Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan, vol. 3 of 3, by James Tod

Monson’s Campaign. Gallantry of the Koila Chief.

—When the ill-fated expedition under Monson traversed Central India to the attack of Holkar, the regent of Kotah, trusting to the invincibility of the British arms, did not hesitate, upon their appearance within his territory, to co-operate both with supplies and men. But when the British army retreated, and its commander demanded admission within the walls of Kotah, he met a decided and very proper refusal. “You shall not bring anarchy and a disorganized army to mix with my peaceable citizens; but draw up your battalions under my walls; I will furnish provisions, and I will march the whole of my force between you and the enemy, and bear the brunt of his attack.” Such were Zalim’s own expressions; whether it would have been wise to accede to his proposal is not the point of discussion. Monson continued his disastrous flight through the Bundi and Jaipur dominions, and carried almost alone the news of his disgrace to the illustrious Lake. It was natural he should seek to palliate his error by an attempt to involve others; and amongst those thus calumniated, first and foremost was the regent of Kotah, “the head and front of whose offending”—non-admission to a panic-struck, beef-eating army within his walls—was translated into treachery, and a connivance with the enemy; a calumny which long subsisted to the prejudice of the veteran politician. But never was there a greater wrong inflicted, or a more unjust return for services and sacrifices, both in men and money, in a cause which little concerned him; and it nearly operated hurtfully, at a period (1817) when the British Government could not have dispensed with his aid. It was never told, it is hardly yet known at this distant period, what devotion he evinced in that memorable retreat, as it is misnamed, when the troops of Kotah and the corps of the devoted Lucan were sacrificed to ensure the safety of the army until it left the Mukunddarra Pass in its rear. If there be any incredulous supporter of the commander in that era of our shame, let him repair to the altar of the Koila chief, who, like a true Hara, ‘spread his carpet’ at the ford of the Amjar, and there awaited the myrmidons [550] of the Mahrattas, and fell protecting the flight of an army which might have passed from one end of India to the other. Well might the veteran allude to our ingratitude in 1804, when in A.D. 1817 he was called upon to co-operate in the destruction of that predatory system, in withstanding which he had passed a life of feverish anxiety. If there was a doubt of the part he acted, if the monuments of the slain will not be admitted as evidence, let us appeal to the opinion of the enemy, whose testimony adds another feature to the portrait of this extraordinary man.

Besides the Koila chief, and many brave Haras, slain on the retreat of Monson, the Bakhshi, or commander of the force, was made prisoner. As the price of his liberation, and as a punishment for the aid thus given to the British, the Mahratta leader exacted a bond of ten lakhs of rupees from the Bakhshi, threatening on refusal to lay waste with fire and sword the whole line of pursuit. But when the discomfited Bakhshi appeared before the regent, he spurned him from his presence, disavowed his act, and sent him back to Holkar to pay the forfeiture as he might.^[2] Holkar satisfied himself then with threatening vengeance, and when opportunity permitted, he marched into Haraoti and encamped near the capital. The walls were manned to receive him; the signal had been prepared which would not have left a single house inhabited in the plains, while the Bhils would simultaneously pour down from the hills on Holkar’s supplies or followers. The bond was again presented, and without hesitation disavowed; hostilities appeared inevitable, when the friends of both parties concerted an interview. But Zalim, aware of the perfidy of his foe, declined this, except on his own conditions. These were singular, and will recall to mind another and yet more celebrated meeting. He demanded that they should discuss the terms of peace or war upon the Chambal, to which Holkar acceded. For this purpose Zalim prepared two boats, each capable of containing about twenty armed men. Having moored his own little bark in the middle of the stream, under the cannon of the city, Holkar, accompanied by his cavalcade, embarked in his boat and rowed to meet him. Carpets were spread, and there these extraordinary men, with only one eye ^[3] between them, settled the conditions of peace, and the endearing epithets of ‘uncle’ and ‘nephew’ were bandied, with abundant mirth on the peculiarity of their situation; while—for the fact is beyond a doubt—each boat was plugged, and men were at hand on the first appearance of treachery to have sent them all to the bottom of the river.^[4] But Holkar’s [551] necessities were urgent, and a gift of three lakhs of rupees averted such a catastrophe, though he never relinquished the threat of exacting the ten lakhs; and when at length madness overtook him, “the bond of Kaka Zalim Singh” was one of the most frequently repeated ravings of this soldier of fortune, whose whole life was one scene of insanity.

Relations with Marāthas and Pindāris.

—It will readily be conceived that the labours of his administration were quite sufficient to occupy his attention without intermeddling with his neighbours; yet, in order to give a direct interest in the welfare of Kotah, he became a competitor for the farming of the extensive districts which joined his southern frontier, belonging to Sindhia and Holkar. From the former he rented the Panj-mahals, and from the latter the four important districts of Dig, Pirawa, etc.,^[5] which, when by right of conquest they became British, were given in sovereignty to the regent. Not satisfied with this hold of self-interest on the two great predatory powers, he had emissaries in the persons of their confidential ministers, who reported every movement; and to ‘make assurance doubly sure,’ he had Mahratta pandits of the first talent in his own administration, through whose connexions no political measure of their nation escaped his knowledge. As for Amir Khan, he and the regent were essential to each other. From Kotah the Khan was provided with military stores and supplies of every kind; and when his legions mutinied (a matter of daily occurrence) and threatened him with the bastinado, or fastening to a piece of ordnance under a scorching sun, Kotah afforded a place of refuge during a temporary retreat, or ways and means to allay the tumult by paying the arrears. Zalim allotted the castle of Shirgarh for the Khan’s family, so that this leader had no anxiety on their account while he was pursuing his career of rapine in more distant scenes.

Even the Pindaris were conciliated with all the respect and courtesy paid to better men. Many of their leaders held grants of land in Kotah: so essential, indeed, was a good understanding with this body, that when Sindhia, in A.D. 1807, entrapped and imprisoned in the dungeons of Gwalior the celebrated Karim,^[6] Zalim not only advanced the large sum required for his ransom, but had the temerity to pledge himself for his future good conduct: an act which somewhat tarnished his reputation for sagacity, but eventually operated as a just punishment on Sindhia for his avarice.

The scale of munificence on which the regent exercised the rites of sanctuary (saran) towards the chiefs of other countries claiming his protection, was disproportioned to the means of the State. The exiled nobles of Marwar and Mewar [552] have held estates in Kotah greater than their sequestrated patrimonies. These dazzling acts of beneficence were not lost on a community amongst whom hospitality ranks at the head of the virtues. In these regions, where the strangest anomalies and the most striking contradictions present themselves in politics, such conduct begets no astonishment, and rarely provokes a remonstrance from the State whence the suppliant fled. The regent not only received the refugees, but often reconciled them to their sovereigns. He gloried in the title of ‘peace-maker,’ and whether his conduct proceeded from motives of benevolence or policy, he was rewarded with the epithet, sufficiently exalted in itself. “They all come to old Zalim with their troubles,” he remarked, “as if he could find food for them all from 'his handful of soil.'”

To conclude: his defensive was, in its results, the reverse of his offensive policy. Invariable and brilliant success accompanied the one; defeat, disappointment, and great pecuniary sacrifices were the constant fruits of the other. Mewar eluded all his arts, and involved Kotah in embarrassments from which she will never recover, while his attempt to take Sheopur, the capital of the Gaurs, by a coup de main, was signally defeated. Had he succeeded in either attempt, and added the resources of these acquisitions to Kotah, doubtless his views would have been still more enlarged. At an early period of his career, an offer was made to him, by the celebrated Partap Singh of Jaipur, to undertake the duties of chief minister of that State: it is vain to speculate on what might have been the result to the State or himself, had he been able to wield her resources, at that time so little impaired.

Zālim Singh’s Domestic Policy. Character of Mahārāo Ummed Singh.

—Let us now view the domestic policy of the regent; for which purpose we must again bring forward the pageant prince of Kotah, the Raja Ummed Singh, who was destined never to be extricated from the trammels of a guardianship which, like most offices in the East, was designed to be hereditary; and at the age of threescore and ten, Ummed Singh found himself as much a minor as when his dying father ‘placed him in the lap’ of the Protector Zalim Singh. The line of conduct he pursued towards his sovereign, through half a century’s duration, was singularly consistent. The age, the character, the very title of Nana, or ‘grandsire,’ added weight to his authority, and the disposition of the prince seemed little inclined to throw it off. In short, his temperament appeared exactly suited to the views of the regent, who, while he consulted his wishes in every step, acted entirely from himself. The Maharao was a prince of excellent understanding, and possessed many of those qualities inherent in a Rajput. He was fond of the chase, and was the best horseman and marksman in the country; and the [553] regent gained such entire ascendancy over him, that it is doubtful whether he was solicitous of change. Besides, there was no appearance of constraint; and his religious occupations, which increased with his age, went far to wean him from a wish to take a more active share in the duties of government. His penetration, in fact, discovered the inutility of such a desire, and he soon ceased to entertain it; while in proportion as he yielded, the attentions of the minister increased. If an envoy came from a foreign State, he was introduced to the prince, delivered his credentials to him; and from him received a reply, but that reply was his minister’s. If a foreign noble claimed protection, he received it from the prince; he was the dispenser of the favours, though he could neither change their nature or amount. Nay, if the regent’s own sons required an addition to their estates, it could only be at the express desire of the Maharao; and to such a length did the minister carry this deference, that an increase to his personal income required being pressed upon him by the prince. If horses arrived from foreign countries for sale, the best were set aside for the Maharao and his sons. The archives, the seal, and all the emblems of sovereignty remained as in times past in the custody of the personal servants of the prince, at the castle, though none durst use them without consent of the regent. He banished his only son, Madho Singh, during three years, to the family estate at Nanta, for disrespect to the heir-apparent, Kishor Singh, when training their horses together; and it was with difficulty that even the entreaty of the Maharao could procure his recall. There are many anecdotes related to evince that habitual deference to everything attached to his sovereign, which, originating in good feeling, greatly aided his policy. The regent was one day at prayer, in the family temple in the castle, when the younger sons of the Maharao, not knowing he was there, entered to perform their devotions. It was the cold season, and the pavement was damp; he took the quilt which he wore from his shoulders, and spread it for them to stand upon. On their retiring, a servant, deeming the quilt no longer fit to be applied to the regent’s person, was putting it aside; but, guessing his intention, Zalim eagerly snatched it from him, and re-covering himself, observed it was now of some value, since it was marked with the dust of the feet of his sovereign’s children. These are curious anomalies in the mind of a man who had determined on unlimited authority. No usurpation was ever more meek, or yet more absolute; and it might be affirmed that the prince and the regent were made for each other and the times in which they lived.

Zālim Singh and his Servants.

—It was to be expected that a man whose name was long synonymous with wisdom [554] should show discernment in the choice of his servants. He had the art of attaching them to his interests, of uniting their regard with a submissive respect, and no kindness, no familiarity, ever made them forget the bounds prescribed. But while he generously provided for all their wants, and granted them every indulgence, he knew too well the caprice of human nature to make them independent of himself. He would provide for them, for their relations and their dependents; his hand was ever bestowing gratuities on festivals, births, marriages, or deaths; but he never allowed them to accumulate wealth. It is to be remarked that his most confidential servants were either Pathans or Mahratta pandits: the first he employed in military posts, the other in the more complicated machinery of politics. He rarely employed his own countrymen; and the post of Faujdar, now held by Bishan Singh, a Rajput of the Saktawat clan, is the exception to the rule. Dalil Khan and Mihrab Khan were his most faithful and devoted servants and friends. The stupendous fortifications of the capital, with which there is nothing in India to compete, save the walls of Agra, were all executed by the former. By him also was raised that pride of the regent, the city called after him, Jhalrapatan;^[7] while all the other forts were put into a state which makes Kotah the most defensible territory in India. Such was the affectionate esteem in which Dalil was held by the regent, that he used often to say, “he hoped he should not outlive Dalil Khan.” Mihrab Khan was the commander of the infantry, which he maintained in a state of admirable discipline and efficiency;^[8] they received their bis roza, or twenty days’ pay, each month, with their arrears at the end of every second year [555].

CHAPTER 10

Alliance with the British.

—We now enter upon that period of the regent’s history, when the march of events linked him with the policy of Britain. When in A.D. 1817, the Marquess of Hastings proclaimed war against the Pindaris, who were the very lees of the predatory hordes, which the discomfiture of the greater powers had thrown off, neutrality was not to be endured; and it was announced that all those who were not for us in this grand enterprise, which involved the welfare of all, would be considered against us. The Rajput States, alike interested with ourselves in the establishment of settled government, were invited to an alliance offensive and defensive with us, which was to free them for ever from the thraldom of the predatory armies; in return for which, we demanded homage to our power, and a portion of their revenues as the price of protection. The eagle-eye of Zalim saw at once the virtue of compliance, and the grace attendant on its being quickly yielded. Accordingly, his envoy was the first to connect Kotah in the bonds of alliance, which soon united all Rajwara to Britain. Meanwhile, all India was in arms; two hundred thousand men were embodied, and moving on various points to destroy the germ of rapine for ever. As the first scene of action was expected to be in the countries bordering upon Haraoti, the presence of an agent with Zalim Singh appeared indispensable. His instructions were to make available the resources of Kotah to the armies moving round him, and to lessen the field [556] of the enemy’s manœuvres, by shutting him out of that country. So efficient were these resources, that in five days after the agent reached the regent’s camp,^[1] every pass was a post; and a corps of fifteen hundred men, infantry and cavalry, with four guns, was marched to co-operate with General Sir John Malcolm, who had just crossed the Nerbudda with a weak division of the army of the Deccan, and was marching northward, surrounded by numerous foes and doubtful friends. Throughout that brilliant and eventful period in the history of British India, when every province from the Ganges to the ocean was agitated by warlike demonstrations, the camp of the regent was the pivot of operations and the focus of intelligence. The part he acted was decided, manly, and consistent; and if there were moments of vacillation, it was inspired by our own conduct, which created doubts in his mind as to the wisdom of his course. He had seen and felt that the grand principle of politics, expediency, guided all courts and councils, whether Mogul, Mahratta, or British: the disavowal of the alliances formed by Lord Lake, under Marquess Wellesley’s administration, proved this to demonstration, and he was too familiar with the history of our power to give more credit than mere politeness required to our boasted renunciation of the rights of anticipated conquest. A smile would play over the features of the orbless politician when the envoy disclaimed all idea of its being a war of aggrandisement. To all such protestations he would say, “Maharaja, I cannot doubt you believe what you say; but remember what old Zalim tells you; the day is not distant when only one emblem of power (ekhi sikka) will be recognized throughout India.” This was in A.D. 1817-18; and the ten years of life since granted to him must have well illustrated the truth of this remark; for although no absolute conquest or incorporation of Rajput territory has taken place, our system of control, and the establishment of our monopoly within these limits (not then dreamed of by ourselves), has already verified in part his prediction. It were indeed idle to suppose that any protestations could have vanquished the arguments present to a mind which had pondered on every page of the history of our power; which had witnessed its development from the battle of Plassey under Clive to Lake’s exploits at the altars of Alexander. He had seen throughout, that the fundamental rule which guides the Rajput prince, ‘obtain land,’ was one both practically and theoretically understood by viceroys from [557] the west, who appeared to act upon the four grand political principles of the Rajput, sham, dan, bed, dand; or, persuasion, gifts, stratagem, force; by which, according to their great lawgiver, kingdoms are obtained and maintained, and all mundane affairs conducted. When, therefore, in order to attain our ends, we expatiated upon the disinterestedness of our views, his co-operation was granted less from a belief in our professions, than upon a dispassionate consideration of the benefits which such alliance would confer upon Kotah, and of its utility in maintaining his family in the position it had so long held in that State. He must have balanced the difficulties he had mastered to maintain that power, against the enemies, internal and external, which had threatened it, and he justly feared both would speedily be sacrificed to the incapacity of his successors. To provide a stay to their feebleness was the motive which induced him to throw himself heart and hand into the alliance we sought; and of signal benefit did he prove to the cause he espoused. But if we read aright the workings of a mind, which never betrayed its purpose either to friend or foe, we should find that there was a moment wherein, though he did not swerve from the path he had chalked out, or show any equivocation in respect to the pledge he had given, the same spirit which had guided him to the eminence he had acquired, suggested what he might have done at a conjuncture when all India, save Rajputana, was in arms to overthrow the legions of Britain. All had reason to dread her colossal power, and hatred and revenge actuated our numerous allies to emancipate themselves from a yoke which, whether they were bound by friendship or by fear, was alike galling. If there was one master-mind that could have combined and wielded their resources for our overthrow, it was that of Zalim Singh alone. Whether the aspirations of his ambition, far too vast for its little field of action, soared to this height, or were checked by the trammels of nearly eighty winters, we can only conjecture. Once, and once only, the dubious oracle came forth. It was in the very crisis of operations, when three English divisions were gradually closing upon the grand Pindari horde, under Karim Khan, in the very heart of his dominions, and his troops, his stores, were all placed at our disposal, he heard that one of these divisions had insulted his town of Bara; then, the ideas which appeared to occupy him burst forth in the ejaculation, “that if twenty years could be taken from his life, Delhi and Deccan should be one”; and appeared to point to the hidden thoughts of a man whose tongue never spoke but in parables.

There is also no doubt that his most confidential friends and ministers, who were [558] Mahrattas, were adverse to his leaguing with the English, and for a moment he felt a repugnance to breaking the bond which had so long united him with their policy. He could not but enumerate amongst the arguments for its maintenance, his ability to preserve that independence which fifty years had strengthened, and he saw that, with the power to which he was about to be allied, he had no course but unlimited obedience; in short, that his part must now be subordinate. He preferred it, however, for the security it afforded; and as in the course of nature he must soon resign his trust, there was more hope of his power descending to his posterity than if left to discord and faction. But when hostilities advanced against the freebooters, and the more settled governments of the Peshwa, Bhonsla, Holkar, and Sindhia, determined to shake off our yoke, we could urge to him irresistible arguments for a perfect identity of interests. The envoy had only to hint that the right of conquest would leave the districts he rented from Holkar at our disposal; and that as we wanted no territory in Central India for ourselves, we should not forget our friends at the conclusion of hostilities. If ever there were doubts, they were dissipated by this suggestion; and on the grand horde being broken up, it was discovered that the families of its leaders were concealed in his territory. Through his indirect aid we were enabled to secure them, and at once annihilated the strength of the marauders. For all these important services, the sovereignty of the four districts he rented from Holkar was guaranteed to the regent. The circumstances attending the conveyance of this gift afforded an estimate of Zalim’s determination never to relinquish his authority; for, when the sanad was tendered in his own name, he declined it, desiring the insertion of that of “his master, the Maharao.” At the time, it appeared an act of disinterested magnanimity, but subsequent acts allowed us to form a more correct appreciation of his motives. The campaign concluded, and the noble commander and his enlightened coadjutor ^[2] left the seat of war impressed with the conviction of the great services, and the highest respect for the talents, of the veteran politician, while the envoy, who had acted with him during the campaign, was declared the medium of his future political relations.

In March A.D. 1818, profound repose reigned from the Sutlej to the ocean, of which Rajput history presented no example. The magic Runes, by which the north-man could “hush the stormy wave,” could not be more efficacious than the rod of our power in tranquillizing this wide space, which for ages had been the seat of conflict. The satya[559] yuga, the golden age of the Hindu, alone afforded a parallel to the calm which had succeeded the eras of tumultuous effervescence.

Death of Mahārāo Ummed Singh. Disputed Succession.

—Thus matters proceeded till November 1819, when the death of the Maharao Ummed Singh engendered new feelings in the claimants to the succession, and placed the regent in a position from which not even his genius might have extricated him, unaided by the power whose alliance he had so timely obtained. And here it becomes requisite to advert to the terms of this alliance. The treaty ^[3] was concluded at Delhi, on the 26th of December 1817, by the envoys of the regent, in the name of his lawful sovereign, the Maharao Ummed Singh, ratified by the contracting parties, and the deeds were interchanged at the regent’s court early in January. To this treaty his sovereign’s seal and his own were appended; but no guarantee of the regent’s power was demanded pending the negotiation, nor is he mentioned except in the preamble, and then only as the ministerial agent of the Maharao Ummed Singh, in whose behalf alone the treaty was virtually executed. This excited the surprise of the British representative,^[4] who, in his official dispatch detailing the progress and conclusion of the negotiations, intimated that he not only expected such stipulation, but was prepared for admitting it. There was no inadvertence in this omission; the regent saw no occasion for any guarantee, for the plenary exercise of the powers of sovereign during more than half a century had constituted him, de facto, prince of Kotah. Moreover, we may suppose had he felt a desire for such stipulation, that a feeling of pride might have stifled its expression, which by making the choice of ministers dependent on a foreign power would have virtually annulled the independent sovereignty of Kotah. Whatever was the reason of the omission, at a season when his recognition might have had the same formal sanction of all the parties as the other articles of the treaty, it furnished the future opponents of the regent’s power with a strong argument against its maintenance in perpetuity on the death of the Maharao Ummed Singh.

It has been already said that the treaty was concluded at Delhi in December 1817, and interchanged in January 1818. In March of the same year, two supplemental articles were agreed to at Delhi, and transmitted direct to the regent, guaranteeing the administration of affairs to his sons and successors for ever.

Having premised so much, let us give a brief notice of the parties, whose future fate was involved in this policy [560].

The Maharao Ummed Singh had three sons, Kishor Singh, Bishan Singh, and Prithi Singh. The heir-apparent, who bore a name dear to the recollection of the Haras, was then forty years of age. He was mild in his temper and demeanour; but being brought up in habits of seclusion, he was more conversant with the formulas of his religion, and the sacred epics, than with the affairs of mankind. He was no stranger to the annals of his family, and had sufficient pride and feeling to kindle at the recollection of their glory; but the natural bent of his mind, reinforced by education, had well fitted him to follow the path of his father, and to leave himself and his country to be governed as best pleased the Nana Sahib,^[5] the regent.

Bishan Singh was about three years younger; equally placid in disposition, sensible and sedate, and much attached to the regent.

Prithi Singh was under thirty; a noble specimen of a Hara, eager for action in the only career of a Rajput—arms. To him the existing state of things was one of opprobrium and dishonour, and his mind was made up to enfranchize himself and family from the thraldom in which his father had left them, or perish in the attempt. The brothers were attached to each other, and lived in perfect harmony, though suspicions did exist that Bishan Singh’s greater docility and forbearance towards the regent’s son and successor, arose from interested, perhaps traitorous, views. Each of them had estates of twenty-five thousand rupees’ annual rent, which they managed through their agents.

The regent had two sons, the elder, Madho Singh, legitimate; the younger, Gordhandas, illegitimate; but he was regarded with more affection, and endowed with almost equal authority with the declared successor to the regency. Madho Singh was about forty-six at the period we speak of. A physiognomist would discover in his aspect no feature indicative of genius, though he might detect amidst traits which denoted indolence, a supercilious tone of character, the effect of indulgence. This was fostered in a great degree by the late Maharao, who supported the regent’s son against his own in all their dissensions, even from their infancy, which had increased the natural arrogance developed by power being too early entrusted to him: for when the regent, as before related, quitted the capital for the camp, Madho Singh was nominated to the office of Faujdar, the hereditary post of his father, and left as his locum tenens at Kotah. This office, which included the command and pay of all the [561] troops, left unlimited funds at his disposal; and as the checks which restrained every other officer in the State were inoperative upon his sons, who dared to inform against the future regent? Accordingly, he indulged his taste in a manner which engendered dislike to him: his gardens, his horses, his boats, were in a style of extravagance calculated to provoke the envy of the sons of his sovereign; while his suite eclipsed that of the prince himself. In short, he little regarded the prudent counsel of his father, who, in their metaphorical language, used to express his fears “that when he was a hundred years old” (i.e. dead), the fabric which cost a life in rearing would fall to pieces.

Gordhandas,^[6] the natural son of the regent, was then about twenty-seven,^[7] quick, lively, intelligent, and daring. His conduct to his sovereign’s family has been precisely the reverse of his brother’s, and in consequence he lived on terms of confidential friendship with them, especially with the heir-apparent and prince, Prithi Singh, whose disposition corresponded with his own. His father, who viewed this child of his old age with perhaps more affection than his elder brother, bestowed upon him the important office of Pardhan, which comprehends the grain-department of the State. It gave him the command of funds, the amount of which endangered the declared succession. The brothers cordially detested each other, and many indignities were cast upon Gordhandas by Madho Singh, such as putting him in the guard, which kindled an irreconcilable rancour between them. Almost the only frailty in the character of the regent was the defective education of his sons: both were left to the indulgence of arrogant pretensions, which ill accorded with the tenor of his own behaviour through life, or the conduct that was demanded of them. Dearly, bitterly has the regent repented this error, which in its consequence has thrown the merits of an active and difficult career into the shade, and made him regret that his power was not to die with him him.

Such was the state of parties and politics at Kotah in November 1819, when the death of the Maharao developed views that had long been concealed, and that produced the most deplorable results. The regent was at the Chhaoni, his standing camp at Gagraun, when this event occurred, and he immediately repaired to the capital, to see that the last offices were properly performed, and to proclaim the an, or oath of allegiance, and the accession of the Maharao Kishor Singh [562].

The Political Agent received the intelligence ^[8] on his march from Marwar to Mewar, and immediately addressed his government on the subject, requesting instructions. Meanwhile, after a few days’ halt at Udaipur, he repaired to Kotah to observe the state of parties, whose animosities and expectations were forebodings of a change which menaced the guaranteed order of things. On his arrival, he found the aged regent, still a stranger to the luxury of a house, encamped a mile beyond the city, with his devoted bands around him; while his son, the heir to his power, continued in his palace in the town. The prince and brothers, as heretofore, resided at the palace in the castle, where they held their coteries, of which Gordhandas and Prithi Singh were the principals, moulding the new Maharao to their will, and from which the second brother, Bishan Singh, was excluded. Although the late prince had hardly ceased to breathe, before the animosities so long existing between the sons of the regent burst forth, and threatened ‘war within the gates’; and although nothing short of the recovery of rights so long in abeyance was determined upon by the prince; yet—and it will hardly be believed—these schemes escaped the vigilance of the regent.

The death of his friend and sovereign, added to care and infirmity, brought on a fit of illness, the result of which was expected to crown the hopes of the parties who were interested in the event; and when, to their surprise and regret, he recovered, the plans of his prince and natural son were matured, and as notorious as the sun at noon to every person of note but the regent himself. He was not, indeed, the first aged ruler, however renowned for wisdom, who had been kept in ignorance of the cabals of his family. It required a prophet to announce to David the usurpation of Adonijah;^[9] and the same cause, which kept David ignorant that his son had supplanted him, concealed from the penetrating eye of Zalim Singh the plot which had for its object that his power should perish with him, and that his son Gordhan should supersede [563] the heir to his hereditary staff of office. Strange as it must appear, the British Agent acted the part of Nathan on this occasion, and had to break the intelligence to the man who had swayed for sixty years, with despotic authority, the destinies of Kotah, that his sons were arming against each other, and that his prince was determined that his wand (chhari) of power should (to speak in their metaphorical style) be consumed in the same pyre with himself whenever the ‘decree of Bhagwan’ went forth.

It was then that the supplemental articles, guaranteeing Madho Singh in the succession to the regency, proved a stumbling-block in the path of our mediation between parties, the one called on to renounce that dear-bought power, the other determined to regain what time and accident had wrested from him. Had the emergency occurred while the predatory system was predominant, not a whisper would have been raised; the point in all probability would never have been mooted: it would have been considered as a matter of course, where

that the Maharao Kishor should continue the same puppet in the hands of Madho Singh that his father had been in Zalim’s. This would have excited no surprise, nor would such a proceeding have afforded speculation for one hour. Nay, the usurper might have advanced to the ulterior step; and, like the Frank Maire du Palais, have demanded of the pontiff of Nathdwara, as did Pepin of Pope Zacharias, “whether he who had the power, should not also have the title, of king”;^[10] and the same plenary indulgence would have awaited the first Jhala Raja of Kotah as was granted to the first of the Carlovingian kings! It, therefore, became a matter of astonishment, especially to the unreflecting, whence arose the general sympathy, amounting to enthusiasm, towards this hitherto disregarded family, not only from chief and peasant, within the bounds of Haraoti, and the foreign mercenary army raised and maintained by the regent, but from the neighbouring princes and nobles, who had hitherto looked upon the usurpation in silence.

A short explanation will solve what was then enigmatical, even to those most interested in forming a just opinion. The practice of the moral virtues amongst any portion of civilized society may be uncertain, but there is one invariable estimate or standard of them in theory. The policy of 1817 changed the moral with the political [564] aspect of Rajasthan. If, previous thereto, no voice was raised against usurpation and crime, it was because all hope that their condition could be ameliorated was extinct. But this was to them a naya samvat, a ‘new era,’ a day of universal regeneration. Was the sovereign not to look for the restoration of that power which had been guaranteed by treaty—nor the chiefs to claim the restitution of their estates—nor the peasant to hope for the lands now added to the crown domain;—and were not all foreign potentates interested in calling for an example of retributive justice for ministerial usurpation, however mildly exercised towards the prince? With more rational than political argument, they appealed to our high notions of public justice to accomplish these objects. Unhappy position, in which circumstances—nay, paradoxical as it may appear, political gratitude and justice—dictated a contrary course, and marshalled British battalions in line with the retainers of usurpation to combat the lawful sovereign of the country! The case was one of the most difficult that ever beset our policy in the East, which must always to a certain extent be adapted to the condition of those with whom we come in contact; and perhaps, on this occasion, no caution or foresight could have averted the effects of this affiance.

Effects of the British Treaty.

—There is not a shadow of doubt that the supplemental articles of the treaty of Kotah, which pledged our faith to two parties in a manner which rendered its maintenance towards both an impossibility, produced consequences that shook the confidence of the people of Rajwara in our political rectitude. They established two pageants instead of one, whose co-existence would have been miraculous; still, as a measure ought not to be judged entirely by its results, we shall endeavour to assign the true motive and character of the act.

If these articles were not dictated by good policy; if they cannot be defended on the plea of expediency; if the omission in the original treaty of December could not be supplied in March, without questioning the want of foresight of the framer; he might justify them on the ground that they were a concession to feelings of gratitude for important services, rendered at a moment when the fate of our power in India was involved to an extent unprecedented since its origin. To effect a treaty with the Nestor of Rajwara, was to ensure alliances with the rest of the States, which object was the very essence of Lord Hastings’ policy. Thus, on general views, as well as for particular reasons (for the resources of Kotah were absolutely indispensable), the co-operation of the regent was a measure vitally important. Still it may be urged that as the regent himself, from whatever motive, had allowed [565] the time to go by when necessity might have compelled us to incorporate such an article in the original treaty, was there no other mode of reimbursing these services besides a guarantee which was an apple of discord? The war was at an end; and we might with justice have urged that ‘the State of Kotah,’ with which we had treated, had, in the destruction of all the powers of anarchy and sharing in its spoils, fully reaped the reward of her services. Such an argument would doubtless have been diplomatically just; but we were still revelling in the excitement of unparalleled success, to which Zalim had been no mean contributor, and the future evil was overlooked in the feverish joy of the hour. But if cold expediency may not deem this a sufficient justification, we may find other reasons. When the author of the policy of 1817 had maturely adjusted his plans for the union of all the settled governments in a league against the predatory system, it became necessary to adopt a broad principle with respect to those with whom we had to treat. At such a moment he could not institute a patient investigation into the moral discipline of each State, or demand of those who wielded the power by what tenure they held their authority. It became, therefore, a matter of necessity to recognize those who were the rulers de facto, a principle which was publicly promulgated and universally acted upon. Whether we should have been justified in March, when all our wishes had been consummated, in declining a proposal which we would most gladly have submitted to in December, is a question which we shall leave diplomatists to settle,^[11] and proceed to relate the result of the measure.

The counsellors of the new Maharao soon expounded to him the terms of the treaty, and urged him to demand its fulfilment according to its literal interpretation. The politic deference, which the regent had invariably shown to the late prince, was turned skilfully into an offensive weapon against him. They triumphantly appealed to the tenth article of the treaty, “the Maharao, his heirs and successors, shall remain absolute rulers of their country”; and demanded how we could reconcile our subsequent determination to guarantee Madho Singh and his heirs in the enjoyment of power, which made him de facto the prince, and “reduced the gaddi of Kotah to a simple heap of cotton?”—with the fact before our eyes, that the seals of all the contracting parties were to the original treaty, but that of the supplemental articles the late Maharao died in absolute ignorance [566].

All friendly intercourse between the prince and the regent, and consequently with Madho Singh, was soon at an end, and every effort was used whereby the political enfranchisement of the former could be accomplished. The eloquence of angels must have failed to check such hopes, still more to give a contrary interpretation to the simple language of the treaty, to which, with a judicious pertinacity, they confined themselves. It would be useless to detail the various occurrences pending the reference to our Government. The prince would not credit, or affected not to credit, its determination, and founded abundant and not easily-refutable arguments upon its honour and justice. When told that its instructions were, “that no pretensions of the titular Raja can be entertained by us in opposition to our positive engagement with the regent; that he alone was considered as the head of the Kotah State, and the titular Raja no more deemed the ruler of Kotah, than the Raja of Satara the leader of the Mahrattas, or the Great Mogul the emperor of Hindustan,” the Maharao shut his ears against the representation of the Agent, and professed to regard the person who could compare his case to others so little parallel to it, as his enemy. While his brother, Prithi Singh, and Gordhandas formed part of the council of Kishor Singh, it was impossible to expect that he would be brought to resign himself to his destiny; and he was speedily given to understand that the removal of both from his councils was indispensable.