Why Indian royalty got British Coats of Arms

In the Mysore Palace, I saw the Wodeyar Coat of Arms on the palace gate. It was a proper British Coat of Arms, containing all four formal elements - shield, supporters, crest and motto. I have seen similarly designed British coats of arms in Jaipur, Udaipur and many more places. Clearly, an Englishman had put some thought behind all of them. But why would the British spend time and energy on designing heraldic banners for Indian princes?

After doing some initial digging, I realised that these coats of arms were part of the larger British strategy of "conciliate and command". To understand this a little better, we need to go back to the 1870's, when a guy named Lytton was appointed Viceroy of India. Lytton was what we would now call a racist, and a fairly nasty one at that. Millions died in the Bengal famine under his watch.

He had very clear views about the various rajahs and nawabs that he encountered in India. "Here is a great feudal aristocracy," he wrote, "which we cannot get rid of, which we are avowedly anxious to conciliate and command, but which we have as yet done next to nothing to rally round the British Crown as its feudal head."

Lytton's "conciliate and command" strategy had many elements - but chief among them was the announcement of a grand Durbar in Delhi, a "Royal Assemblage" as he called it.

The Mughals had a custom of holding Durbars, where their feudatories brought gifts, met the Emperor one by one (in strict order of rank) and re-affirmed their relationship. In return they were granted favours - ceremonial gifts, embellished weapons, embroidered robes, elaborate titles, etc. Although these tokens were small, they were used and displayed with a great deal of pride, because they represented the Emperor's favour. 

Lytton decided to do something similar - yet, clearly different - from Mughal protocol. The Indian princes, he wrote condescendingly, "are easily affected by sentiment, and susceptible to the influence of symbols to which facts very inadequately correspond." Keeping in mind the Indian attachment to symbolic displays, he decided to present coats of arms (banners) to each of the Indian kingdoms. 

The only problem was - there was no one available in India with any of the skills required for designing so many coats of arms at short notice. Eventually the task was given to Robert Taylor - an employee in the Bengal Civil Service. He was neither a herald nor an artist (there is a College of Heralds in London, which designs and approves these things). But he was the only available man at the time with some understanding of the matter. So a round of hasty consultations with various rajas ensued, and British coats of arms were quickly designed. For the Delhi Durbar, these designs were converted into colourful banners by Sir Lockwood Kipling, who was then at Lahore. 

On the day of the Durbar, Lytton put on a grand show. He placed himself on an elevated dias at the centre of the assembly. Banners were ceremonially presented to each Indian royal attendee, carried on a gilt pole which bore the inscription 'From Victoria, Empress of India. 1st January 1877.' Lytton, while presenting the banner, said "Whenever this banner is unfurled, let it remind you of the relations between your Princely House and the Paramount Power." The "native chiefs" received the banners with the same gratitude that they displayed at the Mughal courts. 

Then came the proclamation of Victoria as Empress of India. A grandly dressed herald - selected because he was 7 feet tall - stepped up and loudly read the proclamation. The Viceroy gave a speech and some of the desi princes proclaimed their allegiance to "the paramount power". After these proclamations, 101 guns were fired and this caused a stampede among the various royal elephants present (I grinned when I read that). You can see the elephants in the photo.  

The rajas and nawabs returned home, displaying these banners as symbols of the Queen's favour, in much the same way as they displayed their Mughal honours. The British coat of arms, as well as the giving of various royal titles and gun salutes, became an established part of the "conciliate and command" strategy to rule India. 

Durbar Photo source: The Royal Collection Trust

The Chettiar adventures in Burma

The village of Kanadukathan is a couple of hours from Madurai in Tamilnadu. If you walk through the village, you will come across streets full of grand palatial homes. These are the mansions of the Chettiar community; built with wealth from their trading and financing businesses around the world. A lot of the wealth came from Burma, which was then part of British India.

The Chettiars had followed the British into Burma in the 1820s. Initially they were small traders and financiers. But the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 provided a golden opportunity for the growth in the fortunes of the Chettiars.

There was a great demand in Europe for rice, and the Suez Canal opened up opportunities for exports of rice from Burma. Burmese cultivators made the most of the opportunity, transitioning from subsistence farming to large scale rice cultivation. Formal bank loans were not available to Burmese agriculturists. The Chettiars provided loans, with and without collateral, for farming activities. But that was not all. They took deposits, remitted funds, discounted bills, bought and sold gold, and provided much of the necessary funding that enabled the rice trade. In other words, they became not just moneylenders, but bankers to the rice trade.

Dr. Sean Turnell, a researcher at Macquarie university says that the Chettiars gave loans to farmers at rates between 9 to 15 percent. When there was no collateral the rate could be upto 25 percent. He further says that these loans were reasonable, given the cost of business and the risks. The Chettiars look almost benign when you compare them with other local moneylenders, particularly Burmese landlords who offered their tenants something called sabape, a loan made "in kind" rather than in cash, at usurious rates of over 100% per annum.

Burma went on to become the "rice bowl" for Europe in the second half of the 1800s and in the 1900s. Exports grew. But as is common among British colonies, the people of Burma had very little share in this prosperity. Rangoon's wealthy elite were foreigners - the British and their Indian merchant partners. As the wealth of the Chettiars grew, they invested in building lavish mansions in their hometowns in Tamil Nadu.

But the global depression of the 1930s badly affected Burma, resulting in the near collapse of paddy prices. Vast tracts of cultivable lands passed to the Chettiars, as farmers defaulted on their loans. It was a time when a wave of anti-foreign sentiment grew in Burma, and the Chettiars were the target of much vilification.

Then came WW-II, and with that, the fortunes of the Chettiars took a further turn for the worse. In 1942, Rangoon fell to the Japanese and the Chettiars fled Burma along with the British, travelling overland from Rangoon to Assam. Many are believed to have perished in the journey.
Eventually the British declared Burma independent in 1948. Although they had rightful title, the Chettiars could not successfully claim compensation from the new government which took over agricultural land. In 1962, when a military coup ended democracy in Burma, they lost their claims, and Burma became just a memory.

The Chettiar mansions remain a lasting legacy of those times, with their Burmese teak and antiquities.
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Rajsamand and the Golden Age of Flying Boats

Have you been to Rajsamand Lake? It is just an hour north of Udaipur, past the religious centre of Nathdwara.

Rajsamand Lake, Wikimedia Commons

Rajsamand was built in the 17th century by Raj Singh, the ruler of the Mewar kingdom. Not surprisingly, he named the lake after himself (I like to believe it was not megalomania, but the desire to be permanently remembered for a great dharmik task of religious and social significance).

Raj Singh rather poetically used the word 'samand' (ocean or sea) to describe the lake. If you visit the lake, you will see why. It is a large lake, about 6 kms long, and 3 kms wide, with a depth of 60 feet. In a land-locked state that receives only 1% of India's total rainfall, the lake does seem like an ocean.

Throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, the lake was a blessing to the local populace, for irrigation and as insurance against drought.

But in the late 1920's, Rajsamand suddenly became a very glamorous place. Seaplanes of the Imperial Airways began landing in Rajsamand, on their way from London to Singapore or Sydney. They carried the rich and famous of Europe. After the horrors of WW-I, wealthy Europeans travelled around the world in luxurious seaplanes, celebrating life. It was the Golden Age of Flying Boats. Seaplane flights were long and slow, but offered passengers lots of space, comfortable beds and 5-star service. The all-male cabin crew were usually poached from luxury steamships and knew how to pamper their clientele.

Poster for Imperial Airways, 

Imperial Airways seaplanes had very little fuel capacity. On a typical trip from London to Sydney, there were 31 stops, and the journey took 16 nights. To make each stop worthwhile, Imperial Airways tried to find lakes that were not just fuelling stations, but also beautiful and exotic. Landing in Rajsamand, passengers were ferried to the shore by boats, and then took the train to Udaipur, where they stayed the night. Meanwhile, the plane refuelled and took in fresh supplies.

Seaplane at Rajsamand

The "airport" at Rajsamand had a passenger lounge, a weather station, a wireless station, fuel depots and two residential bungalows. Planes were anchored to the lake (one of the anchors was found a couple of decades ago, when the lake dried up, but it was then tossed back into the water and now no one knows where it is).

For nearly 2 decades, Imperial Airways seaplanes flew into India, stopping at Karachi, Udaipur, Gwalior and Calcutta. In those days, there were not many long runways, so the seaplanes, which could land pretty much anywhere with a nice stretch of water, became hugely popular.


But after WW-II, there were a lot more long runways available in military bases around the world. And there were many military aircraft too, that became available for passenger use.

In nearby Jodhpur, Maharaja Umaid Singh created a small air-strip in the 1920's, which was expanded and used in WW-II by the Royal Air Force (RAF). Umaid Singh himself was a Level A certified flyer, and as Air Vice Marshall, he was in command of the Jodhpur base during the war.

After the war, when passenger flights resumed, Jodhpur became the airport of choice for Imperial Airways, and Rajsamand's glamorous days came to an end.

The Lucknow School of Miniature Painting

This beautiful piece called 'Ascetics resting in a camp beside a Shrine' is a Mughal miniature painting from the Lucknow School. Created in the 1820s, it currently resides in the Mittal Museum of Hyderabad alongwith minature paintings from different schools across the country.

The Mughal style of miniature painting emerged in India during the 16th century. A blend of Persian, Hindu, Jain and Buddhist influences, the style developed in Mughal courts. It later spread to all courts, leading to the formation of different schools of Indian miniature painting.

The Lucknow School painted in the Mughal tradition, with some Rajput influences. This style of painting was popular till the 1800s, but declined slowly after the demise of the Awadhi Nawab Asaf-ud Daula. Later the school developed with European influences during the reign of Nawab Shuja-ud-Daula. By the end of the 18th century, the Lucknow school had become a Indo-European style of miniature painting.

'Ascetics resting in a camp beside a Shrine' c. 1825-30

Even today in many parts of the country, you can see groups of bairagis (ascetics) gathered together. Look at all the skin colours and the costumes that the artist has represented in this painting; showcasing the diversity of the bairagis. 

Of coconut oil and lighthouses

Coconuts are everywhere in Chennai. If you look at the city skyline, you'll spot some coconut trees for sure. If you wander through the bazaars, you'll find coconuts being sold. And if you peep into kitchens you'll find coconuts in chutneys, sambars, and a zillion other dishes.

But I didn't know it was coconut oil that lit up the beacons of the old lighthouses of Chennai. Man! That must have taken a lot of coconuts! 

Until the 1700's, there were no lighthouses in Chennai. The fisherwomen lit bonfires on the beach, to guide their menfolk back home from their fishing expeditions (I bet they used coconut fronds for the bonfires).

As Chennai became a big trading centre under the East India Company, merchant ships began to feel the need for a 'proper' lighthouse.

The tallest building in Fort St George at the time was the steeple of St Mary's (which you can see in the photo below). But the chaplain didn't want a lighthouse in the church.

So a large oil-wick lantern was installed on the terrace of the officer's mess in 1796, and became the first lighthouse of Chennai.

Fort St George on the Coromandel Coast, Jan Van Ryne (1712–60)

The officer's mess building where the lighthouse was installed, is now the Fort Museum, and you can visit it if you go to Fort St George. The building is not very tall; so Chennai's first lighthouse ended up being only 99 feet above sea level (see photo). 

The old officers mess, which later became the museum

Like I said, the lighthouse used coconut oil for fuel. I was surprised to learn that the light from 12 coconut oil lamps could be seen even 25 miles from the shore.  

It turns out that coconut oil gives a clear white flame. Country mirrors were used as reflectors to intensify the light for signalling ships.

This coconut-fuelled lighthouse continued to function for nearly 50 years. What a lot of coconut oil they must have used up !! :) :) 

Eventually in 1841, a new lighthouse location came up, at what is now the High Court. This lighthouse used an Argand lamp, which was basically a better designed oil-lamp where with just one wick you could get the amount of light of 7 candles. Parabolic reflectors behind the lamp would further boost and concentrate the output.

The Argand lamp provided a smokeless, brighter flame; but its oil consumption was greater. Still more coconut oil :)

Here is a photo of the second lighthouse, which used the Argand lamp.  This lighthouse is now inside the High Court premises and is a protected monument.

Second Lighthouse in Madras, Frederick Fiebig c.1851

The second lighthouse continued to be used for almost 50 years, until 1894, when a third lighthouse was built. The tallest dome of the High Court was used as the third lighthouse, which you can see in this photo:

By this time, electricity had still not arrived. The third lighthouse used kerosene, and thus ended a century of coconut oil lighthouses :)

The outstanding Sikandar Nama shawl of Jammu

- by Deepa Krishnan

Sikander Nameh shawl from Jammu, 1852
 "Gulnari rumal", in pure pashmina embroidered with wool
Source: Chandigarh Museum
http://chdmuseum.gov.in/art_gallery/masterpieces.html

See this gorgeous embroidered textile? It is a shawl, in soft pashmina, that tells the tale of Alexander the Great.  The shawl is more like a painting than like needlework!

Alexander - or Sikandar as he is called by Indians - came to India in the 4th century BC. This textile is proof that Sikandar's name found its way, not only into Indian vocabulary, but also into Indian textile art. 

The shawl was a gift by a rafugar (an embroiderer) to the rajah of Kashmir in 1852. Perhaps comparing a local rajah with the great Sikandar was a way of subtle flattery? Or perhaps the rafugar was merely showcasing his phenomenal imagination and embroidery skills.

At the corners, the shawl depicts Alexander's life, from his birth to his death. The central figures are influenced by the great Persian epic Shahnameh. At the centre of the shawl, there is a written text, which says:

“This gulnari rumal is submitted to that fountain of all favours and generosity, Maharaja Gulab Singhji, by (the humble) Sayyad Joo, rafugar, resident of the chakla of Jammu in the land of Kashmir on the 15th of the month of Jeth of the samvat year 1909, corresponding to the 6th of the month of Sha’ban of the year (AH) 1268.”

"Gulnari" - what a beautiful word! -  it refers to the red blossom of the pomegranate tree, whose colour is so beautifully incorporated into this embroidery. And "rumal" is a word that is traditionally used for square shawls, not meant for wrapping around the body. This gulnari rumal, then, is a piece for display, rather than use. Samvat 1909 is the Hindu calendar year, and 1268 the Islamic calendar year; the Greogrian calendar equivalent would be 1852 AD.

Gulab Singh by Charles Hardinge,
British Library

The shawl was given as a gift, to Gulab Singh, the first Dogra Maharaja of the princely state of Jammu and Kashmir. Originally the Dogras were vassals of the Sikhs, having got the Jammu area as a grant from Ranjit Singh. After the defeat of the Sikhs in the First Anglo-Sikh War, the Treaty of Amritsar was signed in 1846, whereby the British created a new princely state and sold it to the Dogras, for the grand sum of Rs 750,000 nanak-shahi rupees. Thus began the Dogra kingdom. Naturally, the craftsmen in the area sought the patronage of Gulab Singh to ensure the sustenance of their embroidery craft. Especially because the export market for shawls was already threatened in the mid-1800's by imitation products from Europe.

Today, we associate Kashmiri shawls with elaborate and delicate embroidery. But actually, this kind of fancy embroidery on shawls was quite unknown before the 19th century. Surprised? It's true. Earlier, all shawls were woven or brocaded on hand looms. They were called 'kani' shawls.

Kani shawl from the TAPI Collection, with Kashmiri butas

But in 1803, a man called Khwaja Yusuf, on the request of an agent from Constantinople (Istanbul), produced shawls entirely with needle embroidery. These 'amli' shawls changed the very nature of the shawl trade, because they took less time, cost less, and provided a great deal of variety in story-telling. Loom-woven shawls continued to be made and valued, but amli shawls gave the trade an unprecedented boost. In 1803 there were only a handful of embroiderers in Kashmir, but by 1823, there were as many as 5000 of them. And the work they did was so good, that Europeans who encountered the work wanted to spirit away the workers!

Amli shawl from frankames.com, see this link for larger pic http://frankames.com/shawls/kashmiri-shawls/

In 1822, William Moorcroft, an employee of the East India Company who came to the area for trade wrote to the British Resident at Delhi and suggested that "Amongst the many thousands of individuals employed in the Shawl trade, in Kashmeer, it would probably be no difficult task to induce two or three families in a noiseless way to leave that country (for England) …." After all, he said, Louis XV of France had "procured Workmen in Muslin from India"; even though, he added, "through the negligence of his Ministers many of them perished through want". Fortunately these transplantation schemes came to naught. 

Empress Josephine, portrait by Jean-Antoine Gros, 1808

All through the early 1800's, the demand for Kashmir shawls grew, especially in France. In the French court, the Empress Josephine draped herself in colourful shawls, and the buta motif of Kashmir began to appear in royal clothing as an elongated paisley.

Soon, local versions of the shawls began to be manufactured. Factories in Paisley, Norwich, Edinburgh and Lyon began to imitate Indian shawls. In fact, in 1842, the town of Paisley exported 1 million pounds worth of shawls! 

It was the Franco-Prussian war of 1870 which finally struck a body-blow to the Kashmiri shawl industry, because it caused a sharp fall in the demand in France for authentic Kashmiri shawls. Eventually, there was large scale unemployment in the shawl industry of Kashmir, and by the beginning of the 20th century, shawl making had become a small handicraft industry instead of a major revenue earner for Kashmir. 

Even today, embroidered Kashmiri shawls are a very small handicraft industry, patronised mainly by discerning traders for the export market. The extremely fine, high quality work of the past, both kani and amli, is increasingly difficult to find.

Claude Martin's legacy

- By Aishwarya Javalgekar

Of all the Europeans who made fortunes in India, Major-General Claude Martin is unique,  because he bequeathed the major part of his wealth to charities, and thus left a lasting legacy in India.

Claude Martin was the son of a casket maker from Lyon. Abandoning the family business, he came to India as an officer in the French East India Company. When the French lost Pondicherry to the English, he switched over to the British East India Company. His fortunes took a turn for the better after that; and his services were requested by the Nawab of Awadh, Asaf-ud-Daulah. As an able administrator and man of astute financial acumen, he soon amassed a great fortune. He was believed to be the richest Frenchman in India!

Claude Martin (Photo taken from www.lmbcal.ac.in/)

From this wealth, he commissioned the construction of Constantia, a palatial building that was supposed to be his country residence. Though its construction began in 1785, it could not be completed until 1802, two years after Martin's death. Martin is buried beneath the building, in a vault constructed specially for that purpose; for which he left detailed instructions in his will.

Martin dedicated his fortune to the establishment of schools in Lucknow, Calcutta and Lyon, his birthplace in France. The schools were named 'La Martinière' in his memory. As per his will, the school in Lucknow was established at Constantia. 

Constantia: now called La Martinière College, Lucknow

Even after all these years, La Martinière schools and colleges still remain among the grandest educational institutions in India.  

Fort St. George, Chennai, is 375 years old today

Fort St George is 375 years old today. Much has changed in the fort: the sea no longer laps at the fort walls. But here is what the fort looked like in the mid 1700s. You can see the British flag flying on top.

A Perspective View of Fort St George on the Coromandel Coast, belonging to the East India Company, copper engraving by the Dutch engraver Jan van Ryne in the mid 1700s; later printed for J. Hinton at the King's Arms in Newgate Street

As you can see from the photo, the natural harbour was quite shallow. Ships had to anchor over 1 km offshore, and cargo was brought to the shore in small catamarans and 'masula' boats. Cargo losses were high - the masulas in fact usually had 2 men on board to constantly bale out water! Pilferage was also a big problem. In the painting below, you can get a closer look at these masula boats, and challenges of bringing valuable goods onshore in the rough water. Visiting Europeans were also hoisted onshore on top of the fishermen's shoulders :D :D

South East View of Fort St George, Madras, by Thomas Daniell in 1797, photo from the British Library

Naturally, there was a crying need for a proper dock/pier. Efforts began in the late 1700s, but funding was scarce, and building efforts in the first half of 1800's didn't work well. There were multiple problems, year after year, mainly due to the annual storms. But a working port was established in the second half of the 1800's, and the sea began to recede from the fort.

Under Francis Spring, the first Chairman of Madras Port, major changes were done between 1905 and 1911. Mainly, the entrance of the port was shifted from the eastern side, to the norh eastern side, which provided better protection from the elements. Land was reclaimed from the sea, docks and quays were built, and during this process, the sea was pushed further away from Fort St George. A big road came up between the fort and sea (Rajaji Salai, which was called North Beach Road). 

Today when we drive on Rajaji Salai from San Thome, we see Marina Beach to our right, and Fort George appears to our left. The docks are to our right, but all of it is not clearly visible from the road. To the north of the fort is 'Black Town', which was the residential and bazaar area where Indians lived. You can understand it better by seeing the map below:

Between the fort and the sea, there is now at least a kilometer of land.

If you are driving past that area today, stop and take a look at the fort walls. You'll see the Indian tricolour flying high!

The works of Charles Forrest

"City of Benares" by Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Ramus Forrest (1750-1827). He was an amateur artist who also served in the British (East India) army from 1802-1827.

The painting above is one of 24 illustrations in a book called "Picuresque Tour along the Riverrs Ganges and Jumna in India". It was published in London.

Like many Englishmen and women,  Forrest was enamored of India and its romantic landscapes. He was based in Calcutta, and whenever his regiment was sent upcountry, he would make excursions from the camp on horseback, palanquin or boat, to capture images. He drew sketches of what he saw, and then later coloured them. The image below is of Barrackpore, which was the earliest cantonment town in India:

Forrest drew unfamiliar vegetation, animals, palaces, forts, temples and other landscapes. He drew not only grand monuments but also smaller places. Along with other artists like Daniells and Salt, Forrest was responsible for creating exotic images of India in the public imagination. 

The Dancers of Hyderabad

'Nautch' dancers at Hyderabad in the 1860s. See the intricate ornaments - one of the women has a jewelled sheath covering her long plait.

Nautch (Nach) dancers were a widespread form of entertainment in India in the 19th century. They danced in courts, palaces, British bungalows and zamindars' havelis. They danced for men, women and children of all social classes. While travelling between cities, they would hold impromptu performances on the roads and squares to entertain the masses, make some money and secure free lodging.

They reached the height of their popularity in the 1860s, but afterwards declined due the objections of Victorian and Hindu reformers, both of whom considered the dance immoral.

This photograph of the dancers was taken in the 1860s by William Hooper, a British officer and amateur photographer. After the 1857 Rebellion, the British wanted to better understand the diverse people of India. For this they commissioned many photographers. Hooper began as one of these, and eventually set up a commercial partnership with a photographer George Western, to market photos of Anglo-Indian life.