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Essay

Sam Dalrymple and the Shattered Lands

By Farouk Gulsara

From Public Domain

When the word ‘Partition’ is mentioned, it is always assumed to refer to the 1947 Partition of India and Pakistan. In fact, the Partition of the British Raj occurred five times.

Not so long ago, as recently as 1928, a vast expanse of land from Aden in the West to Rangoon in the east was united as the Indian Empire, all under British rule. It was the zenith of the British Empire, and it seemed the sun would never set on the Empire. A quarter of the world’s population lived here, from the Red Sea to Southeast Asia, and they all used the Indian rupee. One would travel across the span with an Indian passport. By 1971, in just 40 years, this Empire had been shattered five times, resulting in 12 nation-states.

We should learn to tell stories by listening to how housewives gossip. They narrate intimate personal stories about their neighbours, with vivid detail, as if they were there in the target’s bedroom. It becomes more believable when real characters are added. The same advice applies to telling history, his-story. Sam Dalrymple’s Shattered Lands: Five Partitions and the Making of Modern Asia does exactly that. A dry subject like history is turned into an unputdownable book by giving human faces to the people making difficult decisions at the administrative level and to those who have to bear the brunt of those decisions. Perhaps the author’s filmmaking background pushed him towards this style. That makes it very engaging.

The author, Samuel Hew Tantallon Darymple, is a scholar of Sanskrit and Persian, as well as a historian, author, activist, and social media influencer. He co-founded Project Dastaan[1],  a peace-building initiative that uses digital technology to reconnect people displaced by the 1947 Partition of India with their childhood communities and villages.

The five Partitions mentioned in this book are: the separation of Burma from India in 1937; the reclassification of Aden as a British protectorate; the formation of Pakistan; the dissolution of the 550-odd princely states; and, finally, a bloody civil war that led to the formation of Bangladesh.

The Indian idea of ‘Bharat’ is traditionally shaped by the ancient Hindu geography of Bharatvarsha, a triangular landmass stretching from the Himalayas in the north to the Indian Ocean in the south. Notably, Afghanistan, mentioned in the Mahabharata, and Burma, known as Brahmadesh (Land of Brahma), do not fall within this framework. The city of Kandahar in Afghanistan is apparently named after Gandhari, the blindfolded matriarch of the Kaurava clan.

After the 1905 Partition of Bengal and the 1919 Jallianwala Bagh massacre, calls for self-governance grew louder. To pacify the Indian public, the Crown sent a group of seven, known as the Simon Commission[2], in 1928 to implement constitutional reforms. It did nothing to advance Indian independence but demarcated Burma as a territory quite separate from British India, and its inclusion in India was an error.  

Coincidentally, this was the aftermath of the 1928 Depression. Before this, Burma was a melting pot of cultures. Its capital, Rangoon, one of the busiest commercial cities in Asia, was labelled the ‘Paris of the East’. It is said that in 1920, there were more traders in Burma than in New York. Rangoon port was an important harbour for the export of rice, teak and petroleum. Its banking services drew people from many regions. It was a multilingual and multicultural city, shaped by large-scale migration. People were heard speaking Bengali, Gujarati, Tamil, Marwari, Urdu, Chinese, English, and other languages. 

The turn of the economic tide and the disparity in economic status between the ethnic Burmese and the sojourners sparked a series of unrest. The Chettiars and Bengali houses and shops were targeted. Indians were systematically excluded from Burma, forcing rich traders to become refugees and make a beeline for India. This long march over the Patkai hills to India became a feature again as Japanese soldiers (and the Indian National Army under Bose) advanced during World War 2. The experiences of Mariappan, a Tamil shopkeeper who fled to Tamil Nadu to start anew in Burma because of his lowly caste, and had to run again because of Burmese nationalism, are heart-wrenching. Then there is Uttam Singh, who had to endure a treacherous long march home to Punjab across the hills. Losing everything, it was a miracle that he and his family made it in one piece. Little snippets like these are the real reasons this book grows on readers. 

Caught in the middle are the Naga people, whose land lies precariously between Burma and India. Although its leaders rallied for an independent Naga state, a fifth of the region fell under Burmese control. For decades to come, insurgency remained an issue. On April 1st 1937, Burma was carved out of British India, leaving many unanswered questions and triggering years of attempts to usurp power within Burma, followed by years of military rule and turmoil.

After its capture by the British East India Company, Aden was governed as part of the Bombay Presidency. It was an important coal station for ships. The administrators regarded Arabs as fundamentally different from Indians. To increase efficiency, the British decided in 1937 to rule the port of Aden as a British colony and its hinterland as a protectorate, much to the dismay of many in the Indian community there. The rise of Arab nationalism that followed, with the emergence of dynamic leaders such as Gamal Nasser of Egypt, who promoted Arab patriotism, meant the former Arabian Raj kingdom would no longer be associated with Indians. Indians, once regarded as cultured and civilised, were soon viewed as competitors. By the late 1950s, a reverse exodus began. Indians with deep roots in these Arab lands, including property, businesses, and connections, had to flee helter-skelter back to India and the UK. The Ambanis were one such family affected by this. 

Although Jinnah initially joined the Indian National Congress, his affiliation with the Muslim League grew stronger as he felt that Gandhi was leading the party and the nation towards a more Hindu-centric direction. The way the Congress conducted its meetings was as if they were at a religious ceremony, with chanting of mantras and singing of religious hymns. Muslims began to question how they would be treated in an independent India with Congress at the helm of power. Even though Jinnah appeared as an icon of Hindu-Muslim unity, later events propelled him and other Muslims to push for a two-state solution for post-independent India. 

In a way, as Gandhi promoted his Hindu agenda, the Burmese, with their Buddhist practice, also increasingly felt more detached from India, further fuelling Burmese nationalism.  

The post-WW2 era saw many changes in India. Britain was in debt, and the push for independence and a separate nation for Muslims was in full force. The third Partition was about to take place, but it was preceded by mindless killings and violence in the areas destined to be part of Pakistan. The Bengal region witnessed brutality on Direct Action Day, led by Suhrawardy and his acolyte, Mujibur Rahman, who would later be instrumental in the formation of Bangladesh. Things were no better in Punjab. The confusion created by Radcliffe’s arbitrary carving of the country left people unsure which country they belonged to, even one month after the ‘tryst with destiny’ speech.

There was then a scramble to recruit the 550-plus princely states to join Pakistan or India, or to stand alone. This was the 4th Partition. Recruitment reached feverish heights in states such as Junagadh, Kashmir, and Hyderabad. Junagadh housed two sacred Hindu sites, Dwarka and Somnath, but was ruled by a Muslim Nawab. Kashmir had a Hindu king, but his subjects were predominantly Muslims. The situation was reversed in Hyderabad.

The shattered subcontinent of India has been in constant flux even after attaining self-rule. It has to deal with internal squabbles and hostile neighbours. The situation becomes complicated as the world divides itself into the blue corner of capitalism and the red corner of communism. Marxism and Maoist ideology spread across its states, creating skirmishes here and there.

Pakistan, too, had its own problems. The insistence on using Urdu as the national language was not taken lightly by the Bengali-speaking East Pakistanis. The discord reached a tipping point in 1971, when the Bengali Awami League won the Pakistani elections. Civil war broke out when West Pakistani leaders refused to accept the election results. India sent in its troops to squash West Pakistan’s army and effectively completed the Fifth Partition, the creation of the country of Bangladesh.

The recurring theme throughout the book is that people continue to help one another, regardless of the day’s political climate. Despite ideological differences, people help people. The book highlights numerous heart-stirring accounts of the extraordinary resilience and compassion of everyday people. These ‘unity in diversity’ stories emerge from small acts of kindness that transcend religious, social, and economic boundaries.

It remains to be debated by future historians whether the colonial masters can be blamed for shattering the land that spanned the Arabian Gulf to Southeast Asia. Given the insatiable appetite of human greed for land, wealth and power, are these sequelae inevitable anyway? 

[1]  https://samdalrymple.com/project-dastaan

[2] https://www.britannica.com/topic/Simon-Commission

Farouk Gulsara is a daytime healer and a writer by night. After developing his left side of his brain almost half his lifetime, this johnny-come-lately decided to stimulate the non-dominant part of his remaining half. An author of two non-fiction books, Inside the twisted mind of Rifle Range Boy and Real Lessons from Reel Life, he writes regularly in his blog, Rifle Range Boy.

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Bhaskar's Corner

Odisha after 1947

By Bhaskar Parichha

The narrative of Odisha post-1947 is one of change, unity, and strength, set against the backdrop of India’s fresh independence. Although Odisha was established as a distinct province from the Bengal Presidency in 1936, primarily based on linguistic and cultural factors, its evolution into a modern political and administrative entity truly commenced with independence.

On the Cusp of Independence

The foremost and most urgent challenge was the amalgamation of 26 princely states, collectively referred to as the Garjat states, each governed by its own ruler, administrative system, and local customs. These states were scattered throughout the hilly and forested regions of Odisha, and their unification required not just political acumen but also cultural awareness, negotiation skills, and strategic insight.

The responsibility of bringing Odisha together largely rested on Harekrushna Mahatab, the state’s first Premier, who collaborated closely with Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel and V.P. Menon from the central government. The discussions commenced in 1946–47, prior to India’s official independence, and extended into the early years following independence.

Several rulers quickly consented to join, swayed by enticing offers of financial rewards, ceremonial honors, and guarantees that their roles would be honored in a democratic Odisha. In contrast, some were hesitant, worried about the potential decline of their traditional power and local sway.

Mahatab skillfully blended diplomacy, patience, and strategic advantage, methodically uniting all 26 states under Odisha’s governance. This consolidation not only enhanced administrative efficiency but also set the stage for consistent laws, tax systems, and development initiatives throughout the region.

Democracy Finds Its Feet

In the political landscape following independence, Odisha experienced the formation of democratic institutions and practices. The Indian National Congress played a pivotal role in the early political scene, capitalising on its organisational strength and the heritage of the independence struggle.

Elections, local governance bodies, and legislative assemblies were created, providing citizens with a voice in governance and facilitating a gradual shift from princely rule and colonial frameworks to democratic self-governance.

The strengthening of political authority also enabled the formalisation of administrative practices, the modernisation of the bureaucracy, and improved coordination with the central government, which aided in developmental planning for both urban and rural regions.

Farmers First

Economically, Odisha grappled with the twin issues of historical underdevelopment and susceptibility to natural disasters. Agriculture, which employed the majority of the populace, relied heavily on monsoon rains, while traditional tools and methods hindered productivity. After gaining independence, governments focused on land reforms, including tenancy regulations and the redistribution of surplus land to small farmers, with the goal of reducing inequalities and empowering the rural poor.

Rise of Industrial Odisha

The enhancement of irrigation systems, canals, embankments, and reservoirs, especially along the Mahanadi, Brahmani, and Baitarani rivers, aimed to stabilise agricultural production and lessen the risks associated with droughts and floods. These initiatives established a foundation for sustainable rural development while ensuring food security in a state that has historically faced famine.

Industrialisation emerged as a crucial element of Odisha’s strategy following independence. The state’s rich mineral resources—such as coal, iron ore, bauxite, and chromite—served as the foundation for establishing heavy industries. Industrial hubs like Rourkela, which hosts India’s inaugural integrated steel plant, were developed with assistance from the central government and international partnerships, leading to job creation, urban expansion, and economic diversification.

The establishment of the Paradip port during the 1960s and 1970s enhanced the transportation of raw materials and finished products, connecting Odisha to both national and global markets. These industrial and infrastructural developments were part of a concerted effort to shift Odisha from a predominantly agricultural economy to one that is more varied and robust.

Furthermore, education and social reform played a vital role in Odisha’s growth after independence. Literacy initiatives broadened access to primary and secondary education, while improvements in teacher training and school construction elevated educational quality.

Tribal communities and marginalised groups were given focused support, including scholarships, vocational training, and legal protections aimed at helping them integrate into the broader economic and political landscape. Health infrastructure also saw significant growth, with the establishment of hospitals, primary health centers, vaccination campaigns, and maternal care initiatives that gradually enhanced life expectancy and lowered infant mortality rates, especially in remote and tribal regions.

Culture in Full Color

Oddisi dance at a temple

Cultural revival and the building of identity were closely linked to these economic and social changes. Odisha took active steps to promote Odissi dance, music, literature, and handicrafts, which not only bolstered regional pride but also created economic opportunities through tourism and the livelihoods of artisans. The state committed to preserving and promoting traditional arts like pattachitra painting, silver filigree, appliqué work, and handloom weaving, often facilitated by cooperative societies and government support.

Temple towns such as Puri and Konark have maintained their significance in spirituality and culture, with events like the Rath Yatra and the Konark Dance Festival serving as key highlights of both religious fervor and cultural tourism. This fusion of age-old traditions with contemporary elements has enabled Odisha to carve out a distinctive identity while also addressing the developmental needs of a modern state.

The political landscape in Odisha after independence has transformed over the years, influenced by a mix of national and local factors. Initially, the Congress party held sway, but the rise of tribal movements, regional activism, and calls for increased administrative autonomy posed challenges to central governance and enriched the discourse on democracy.

Local leaders from tribal and marginalised communities have stepped forward, championing the cause for representation and the fair distribution of resources to overlooked areas. As a result, Odisha has cultivated a diverse political environment, featuring a variety of parties, coalitions, and grassroots initiatives that mirror the state’s intricate social and geographical tapestry.

Nature’s Wrath

Odisha’s natural environment has consistently challenged the resilience of its people and governance. The state faces threats from cyclones, floods, and droughts, which have repeatedly resulted in catastrophic losses of life, property, and agricultural productivity. Significant cyclones in 1971, 1999, 2013, and 2020 caused tremendous devastation, underscoring the susceptibility of coastal and rural populations.

Each disaster led to improvements in early warning systems, disaster readiness, and coordinated relief efforts, gradually turning Odisha into a benchmark for disaster management in India. The involvement of communities, enhanced infrastructure, and strategic planning enabled the state to respond more adeptly to natural disasters over the years.

Mining Marvels

In the late 20th and early 21st centuries, economic development centered on industrial growth, mining, and energy generation. Odisha emerged as a center for steel, aluminum, and power industries, drawing both domestic and international investments. Urban areas like Bhubaneswar, Cuttack, Rourkela, and Sambalpur grew swiftly, transforming the demographic and social fabric of the region.

Industrialisation ushered in a wave of prosperity and job opportunities, yet it also introduced significant challenges, such as environmental degradation, community displacement, and the pressing need to balance economic growth with sustainable development. Efforts to address these issues included policies focused on corporate social responsibility, environmental regulations, and rehabilitation initiatives, although the struggle to harmonize development with conservation persisted as a continual challenge.

Connectivity and Integration

The evolution of infrastructure has been pivotal to Odisha’s transformation since independence. The expansion of roads, railways, ports, and communication networks has linked rural and urban areas, facilitating the flow of goods, services, and people. Notable projects like the Hirakud Dam on the Mahanadi not only offered irrigation and flood management but also produced hydroelectric power, playing a crucial role in the region’s industrial growth.

Ports like Paradip and Dhamra have enhanced trade and maritime links, while the development of rail and road networks has connected remote areas with urban centers and industrial zones. These advancements have contributed to the geographical and economic unification of the state, diminishing isolation and encouraging greater involvement in the national economy.

Social and cultural transformations progressed in tandem with economic growth. Literacy rates saw a consistent rise, particularly focusing on the education of girls. Women became more involved in education, the workforce, and politics, mirroring both national policy efforts and evolving social standards.

Tribal and rural populations maintained aspects of their traditional lifestyles while also embracing modern education, healthcare, and job opportunities. Folklore, languages, and ritual practices were safeguarded through documentation, festivals, and community-driven projects, ensuring that the process of modernisation did not obliterate local identities.

Multi-faceted Society

By the dawn of the 21st century, Odisha had transformed into a complex, multi-faceted society, striking a balance between tradition and modernity, rural and urban progress, and the management of natural resources alongside industrial expansion. Politically, the state had transitioned from a period of Congress dominance to a more pluralistic and competitive democratic framework, with regional parties and coalitions influencing policy and governance.

Economically, the state’s diverse foundation in agriculture, industry, mining, and trade enabled it to endure external challenges while fostering ongoing development. Socially and culturally, Odisha preserved a vibrant heritage, merging classical arts, festivals, and tribal customs with the requirements of a contemporary, globalised world.

The era following 1947 in Odisha embodies a tale of unity, strength, and change. It spans the intricate discussions with princely states leading to the formation of democratic frameworks, agricultural advancements, industrial growth, recovery from disasters, and a resurgence of culture. Odisha’s evolution mirrors the larger narrative of India’s shift from colonial domination to sovereign nationhood.

The state’s skill in managing natural disasters, economic hurdles, and societal shifts while maintaining its cultural essence showcases an extraordinary ability to adapt, positioning Odisha as a fascinating case of regional evolution in a swiftly modernising country.

(Excerpted from the book Odisha – 500 Years of Turmoil, Mayhem and Subjugation by Bhaskar Parichha. Published by Pen In Books/Bhubaneswar)

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Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and ResilienceUnbiasedNo Strings Attached: Writings on Odisha and Biju Patnaik – A Political Biography. He lives in Bhubaneswar and writes bilingually. Besides writing for newspapers, he also reviews books on various media platforms.

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Review

The Story of an Indigenous Medical System

Book Review with Bhaskar Parichha

Title: Ayurveda, Nation and Society: United Provinces, c. 1890–1950

Author: Saurav Kumar Rai

Publisher: Orient Blackswan

The ayurvedic revivalist movement significantly influenced medical nationalism in the United Provinces[1] during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. This period saw a concerted effort to re-establish ayurveda as a legitimate and valuable medical system in the face of colonial dominance and the growing influence of Western medicine

 The revival of ayurveda was intertwined with the broader nationalist movement in India. Proponents of this school sought to assert an indigenous identity, positioning ayurveda as a symbol of cultural pride and resistance against colonial rule. This was particularly important as the demand for swaraj (self-rule) intensified, necessitating a projection of India as a modern and scientifically progressive nation.

The formation of groups like the All India Ayurvedic Congress in 1907 created an opportunity for the practitioners to come together, exchange insights, and push for the acknowledgment of their stream in the broader national conversation. These meetings encouraged dialogue on blending ayurvedic and wHindu

estern medical approaches, positioning the indigenous school as a legitimate alternative to the colonial healthcare systems.

In a way, the proliferation of ayurvedic literature in various languages during this period helped democratise access to its content. This literature aimed to transform ayurveda from a specialised knowledge system into a shared cultural heritage, reinforcing its relevance in contemporary society. The revivalist discourse often emphasised the scientific basis of ayurveda, thereby aligning it with modernity and progress.

Fascinatingly, the ayurvedic revivalists critiqued colonial medical practices, often blaming external factors, particularly the ‘Other’, for health crises affecting the Hindu population. This narrative not only served to unify the community around ayurveda but also reinforced a sense of collective identity against colonial narratives that marginalised indigenous practices.

Also, the movement led to the commercialisation of ayurvedic medicine, with an increase in its products and practitioners. This economic aspect played a crucial role in embedding ayurveda within the social fabric of the United Provinces, making it a part of everyday life and health practices

It is in this backdrop that this book holds significance.  Ayurveda, Nation and Society: United Provinces, c. 1890–195o by Saurav Kumar Rai explores the historical and socio-political dimensions of ayurveda during a transformative period in India.  It is part of the New Perspectives in South Asian History series by Orient Blackswan. Saurav Kumar Rai is Research Officer, at Gandhi Smriti and Darshan Samiti, New Delhi.

Says the blurb: “Ayurveda enjoys a growing global appeal, and is often touted as ‘true’ and ‘time-tested’ by contemporary political actors, governments, social groups, practitioners and NGOs in India. With ‘indigenous’ healing systems enjoying increasing state support today, an examination of the socio-political aspects of medicine, in particular Ayurveda, and its role in nation-building is critically important. Ayurveda, Nation and Society, the latest in Orient Blackswan’s ‘New Perspectives in South Asian History’ series, captures the late nineteenth and early twentieth century growth of ‘medical nationalism’ through the Ayurvedic revivalist movement in the United Provinces, and observes the ensuing change and continuity in the attitude towards ‘indigenous’ medicine in independent India.”

This study investigates the emergence of medical nationalism as reflected in the ayurvedic revivalist movement within the United Provinces, focusing on its role in the nation-building process. It offers a critique of the social dynamics of the era, drawing attention to the caste, communal, class, and gender biases that permeated ayurvedic discussions. The author contends that advocates of ayurveda played a significant role in the reconstruction of both tradition and society, frequently attributing health crises affecting the Hindu male demographic to external ‘Others.’

The book contextualises ayurveda as an indigenous medical system, delving into its complexities during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. It examines the involvement of the Indian National Congress in the ayurvedic movement, illustrating how political groups harnessed this school of medicine to foster national identity. The author further explores the influence of print media and organisational initiatives in shaping ayurvedic discourse and rallying societal support. Additionally, the commercialisation of ayurveda is analysed through its print and pharmaceutical markets, investigating the impact of economic factors on health practices. The narrative also encompasses the period surrounding India’s independence, evaluating the evolution of ayurvedic practices during this pivotal transition.

This book stands out as an important resource for those looking to deepen their knowledge of health and medicine during colonial India, attracting both scholars and general readers who are curious about the development of ayurveda and its relevance today.

[1] Present day Uttar Pradesh and Uttarakhand in India was called United Province during this period

Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of UnbiasedNo Strings Attached: Writings on Odisha and Biju Patnaik – A Political Biography. He lives in Bhubaneswar and writes bilingually. Besides writing for newspapers, he also reviews books on various media platforms.

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Excerpt

The Murder that Shocked the World

 

Titles: The Poisoner of Bengal/The Prince and the Poisoner

Author: Dan Morrison

Publishers: Juggernaut (India)/ The History Press (UK)

November 1933: Howrah Station

For most of the year, Calcutta is a city of steam, a purgatory of sweaty shirt-backs, fogged spectacles, and dampened décolletage. A place for melting. In summer the cart horses pull their wagons bent low under the weight of the sun, nostrils brushing hooves, eyes without hope, like survivors of a high desert massacre. The streets are ‘the desolate earth of some volcanic valley’, where stevedores nap on pavements in the shade of merchant houses, deaf to the music of clinking ice and whirring fans behind the shuttered windows above.

The hot season gives way to monsoon and, for a while, Calcuttans take relief in the lightning-charged air, the moody day- time sky, and swaying trees that carpet the street with wet leaves, until the monotony of downpour and confinement drives them to misery. The cars of the rich lie stalled in the downpour, their bonnets enveloped in steam, while city trams scrape along the tracks. Then the heat returns, wetter this time, to torment again.

Each winter there comes an unexpected reprieve from the furious summer and the monsoon’s biblical flooding. For a few fleeting months, the brow remains dry for much of each day, the mind refreshingly clear. It is a season of enjoyment, of shopping for Kashmiri shawls and attending the races. Their memories of the recently passed Puja holidays still fresh, residents begin decking the avenues in red and gold in anticipation of Christmas. With the season’s cool nights and determined merriment, to breathe becomes, at last, a pleasure.

Winter is a gift, providing a forgiving interval in which, sur- rounded by goodwill and a merciful breeze, even the most determined man might pause to reconsider the murderous urges born of a more oppressive season.

Or so you would think.

On 26 November 1933, the mercury in the former capital of the British Raj peaked at a temperate 28°C, with just a spot of rain and seasonally low humidity. On Chowringhee Road, the colonial quarter’s posh main drag, managers at the white- columned Grand Hotel awaited the arrival of the Arab-American bandleader Herbert Flemming and his International Rhythm Aces for an extended engagement of exotic jazz numbers. Such was Flemming’s popularity that the Grand had provided his band with suites overlooking Calcutta’s majestic, lordly, central Maidan with its generous lawns and arcing pathways, as well as a platoon of servants including cooks, bearers, valets, a housekeeper, and a pair of taciturn Gurkha guardsmen armed with their signature curved kukri machetes. Calcuttans, Flemming later recalled, ‘were fond lovers of jazz music’. A mile south of the Grand, just off Park Street, John Abriani’s Six, featuring the dimple-chinned South African Al Bowlly, were midway through a two-year stand entertaining well-heeled and well-connected audiences at the stylish Saturday Club.

The city was full of diversions.

Despite the differences in culture and climate, if an Englishman were to look at the empire’s second city through just the right lens, he might sometimes be reminded of London. The glimmer- ing of the Chowringhee streetlights ‘calls back to many the similar reflection from the Embankment to be witnessed in the Thames’, one chronicler wrote. Calcutta’s cinemas and restaurants were no less stuffed with patrons than those in London or New York, even if police had recently shuttered the nightly cabaret acts that were common in popular European eateries, and even if the Great Depression could now be felt lapping at India’s shores, leaving a worrisome slick of unemployment in its wake.

With a million and a half people, a thriving port, and as the former seat of government for a nation stretching from the plains of Afghanistan to the Burma frontier, Calcutta was a thrumming engine of politics, culture, commerce – and crime. Detectives had just corralled a gang of looters for making off with a small fortune in gold idols and jewellery – worth £500,000 today – from a Hindu temple dedicated to the goddess Kali. In the unpaved, unlit countryside, families lived in fear of an ‘orgy’ of abductions in which young, disaffected wives were manipulated into deserting their husbands, carried away in the dead of night by boat or on horseback, and forced into lives of sexual bondage.

Every day, it seemed, another boy or girl from a ‘good’ middle- class family was arrested with bomb-making materials, counterfeit rupees, or nationalist literature. Each month seemed to bring another assassination attempt targeting high officials of the Raj. The bloodshed, and growing public support for it, was disturbing proof that Britain had lost the Indian middle class – if it had ever had them.

Non-violence was far from a universal creed among Indians yearning to expel the English, but it had mass support thanks to the moral authority of Mohandas Gandhi. Gandhi, the ascetic spiritual leader whose campaigns of civil disobedience had galvanised tens of millions, was then touring central India, and trying to balance the social aspirations of India’s untouchables with the virulent opposition of orthodox Hindus – a tightrope that neither he nor his movement would ever manage to cross.

And from his palatial family seat at Allahabad, the decidedly non-ascetic Jawaharlal Nehru, the energetic general secretary of the Indian National Congress, issued a broadside condemning his country’s Hindu and Muslim hardliners as saboteurs to the cause of a free and secular India. Nehru had already spent more than 1,200 days behind bars for his pro-independence speeches and organising. Soon the son of one of India’s most prominent would again return to the custody of His Majesty’s Government, this time in Calcutta, accused of sedition.

It was in this thriving metropolis, the booming heart of the world’s mightiest empire, that, shortly after two o’clock in the afternoon on that last Sunday in November, well below the radar of world events, a young, slim aristocrat threaded his way through a crowd of turbaned porters, frantic passengers, and sweating ticket collectors at Howrah, British India’s busiest railway station.

He had less than eight days to live.

About the Book:

A crowded train platform. A painful jolt to the arm. A mysterious fever. And a fortune in the balance. Welcome to a Calcutta murder so diabolical in planning and so cold in execution that it made headlines from London to Sydney to New York. 

Amarendra Chandra Pandey, 22, was the scion of a prominent zamindari family, a model son, and heir to half the Pakur Raj estate. Benoyendra Chandra Pandey, 32, was his rebellious, hardpartying halfbrother – and heir to the other half. Their dispute became the germ for a crime that, with its elements of science, sex, and cinema, sent shockwaves across the British Raj. 

Working his way through archives and libraries on three continents, Dan Morrison has dug deep into trial records, police files, witness testimonies, and newspaper clippings to investigate what he calls ‘the oldest of crimes, fratricide, executed with utterly modern tools’. He expertly plots every twist and turn of this repelling yet riveting story –right up to the killer’s cinematic last stand. 

About the Author:

Dan Morrison is a regular contributor to The New York Times, Guardian, BBC News and the San Francisco Chronicle. He is the author of The Black Nile (Viking US, 2010), an account of his voyage from Lake Victoria to Rosetta, through Uganda, Sudan and
Egypt. Having lived in India for five years, he currently splits his time between his native Brooklyn, Ireland and Chennai.

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