The challenge of 2007 is how to rescue the centenary-and-a-half of 'san sattavan' from evaporating into fluffy celebrations ad nauseam. Our leaders and copywriters, the media and sarkari commemorators are all set to carry the day. However, the enticement of the thousands of 'mutiny photographs' housed now in the fabulous Alkazi Collection in New Delhi, some of them showcased in a recent exhibition, and of the canonical, colonial histories, is here to stay. And they pose a challenge to historians, who have a professional and not just a national stake in our past: how to read and behold these, not as Past Reality slices (to which we can counter our very own), but as texts and images suffused irrevocably with the spirit of triumphant colonialism. Just as rebels require masters to pit themselves against, similarly most histories of rebellions cannot be written without reference to the accounts of the dominant. Indeed, it would be an unhistorical revenge—a quaint 'magical realism' of sorts—were we to conjure up a history of anti-colonialism in India without once mentioning the British, or the colonial records for that matter.
Of all the tomes that appeared in the aftermath of the great revolt, the most authoritative and influential was, and has been, the massive three-volume History of the Sepoy War in India by Sir John William Kaye. By the time Kaye sat down to writing it soon after the event, he had on his desk personal communications from the main English actors of this high drama and records loaned by a gracious India Office, in which he held a senior position. Kaye produced the three volumes between 1864 and 1876, and died almost immediately afterwards. Till the late 1980s, perched on a pedestal in the India Office Library, London, a bust-size statue of Sir John seemed to keep watch over the 'native' researchers going in and out of that great colonial archive!
A cursory reading of Kaye's prefatory statements may convey the impression that what we have here is a history of the struggle between the colonisers and the colonised: "a multitude of detached and almost contemporaneous incidents, the only connecting link being the universal fact that the Black man had risen against the White."
But Kaye's history is not so much about the Black Man's rising as about the White Man's suppression of that uprising. In Kaye's Sepoy War, the colonial masters are so completely the subject of Indian history that an account of the most important rebellion against them can only be written up as English history, that is, the heroism of the English under fire: "The story of the Indian Rebellion of 1857 is, perhaps, the most single illustration of our national character ever yet recorded in the annals of our country." Contrary to that famous quip in Midnight's Children—What do the English know of their history, for a great deal of it happened elsewhere—Kaye was intent on teaching the English their overseas history: (It was) "because we were too English. ..(in) the over-eager pursuit of Humanity and Civilisation...that the great crisis arose; but it was because we were English that when it arose, it did not utterly overwhelm us."
Our response, by and large, has been to replace the word English with Indian in the above description: as we were colonised, we rebelled; but because we were not yet fully Indian, we failed. This seems to be as true of Subhadra Kumari Chauhan's famous Hindi poem (Khoob ladi mardani...) about the Rani of Jhansi, where 'an old Bharat' is not quite fully rejuvenated, as of the persistent idea, down to the present celebrations, of the Ghadar as the First War of Indian Independence. But History is always messier, more cluttered, than the Museum of a National Past. Recent first-rate historical work by Rudrangshu Mukherjee on Awadh—a core area of the rebellion—has painted a more nuanced picture. True, the injustice of exiling Nawab Wajid Ali Shah was felt generally: 'Angrej Bahadur aien, aur muluk le lihin', as a popular Awadhi dirge has it. But it was only after the mutinies in each and every station had succeeded that the landed chiefs, who had earlier given shelter to the British, marched with their retainers and peasants to besiege and harass the British in and around Lucknow. Paradoxically, while the British sought to sunder the moral and economic ties that bound taluqdars and peasants, it was these very traditional loyalties that asserted themselves in the moment of rebellion. Even when fighting together, the Indians did not constitute an undifferentiated mass.