This is a refreshing and engaging look at the kingdom of Awadh and the colonial powers that whirled around India in those days. Ira Mukhoty, a popular historian, decided not to concentrate her research on the usual British sources for this work, and that in itself is a fairly unique approach with enlightening results. Instead, she looked at French archival material.
The Lion and the Lily takes you straight into an India that is a fighting ground for various European nations, embroiled in their own rivalries on their home continent, on the fractious and fruitful relationships between the various kings which ruled India, and the glory and culture that developed in Awadh. It also chronicles the rise of British power, through means more perfidious than honourable, which eventually led to the rule of Empire.
Mukhoty challenges the popular narrative that the Nawabs of Oudh were effete rulers, more interested in food and art than in the hardships of realpolitik and war. She argues that this belief stems from the British-created myths and popular culture. Both Shuja-ud-Daula and Wajid Ali Shah appear as very different characters than they do in most historical accounts. Chicanery and cunning are what distinguishes the British from the rest.
The French appear to have thrown themselves into Nawabi life, filled with art, music, food, politicking and liaisons. Many were the epitome of the cliched nabob with his “bibis”, native clothing and unimaginable wealth. All of which came either by proximity to the nawabs and Indian rulers or by nefarious means. They helped the nawabs to counter British attempts at control, to negotiate with the Mughals and to protect Awadh from political marauders. After a fashion of course.
Mukhoty paints vivid pictures of the lives of these chancers and mercenaries, while also keeping the slow march of British power across India active in the background. Of all these nabobs, one that stands out is Claude Martin, a French mercenary who fought for the British, was a deserter and landed up in Awadh. He acquired enormous wealth, some of which led to the formation of one of the schools which I attended — La Martiniere, which has branches in Lucknow, Kolkata and Lyon in France, where Martin was from. Sadly, Martin turns out to be despicable character, particularly because he was a pedophile, who adopted young girls, brought them up as his daughters and then turned them into his concubines. Nothing to hail about then as the school song goes, sorry to all fellow Martinians.
For a work of popular history, a lot of work and research has gone into The Lion and the Lily. Mukhoty’s writing style is easy and engaging, although conversely, it can occasionally become a bit dense. But there are enough details and journeys to keep the reader entertained and even educated without being obvious about it.
The reinterpretation of Indian history, beyond the stranglehold of British viewpoints, is vital and Mukhoty has certainly added to that growing body of work.
The Lion and the Lily: The Rise & Fall of Awadh
Ira Mukhoty
Aleph
pp. 456; Rs 999
