‘The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting,’ Milan Kundera.
Lucknow has buried the memories of 1857 so deeply that they have become a subject of archaeology rather than modern history. Think of Kaiserbagh today, and the images that clutter our minds are of traffic congestion, tempos, and battery rickshaws jostling for space. As one moves towards the Baradari, this procession of crawling traffic is suddenly interrupted by a majestic old gate, crumbling under the weight of time, encroachments, and the banner of a restaurant. On the other side, the gate is adorned with posters of advocates contesting elections rather than cases.
If one looks for physical evidence, one realises the history of Kaiserbagh was not only devastated by General Napier but also erased and rewritten by the Talukdars. Old houses occupied by those loyal to the Nawab have been repurposed as kothis for various Talukdars. A park has been named after an erstwhile Talukdar, where the Lanka—a pavilion that once witnessed the apogee of performing arts—now stands, flanked by a library, again named after an erstwhile Talukdar. The Safed Baradari, the centre of attraction year-round, hosts exhibitions of sarees when it isn’t serving as a venue for opulent weddings. Heritage enthusiasts, while lavishing praise, often focus on the Parikhana, the Chaulakhi gate, and various apocryphal stories. Lost between the splendour of the Nawabi period and the rise of Talukdar townhouses is the singular valour and resistance shown by Kaiserbagh. It was turned into a fortress and defied two attacks from battle-hardened British forces. Only on the third attempt, with the aid of the Nepalese Gurkha Army, could the invading forces penetrate the walls. The echoes of the looting of Kaiserbagh even reverberated in New York, where Friedrich Engels penned a scathing critique of the conduct of the occupying forces.
Lucknow has almost forgotten this. Those stories of bravery have been buried beneath saree sales and townhouses. Yet, the saga of resistance survived in folk ballads. In William Crooke’s “Songs of the Mutiny,” which appears in the second instalment of the 1911 Indian Antiquary (Vol. 40), this history is documented.
I am quoting a few songs from this text, including their original translations and details:
1. The Departure of Wajid Ali Shah for Calcutta
Repeated by Kalika Prasad, Headmaster of the village school at Akbarpur, District Fyzabad. Recorded by Pandit Rẩm Gharib Chaube.
Text
Sripati Mahârâj, tu bipati niwâro. Kat aihain Hazrat des hô?
Pahila muqâm Kâhanpur bhejyô: dusrâ Banaras jât hô.
Tisarâ muqâm Kalkatwâ men bhejyô: Begamoǹ to bhâgîn pahâr hô.
Alam Bagh men goliyâ chalat hain: Machchhî-bhawan men top hô.
Beli-garaḍ men tegwa chalat hain: bânan se andhiyâr hô.
Bahar sowain kul râ sipahiyâ: dewaṛht men rowain Kotwal hô.
Bich mahaliyâ men Begam rowain: lat chhatkâye lambî kes hô.
Topiya chhutai wah topkhânwâ; hathiyâ chhuṭai philkhân hô.
Ghore turang saharwâ: nân chhute sáthi hamâr hộ.
Kaisar Bagh men Begam rowain: lat chhatkâye lambi kesh hô.
Raghunath Kunwar: “Kiripâ bhayo ham ko bhayo banbâs hô.”
Translation
O Srîpati Mahârâj (Râm), thou art the remover of calamity.
When will my Lord return to his country?
The first halt was Cawnpore: the second at Benares.
The third halt was at Calcutta, and the Queens fled to the hills.
Bullets were flying in the Alam Bagh: there were cannons in the Machchi-bhawan.
Swords were drawn in the Bailey Guard: it was dark with arrows.
Outside mourned the sepoys: in the gateway mourned the Kotwal.
In the palace, the Queen mourned and let their long locks fall dishevelled.
The cannons were left in the magazine; the elephants were left in the stables.
The swift horses were left in the city: our friends forgot their sympathy.
The Queens wept in the Kaisar Bâgh, and let their long locks fall.
Saith Raghunath Kniwar¹: “It was the pleasure (Râm) that we should be in exile.”
2. A Lament
A song in honour of the Kaisar Bâgh of Lucknow and the late king of Oudh, Wâjid Ali Shah. Recorded by Pandit Rám Gharib Chaube.
Text
Kaisar Bagh banaya, mazah Wajid Ali ne na pâya
As pûs sone ke kangure, bîch meǹ takht bichhâyâ.
An part Angrez ki palţan, hukum apnâ chalâyâ.
Mazah Pádshah ne na påyå, kzisa Kuisar Bâgh bandyđ.
2.
Amir gharib sabhi hilmil rowain, rowai phutphut kar sârâ sansâr.
‘Hây! gayo pardes mei, apue desh se rukhsat hoke sardär.’
Kaisa Kaisar Bagh banáyd, mazah Wajid ‘Ali ne pẩyá,
3.
Lâle lale kapare pahane Pâdshâh yogiyû rûp banaye.
Lâle lâle kapare sâre musâhib yogiya rûp banaye.Are, Kaisar Bagh bandyd,
mazah Hazarat ne na pâyâ.
Translation
Wajid ‘Ali built the Kaisar Bágh, but did not enjoy it.
On all sides, turrets of gold and in the middle, a throne were placed.
An English force came and settled and assumed the authority.
What a Kaisar Bagh Wajid ‘Alî built, but did not enjoy it.
2.
Noble and peasant all wept together, and all the world wept and wailed.
Alas! The chief has bidden adieu to his country and gone abroad.
What a Kaisar Bágh Wajid ‘Alî built, but did not enjoy it.
3.
Clothed in red, the king put on the guise of a mendicant.
Clothed in red, his followers put on the guise of mendicants.
O, my Lord built the Kaisar Rágh, but did not enjoy it.
Source: Indian Antiquary Vol. 40, 1911
AKS