FOR POMP AND SHOW - The panoply of the raj Malavika Karlekar

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FOR POMP AND SHOW - The panoply of the raj

Malavika Karlekar

In her entertaining The Spectacle of Empire, the author, Jan Morris, believes that a certain unmistakable one-upmanship characterized the flamboyance if not the "vulgar ostentation" (Jawaharlal Nehru) of the raj. Its touchstone: the rulers of the native states, the most affluent of whom lived in a manner to which "Queen Victoria herself was hardly accustomed", their excesses often rivalling those of later Roman emperors. Pressed into service for the grand display of "marvellous energy of steam as well as the immemorial pride of horseflesh" were "imperial activists of every kind" — bishops, architects, sportsmen, explorers, river pilots, colonial accountants and, of course, photographers who, "by their bearing, demeanour or their costume, their pose at the wicket, the flutter of their gowns, the gravity of their presence behind study desk or board-room table, contributed to the imperial effect". Morris's hyperbolic flourish draws our attention to the veneer that overlaid the hard work of knitting together a diverse land and its people through not only the rule book and the steel frame but also with punishment, oppression and ultimately the insidious principle of divide and rule. Lavishness in hybridized architectural styles with exotic names — the Indo-Gothic, Saracenic-Byzantine and Renaissance-Mughul — resulted in grand, stately gubernatorial mansions, offices, railway stations, university buildings, churches and libraries. There was much to draw inspiration from as the photographers, Linnaeus Tripe, Raja Deen Dayal and Samuel Bourne, created albums of India's architectural wealth and palaces of the ruling princes while Alexander Cunningham and, later, John Marshall supervised excavations of the Archaeological Survey. By the early years of the 20th century, the work of these men encouraged enthusiasts from less known studios as well as those with newly available Brownie cameras, as is clear from this image ofJustice Hall in Fort Delhi, photographer unknown. Many images of this kind found their way to England, often tucked into an album of a family with an Indian connection. Within a few decades of its appearance, official patronage of the camera gave it a unique purchase, legitimizing for it a role in recording the colonial edifice, its dramatis personae, buildings and events. It helped render the quotidian charming, and right exposures and carefully angled shots convinced the viewer that the at times vulgar extra dome or pinnacle atop a railway station or an office was part of an evolving raj style. The establishment had its favourites too — when it came to large-scale extravaganzas, the natural choice were the loyalist Bourne and Shepherd studios. The imperial assemblage of 1877 followed by the durbars of 1903 and 1911 were high points in the display of gaudy opulence, brief though concentrated encounters with the panoply of theraj and the bountiful wealth of the native princes. In 1876, when it was time to declare Victoria as empress of India, the viceroy, Robert Lytton, conceived of the idea of a grand pageant spread over several days. Memories of 1857 and its implications needed a counterpoint and it was the opportune time to seek dependable allies. Who could be better candidates than the princes of the native states, till then beyond the purview of British India? It was "a great feudal aristocracy", wrote Lytton to the then prime minister, Benjamin Disraeli, who should have been befriended and encouraged "to rally round the British crown as its feudal head". Choosing to ignore the growing middle classes ("Baboos whom we have educated to write semi-seditious articles"), Lytton named the gala event in the making the imperial assemblage. He proudly told the Prince of Wales that "I have personally called it an 'Imperial Assemblage' instead of a Durbar... because it will materially and essentially differ from all previous Durbars, besides being on a much larger scale". Clearly he had set himself out to go well beyond the durbars of the Rajput princes and Mughal emperors about which he no doubt had read available accounts. A somewhat sceptical Disraeli told the foreign secretary, Lord Salisbury, that as "the proclamation schemes read like the Thousand and One nights", he felt compelled to rein in some of Lytton's excessive flights of fancy. Lytton not only spent months in planning for the two weeks of pomp and splendour at Delhi but was also perspicacious enough to know that apart from official records, the imperial assemblage needed to be memorialized appropriately. As the chief participants were to be the ruling princes, a volume that included short biographies of the more significant personae suitably embellished with photographic portraits would go down very well. The historian, James Talboys Wheeler, with very clear rajsympathies, was commissioned to write the commemorative volume, illustrated with photographs "taken by Messrs. Bourne and Shepherd, the well-known photographers of Simla, Calcutta and Bombay". The resultant hagiographic The History of the Imperial Assemblage at Delhi was offset by the searingly candid Imperial India by the artist, Val Prinsep. Little wonder, then, that the Lyttons refused to read his account that reduced the assemblage to a pantomime, "a gigantic circus". Opinions may have been divided, but most would have agreed that money was a readily expendable commodity, freely in use by the government and by the 63 ruling chiefs and 800 princes and nobles who had accepted the invitation to participate. The focal point was the throne pavilion, a hexagonal structure that was about 224 feet round with gilded railings, stairs and a canopy beneath which was a replica of the imperial crown on a cushion. Gold embroidery, glitter and glass panels embellished the viceregal podium. Together with the amphitheatre for high officials and ruling chiefs and blocks for representatives of foreign governments and spectators, the overall impression outdid "the Crystal Palace in hideosity" (Prinsep). Each ruling prince was free to design his own camp and the area soon became a strange array of kitschy styles and tastes as ornate temporary structures mushroomed, cannons cast in gold and silver lumbered in and elephants and horses swathed in tinsel, silk and brocade in vibrant colours added to the overall razzmatazz. State dinners were held with enormous platters heaped with all manner of delicacies and, as daring entertainment, Indians leapt off high ramparts into deep wells. On January 1, 1877, the short-statured Robert Lytton, resplendent in his grand master of the star of India robes, the blue-velvet cape bordered with ermine and embroidered with gold stars, held up by two page boys, declared that "we are now assembled to proclaim the assumption by The Queen the Title of the Empress of India". At the end of his long-winded speech, hardly audible to many, "the whole of the Assembly spontaneously rose up and joined the troops in hearty cheers". The ruling princes were quick to swear allegiance, the more important being accorded time to speak. After all the hoopla, when Talboys sat down to write his book, he was at pains to assert in the preface, that his was not an official narrative but rather "a history of the Imperial Assemblage at Delhi, written by [sic] the light of the history of India". Its aim was to "bring out the contrast between the state of India under Native Government and its present condition under British Rule". As the reader sweeps through India under the Rajputs, Marathas and the Muslims to the early days of the British and their many skirmishes, wars and, of course, victories, one arrives finally at 1877 and short biographical sketches of some of the more important ruling chiefs who were to attend. With an eye on the market, Bourne and Shepherd's photographs of historic Delhi provided the visual context for the imperial assemblage, and those of the ruling princes, an appropriate whiff of orientalist mystique. Clearly part of a larger design, commercial and colonial interests were kept in mind in the conceptualization of the volume: a book that created atmosphere through a potted history of India and brief introductions to the ruling chiefs was bound to find an audience not only among those represented but also among eager readers back home. It mattered little that the Maharaja of Indore lounged in his chair (Lytton too had been similarly photographed on other less important occasions) while the attendant standing behind him with a fly whisk had not only one hand resting casually on his left hip but also an expression that was anything but respectful. If anything, he looked positively bored. Or that many sitters were mere boys, self-consciousness writ large on their faces. There is, of course, no mention of the famine sweeping parts of India. Even as the viceroy of India spoke, the famine commissioner, Richard Temple, and W.R. Cornish, the sanitary commissioner for Madras Presidency, argued over the amount of grain to be doled out to the thousands starving in the Madras and Bombay Presidencies. Though Lytton might have held emergency meetings on the situation before bedecking himself in his cumbersome attire, clearly, the show had to go on. Nor could celebrations to glorify the empress and the panoply of the raj be tarnished by stories of pathos and suffering. A hearing of those had to await another day and a different space and time. karlekars@gmail.com