In her authoritative study of selected monuments in Modern Delhi (Building Histories, University of Chicago Press, 2016) historian Mrinalini Rajgopalan drew a special reference to the statue of Brigadier General John Nicholson– the British officer who had turned the tide of the Rebellion of 1857 in favour of British troops – which was sought to be removed as early as in 1949. Although the statue of Nicholson wielding a sword was eventually relocated to his Irish hometown of Ulster in 1957, the Ministry of Home Affairs had turned down the earlier plea on the grounds that there wasn’t any noticeable public concern about the monument, and that it only acted as a reminder of our weakness as a historical lesson.
Post-independent India did show remarkable restraint in its attitude to the British era but by the time the tenth anniversary of Independence approached – 1957 was also the centenary of the Indian Uprising – the mood had changed, and a statue of a British soldier with unsheathed sword seemed highly vulnerable to nationalistic fervour. The three-and-a-half tonne statue was finally removed and ferried to Belfast before the anniversary, and with it went that part of history which had compared a young army officer to the likes of Napoleon by his contemporaries. Called ‘The Lion of the Punjab’, Nicholson continued to remain popular in Britain through much of the 1950s and 1960s for his decisive role in breaching the mutineers’ defence of the walled city of Delhi, but has lost much of it in recent times with modern British historians dubbing him as “an imperial psychopath” and “a homosexual bully”. By late 1960s his name had become a byword for brutality and racism, and his portrait, once proudly displayed in the exhibition of Great Irish Men and Women at the Ulster Museum in Belfast was removed. One website badassoftheweek.com describes him as “one who crushed the skulls of all who opposed him in a bloodsplosion of gruesome vengeance”, and that he is “in equal parts respected and despised by roughly everyone on the Indian subcontinent”. What made an erstwhile hero, considered ‘The Hero of Delhi’ by BBC Radio in 1950 lose his credibility in his home country? Is it because British peoples’ attitudes to race and Empire have changed in the years since his death? Or, is there more to this complex character that has yet not been fully unearthed in earlier accounts of his life?
Journalist and radio broadcaster Stuart Flinders has pieced together a new perspective on Nicholson’s personality in his biography Cult of a Dark Hero based on previously unpublished material, letters and diaries. India was an appealing career move for a majority of youth in Ireland that made Nicholson, one of the seven siblings, use his uncle’s influence to join 37,000 European soldiers at that time in British India. After completing his basic training upon arrival in Calcutta in 1839, Nicholson was given permanent position with the 27th Native Infantry (NI) at Ferozpore. From there on Nicholson was quick to adapt to local conditions, and proved his mettle in first fighting the Afghans, and then the Sikhs.
Fighting the Ghilzais (tribe) in Ghazni was both torturous and tumultuous. His mother’s parting words ‘never forget to read your Bible’ were of little solace as blood thirsty tribesmen lurked around. In one of his diary entries, Nicholson had noted his anguish: “I return home to breakfast disgusted with myself, the world, and above all, with my cruel profession. In fact we are nothing but licensed assassins”. Nicholson may have sounded apologetic in his note but his hatred for the natives was only to be cemented upon discovering his brother Alexander’s mutilated body as he was passing through the Khyber Pass. Alexander had also come to India as a cadet.
Cult of a Dark Hero provides a detailed account of the life of a controversial soldier whose extraordinary efforts on inventing the Movable Column of troops helped to nip revolt in the bud, and ensured that Punjab remained under British control. The more power he gained, the more control he exercised in dispensing justice. Flinders provides evidences of Nicholson’s method of asserting the rule of law, which not only won him local support but anointed him as a cult figure, somewhat of a deity. Stories of him bringing peace, justice and, where necessary, retribution merged with ancient tales from Islam, and he became a mystical figure, part folk hero, part Muslim legend. The cult of Nikal Seyn had a dedicated following spread across religious beliefs but the cult was finally taken up by Shia Muslims in remote parts of Punjab. The cult survived on stories that valorised him as a super hero. One story had Nikal Seyn cutting off a man’s head, realising his mistake and putting it back again, following which “the man made a bow and walked home highly satisfied and honoured”. However, such stories were not to last long with the change of times and traditional practices.
Nicholson career of less than two-decades culminated with his last military encounter in securing walled city of Delhi that not only made him one of the great heroes of Victorian Britain but cost him his life too. Cult of a Dark Hero provides graphic details of the assault on Delhi, which proved beyond doubt that Nicholson knew no fear, and preferred to act rather than to take advice or seek permission. After the guns had blasted holes in the city wall, Nicholson commanded his troops to enter the city amidst terrible shower of fire at Kabul Gate of the city, and with rebels occupying the adjoining houses. Nicholson received a bullet under the right arm on September 16, 1857, and succumbed to it six days later on September 23. “His was a life of adventure lived on the very edge of the British Empire, as courageous as he was ruthless, as loyal to his friends as he was merciless to those who crossed him”.
In his foreword to the book, Sir Mark Tully wonders if much of the opprobrium heaped on Nicholson takes full account of the times in which he lived. That he was brutal there is no doubt, but he was a dedicated soldier with a clear sense of duty.
Tully was taught by his mother to hold Nicholson in high esteem, as his great-great-grandfather Richard Nicholson was John Nicholson’s uncle. He finds that Stuart Flinders’ research on the controversial life of an archetypal imperial hero has pursued a balanced middle course. Flinders does not paint John Nicholson either black or white, but leaves the verdict open. Not as a justification but as an explanation to how Nicholson got dubbed for his outrageous attitude, historian William Dalrymple has written that “the atrocities committed by the native sepoys against the British women and children had absolved the British of any need to treat the rebels as human beings”. Early in his career Nicholson had admitted that “he disliked India and its inhabitants”, which perhaps led to his ultimate branding as an imperial psychopath, but by no means was he the only British officer to have been engaged in wanton cruelty.
Cult of a Dark Hero is as much an engaging account of the British exploits in laying control over vast expanses of undivided India as about the man who seemed undeterred by fear of any kind. Flinders stays objective in his readings of personal letters and diary entries in assessing the conditions that made a young man go beyond his sense of duty in making a living. His uncanny power of penetrating the disguise, helped by his habit of maintaining an extensive intelligence network, made him a military strategist of unmatched qualities. That he stayed ahead in taking decisions at the time of crises made many of his seniors uncomfortable. However, his temperament was ideally suited to the times in which he lived.
In his perceptive assessment, Flinders argues that there was a deep sense of racial supremacy exhibited by Nicholson in his actions, which is rightfully abhorred in recent times. The reputation of Gordon of Khartoum, the British officer who suppressed the Muslim revolt in Sudan in 1880, followed a similar trajectory for the same reason. Although it may remain difficult to justify his brutality in the service of the Empire, it is equally hard to draw conclusions on why he lost out on his cult status in recent times. Nonetheless, Flinders concludes that Nicholson was driven by personal ambition and a sense of duty to his country rather than by any notions of improving the lives of those amongst whom he worked. His presence during the Uprising was reassuring to Europeans, but it did alter the course of history for those who were subjugated by the imperial forces. For those interested in the history of freedom movement, Cult of a Dark Hero provides insights on how the Indian Uprising of 1857, often referred to as the First War of Independence, was eventually lost, but which had sown the seeds of a long-drawn battle to win freedom 90 years later.
Cult of a Dark Hero: Nicholson of Delhi
by Stuart Flinders
I B Tauris, London,
Expanse: 231 pp, Price: £ 25
First published in Biblio, issue dated Jan-March 2019.
Brilliantly written as always. Trust the book holds equal promise. In this review, you have been liberal with length of the prose, although very welcome. How about having a like button at the end of the section - just to tell you that we are avidly reading and following you.
ReplyDeleteWith best personal regards!