity of the Indians, people often used the name of religion to garner support for their cause. Thus the sepoys’ clarion call to save their religion from the kafirs (British) was the medium through which the growing resentment against the British was expressed. It might also be true at the same time that some people outside the army tried to set up a cry of ‘religion in danger’ as the only way to unite both Hindus and Muslims against the British government. Their aspirations might have been an important force behind the Revolt. In this context perhaps it won’t be inappropriate to recall what Ahsanullah Khan, Bahdur Shah II’s personal physician who had much contact with the mutineers, wrote:27 Although the issue of the new cartridge was the ostensible cause of the mutiny, it was not in reality so. Some individuals of the native army had long before been adverse to and dissatisfied with the British government. They . . . eagerly seized the opportunity of the issue of new cartridge as affording a good pretext for their defection. The wily and the intriguing among them made it the fulcrum of their designs to excite the whole army against their rulers, and, mixing therewith a religious element, alienated the minds of the troops from the government.

NOTES 1. John William Kaye, A History of the Sepoy War in India, vol. 1, 7th edn., London 1875, pp. 492-4. 2. Ibid., p. 488. 3. Ibid., pp. 490-1.

220 | Trade, Politics and Society 4. Ibid., pp. 492-5. 5. Ibid., pp. 495-6. 6. Jogesh Chandra Bagal, Radhakanta Deb, Sahitya Sadhak Charitamala, no. 20, 6th rpt., 1385, p. 39. 7. Incidentally, the petition of the Dharma Sabha was rejected by the Privy Council on 11 July 1832. 8. A.F. Salauddin Ahmed, Social Ideas and Changes in Bengal, 18181835, Calcutta, 2nd edn., 1976, p. 34. 9. Rajat Sanyal, Voluntary Associations and the Urban Public Life in Bengal, Calcutta, 1980, p. 6; 10. Bagal, Radhakanta Deb, p. 6. 11. Salauddin Ahmed, Social Ideas, p. 32. 12. Rajat Sanyal, Voluntary Associations, pp. 96-100. 13. Salauddin Ahmed, Social Ideas, pp. 34-5; 101-2. 14. Sangbad Bhaskar, editorial, 24 January 1857, quoted in Benoy Ghosh, (ed.), Samayik Patre Banglar Samajchitra, vol. 3, Calcutta 1962, p. 368. 15. News in Sangbad Bhaskar, 21 February 1857, Quoted in Ghosh, vol. 3, p. 383. 16. Ibid., 3 February 1857, Ghosh, vol. 3, p. 376. 17. Editorial, Sangbad Prabhakar, 15 April 1857 (1 Baishak 1265 bs), Ghosh, vol. 1, p. 155. 18. Editorial, Sangbad Prabhakar, 20 June 1857, Ghosh, vol. 1, pp. 228-9. 19. Ibid., 26 May 1856, Sangbad Prabhakar, Ghosh, vol. 1, p. 153. 20. Ibid., p. 154. 21. Ibid. 22. Ibid., p. 223. 23. Sangbad Prabhakar, editorial, 20 June 1857, Benoy Ghosh, Samayik Patre, pp. 226-9. 24. Ibid., pp. 228-31. 25. Sangbad Bhaskar, quoted in Benoy Ghosh, Samayik Patre, vol. 3, pp. 55-6. 26. Jogesh Chandra Bagal, Radhakanta Deb, in Sahitya Sadhak Charitamala, no. 20, p. 49. 27. Parliamentary Papers, House of Commons, vol. 18, p. 267, quoted in ‘Greased Cartridge and the Great Mutiny of 1857 – A Pretext to Rebel or the Final Straw?’, in Kaushik Roy (ed.), War and Society in Colonial India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006.

PART 3

SOCIETY

chapter 11

Medieval Indian Society, State and Social Custom Sati as a Case Study*

An attempt has been made in this paper to analyse the different aspects of sati as a social institution in medieval India and to make a critical analysis of the attitude of the medieval Indian society and state towards this social practice. A long-established custom as sati was, neither the Hindus nor the Muslims found any particular cause to discuss it in details except for occasional reference to it – and that too mostly in admiration of it. The most detailed account of the social custom is, however, to be found in the accounts of the foreign travellers. From these accounts, supplemented by information from indigenous sources, it has been attempted here to identify the main ‘homes’ of the sati, to give a detailed description of the process of widow-burning, to expose the role of the Brahmins in the execution of sati, to explain the main factors – emphasizing their relative importance – behind this social practice, and finally to evaluate the attitude of the medieval state and measures taken by it in suppressing the social abuse. It is significant that the Muslim rulers never approved of the inhuman practice though they hardly attempted prohibiting it altogether by legislation. Even when a law was promulgated, though rather very rarely, to ban the social custom, it remained mostly in paper, hardly translated into practice. Nevertheless it *This is a revised and expanded version of the paper presented at the Indian History Congress, Ranchi Session, 1964 and later published in The Calcutta Historical Journal, vol. VIII, nos. 1-2, 1983, pp. 38-60.

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must be said in all fairness that it was due to the vigilance of the medieval state that the practice of sati abated to a great extent, especially during the Mughal period. I Etymologically sati stands for a chaste, virtuous and faithful wife though curiously enough the term had generally been applied to signify the custom of burning women on the funeral pyres of their dead husbands. Originally sati was the term used of the woman and never of the rite; its application in the latter sense, as done in the present essay, is modern and European. Although barbarous and inhuman in modern eyes, it seems strange that the practice of widow-sacrifice was almost universal in its prevalence in the ancient world. A custom of the Slavs of Europe, it was hardly unknown to the Scandinavian people. Herodotus testifies to its existence among the Scythians and the people of Thrace. In Greek legend Evande, wife of Capaneus, one of the Seven against Thebes, burned alive with her husband. N.M. Penzer suggests that the custom was revived in Egypt under Amenhetop II (accn. 1447 bc) whose tomb has in an adjoining chamber to the one in which the King lies four enbalmed bodies of slaughtered wives.1 Even in the East, in China for example, widow remarriage was looked upon as an act of immorality and suicide of the widow at the death of her husband was hailed by erection of honorary gates at imperial command. The rite of sati was also prevalent among the Tongans, Fujians, Maoris and many other African tribes, and the relics of it were found in the funeral custom of some American Indian tribes.2 ‘In fact’, Edward Thompson observes, ‘the rite belongs to a barbaric stratum which once overlay the whole world including India’.3 There can be hardly any doubt regarding the prevalance of sati in India from an early period though there is a controversy amongst scholars as to the exact period of its existence.4 In the Mahabharata we find the instance of Madri sacrificing her life in the funeral pyre of her husband.5 The practice of sati was noted by the soldiers of Alexander in the Punjab. One Sicritus

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spoke of it as specially a custom of the Kshatriyas. Aristobolles was informed that widows sometimes burned themselves with their deceased husbands and those who refused to do so lived under general contempt.6 Dr. Smith’s suggestion that sati was a Scythian rite introduced from Central Asia has been rejected by Thompson though it may be probable that the contact with the Scythian invaders of Central Asia reinforced the usage.7 The great astronomer Varahamira praises Indian women for adherence to the ‘virtuous’ practice.8 The singular protest against the inhuman sacrifice of widows in ancient India is to be found in a beautiful passage in Banabhatta’s Kadambari.9 Any way sati can be rightly called a deep rooted and established custom in Indian society. That it was an ancient custom in India is also attested by several foreign travellers who visited India during the medieval period.10 This fact is also corroborated by historiographies of the period like Ain-i-Akbari.11 The act of sati had two forms – sahamarana (dying in company with); in this case, the woman was burnt with the corpse of the deceased husband. The second was anumarana (dying in accordance with); here if the husband died at a distance from his wife or in certain cases, as for instance, when the wife was pregnant, she was burnt later with some article that belonged to her husband.12 These two forms of sati were also sometimes called sahagamana (going along with) and anugamana (going in accordance with) respectively. II It seems strange that if one wants to collect materials on different aspects of sati in medieval Indian writings, one would search almost in vain for these in contemporary Indian authors. Most of them pass over it without much comments. The Muslims who could have perhaps taken a healthier and more detached view of the situation found no particular cause for complaint in the suppression of human personality through this glaring social evil. It seems that the custom had become the normal feature of the social organism in the eyes of both Hindus and Muslims.

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Hence they fight shy of giving important details about the rite of sati besides occasional reference to or admiration for it.13 But the practice was so widely prevalent in medieval India as not to escape the eyes of the shrewd foreign travellers who poured into India in great numbers during this period. So naturally for our detailed knowledge of sati and its various social aspects, we are largely to depend on the accounts of these foreign travellers, of course with necessary caution required for handling such material. Although the practice of sati was more or less prevalent in almost all parts of medieval India, the main homes of it were, however, the Ganges Valley, the Punjab and Rajasthan in the north, and Madura and Vijaynagar in the south. Thompson holds that the custom was non-existent in Malabar but we find at least one traveller, Friar Odoric (c. ad 1321-2), noticed it as a peculiar custom of the Indians of Quilon on the Malabar coast, where women with sons were exempted from burning.14 In Bengal the rite of sati became widely prevalent at least from the twelfth century ad. Medieval Bengali literature is full of glowing references to sati. In the Songs of Manik Chandra Raja, composed probably in the eleventh-twelfth centuries, we find a description of Queen Maynamati ascending the funeral pyre of her husband. Similar references to sati are also to be found in Narayan Deva’s Manasamangala (thirteenth century), Mukundaram’s Chandimangala (sixteenth century), Dwija Madhava’s Mangal Chandeer Geet and Chandimangala (sixteenth century), Ketakdas-Kshemananda’s Manasamangala (seventeenth century), Ghanaram Chakraborty’s Dharmamangala (eighteenth century) and Bharatchandra’s Annadamangala (eighteenth century).15 The detailed account of a wife sacrificing her life in the pyre of her defunct husband can be gleaned from the writings of several travellers. Inhuman and barbarous as the process was, its accounts are somewhat prosaic. Sometimes it was elaborate and picturesque and also attended with wedding-like grandeur. However, the manner of burning varied in minute details in different parts of the country. Ibn Battuta leaves an account of three

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wives performing the rite at Amjeri (Amjhera lay in Malwa near Dhar).16 They passed three days preceding the burning – eating, drinking amidst music and joys, as if they wished to bid the world good bye.17 In the morning of the fourth day each was brought a horse which she mounted – adorned and perfumed. In general cases however the woman, on hearing the news of her husband’s death, first took a bath and then dressed herself ‘in the same measure and strain she was occasioned at wedding’.18 Pelsaert observes: ‘She puts on her finest clothes, her jewels and the best ornaments she has, adorning herself as if it was her wedding day’.19 A procession was soon formed to conduct her to the place of cremation. The Brahmin stood around her, relatives accompanied and they showered on her profuse greetings on the glorious fortune that attended her. The procession, far from being gloomy, wore a joyous and triumphant look with drums beating and flutes playing in front of it.20 On arriving at the destination the widow removed her clothes etc., and wore a coarse cotton cloth which was unsewn and prepared herself to enter into the pyre. This funeral pyre, usually on the bank of a river or pond, piled high with wood which was soaked with oil and other combustibles to make it burn vehemently, was usually several feet tall.21 Tavernier found in the kingdom of Gujarat and as far as Agra and Delhi, women being burnt in little huts while all along the coast of Coromandel people made ‘a great hole in the ground nine or ten feet deep, and twenty-five or thirty feet square into which they throw a great quantity of wood and dungs to make the fire burn more fiercely’.22 The woman would mount to the top of the pyre (or would place herself in the middle of the hut or in the pit as the case might be) closely embracing her dead husband; at once relatives would bind her feet strongly by two ropes to two posts driven into the ground for the purpose.23 Next they would throw some more wood and dried cowdung on the two bodies. When the widow was placed in the hut, she was in a half lying down posture, leaving her head upon a kind of wooden bolster and resting her back against a wooden pillar, to which the Brahmins would tie her about the middle, for fear she would run away.24 In

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this posture she held the dead body of her husband. Sometimes the widow would plunge herself into the funeral flames of her husband. In these cases usually a screen was put before the fire to conceal it from the woman and the public view.25 Suddenly the widow cast herself into the flames. Just at that moment a clamourous noise of the crowd mingled with the sounds of drums and gongs would be raised – obviously to distract the attention of the people from the horror of the scene. In this tremendous noise the screeches and cries of agony of the poor creatures were drowned, while the burners would skilfully force them to lie down by thrusting with poles at them.26 In some parts of India, especially in the south, women were buried alive with their husbands. Sometimes these women were buried only up to the throat and then the Brahmins would suddenly wring their necks and strangle them to death, and then cover the bodies with earth.27 III It is curious to note that inspite of the ‘barbarous inhumanity’ in the whole process of sati, most of the foreign travellers are eloquent in narrating that all this was carried out with much joy and animation. Without any movement, with little lamentation but strong determination, without tears, nay, on the contrary, radiant and joyous, the widows burnt themselves with their husbands’ bodies in their arms.28 Bernier writes in utter astonishment: ‘I cannot hope to give you an adequate conception of the fortitude displayed by these infatuated victims during the whole of the frightfull tragedy: it must be seen to be believed’.29 Further he adds: ‘I do not expect with my limited powers of expression to convey a full idea of the brutish boldness, or ferocious gaiety depicted on the woman’s countenance; of her undaunted step; of the freedom of perturbation with which she conversed . . . of her easy air, free from dejection.’30

But at the same time it is true that some of the widows either shrank or was stupefied in terror at the sight of the piled wood or fire.31 At Lahore Bernier found that ‘a poor little creature

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appeared more dead than alive when she approached the dreadful pit’.32 The extraordinary confidence and cheerfulness of the widows in facing the horrible tragedy made some foreign travellers suspicious and even incline to believe that the former had dulled their senses with a dose of opium or other narcotics. After a careful reading of these accounts, it can be asserted with little doubt that the widows were in some cases even drugged and narcotized so that they became satis while unaware of what they were doing. It has been reported that the Brahmins and sometimes relations provided them with bhang (hemp), opium, dhatura and such like things which stupefied them.33 Manucci gives us an interesting story how a woman – a victim of sorcery – became eager, ardent and mad demanding that the authorities put no hindrance in her way to sati. This happened in Vizagapatnam where Mr. Holcombe (1698-1705) was governor. When the woman in question appeared in his presence, he noticed that she seemed to have abandoned her feminine nature. He entreated her in the cause of humanity and even promised to support her for the rest of her life but only in vain. Then he spoke secretly to a Brahmin who accompanied her, promising him a sum of money if he removed the apprehensions that possessed the woman. If he did not effect this, the governor threatened he would have to burn alongside of her and also the rest of the Brahmins accompanying the widow. The Brahmins for fear of life on the one hand and temptation of money on the other went behind the woman and gently touched her clothes at the back with their fingers. Immediately she changed her colour totally and raising her hands to her face and drooping her head in a shamefaced way went back to her house.34 But perhaps drugging was not general; in some parts, e.g. in Bengal it was common enough, while in other parts, e.g. in Rajputana, it was an exception though not very rare. One cannot but shudder in horror to learn that sometimes very young girls even were the victims of the ‘wicked unmerciful custom’. The most lamentable case is the one cited by Nicholas Withington where the girl was not ‘above ten years of age’.35 Bernier found at Lahore a ‘young woman of 12’ who was the prey

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of this social evil.36 Jahangir also refers to a case in Rajaur where a girl of 12 had buried herself alive with her dead husband.37 IV The practice of sati though not conspicuously absent among lower orders of the society was certainly more prevalent in the upper strata. Della Valle observes: ‘Tis most usual among great persons who prize Reputation at a higher rate than others do.’38 Manucci found that among the ‘caste of the Rajahs’ it was imperative that on the husband’s death, the wife burnt alive with his body,39 a fact which Al-Beruni noted in his writings at a much earlier period.40 As to the number of wives being burnt with the dead husband’s body, Della Valle informs us he had heard that on one occasion seventeen wives were burnt while Manucci noted that the ‘women sacrificed are commonly fifteen, twenty or even thirty in number’.41 In Tod’s Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan, we find instances where a large number of wives sacrificed their lives in the funeral pyre of their husbands. But satis of Rajasthan sink into insignificance beside those recorded by trustworthy authorities for some south Indian states especially Vijaynagar in the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries. Though the report of the Portuguese missionaries that 11,000 women sacrificed their lives on the death of a south Indian Raja seems to be an utter exaggeration, it was customary in Vijaynagar to burn 2,000 or 3,000 wives in the flames of a Raja’s pyre. Teixeira writes in 1611: ‘When I was in India, on the death of a Naique of Madure, a country situated between that of Malabar and that of Choromandel, four hundred wives of his burned themselves along with him.’42 We read in Niccolo Conti a peculiar system, though difficult to believe but not certainly a concoction of his, that in Vijaynagar and Central India, women were married under the express agreement that they should add to the splendour of the funeral ceremony of their husbands by casting themselves into the flames.43 In Vijaynagar, as the Italian traveller asserts, 2,000

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or 3,000 were selected as the King’s wives on condition that they should voluntarily burn themselves with him.44 Some time women slaves also threw themselves into the flames after their mistresses.45 We read that even betrothed girls and wives who had ‘never layen with husbands’ sacrificed their lives without any legal or social obligation.46 Al-Beruni tells us that women of advanced years and with children were not made victims of the inexorable practice of sati.47 Friar Odoric (c. 1321-2) found in Quilon on the Malabar Coast and Careri in Rajputana that women with sons were exempted from the process of selfimmolation.48 Similarly the accounts of Jahangir, Tavernier, John Marshall and Manucci clearly assert that women with children enjoyed exemption from sati.49 If this was the general practice, there were exceptions too as Pelsaert found a widow sacrificing her life who left behind her year-old baby while an anonymous Dutch writer recorded a case of sati who left behind her three months old baby.50 V Most of the foreign travellers express in unequivocal terms the inglorious part played by the Brahmins in the execution of sati. As the custodian of society, the priestly class accompanied the widow, exhorted her to give public testimonials of her constancy and courage, and as some travellers pointed out, even gave her a certain beverage to stupefy and disorder her senses.51 We have already noted Manucci’s account of sorcery being applied on a woman by the Brahmins in Vizagapatnam. The Brahmins had also material interest in encouraging and executing the custom inasmuch as the ornaments of the widow (she would wear all her ornaments at the time) would become invaluable ‘free booty’ of the Brahmins who had the monopoly right to search for them in the ashes.52 Of course it must be noted that some travellers, e.g. Ibn Battuta and Pyrard de Laval, held that the widows would distribute ornaments as alms and gifts ‘to whom they will’ before casting themselves ‘into the funeral flames’.53 But this does hardly minimize the inglorious role of the Brahmins. The active role

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played by the Brahmins in the process of sati incensed Tavernier so much as to say: ‘It is for the Brahmin’s interest that the poor miserable creatures continue their resolutions’.54 Bernier became so much irritated that he referred to the priestly class as ‘merciless Brahmans’ and wrote: ‘. . . those demons excite or astound the affrighted victims.’55 A very fundamental question regarding the practice of sati in medieval India is whether it was voluntary or obligatory, whether the widows willingly sacrificed their lives or were forced to do it. The contradictory evidence furnished by foreign travellers make it a bit difficult for us to pronounce a definite answer on this point. Some time we find even contradictory statements in the account of the same traveller. Della Valle for example at one place categorically points out (of course, on second hand information as he frankly says that he had never seen any woman burnt alive) that the burning of women upon the death of their husbands is ‘at their own choice to do it or not’, while at some other place he says that he had heard some women ‘are burnt against their own will’.56 Ibn Battuta, Terry and Pelsaert emphatically state that sati was voluntary, not obligatory, no compulsion was attached to it.57 Sidi Ali Reis and others assert that in Mohammedan territories no force or violence was resorted to in sati.58 But in Akbarnama we find reference to unwilling and forceful sati in the days of Akbar, while Ain refers to sati as ‘ancient custom in Hindustan for women to burn herself however unwilling she may be’.59 According to Al-Beruni, in case of wives of kings, they were to burn themselves whether they wished it or not while Careri says that in Rajputana unwilling wives with no male issue were burnt by force.60 Both Della Valle and Manucci refer to force being applied by relatives, and Whithington observes that ‘only the widow’s own kindred, not her husband’s’, force her to burn herself, ‘houldinge it a great disgrace to their familie if she should denye to be burned’.61 Sometimes even Brahmins would push the reluctant widow to fire by force.62 The Indians, however, never disclosed to foreign travellers that force was applied in sati and the only confession made to Della Valle was that generally it was

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not so; only when the widow was young and handsome, force was resorted to.63 In the face of the evidence already examined, perhaps it can be safely concluded that sati was obligatory in some parts of India and in certain cases force accompanied it, though in some parts (e.g. in Rajputana) ladies burned more willingly than in other parts of India. Della Valle seems to reveal the exact picture when he says: ’tis possible too that many widows, being in the height of their passion taken at their word by their kindred who desire it, go to it afterwards with an ill will, not daring to deny those that exhort them there unto, especially if oblig’d by their word, nor to discover their own mind freely to governour; things which amongst women, with their natural fearfulness and modesty easily happen. . . .64

Once the widow had announced her resolution, no amount of hesitation or terror would excuse her; die she must, however weak and miserable she was. On the whole we can agree with Abul Fazl who divides sati into different categories – those who out of sheer love for husbands consign themselves into flames; those who from fear of reproach surrender to be burnt; others who were swayed by family considerations and customs, and finally who were actually forced to burn themselves with their deceased husbands.65 VI To a critical observer a very pertinent question regarding the rite of sati is the reasons behind it. One must try to find out the actual religious, social and economic factors responsible for this inhuman social custom. The Greeks who found sati in vogue in the Punjab during the fourth century bc advanced a theory to account for the custom. According to them, once upon a time ‘women had been so apt to get rid of their husbands by poison that the law had to be introduced, which compelled a widow to be burnt with their husbands’.66 The libidinous disposition of a woman as a reason for social sanction behind sati is advanced

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by some of the foreign travellers too.67 But this seems to be too superficial a reason to account for such a social custom. A Hindu woman who obviously knew the ascetic rigours of a widow’s life would hardly dare poison her husband and thus welcome the miserable lot of a widow. The most important factor which urged a woman to embrace the funeral flames ungrudgingly on most occasion was the extreme misery of the widow in the then society. Widow-remarriage was not permitted by the rigorous society68 and if one married, she had to forsake her religion and accept Christianity or Islam.69 We find a glaring picture of the inhuman treatment and persecution of the widows in most of the foreign travellers of the period as also in some indigenous writers.70 A widow had to live the rest of her life ‘slighted and despised and in a worse condition than a slave in the very house where she was mistress before’. This pathetic condition would take away all charms and flavour of life from them so that they rather chose to be burnt in the funeral pyre of their husbands rather than to live in the scorn and contempt of the world. The attitude of medieval Hindu society towards womanhood is best reflected in Ghanaram Chakraborty’s Dharmamangal where it has been said that the ‘life of a young woman without husband is futile and contemptible’.71 Under the circumstances it was natural for a widow to lament: ‘What use to live, nay rather be born/To live the target of a dull world’s scorn ?’72 It was probable that anticipating the miserable prospect of a widow’s life, the woman could not think at the moment of her deepest sorrow that she would be able to live without her husband and so had recourse to self-immolation. Widowhood was an experience so desolate and crammed with misery that it was preferable for a woman to perish in the flames that consumed her husband’s corpse. Secondly, there was tremendous and almost irresistible inducement of religion and tradition which gave stimulus to the institution of sati in medieval India. Some of the travellers emphatically asserted that the abominable practice was the effect of early and deeply rooted prejudice. Whenever these travellers asked the Indians the reason of sati, ‘they alleged none but ancient cus-

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tom’.73 The belief was sought to be inculcated in every girl from her very childhood that it was virtuous and laudable in a wife to mingle her ashes with those of her husband’s and that no woman of honour would ‘refuse compliance with the established custom’.74 The widows were led to believe that sati would enable them to enjoy eternal bliss in the next world in the company of their husbands. Manucci states that the Hindus believed in the reincarnation of a sati as goddess in heaven, while Tavernier tells us that ‘dying after that manner, they shall revive again with him in another world with more honour and advantage than that they enjoyed before and the priests flatter them with a hope that while they are in the midst of the flames, Ram will appear and reveal wonderful visions to them before they expire’.75 The Brihad-dharma Purana, written between twelfth and fourteenth century recommends the practice in the following words: ‘A devoted wife, who follows her husband in death, saves him from great sins. Oh twice-born, there is no greater exploit for women, because (by this) she enjoys in heaven the company of her husband for a manvantara.’76 Even Malik Muhammed Jaisi says in Padmavati that the two queens, Nagamati and Padmavati, ‘seated themselves on the bier and Paradise appeared before their eyes’.77 The hypnotic inducement behind sati is nicely reflected in a medieval Bengali poet who says that ‘a woman who burns herself with her dead husband lives in heaven for eighty million years’.78 Moreover it was proclaimed that a sati in future birth returns not to female sex which was regarded as a curse in the then society.79 Thirdly the question of family prestige and personal glory also weighed heavily in the mind of a widow and induced her to burn herself. She knew that her tragic act would not only glorify her and register her name in books for noble and laudable acts but add prestige and honour to her family and her relations. Perhaps that was the reason why sometimes force was resorted to, as has been noted earlier, especially by her own kindreds against an unwilling widow. The refusal of a widow to burn herself was an index of want of fidelity and truthfulness on her part and a great disgrace on the part of her own family. So to save their prestige,

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the widow’s own relations would hardly hesitate to employ force and to throw her into the flames. Pero Tafur informs us that a woman escaped to Babylonia because of social hatred and family persecution following her refusal to be a sati.80 Hence it is no wonder that many widows preferred to be satis on consideration that it would redound to the honour and conduce to the happiness of their family. Besides these there were certain other factors which account for sati in medieval India. According to some sociologists and historians, sati was the outcome of the primitive belief that life after death is more or less a continuation of the present life, with the same material needs and hence a man needs his wife in the next world. Sati was really ‘for the aggrandisement of the husband who took with him when he died the most valuable and personal of his possessions’.81 This property sense was more developed in the upper strata of the society and so ‘sati was an appanage of rank’. In addition to the property sense there was possible jealousy which made an old man unwilling that a young or lovely woman would survive him.82 It has been argued by some scholars that the sacrifice was more often designed to secure the ‘temporal good of the survivors than the spiritual welfare of the sufferer or her husband’.83 But it seems that the main sources of encouragement lay deeper than greed; the rigours of widowhood, the inducemeat of religion and tradition, and the question of family prestige impelled a woman to become a sati. Though Pelsaert believed that the sordid ‘deed was done . . . out of sheer love’ and though it had been reported to Bernier by people that an excess of love was the cause of sati,84 yet one can hardly belive that a widow would perish herself in such a miserable way only out of sheer love for her husband. We do not however make out a case that the devotion of a Hindu wife was uniformly absent in every case. Though such instances were not extremely rare, they are too few to lead to any generalization. In fact, about the performance of sati, there was so much pomp and noise of applause, and about the memory of one such praise and exhaltation, that often ‘a psychological intoxication upheld her till she had passed the reach of succor’.

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VII Irresistible though is the curiosity of a critical student studying the different espects of sati in medieval India as to the attitude of the Muslim state during the Sultanate period towards sati, he is bound to be disappointed at the paucity of material on this aspect. However, in the absence of any direct evidence one is left to conjecture, reasonably it seems, that the Delhi Sultans though not exactly indifferent, tactfully avoided interference in the established custom of the newly-conquered country. Muhammed Bin Tughlaq was perhaps the first Muslim king of India who raised his voice against the abominable practice of burning widows in the funeral pyre of their husbands. Ibn Battuta informs us that the Sultan had made it compulsory to obtain a licence or permission to burn the widow.85 The idea seems to have been to discourage and eliminate the use of force and social pressure. But generally the licence was issued as a matter of course.86 So during the Sultanate period one fails to find any direct state measure against sati beyond the system of official permits. It was the second Mughal emperor Humayun who took a bold step against sati and tried to extirpate it altogether. He extended an absolute prohibition to all cases where a widow was past the age of child bearing, even if she offered herself willingly. Curiously enough the Hindu priests or laity made no violent protest or demonstration against this. But strangely enough, the God-fearing monarch soon cancelled his orders after a second thought. He thought that interference and forcible prevention of the ‘hallowed custom and religious practice’ of the Hindus was sure to arouse the wrath of God and bring about the downfall of his dynasty, and perhaps even his own death. The ordinary rule – the system of official permit for burning a widow – however remained in force. Sidi Ali Reis reports that officers of the Padishah were present on such occasions to prevent any act of violence and compulsion being brought to bear on the reluctant or refusing widow.87 Though it may be doubted whether Akbar contemplated any general prohibition of sati, it is certain that he endeavoured to

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prevent forceful sati in his kingdom. His edict banning sati runs thus: ‘If a Hindu woman wished to be burnt with husband, they should not prevent her; but she should not be forced against her will’.88 In the Ain-i-Akbari we find his instruction to the Kotwal: ‘He should not suffer a woman to be burnt against her inclination’.89 Further his attempts to check the indiscriminate self-immolation of widows became more laudable when we find, as informed by the Akbarnama, that vigilant and truthful men had been appointed in every city and district in order that the two classes of cases might be continually kept distinct and that forcible burning might not be permitted.90 The emperor was reported to have interfered personally in some cases and stopped widows from burning themselves.91 But relying on these few cases where Akbar interfered possibly more on personal grounds than any other, it is difficult to infer that he pursued a general policy of total prohibition of sati. Jahangir not only followed in the footsteps of his father, but went even farther. In his memoir, Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri we find an order which not only prohibited sati and infanticide but even enjoined punishment for its infraction.92 But as the accounts of foreign travellers refer to many cases of sati in Jahangir’s India, it seems that the prohibition was only in paper and never strictly enforced, though, however, as in the previous reigns, no widow could be burnt without royal permission. The governors, as Pelsaert informs us, were not permitted by king’s orders to refuse permission. Yet they endeavoured by various means, sometimes even by offer of ‘enticing promises’, to prevent self-immolation by widows but in most cases only in vain.93 Even Jahangir himself, as Hawkins tells us, was reluctantly compelled to give leave for burning a widow in Agra.94 Shah Jahan faithfully pursued the policy of his predecessors towards sati. ‘The Mogul’, writes Peter Mundy, ‘hath almost abolished that custom so that it may not be done without special license from the King or governor of the place where they dwell’.95 These governors, as Tavernier points out, ‘who being a Mohometan and abhorring that execrable custom of self murder are very shy to permit them’.96 Shah Jahan is even credited with

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prohibiting women with children from burning themselves who were commanded to live for the education of their children.97 Aurangzeb, if Manucci is taken into confidence, issued an order after his return from Kashmir in 1663 prohibiting totally the sacrifice of widows in the Mughal empire.98 Though this humanitarian rule is not to be found in the formal histories, it is mentioned in the official guide books of the reign.99 But despite this order, as evidence of foreign travellers indicate, Aurangzeb hardly succeeded in suppressing sati altogether. Yet this much is certain that through orders to his governors to employ all their care in suppressing the abuse, he made performance of sati difficult and thus saved a great many women from the utter tragedy. Both Thevenot and Careri testify to the strong vigilance employed by his governors to prevent the large scale slaughter of women at the altar of their dead husbands.100 On the whole it can be safely asserted that the Mughal emperors and their officers viewed the right of sati with unconcealed disfavour and tried their best to prevent it by pursuasion if possible. If they did not forbid it altogether by strict enforcement of legal measures, they must have been influenced by the same considerations as actuated the early Governor-Generals of the East India Company who hesitated to interfere with a social evil sanctioned by old tradition and long-standing custom. The somewhat reluctant attitude of the Mughals towards wholesale prohibition of sati is well appreciated by Bernier who writes: ‘They do not indeed forbid it by a positive law because it is a part of their policy to have the idolatrous population which is so much more numerous than their own in the free exercise of its religion’.101 It can be established beyond any shade of doubt on the authority of foreign travellers that the practice of sati was checked to a great extent under the Mughals by indirect means which we have already examined. But at the same time it is true that sometimes the eager aspirants to sati and their relatives would buy off the permission from the governors and other authorities with costly presents, ready money and great solicitations.102 Still it can be maintained that the earnest vigilance of the Mughal emperors and their officers succeeded in reducing the

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number of satis during the Mughal rule, a fact loudly proclaimed by most of the travellers of the period.103 The Muslim rulers of Deccan were no less averse to this practice than their brethren in the north. Methwold refers to a case in Masulipatnam where the kotwal refused to give permission for performance of sati but the woman afterwards circumvented the law by hanging herself.104 Sometimes the numerical superiority of Muslims prevented the Hindu women from burning themselves. An anonymous Dutch writer corroborates this when he says that that ‘sati is not permitted in place where Moslems are numerous, being against their rule; and I have seen on two occasions that it was prevented when the women were practically ready to jump into the fire’.105 Though the Muslims were on the whole averse to the practice of sati, it was difficult for them to remain ‘without being influenced for long by the custom or the attitude which fostered it’. But it should be noted that cases of direct influence are too few to emphasize the point. However, it can be asserted that the influence of sati was limited to those who had an aristocratic Hindu descent or had a predominantly Hindu environment. Jahangir found the custom of sati prevalent among the Muslim people of Rajaur who were originally Hindus and converted into Islam by Sultan Firoz Shah Tughlaq.106 Ibn Battuta tells us that on the rumour of Ain-ul-Mulk’s death, a rebel against Muhammed-binTughlaq, his wife expressed her desire to be burnt like a Hindu widow.107 Both Hindus and Muslims went in large numbers to witness a sati108 and it can be safely asserted that sati was almost universally admired by people in medieval India. Even an extremely cultured man like Amir Khusrau exclaimed: ‘What a noble thing it is !’109 The tenacity with which some castes and people of India cherished the rite of sati is exhibited at Astrakhan in Russia in 1722. A leading Indian merchant died there and when the Indians were eager to make his widow burn along with her dead husband, the authorities considering the practice barbarous, refused permission. As a protest Indian traders removed their factories and commerce from the town and this made the authorities yield

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to the demand, and the widow was burnt with due pomp and publicity.110 NOTES 1. N.M. Penzer, ‘Terminal Essays on Widow Burning’, in C.H. Tawney, Ocean of Story, vol. IV, London, 1926. 2. For evidence of ancient, almost universal, prevalence of sati, see, Penzer, op. cit., and Edward Thompson, Suttee: A Historical and Philosophical Enquiry into the Hindu Rite of Widow Burning, London, 1928. 3. Edward Thompson, op. cit., p. 26. 4. Max Muller, Selected Essays on Language, Mythology and Religion, vol. I, London, 332ff.; H.H. Wilson, Essays and Lectures, vol. II, New Delhi, 1976, pp. 270ff.; Rajendra Lal Mitra, Indo Aryans, London, 1881, pp. 147-55; D.C. Sarkar, Some Aspects of the Earliest Social History of India, pp. 82-3; J.B. Chaudhury, ‘Widow Burning in Ancient India’, Modern Review, May 1942. 5. Mahabharata: Adiparbam, tr. H. Bhattacharyya, pp. 1332-4. 6. Cambridge History of India, vol. 1, p. 215. 7. V. A. Smith, Oxford History of India, p. 665; Edward Thompson, op. cit., pp. 20-4. 8. P.N. Bose, Hindu Civilization under British Rule, vol. II, Calcutta, 1898, p. 67. 9. Banabhatta, Kadambari: Purba Bhaga, tr. Probodendu Sarkar, 2nd edn., p. 145. 10. S.N. Sen (ed.), Indian Travels of Thevenot and Careri, New Delhi, 1949, p. 250; R.C. Temple (ed.), The Travels of Peter Mundy, vol. 2, London, 1914, p. 35; Tavernier, Travels in India, London, 1889, tr. V. Ball, vol. 2, p. 406; W. Foster (ed.), Early Travels in India, Oxford, 1921 (Whithington), p. 221. 11. Abul Fazl, Ain-i-Akbari, tr. Jarrett, Calcutta, 1948, p. 398. 12. Ibid., vol. III, p. 323. ‘A pregnant woman is not suffered to be burnt till after delivery. If the man dies on the journey, his wives burn themselves with his garment or whatever else may belong to him.’ 13. For example, see what Malik Muhammed Jaisi writes: ‘Whosoever in life is burnt with passion for the beloved finds delight in death, being seated along with him’, c.f., Padmavati, tr. A.G. Shirref, p. 369, canto 57, para 2. Medieval Bengali literature is full of glowing references to sati, cf., fn. 15. 14. Yule and Cordier, Cathay and the Way Thither, vol. II, London, 1916, p. 139. 15. Mukundaram, Kavikankan Chandi (Calcutta University, pt. 1, p. 160); Dwija Madhava, Mangal Chandeer Geet (Calcutta University, ed.

242 | Trade, Politics and Society Sudhibbushan Bhattacharyya, pp. 42, 111, 114), Gangamangala (Sahitya Parishad edn., p. 98); Ghanaram Chakraborty, Dharmamangala (Bangabasi Press, 3rd edn., pp. 181, 184, 195-7). Here the four wives of Lausen became ready to burn themselves on the receipt of the tragic news of their husbands’ death. But the news proved to be false, and hence they abandoned the idea (pp. 195-7). KetakKshemananda, Manasamangal (Calcutta University, pp. 32-6); Bharat Chandra Granthabali (Basumati edn., pp. 17, 22, 136). 16. The Rehala of Ibn Battuta, tr. & ed., Mahdi Husain, Baroda, 1953, pp. 21-3. 17. Three days of grace is also referred to by Manucci, cf. Storia-doMogor, vol. 3, tr. W. Irvine, London, 1908, p. 65. 18. Pero Tafur, Travels and Adventures, tr. & ed. Malcolm Letts, London, 1926, p. 90; N. Conti in R.H. Major, India in the 15th Century, p. 24; Tavernier, op. cit., p. 407, Storia, op. cit., vol. 3, pp. 65, 66, 156; W. H. Moreland, Relations of Golconda in the Early 17th Century, London, 1931, p. 28 (Methwold); S.N. Sen (ed.), Indian Travels etc., op. cit., p. 211. 19. Pelsaert, The Remonstrantie or Jahangir’s India, tr. Moreland & Geyl, Camb., 1925, p. 79. 20. Rehala, p. 22; Tavernier, op. cit., p. 407; Travels of Thevenot & Careri, op. cit., p. 211; Foster, Early Travels, p. 219; Major, op. cit., p. 24, Pero Tafur, op. cit., p. 90. 20. Rehala, p. 22; Tavernier, p. 408; Moreland, Relations, op. cit., p. 74. 22. Tavernier, op. cit., p. 411. 23. F. Bernier, Travels in the Mogul Empire, 1656-1668, ed. Constable, London, 1916, p. 314; Indian Travels etc., ed. S.N. Sen, op. cit., p. 212; Storia, op. cit., vol. 3, pp. 59-60. Moreland, Relations etc., op. cit., p. 74. 24. Tavernier, Travels, op. cit., pp. 408-9; Della Velle, The Travels of . . . , ed. Grey, vol. 1, London 1892, p. 84. 25. Rehala, op. cit., p. 22; Storia, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 66. 26.  Rehala, op. cit., p. 23; Foster, Early Travels, op. cit. (Terry), p. 323; Peter Mundy, The Travels of . . . , ed. R.C. Temple, London 1914, p. 36; Storia, vol. 3, p. 66. 27.  Tavernier, op. cit., p. 41.1; Bernier, op. cit., p. 315; Indian Travels etc., ed. S.N. Sen, p. 120; D. Barbossa, The Book of . . . , vol. 1, tr. Danes, London, 1921, p. 222. 28.  Pelsaert, op. cit., p. 79. The Embassy of Sir Thomas Roe to India, ed. Foster, pp. 105, 271; Bernier, op. cit., pp. 309-10; Ovington, A Voyage to Surat, ed. Rawlinson, London, 1929, p. 190; Padmavati, op. cit., pp. 369-70; Storia, vol. 3, pp. 59-60, 156. 29.  Bernier, op. cit., p. 309.

Medieval Indian Society, State and Social Custom | 243 0. 3 31. 32. 33.

Ibid., p. 312. Major, op. cit., p. 24; Storia, vol. 3, p. 156; Bernier, op. cit., p. 313. Bernier, op. cit., p. 314. Della Valle, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 85; Storia, vol. 3, pp. 156-7; Mandelslo, Voyages and Travels into the East Indies, tr. Davies, London 1669, p. 31; John Marshall in India, Notes and Observations in Bengal, 1668- 1672, ed. S.A. Khan, London, 1927, p. 384; Fryer, East India and Persia, vol. 1, London, 1909, p. 96. 34. Storia, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 157. 35. Early Travels, ed. Foster, op. cit., p. 219. 36. Bernier, op. cit., p. 314. 37.  Elliot and Dowson, History of India as Told by Its Own Historians, vol. 6, London, 1877, p. 376. 38. Della Velle, op. cit., vol. I, p. 84. 39. Storia, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 65. 40. Sachau (ed.), Al-Beruni’s India, vol. II, 1888, p. 155. 41. Della Velle, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 84; Storia, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 156. 42. Quoted in Hobson-Jobson, article ‘Suttee’, p. 881. 43. Major, op. cit., pp. 6, 24. 44.  Ibid., p. 24. 45. S.N. Sen (ed.), Indian Travels of . . . , op. cit., p. 120; Bernier, op. cit., p. 310. 46.  Foster (ed.), Early Travels, op. cit., p. 219; Waqiat-i-Mustaq quoted in K.M. Ashraf, Life and Condition of the People of Hindusthan, Delhi, 1970, p. 190, fn. 3. 47.  Sachau, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 155. 48. Yule and Cordier, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 139. 49. Jahajigir’s Memories, S. Gupta edn., p. 77; Tavernier, op. cit., 406; John Marshall in India, op. cit., p. 384; Storia, vol. 3, p. 156. 50. Remonstrantie, op. cit., p. 80; Relations etc., op. cit., p. 74. 51.  Tavernier, op. cit., p. 408; Major, op. cit., p. 24. 52.  S.N. Sen, ed., Indian Travels etc., p. 120, 212, 250; Tavernier, op. cit., p. 408; Ovington, op. cit., p. 201. 53. Rehala, p. 22; Voyages of Pyrard de Laval, tr. Grey, vol. 1, London, 1889, p. 378. 54. Tavernier, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 408. 55. Bernier, op. cit., p. 313. 56.  Della Valle, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 84. 57.  Rehala, op. cit., p. 22; Early Travels, op. cit., p. 323; Remonstrantie, op. cit., p. 80. 58.  Travels and Adventures of Sidi Ali Reis, tr. Vambery, London, 1899, p. 60, Della Valle, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 85; Rehala, op. cit., pp. 21-2. 59. Abul Fazl, Akbarnama, tr. Beveridge, vol. 3, Calcutta, 1939, p. 595; Ain-i-Akbari, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 398.

244 | Trade, Politics and Society 60.  Sachau, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 155; S.N. Sen (ed.), Indian Travels, etc., p. 255. 61.  Della Valle, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 85; Storia, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 65; Early Travels, ed. Foster, op. cit., p. 220. 62.  Tavernier, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 411. 63.  Della Valle, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 85. 64. Ibid. 65. Ain-i-Akbari, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 322. 66.  Cambridge History of India, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 415. 67. Early Travels, op. cit. (Whithington), p. 221; Ovington, op. cit., p. 201; Bernier, op. cit., p. 311; Relations, op. cit., p. 28. 68.  Bernier, op. cit., p. 155; Storia, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 59; S.N. Sen (ed.), Indian Travels . . . , op. cit., p. 119. 69.  Ibid., p. 119. 70.  Bernier, op. cit., p. 155; Tavernier, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 406; S.N. Sen (ed.), Indian Travels . . . , op. cit., p. 119; Rehala, op. cit., p. 22; Ain-i-Akbari, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 323. 71. Dharmamangala, op. cit., p. 188; Pati bina jubati janam etopat. 72. L.C. Crump, Lady of the Lotus: Rupamati of Ahmad-al-Umari, Oxford, 1928, p. 82. 73. Bernier, op. cit., p. 310; S.N. Sen (ed.), Indian Travels . . . , op. cit., p. 119 (Thevenot), p. 250 (Careri). 74. Ovington, op. cit., p. 190; Bernier, op. cit., p. 310. 75. Storia, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 66; Taverneir, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 406; Major, op. cit., p. 24 (Nicholo Conti). 76. R.C. Majumdar (ed.), History of Bengal, vol. 1, Dacca University, p. 611. 77. Padmavati, op. cit., pp. 369-70, Canto 57, para 2. 78.  Dwijamadhava, Gangamangala, op. cit., p. 98. Swami sange anumrita haya jei nari, aut kauti batsare sei thake sargapuri. 79. Dabistan, II, pp. 75-6, quoted in Hobson Jobson, article ‘Suttee’. 80. Pero Tafur, op. cit., p. 91. 81. E. Thompson, op. cit., p. 46. 82. Ibid., p. 47. 83. Calcutta Review, 1867, vol. XLVI, article ‘Suttee’. 84. Remonstrantie, op. cit., p. 80; Bernier, op. cit., p. 310. 85. Rehala, op. cit., p. 21. 86. K.M. Ashraf, op. cit., p. 191. 87. Sidi Ali Reis, op. cit., p. 60. 88. Badaoni, Mutakhwab-ut-Tawarikh, tr. Lowe, vol. 2, p. 388. 89. Ain-i-Akbari, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 45. 90. Ibid., vol. 3, p. 595.

Medieval Indian Society, State and Social Custom | 245 91. Ibid. 92. Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri, Elliot and Dowson, vol. 6, p. 376. 93. Remonstrantie, op. cit., p. 79. 94. Early Travels, ed. Foster, p. 119. 95. Richard Temple (ed.), The Travels of Peter Mundy, London, 1914, vol. 2. 96. Tavernier, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 407. 97. Ibid. 98. Storia, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 97. 99. J.N. Sarkar, History of Aurangzeb, vol. 3, p. 104. 100.  S. N. Sen (ed.), Indian Travels . . . , op. cit., pp. 120, 250. 101. Bernier, op. cit., p. 306. 102. Early Travels, op. cit., p. 219; Tavernier, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 407; S.N. Sen (ed.), Indian Travels . . . , op. cit., pp. 120, 211, 250, Ovington, op. cit., p. 59. 103. Bernier, op. cit., p. 306. ‘The accounts given of it have been certainly exaggerated and the number of victims is less now than formerly’. Ovington, op. cit., p. 201 writes! ‘This execrable custom is much abated’. S.N. Sen (ed.), op. cit., pp. 120, 250; Mandelso, op. cit., p. 31. 104. Moreland, Relations, etc., op. cit., p. 29. 105. Ibid., p. 75. 106. Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri, op. cit., Elliot & Dowson, vol. 6, p. 376. 107. Rehala, op. cit., p. 109. 108. Storia, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 96; Rehala, op. cit., p. 22. 109. W.H. Mirza, The Life and Works of Amir Khusrau, p. 186. 110. Peter Henry Bruce, Memoirs, pp. 252 ff.

chapter 12

‘First Ladies’ of Early Eighteenth Century Murshidabad Contrasting Roles and Characters*

This paper tries to analyse the roles played by the Begums of Murshidabad during the nizamat in Bengal in the early eighteenth century. It will be shown that some of these Begums possessed strong personalities, sharp intelligence and mature wisdom. They stood steadfast by their husbands in times of crisis, helped them in administering the country and carrying out their responsibilities with love and care. But there were others who were too ambitious, self-seeking and notorious in nature. Not only that, while some of them were of noble and laudable character, blemishes marred others’ character. ZINAT-UN-NISA Of the important Begums of Murshidabad, we shall first take up the role of Zinat-un-nisa, daughter of nawab Murshid Quli Khan and Begum of nawab Shujauddin. According to the author of Seir-ul-Mutaqherin, she had another name, Nafisa, but Gulam Husain Salim, the author of Riyaz-us-Salatin, describes Nafisa as the sister of Sarfaraj Khan.1 Murshid Quli, who had only one wife and no harem, was very attached to his only daughter. When he was holding minor offices in the Deccan, he gave Zinat-un-nisa in marriage with Shuja Khan who was then one of the principal men in Burhanpur. Shuja began to live with his father-in-law * Paper presented in the Indian History Congress, 2007.

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as a member of the family. When Murshid Quli became both diwan and subadar of Bengal, he appointed Shuja as the deputy governor of Orissa. But soon the relations between them soured so much that Shuja decided to leave Murshidabad and retire to Orissa where he began to look after his affairs personally. As a ruler, Shuja was kind, just, generous and popular. But he had a very great weakness for women. On the other hand Zinatun-nisa, though god-fearing and liberal in many ways, was a spirited lady. So she could not accept the licentious character of her husband. This, added to Shuja’s hostile attitude to her father, completely alienated Zinat-un-nisa’s heart from her husband and she decided to leave him and come to Murshidabad with her son Sarfaraj where she began to live in great splendour as the daughter of the nawab. Murshid Quli had no son. At the same time he was not pleased with his son-in-law, Shuja. So he decided to nominate his grandson Sarfaraj, son of his daughter Zinat-un-nisa, as his successor and tried to get approval from the Mughal emperor at Delhi. On learning this, at the instance of his two advisers, Haji Ahmed and Alivardi Khan, Shuja sent emissaries to Delhi to obtain the patents of subadari in his own name. But when he heard that Murshid Quli was on his death-bed, he rushed to Bengal with his army and accompanied by Alivardi Khan. On his way he heard the news of Murshid Quli’s death2 and also received the necessary patents from Delhi. On reaching Murshidabad, he went straight to Murshid Quli’s palace, Chehel-Setun (Hall of Forty Pillars), where he proclaimed himself as the lawful subadar of Bengal and Orissa. On hearing this, Sarfaraj whom Murshid Quli desired to succeed him wanted to contest his father. But his mother Zinatun-nisa, who was a woman of remarkable prudence and sagacity, and greatly loved and respected by Sarfaraj, dissuaded him from fighting his father. She told him that his father was an old man and could not keep him long out of the throne. She along with her mother Nasira Banu, the Begum of Murshid Quli, assured him by saying:3

248 | Trade, Politics and Society Your father is old; after him, the subadari as well as the country with its treasure would devolve on you. To fight against one’s own father is cause of loss in this world and in the next as well as ignominy. It is prudent that till the lifetime of your father, you should remain contented with the Diwani of Bengal.

These arguments prevailed on Sarfaraj so well that he gave up the idea of contesting his father and immediately advanced to kiss his feet. Shuja then paid his wife a visit and expressed his regret for the wrong he had done her. Zinat-un-nisa forgave him. Thus she resolved a serious crisis in Murshidabad by her magnanimity and with great tact. Around this time Bihar was annexed to the suba of Bengal and Shujauddin thought of sending a deputy there. He wanted to appoint one of his two sons there. But Zinat-un-nisa would not part with her son Sarfaraj nor would she approve of the appointment of Taqi Khan, her stepson. Shuja had to accept her decision and it was at her instance that Alivardi Khan was appointed the deputy governor of Bihar. This only reveals her tremendous influence on Shujauddin. It seems that Zinat-un-nisa regarded herself as the sole and real successor to the nizamat established by her father and Shujauddin got the right to rule only under her guidance. That is why after summoning Alivardi at her apartment, she gave him a rich khilat and ‘conferred upon him the government of Bihar, as from herself’. It was only after this investiture that Alivardi was presented with the khilat of the deputy governorship of Bihar by Shujauddin.4 These events show that Zinat-un-nisa was a woman of strong personality, great wisdom and shrewd intelligence, and that she exerted considerable influence in the affairs of the state. SHARAF-UN-NISA That some of the Begums of Murshidabad had a positive and beneficial role in the affairs of politics and society is also evident from the activities of Sharaf-un-nisa, the wife of nawab Alivardi Khan. It was not only that she sometimes accompanied her hus-

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band to the battlefields but often looked after the affairs of the state when Alivardi was away from Murshidabad to fight the Marathas. She was with Alivardi when he went to Balasore to wage war against Murshid Quli II for wresting Orissa from him.5 Again when Alivardi faced the Marathas under Bhaskar Pandit in Burdwan, Sharaf-un-nisa was with him. In this battle with the Marathas, she was actually in danger of being captured. The Marathas hemmed in the Begum’s elephant, Landah, in which she was riding and it was the extreme valour of Musahib Khan Mohmand, son of Umar Khan, the general, that saved her.6 On various occasions, Sharaf-un-nisa gave Alivardi tremendous support and courage as also judicious advice when the nawab was faced with critical situation and became morose. Such an instance was given in detail by the author of Seir-ulMutaqherin. He stated that one day when he was seated in the Begum’s quarters, Alivardi came in. Sharaf-un-nisa realized at once that the nawab was not in his usual self, that he looked perturbed and anxious. She asked her the reason and after some persuasion came to know that he was worried because he suspected that the Afghans in Bihar under Shamser Khan might betray him and join the Marathas. On hearing this she immediately sent her two confidants to the Maratha chief Raghuji Bhonsle to tell him that they were sent by the Begum with the proposal to settle the matter by peaceful negotiations and leave Bengal. Raghuji was inclined to accept the proposal but was prevented by Mir Habib from doing so.7 Ultimately when the Marathas proceeded to attack Murshidabad, they were defeated by Alivardi in the battle of Katwa.8 Though Sharaf-un-nisa’s plan did not work out, it reveals how she tried to help her husband in the most difficult and worrying situation. She also helped and advised Alivardi in matters of important administrative decisions. After defeating the Marathas, Alivardi dismissed his Afghan officers in Bihar, who to take revenge on him, killed his son-in-law and deputy governor of Bihar, Zainuddin. So he appointed his elder brother Haji Ahmed’s second son and his son-in-law, Sayyid Ahmed Khan as deputy governor of

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Bihar. But Sharaf-un-nisa did not like this at all. She realized that Bihar was strategically very important because it was the gateway to Bengal for invaders. As such a weak governor like Sayyid Ahmed was unsuitable for the post. So she tried to impress upon Alivardi the necessity for appointing someone else in Bihar. She knew that the nawab had confidence in her and took her advice seriously. Yet to be sure she played another card to replace Sayyid Ahmed. Both she and Alivardi wanted their grandson Sirajuddaullah to succeed him. She now put into Sirajuddaullah’s head that he won’t be able to occupy the throne after Alivardi’s death if Sayyid Ahmed remained the governor of Bihar. Sirajuddaullah pleaded with Alivardi to remove Sayyid Ahmed from Bihar. Alivardi could never refuse what his favourite grandson wanted. Hence the old nawab removed Sayyid Ahmed and appointed Sirajuddaullah in his place.9 This incident shows how clever, tactful and wise Sharaf-un-nisa was. Always faithful to her husband who had no other wife or concubine, she was a virtuous woman – a woman of noble and laudable character. That is why she was very much annoyed with her two daughters – Ghasiti and Amina whose frailty was notorious. Ghasiti Begum, the eldest, made secret love to Husain Quli Khan, the favourite deputy of her husband Nawazish Muhammed Khan, the then governor of Dhaka. Through her influence Nawazish became an important person in the state and many of his misdeeds were covered up.10 But Husain soon deserted her for Amina Begum, her younger sister and mother of Sirajuddaullah which made Ghasiti furious. Sharaf-un-nisa was shocked when she heard of the depravity of her daughters and tried to dissuade them from their ‘evil’ ways and separate them from Husain Quli but in vain. But resolute as she was in performing a task which she thought just, she took recourse to a stratagem. As a last resort she asked Alivardi to get rid of Husain Quli. But the nawab could hardly agree to do it without the nod from Nawazish Muhammed Khan. But this did not deter Shrafun-nisa from her determination. She utilized the wrath of Ghasiti against Husain Quli for being unfaithful to her, and through her

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got the green signal from Nawazish. After this it is said that at Sharaf-un-nisa’s instance, Sirajuddaullah arranged the murder of Husain Quli. Sharaf-un-nisa was indeed a great lady of her time as was attested by Holwell who wrote that she was11: . . . a woman whose wisdom, magnanimity, benevolence, and every amiable quality, reflected high honour on her sex and station. She much influenced the Usurper’s [Alivardi’s] councils, and was ever consulted by him in every material movement in the State, except when sanguinary and treacherous measures were judged necessary, which he knew she would oppose as she ever condemned them when perpetrated, however successful – predicting that such politics would end in the ruin of his family.

GHASITI BEGUM Ghasiti Begum, the eldest daughter of Alivardi, was originally named Mehr-un-nisa but came to be known as Ghasiti. She was called ‘Chota Begum’ by many as her husband Nawazish Muhammed was the ‘Chota Nawab’ of Dhaka. But she was popularly known as the ‘Begum of Motijheel’ because she used to live mostly in the ‘Motijheel’ palace of her husband in the suburb of Murshidabad.12 She was an extremely rich woman as she inherited the vast treasure and property of Nawazish Muhammed. As we have mentioned earlier, she had an illicit affair with Nawazish’s deputy Husain Quli whom she ultimately plotted to kill for his betrayal. After Nawazish and Husain Quli’s death, Rajballav became her confidant who was given the charge of Dhaka by her. What is interesting about Ghasiti’s career is that she was quite ambitious and took active part in the succession race after the death of Alivardi Khan. She did not like Sirajuddaullah and was opposed to his succession. She, in collaboration with Raj Ballav who was close to the British, tried to form a party against Sirajuddaullah. Sirajuddaullah suspected, perhaps not without justification, that the British were also involved in the conspiracy. The evidence in the European records confirms this. Renault, the Director of the French Company in Bengal, wrote

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that the English thought that nobody would be able to stop Ghasiti Begum’s party and that she would occupy the throne at Murshidabad. Hence they joined Ghasiti Begum’s party against Sirajuddaullah.13 Again Jean Law, the chief of the French factory at Kasimbazar, also stated that the English were confident that Sirajuddaullah would not be able to become nawab and hence they avoided him.14 Several evidence in the English records too corroborate this.15 As a result, after his accession, Sirajuddaullah dealt with Ghasiti, disarming her band and capturing her palace. Thus her ambition to occupy the masnad of Bengal was aborted. AMINA BEGUM Amina Begum was the youngest daughter of Alivardi Khan and mother of Sirajuddaullah. She was married to Zainuddin who was Alivardi’s elder brother Haji Ahmed’s son. Alivardi appointed Zainuddin the deputy governor of Bihar but as we have seen, he was killed there by the Afghan rebels. After his death, Amina moved to Murshidabad. Here she got involved with her sister Ghasiti’s lover, Husain Quli Khan. Commenting on this affair, the translator of Seir Mutaqherin, Nota Manus alias Haji Mustafa, wrote that ‘she became famous in Murshidabad by her amours and gallantry’.16 This triangular love affair was a scandal of the time and Gholam Hossein Khan, the author of Seir-ul-Mutaqherin, observed17: In the zenith of the conqueror’s [Alivardi] power, such infamies and lewdness came to be practised by some females and other persons of his family, as cannot be mentioned with decency, but effectually dishonoured his family for ever. All his daughters as well as his beloved Sirajuddaullah, lapsed into such a flagitious conduct, and they were guilty of such a variety of shameful excesses, as would have disgraced totally any person whatever, still more, persons of their elevated rank and sublime station.

LUFT-UN-NISA The life and character of Luft-un-nisa, the Begum of the unfortunate nawab Sirajuddaullah, was a complete contrast to that of

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either Ghasiti Begum or Amina Begum. She shared her husband’s joy and sorrow equally with him, and in influence over his life, she overshadowed his legitimate wife, Umdat-un-nisa. She was actually the nawab’s most beloved wife and never abandoned him even when he was in great danger after his defeat in the battle of Plassey. When he fled from the battlefield to Mansurganj palace in Murshidabad, even his own father-in-law refused to stand by him. It was only his dear Begum, Luft-un-nisa, who stood by him with great love and affection. Sirajuddaullah wanted to leave Murshidabad and sensing the danger he might have to face, decided to escape alone. But Luft-un-nisa, a faithful and loving wife as she was, would not allow her husband leave her behind and insisted that she must accompany him, come whatever may. She fell at his feet and begged to take her along with him. So at dead of night on 25 June 1757, the defeated and deposed nawab left Murshidabad for Bhagwangola with Luft-un-nisa and their infant daughter. For three days and nights Siraj and his family had gone without food. And on their way from Bhagwangola, Siraj was captured by Miran, Mirjafar’s son and subsequently murdered. After Siraddaullah’s death, Luft-us-nisa’s life was miserable. She was sent to Dhaka with her infant daughter, and later to Murshidabad where she was to look after the graves of Alivardi and Sirajuddaullah. For this she was given a salary of Rs. 305 per month besides which she received a monthly allowance of Rs. 100. But with a big family to maintain, the amount was hardly enough. However, till her death in 1795, Luft-un-nisa looked after Sirajuddaullah’s grave and lighted candles (sandhyapradip) every evening at his tomb. A virtuous woman, loving and tender, she forever cherished the memory of Sirajuddaullah and rejected with scorn several proposals of marriage after the death of her husband. It is said that on one occasion her reply to a suitor was that a person accustomed to ride an elephant could not stoop to ride a donkey.18

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MUNNI BEGUM Though Munni Begum does not belong strictly to the period under purview, any discussion of the Begums of Bengal would be incomplete without her. Of all the Begums, her life was the most romantic and colourful. Among the Begums, she was the most clever, shrewd, intelligent, foresighted, self-seeking and scheming. Her life was as full of romance as that of her contemporary Begum Samru, the celebrated Princess of Sardhana. Born and bred in poverty, she rose to the elevated position of the Regent of Bengal, and a trusted friend of Governor-General Warren Hastings. Daughter of a poor widow, she learnt dance and music in Delhi, and her fame reached Murshidabad which she visited with a party of musical and dancing troupe. There Munni’s beauty and musical skill conquered Mir Jafar’s heart and he took her into his harem. Munni Begum’s attainments, cleverness and sincere love for her master soon raised her to the position of Mir Jafar’s principal Begum bypassing the claim of his legitimate wife, Shah Khanam. This enabled her in later life to gain possession of all the wealth that Mir Jafar had accumulated during his lifetime. Munni had two sons by Mir Jafar – Najamuddaulla and Saifudaulla while Babbu Begum (Shah Khanam) had one son Mubarakuddaulla. After Mir Jafar’s death, Munni bribed the chiefs of the English Company to secure the succession for her elder son Najamuddaulla, a boy of 15. But when he died in a year’s time, his younger brother was made the nawab by Munni Begum’s contrivance. When he also died a premature death, Babbu Begum’s son Mubarakuddaulla was placed on the throne at Murshidabad, mainly by the machinations of Muhammed Reza Khan, the diwan and deputy gonernor, whom Munni treated shabbily earlier. During the nawabi of her two sons, Munni Begum was the real authority in the state and administered the country. But with the accession of Mubarakuddaulla she lost all authority but she was not disheartened and waited for the opportune time to assert herself in authority. Gholam Hossein Khan wrote19:

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. . . whose [Munni Begum’s] extent of understanding nothing can be compared to, but the immense stock which is known to be possessed of in jewels and money, thought proper to take no notice of such an alteration; and although deeply wounded by such underhand dealings, she thought it beneath her dignity to descend to an explanation; and she passed the whole over with a disdainful silence.

Munni Begum’s opportunity came when Governor Cartier was replaced by Warren Hastings in 1772. Following the instructions from London, Hasting immediately imprisoned Reza Khan on charges of corruption and embezzlement of funds, and took away all the authority from Babbu Begum and conferred this on Munni Begum. Munni was sanctioned an annual allowance of Rs. 140,000. It is believed that Munni influenced Hastings in her favour by paying him quite a hefty sum. There might have been some truth behind this story but Hastings had his own motive for favouring Munni Begum which is clear from what he wrote to the Secret Committee in London20: The Begum [Munni] as a woman is incapable of passing the bounds assigned her; her ambition cannot aspire in higher dignity. She has no children to provide for, or mislead her fidelity; her actual authority rests on the Nawab’s life, and therefore cannot endanger it. It must cease with his minority when she must depend absolutely on the Company for support against her ward and pupil, who will then become her master. Of course her interest must lead her to concur with all the designs of the Company and to solicit their patronage.

But Munni Begum’s fortune did not last long. After two years though her benefactor Warren Hastings was made the GovernorGeneral, the members of his council were vehemently opposed to him. They soon removed Munni Begum from her position and gave it back to Babbu Begum. Though Hastings was no doubt upset by this, he could not do much. Munni Begum, however, always remained a true friend of Hastings who also tried to help her on all occasions. Before he left for England he even wrote to the Court of Directors to raise the allowance of Munni Begum so that she could live in some comfort in her old age. He also attached to his letter an appeal from Munni Begum. This did not help much. Munni Begum’s monthly allowance was fixed at

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Rs. 12,000 p.m. But she had enough money to live in style like a queen. Munni Begum died in 1813 at the ripe age of 97. At the time of her death the total value her personal property and wealth was estimated at over Rs. 15 lakh. She was known to be ‘the mother of the Company’. After Mir Jafar’s death, Robert Clive came to her and said: ‘It is true I cannot restore the late Nawab to life but I declare with the utmost sincerity of heart that I consider myself and all the English Gentlemen to be your Highness’s children, and that we regard you as our mother’.21 A woman of much sense and spirit, Munni was haughty and overbearing in character, but steadfast and faithful, never forsaking a friend or dependent. She was a woman of unusual capacity and her good sense as well as her steadfastness of purpose was never so remarkable as when she had any scheme to carry into execution. For, whatever she once undertook, Munni never failed to perform as she always found some expedient or other for attaining success. Indeed, no other Begums of Murshidabad had such ups and downs in their lives, and none other had such a colourful existence. NOTES 1. Gholam Hossein Khan, Seir Mutaqherin, vol.1, tr. Haji Mustafa, 2nd rpt., Lahore, p. 345; Gulam Husain Salim, Riyaz-us Salatin, trans., Abdus Salam, Calcutta 1904, p. 322. 2. Abdul Karim, Murshid Quli and His times, 1963, Dacca, p. 59. 3. Riyaz-us-Salatin, p. 288. 4. Yusuf Ali, Tarikhi-Bangala Mahabatjangi, tr. Abdus Subhan, Calcutta, 1982, pp. 8-9; Seir Mutaqherin, vol. I, p. 282. 5. Riyaz-us-Salatin, p. 329. 6. Ibid., pp. 338-9. 7. Seir Mutaqherin, vol. II, pp. 11-14. 8. Ibid., vol. II, pp. 11-14. 9. Ibid., vol. II, pp. 65-6. 10. For Husain Quli’s dismissal and his subsequent reinstatement through the intercession of Ghasiti Begum, see, Seir Mutaqherin, vol. I, p. 422. 11. J.Z. Holwell, Interesting Historical Events, pt. I, chapt. II, pp. 170-1.

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12. J.N. Sarkar (ed.), History of Bengal, vol. II, p. 469; Seir Mutaqherin, vol. II, p. 109.

13. Renault’s letter to Dupleix, Chandernagore, 26 August 1756, S.C. Hill, Bengal in 1756-57, London, 1905, vol. I, p. 207.

14. Law’s Memoir, Hill, III, pp. 162-4; p. 219. 15. Hill., vol. I, pp. 122-3; III, p. 349. 16. Seir Mutaqherin, vo. I, p. 282 fn.; vol. II, p. 124 fn. 17. Ibid., vol. 1, p. 121. 18. Karam Ali, Muzaffarnama, J.N. Sarkar, Bengal Nawabs, Calcutta, 1952, p. 78.

19. Seir Mutaqherin, vol. III, pp. 26-7. 20. Hastings to the Secret Committee of the Court of Directors, 1 September 1772, quoted in B.N. Banerjee, The Begums of Bengal, Calcutta, 1942, p. 48. 21. Quoted in ibid., p. 54.

chapter 13

Birth and Expansion of Orientalism Calcutta Madrasah*

The Calcutta Madrasah was the first educational institution established by the East India Company in India. It was not solely the love for oriental literature or an ardent desire for its revival that impelled Warren Hastings to lay the foundation of the Madrasah. His objective was as much utilitarian as idealistic, if not more so. The business of revenue and judicial administration was still conducted in the Persian language. In the administration of justice, Hindu and Muslim legal systems were generally followed. The government therefore needed Hindu and Muslim young men to fill the subordinate position in the administration. The Calcutta Madrasah and the Benaras Sanskrit College founded by Jonathan Duncan ten years after the foundation of the former supplied the necessary personnel for the administration. Of course, by establishing these two institutions the Company’s government sought to conciliate its Indian subjects. However, during the early period of its administration, the East India Company’s government did not regard the promotion of education among Indians as part of its duty or concern. This indifference might have been to some extent dictated by political considerations too. The attitude of the authorities in England was first revealed in the year 1792 when Wilberforce’s proposal to add two clauses to the charter of 1783 to permit school masters and missionaries to go to India was met by vio*Presented at a conference on ‘Nineteenth Century Bengal’ in the Rama Krishna Mission Institute of Culture, Calcutta, 1976.

Birth and Expansion of Orientalism | 259

lent opposition from the India House.1 A Director stated on that occasion that the English had just lost America for their folly in having allowed the establishment of schools and colleges and that it would not be wise to repeat the same act of folly with regard to India.2 Even at this time, however, several British statesmen stressed the moral obligation of the Government of India to educate its subjects. In 1792 Charles Grant submitted his famous treatise to the Court of Directors wherein he suggested the use of English as the medium of instruction as also in the administration of the country. His suggestion though rejected in 1792 was accepted forty years later during Bentinck’s administration. Meanwhile the Company’s government in India had taken some tentative steps in the form of extending support to some educational institutions then in vogue. Thus in 1772 Governor Cartier granted Rs. 4-8 ans. per day to one Wasimuddin to help him in the management of a Muslim College at Hooghly. But neither English nor any Indian vernacular seems to have been taught in this college. Adam says that this college had on its roll 30 students studying Arabic and Persian in 1801.3 However, the first major educational institution founded by the Company was the Calcutta Madrasah. Warren Hastings whose cultural policy fostered the growth of British orientalism in Bengal, founded the Madrasah in Calcutta in October 1780. In a Minute dated 17 April 1781 he dealt with the considerations that led to the foundation of the Madrasah in Calcutta. In this he informed the Board that: a petition was submitted to him in September 1780 by ‘a considerable number of Musselmen of Credit and Learning’ who begged that advantage be taken of the presence of one Muged O’den (Mujiduddin) a stranger among them and known to be possessed of considerable erudition, to open a school ‘for the instruction of young students in the Mahometan Law and in such other sciences as are taught in the Mahometan schools for which he was represented to be uncommonly qualified’.4 The petitioners further stated that Calcutta had already become ‘the seat of a great Empire and the resort of persons from all parts of Hindusthan and Deccan; that it had

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been pride of every polished Court and the Wisdom of every well regulated government, both in India and Persia, to promote by such Instructions the Growth and Extension of Liberal Knowledge’. They also said that such an institution was necessary for training candidates for the numerous offices of our Government which required men of improved abilities to fill them and the care which had been occasionally observed to select Men of the first eminence in the Science of Jurisprudence to officiate as Judges in the Criminal and Assissors in the Civil Courts of Judicature.5

Accordingly Mujiduddin was persuaded by Warren Hastings to take charge of the school which was opened in October 1780. The expenses were paid out of the Governor General’s Private purse which amounted to Rs. 625 per month according to the following break down including the rent of the house hired for opening the school. The Preceptor (Mujiduddin) 40 Scholars from 7 to 5 Rupees Sweeper House rent

per month per month per month per month

Rs. 300 Rs. 222 Rs. 3 Rs. 100



Rs. 625

Hastings was quite happy with the progress of the Madrasah as he reports in the Minute of 18 April 1781 that Mujiduddin ‘has bestowed an unremitted attention on it to this time, with a success and reputation which had been formed of it’.6 He was glad to report that many students had finished their education under Mujiduddin’s instructions and had received their ‘Dismission in Form.’ He further wrote in the same Minute that on a visit to the Madrasah on the New Year’s day, 1781, he was pleasantly surprised to find out of 40 boarders though most were from Bengal, some were from Kashmir and Gujarat and one from the Carnatic.7 Subsequently, as he was ‘assured that the want of suitable accommodation alone prevents an increase of the Number’ of students at the Madrasah, Warren Hastings purchased a piece of

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ground ‘near the Beita Connah (Baithakhana) in a quarter called Pud Pokur (Pudda Pukur) and laid the foundation of a square building for the Madrasah’.8 He continued defraying the cost of the establishment from October 1780 till April 1781 when he brought to the notice of the Board the measure which he had adopted for providing a nursery of Mohammedan law officers and judges for the service of the government. It was only in April 1781 that he proposed that the government should take upon itself the further support of the Madrasah and that on the land purchased by him in Pudda Pukur a house should be built at an aggregate expense of Rs. 51,000. He also requested the Board that ‘the Rents of one or more Mowsas (moujas) or villages in the neighbourhood’ be assigned for the monthly expense of the Madrasah estimated at Rs. 1,000 for 100 students per month and that it be referred to the Committee of Revenue to provide and make the endowment.9 The Board approved these proposals and wrote to the Court of Directors that a Madrasah had been established under the Governor-Generals’ ‘patronage and orders for the Instruction of students in the Mahomedan law and in such other sciences as are taught in Mahomedan schools’. It further wrote, The foundation has appeared to us, tho’yet only in its infant state, so well calculated to promote the growth and extension of liberal knowledge, and to be so much required in a settlement like this that we have readily and cheerfully given it our sanction . . . and beg leave to recommend the undertaking to you for a more adequate and permanent inducement than we have yet been able to give it.10

However, no assignment from public revenue for the maintenance of the Madrasah was ordered till 1782 down to which period Warren Hastings kept it up at his private cost. In June that year he submitted to the Board an account of the money thus disbursed by him, and obtained an order on the Treasury for Rs. 15,251 for its repayment, including Rs. 5,641 for the land purchased for the Madrasah building. The Board at the same time ordered the appropriation of the rents of the lands in certain moujas in 24 Parganas amounting to Rs. 12,000 per month for the maintenance of the Madrasah and reported to the Court:

262 | Trade, Politics and Society The Madrassa or College for the promotion of Oriental learning which was established by our resolution of the 18th April 1781, having been placed upon a proper and regular footing and the buildings for that purpose completed, we have assigned the revenue of certain villages in the neighbourhood, amounting to Rs.12,000 per mensem for its support and have no doubt that it will be found fully to answer the end of its institution.12

When he retired from Bengal in 1785, Warren Hastings wrote another Minute in which he made a further exposition of the purposes for which he had founded the Madrasah. He wrote: It has been deemed expedient on maxims of sound policy to continue the administration of the criminal Courts of Judicature, and many of the most important Branches of the Police in the hands of the Mahomedan officers. To discharge with credit, the Duties and Functions annexed to those Jurisdictions, it is necessary that the persons who hold them should not only be endowed with natural Talents, but also that they should be possessed of a considerable degree of Erudition in the Persian and Arabic Languages, and in the complicated system of Laws founded on the Tenets of their Religion. This species of erudition has for some years past been much on the decline. Since the management of Revenues has been taken into our hands, it has chiefly been carried on by the English servants of the Company and by the Hindoos. . . .

In consequence of this change, as he wrote, the Mohammedan families had lost those sources of private emolument and with the decay of the wealth and importance of Mohammedan families in the process, became diminished year by year their means of giving their sons the education which would have enabled them to get respectable and lucrative offices in the state. ‘These reflections . . . suggested to me the idea of founding a Madrissa or College for the cultivation of Mahomedan Literature in the Town of Calcutta.’ In a letter dated 21 February 1784 repudiating the charges brought against him, Warren Hastings wrote to the Court of Directors: ‘It (the Madrasah) has contributed to extend the credit of English Name, and to soften the prejudices excited by the rapid growth of the British dominion; and it is a seminary of the most useful members of society.’14 The grounds put forward by Jonathan Duncan for the establishment of a Sanskrit College

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at Benaras were firstly to endear the government to the native Hindus ‘by our exceeding in our attention towards them and their systems, the care shown even by their own native princes’ and secondly ‘by preserving and disseminating knowledge of the Hindu Law to fend a nursery of future doctors and expounders thereof who would assist the European Judges in its administration’.15 So it seems that though both Warren Hastings and Jonathan Duncan were personally much interested in Oriental languages and literature for their own sake, their actions were dominated by political rather than educational consideration and policies were decided on grounds of religious neutrality and the political expediency of conciliating the people. Be that as it may, since the establishment of the Calcutta Madrasah in 1780, the centre of Muslim learning had shifted to Calcutta. The institution became the recruiting centre of qualified qazis and muftis. The government had issued an instruction in 1785 that vacancies in faujdari (criminal) courts should be filled up by qualified students from the Madrasah. The Committee of Revenue, at the instance of Hastings, placed the collection of the Madrasah Mahal under the immediate supervision of the superior, Mujiduddin. But the arrangement was found to be so unsatisfactory within three years that it had to be set aside. Maulavi Mujiduddin was not a man of business and hence the revenue collections fell off considerably. An ‘Ameen’ was appointed to look after them and he seems to have possessed extensive functions besides the control and supervision of the Madrasah property. But the management proved a failure, financial as well as administrative. Sir John Shore was obliged to deprive the Ameen of his office and assume the control of the money affairs of the institution into his own hands, leaving the internal management of the institution to the preceptor. But the condition of the Madrasah continued to deteriorate and an enquiry conducted under the orders of the Board of Revenue disclosed very culpable mismanagement on the part of Maulavi Mujiduddin.17 It was discovered that there were scholars on the rolls who attended only when pay time came round, and who learned almost nothing. As an incident of college life

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in the Madrasah in those days, it was mentioned that during a Mohammedan festival a number of students committed a daring burglary in the house of one of the principal inhabitants of the city.18 Under the advice of the Board, the Governor-General Lord Cornwallis removed Mujiduddin from the post of preceptor and appointed Muhammed Israel in his place. A committee was appointed to superintend the affairs of the college, consisting of the President of the Board of Revenue, the Persian translator to the government and the Preparer of reports. A code of rules was laid down in which the Committee was enjoined to visit the college once in every two months or oftener, and exercise a proper vigilance over the conduct of the preceptor. It was also laid down that the preceptor was to make all promotions from class to class and the first class was to be specially instructed by him; he was only to inflict punishment on the pupils by curtailing their allowances or by expulsion. Those who were qualified, particularly in law, were to be appointed to the civil and criminal courts. No student was to be allowed to remain on the establishment for a longer term than seven years. The studies prescribed were Natural philosophy, Theology, Astronomy, Geometry, Arithmetic, Logic, Rhetoric and Grammar.19 It was also laid for the first time in the history of the Madrasah that ‘the Khuteeb or reader of the Koran and a Mowazzin or crier shall regularly attend at the Mudrussa, that the students may daily perform such acts of religious worship as are prescribed by the rules of Mahommedan faith. Every Friday was set apart for religious worship and purification’.20 As if to mark as strongly as possible the religious character of the institution, the public accounts bear entries of expenses attending the celebration of Id-uz-zoha and Id-ul-Fitr, passed by the Governor-General in Council.21 These reforms introduced by the Madrasah Committee imparted to the college a more decidedly Muslim character than it had ever worn since its foundation. But the Madrasah did show no sign of improvement. The Madrasah Committee recommended that a European Secretary should be appointed to supervise its internal administration:22

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His duty would he to visit the institution from day to day, to inspect the conduct of all its details, to communicate with the students as well as the teachers . . . and to propose the introduction of such measures of improvement as experience and observation might happen to suggest. Whether these improvements ought or ought not to embrace the future introduction of European Science is a question which Government alone can decide.

The Governor-General, Marquis of Hastings, was fully alive to the importance of the views and the sum of Rs. 30,000 per annum was fixed for the future support of the Madrasah. The Committee was allowed a Secretary to assist them in suggesting reforms but at the same time they were enjoined ‘great caution and discretion’ as to the degree of interference which he was to exercise in the internal affairs of the Institution. Capt. F. Irvine was appointed Secretary to the Madrasah.23 The repeated Intervention of the government in the affairs of the Madrasah not only indicated the anxiety of the government to maintain this institution but also afforded a striking illustration of the apathy of the Muslims towards education. The state to which the Madrasah, the only institution of higher learning for the Muslims in Bengal, had been reduced by 1819 was an index of the prevailing Muslim attitude. Be this as it may, the new rules drawn up for the guidance of the Madrasah and its secretary were put into operation and the first public examination in conformity therewith took place at the Town Hall on 15 August 1821. The Committee experienced considerable difficulty in overcoming opposition on the part of the preceptors as well as of the students to an open ordeal of the kind. It was quite natural that they would be averse to it. They were dependent on the head maulavi for all they had: the teachers for favour and kind treatment, and the scholars for salaries and promotion. A public exhibition of the attainments of the latter would interfere with his exercise of private nepotism which it was their united interest to uphold. But the Committee was firm and had their way. The second annual examination was held on 6 June 1822. The results on both occasions were considered by the GovernorGeneral to be quite satisfactory.

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The system of jealous exclusiveness with which the Madrasah had hitherto been guarded was broken down; and the Committee felt itself strong enough to introduce other innovations calculated to ensure the accomplishment of its objectives. It wanted to select ‘a better class of books in certain branches of Science than that which constituted the present course of study’ and it hoped thereby to ‘direct the labour of the students in channels more likely to be useful to themselves and the state’.25 But the government adopted an extremely cautious attitude and advised the Committee that in all attempts at improvement it should endeavour to carry with it the voice of the educated classes of the community. ‘Even what is useless, if highly prized, should not be hastily rejected.’ The Committee was told that ‘the selection of what is valuable in the works actually studied is naturally the first step in the introduction of an improved system of study’.26 But the impractical nature of oriental education which was fast becoming an anachronism appeared clear to Lumsden, the Secretary to the Madrasah. He once more drew the attention of the government to the need for reforms in the curriculum of study. He proposed the revision of textbooks ‘retaining whatever is useful and rejecting whatever would be deemed superfluous, trifling, erroneous or objectionable according to European taste’. Moreover he urged the adoption of such measures as would gradually introduce among students, a taste for English literature and science which he considered to be the only effectual means of opening their eyes to the faults of their own systems. This dissemination of European learning, he proposed to achieve, through translation of some appropriate English scientific works into Persian and Arabic, and for that purpose he recommended the appointment of one Abdur Rahim who had already translated some English works into Arabic. Lumsden also stressed the necessity of establishing a preparatory school in order to rectify the defective primary education of the students who sought admission into the Madrasah.27 The Madrasah Committee, in reporting to the GovernorGeneral, went far beyond these proposals, suggesting that elementary schools be established in every district under the

Birth and Expansion of Orientalism | 267

patronage and control of the government. But in the most vital matter of consideration, the dissemination of European learning among the students of the Madrasah, the Madrasah Committee disagreed with Lumsden, as it ‘was rather foreign to the views with which the Madrasah was originally established and endowed’.28 The Governor-General in Council took a very cautious attitude and although declaring themselves decidedly in favour of disseminating European science and literature among the people of India, postponed taking any decision until the formation of the General Committee of Public Instruction. After the formation of the General Committee it was decided that the affairs of the Madrasah should be superintended by that body through a sub-committee aided by a Secretary. The difficulty of teaching European Science through English language, under the existing conditions, soon became obvious to the General Committee. Hence while dealing with the question of teaching European science in the Madrasah, it fell back upon the proposals originally made by Lumsden and recommended to the government the appointment of Abdur Rahim for translating English Scientific works into Arabic and Persian. Lumsden, however, did not wait for the government’s approval and took step to introduce the study of arithmetic and mathematics into that institution and also proposed to cultivate the higher branches of science there. The government did not take any immediate steps but sanctioned the measure adopted by Lumsden and also the establishment of a preparatory school in connection with the Madrasah. However, the Madrasah examinations of 1825 opened the way for the next moves. Reverend Mill, Principal of the Bishop’s College, Calcutta and Reverend Thomson, who jointly conducted the examination in 1825, urged that in order to make the studies pursued there really useful to the students, the government must take early steps to provide for better and more comprehensive instruction in European sciences. Thomson further suggested that the laborious translation of English books into Oriental languages be replaced by instruction in European science through the medium of English language.30 Lumsden had

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for a long time been an advocate of teaching Western Science in the Madrasah but had hesitated to act without specific orders from the government. But now encouraged by the emphatic declarations of the examiners, he pressed the General Committee to take up a decided line of policy. He knew that the Committee was apprehensive of possible antagonism of the Muslims to any innovation but from his long experience as secretary of the Madrasah he was sure that they would not object to English as a medium of instruction in sciences. He now stressed his point to the government and also suggested that a stipend of Rs. 8 per month be given to students who took this course to help overcome any religious scruples. Without waiting for instruction from the General Committee, Lumsden had directly approached the students and some fifteen volunteered to study English. As it was difficult to arrange a separate class for those students, he allowed them to choose their own teachers. Unfortunately this led to abuse and corruption as many of the students, anxious to economize, engaged cheapest and often worst teachers. As a remedy Lumsden proposed to attach all of them to certain well qualified teachers. The attempt failed because these teachers charged Rs. 8 per month which the students being poor refused to pay. Therefore Lumsden approached the Committee and requested it to appoint a qualified teacher for the Madrasah. The General Committee, who had the power of recommending expenditure to the government, hesitated and gave a non-committal reply, hoping ‘to be able to introduce some modifications of the existing plan which shall better consult the convenience and promote the progress of the students’.31 This, however, brought no change in the situation and the Madrasah remained without an English teacher. Meanwhile the government resolved in June 1823 to construct a new College in a more suitable locality known as Colingah32 and occupied chiefly by Muslims. For this purpose the sum of Rs. 1,40,537 was sanctioned for the purchase of the ground and the erection of a new college building. The foundation was laid on 15 July 1824 and the establishment moved into it in August

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1827. In a letter to the Court of Directors the Bengal government reported that the new Madrasah building promises soon to become no less an ornament to the city, than a striking monument of the interest taken by the British Government in the welfare and moral improvement of its subjects, and the importance which it attaches to the flourishing and respectable condition of an institution destined for the education of the principal and most influential classes of the Indian population.33

It was on 3 March 1829 that the General Committee of Public Instruction passed a resolution ‘that immediate steps be taken for establishing an English class in the institution’.34 The English class at the Madrasah was thus opened and by August 1829 the number of students in the class stood at 42. The students of the Arabic Department and outsiders were admitted without payment of fees. The number of students in the English class went on increasing in such a way as to require the appointment of a second teacher of English on the staff of the Madrasah. The first regular examination of the students now numbering 99 was conducted on 1 February 1830 and the second examination took place on 30 January 1831. The course of study at this time consisted of ‘the rudiments of the English Language, Arithmetic, Geography, History and Elements of Natural Philosophy’.35 The General Committee was convinced that it was the proper object of the Madrasah ‘to combine the knowledge of English with high attainments in Mahomedan Literature and Science’.36 But at the annual examination of 1833 the number of boys fell from 87 to 45 when the Madrasah Committee adopted a resolution that no student would be entitled to stipend or scholarship unless he studied both English and Arabic.37 However it had to rescind the resolution in 1835 thus no longer compelling Arabic scholars to learn English. Muslim boys from outside were also allowed to join the class without payment of fees. The result was that the number of English scholars increased from 31 to 136.38 Yet the general apathy of the Muslims to education is apparent from the fact that in 1830 while the Madrasah had on its roll 87 students, the Hindu College alone had 436 while Sanskrit College had another 176 boys and a large number of

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Hindu boys were studying in missionary schools in and around Calcutta.39 Moreover while in the Madrasah, only the rudiments of the ‘English language, Arithmetic, Geometry, History and the Elements of Natural Philosophy’ were taught, the students of the Hindu College were able to ‘read the best authors in the English Language’ and the study of Mathematics both in the Geometrical and in the Algebrical branch had been introduced there with success. Provision was also made to teach Natural Philosophy and Chemistry in the Hindu and Sanskrit College. It is to be noted that although an English class was established in the Madrasah as early as 1828, only two students passed the junior scholarship examination during the next twenty five years. However, when Macaulay’s famous Minute of 1835 advocating the abolition of the Calcutta Madrasah and Sanskrit College leaked out, the Calcutta population ‘was immediately in a ferment’. Two petitions were submitted to the government by the Hindus and Muslims on behalf of the two institutions.41 The Muslim petitioners numbering 8,312 stated that the news of the abolition of the Madrasah had led ‘all classes small and great’ to believe that the object and end of the measure ‘is to eradicate the literature and religious system of Islam’. The petitioners stressed the need of the government, ‘to enlist the goodwill of the Musalmans, as it was through them and from them that the Government had got their Indian territories’.42 The government informed the petitioners in reply that they had no intention to abolish an institution ‘in the prosperity of which they profess so warm an interest’ and gave assurance of its continuance so long as the students evinced any desire for oriental education.43 It is perhaps pertinent to point out in conclusion that though the Calcutta Madrasah’s role in fostering the growth of orientalism was not as significant as that of the Sanskrit College or Fort William College, it was nonetheless important. As the Madrasah Committee endeavoured to include European Science in the curriculum through translation in Arabic and Persian of various English works, Abdur Rahim was appointed for the purpose. He undertook to translate the article in geometry from the Encyclopaedia Britannica into Persian, Hutton’s course on Mathematics

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into Arabic and Bridge’s Algebra into Persian. The Committee also printed well known Persian works on Muslim law, namely Fatwa-i-Hamadi and Fatwa-i-Alamgiri for the use of students. In 1827 a medical class was established in the Madrasah where the students read Astronomy by English authors translated into Arabic. NOTES * I am grateful to my good friend Prof. Peter Marshall, of King’s College, University of London, who gave me some of the references used in writing this article. 1. A. Howell, Education in British India, Prior to 1854 and in 1870-71, Calcutta, 1872, p. 4. 2. John Clarke Marshman’s statement before a Select Committee of the House of Lords, 11 June 1853, quoted in Syed Mahmood, History of English Education in India, 1781-1893, Aligarh, 1895, p. 2. 3. W. Adam, Reports on the State of Education in Bengal, Calcutta, 1941, p. 59. 4. Home Misc. Series, vol. 487, f. 1-2, Bengal Public Consultations, 18 April 1781, Range 2, vol. 43, f. 624-5. 5. Home Misc. Series, vol. 487, f. 2-3, Bengal Public Consultations 18 April 1781, Range 2, vol. 43, f. 625. One suspects whether this petition alleged to he written by the prominent Muslims of Calcutta was written by Hastings himself. Prof. Peter Marshall told me about his own suspicion on the same line. The words here like ‘our government’ and ‘the care which had been occasionally observed’, etc., strengthen the suspicion that perhaps Hastings himself was the originator of the petition. Otherwise it is difficult to explain that a careful man as Hastings was should have lost the original petition. He writes ‘This is the substance of the petition which I can only repeat from memory, having mislaid the original’ (Home Misc., vol. 487, f. 3). 6. Ibid., f. 4. 7. Ibid., f. 5. 8. Ibid. 9. Ibid., f. 7; In a subsequent consultation, dated 3 June 1782, Warren Hastings requested the Board to assign one or more moujas producing a monthly revenue of 1,200 sicca rupees per month for the expenses of the Madrasah; Bengal Pub. Consult., Range 38 2, vol. 52, 3 June 1782, f. 136-7. 10. Home Misc. Series, f. 9-10, Bengal Letters Received, vol. 39, Para 44, f. 321-2.

272 | Trade, Politics and Society 1. 1 12. 13. 14.

Beng. Pub. Consult., Range 2, vol. 52, 3 June 1782, ff. 136-40. Beng. Letters Received, vol. 40, Para 20, 15 July 1782. Beng. Rev. Consult., Range 50, vol. 57, 21 January 1785, ff. 159-60. Minutes of the Evidence taken at the Trial of Warren Hastings, vol. V, pp. 1120-1. 15. H. Sharp, Selection from Educational Records, pt. 1, Calcutta, 1920, pp. 10-11. 16. Beng. Rev. Consult., Range 51, vol. 15, ff. 193-7. 17. Beng. Rev. Consult., Range 52, vol. 27, ff. 782-9. 18. Beng. Rev. Consult., ibid., f. 800. 19. Beng. Rev. Consult., Range 52, vol. 27, 8 March 1791, ff. 801-20. 20. Ibid., ff. 816-17. 21. Ibid., Range 55, vol. 7, nos. 44 ft 45, 11 December 1807. 22. Beng. Rev. Consult., Range 99, vol. 47, 16 March 1812; ibid., Range 57, vol. 53, Hos. 15-16, 9 October 1818. 23. Ibid., Range 59, vol. 7, Ho. 22, 25 January 1822. 24. Ibid., nos. 28-9. 25. Board’s Collection, 908, f. 215, Mad. Comm., to Gov. Gen. in Council, 29 July 1822. 26. Ibid., ff. 247-8, Holt Mackenzie to Mad. Comm., 8 August 1822. 27. Ibid., ff. 306-10, Mad. Comm., to Gov. Gen. in Council, 30 May 1823; Lumsden to Mad. Comm., 30 May 1823, ff. 365-7. 28. Ibid., ff. 321-2, Mad. Comm., to Gov. Gen. in Council, 30 May 1823. 29. Ibid., ff. 424-6, Halt Mackenzie to Mad. Comm., 3 July 1823. 30. Ibid., ff. 739-42, Thomson to Lumsden, 27 January 1825. 31. Ibid., f. 709, Gen. Comm, to Gov. Gen. in Council, 14 March 1825. 32. Wellesley Square – the present site of the Madrasah. 33. Bengal Letters Recd., vol. 117, 27 January 1826, Para 39. 34. Madrasah Resolution, 3 March 1829, Selections from the Records of the Bengal Govt., vol. XIV, 1854, Papers Relating to the establishment of Presidency College, App. 1, p. 1. 35. Report General Committee or Public Instruction, 1831, p. 4. 36. Beng. Pub. Consult., 14 August 1831, no. 37, Annual Report 1830. 37. Madrasah Resolution, 26 April 1834, Board’s Collection, 77633, f. 80. 38. Report, Gen. Comm. Pub. Inst., 1835, pp. 27-8. 39. Beng. Letters Reed., vol. 132, 29 September 1830, no. 39, para 4-6. 40. Ibid., Para 6. 41. India Pub. Consult., 13 March 1835, no. 9; 8 April 1835, no. 44. 42. Para 7 of the Petition. 43. India Pub. Consult,, 8 April 1835, no. 44.

chapter 14

Identity and Composite Culture The Bengal Case*

The main thrust of the paper is to examine the evolution of a composite culture in Bengal, and to explain its nature and character, especially from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century which is the period when it evolved and flourished in the region. This exercise is significant even today as the legacy from the past is still vibrant in many parts of the country, Bangladesh or West Bengal. For instance, there was a news report in The Statesman of 10 January 2006 that at a place in rural Bengal, called Maynagar in Tamluk, about 90 kms west of Kolkata, a pir’s dargah is looked after by a Hindu trustee and a fair organized by the authorities of a Radhagobinda [a popular deity] Temple includes a Muslim as part of centuries-old tradition.1 Such instances abound in many parts of Bengal even now and there is little doubt that this tradition comes down from several centuries earlier. While talking about the evolution of a composite culture, it is pertinent to see how it was intertwined with the question of identity of Bengali Muslims. The Islamic revitalizing and purificatory movements in Bengal in the nineteenth century laid bare the roots of cleavage and dualism between Bengali Muslim’s cultural position, caught between the opposite pulls of Bengal localism and Islamic extra-territoriality. The said new movements, combined with the changed social and political circum*Paper presented at the International Conference held in the Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, Dhaka in September 2011 and published in the Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bangladesh (Humanities), vol. 58(1), 2013, pp. 1-25.

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stances of Bengal under the British domination, sharpened the focus, as never before, on the ‘Islamic’ identity of the Bengali believers, with the result that a massive and organized assault on the syncretistic tradition and on the cultural values and norms, necessary to sustain it followed, to which we shall turn later. But a question that crops up is how do we define ‘culture’? How do we distinguish it from ‘religion’? In fact it is very difficult to distinguish the two as they more often than not mingle together making it impossible to separate the one from the other. It is not just a theory but I learnt it from my personal experience. About five decades back I was travelling in the then Santal Parganas (now Jharkhand), when I saw a group of Santals, who were Christians, sacrificing cocks at the altar of their popular/ tribal god. When I asked them how could they do this when they are Christians, they answered back, ‘aamra kestan hote pari, ta boleto nijer dhamma (dharma) bhulte parina’ (we may be Christians but how can we be oblivious of our religion?). This is rather quite instructive. Here ‘religion’ is nothing but a way of life as much as culture is, and the two mingle at some point – one cannot be separated from the other completely. It is in this perspective that I shall interpret religion and culture in this discourse. In his book, Identity and Violence, Amartya Sen defines identity as: When interpersonal relations are seen in singular inter-group terms as amity or dialogue among civilizations or religious ethnicities, paying no attention to other group to which the same persons also belong (involving economic, social, political or other cultural connections), then much of importance in human life is altogether lost and individuals are put into little boxes.

He holds that the divisions of human sapiens into religious or civilizational groups are artificial. These divisions are chimeras created by ruling elites or traders of death. They mess up our identities and dehumanize us. He means by identity ‘loyalty to various social, cultural, political, literary or similar groups formed on the basis’ of what he calls ‘choice and reason’.

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In this respect the question of the identity and culture of the Bengali Muslims, especially in the pre-modern time, becomes more pertinent. Islam spread in Bengal on a massive scale between the sixteenth and the eighteenth centuries. But what was exceptional, however, was that among India’s interior provinces, it was only in Bengal that a majority of the indigenous population was converted to Islam. How and why did this happen needs to be explained from a historical perspective. The conventional theories regarding Islamization in India in general – that Islam was a ‘Religion of the Sword’ which stresses the role of military power in the diffusion of Islam in India; that it was a religion of ‘patronage’ which emphasizes that the conversion was due to the lure of rewards from the Muslim rulers in various forms; that it was ‘religion of social liberation’ which postulates that Islam with its liberating message of social equality attracted the low caste and downtrodden Hindus who got converted to Islam en masse – are hardly tenable. In fact, the rise of Islamic communities in Bengal was not corollary to, or simply a function of the expansion of, the Turkish arms. It was actually brought about by the twin processes of agrarian growth and ‘colonization’ in the eastern region of Bengal following the riverine movement in the delta. The emergence of Islam as a mass religion in East Bengal occurred in the context of other historical forces, among them the most important being the shift of the epicentre of agrarian civilization from the western delta to the eastern hinterland. In fact, a decisive moment was reached in the late sixteenth century when the river Ganges linked up with the Padma, as a consequence of which the Ganges’s main discharge flowed directly into the heart of the eastern delta which now became very fertile and thus large forests grew in the lower regions of the eastern delta. And thus, many of the poor peasants from other parts flocked to these areas which were being afforested and cultivated by a motley crowd of Islamic preachers like pirs, gazis, sufis, etc., termed as ‘cultural mediators’ in recent parlance. In the process they were ultimately, and almost unwittingly, converted to Islam. But this vast mass had their deep roots in Bengal countryside and was

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imbued with their traditional culture. As a result, unlike in other places, Bengal absorbed so much local culture and became so profoundly identified with Bengal’s long-term process of agrarian expansion that in its formative years the cultivating class never seemed to have regarded Islam as alien. In fact, one of the important factors that led to religious and cultural syncretism was that the Muslim conquerors had to live with the vanquished Hindus, and the former were actually surrounded by the latter. As a result, a state of perpetual hostility between the two was not possible. Centuries of contact between the two communities was bound to result in a mutual understanding, and a process of give and take. Moreover, many of the new converts to Islam could not break away from their Hindu past, and followed their old ways of life and culture side-by-side with the Islamic tenets most of which were alien to them. Thus the two communities, Hindus and Muslims, living together and having daily interactions among themselves, evolved a popular religion and culture in several parts of India, especially in Bengal where the Muslim population was more numerous than in other parts. Hence after the first shock of Muslim conquest was over, the two communities tried to find the ways and means to live side-by-side in harmony as friendly neighbours. This has been aptly put by Tarachand:2 The effort to seek a new life led to the development of a new culture which was neither exclusively Hindu nor purely Muslim. It was indeed a Hindu-Muslim culture. Not only did Hindu religion, Hindu art, Hindu literature and Hindu science absorb Muslim elements, but the very spirit of Hindu culture and the very stuff of Hindu mind were also altered, and the Muslim reciprocated by responding to the change in every department of life.

RELIGIOUS SYNCRETISM Though I said that it is almost impossible to distinguish between religion and culture, yet for the sake of convenience I shall try to analyse syncretism during the period under review in two aspects – first, syncretism in religion and secondly, in culture. It so hap-

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pened in Bengal that the Islamic tenets were not fully absorbed by the new converts as they were still immersed in their old habits, beliefs, practices and ceremonies. In a way their conversion to Islam was not complete as they continued to practise their old ways of daily life, especially in the villages. Thus we find that in Bengal the fundamental concept of Islam was changed due to the Hindu influence. Here Prophet Muhammad was sometimes characterized as an avatar – an incarnation that was endowed with supernatural power. In fact, the Muslim theory of creation then prevalent in Bengal was an adaptation of the Hindu theory. A contemporary Muslim poet wrote, almost echoing the Sunya Purana:3 God emerged out of nothing; out of Divine emanation came into being the sun, the moon, heaven and hell. It was followed by the creation of earth, air, water and fire. At last Adam was created and sent to earth.

It is out of the mutual religious practices of the Hindus and Muslims, there developed some sort of a new religious sect called Kartabhaja Dharma, in eighteenth-century Bengal.4 Its founder Aule Chand (died 1769) preached his Dharma in Nadia district and had as his disciples both Hindus and Muslims. In this cult there was no distinction between high and low, or Hindus and Muslims. Significantly, no outward sign of adherence to the sect was necessary. A Hindu could retain his sacred thread and a Muslim can retain his beard on becoming a member of the sect.5 However it should be noted that two streams flowed side-byside. One was the orthodox religion – both Hindu and Muslim; the other was popular religion which was more a way of life than strictly a so-called religion. The sufis also contributed to the rise of new popular religious sects and the fostering of amity and unity between the two communities. As Enamul Haq writes:6 In the lowly Khanaqahs of the Sufis and the humble Astanahs of dervishes, both the Hindus and Muslims used to meet together and exchange their views. Liberal views and fraternizing influence of the Sufis were daily drawing the people of two different religion closer and closer, and ultimately during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the

278 | Trade, Politics and Society two communities were greatly united together by the inalienable bond of the mutual toleration and fraternity.

The Bauls and Sahajiyas are the off-shoots of Sufism in Bengal, and they played an important role in Hindu-Muslim harmony. The Bauls and Sahajiyas were a kind of religious sects which combined the principles of Hinduism and Islam. One of the famous Bauls in Bengal was Lalon Fakir who used to say that he was neither a Hindu nor a Muslim, and the only religion he believed in was humanism. In one of his songs, he preached that:7 Bhakter dware bandha aachen Sain Hindu ki Jaban bole tar kacche jatir bichar nai. Ek Chande hoi jagat aalo Ek bije shob janma holo. [God is ever present at the door of the devotee and He does not make any distinction of caste or creed, or a Hindu and a Muslim. As the world is lighted by the same moon, so also every living being is born out of the same Divine Spirit.]

The Pir cult in Bengal is another manifestation of the religious syncretism. The Pir worship was a form of joint worship of the Hindus and Muslims. The large settlement of foreign Muslims side-by-side with the Hindus and the newly converts (neo-phytes) enabled Islam to strike its roots deep into society. In this process the worship of local deities (gods and goddesses) contributed quite a bit. Garcin de Tassy observed in 1831 that the Pirs (Saints) were the substitutes for the Musalmans, in the place of the numerous gods of the Hindus. As amongst the saints venerated by the Musalmans, there were some personages who professed the faith of the Vedas, so several of the Musalman saints of India are venerated by the Hindus.8

That the Hindus in medieval Bengal were devoted to the pirs and regarded them as their own gods is absolutely clear from such literary works like Ghazi Vijay and Satyapir Vijay of Faizullah (a Muslim poet of sixteenth century), Ray-mangal, Shasti-mangal, Sitala-mangal and Kamala-mangal (seventeenth century) of Krishna Das and Dharma-mangal of Ruparam.

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These sources clearly indicate that a large number of Hindus had a great veneration for the pirs. Their tombs were visited by Hindus and Muslims alike.9 Thus a Muslim poet writes:10 Hindur devata hoila Musalmaner Pir Dui kule loi puja hoiya jahir. [The pirs of the Muslims became the gods of the Hindus. They manifested themselves and were worshipped by both the communities.]

In fact, Hindu popular literature and ballads like the various Mangal Kavyas, Purba Banga Gitika, Maymansingh Gitika, etc., had spaces earmarked for the pirs and the places associated with them. In their compositions, some of the Muslim poets of the period first showed regard for the great personalities of Islam, and then to the Hindu deities. Thus we find poet Faizullah (nineteenth century) wrote in his Satya Pir Panchali:11 Selam karib aage Pir Niranjan Muhammad Mustafa bondo aar Patanjan. Sher Ali Fatema bondo ekida koriya Hassan Hossain poida hailo jahar lagiya. *** Sati Thakurani bondo aar jata Sati Daibaki Rohini bondo Sachi Thakurani. Jar garbhe Gorachand janmilo aapani Gailo Faizullah kari satya pade mon. [I shall first of all salute Pir Niranjan and then sing in praise of Muhammad Mustafa and Patanjan. After concentration I worship Sher Ali and Fatima for whom Hassan and Hossain were born. I worship the Goddess Sati and other chaste women. I worship Daibaki, Rohini and mother Sachi who gave birth to Gorachand (Sri Chaitanya). Dedicated to truth, I, poet Faizullah, sing this.]

CULTURAL SYNCRETISM Though I shall be concentrating on the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the syncretism in Bengali culture can actually be traced to a much earlier period, at least from the time of the

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Sultans. In the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, statesponsored mosques built in native style proliferated in deltaic Bengal. It was during this period that the Muslim court lent vigorous support to Bengali language and literature. The Chinese traveller Ma Huan observed in the early fifteenth century that Bengali was ‘the language in universal use’.12 In fact, the court started patronizing Bengali literary works in a big way in the late fifteenth century. It was under the patronage of Sultan Ruknuddin Barbak (r. 1459-74) that Maladhar Basu wrote Sri Krishna Vijaya. Again Manasa Vijaya by Bipradas, Padma-Purana by Vijay Gupta and Krishna-mangala by Jasoraj Khan were composed during the time of Alauddin Husain Shah (r. 1493-1519) and Nasiruddin Nasarat Shah (r. 1519-32). It was during this period that Bijoy Pandit and Kabindra Parameswara translated portions of the Mahabharata from Sanskrit.13 It is evident from the observation of Sebastian Manrique who visited Bengal in 1629 that Bengal had already evolved a syncretic culture by the time the Mughals had established their authority there. He stated that some of the Muslim kings had been in the habit of sending for water from Ganga Sagar (a holy place where the river Ganges flows into the sea). During the ceremonies connected with their installations, these kings would wash themselves, like the previous Hindu sovereigns of Bengal, in that holy water.14 Thus the Bengal Sultans, especially of the restored Iliyas Shahi dynasty and its successors, evolved a stable, mainly secular, modus vivendi with Bengali society and culture in which the state systematically patronized the culture of the subject population.15 They yielded so much in their public architecture to the Bengali conceptions of form and medium that prompted Percy Brown to comment, ‘the country, originally possessed by the invaders, now possessed them’.16 Again it should be noted that with the coming in of the Mughals, there were fundamental changes not only in the region’s economic structures and its socio-political system but also in the cultural complexion, both at the court and in the countryside. As for example, Mughal officials in Bengal preferred Ayurvedic medical therapy to the Unani medical system inherited by clas-

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sical Islamic civilization. Thus we find that subadar Islam Khan, himself an Indian Muslim, asked for an Indian physician when he was on his death-bed.17 Again, when half of the body of the governor of Bihar was paralysed because of an illness, Emperor Jahangir sent two Indian Hindu physicians for his treatment.18 Similarly when Mirza Nathan, the erstwhile Mughal general in Bengal, fell ill, his advisers sent for a kabiraj who successfully treated him by consulting the appropriate astrological signs and by administering a poisonous brew dissolved in lemon juice and ginger.19 Such reliance on Ayurvedic treatment, even at the cost of neglecting the Yunani system, brings to bold relief how thoroughly Indian values had penetrated into Mughal culture, thus underlining the cultural syncretism in Mughal Bengal by the early seventeenth century. Further, the legends of pioneering pirs, (who were mainly responsible for clearing the jungles and making the land useful for cultivation), which abound in the Bengali literature of the seventeenth century, underscore the process of cultural syncretism that had become a feature of Mughal Bengal. Krishnaram Das’s epic poem, Ray-mangala, written in 1686, is an illustration in point. The story here concerns the conflict between a tiger god named Dakshin Ray (sovereign deity of the Sunderban forests) and a Muslim called Bade Gazi Khan who represented a personified memory of the penetration of these same forests by Muslim pioneers. The encounter between the two, though initially hostile, was ultimately resolved in a compromise – Dakshin Ray would continue to exercise absolute authority over the whole of the Sunderbans (Lower Bengal) but people would have to show respect to Bade Gazi Khan by worshipping his graveyard, marked by a symbol of Dakshin Ray’s head.20 Mukundaram’s Chandimangala can be regarded as a grand epic dramatizing the process of civilization-building in Bengal and particularly the push of agrarian civilization into formerly forested lands. Here Muslim pioneers were unambiguously associated with the clearing of forests. One Zafar Mian was said to be the leader of the Muslim workforce numbering 22,000. It was also said that these labourers chanted the name of the pir, quite possibly that

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of Zafar Mian himself.21 Though this poem cannot be taken as an eyewitness historical narrative, but it can be asserted nonetheless that the poet drew his theme from the culture of his own time which means that he was quite familiar with the theme of thousands of Muslims clearing the forests under the leadership of charismatic pirs. Sheikh Jalaluddin Tabrizi’s, Sekhsubhodaya, like Mukundaram and Krishnaram Das’s poems, belongs to mangal-kavya genre, a genre that typically glorified a particular deity and promised the deity’s followers bounties in return for their devotion. However, the hero of the Sheikh’s work was not a traditional Bengali deity but the Sheikh himself.22 But Sekhsubhodaya can be seen as revealing the folk process at work. Its story seeks to make sense of the gradual cultural shift from a Bengali Hindu world to a Bengali Muslim world. In part this was achieved by presenting the new in the guise of the familiar. Sheikh Tabrizi established an alien cult within a Hindu conceptual framework. The Sheikh gave the king ‘grace’ which is nothing but prasad, the food that a Hindu deity gives to a devotee. His consecration of the mosque followed a ritual consistent with the consecration of a Hindu temple, and his patron deity, ‘Allah’, although not identified with a Hindu deity, was given the generic name, prasadapurusha (Great Person).23 Thus it can be said that in the midst of dramatic socio-economic changes occurring in Mughal Bengal, Islam creatively evolved into an ideology of ‘world-construction’– an ideology of forest-clearing and agrarian expansion. On the one hand, Islamic institutions proved sufficiently flexible to accommodate the non-Brahminized religious culture already present in Bengal. On the other, the religious and cultural traditions already present in Mughal Bengal made accomodations with the amalgam of rites, rituals, and beliefs that were associated with the village mosques and shrines then proliferating in their midst. As Richard M. Eaton rightly observes: ‘In the process, Islamic and Bengali worldviews and cosmologies fused in dynamic and creative ways’.24 There were also several Muslim poets in Mughal Bengal with Vaishnava inclinations, the most notable among them being

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Daulat Qazi and Alaol in the seventeenth century. Their works are significant indications of the religious and cultural syncretism in Mughal Bengal. In his poem Sati Mayna along with the adoration of Allah and Rasul, Daulat Qazi referred to Dwarka of Sri Krishna, stories of the Puranas, Hindu dresses and kirtan. It also bears the clear impress of Vaishnava lyrics. Alaol adopted a pure Vaishnava theme for his lyrics. He writes on Radha’s secret meeting with Krishna. Another Sufi Pir and Vaishnava poet, Syed Murtaza, says in his prayer allegorically:25 Par karo par karo more naiya Kanai Kanai more par karare! (Dhun). Ghater ghatial Kanai panther chaukidar Nayali jauban dimu kheyar pai par. [Carry me across, carry me across, O boatman Kanai, O Kanai do thou ferry me across. O Kanai, thou art the custodian of the ferry ghat and the watchman of the path (of life). I offer my fresh youth as the ferry fare.]

The poems of Muslim-Vaishnava poets clearly bring out the cultural dimension of the syncretism in Mughal Bengal. The poet Lal Mamud, though born in a Muslim family, was a dedicated devotee of Krishna. He says of himself:26 Janma niya Musalmane banchita hobo Sricharane Aami mone bhabina ekbar. (Ebar) Lal Mamude hare Krishna naam korecche shar. [Though born Muslim, I do not ever think that I shall be deprived of the sacred feet of Krishna. Now Lal Mamud has indeed accepted the name of Hare Krishna as his be-all and end-all.]

In another composition he says:27 Hindu kimba hok Musalman Tomar pakshe sobai saman. Aapan santan jatir ki bichar! Bhakta sokal jatir shrestha Chandal ki Chamar. Keha tomai bole Kali, keha bole Banamali Keha Khoda Allah boli tomai dake saratsar. [Whether a Hindu or a Muslim, it is all the same to you. Who bothers about the caste of one’s own son? A bhakta (devotee) is the best of all

284 | Trade, Politics and Society castes whether he is a Chandal (low caste) or a Chamar (cobbler). Some call you Kali, some Banamali (lit. gardener, Here Krishna) and others call you Khoda Allah; this is the secret (essence) of all secrets.]

The same sentiment reflecting the religious and cultural syncretism that was achieved in Mughal Bengal is to be found also in the various ballads of the Purba Banga Gitika and Maimansingh Gitika. In one of the ballads, it has been emphasized that:28 Hendu (Hindu) aar Musalman eki pinder dari Keha bole Allah Rosul keha bole Hari. Bismilla aar Cchiribistu ekkei goan Dofak kori diye parava Ram Rahiman. [The Hindus and Muslims are ropes of the same bundle; someone says Allah Rasul, someone says Hari; Bismillah and Sri Vishnu are the same; when they are made different, they are called Ram and Rahim.]

In fact, in the corpus of medieval Bengali literature celebrating indigenous deities such as manasa, chandi, satyapir, dharma, dakshin ray, etc., one can see local cosmologies expanding in order to accommodate new superhuman beings introduced by foreign Muslims.29 As we have seen in the Manasamangala, the conflict between Dakshin Ray or the tiger god and Bade Gazi Khan was resolved not by one defeating the other but by the elevation of Bade Gazi Khan to a revered saint and by peaceful co-existence of the two. The two, however, were not fused into a single religious personage but remained mutually distinct. The inclusion of Muslim alongside local divinities is also to be found in the rich tradition of folk ballads of Bengal.30 The invocation (bandana) in the ballad, Nazim Dacoit, a ballad of Chittagong district dating from the seventeenth or early eighteenth century, includes both indigenous and exogenous religio-cultural ideas. We see here the tenacity of the Bengali emphasis on divine power as manifested in female agency – Mother Earth, Sita, Radha, etc. And it is significant that this emphasis is extended to include prominent females of Islamic history: special reverence is shown to Amina, the Prophet’s mother and Fatima, his daughter. Thus it shows that themes wholly foreign to Bengal had also infiltrated into the religious and cultural universe of rural Bengal.

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In some parts of Bengal, especially in the lower regions, this sort of inclusion crept in easily. The fishermen in the Sunderbans performed their pujas to the forest goddess Bana Bibi before putting their nets into the water as a ritual to protect them from harm. A small thatched bamboo hut was raised for this purpose, and a clay image of Bana Bibi seated on a tiger was placed in the hut. Flanking her on her right was an image of Dakshin Ray, depicted as a strong and stout man standing with a sword and behind him stood a bearded Muslim fakir known as Ajmal and behind Dakhsin Ray lay the severed head and body of a young boy. The trio – a tiger deity, a soldier and a superhuman agent identified with Islam – have remained constant over the centuries, distinct from one another but yet included within a single cosmology.31 As a matter of fact we find identification of a similar type in the Bengal literature dating from the sixteenth century. Haji Muhammed,32 a sixteenth-century poet, identified ‘Allah’ with ‘Gosai’ (Master), while another poet, Saiyid Murtaza,33 identified the Prophet’s daughter, Fatima, with ‘Jagat-janani’ (mother of the world), and Saiyid Sultan34 identified God of Adam, Abraham and Moses with ‘Prabhu’ (Lord) or more frequently with ‘Niranjan’ (without qualities). Similarly, Ali Raja,35 the eighteenth-century poet, identified Allah with Niranjan, Iswar (God), Jagat Iswar (God of the universe). Even when the forest pioneers were planting the institutional foundations of Islamic rituals, Bengali poets deepened the semantic meaning of these rituals by identifying the lore and even the superhuman agencies of an originally foreign creed with those of the local culture.36 Another instance of cultural syncretism is to be found in the eighteenth century poet Bharatchandra. In his Annadamangal, he wrote:37 Hindu Musalman adi jibjantu jato Ishwar sabar ek nahi dui mat. Puraner mat cchara Korane ki aacche Bhabi dekho aage Hindu-Musalman pashe. [There are no two opinions about the fact God is the same for the Hindus, Muslims and all human beings and animals alike. What is there

286 | Trade, Politics and Society in Koran except what is in the Puranas? Oh, all Hindus and Muslims, you all ponder over this!]

The reasons for poets to employ this mode of literary transmission are rather obvious. The rural masses of deltaic Bengal, mostly Muslims, were familiar with the Hindu epics. A sixteenthcentury poet wrote that ‘Muslims as well as Hindus in every home’ would read the Mahabharata. Another poet observed that the Muslims moved to tears on hearing of Rama’s loss of Sita in the Ramayana.38 In fact, the masses in Bengal were fully conversant with the Mangal-kavya literature that extolled the grace, power and exploits of specifically folk deities like Manasa and Chandi. Hence it is natural that romantic tales from the Islamic tradition drew on this rich indigenous substratum of the popular religious culture. This is reflected in an eighteenth-century Bengali version of the popular Iranian story of Joseph and Zulaikha where the imagery employed clearly reminds Radha’s passionate love for Krishna, the central theme of the Bengali Vaishnava devotional movement.39 Similarly the authors of the Bengali Muslim literature (popularly known as Muslim Bangla Sahitya) consciously presented Islamic ideas in terms readily familiar to a rural population of nominal Muslims who were quite aware of the Bengali folk and Hindu religio-cultural traditions and ideas. A case in instance, like many others, is the composition by poet Saiyid Sultan who spares no details in endowing Eve with the attributes of a Bengali beauty. Here she (Eve) uses sandal powder, wraps her hair with flowers, wears black eye paste and a pearl necklace is draped around her neck. Adam was struck by the beauty of the red spot (sindur) on her forehead.40 But in doing so the Bengali Muslim authors were faced with a dilemma. Though they knew that Arabic was the appropriate language for the transmission of Islamic ideas but they could not do so because their audience was not familiar with the language. Reflecting this, Abdul Nabi, a poet of the seventeenth century wrote:41 I am afraid in my heart lest God should be annoyed with me for having rendered Islamic scriptures in Bengali. But I put aside my fear and firmly resolve to write for the good of common people.

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A similar concern was voiced by Saiyid Sultan who lamented that nobody has transmitted the Islamic ideas in local vernacular and so nobody has understood any of the discourses of his own religion. Hence he resolved to disseminate these ideas in Bengali.42 But the rural masses do not appear to have been troubled by such tensions or even to have noticed them. It is also interesting to note that the gender division of labour and female seclusion, long entrenched in Islamic hinterlands, had still not appeared among the Muslims in the countryside as this was contrary to socio-cultural traditions of Bengal. A ballad, Dewana Madina, composed by Mansur Baiyeoti around 1700 and set in southern Sylhet, dwells on a Muslim peasant woman’s lament for her deceased husband where she stated with tears in her eyes:43 Oh Allah, what is this that you have written for my destiny? . . . In the good month of November, we both used to reap the autumnal paddy in a hurry lest it should be spoilt by flood or hailstorm. My dear husband used to bring home the paddy and I spread them in the sun. Then we both sat down to husk the rice. ... In December when our fields will be covered with green crops, my duty was to keep watch over them with care. I used to fill his hooka with water and prepare the tobacco – with this in hand I lay waiting, looking towards the path, expecting him! . . . When my dear husband made the fields soft and muddy with water for transplanting of the new rice-plants, I used to cook rice and await his return home. When he busied himself in the fields for this purpose, I handed the green plants over to him for replanting. . . . We reaped the shali crops together in great haste and with great care. How happy we were when after the day’s work we retired to rest in our home.

Perhaps one of the most significant aspects of cultural syncretism is to be discerned in the history of the cult of Satya Pir. The early literature composed in praise of Satya Pir depicts a folk society that freely assimilated a variety of beliefs and practices that were ‘in the air’ in medieval Bengal’s socio-religious and cultural environment. Several compositions devoted to the cult identify Satya Pir in various ways. Thus in Satya Pir, composed by Sankaracharya, Satya Pir is said to be the son of one of the daughters of Sultan Alauddin Husain Shah and hence a Muslim while in Krishnahari Das’s composition, which begins with invo-

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cations of Allah and the stories of the Prophet, as born of the goddess Chandbibi. But some other texts identify Satya Pir with the divinity of Satya Narain who represents a form of Brahmanic God, Vishnu.44 Generally scholars interpret Satya Pir cult in terms of a synthesis of Islam and Hinduism. The famous folklorist D.C. Sen wrote: ‘When two communities mixed so closely, and was so greatly influenced by one another, the result was that a common god was called into existence, worshipped by the Hindus and Muslims alike.’45 That the two communities in Mughal Bengal followed each other’s socio-cultural and religious traditions is apparent also from the observations of the contemporary European travellers. Thus we see Pyrard de Laval who wrote in 1607: ‘Mahometans as well as Gentiles deem the water [of the Ganges] to be blessed and to wash away all offences, just as we regard confession’.46 In this context Richard M. Eaton’s observation seems to be quite appropriate:47 Instead of visualizing two separate and self-contained social groups, Hindus and Muslims, participating in rites in which each steeped its ‘natural’ communal boundaries, one may see instead a single undifferentiated mass of Bengali villagers who, in their ongoing struggle with life’s usual tribulations, unsystematically picked and chose from an array of reputed instruments – a holy man here, a holy river there – in order to tap super human power.

In fact, what Dusan Zbavitel wrote of the ballads of Mymensingh district, Maimansingh Gitika, – that they were ‘neither products of Hindu or Muslim culture, but of a single Bengali folk culture’ – may be justly said of the medieval Bengali folk culture and religion.48 That the composite culture and religious harmony between the two communities, especially among the masses in the rural areas, was a salient feature of pre-modern Bengal, and actually reached a high watermark in the eighteenth century is very much evident from literary sources, despite the discordant notes on this aspect from several historians. It was S.C. Hill who first propounded the thesis that in the mid-eighteenth century there was a vertical division in Bengali society on communal lines –

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between the Hindus and Muslims. He asserted that the majority Hindus, oppressed by the Muslim rulers, were eager to get rid of the Muslim nawab and welcome the British as their saviours.49 As if taking the cue from him, Brijen K. Gupta upholds the theory of schism in Bengali society in the mid-eighteenth century.50 It is strange that the thesis of a communal divide has held ground for so long despite the fact that most of the high officers and zaminders during Alivardi’s time – and for that matter during Sirajuddaullah’s time too – were Hindus.51 Had there really been any serious rift in the society of mideighteenth-century Bengal and anything contrary to the religious and cultural syncretism that evolved and flourished in medieval Bengal, it would have definitely been reflected in the contemporary vernacular literature. But this sort of evidence is conspicuous by their absence in the sources. On the contrary the fact that emerges from a critical study of the vernacular literature of the period is that Bengali Hindus and Muslims, particularly in the lower stratum of the society, who lived together for centuries in peace and harmony, and who evolved and nourished a composite culture, maintained the same ethos even in the mid-eighteenth century. Actually the process of assimilation and fusion of the two religion and culture, i.e. the religious and cultural syncretism which started much earlier, not only continued but reached the high watermark in the mid-eighteenth century. This is exemplified by numerous evidence to be found in Bengali literature. In Kshemananda’s Manasa-mangala, written in the latter part of the seventeenth century, a passage tells us that in the steel chamber prepared for Lakshminder, the hero, a Hindu, a copy of the Koran was kept along with charms to avert the wrath of Manasa, the goddess of snakes.52 Again in a poem called Behula Sundar, written about the same period, we find the Brahmins consulting the Koran and advising a Hindu merchant to recite the name of Allah so that he may be blessed with a son. The same poem tells us that the Brahmins consulted the Koran for an auspicious day for the hero’s journey abroad. The hero, the son of an orthodox Hindu merchant, obeyed the injunctions ‘as

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if they were laid in the Vedas’ and started on his journey praying to Allah for his safety.53 In fact, cultural syncretism reached its culmination around the mid-eighteenth century. This is evident from the fact that even Prince Azim-us-Shan, Mughal emperor Aurngzeb’s grandson and the subadar of Bengal in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century took part in Holi festival in Dhaka. Nawab Sahamat Jung (Nawazish Muhammed Khan), along with Saulat Jung who came from Patna, celebrated Holi for seven days in the garden of the former’s palace, Motijheel, in Murshidabad.54 Nawab Sirajuddaulah too hurried to Murshidabad after the treaty of Alinagar in February 1757 to participate in the Holi festival in his palace.55 It is significant that by this time Holi did not remain exclusively a Hindu festival, it became an essential part of the composite culture that evolved in Bengal in the earlier centuries. In the villages predominated by the Shia Muslims, especially in Bengal and Bihar, the Tazia processions were conducted with special splendour, outward show and grief. In the early nineteenth century Buchanan found that of the 1400 Tazia processions of Patna and Bihar Sharif area, as many as 600 were conducted by the Hindus.56 There is evidence that even as late as the early nineteenth century, Muslim villagers in Bengal joined their fellow Hindus not only in the Durga Puja celebrations, but also worshipped Krishna and Sitala (the goddess of small pox). Even in the twentieth century, some Muslims in Rajshahi district (now in Bangladesh) specialized in composing songs on the occasion of the immersion of Manasa (goddess of snakes), while other Muslims wrote syncretic hymns in honour of Siva-Parvati (Durga) and elsewhere sang hymns to Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth.57 Indeed it was common in the eighteenth century for Muslims to offer puja at Hindu temples and for Hindus to offer sinni at Muhammedan shrines.58 It was during this period that the worship of the Satya Pir, by both Hindus and Muslims, became a common feature and an integral part of Bengali life, especially in the rural areas.59 The poet Bharatchandra’s poem, Satyapirer

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Katha bears ample testimony to this phenomenon.60 It is said in Shamser Gazir Punthi, written about the middle of the eighteenth century, that a Hindu goddess appeared twice before the Gazi in his dreams, and in obedience to her behest, he worshipped her the next morning, with the help of Brahmins and according to prescribed rites. It is also to be noted that in social and religious matters, the opinion and testimony of the Muslims were sought by the Hindus. A Bengali document, dated 1732, which marked the victory of the Sahajiya cult over the orthodox Vaishnava cult, had a few Muhammedan signatories as witnesses.61 All this only signifies that in day-to-day life the two communities had lived side by side for centuries in harmony and mutual attachment which led to religious and cultural syncretism in the Mughal period. In an interesting essay, Edward C. Dimock, Jr., observed that a reading of the medieval Bengali literature from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century gives little indication of any deep-rooted antagonism between the two communities.62 The mutual tolerance for each other’s faith which is an aspect of the composite culture that evolved in Bengal is typically reflected in a poem, Satyapir, written by Faizullah, where the poet laid down that what Muslims call Allah is Hari (God) to Hindus.63 This is nothing but a manifestation of the cultural syncretism that became a significant feature of Bengali life in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. CAUGHT BETWEEN THE PULLS OF ‘BENGAL LOCALISM’ AND ‘ISLAMIC EXTRA-TERRITORIALITY’ It was in the nineteenth and early twentieth century, that the Bengali Muslims realized that socio-territorial identity plays a crucial role in defining and redifining the parameters of a community. They also felt the usefulness of trying to identify a fixed criterion for a definition of the cultural boundaries of such a community: a Bengali Muslim may have seen himself primarily as a ‘Muslim’ the other day, as a ‘Bengali’ yesterday, and a ‘Bengali Muslim’ today, depending on objective conditions but on

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none of these occasions did his thoughts and his idea of destiny become separated from his territorial identity. His entire personality bears marks of this socio-territorial imprint. The songs he sings, the music he plays, the poems he composes, the literature he produces, his daily life, marriage rituals, dietary habits, are all clearly linked to the territory of his birth.64 As Amartya Sen asserts: ‘A Bangladeshi Muslim is not only a Muslim but also a Bengali and a Bangladeshi is typically quite proud of the Bengali language, literature, and music.’ As such, attempts to forge closer links to an Arab or Persian dream could scarcely distance him from his roots. But the language controversy of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was a hard reality. The pro-Bengali group regarded Bengali both as their mother tongue and as the national language of Bengal. Among the opponents of this group was a small Urdu-speaking ashraf (who claimed descent from the Prophet’s family) who for a considerable period of time kept arguing that, as Urdu was spoken by majority of Muslims of the Indian subcontinent and Bengali was Hinduized by Sanskrit pundits, it was in the interest of Muslim solidarity that Bengali Muslims should also speak Urdu and regard it as their mother tongue. This view was obviously rejected by an overwhelming majority of the Bengali Muslims, including some members of Urdu-speaking group. They accepted Bengali as their national language in the limited sense of territorial nationalism by arguing that there was no contradiction between territorial identity and Islam. By the turn of the nineteenth century, pro-Bengali views were being vigorously expressed. In the 1880s and early1900s, the Mihir-O-Sudhakar,65 gave solemn calls to Bengali Muslims to regard Bengali as their mother tongue and censure those who looked down upon it. In 1903 the journal Navanur asked: ‘What else could be the mother tongue of the Bengali Muslims, except Bengali?’ It asserted that those who wanted to make Urdu the mother tongue of the Bengali Muslims were attempting the impossible. Bengali Muslim intellectuals also joined the movement in great numbers. In 1905 Ekinuddin Ahmad appealed to Bengali

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Muslims to cultivate Bengali in order to build up their ‘national’ life. In 1909 the newspaper Sanjibani wrote that Bengali was Islamized in Bengal by infusing Arabic and Persian words into it, and this Bengali was the mother tongue of Bengali Muslims. In 1915, Khademul Islam Bangabasi condemned the scornful attitude of a section of Muslims towards Bengali and pointed out that such Muslims only insulted their ‘Mother and Motherland’. Again, in an article in 1916 in the Al Islam, Abdul Malek Chaudhury ridiculed those Muslims who slept in thatched houses in the mango groves or bamboo bushes of Sylhet [now in Bangladesh] but dreamt of Baghdad, Bukhara, Kabul, Kandahar, Iran and Turkey. He argued that regardless of whether their forefathers came from West Asian countries, or originated from local Hindus, Bengali alone was their mother tongue. In fact, pro-Bengali views continued to be repeatedly asserted by many eminent Muslim writers throughout the first half of the twentieth century. Maniruzzaman Islamabadi argued that Urdu was neither acceptable to the Bengali Muslims as their mother tongue, nor was it possible to reject it. Urdu could be cultivated as an additional language. Syed Emdad Ali advised the Muslims to regard Bengali as their mother tongue. He regretted the tendency of some Muslims to treat Urdu as their mother tongue. Abdul Karim Sahitya Visharad (1896-1953) asserted that without due regard to the predominant language of the land, no country could prosper. Another prominent writer, Kaikobad, wrote that the primary need of the Bengali Muslims was to build up Muslim ‘national’ life through the cultivation of Bengali because Bengali was not only their mother tongue, but also the language of the land of their birth. As a result of the above literary and intellectual movement, the supporters of Urdu as the language of the Bengali Muslims gradually realized the futility of their efforts. Thus Arabic continued to be regarded as the sacred language of the Koran, alongside Bengali as the mother tongue. But the urge to restore Bengali to its proper status and to use it as an active language outweighed all other literary concerns. A sort of a settlement was eventually reached to retain Arabic and Persian words that

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had crept into Bengali as spoken by Bengali Muslims. However, in the process of linguistic change, as disputes expressed in the literature, the Muslim sense of community was being reinforced, redefined and extended. But at the same time, the Bengali Muslim exercised his differences with ‘others’ at different times in different ways, which dictated his choices of symbols. During the Khilafat movement which spread in India as a national movement in the early twentieth century, following the abolition of the Islamic Caliphate by Mustafa Kamal of Turkey, the Bengali/Indian Muslims were in a dilemma. One important group of Bengali Muslims was greatly attached to a collective Muslim identity with a pan-Islamic bias, rather than to an Indian or Bengali identity. Such a basis for explanation of identity often confused the Bengali Muslims. They hesitated to demonstrate their territorial identity clearly. Muslim Bengali identity was thus caught between the pulls of collective Muslim identity with its extra-territorial characteristics, and the geographical or territorial Bengali identity. However, the advocates of collective Muslim identity maintained that in the 1920s the Indian nation was in the course of formation and thus India was then a nation of different races and communities. But many could not accept unhesitatingly the political formula of a section of Indians that ‘We are Indians first, and Hindus and Muslims next’. They argued that there was no contradiction in being a Muslim and a Bengali, that Islam was not incompatible with patriotism. This argument that there is no conflict between one’s religious and territorial identities had been forcefully presented by following assertion of a Bengali Muslim intellectual, Syed Badraddoja: We are Muslims by virtue of the religion we profess, Indians because of geographical unit to which we belong, Bengalis because of the province that had given us our birth. Islam is not inconsistent with nationalism or patriotism. It is not in any way incompatible with the noblest urge for freedom and liberty, or with other genuine aspirations of human life.

The protagonists of Bengali Muslim identity were not prepared to accept the unity of Indian Muslims or the Islamic world

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in the name of religion, though the cry of ‘Islam in danger’ was raised. A small group among them supported the abolition of the Caliphate by Mustafa Kamal, and argued that it was under the command of the ‘thick-headed’ mullahs that the modern Muslim dreamt of a pan-Islamic state. A prominent Bengali poet, Kazi Nazrul Islam, expressed his indignation against what he considered to be the extra-territorial loyalty of the hypocritical mullahs towards a decadent Caliphate. He wrote in 1922: Kamal, even though a Muslim, realized that neither Khilafat [Caliphate] not the country could be saved by keeping beards, by eating beef, or by observing roza [fasting]. Otherwise, he would, just like our lungiclad mullahs, have been constantly performing namaz turning his face towards the Kaba. . . . Such religious hypocrisy cannot save them.

Another Bengali intellectual, Kazi Abdul Wadud (1894-1940) argued, as he explicitly did in his address to a young Muslim audience in Faridpur in 1927,66 that the Bengali Muslim was a human being first by the right of his birth, then a Bengali by being made of the soil of Bengal, and then a Muslim – a Bengali Muslim last. He asserted that one did not need to be a Muslim first by being blind to the requirements of the time and one’s own country. He even went to the extent to suggest that it was unnecessary to go to Mecca to prove oneself a Muslim. One could be a Muslim living in a thatched cottage in a Bengal village in the midst of one’s relatives and neighbours. Some of the above Bengali intellectuals did not stop there. They formed a group called Muslim Sahitya Samaj [Muslim Literary Society] in Dhaka in 1926 and the Sikha group (named after its mouthpiece Sikha). They launched a movement known as the buddhir mukti andolan (movement for the emancipation of the intellect). They argued that the observance of the pardah system, the prohibition of the practice of realizing interest on capital, and the objection to the culture of fine arts were ‘obstacles’ to the freedom of thought and activities beneficial to the Muslim society. They believed there was no fixed road to the progress of mankind. The Muslims should, therefore, think afresh rationally. Their view of Bengali identity was thus associated with

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more radical modernist approaches which dogmatic Muslims were not prepared or educated to swallow. Orthodox Muslims launched a strong offensive against the group through the press and other platforms. The members of the liberal intellectual group were almost ostracized. As a result, by 1935 the leading figures of the group had fallen silent. The Samaj became defunct, and the Sikha had ceased publication. They were silenced by the emergence of the Muslim League as a powerful factor in Indian politics and the Praja-League alliance in 1937. However in 1947, during the Partition days, the Bengali Muslim tended to distinguish himself more from his Bengali Hindu neighbour than any other, and emphasized the Islamic content of his identity. But this definition was somewhat modified during the 1969-71 when language became a powerful political symbol, primarily in response to domination by the Urdu-speaking Pakistani elite. It would, however, be too much to suggest that on any of these occasions, the Bengali Muslim had either ceased to be a Bengali or had rejected his identification with Islam. Thus it seems, the socio-territorial pull continued to exert a powerful impact on him. This dual pull is often reflected in his continued hesitation to define the cultural boundaries of his identity in specific terms: ‘Am I a Muslim first or a Bengali’ he continues to ask himself. As a matter of fact, this dichotomy between a Bengali and a Muslim identity has been persisting for a long time from the early modern era. The Muslim masses living in the countryside were so fragmented from their upper class co-religionists (the ashraf and the orthodox ulema) that the notion of a ‘community’ hardly existed. In fact, this did not develop until the late nineteenth century. Till then, there was little organized effort, if any, to articulate a sense of community identity among these disparate groups; nor were any institutional links forged. The real problem was how to integrate the masses of converts with their own inherited ideas, traditions and practices within the framework of a single Muslim community. It was not easy but the religious preachers in medieval Bengal – the gazis, pirs who are now termed ‘cultural mediators’67 – adopted a policy of com-

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promise and concession in an effort to propagate the Islamic message. They incorporated some of the local cultural idioms and symbols to popularize Islamic themes among the Muslims of rural Bengal. There was hardly any alternative: while not compromising the identity of Islam as a religion, what was considered an unchangeable and standardized system of beliefs and rituals, had to be adjusted to the realities of life in pre-modern deltaic Bengal. As a matter of fact, early efforts by medieval Bengali writers to transmit Islamic religious ideas and cultural symbols suffered from the immediate problem of finding the appropriate vocabulary and idiom in the local language. Moreover, many did not approve this and resented the use of local cultural symbols, including the language, considered ‘un-Islamic’ in conveying the message of Allah and His Prophet. But there were quite a few who reacted sharply to such aspersions. Saiyid Sultan, a mid-sixteenth-century poet, lamented that nobody has transmitted the Islamic ideas in local vernacular and so nobody has understood any of the discourses of his own religion. Hence he resolved to disseminate these ideas in Bengali.68 But in doing so, the Bengali Muslim authors were faced with a dilemma. Though they knew that Arabic was the appropriate language for the transmission of Islamic ideas, they could not do so because their audience was not familiar with the language. Reflecting this, Abdul Nabi, a poet of the seventeenth century wrote: ‘I am afraid in my heart lest God should be annoyed with me for having rendered Islamic scriptures in Bengali. But I put aside my fear and firmly resolve to write for the good of the common people’.69 Shah Abdul Hakim, another seventeenth century poet, wrote: ‘whatever language a people speak in a country, the Lord understands it. He understands all languages, whether it is Hinduani [Hindustani or Urdu?] or the language of Bengal, or any other.’ He even went to the extent to assert: ‘Those who, born in Bengal, are averse to Bengali language cast doubt on their birth. The people who have no liking for the language and the learning of their country, had better leave it and live abroad’.70 Thus local environment and local culture continued to have a decisive influence on the life

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of Bengali Muslims, despite all attempts at conformity. However, these cross-currents in Bengali Muslim society inevitably produced a dichotomy between the ‘Muslim’ and the ‘Bengali’ contents of their identity and culture. Here one might ask a pertinent question, especially in the present context. Did the emergence of Bangladesh, ostensibly on the basis of linguistic-cultural identity, fundamentally transform the orientation and character of the Bengali Muslims? There is little doubt that it meant, not only theoretically, a greater emphasis on Bengali cultural identity but perhaps it also signified a fundamental break with the earlier trend. The scholars in Bangladesh can probably throw more definitive light on this aspect than I can with my limited knowledge about the present scenario. NOTES 1. The Statesman, 11 January 2006 (Calcutta edition). 2. Tarachand, Influence of Islam on Indian Culture, Allahabad, 1936, p. 137. 3. Quoted in Khodkar Mahbubul Karim, The Provinces of Bihar and Bengal under Shah Jahan, Dacca, 1974, p. 208. 4. Md. Shah Noorur Rahman, Hindu-Muslim Relations in Mughal Bengal, Calcutta, 2001, p. 49. 5. Tarachand, Influence of Islam, pp. 219-20. 6. Enamul Haq, A history of Sufism in Bengal, Dacca, 1975, p. 288. 7. S.M. Lutfar Rahman, Lalan Shah: Jiban O Gan (in Bengali – Lalan Shah: His Life and Songs), Dhaka, 1983, p. 113. 8. Quoted in Jagadish Narayan Sarkar, Hindu-Muslim Relation in Medieval Bengal, Delhi 1985, p. 67. 9. Ahmad Sharif, Bangali O Bangla Sahitya, Dhaka, 1983, p. 829. 10. Abdul Qadir and Rezaul Karim (ed.), Kavya Malancha, Calcutta, 1945, p. 30. 11. Quoted in Ahmad Sharif, Bangali O Bangla Sahitya, p. 824. 12. Rockhill, ‘Notes on the Relations’, p. 437, quoted in Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994, p. 66. 13. Nihar Ranjan Ray, ‘Medieval Bengali Culture’, Visa Bharati Quarterly, vol. 11, no. 2, 1945, p. 54; Md. Enamul Haq, Muslim Bengali Literature, Karachi, 1957, pp. 38-9. 14. Sebastian Manrique, Travels of Sebastian Manrique 1629-1643, trans. E. Luard and H. Hosten, Oxford: Hakluyt Society, 1927, vol. 1, p. 77.

Identity and Composite Culture | 299 15. Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam, pp. 69-70. 16. Percy Brown, Indian Architecture: Muslim Period, 5th edn., Bombay, 1968, p. 38. 17. Mirza Nathan, Baharistan-i-Ghaibi, tr. M.I. Borah, vol. 1, Gauhati, 1936, p. 256 18. Ibid., p. 262. 19. Ibid., pp. 323-4. 20. Asutosh Bhattacharya, ‘The Tiger Cult and Its Literature in Lower Bengal’, in Man in India, vol. 27, no. 1, March 1947, pp. 49-50. 21. Mukundaram, Kavikankan Chandi, ed. Srikumar Bandyopadhay and Biswapati Chaudhuri, Calcutta 1974; Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam, pp. 213-14. 22. Sukumar Sen, ed. and tr., Sekhsubhoday of Halayuda Misra, Calcutta 1963. 23. Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam, pp. 215-18. 24. Ibid., p. 267. 25. Quoted in Y.M. Bhattacharya, Banglar Vaishnavabhavapanna Musalman Kabir padamanjusha, Calcutta, 1984, pp. 317. 26. Ibid., p. 250. 27. Ibid. 28. Quoted in Md. Shah Noorur Rahman, Hindu-Muslim Relations, p. 81. 29. M.R. Tarafdar, Husain Shahi Bengal, pp. 17-18, 164-6, 233-5; P.K. Maity, Historical Studies in the Cult of the Goddess Manasa, Calcutta, 1966; Asutosh Bhattacharya, ‘The Tiger Cult’, pp. 49-56; Also see especially, Asim Roy, The Islamic Syncretistic Tradition in Bengal, Princeton, 1983. 30. As for example, ‘Nazim Dacoit’, a ballad of Chittagong district dating from seventeenth or eighteenth century. See, D.C. Sen, The Folk Literature of Bengal, Calcutta, 1920. 31. H.L. Sarkar, ‘Note on the Worship of the Deity Bon Bibi in the Sunderbans’, Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, vol. 22, no. 2, (1956), pp. 211-12; Asim Roy, Islamic Syncretistic Traditions, pp. 46, 53, 222, 239. 32. Haji Muhammed, Nur Jamal, in Asim Roy, The Islamic Syncretistic Traditions, pp. 158, 162, 170-2. 33. Sayid Murtaza, Yoga-Kalandar, cited in Asim Roy, The Islamic Syncretistic Traditions, pp. 175-7. 34. Saiyid Sultan, Nabi Banksha, cited in Asim Roy, The Islamic Syncretistic Traditions, pp. 155, 163, 171. 35. Ali Raja, Jnana-sagara, cited in Asim Roy, The Islamic Syncretistic Traditions, pp. 185-6. 36. Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam, p. 276. 37. Bharatchandra, Annada Mangal in Bharatchandra Granthabli, ed. Bajendranath Bandyopadhyay and Sajani Kanta Das, 3rd edn.,

300 | Trade, Politics and Society Calcutta, 1369 B.S., p. 307. 38. Asim Roy, ‘The Social Factors in the Making of Bengali Islam’, South Asia, 3 (August 1973), p. 29. 39. Qazi Abdul Mannan, The Emergence and Development of Dobhashi Literature in Bengal up to 1855, Dacca 1966, p. 99, cited in Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam, pp. 277-8. 40. Saiyid Sultan, Nabi Banksha, vol. 1, p. 115, cited in Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam, p. 278. 41. Abdul Nabi, Vijay-Hamza, quoted in Muhammed Enamul Huq, Muslim Bangla Sahitya, 2nd edn., Dacca, 1965, pp. 214-15; emphasis added. 42. Ahmed Sharif, Saiyid Sultan: Tar Granthabali o tar Jug, Dhaka, 1972, p. 203. 43. D.C. Sen (tr. and ed.), Eastern Bengal Ballads, vol. 1, pt. 1, pp. 307-8, quoted in Eaton, The Rise of Islam, pp. 299-300. 44. D.C. Sen, The Folk Literature of Bengal, rpt., Delhi, 1985, pp. 99-102. 45. D.C. Sen, History of Bengali Language and Literature, Calcutta, 1954, p. 677. 46. Pyrard de Laval, The Voyages of …’, ed. and tr. Albert Gray, reprint, New York, n.d., vol. 2, p. 336. 47. Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam, p. 281. 48. Dusan Zbavitel, Bengali Folk Ballads from Mymensingh and the Problem of their Authenticity, Calcutta, 1963, p. 133, cited in Eaton, Rise of Islam, p. 281. 49. S. C. Hill, Bengal in 1756-1757, vol. 1, London, 1905, p. xxiii; Three Frenchmen in Bengal, London, 1905, p. 120. 50. Brijen K. Gupta, Sirajuddaullah and the East India Company, 1756-57, Leiden, 1962, p. 41. Some such hints, though rather very subtle, is to be found even in Chris Bayly, Indian Society and the Making of the British Empire, Cambridge, 1987. 51. Sushil Chaudhury, The Prelude to Empire: Plassey Revolution of 1757, New Delhi, 2000, pp. 64-5. 52. D.C. Sen, History of Bengali Language and Literature, pp. 288, 793. 53. Ibid., pp. 319, 793. 54. Karam Ali, Muzaffarnamah, in J.N. Sarkar (tr. and ed.), Bengal Nawabs, Calcutta, 1952, p. 49. 55. Ibid., p. 72. 56. Quoted in Jagadish Narayan Sarkar, ‘Mughal Cultural Heritage’ in History of Bangladesh, 1704-1971, vol. III: Social and Cultural History. 57. D.C. Sen, History of Bengal Language and Literature, pp, 368, 793, 796-8. 58. Ibid., p. 793. 59. Ibid., pp. 396-7.

Identity and Composite Culture | 301 60. Bharat Chandra, ‘Satyapirer Katha’, in Bharat Chandra Rachanabali, Calcutta, 1963. 61. S.R. Mitra, Types of Early Bengali Prose, pp. 135-8; Sahitya Parishad Patrika, Calcutta, B.S. 1308, pp. 8-10. 62. Edward C. Dimock, Jr., ‘Hinduism and Islam in Medieval Bengal’, in Rachel van M. Baumer (eds.), Aspects of Bengali History and Society, Honolulu, 1975, p. 2. 63. Ahmed Sharif, Madhyajuger Sahitye Samaj O Sanskritir Rup, Dhaka, 1977, p. 423. 64. Rafiuddin Ahmed, Understanding the Bengal Muslims, pp. 3-4. 65. Mihir-o-Sudhakar, Report on the Indian Newspaper and Periodicals, selected issues, 1880s and 1890s. 66. Wadud, ‘Abhibhashan’, in Naba Parjay 2, p. 35. 67. Asim Roy, Islamic Syncretistic Tradition, p. xii; chap. 2. 68. Saiyid Sultan, Shab-i Miraj, Muslim Bangla Sahitya (henceforth MBS, ed. M.E. Haq), p. 161. 69. Abdul Nabi, Vijay Hamza, Quoted in MBS, pp. 214-15. 70. Shah Abdul Hakim, Nur Nama, quoted in MBS, pp. 205-6.

chapter 15

Poetical Narratives and Historical Reality A Study of the Bengali Literature, Fifteenth to Eighteenth Century*

The main thrust of the paper is to have a fresh and critical look at few of the Bengali poetical narratives especially the Mangal Kavyas, Eastern Bengal Ballads and the Maharastra Purana, composed roughly between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries, and try to see how far they portray the historical reality of the subject they deal with. Generally speaking, historians and researchers find it hard to eschew the temptation to seek a realistic picture in these texts and read in them romantic visions of an authentic pre-Colonial India. Of course, this tendency has been questioned no doubt but unfortunately not with much conviction. So our main task here is to have a close look at some important parts of the texts mentioned earlier and find out how far they are realistic when cross-checked with other relevant sources which are regarded as authentic. As a historian of the Indian Ocean Trade, my main interest centres round the Mangal Kavyas as the heroes of the Kavyas were wealthy merchants who had accumulated wealth supposedly through sea-borne trade. We are told that they owned large fleets of trading vessels in which they carried a wide range of commodities for disposal in the overseas markets, bringing back with them a wide variety of merchandise. It is interesting *Paper presented at the Aligarh Historians Society Seminar, Indian History Congress, Bombay, 2012.

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to note that the lists of goods exported and imported are given in the texts as also the names of the ships (described as dingas) and places visited. Quite important information for any trade historian! The major genus of the Mangal Kavya tradition are Manasa Mangal, Chandi Mangal and Dharma Mangal but for our purpose we take up the first two as they are mainly concerned with the representatives of the merchant community. One has to note here that there are several versions of the texts of the Mangal Kavyas composed by different poets across three centuries of the Kavya tradition. The Mangal Kavyas is a group of Hindu religious texts, notably consisting of the narratives of indigenous deities of rural Bengal in the social milieu of the middle ages. This sort of kavya is not a mahakavya (epic); it is, in its entirety, the work of a single author, but to some extent the result of a process of evolution and consolidation, and that a large amount of existing material, in the shape of floating legends and earlier folk poems and sagas, is gathered up in its composition. In a sense it is ‘communal poetry’ – it is essentially ‘of the people, by the people and for the people’ and ‘communal recreation after individual creation’.2 Let us now examine the main portions of the Mangal Kavyas dealing with the maritime activities of the heroes in the kavyas. Of the Manasa Mangal kavyas, the most acclaimed is the Manasa Mangal by Vijay Gupta, composed in the fifteenth century. The principal storyline of the text here expresses the snake god Manasa’s desire to be accepted by Chand Saudagar, the hero, who represents the patriarch of the rich and powerful merchant community. Being a Shaivite [worshipper of Shiva], Chand Saudagar resolutely refuses to abide by Manasa’s wishes despite the trials, tribulations and tragedies the goddess Manasa showers upon the victim with the fury of a woman scorned. In the thick of the story, the poet dwells on Chand Saudagar’s exploits in the overseas trade. Almost similar, with slight variation, is the story in the Chandi-mangala of Mukundaram Chakraborty, written in the late sixteenth century. Here the Goddess Chandi wanted Dhanapati, the hero and also a wealthy merchant, to install her

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as a family deity into his household which the former refused obstinately. For this refusal, at the instance of Chandi, Dhanapati had to suffer a lot including the loss of his trading fleet and had to ultimately succumb to Chandi’s wishes to recover his losses. While narrating the stories, both Vijay Gupta and Mukundaram, dwelt at length on the trading voyages of their heroes, Chand Saudagar, and Dhanapati and his son Srimanta (Sripati in some versions) respectively. About the sea-voyages, mention is made mostly of Ceylon in both the said kavyas. Interestingly for a trade historian, both the poets cite the names of the vessels in the fleet of the merchants that sailed overseas. This was a convention, it seems, to give name to each and every vessel that took part in a trading voyage overseas as we find in Bengal in the seventeenth century as recorded in the Dutch shipping lists which might have been an earlier tradition in Bengal. It may be noted here that the poets of Manasa Mangal in West Bengal ascribe the number of Chand Saudagar’s trading vessels as seven while the Eastern Bengal poets put the number at fourteen. It seems that the tradition of having fourteen vessels is the oldest one. The hero of Mukundaram’s Chandi Mangal owned seven vessels. In Vijay Gupta’s Manasa Mangal the names of Chand Saudagar’s fourteen vessels were: Madhukar, Biju Siju, Guarekhi, Bharar Patra, Sankhachur, Shelpat, Udaytara, Tiyathuti, Dhabal, Kedar, Pankhiraj, Bhimaksha, Sankhatali and Ajela-Kajela.3 All these vessels were called dingas in Bengali, possibly meaning thereby sea-going vessels though the word is now used to indicate small fishing boats. Now let us see how the poets described the preparation of Chand Saudagar and Dhanapati, etc., merchants for sea-voyages. As a first step they called the master carpenter and asked him to construct dingas (boats) for the voyage which was done in a few months’ time. In Jagajiban’s Manasa Mangal, there is mention of shipbuilding industry in Gaur, once the capital of Bengal under Husain Shah. The poet states that Chand Saudagar calls his master carpenter Kusai and asks him to build fourteen dingas for his sea-voyage. Kusai goes to the forest with his many apprentices, fells trees for materials to build the boats with. They were soon

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hewed out into three or four lakh of planks which were afterwards joined together by means of iron nails. As the poet writes:4 Shal Piyal kate Khari Tetali Katlo nimber gach Gambhari Parli; Amra kath kate kataye Bokul Champa Khirni kati korilo nirmul; ... Chiria korilo phalli lakkha tin cahri; [Kusai fells tees like Shal, Piyal, Khari, Tamarind Then the Neem, Gambhari and Parli Besides, Mango and Bokul, Even Champa and Khiri, and all sorts of trees. ... Then these were hewed into three to four lakh planks.]

Now it would be worth to have a look at the onset of the sea voyage which is mainly purported to be going to Ceylon because in both Manasa Mangal and Chandi Mangal it is described under the head ‘Simhal Jatra’ (Voyage to Ceylon). Prathame tulilo dinga nam Madhukar, Sudhai subarne tar bashibar ghar; Aar dinga tulilek nam Durgabar, Tabe tole dingakhani nam Guarekhi; Dwiprahare pathe jar matha kath dekhi; Aar dinga tulilek nam Sankhachud Aashi gaj pani bhangi gange loi kul.; Tobe dingakhan tole nam Singhamukhi Surjer shaman rup kore jhikimiki; Aar dinga tulilek nam Chandrapani Tathe bhara dile dui kul hoi than; Aar dinga tulilek nam Chotomukhi Tate chalu bhara chahe hazar ek puti; Sama dhuna diya tobe gailo sat nai; Tarit gamane dinga sajiya chalai; Satkhana dinga bhashe Bhromorar jale Goje bandhi rakhe dinga lohar shikale; Tar piche chale dinga nam Chadrapat Jahar upare chand milaiyeche hat.5

306 | Trade, Politics and Society [The first boat is called Madhukara. Its living room is gold plated. Another boat is named Durgabar. Guarekhi is the name of the next boat. Its head is wooden as seen in the afternoon. Another boat Sankhachud which goes to the river after meeting eighty metre high water. The boat Simhamukhi shines like the sun. Chandrapani is another one – both the boats together fill the two coasts. The boat Chotomukhi is full of rice and puti (a kind of small fish?). The seven boats went together in great speed. They float in the water of Bhromara with the anchor secure in iron chains. The boat Chandrapat follows them at the back with the moon shining above.]

The names of the vessels in the fleet of Chand Saudagar or Dhanapati vary in various versions of the kavyas. We emphasize this to show that there was no consistency in the kavyas as they were composed at different times by different poets which means that most of the story came down as tradition through generations. However, it is mentioned that Dhanapati’s fleet going presumably to Simhala (Ceylon) consisted of seven vessels, each possibly had a specific function to perform. For instance, Madhukara was the vanguard ship carrying the leader of the expedition while Chandrapana transported goods whereas Chotomukhi transported provisions.6 However, the poets of the Mangal Kavyas were careful to mention that the hero whether Chand Saudagar or Dhanapati took basketful of gold as also different kinds of cloth in plenty for procuring return cargoes. As the poet writes:7 Abilambe Saudagar ailo niketan, Bhandar gharete giya dilo darasan. Jouer mohar tar chab ghuchaiya, Array bhariya dhon nilek mapiya. Nana bostra Saudagr nilo rashi rashi, Bhromara kule ailo hoiya abhilashi. [Immediately the merchant came home and went to the storeroom. After breaking the seal of the container he filled his bag with gold using a basket. He also took different kinds of cloth in plenty and arrived at the bank of the River Bhromara.]

The poet then gives a detailed account of the route to the sea through the river Bhagirathi. According to Bipradas’ Manasa

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Mangal Chand Saudagar passed through Hughli, Bhatpara, Kankinara, Bhadreswar, Ichapur, Bankibazar, Khardah, Rishra, Sukhchar, Konnagar, Kamarhati, Ariadaha, Chitpur, then by passing Kalikata to Kalighat, Kumarhati, Baruipur and finally at the river mouth meeting the sea. Thereafter the poet describes the perils faced by the Saudagar at the open sea. It seems that the main problem was sighting of the shore and sailing for miles in the open sea. To quote:8 Setubandha Saudagar paschat karia, Chalilen Dhanapati bahiya bahiya. Alanghya sagar she dakshine nahi sthal, Pathike jingyashe koto dur he Simhala. Lokomukhe shuni Sadhu Simhala kahini, Baha Baha baliya daken farmani. Ratridin chale Sadhu tilek na rahe, Upanita Saudagar hoilo Kalidahe. [The Saudagar left the bridge way behind and sailed into the boundless sea, with no land in sight on the right, asking the passers by (?) how far would be Simhala. From them he heard the tales of Simhala’s wealth and glory, and so tarried not but commanded the crew to row on, and sailed on day and night without any break till he reached the deep blue sea.]

So far so good. But the big question here is how far the above can be reconciled with historical reality. So far as the route from the Saudagar’s home to the sea is concerned, there is little doubt that it was quite realistic and there is no room for any imaginative portrayal. But what about the main storyline that the Saudagar really went to Ceylon for trading with his choudda dinga (fourteen vessels) or saptadinga (seven vessels). It has been suggested recently by Aniruddha Ray that ‘till the end of the fifteenth century the number of vessels was fourteen but later it was reduced to seven because ‘the number fourteen being regarded as perhaps much too large for a merchant’. It is further said that either this ‘was a concession to realism’ or ‘an indication of the gradual decline of the mercantile activities of the Bengali merchants’. The whole argument seems to be too simplistic – a complete guesswork. Because no indication is given here about the state of

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Bengali overseas trade in the period prior to end of the fifteenth century. Secondly if it were a concession to realism, then it boils down to the fact that the whole thing is imaginative and hardly can be taken as realistic. Then again Ray maintains that Vijay Gupta’s description of Chand Saudagar’s trading trip to the city of Patan is perhaps Patan in Gujarat but then he goes on to say that it was coastal trade the poet was speaking of and not trade with the kingdoms of South East Asia. How does South-East Asia come in when the reference was to Gujarat specifically? As such the whole contention of the said author seems to have been totally confused.9 Again while talking about the dingas used by Dhanapati in his supposedly trading tour to Ceylon, Ray states that the size of the dingas was 100 yards in length and 20 yards in breadth which, as he points out, was ‘smaller than was usual in the eighteenth century’. But no mention has been made of the size of the boats/ ships in the eighteenth century when generally the size of a ship is measured in tonnage and not, in length and breadth.10 If that is so, then how could it be said that the dingas of Mukundaram’s description was smaller than those used by traders in the eighteenth century? Again the problem is that Ray confused ‘Bengali merchants’ with ‘merchants of Bengal’, trading in Bengal. The Bengal merchants referred to in contemporary literature were mostly merchants trading in Bengal and, not necessarily ‘Bengali merchants’ and they were mostly non-Bengali Indian/Asian merchants trading in the country. Unfortunately confusions and contradictions abound in Ray’s essay. As for example, Ray says at one place that the poets were ‘speaking of coastal trade’ but later he asserts that ‘the merchants of Mangal Kavyas had gone to Sri Lanka, Orissa, and possibly Gujarat’. Again the author mentions earlier in the essay that in exchange for their commodities the merchants brought back gold but later on towards the end he states categorically that they brought in exchange of their goods precious stones, pearls, etc., but ‘were not bringing back bullion’.11 Any way let us now have a close look at the maritime scenario of Bengal in the period concerned so that we know for

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certain how far the portrayal of Bengal’s maritime trade in the Mangal Kavyas conform to historical reality, especially in the backdrop of the recurrent theme in the kavyas of the merchants’ trading voyages overseas that reflects a collective memory of a well entrenched tradition. There is hardly any doubt that in the fifteenth-sixteenth centuries, Bengal commanded an impressive volume of overseas trade from its two important ports, Satgaon and Chittagong. A considerable amount of different commodities like textile and foodstuff was exported from Bengal to different places like Ceylon, South-East Asia, Malabar, Maldives as also to the Persian Gulf and Red Sea regions. It is apparent from the account of the Portuguese traveller Duarte Barbosa and the Venetian Ludovico di Varthema that there were two principal sea routes in those days – one, in the south-eastern direction covering the South-Eastern Asian countries and the other to south-western direction passing through the Coromandel, Ceylon, and Malabar coast, and reaching Arabia and Abyssinia in the Persian Gulf and the Red Sea.12 At the end of the fifteenth century, every year four or five ships sailed from Bengal to Malacca or Sumatra with provisions and textiles.13 Bengal ships also traded with Red Sea ports of Aden and Jeddah.14 Barbosa found in the beginning of the sixteenth century, many merchants in the ‘port of Bengala’ who owned ships and traded to Malabar, Cambay, Pegu, Tenasserim, Sumatra, Ceylon and Malacca.15 Again, the Chinese traveller, Mahuan, who visited Bengal in the fifteenth century wrote that ‘the rich build ships in which they [Bengal merchants] carry on commerce with foreign nations; many are engaged in trade’.16 Towards the end of the sixteenth century, the English traveller, Ralph Fitch, stated that cotton cloth and rice of Sonargaon were exported to India, Ceylon, Pegu, Malacca, Sumatra and other countries.17 And when Barbosa visited Bengal in the early sixteenth century, he found that Muslims overwhelmingly populated the coastal areas and that they were largely involved in overseas trade. He stated categorically that attracted by the wealth of the ‘city of Bengala’, a large number of Arab, Persian, Abyssinian and Indian merchants had arrived there. They possessed ‘big ships’ with which they

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were carrying on trade with different parts of the world namely, ‘Charamandel, Malacca, Camatra [Sumatra], Peegu, Cambaya, and Ceilam [Ceylon]’.18 Similarly Ludovico Varthema who came to Bengal in the early sixteenth century, refers to the ‘richest merchants’ of the city of ‘Banghella’ together with its cotton and silk stuffs which used to go ‘through all Turkey, through Syria, through Persia, through Arabia Felix, through Ethiopia, and through all India’.19 As a matter of fact, during the period under review, Bengal had several ports and towns which greatly facilitated her sea-borne trade. Satgaon which replaced ancient Tamralipta continued to enjoy a unique position down to the mid-sixteenth century.20 Even in 1567, Caesar Federici, the Venetian merchant, found Satgaon ‘a reasonable faire citi’ where ‘every year they take thirty or five and thirty ships, great and small, with rice, cloth of Bombast and diverse sorts, Lacca, great abundance of sugar, Mirabolans dried and preserved, Long Pepper, Oyle of Lerzeline and many other sorts of merchandise’.21 Early in the seventeenth century, Pyrard de Laval found Bengal merchants in the Islands of Maldives and named one Muhammad ‘Coca’ as ‘an honourable, rich and discreet merchant’ of Bengal.22 At the time of the Mughal attack on Hughli in 1632, as Sebastian Manrique noted, there were at least 12 or 13 local merchants who operated with large capital.23 In this context it is important to note that the first attempt of the Dutch Company to open up trade with Bengal after the fall of the Portuguese was frustrated by the opposition of the Muslim merchants of Bengal.24 When Thomas Bowrey, the English traveller visited Bengal in the seventies of the seventeenth century, the nawab and the merchants of Hughli, Balasore and Pipli had above ‘20 saile of ships of considerable burthen that annually traded to sea’.25 So, after all this it can hardly be denied that Bengal had a flourishing overseas trade throughout the fifteenth to the seventeenth century. But the big question is whether this trade was conducted by Bengalis which would have given credence to the poetic imagination in the Mangal Kavyas which we have analysed earlier in detail. It has been clearly stated by Barbosa which

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we cited earlier that the merchants engaged in overseas trade of Bengal were Muslims, mostly Arabs, Persians, Abyssinians, etc. It is also apparent from the evidence put forward so far that most of Bengal’s overseas trade was conducted by Persians, Turks, Arabs, merchants from Chaul, Dahbol, etc. Again, in Barbosa’s account too the inhabitants of Gaur and Chittagong were said to have included numerous merchants of foreign origin including Arabs and Abyssinians. Sanjay Subrahmanyam mentions that Persian shipping was particularly visible on the westerly routes from Bengal. This covered the routes to Cambay, the ports on the Konkan and the Malabar coasts, the Maldives and the Red Sea.26 It has been asserted by Aniruddha Ray that ‘Bengali merchants did not resume their mercantile activities till the middle of the seventeenth century’. But was that really so? Let’s have a close look at the scenario of trade in Bengal in the second half of the seventeenth century. This will be clear from the shipping lists of the Dutch Company records. The lists contain the names of the ships with that of the owners, the nakhodas and cargoes exported and imported as also the places the ships were bound to or were coming from. The Dutch factors claimed that they collected the information from the customs houses of the ports of Bengal – Hughli and Balasore. According to the lists, most of the ships that left the ports belonged to two Gujarati merchants namely, Khemchand Shah and Chintaman Shah, and their destinations being Tenasserim, Achin, Cochin China, Galle (Ceylon), Jaffnapatnam, and the Maldives.27 Another merchant who was marginally involved in overseas trade at the time was Mathuradas who was certainly not a Bengali. Moreover, a study of the list of Bengal ships that were engaged in overseas trade in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century reveals that most of the ships belonged to the members of the ruling class which was again non-Bengali Muslims. No where is there any indication that native Bengalis, whether Hindus or Muslims, were engaged in sea-borne trade.28 In this context it is well to remember what Mukundaram himself wrote, perhaps rather unwittingly:29 Saptagramer banik kothao na jai, Ghar baishya sukhomoksha nana dhon pai.

312 | Trade, Politics and Society [The merchants of Saptagram do not go anywhere; They get wealth sitting happily at home.]

The above implies that the merchants of Satgaon were not engaged in overseas trade and that they earned their fortune by supplying export commodities to the foreign traders. So after considering all the above, it is difficult to accept the portrayal of the maritime scenario as depicted in the Mangal Kavyas as realistic. As such, the contentions of some historians like Radha Kumud Mukherjee, M.R. Tarafdar or Aniruddha Ray that the Mangal Kavyas are not far from historical reality in their descriptions of the glorious trading expeditions of their heroes – Chand Saudagar and Dhanapati or his son Srimanta (Sripati) – are not at all tenable. However, in all fairness it should be mentioned that the said historians are quite cautious even when subscribing largely to the poetic imagination of the kavya composers. For instance, Mukherjee concedes that there is ‘a nucleus of truth’ in the kavya stories, possibly thus hinting that he is not ready to accept the kavya version in its totality.30 Tarafdar writes that ‘even if we make sufficient allowance for the poetic fancy and hyperbolic display of imagination exercised by these poets, it seems almost certain that Bengal had established a network of commercial ties with the different parts of the world’.31 Ray’s position is rather ambivalent. He states almost in the same breath that on the one hand, the ‘Bengali concept of the sea’ as given by the Mangal Kavya poets ‘suggests that the authors were not in touch with the mercantile world, particularly with merchants who sailed to distant places’, and on the other that ‘the trading [of the merchants] was only to Ceylon and Orissa, and perhaps to more distant Gujarat’.32 Again, while talking about the commodities exported and imported, he mentions that the merchants ‘took with them mainly spices, fruits and in some cases, sheep and horses as well as textiles’ and in exchange ‘they brought back precious stones . . . horses, and various kinds of spices’.33 The point is, even leaving apart the spices which were being both exported and imported, one does not understand why horses too are both exported and imported.

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However, it should be noted that after a careful study of the Mangal Kavyas, it becomes quite clear that the poets were not in the least informed about the commodities exchanged in the course of overseas trade. That is very much reflected in the list of goods which the Saudagars were expecting to bring back from abroad in lieu of the goods they were carrying. So the poets write in a section under the head Dhanapati’r Binimoy Drabya Sangraha [Dhanapati collecting goods for exchange against commodities from overseas]: ‘Dhanapati will bring horses in lieu of deer, neela (emerald) for glass, mukuta (pearl) for shukta (shell), heera (diamond) for harital (haritaki? – a kind of bitter fruit used for ayurvedic medicine), horses for sheep’, etc.34 All this is really absurd proposition. Perhaps the poets used the words to rhyme the verses without caring for the implications of what they were writing about. See for example: Kuranga badale Turanga pabo Narikel badale Shankha Biranga badlae Labanga pabo Shunther badale Tanka. Plabanga badale Matanga pabo Paira badale Shua Gachphal badale Jaiphal pabo Baharar badale Gua. Patshan badale Dhabal Chamar pabo Kacher badale Neela. Laban badale Shaindhab pabo Joanir badale Jeera Kanda badale Makunda pabo Harital badale Heera. Chayer badale Chandan pabo Dhutir badale Gara Shukta badale Mukuta pabo Bherar badale Ghora.

The same is true about their knowledge of the shipbuilding at the time. As we have seen earlier, Dhanapati’s master carpenter Kusai is said to have used all sorts of wood available in the forest for constructing the ship without knowing that only some

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special varieties of wood can be used for shipbuilding and not every type. Thus it is reasonable to conclude that the Mangal Kavyas cannot be ‘mined in a straightforward fashion for the sociological and historical facts they communicate. They would rather be treated as ‘imaginative works of literature, not . . . reports or documents’.35 However, it is not only that we get too much of poetic imagination in depicting the historical reality in the Mangal Kavyas, there are few other such cases too. As for instance, Gangaram’s Maharastra Purana36 which gives a detailed account of the Maratha incursions in Bengal in the forties of the eighteenth century. Historians generally depended on the work quite a bit especially while talking about the effects of these invasions on the people and the economy.37 No doubt Gangaram was a contemporary and an eyewitness of the Maratha inroads. He writes the following to emphasize the impact of the invasion:38 Bargir tarashe keou bahir na haye Chaturdike Bargir dare rashad na milaye. Chaoul kalai matar mushuri, Tel ghee atta chini laban ek sher kari. Taka sher hoilo anaj kinte nahi pai. [Nobody comes out of the house, no foodstuff is available for fear of the Marathas. Rice, different pulses like kalai, matar, musur as also oil, ghee, wheat flour, sugar, salt everything is priced at one rupee per seer. None can buy vegetables as they are also one rupee a seer.]

As we see, Gangaram wrote that ‘rice, pulses, dals of all sorts, oil ghee, flour, sugar, salt and even vegetables were sold at one rupee per seer. All of them . . . from the lowest to the highest, including the nawab himself, had to subsist on boiled roots of banana trees.’ It is simply absurd that all the articles of consumption right from rice, oil, ghee, sugar down to salt and vegetables were all sold at one rupee per seer. Equally unbelievable is the assertion that even the nawab subsisted on roots of banana trees. Even allowing for the poetic effusion, the above can hardly be taken as evidence of the impact of the Maratha invasion. The

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Maratha invasion began in 1742 and Gangaram wrote his poem in 1744 while the invasions continued until 1751. It might have been that in the first shock of the Maratha inroads, Gangaram was shaken so much that he exaggerated the matter beyond proportion. There is no doubt that the Maratha incursions resulted in a temporary dislocation in the economy of some areas of Bengal. But the impact of the invasion has been greatly exaggerated. As we have shown elsewhere, the Marathas caused destruction generally along the line of their march, leaving the remaining part of the country more or less unaffected. Even in the affected areas, as Richard Becher, a Company official present in Bengal during the period, pointed out, the Marathas were obliged to return at the approach of the rainy season, and the inhabitants were again safe till the next January. So they immediately began to work and arranged to raise and sell their crops before the next year’s impending invasion.39 So the impact of the Maratha invasions was not as disastrous as Gangaram would have us believe. However, it should be noted that not all the literature written in the period are devoid of any historical reality depicting the contemporary events. This will be applicable to the important work written between the sixteenth and the nineteenth century namely, the Eastern Bengal Ballads (Purba Banga Gitika) and its depiction of the Harmad and Magh raids in Bengal. These ballads are a collection of narrative poems which were to be sung in the rural regions of different districts of eastern Bengal. Possessing great literary and historical significance, they also throw much light on the social and cultural history of that part of Bengal. These ballads were composed straight from the unsophisticated people’s heart. It was in these ballads that ‘the impact of the Portuguese on local coastal society finds its most resonant expression’. At first sight this might appear somewhat incongruous in view of the recent historical researches emphasizing the marginality of the Portuguese presence in Bengal.40 However, the fragility of the Portuguese presence notwithstanding, the small time traders and seafarers were not spared the violence and savagery of the Portuguese. The multiple dimensions of the encounter are depicted graphically in the ballads. The earli-

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est reference to the words harmad (from the Portuguese word aramda and phiringi occur in Mukundaram where he spoke of ‘the intimidating presence of the harmads’. In his description of Dhanapati Saudagar’s sea-voyage, there is a couplet which bears testimony to the general panic created by the depredations of these marauders: Phiringi deshkhan bahi karnadhar Ratridin bahi jai harmader dare. [The captain left the country of the Phiringis And sailed day and night for fear of the harmads]

The Portuguese pirates joined hands with the Burmese robbers called Maghs.41 Operating closely with the Maghs, the Portuguese plied the seas with reckless audacity and trafficked in slaves with impunity. Sebastian Manrique referred in this connection to the purchase of slaves from the Maghs at Pipli who were then taken to the ships for sale. The ballads are even more vivid in their description of the Harmad-Magh menace and the trail of destruction, slavery and mutilation left behind by their raids. The ballad of Nuranneha and the Grave is especially evocative as it conjures up the image of the brutality of the harmads. The trials and tribulations of the star-crossed lovers, Nur and Malek, at the hands of the Portuguese reveal all too clearly the impression that the Portuguese presence posed an ever present danger to Bengal’s coastal society. The ballad of Nasr Malum is another instance that highlights the trauma of the Portuguese presence as it was recorded and indeed preserved in local memory. This memory was an enduring one even if did not correctly represent the fact of Bengali shipping and trade persisting in the sixteenth century. Merchant shipping came to apprehend the Portuguese presence. They travelled in large groups, the sloops in a body, a good number of them together, all compact when they had to travel a long distance by sea. The point to be stressed at the end is to be cautious in trying to read too much of historical reality in literature and to testify the reliability of information given in literary texts with empirical evidence from other contemporary sources.

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NOTES 1. See for example, Radha Kumund Mukherjee, Asutosh Bhattacharyya, Abdul Karim, M.R. Tarafdar, Aniruddha Ray et al. 2. Quoted in Asutosh Bhattacharyya, Bangla Mangal Kavyer Itihas (The History of Bengali Literature) Calcutta, 1966, p. 285. 3. Vijay Gupta, Manasa Mangal, ed. Asutosh Bhattacharyya, Calcutta, 1966, p. 133. 4. Quoted in Radha Kumud Mukherjee, Indian Shipping, p. 223, fn. 1. 5. Vijay Gupta, Manasa Mangal, quoted in R.K. Mukherjee, Indian Shipping, pp. 159-60, fn. 1. 6. Laksmi Subramaniam, Medieval Seafarers, Roli Books, New Delhi, 1999, pp. 32-3. 7. Sukuma Sen (ed.), Kavikankan Mukundaram, Chandi Mangal, Sahitya Academy, New Delhi, 1975, p. 231. 8. Bijan Behari Bhattacharya (ed.), Chandi Mangal: Dhanapati Upakhyan, Calcutta, 1966, pp. 229-30. 9. Aniruddha Ray, ‘Middle Bengali Literature: A Source for the Study of Bengal in the Age of Akbar’, in Irfan Habib (ed.), Akbar and His Age, Oxford University Press, New Delhi, pp. 228-9. 10. S. Chaudhury, Trade and Commercial Organization, p. 93. 11. Aniruddha Ray, ‘Middle Bengali Literature’, pp. 228, 242. 12. Duarte Barbosa, The Book of Duarte Barbosa, Eng. tr. M.L. Dames, Hakluyt Society, London, 1911, vol. II, 135-45; Ludovico di Varthema, The Travels of Ludovico di Varthema, Eng. tr. Jones Winter Jones, ed. G.P. Badger, London, 1863, p. 212, quoted in M.R. Tarafdar, Husain Shahi Bengal, Dacca, 1965, p. 140. 13. M.A.P. Meilink Roelofz, Asian Trade and European Influence in the Indonesian Archipelago between 1500 to about 1630, The Hague, 1962, p. 3. 14. H.L. Chablani, The Economic Condition of India during the Sixteenth Century, Delhi, 1929, p. 3. 15. Duarte Barbosa, The Book of Duarte Barbosa, vol. 2, p. 145; S. Chaudhury, Trade and Commercial Organization, Calcutta, 1975, p. 86. 16. ‘The Account of Mahuan’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 1895, p. 530, quoted in M.R. Tarafdar, Husain Shahi Bengal, p. 141. 17. Ralph Fitch, Purchas His Pilgrims, X, p. 185, quoted in Tarafdar, p. 14. 18. Duarte Barbosa, The Book of Duarte Barbosa, vol. II, pp. 135-45. 19. Varhthema, The Travels of Ludovico di Varthema, p. 212. 20. For Satgaon, see, S. Chaudhury, ‘The Rise and Decline of Hughli’, Bengal Past and Present, vol. 86, no. 161, January-June 1967, pp. 3367.

318 | Trade, Politics and Society 21. Caesar de Federici, Extracts of his . . . eighteen years Indian Observations, 1863-81, Purchas and His Pilgrims, X, Glasgow, 1905, p. 114. 22. Pyrard de Laval, Francois, The Voyages of . . . (tr. and ed., Gray, London, 1887, vol. 1, pp. 236, 259, 332-3. 23. Sebastian Manrique, Travels, 1629-43, tr. C.E. Luard, assisted by Hosten, Hakluyt Society, London, 1927, vol. 2, p. 397. 24. Tapan Raychaudhuri, Jan Company in Choromandel, The Hague, 1962, p. 76. 25. Thomas Bowrey, A Geographical Account of the Countries Round the Bay of Bengal, 1669-70, pp. 168, 179-80. 26. Laksmi Subramaniam, Medieval Seafarers, New Delhi, 1999, pp. 33-4. 27. Aniruddha Ray, ‘Middle Bengali Literature: A Study for the Study of Bengal in the Age of Akbar’, in Irfan Habib (ed.), Akbar and His Age, Oxford University Press, 1997, p. 224. 28. S. Chaudhury, Trade and Commercial Organization, pp. 86-90. 29. Mukundaram, Chandi Mangal, ed. Sukumar Sen, Sahitya Academi, New Delhi, 1975, p. 231. 30. R.K. Mukherjee, Indian Shipping, p. 158. 31. M.R. Tarafdar, Husain Shahi Bengal, p. 141. 32. Aniruddha Ray, ‘Middle Bengali Literature’, in Akbar and His Age, p. 230. 33. Ibid., p. 242. 34. Mukundaram Chakraborty, Kavikankan Chandi, Basumati edn., ed. Bijit Kumar Datta, Kalikata, B.S. 1370. 35. David L. Curley, Poetry and History: Bengali Mangal Kavya and Social Changes in Pre-Colonial Bengal, Chronicle Books, 2008. Unfortunately Curley did not take up the overseas trading activities of the Mangal Kavya merchants for scrutiny with special reference to the empirical evidence available on the sea-borne trade of the Bengal merchants in the relevant period. 36. Gangaram, Maharastra Purana, ed, Jangeswar Choudhury, Nabadwip Puratatwa Parishad, Nabadwip, West Bengal, B.S. 2002; also Edward C. Dimock and P.C. Gupta (eds.), Maharastra Purana, Chicago. 37. For example, especially, K.K. Datta, Alivardi and His Times, Calcutta, 2nd edn. 1963; Studies in the History of Bengal Suba, 1740-1760, Calcutta, 1936; K.N. Chaudhuri, The Trading World of Asia and the English East India Company, Cambridge, 1978; P.J. Marshall, Bengal: the British Bridgehead, Cambridge, 1987. 38. Gangaram, Maharastra Purana, lines, 234-42. 39. S. Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline: Bengal in the Eighteenth Century, New Delhi, 1985, p. 300. 40. Sanjay Subrahmaniyam, Improvising Empire: Portuguese Trade and Settlement in the Bay of Bengal, 1500 to 1700, Princeton Hall, 2002. 41. D.C. Sen (ed.), Eastern Bengal Ballads, vol. 4, pt. 1, University of Calcutta, 1932.

chapter 16

The Calcutta High Court A Historical Perspective*

The Calcutta High Court is the oldest High Court in India. It was established as the ‘High Court of Judicature at Fort William’ on 1 July 1862 under the High Courts Act, 1861. It has now jurisdiction over the state of West Bengal and the Union territories of the Andaman and Nicobar islands. The High Court building, designed by the then government architect, Walter Granville, is an exact replica of the thirteenth-century StadtHaus (Cloth House/Hall) in Ypres, Belgium. It is recorded that when the original Stadt-Haus burnt down during the First World War, a blue print of Granville’s Calcutta High Court had to be consulted before rebuilding it. Throughout the last one and a half century of its existence, the High Court at Calcutta has earned remarkable dignity and prestige which it maintained zealously. It has built up a ‘great tradition of deep learning, sturdy judicial independence, strict impartiality and sound judgment’. Regarded as one of the premier High Courts in India, the Calcutta High Court which is ‘typically a British creation’ has glorious history which can be traced back to early eighteenth century to which we shall revert to later. For the present, let us have a quick look at the traditional judiciary in India, especially before the advent of the British in the country.

*Published in Sesquicentenary Celebration of the High Court of Calcutta, 1862-2012, Calcutta, 2012, pp. 91-104.

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TRADITIONAL JUDICIARY The concept of dharma or law in ancient India was inspired by the Vedas which contained rules of conduct and rites, and compiled in Dharmashastras, were practised in a number of branches of the Vedic schools. Their principal contents address the duties of people at various stages of life, the rights and duties of the kings, and juridical matters. The concept of dharma is the basis of Hindu Law. The earliest document throwing light on the theory of jurisprudence, which forms part of practical governance, is the Arthashastra of Kautilya dating back to c. 300 bc. The third chapter deals with vyavahara, i.e. transactions between two or more parties or vivada or disputation. It not only lays down the rights and duties of the kings but also those of the citizens. Any violation of the rules was met with punishment of equal weight. Not only the protection of fellow citizens and their properties were regarded as a duty, but also that of nature. Felling of trees or plucking of flowers/plants/herbs was punishable except under special circumstances. During the first seven centuries of Christian era, there evolved a number of Dharmashastras which dealt extensively with Manu, Yajnavalkya, Narada and Parashara Smriti, etc. In medieval India, the religious leaders endeavoured to transform Islam into a religion of law, but as custodian of justice, the rulers made the Sharia, a court subservient to their sovereign power. Theoretically the rulers had to be obedient to the Sharia and history speaks about certain cases where the sovereigns unhesitatingly submitted to the qazi’s decision. The rulers sat in a Court known as mazalim (complaints). According to Ibn Battuta, Muhammad bin Tughlaq heard complaints each Monday and Thursday. From thirteenth century onwards, an officer known as amir-i-dad presided over the secular Court in the Sultan’s absence. He was also responsible for implementing qazis’ decisions and for drawing their attention to the cases which constituted miscarriage of justice. The muftis were the experts on Sharia law and gave fatwas (formal legal rulings) on disputes referred to them by members

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of the public or qazis. The Chief Judge of the Sultanate was known as the mamalik, also known as the qazi-ul-quzat. During the Mughal period the secular judge was known as mir-adil. He acted as a judge on the emperor’s behalf. He was required to make impartial and personal inquiries. He was also responsible for implementing qazi’s decisions. Emperor Akbar also appointed two officers, called tui-begis, to supervise the adherence to the law and fixed a nominal amount as their fee. The system was gradually changed after the British became the de facto ruler of the country. MAYORS’ COURT With the establishment of the English East India Company’s factories (kuthees) in different parts of the country and their subsequent expansion necessitated that the British Crown grant the Company certain legislative and judicial authority to be exercised in its east Indian possessions. But it was clear that the said authority was solely to be exercised over the English servants of the Company and the Indians settled within the Company factories. The first charter to the Company was granted by Queen Elizabeth I which gave it the power and authority to make, ordain and constitute such and so many reasonable laws ‘. . . as might be necessary for the good government of the Company’. Subsequently these powers were continued by successive Charters from James I, Charles II and William III. Charles II’s Charter of 1661 gave the authorities of the several Company settlements ‘to judge all persons’ living within their possessions, both in matters civil and criminal, ‘according to the law of the kingdom’. Later on, Charles II granted the Company another Charter which provided that a Court of Judicature should be established at such places as the Company thought fit to ‘decide causes according to equity and good conscience or by such means as the Judges should think best’. It is to be noted here that the whole purpose was for the introduction of law courts and a system of dispensing justice based on the English pattern.

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It was in 1726 that on a petition of the Company that King George I granted it the permission to establish Mayors’ Court in the three Presidencies – Fort St. George (Madras), Bombay and Fort William (Calcutta). These Courts which derived their power direct from the British Crown were established in 1728. Thus it appears that before the establishment of the Mayor’s Court in Fort William, the only courts were those operated by representatives of the Mughals or those established by the Company in its capacity as a zamindar under the Mughals. There was no Court of any kind deriving authority or jurisdiction from the British Crown. Again, following the grant of the dewani to the Company by the Mughal Emperor Shah Alam II in 1765, the Company established sadar dewani and sadar nizamat adalat for administration of civil and criminal cases. As a result, along with the Mayor’s Court, a set of Company Courts continued to operate independently and in tandem. SUPREME COURT IN MAKING But the functioning of all these Courts was far from satisfactory as they became mostly instruments of oppression. It was the first Governor-General Warren Hastings who suggested a plan to consolidate and improve the administration of justice in accordance with ‘the manners and the understandings of the people and the exigencies of the country, adhering closely to their ancient usages and institutions’. As such in pursuance of the Regulating Act of 1773, the Mayor’s Court was abolished and it was replaced by the Supreme Court of Judicature in 1774. But this did not solve the problem. On the contrary, there arose more serious problems because of the dichotomy – two centres of power, the Supreme Court and the Governor-General-inCouncil, the boundaries between which were highly undefined: the one deriving authority from the Crown and the other from the Company. As the conflict between the two went on for as long as seven years, the British Parliament had to intervene and pass the Act of Settlement, 1781. This Act not only limited the jurisdiction of the Supreme Court but defined such limits, restricting

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it in effect to the town of Calcutta. Matters touching the revenue of the government were excluded. It conferred immunity to the Governor-General-in-Council. It also recognized the Provincial Courts established by the Company functioning independently of the Supreme Court. Law administered and the procedure adopted by the two sets of Courts continued to be as before. Although Macaulay’s famous description of the terror created in Bengal by the Supreme Court is not quite correct, yet ‘it cannot be denied that the Court created much disturbance and discontent by exercising its power too rigidly and too pedantically’. Even the Court of Directors of the Company in London wrote in a letter of 19 November 1777 to Lord Weymouth, the Secretary of State, that another consequence to be feared from the exercise of this jurisdiction [of Supreme Court] is the Alienation of the Minds of the Natives who cannot without great concern see a body of Laws introduced which clash with their constitutional peculiarities and with their religious sentiments and prejudices.

The Supreme Court at Calcutta continued for a period of eighty years after the promulgation of the Act of 1781. The dual system, no doubt, could establish some amount of order but what was needed badly was a uniform process of judicial administration. That was achieved only after the historic events of 1857 and consequent abolition of the Company administration with transfer of government from the Company to the British Crown in 1858.

Establishment of the High Court Following the transfer of government to the Queen, an Act for the establishment of High Courts was promulgated in 1861. It provided for the establishment of a High Court in Fort William under a Royal Charter and abolition of the Supreme Court, and the sadar dewani and sadar nizamat adalats. It was also provided that the High Court will be vested with all the powers and jurisdiction exercised so long by the sadar courts and the Supreme Court as well. Thus this led to the abolition of the dual system,

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and amalgamation of the judicial process into one. Such a Court was established under the Royal Charter of 1861, also known as Letters Patent of 1861. A revised Charter known as Letters Patent of 1865 was issued later. With the abolition of the Supreme Court, its entire jurisdiction was transferred to the original side of the High Court. The Act and the Charter further provided that the High Court will assume appellate jurisdiction over all Civil and Criminal Courts in the Presidency so long exercised by the sadar courts. Moreover, with the amalgamation of the dual system, the Act and the Letters Patent invested the High Court with Civil, Criminal, Admiralty, Testamentary, Intestate and Matrimonial jurisdiction, both original and appellate, in relation to the administration of justice throughout the Presidency. It is significant to note that the new scheme of unification was a marked achievement bringing in far-reaching benefits to the public. All Courts were left free from government control. Deriving power from the Crown, they were left under the control of the High Court which still retained independent status of its predecessor, the Supreme Court. Thus by such unification of judicial process and by subsequent process of gradual codification of laws, much of uniformity and certainty was brought about in the field of administration of justice. It is also significant that at a time when there was no constitutional guarantee of the right of the Indian citizens, it was the High Court which played the role of protector of such rights. Its independence and fairness inspired the confidence of the people and helped establish a sound social order. AFTER INDEPENDENCE After India attained Independence in 1947, the Constitution of India came into being on 26 January 1950. The framers of the Indian Constitution were well aware of the important and valuable role played by the High Court. Its name was changed from ‘The High Court of Judicature at Fort William in Bengal’ to the ‘High Court at Calcutta’. It is significant to note that the Constitution avowed total independence of the judiciary and the separation of judiciary from the executive. Thus the High Court

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was put at the head and in control of the entire judicial administration in the State. Moreover, the jurisdiction and powers of the High Court have now been considerably enlarged. The exclusion of jurisdiction in revenue matters which resulted in denial of justice to the public and the individual seeking protection against improper or excessive charges or taxes wrongly imposed by an official or a government department was lifted. And significantly enough, Fundamental Rights of the citizens having been given constitutional guarantee, the constitution made the High Court the custodian of such rights. There is little doubt that the ideal of the High Court has always been to administer justice without fear or favour, and it is hoped that it shall remain so in future. It seems that the judicial system itself is passing through some crisis and there is growing concern about its efficacy. Solutions have to be found for huge accumulation of backlogs. There is urgent need for ensuring speedy, inexpensive and fair justice for all. Hopefully the government will come forward with a helping hand to the Court for speedy solution of the problems faced by the High Court. It would be of interest to note that Sir Barnes Peacock was the first Chief Justice of the High Court. He assumed the charge when the Court was founded on 1 July 1862. The first Indian to be appointed a Puisne Judge of the High Court was Rama Prasad Roy, son of Raja Rammohun Roy but unfortunately he died before the appointment letter reached him. In his place Sumboo Nath Pundit was appointed the first Indian Judge. Sir Arthur Trevor Harries who was the Chief Justice from 1946 continued to be so till his retirement in 1952. Romesh Chunder Mitter was the first Indian officiating Chief Justice and Phani Bhushan Chakravartti was the first Indian permanent Chief Justice of the Court. The longest serving Chief Justice was Shankar Prasad Mitra.

Some Snippets on the High Court and Its Judges Sir Barnes Peacock (1862-70), the first Chief Justice of the Calcutta High Court, was an extraordinary person, known for his sense of duty and fair justice to all, irrespective of colour and

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race. A strict disciplinarian, he used to sit in Court exactly at 11 a.m. and even after 4.30 p.m. would often sit up to 7.30 or 8 p.m. to finish a case in the day’s list. He was extremely zealous in upholding the dignity and prestige of the judiciary. In the two Contempt-of-Court cases, Re: William Tayler and Re: Banks & Fenwick, he did not hesitate to issue process against William Tayler, a member of the Civil Service and a personal friend of Sir Peacock, for his critical remarks, published in the Englishman, on the judgement of Justice Dwarka Nath Mitter. Tayler was supposed to leave for England the following day but Sir Peacock issued a warrant against him in the early morning and he was apprehended and produced before the Court. He was convicted and imprisoned. The editor of the newspaper was excused after tendering apology. Tayler also was freed as he also tendered apology but his fine was not condoned. Naturally Sir Peacock incurred the displeasure of the English community in Calcutta but he did not bother about it in the least. His sense of justice is also revealed in a small episode. A munsif was charged with nepotism for appointing a relation of his in the Court. He took the plea that if the Chief Justice’s (Sir Peacock) son could be appointed the Registrar of the Court, why can’t his relation be appointed in such an insignificant post? Sir Peacock did see the point and removed his son, F.B. Peacock, immediately from the office of the Registrar. It is to be noted that the first Indian Judge of the High Court, Sumboo Nath Pundit (1863-7), had often showed the courage and conviction to differ with the then Chief Justice Sir Barnes Peacock and did not hesitate to point out, and rightly so, that the English law should be modified to suit Indian situation. Another distinguished Judge of the High Court, Sir Gooroodas Banerjee’s sense of and devotion to duty (1888-1904) became a legend. It’s said that he never absented from his duty unless physically incapacitated. Even when his son, Jatindra Nath, was critically ill with cholera, he attended the Court. On the day when Jatindra Nath’s condition became serious, Sir Gooroodas went to the Court as usual and it was only at the pleading of

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the Chief Justice that he came back home. A little while after he returned home, Jatindra Nath died. As an orthodox and a devout Brahmin, every morning he used to go for a bath in the Ganges. One day when he was returning home after his bath, a poor old lady met him and taking him for a pujari, requested him to perform the puja of her household deity. Sir Gooroodas did not hesitate to oblige her and did what she asked for. The poor old lady did never know that the puja was performed by none other than an eminent Judge of the High Court! Again, Sir Gooroodas was so strict and honest in his role as a Judge that he never allowed anyone related to him to appear in his Court. He even forbade his son-in-law, Manmatha Nath Mukherjee who himself later became a Judge of the High Court, from accepting any brief in his Court. Another illustrious judge of the High Court, Sir Asutosh Mookerjee (1904-24), who became the Vice-Chancellor of Calcutta University in 1904, was extremely courageous, especially in upholding the cause of the University. His strong defence of the rights of the University reflected in his famous letter to the Governor of Bengal and Chancellor of the University, Lord Lytton, earned him the popular title of ‘Royal Bengal Tiger’. On the amusing side, it may be mentioned that Justice John Hyde, who is remembered even by the historical world for his ‘Notes’, known as Hyde Papers, used to attend the opening session of the first term with ‘parade and pomp’, as portrayed by Mrs. Fay, wife of an English barrister. She wrote in 1780 that on the first day of every term, ‘the professional gentlemen all met at a public breakfast at Justice Hyde’s house and went thence in procession to the Court House’. It must have been a spectacular sight but unfortunately discontinued later. Another celebrated judge and highly regarded as an Orientalist, Sir William Jones, even today is said to have walked down everyday to and from his residence in Garden Reach to the High Court. Mind it, those were the days when people did not dare travel beyond Chowringhee Road in the evening for fear of tigers. A great feat indeed in those days!

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Apart from the judges, there were many legal luminaries who practised in the High Court and of whom there are many interesting stories. One such story is related to Sir Rashbehari Ghose, a profound scholar of law, but a person with strong temper. Capable of using sarcasm mingled with quite a bit of wit and humour, he did not spare anyone if and when he thought it necessary. Once he entered the Court with a large number of books when the learned judge asked him why did he bring down the whole library into the Court. ‘To teach you the law, my Lord’, came the prompt reply from Sir Rashbehari. It is remarkable to find how conscientious some of the judges of the High Court had been. This is illustrated by the case of Mr. Justice Romesh Chunder Mitter (1874-90) in particular. He became a judge when he was only 34. Once he had to perform the duty of one of the Vacation Judges in 1889. One day he forgot completely that he was due to attend the Court where a junior judge, the parties and their counsel were waiting for him by prior appointment. When he remembered it, it was a couple of hours late and he rushed to the Court immediately. Offering profuse apologies, he completed his work and went back home. He felt that the lapse of memory on his part was a serious matter and that he had no justification to continue as a judge. So he sent in his resignation to the Chief Justice which was accepted and became effective from 1 January 1890. As a result he retired at the age of fifty only.

Some Notable Cases and Judgements There are quite a number of important and significant cases in which the Calcutta Courts came up with significant verdict. We can provide here important aspects of only some of these cases in the limited space available.

Case of Maharaja Nanda Kumar Maharaja Nanda Kumar was the faujdar of Chandernagore before the Plassey Revolution in 1757. A wealthy and influential

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person, he was conferred the title of Maharaja by the Mughal emperor Shah Alam II in 1764. It seems he was an ambitious and intriguing person, and in all probability, in order to gain the favour of the Supreme Court, brought an accusation of bribery against the then Governor-General, Warren Hastings. To take revenge, it seems, Hastings arranged to have a complaint of forgery against Nanda Kumar lodged by one Bulaki Das, a banker, on the basis of a bond, executed six years earlier. Nanda Kumar was tried in the Supreme Court when the Chief Justice was Sir Elijah Impey whom Macaulay described as ‘a fiend in human shape and a very contemptible one’. The verdict of the case was pronounced on 16 June 1675 in which Nanda Kumar was sentenced to death. It was generally thought that the charge against Nanda Kumar was a false one and that the trial was unfair. It was also alleged that Sir Elijah Impey was in collusion with Warren Hastings. Even if he were not, there is little doubt that the verdict was contrary to accepted norms in civilized society. Even the Court of Directors of the Company in London had this to write, emphasizing the absurdity of law as practised in the Supreme Court, to Lord Weymouth, the Secretary of State, on 19 November 1777: ‘Maharaja Nundcomar, a Native of High rank in Bengal, was indicted, tried, convicted and executed for an offence which was not capital by the Laws of the country where the offence was committed’. It further raised the pertinent question: ‘If it were legal to try, to convict and execute Nundcomar for Forgery on the statute of George the Second, it must, as we conceive, be equally legal to try, convict and punish the Subadar of Bengal, and all his Court, for Bigamy upon the statute of James the First.’

Re: William Tayler and Re: Banks & Fenwick In these Contempt-of-Court cases to which we have referred to earlier, Chief Justice Sir Barnes Peacock vindicated ‘the honour and character of my honourable colleague [Justice Dwarka Nath Mitter] and the dignity of the Court’, the great discontent of the English community in Calcutta notwithstanding. Not only that,

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Justice Sir Peacock further asserted: ‘If the character of any other Judges had been similarly assailed, I should have thought it necessary to adopt a similar course. But it appeared to be especially necessary in the present case.’ The reference was obviously to the fact that Justice Dwarka Nath Mitter was then the only Indian judge on the bench of the High Court. This clearly brings to relief the fact that Sir Peacock was singularly free from any racial and colour prejudices.

Surendra Nath Banerjee: Contempt of Court Case Surendra Nath Banerjee, one of the outstanding leaders of Bengal of his time, was accused in a Contempt-of-Court case for publishing an article in the Bengalee of which he was the editor. The allegation was that the said article criticized Justice Norris and wrote that by ordering to bring a salagram sila to the Court, he had done a grave offence to the Hindus and hurt their sentiments. But the Supreme Court Bench under Justice Norris held that the article contained ‘a wholly indefensible attack’ upon Justice Norris and ‘reckless comments made without foundation’. When Surendra Nath discovered the true facts of the incident, he did not hesitate to tender on affidavit an unconditional apology. But the majority of the judges ordered that he should be punished with imprisonment for two months. The only Indian judge on the Bench which passed the order, Justice Romesh Chunder Mitter, while in agreement with the finding that Surendra Nath was guilty of Contempt of Court, differed on the question of punishment. He held that there is no reason why the lighter punishment awarded in Tayler’s case should not have been followed in this case, arguing that the ‘complexion of the guilt in the case of Mr Tayler is certainly not of lighter character than that of Surendra Nath Banerjee’.

Ameer Khan’s Case: Habeas Corpus This is the first important case regarding the liberty of a ‘subject’ to be decided by the High Court. Ameer Khan, a businessman

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of Calcutta, was arrested on 18 July 1869 on the suspicion that he was connected with the Wahhabi movement and imprisoned without any trial. An application was made in the Court of Justice Norman on 1 August 1870 for a writ of habeas corpus. In his petition, Ameer Khan submitted that he was not told on what charge he was arrested nor was any warrant produced or shown indicating the reasons for his detention. The only information he could gather was that he was imprisoned and detained under the provisions of the Bengal Regulation III of 1818. But this Regulation was much ‘condemned for its drastic onslaught’ on individual liberty and allowed the executive authority, for reasons of State, to imprison a person for an indefinite period without any trial. Unfortunately no writ was issued in favour of Ameer Khan. This case created a sensation in Bengal in those days.

Alipore Bomb Case In the early twentieth century, there emerged a group of revolutionaries who belonged to the extremist school. They believed in wresting power from the British through arms and violence. As a result, there were many cases of arson, attempts to assassinate British high officials and even killing them. In some of these cases the High Court gave lighter punishments to the ‘offenders’ than those imposed by lower Courts. We take note here of one of the many such cases handled by the High Court. The famous Alipore Bomb Case, also known as Muraripukur Bomb Case, is of great historical importance as it involved well-known revolutionary leaders like Barin Ghose, Aurobindo Ghose, Ullaskar Dutt, Upendra Nath Banerjee and Hem Chandra Das et al. The main charge against them was that they conspired against the King. In the Alipore Judge’s Court, Sri Aurobindo was acquitted of the charge but Barin Ghose and Ullaskar Dutt were given death sentence while others were punished with deportation to the Andamans for life. An appeal was made in the High Court which was heard in the Bench of Chief Justice Jenkins and Justice Carnduff. Eminent lawyers of the period like

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Deshbandhu Chittaranjan Das, Jatindra Mohan Sen Gupta and R.C. Bonerjee came forward in defence of the accused. They tried their best to save the accused revolutionaries but only in vain. All the four accused were found guilty of conspiracy in waging war against the King. But fortunately Chief Justice Jenkins was rather liberal in awarding the punishment. He took into consideration the fact that the accused persons were not ordinary criminals but were ‘men of education, of strong religious instincts, and in some cases of considerable force of character’. Thus while Barin Ghose and Ullaskar Dutt were sentenced to death by Alipore Court, the High Court sentenced them both, along with Upen and Hemchandra, to transportation for life. The judgement was quite remarkable considering the prevailing circumstances.

Cases Against Some Bengali Novels Some cases had to be decided by the High Court on the question of vulgarity and obscenity in some of the Bengali novels. The first two cases were against Samaresh Basu’s novels Bibar (1965) and Prajapati (1968). The charge was that the novels were obscene and vulgar. In the case of Prajapati, Buddhadeb Basu and Naresh Guha, two of Bengal’s celebrated literary personalities, defended the author and the novel on the basis of merit as a work of literature. But the High Court upheld the verdict of the lower Court that the author and the publisher were guilty, and the novel be banned as it was obscene. The Supreme Court, however, came up with the verdict to free Prajapati from the charges of obscenity, and all the charges against the accused were overturned. The other case was concerned with Buddhadeb Basu’s Raat Bhor Brishti. Bose was convicted of obscenity and the novel was banned in 1970 on the assumption that it was obscene and vulgar. The Police at that time did not even spare the manuscript and it was burnt to ashes. However, the High Court overruled the ban and freed Bose of all the charges. Thus these judgements reiterated the freedom of writers to express what they feel like and that the governments need not go around

The Calcutta High Court | 333

banning books just because they are written with verve and hold a mirror to how we live.

Court Records: A Veritable Treasure-Trove There is hardly any doubt that the records of the Calcutta Courts – Mayor’s Court, Supreme Court and the High Court – are a veritable treasure-trove. Needless to say that they are very useful and valuable sources for the social, economic, political and even business history of the late eighteenth, nineteenth and early twentieth century. Some of these records have been used to some extent by several noted scholars including Professor N.K. Sinha, Professor P.J. Marshall et al. How important and almost essential some of these records are, for especially some subjects for which primary sources are hard to come by, can be illustrated by citing a few examples. The present contributor, after frantic and fruitless searches in different archives for relevant material to trace the early career of Khoja Wajid, the Armenian Merchant Prince of Bengal in the mid-eighteenth century, could finally find it in the Mayor’s Court records preserved in the India Office Library, now India Office Records, British Library, London. As a matter of fact, as has been shown by Professor N. K. Sinha, some interesting aspects of the history of the Armenians who played a significant role in the economic and political life of Bengal in the eighteenth century (and which is by now almost completely forgotten!), as also the business history of some of the important European commercial firms of Calcutta in the early nineteenth century, can be reconstructed, in the absence of any other major primary sources, mainly from the records of the Supreme Court, Calcutta. The Hyde Papers which are actually ‘notes’ of Justice John Hyde (1774-96) are invaluable material for the socio-economic history of the late eighteenth century. Of the 73 volumes of the Hyde Papers some were missing and the rest are now in the possession of Victoria Memorial, Calcutta. Considering the immense value of the Court records, it is essential that the High Court

334 | Trade, Politics and Society

and the government take immediate and necessary steps for the storage and scientific preservation of these records, their proper catalogueing and indexing so that they are not lost to posterity. [Sources: A.C. Banerjee (ed.), Indian Constitutional Documents, vol. 1: 1757-1858; High Court at Calcutta, Centenary Souvenir, 1862-1962; High Court at Calcutta, 125th Anniversary Souvenir, 1862-1987; P. Thankappan Nair (ed.), Early History of the Calcutta High Court; Amalendu Bagchi, Kolkatar Adalat (in Bengali); N.K. Sinha, Economic History of Bengal, vol. III: 1793-1848; P.J. Marshall, East Indian Fortunes.]

Index

Abbas, Bandar 24, 87-8 Abbas, Shah 90 Abdali, Ahmad Shah 203; invasion of 203-4 Abyssinians 311 Acheh merchants 25 Achin 92, 311 Act of Settlement, 1781 322 Afzal, Mir 40 Ahmed, Agha Hajee 53 Ahmed, Haji 156, 247, 249, 252 Ahmed, Sayyid 250 Ahmed, Syed Emdad 293 Ahmed, Wazed 210 Ain-i-Akbari 225, 238 Ain-ul-Mulk 240 Akbar 98, 111, 232, 237-8 Akbarnama 232, 238 Alamchand, Diwan 156 Alaol 283 Al-Beruni 230-2 de Albuquerque, Afonso 6, 10 Alexander, Paniati 123 Ali, Karam 45 Alipore Bomb Case 331 Amenhetop II 224 Amina Begum 250, 252-3, 284 Anam, of Armenian liberation movement 77 Anania, J.A. 127 Anglo-French war 198, 205 Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan, by Tod 230 Annesley, Samuel 177 Arabian Seas 4

Arabs 11, 17, 292, 309, 311; as shipowners 4; as traders 85 Aratoon, Barsick 49-50, 55, 124-6, 131 Arcot rupees 54, 105-6, 110 Ardestani, Mir Muhammad Sayyid 92 Armani Ghat 58, 128 Armanitola 58, 128 Armenian cemetery 37, 120 Armenian Church: of Calcutta 37, 50; at Saidabad 50 Armenian Street 128 Armenian: community in Bengal 37, 49, 54; of Dhaka 118; diaspora 51, 53, 122; enterprises 59, 129; entrepreneurs 57, 59, 90; jute merchants 126; merchants 37-8, 42, 49, 54-60, 78, 88, 90-1, 120, 125-7, 129, 131, 143, 155-6; settlements of Saidabad 37, 120; trade in Bengal 122; trading in India 69, 101 Arthashastra of Kautilya 320 Ashraf, Khoja 40-1 Asian: markets 20, 22; merchants 8, 36, 52, 69, 78, 104, 120, 122, 147, 157, 193-4, 197, 199; shipping 6, 12; trade 6, 8, 12, 15, 19-20, 24, 58, 158 Astrakhan 76, 89, 92-3, 240 Aungier, Gerald 181, 195 Aurangzeb 179, 186, 239; edict of 179; foreign travellers on 239 ‘Avarice’ 141, 144-5

336 | Index Azim-us-Shan 75, 290 Babu, Sri 151 badams 112-13 Bahamani, Ahmed Shah 91-2 Baithasaar, Johannes 54 Baiyeoti, Mansur 287 balance of trade 68, 82, 105 Balasore ports 25 ballads 279, 284, 287-8, 315-16; of Nasr Malum 316 Ballav, Raj 142, 148, 251 Banabhatta’s Kadambari 225 Bandyopadhyay, Bhabanicharan 212 Banerjee, Gooroodas (Sir) 326 Banerjee, Surendra Nath 330 Banerjee, Upendra Nath 331 Banias 175-7, 179-80, 183-5, 187; in Surat 178-9 Banking: activities 55; class 154, 156, 158, 165 banned goods 9 Banwalidas, Ballavdas 178-9 Banwalidas, Jivandas 178-9 Baranagore 127 Barbak, Sultan Ruknuddin 280 Barbosa, Duarte 309 Barendse, R.J. 16 Barrackpore 209, 211, 213-15 Basaks 154 Basra 24, 27, 42-3, 52, 54-5, 76, 86, 123, 197 Basri, Khalaf Hasan 91 Basu, Buddhadeb 332 Basu, Maladhar 280 Basu, Samaresh 332 batta 105-6, 108-10, 158, 165 Bauls 278 Bayly, C.A. 150, 154-6, 158 beads 5 Becher, Richard 315 Beg, Hakim 165-6 Benaras Sanskrit College 258 Bengal: commodities of 22, 42, 104; conflict in 1756-7 196; merchants

of 154, 307-11; money market 199; opium from 27; Muslims of 273, 275, 286, 291-8; overseas trade 20, 311; raw silk from 20, 22; ships of 309, 311; silk and textile markets 19, 35, 57; surplus revenues of 69-70; trade 19-20, 35, 39, 52-3, 78, 119 Bernier, F. 228-9, 232, 236, 239 Bhabanicharan 212, 214 Bhandari, Sujan Rai 70-1, 73 Bharatchandra 164, 226, 285, 290; Annadamangala of 226 Bhatkal 14 Bhonsle, Raghuji 249 Bibar 332 bilateral trade 19 bin Tughlaq, Muhammed 237 Bipradas 280; Manasa Vijaya of 280 Bisdom, A. 40 Bolts, William 52, 123 Bombay 29, 80, 180-2, 184, 195, 197, 203, 302, 322; English fleet at 27 Bombay cotton 27 Bonerjee, R.C. 332 Bowrey, Thomas 310 Boxer, Charles R. 15 Braudel, Fernand 59, 129 Brihad-dharma Purana 235 British: conquest of Bengal 40, 47, 96, 118, 137, 139, 193; private merchants 4, 28; private trade 123, 125, 197-200, 205 Buddhir Mukti Andolan 295 bullion 5, 12, 28, 42, 88, 97, 102-3, 105-6, 109-11, 113, 155, 157, 185 Calcutta High Court 319 Calcutta Madrasah 258-9, 263 Calcutta: merchants 154; shipping 27; English fleet based at 27 calicoes 12, 18, 20, 120 Calicut 5-6, 12, 14-15, 209 Canton 27-8, 59

Index | 337 Careri 232 Carnduff, Justice 331 cartaz system 8-10 Cartier 255, 259 Catchatoor, M. 126 Chakraborty, Ghanaram 226; Dharmamangala of 226, 234 Chakraborty, Mukundaram 226, 281-2, 303-4, 308, 311, 316; Chandimangala of 226, 281, 303-5 Chandernagore 54, 197-8, 202-5, 328; attack on 193, 195, 203-5; ship captured by the British navy 42 Chandra, Raja Manik 226 Chaudhuri, K.N. 60, 157 Chaudhury, Abdul Malek 293 Chettiyar merchants of Coromandel 14 Child, John Sir 195 Chinese 11, 17; procurement of goods 25; ships 4; traders 11 ‘Choja Wasit Fazil’ 38 Christians 6, 215, 274 cinnamon 5, 8 Clive, Robert 45-6, 48-9, 130, 161, 199, 201, 203-4, 212, 256; expedition to Bengal 152 cloths 5, 23, 54, 157, 213, 306, 310 (see also calicoes); cottons 4, 42, 310 Cobra 126 Cochin 5-7, 14 coinage 74, 97-8, 100, 105, 108, 158 ‘Coja Avid’ 38, 49 ‘Coja Mahmet Fazel’ 37-8 ‘Coja Michael’ 125 Collet, Mathew 140, 144, 151 commercial communities 98, 154 commodities 4, 8, 16, 18-19, 21-3, 25, 27, 35, 39, 41, 61, 82, 89, 98, 308-9, 312-13 Conti, Niccolo 230 copper 25, 27, 98, 100, 111-13

copper coins 97, 99-100, 103, 105, 111-12 Cornwallis 111 Coromandel 5, 14, 17-18, 20, 24-6, 309; port of 26 court records 333 cowries 97, 100, 103, 105, 112-13, 115 credit money 101-2 crediting, system of 69, 101 currency system 98, 103, 105, 107, 110, 114; of Mughals 97 Curtin, Philip D. 59, 129 customs duties 9-10, 24, 185, 194, 200 d’Almeida, Francisco 6 Dacca Bank 125 Dakshin Ray 281, 284-5 dam 99-100, 111 Dani, A.H. 121 Das, Bulaki 329 Das, Deshbandhu Chittaranjan 332 Das, Hem Chandra 331 Das, Krishna 278; Ray-mangala of 278, 281; Shanti-mangala of 278; Sitala-mangala of 278; Kamalamangala of 278 Das, Krishnahari 287 Das, Krishnaram 281-2 dastaks 146-8, 166-8, 194, 196, 200-1 Datta, Asutosh 212 Datta, Durgacharan 212 Dattas 214 David, Margar 126-7 Deb, Gopimohan 211-12 Deb, Kalikrishna 212 Deb, Nabakrishna 212 Deb, Raja Radhakanta 211-12, 215-16, 218 Deepchand 39, 44 Deva, Narayan 226; Manasamangala of 226, 284 Dewana Madina 287

338 | Index Dhaka 3, 37, 52, 73, 75-6, 81, 90, 102, 105, 109, 111, 118-29, 131, 137, 142, 199, 250-1 (see also Dacca Bank); Armenians 118, 124, 126-7, 130; cloth production 52; textile export from 52 Dhanapati 303-4, 306, 308, 312-13; Binimoy Drabya Sangraha of 313 dharma 274, 277, 284, 320; concept of 320 Dharma Sabha 214 Dharma Sabha of Calcutta 209-16, 218-19 Dharmashastras 320 Dimmock Jr., Edward C. 164 dollars 104 Drake, Roger 45, 140-1, 143, 146, 148, 150-2, 167, 200-1 drugs 4 Duncan, Jonathan 258, 262-3 Durga Puja 290 Durlabh, Rai 165 Dutch East India Company (VOC) 3, 11, 17-26, 39-43, 45, 49, 53, 68, 104, 119, 122, 141, 144, 157, 179, 195-7; conquest of Bantam 25; conquest of Malacca 24; exports 21-2; monopoly of 24; policies 25 duties 9, 41, 109, 216, 258, 262, 287, 320, 325-6, 328 Dutt, Ullaskar 331-2 East India Company 11, 15, 17, 19-20, 26, 36, 39, 68, 91, 96, 102, 107-8, 114, 119-20, 127, 258 Eastern Bengal Ballads 302, 315 Eaton, Richard M. 282, 288 Ely (Patna) rupees 106 English East India Company 3, 17, 19-20, 24, 36, 39-40, 68, 91, 96, 102, 107, 114, 119, 127, 138, 195; conquest of Bengal 27, 154 private trade of 27, 29

Euro-Asian trade 5, 20 European Companies 17-20, 22, 39-40, 47-8, 52, 79, 81, 104, 138, 144, 154, 157-9, 174, 184, 193; export of 123; trading in Bengal 36 European: joint stock companies 59, 129; learning 266-7; trade 16, 19, 28, 154-8; trading companies 3, 52, 68-9; woollens 4 export commodities 21, 69, 82, 157; from India 20 extra customs duties, Portuguese system of 3, 13 Faizullah 164, 279, 291; Ghazi Vijay of 278; Satyapir Vijay of 278 Farrukhsiyar 37, 91 Fatwa-i-Alamgiri 271 Fatwa-i-Hamadi 271 Fazl, Abul 70, 82, 101, 233 Federici, Caesar 199, 310 Fitch, Ralph 309 foreign trade 17, 90, 98; of Bengal 53 Fort St. George Council 202 Fort William 43, 143, 146, 194, 319, 322-4; Council of 43, 50, 146, 148, 152-3, 196, 198-201 Franco-Bengali alliance 195, 203, 205 Frankland, William 199 French East India Company 17, 68 French: fleet 199-200; private trade 195, 199-200; shelter to the Armenians 54 Furber, Holden 27, 197 G.M. Shircore & Sons 127-8 da Gama, Vasco 5-6, 14, 17 Gangaram 314-15 Gaurisankar, Pandit 217 Gensamer, of Wajid 43 Ghasiti Begum 140, 142, 148, 159, 250-3

Index | 339 Ghose, Aurobindo 331 Ghose, Barin 331-2 Ghose, Sir Rashbehari 328 Ghosh, Ramchandra 212 Gilani, Mahmud Gawan 92 Goa 6-7, 9-10, 15 Goculdas, Ballavdas 178-9 Goffur, Abdul 28, 59, 178, 187 gold 5, 97, 100, 103, 111-12, 115, 306, 308 gold coins 99, 104 Gooroodas, Sir 326-7 Grant, Charles 259 greased cartridge 209-11, 213-15, 218-19 Gregory, Agha 52 Guha, Naresh 332 Gujarat 4-5, 7, 9, 14, 17, 20, 24, 28, 86, 88, 100-1, 113, 188, 227, 260, 308; overseas trade 28; shipping 28 Gujaratis 5, 11, 13, 26, 28-9, 52, 60, 79; merchants 12-13, 52, 311; Muslims 4; ships 13, 15; trade 4, 13, 26, 28; voyages to Sumatra 24 gulf ports 24 Gupta, Ashin Das 11, 16-17, 28, 59, 175, 178, 186-7, 189 Gupta, Brijen K. 154, 160, 289 Gupta, Jatindra Mohan Sen 332 Gupta, Vijay 280, 303-4, 308; Manasa Mangal of 303-5 Haag, Den 119 Habib, Irfan 68, 74-5 Habib, Mir 249 Hajj pilgrimage 11 Harries, Sir Arthur Trevor 325 Hasan, Khalaf 92 Hastings, Warren 109-10, 112, 2545, 258-63, 265, 322, 329 Hearsey, John 210-11, 213-15, 219 Heber, Bishop 128 Hijra 109, 111

Hill, S.C. 45, 47-8, 141-2, 145, 149-50, 158-61, 167, 288 Hindu Law 263, 320 Hindus and Muslims 161, 164, 209, 219, 225, 240, 270, 276-9, 284, 286, 288-90, 294 Holcombe 229 Holwell, J.Z. 142, 145, 148, 251 Hormuz 5, 7-8, 10, 12, 24, 86-7 horses 5, 10, 27, 86, 92, 227, 312-13 Hovhannes, Paron 58, 77-8 Hughli 14, 36-40, 42-4, 46, 50, 54, 58, 69, 90-1, 120, 123, 160, 199, 202, 204, 310-11 Huijghens 41, 43 humble monies 97, 111, 115 Hume, Alexander 20, 37 Hundis (Bills of Exchange) 57, 68-72, 75-8, 80, 96, 104, 124; as an instrument of credit 77; as special warrant 77 Hyde Papers 327, 333 Hyde, John 327, 333 Ibn Battuta 226, 231-2, 237, 240, 320 identity 57, 61, 274-5, 294, 296-8; Amartya Sen on 274 Impey, Sir Elijah 53, 329 Indian Ocean Trade 3, 11-12, 29, 58, 302 Indian: exports 11-12; foreign trade 17; import of bullion 12; and Malay traders 11; maritime merchants 16-17; merchants 3, 24-6, 88-9, 155-6, 179, 240; merchants trading in Iran 88; overseas trade 3-4, 11-13, 17, 23-4, 27; ports 14, 200; shipping 4, 16, 25, 28; ships 4, 24-5; textiles 19, 22-3, 25-6; trade 5, 10, 13, 24, 89-90 indigo 4-5, 22, 88, 104 Indo-European trade 18, 20, 22-3, 104, 154

340 | Index Indonesian archipelago 18, 20, 26 international trade 19, 61, 68, 82, 86, 97 intra-Asian trade 10-11, 20-1, 196, 202, 205 Iran 85-93, 293; Armenians in 92; Indian merchants in 88; Indians in 93; migration to India 92; Shi‘ites of 91; silk to the West 90, 93; story of Joseph and Zulaikha 286 Isfahan 76, 86-8, 90, 92-3 Isiah, Ephrianes 54 Islam, Kazi Nazrul 295 Islamabadi, Maniruzzaman 293 Israel, Khwaja Surhaud 36, 78, 91 Jafar, Mir 40, 49, 137-8, 143, 152-3, 155, 162, 165-7, 254, 256 Jahangir, Emperor 230-1, 238, 240, 281 Jaisi, Malik Muhammed 235 Japanese 17; goods procurement 25 Javanese 17; trade 25; vessels 4 Jeddah 27, 42-3, 52, 54, 123, 309 Jenkins, Chief Justice 331-2 Jeswung, Kalyanchand 178 Johannes, Aratoon 54-5 Johannes, Mathew 58 Jones, Sir William 327 Jughayetsi, Hovhannes 55, 58 Jung, Sahamat 163, 290 Jung, Saulat 163, 290 Jung, Shaukat 140, 142, 159 Kalikrishna 214 Kalyandas 185 Kamal, Mustafa 294-5 Karim, Abdul 293 Kasimbazar 37, 45-7, 58, 69, 72, 120, 139-40, 143-4, 151, 153, 199, 201-2, 252 Kaye, John William 209-11, 214, 219 Kedah 25, 27 Kenn, John 72 Kerseboom, Jan 38-9, 43-4, 162

Kesabdas 178 Ketakdas-Kshemananda 226; Manasa-mangala of 226 Khan, Ahsanullah 219 Khan, Alivardi 38, 40, 42-5, 56, 139, 144, 146-9, 153, 156, 159-62, 166, 247-53; death of 142, 148, 250; Salamat Manzil of 42-3; Salamat Ressan of 42-3 Khan, Ameer 330-1 Khan, Bade Gazi 281, 284 Khan, Chand 213 Khan, Doulat 125 Khan, Ghulam Hussain 50, 142, 252, 254 Khan, Gurgin (Khoja Gregory) 4951 Khan, Jaffier 146, 150 Khan, Jasoraj 280; Krishna-mangala by 280 Khan, Khwaja Abdul Hadi 165-6 Khan, Mir Jafar 40 Khan, Muhammed Reza 254 Khan, Murshid Quli 91, 139, 147, 246 Khan, Nawazish Muhammed 250, 290 Khan, Quli 91, 139, 147, 250, 252 Khan, Reza 254-5 Khan, Sayyid Ahmed 249 Khan, Shamser 249 Khan, Shuja 246-8 Khan, Yar Latif 152-3, 165 Khan, Yusuf Ali 140 Khanam, Shah 254-5 Khoja Phanous Kalantar 36 Khojamal, Khachik 79 Khusrau, Amir 240 Killpatrick, Major 45 Kishanchand, Keshav Rai 75 Kishoredas, Ballavdas 179 Konkan 7, 311 Krishnadas 142, 148 Kshemananda 163, 289 Kumar, Nanda (Maharaja) 202, 204, 328-9

Index | 341 Kushalchand, Jagat Seth 53 kuthis 75, 79-81, 106 Laksmindar 163 de Laval, Pyrard 231, 288, 310 Law, Jean 45, 47-8, 153, 159, 161, 204, 252 Lazarus 124 Letters Patent of 1865 324 loan-demander 76, 78 long-distance trade 59, 86, 88, 101 Luft-un-nisa 252-3 M. David & Co 126-7; in jute trading 126 M. Sarkies & Sons 126 Macau 59 Macaulay 323, 329; Minute of 1835 270 Madhava, Dwija 226; Chandimangala of 226; Mangal Chandeer Geet of 226 Madras 27, 29, 45, 76, 102, 105, 107, 119, 131, 197, 199, 201, 322 Madras Resolution 152, 161, 168 Madras rupees 106 Maghs 316 Maharastra Purana 302 Mahuan 309 Maimansingh, Gitika 288 Mal, Hazari 47 Malabar 4-8, 10, 12, 14, 17, 226, 230-1, 309, 311 Malabari pirates 9 Malacca 4-5, 7, 11-13, 15, 25, 309-10 Malay archipelago 25-6; ports of 25 Maldives 92, 100-1, 309-11 Malini 112 Manakjee, Rustomjee 178 Mangal Kavyas 279, 302-3, 306, 308-10, 312-14 Manickchand, Raja 145, 165 Manila 27-8 Manrique, Sebastian 280, 310, 316 du Mans, Raphael 86, 88

Manu 320 Manucci 229-32, 235, 239 Manuel, Estepan 79 Manuel, Khoja 38 Maratha invasions 314-15 Marcar, Nicholas 131 maritime trade 3, 9, 11, 13-14, 17, 20, 24, 26, 42, 123, 309; Indian 4 Marshall, John 231 Marshall, P.J. 333 Martin, M.J. 119, 189 Marwaris 60, 89 Mashhad 86, 88 Masulipatnam 14, 26, 43, 240 Mayors’ Court 322, 333 Medina Baksh of Wajid 43 Mehr-un-nisa 251 Meilink-Roelofz, M.A.P. 12, 15 merchant guilds 187-9 merchant princes 37-9, 43, 47, 56, 127, 154, 158, 165 merchant-bankers 75, 82, 101, 103 Michael, Agha Aratoon 124 Middle East 13, 61 Mihir-O-Sudhakar 292 Mill, Reverend 203, 267 Minas, J.A. 127 Minhas, Khwaja 91 mints 98-100, 103, 105-6, 109, 111, 114 Mir Jumla 26 Mir Mardan 162, 165, 204 Mitchell, Colonel 213-14 Mitra, Shankar Prasad 325 Mitra, Tarinicharan 212 Mitter, Dwarka Nath 326, 329-30 Mitter, Romesh Chunder 325, 328, 330 Mocha 12, 27-8, 42-3, 52, 92, 123; ports of 198 Mohanlal 162-3, 165-6 Mohmand, Musahib Khan 249 monetary system 96-7, 106-7, 113-15 money: lending 55, 93; market 103, 106, 114; transfer 69, 76, 101 money-changers 74, 82, 88, 96, 101

342 | Index monopoly 7-8, 10, 24, 47, 52, 123, 158, 165-6, 178, 188, 200, 231; of the spice trade 7 Mookerjee, Sir Asutosh 327 Moonlall (Mohanlal) 163 Moreland, W.H. 14, 16 Morineau, Michel 12 Mubarak Manzil of Wajid 43 Mubarakuddaulla 254 Mughal currency system 98, 102-4 Mughal port of Surat 29 Muhammad ‘Coca’ 310 Muhammed, Fakir 156, 165 Muhammed, Haji 285 Muhammed, Nawazish 142, 250-1, 290 Muhammed-bin-Tughlaq 240 Mujiduddin 259-60, 263 Mukherjee, Manmatha Nath 327 Mukherjee, Radha Kumud 312 Multani 89 multiple currencies 96-7, 103 Mundy, Peter 238 Munni Begum 254-6 Murshidabad 37-8, 40, 45, 47, 54-5, 59, 80, 105-6, 111, 120-2, 130-1, 163, 203-4, 247-9, 251-4, 290; darbar 41, 45, 48; as silk and textile centres 53 Murtaza, Saiyid 285 Muslim Bangla Sahitya 286 Muslim Sahitya Samaj 295 Muslim traders 6, 13, 155, 187 Muzaffarnamah 45 Nabi, Abdul 286, 297 Najamuddaulla 254 Narada 320 Narain 143 Nasira Banu 247 Nath, Jatindra 326-7 Nathan, Mirza 281 Nazim Dacoit 284 Nehmatullah, Shah 91 New Julfa 37, 49, 57-9, 76-8, 82, 90-1

Norris, Justice 330 Odoric, Friar 226, 231 old coins 100, 105-6, 111; to Calcutta 109 opium trade 20, 22, 41, 45, 104, 123, 158, 165, 229; of Bihar 41 Orme, Robert 39, 43, 47, 145, 153, 155, 159, 161-3, 165, 199 Ostend 18 overland trade 9, 61 overseas trade 17, 26, 42, 87, 92, 202, 303, 309, 311-13 Padma-Purana 280 Pandey, Byjonath 213 Pandit, Bijoy 280 Panikkar, K.M. 14 Parameswara, Kabindra 280 Parashara Smriti 320 Parekh, Bhimjee 177-8, 180-1, 184-6 Parekhs 176-8 Parrack, Tulcidas 180 Patna 36-7, 40-1, 58, 69, 72-3, 75, 90, 105-6, 109, 111, 120, 163, 199, 203, 290; trade of 40 Peacock, Sir Barnes 325-6, 329-30 pearls 5, 308, 313 Pearson, M.N. 12-13, 15, 186, 188-9 Pegu 5, 25, 92, 309 Pelsaert 227, 231-2, 236, 238 Penzer, N.M. 224 pepper 5, 8, 10, 12, 14-15, 18, 21, 25 Permanundas, Jagjivandas 179 Permanundas, Purusuttom 179 Perry, Aga 178 Persia 10, 27-8, 53, 90, 92-3, 113, 122, 124, 260, 310 Persian 259, 267, 270, 309, 311; Bridge’s Algebra into 271; Encyclopaedia Britannica into 270; English scientific works into 266; treaty with 89

Index | 343 Persian Gulf 4-5, 7, 10, 12, 24, 26-8, 52, 79, 86-7, 91, 122-3, 202, 309 Perso-Russian trade 89 Petruse, Khoja 38, 49-50, 155 Philippines 27 Pir 278-9, 283, 287-8, 290 Plassey conspiracy 19, 40, 47-9, 52, 130, 137-9, 152-7, 160, 164, 167, 193, 203, 253 Plassey Revolution in 1757 56, 155, 167, 328 Pogose, Abraham 126 Pogose, J.G.N. 125-6 Pogose, Nekie 128 Pogose, Nicholas 127 ports 6-9, 13-14, 25-7, 29, 35, 91, 100, 119, 182-3, 187, 198, 30911; of Hughli 25; of Sumatra 25 Portuguese 3-17, 24, 310, 315-16; aim of 6; attacks on Muslim ships 6; occupation of Malacca 10; overseas enterprise in Asia 7; pirates 316; system of extra custom 10, 13-14; trade 17 Portuguese Hormuz 26 Portuguese-Asian trade 8 Prajapati 332 Prakash, Om 16, 155, 157 precious: metals 23, 27, 88, 113; stones 5, 308, 312 private trade 7, 16, 147, 166, 193-4, 196-201, 205 prostitution 147, 194 Pud Pokur (Pudda Pukur)261 Pundit, Sumboo Nath 325-6 qafilas (caravan) system 9-10, 101 Qasim, Nawab Mir 50 Qazi, Daulat 283 Quli, Husain 250-1 Quli, Murshid 139, 144, 150, 246-7, 249 Raat Bhor Brishti 332 Radhakanta 212, 214 Rahim, Abdur 266-7, 270

Raja, Ali 285 Rajballav 251 Ram, Rai Durlabh 143-4, 165, 204 Ray, Aniruddha 307, 311-12 Ray, Rai Rayan Omeed 162 Red Sea 4-6, 8, 12-13, 15, 26-9, 52, 79, 122-3, 158, 202, 309, 311 Reis, Sidi Ali 232, 237 Renault 204, 251 Revolt of 1857 209, 215, 217 Revolution of 1757 50, 56, 153-5, 161, 164, 168 Roy, Rama Prasad 325 Royal Charter of 1861 324 Ruparam, Dharma-mangal of 278 Safavids 11, 87 Sahajiyas 278 Saidabad 37, 50, 52-4, 77, 79, 90, 120-1, 128, 131; Armenian community (jumiat) in 57 Saifudaulla 254 Saiyid Sultan 285-7, 297 Salim, Gulam Husain 246 salt trade 39-41, 48, 123; in Saidabad 50 saltpetre trade 18, 22, 39-40, 43-5, 68, 82, 104, 123, 158, 165; Coja Wazeed’s parwannah for 40 Samachar Chandrika 212-13 Samru Begum 254 Samser Ghazir Punthi 164, 291 Sangbad Bhaskar 214 Sangbad Chandrika 215-16 Sangbad Prabhakar 213, 215-16, 218 Sangbad Ratnakar 213 Sankaracharya 287 Sarfaraj 139, 247-8 Sarkies, Michael 124, 126-7 Satgaon 14, 309-10, 312 sati 211, 223-6, 228-40; in Bengal 226; Brahmins in execution of 231; forms of 225; material interest of Brahmins in 231; as Scythian rite 225; in south 228

344 | Index Satyapir 164, 287-8, 290-1 Saudagar, Chand 303-4, 306-8, 312-13; vessels of 304 Sayyid, Muhammad 92 Scot, Colonel 159, 161 Scrafton 203-4 Scythian invaders 225 Seat, Agha 52 Seir-ul-Mutaqherin 50, 80, 106, 142, 246, 249, 252 Sekhsubhodaya 282 self-immolation 231, 234, 238, see also sati Sen, Amartya 274, 292 Sen, D.C. 288 Sen, Ramkamal 212, 214 sepoys 209-11, 213-19 Seth brothers 153 Seth, Jagat 37, 47, 53, 70, 79-80, 96, 101, 105-6, 108, 114-15, 152-4, 155-6, 158, 166-7 Seth, Mesrov 51 Seths 46, 79-81, 106, 114, 153-4, 156, 159, 165, 199 Shah Abdul Hakim 297 Shah Alam II 322, 329 Shah II, Bahadur 219 Shah, Alauddin Husain 280, 287 Shah, Chintaman 311 Shah, Husain 304 Shah Jahan 238 Shah, Khemchand 311 Shah, Nasiruddin Nasarat 280 Shah, Persian 89 Shah, Sher 98 Shankardas 178 Sharaf-un-nisa 248-51 Sharia 320 Shasti-mangal 278 Shi‘ites 91 Shikarpuris 89-90 Shiraz 88, 91 Shircore, G.M. 128 Shircore, Herbert Michael 128 Shircore, Stephen Aratoon 128

shroffs 69, 71-2, 74-5, 79, 81-2, 96, 100-3, 105-10, 113-14, 183, 185, 187; in Surat 178 Shujauddin 139, 248 Siamese 17 siccas 54, 80, 100, 105-11, 114 silk trade 4-5, 21-2, 27, 35, 42, 51, 53, 59, 68, 72, 82, 88, 90, 104, 123, 157 silver rupees 97, 103, 111-12, 114 Sing, Maharaja Golab 214 Singh, Narain 143, 151 Singh, Sobha 196; rebellion of 146 Sinha, N.K. 333 Siraj 45, 139-51, 158-9, 161, 165-8, 253; grievances 145-6 Sirajuddaulla, Nawab 44-6, 49, 56, 138-42, 144, 146, 149-51, 159, 162-3, 166-8, 202, 250-2, 290; conspiracy against 153 Sitala-mangal 278 Slavs of Europe 224 sonauts 105, 107-10, 114 Spice Islands 18-19 spices 4, 6, 8-10, 15, 17-21, 26, 88, 312; trade of 6-7, 12, 14, 24 Sri Krishna Vijaya 280 Srimanta (Sripati) 304 de St Jacques, Marquis 152 Steel, Richard 87 Steensgaard, Niels 14-16, 55, 58, 91 Steuart, Sir James 108 Subrhamanyam, Sanjay 311 sufis 275, 277 Sultan, Saiyid 286 Sultanum 77 Sumatra 5, 24-5, 309-10 sun sicca 108, 111 Supreme Court 53, 322-4, 329, 332-3 Surat Council 180, 183 Surat Crisis of 1669 174-5, 177, 179, 181, 183, 185-7, 189 Surat rupees 106 Surat: Armenian export raw silk to 52; bills drawn on 73; hundis

Index | 345 for 81; merchants 28, 91, 174; Muslim merchants of 187; trade of 28 Surhaud 37, 91 Swedish and Danish companies 18 Tabrizi, Sheikh Jalaluddin 282 Tafur, Pero 236 Tagore, Harimohan 212 Tagore, Umanandan (Nandalal Tagore) 212 Taillefert, Louis 50, 52, 122, 155 Tarafdar, M.R. 312 Tarikh-i-Bangala-i-Mahabatjangi 140 Tavernier, French traveller 71, 73-5, 86, 88, 227, 231-2, 235, 238 Tayler, William 326, 329-30 Taylor, James 121 Taylor, John 52, 121-2 Tazia processions 290 Teixeira 230 Tenasserim 25, 27, 92, 309, 311 Terry 232 textiles 11, 18-19, 21-3, 25, 27, 42, 68, 82, 88, 104, 110, 120, 309; export from Dhaka 52, 121-2; industry in Bengal 51, 122; trade 51, 118, 120-4, 157; Thoman, Chattoor 54 Thomas, A. 126 Thomaz, L.F. 15-16 Thompson, Edward 224-6, 267 tin 25 trade: in Bengal 18-19, 39, 53, 58, 68-9, 122, 161, 195-6, 198-9, 311; of Surat 28, 183 trading vessels 42, 302; of heroes of Kavyas 302; of Wajid 42, 48 Treaty: of Alinagar 163, 202, 290; between Dutch and queen of Acheh 25 Tripathi, D.N. 189 Tughlaq, Sultan Firoz Shah 240 tui-begis 321 Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri 238

Umdat-un-nisa 253 Umichand, merchant prince 37, 39, 43-4, 47, 143, 151, 154, 156, 158, 165-6, 202 Valle, Della 230, 232-3 Van Leur, J.C. 12, 14-15, 17 di Varthema, Ludovico 309 Vitaldas 178 voyages 8-9, 24, 42, 197, 304-5 Wadud, Kazi Abdul 295 Wajid, Khoja 37-49, 56-7, 123, 130, 333, 143; destruction of 49; as Fakhru’l-Tujjar 43; ships owned by 43; trading empire of 40 Watson, Admiral 151, 201-4 Watts, William 46, 49, 130, 140-1, 143-4, 146, 148-9, 151, 153, 155, 202-3 Wazeed, Coja 39-41, 44, 46, 49 Wazid, Khwaja 140, 143, 145, 150-1, 154-5, 158, 165-6, 197, 202, 205 Wazit, Coja Mahmet 44 West Asian market 12 western Indian Ocean 4, 11, 23-4, 27 Weymouth, Lord 323, 329 widow remarriage 224 widowhood 234, 236 Withington, Nicholas 229 Yajnavalkya 320 Yohannes, Grigor 79 Zafar Mian 281-2 Zainuddin 249, 252 Zamia-i-Tadhkira-i-Yusufi 37 zamindars 124-5, 129-31, 146, 155-6, 158-9, 162, 322 Zamorin 6 Zbavitel, Dusan 288 Zinat-un-nisa 246-8