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  In December, travelling on horse- or elephant-back, it was usually possible to ford the Musi in the shallows immediately below the Residency; but a team of palanquin-carriers would probably have opted to keep their feet dry and cross the river a mile further upstream by the old, low Qutb Shahi Bridge. This would have taken them along a bank filled with a line of Mughal water-gardens and then past the bustling city ghats, ‘always a stirring sight, with its countless groups of people bathing, washing clothes, or carrying away water from holes scooped in the sand; elephants being washed or scrubbed with sand by their keepers, and evidently enjoying the operation’.67 From there Kennedy and his palanquin-bearers would have entered the city by the great Banjara Gate.

  Although the staff of the Residency regularly visited the old city, they rarely ventured off the main roads; in general, the British simply paid brief visits to the durbar, shopped in the main jewel bazaars or took visitors to see the Char Minar and the Mecca Masjid. As a result, Western observers who penetrated deeper into the city were often struck by the contrast between the magnificent prospect of the city from afar, and the squalor of its back alleys. As one English resident of Hyderabad described it, your first glimpse of the city from the high ground of the Banjara Hills just to the north of the Residency was always unforgettable. It was, after all,the first city of the Dukhun … Before me, on the gentle rise of the valley [stood a jumble of ] white terraced houses gleaming brightly in the sunlight amidst from what seemed to me at a distance, almost a forest of trees. The Char Minar and the Mecca Masjid rose proudly from the masses of buildings by which they were surrounded; and here and there a white dome, with its bright gilt spire, marked the tomb of some favourite or holy saint, while smaller mosques, I might say in hundreds, were known by their slender white minarets.

  … The city seemed to be of immense extent; but I thought from the number of trees, that it was comprised principally of gardens and enclosures, and was much surprised afterwards, when I entered it, to find its streets so filled with houses, and the whole so thickly populated … It was altogether a most lovely scene: the freshness of the morning, the pureness of the air, and the glittering effect of the city and its buildings caused an impression which can never be effaced from my memory.

  When the traveller passed through the gates, and left the main ceremonial avenues, there was always, however, something of a feeling of anticlimat: It had been a late Monsoon and the streets were narrow and dirty, and the interior of the city certainly did not answer the expectations we had formed from its outside and distant appearance; still there were evident tokens of its wealth in the numbers of elephants, on the backs of which, in canopied umbaras, sat noblemen or gentlemen, attended by their armed retainers. Crowds of well dressed persons paraded the streets and … we made our way as well as we could through the throng, and our attendants were often obliged to clear us a passage …68du

  It is not known for certain where Bâqar Ali Khan’s deorhi lay, but in all probability it was beside his cousin Mir Alam and the other Persian émigrés in Irani Gulli. This lay half a mile from the Char Minar, in the warren of alleys behind the Burkha Bazaar, where the women of Hyderabad came to buy their clothes and bangles.

  Aristocratic deorhis of the period were often very substantial complexes of buildings. You would enter through the great double gates of a whitewashed naqqar khana, from the first floor of which musicians would beat their drums and sound fanfares to announce the arrival of any important visitor. Inside were a succession of courts filled with slowly dripping fountains and enclosing small Mughal char bagh gardens. These would give onto a series of low, open baradari pavilions with their ornate arcades of cusped Mughal arches, as well as a few more substantial two-storey Mughal townhouses with latticed windows and intricately carved wooden balconies.

  The zenana courtyard was usually a separate enclosure, the exclusive preserve of the women, at the rear of a deorhi complex. In the case of the clearly very substantial deorhi of Bâqar Ali Khan, the zenana courtyard contained two entirely separate mansions, one for Sharaf un-Nissa and her daughters, and the other for her mother Durdanah Begum.69 A separate gatehouse would give access, and in Hyderabad at this period it was usually watched over by a small guard of armed women aseels, described by one rather superior Englishman of the time as ‘low caste women who are armed, accoutred and disciplined like our sepoys. They make a ridiculous appearance.’70

  It was into such a courtyard, and past such guards, that Dr Kennedy would have stepped, before clambering out of his palanquin to seek an audience with Sharaf un-Nissa. The etiquette for such visits was well-established. Watched over by a trusted servant, the visitor would converse through a lattice or a roll of reed chicks. Even on a medical visit—as this purported to be—face-to-face contact was not permitted, though in exceptional emergencies the doctor was permitted to put his hand through the lattice to feel the pulse of the patient.dv

  This occasion was no different. When Sharaf un-Nissa eventually appeared, attended by a maidservant, she ‘sat during the conversation inside of a Door, before which hung a bamboo blind’.71 According to Dr Kennedy’s account of the meeting, he ‘began by telling her, that I was a friend of her Father’s, and had come to her to ascertain the truth of certain points which seemed doubtful, but which it was necessary to verify—She desired me to proceed & to say what these points were, and that she would speak the truth.’

  Seated on the veranda of Sharaf un-Nissa’s pavilion, Dr Kennedy then relayed the confused nexus of charges and suspicions that they had spent the morning discussing at the Residency: how her father had claimed that Farzand Begum and her household were pressurising her to marry Khair un-Nissa to Kirkpatrick, and that her father suspected that the Resident was ultimately behind these messages and threats. Kennedy finished telling his story and asked the shadowy figure behind the blind what she thought of all this. There was a moment’s silence. Then the figure began to speak. What she said changed everything. For Sharaf un-Nissa decided to come completely clean, and admitted unreservedly that in fact

  no such message had ever been sent to her, that no communication had been held on the subject with the Minister’s family since the Month of Suffer [two months earlier], about which time, or previous to which, she had been sent for by Farzund Begum, and had discussed upon the point, but that she [Sharaf] had refused either to give her own consent, or to permit the matter to be submitted to decision of her daughter, as Farzund Begum wished.

  Dr Kennedy then pointed out that Bâqar Ali Khan believed there had been a whole series of more recent threats, ‘and that it appeared strange how so much uneasiness could have been occasioned, if no such message had been delivered’. But Sharaf un-Nissa said, quite clearly and explicitly,that she had herself delivered the message to Akul ud-Dowlah, and that she had done so without any such message being brought to her; that she herself was the contriver of the message, and had fabricated it with a certain view. I asked what her intention in it could be, as her father seemed much afflicted at the Circumstance, and affirmed, that both his Wife and Daughter were equally distressed—She then proceeded to say, that in consequence of what had passed between Hashmut Jung and her Daughter, the Daughter’s character had been ruined in the eyes of the world, but that since what had passed could not be recalled, and a fault (gonahdw) had been committed, that she could not think of adding to the crime by marrying her daughter to anyone else, and therefore wished that she should be given to Hushmut Jung, and that it was this view that the message was framed.

  Kennedy then asked if it was true that the women had been wearing ‘Fakeer’s dress’, and if so, why? Sharaf un-Nissa replied that ‘the message had occasioned a great deal of discussion & high words; that her father was much incensed at her avowing to him the sentiments she had just expressed to me; and that he had struck her & drawn his sword upon her, with an intention of killing her; that he had [only] been prevented [from doing so] by her mother stepping in & mitigating his anger, as well as threateni
ng to accuse him herself of murder before the Nizam’.

  At this crucial moment, said Sharaf un-Nissa, her mother had ordered her maidservant to bring in mourning rags, known as the kafan (or, as Kennedy spelled it, cuffuny), as a distraction. When they arrived the old woman immediately put them on as a symbol of her disgust with the situation, and signalling her intention to leave her worldly life and turn ascetic. Terrified that her father might still try to kill her, Sharaf un-Nissa also put on the rags, ‘overcome by fear & apprehension, [in order] to pacify my father, but from no other motive’. She also told Dr Kennedy that she was not wearing the fakir’s rags now. According to Kennedy,Sheriffe ul Nissa then disclaimed strongly and pointedly her ever having made any Complaint of Oppression by Hushmut Jung [Kirkpatrick],or of any Compulsion of any measure whatever being used by him; that there never had been any, nor had she ever said so. She said that for the space of a Year she had been against her daughter being sent to Hushmut Jung; but that within the last five or six days she had changed her opinion, and now wished that Hushmut Jung had her—‘I wish he had her,’ she repeated, ‘in the same manner that he might have had her, before the Distinctions introduced by Moosa [Moses], Issa [Jesus] and Mahomed were known in the world.’

  I observed that since matters had gone so far & were so public, it seemed strange that Akul ud-Dowlah [Bâqar] should be ignorant of them; and, if he knew them, it seemed still more difficult to understand, why he should be so much distressed upon the subject now. She replied, that it was all the fault of herself & her mother, and must rest on their heads. I observed that keeping him in ignorance occasioned much trouble, and that it would be better to inform him at once how matters really were—She said, she believed it would be better, but that he had been so much incensed regarding the honor of the family, that they were afraid to let him know what had actually happened, but wished much that the matter might be broken to him by some of his English friends—She added, that we might assure him also, that his good name ought not to suffer, as whatever fault there was, was the fault of herself and her mother, & that he was altogether ignorant and blameless. She also observed, that she ought to have more to say in the disposal of her daughter than Akul ud-Dowlah [Bâqar], who was only the girl’s grandfather.72

  With that Dr Kennedy thanked the figure behind the blind, made his salaams and stepped backwards, only to find ‘that a man, whom I knew to be a Boy Servant of Akul ud-Dowlahs, had come in and was listening to what had been said’. Worried about the possible safety of the three Begums if Sharaf un-Nissa’s words were relayed straight back to Bâqar Ali, Kennedy got straight into his palanquin and set off back into the crowded streets, when,reflecting upon the extraordinary & unexpected nature of the conversation which had just passed I began to think that I might be disbelieved in relating it, and that it might be better if I could remove all ambiguity about the Person who had spoken to me behind the Blind—I therefore returned, and being admitted to the same place, informed the Lady, that as Akul ud-Dowlah [Bâqar] was so much in the dark, that it was more than possible that he might not believe what he must now have upon my authority—that though I was perfectly satisfied that I had been conversing with Akul ud-Dowlah’s daughter there was still room for him to say that I had been deceived, and been addressed by someone who only impersonated her—that therefore I wished that she would give me a Ring or any other trinket known to Akul ud-Dowlah to be her’s, as a token that what I had to say came actually from herself—This however, she declined, and I then proposed, that she should permit me to leave something of mine with her, to be shewn to her father, in order to convince him that his own daughter had actually received it from me—

  To this she consented, and I took from my watch chain a seal with my name in Persian characters, and gave it to her, to be produced to her father.73

  This time, as Dr Kennedy stepped back, he found that as well as the eavesdropping boy-servant of Bâqar Ali, his conversation had also been listened to by ‘a servant of the Resident’ who had clearly tailed him to Bâqar Ali’s deorhi and somehow slipped in at the same time as his palanquin. The two eavesdroppers had, wrote Kennedy, ‘heard all that had passed’.

  For Bâqar Ali Khan, this was in every way the worst possible outcome, a total collapse, a complete humiliation. He had been outwitted and completely outmanoeuvred by his womenfolk. They had taken matters into their own hands, and not only had they successfully opposed a marriage alliance he had forced upon them and to which his granddaughter had expressed an ‘unequivocal aversion’, he had been fooled by them into thinking that they were planning to turn fakir, and so had successfully protected themselves from his wrath. By themselves sending threatening messages to Bâqar Ali which purported to come from James, and by inventing a series of intimidating visits from the aseels of the Prime Minister’s zenana, the women had hoped to induce Bâqar Ali to back down quietly and to hand Khair un-Nissa over to James without a struggle. That plan had gone wrong, and Bâqar Ali had instead taken the complaint to his British friends in the Subsidiary Force; but though their various tricks had now been exposed, the women still ended by getting their way.

  Two days later, on the morning of 1 January 1801, Sharaf un-Nissa and her mother, Durdanah Begum, were summoned to Aristu Jah’s deorhi. There they were asked to confirm what they had told Dr Kennedy. They did so, and were warned that they had behaved disgracefully, even if Bâqar had drawn a sword on them and they had been forced to invent these stories to save their lives. But the Minister’s real wrath was reserved for Bâqar Ali. He told James’s munshi, Aziz Ullah, that Bâqar had been given the wrong title—instead of Akil ud-Daula, ‘The Wisest of the State’, he should be renamed Ahmuk ud-Daula, ‘The State Fool’—and that the old man should be banished or imprisoned. Aziz Ullah replied that Bâqar’s public humiliation was probably more than punishment enough.74

  That same day, at three in the afternoon, a grave and embarrassed Bâqar Ali appeared at the Residency and asked to see James. He apologised for falsely accusing him of issuing secret threats, and said it was clear that he could no longer stand in James’s way. As long as Khair un-Nissa’s paternal uncle, Mir Asadullah, also gave his assent, as the law required, he withdrew all his objections to James marrying his granddaughter if he still wished to do so; but he was not prepared to attend the nikah (marriage ceremony) in person. Instead, ‘with a view of not being a witness to the ceremony he would quit the city and take up his abode 10 or 12 cossdx from it; but that he would leave his seal in the house and that they might execute what they pleased in his name and apply his seal to it’. With that he set off north in a dhoolie or covered litter, towards where his cousin Mir Alam was still temporarily encamped. James later wrote that he believed the old man was ‘more to be pitied than blamed’ for the confusion, adding that he was ‘defective in sight and hard of hearing [so] the females might [easily] have succeeded in deceiving him’.75

  Two men had stood between Khair un-Nissa and James: one of these two, Lieutenant Colonel Dalrymple, was now dead, while the other, Bâqar Ali, had formally withdrawn his objections. But there was still one further obstacle to James’s marriage. For all that he wore Hyderabadi clothes and had embraced Hyderabadi customs, and indeed for all that he was widely believed in Hyderabad to be a Muslim, he was nonetheless still technically a Christian, and so strictly forbidden by Sharia law from marrying a Muslim woman. There was only one way around this: he had to be circumcised, and then formally to convert to Islam.

  According to a later report prepared by a Residency munshi after consulting with Khair un-Nissa’s family, ‘As a marriage was impossible without professing Islam he [James] promised to embrace that faith at the time of marriage … Hashmat Jang [therefore] secretly embraced Islam before a Shi’a Mujtahid [cleric] and presented a certificate from him to Khair-un-Nisa Begum, who sent it to her mother.’76

  As the conversion is never referred to in Kirkpatrick’s own writings, it is difficult to guess at his feelings about taking this major and i
rrevocable step. Was it a nominal conversion, taken only in order to give him access to his pregnant lover? Or did his ‘partiality’ to Muslim culture extend to the religion itself? At this distance, with the nature of the sources that exist, it is impossible to say. What is certain, however, is that if it was a real conversion, then it seems to have been Khair un-Nissa who brought him to Islam, rather than the other way around.

  James having produced his certificate of conversion, it was agreed that the marriage could go ahead, and ‘accordingly, the marriage tie was bound by the said Shi’a Mujtahid and all the ceremonies incident there to were performed in accordance with the customs in vogue with the Mohamadans’.77 As Sharaf un-Nissa makes clear in a letter she wrote much later, the ceremony did however take place in the greatest secrecy,dy and there was no public shadi, or marriage partydz—not least, presumably, because Khair un-Nissa was heavily pregnant by this stage. According to Sharaf:Colonel James Kirkpatrick sought my daughter from Nizam Ali Khan as also from Aristojah. Nizam Ali Khan and Aristojah communicated the request to my father, who at last, after much demur, gave his consent, that the ceremony of the Nikah should take place, and expressed his willingness that the rites should be performed according to the customs of our tribe.

  To this also Nizam Ali Khan assented, and honoured Col James Kirkpatrick at the same time with the designation of his son. His Highness also desired that he should stand as father for the approaching marriage to Col James Kirkpatrick in the bonds of love and that Aristojah should take the place of my daughter’s [dead] father … In consequence of some disruptions [i.e. Bâqar Ali’s complaint and the scandal this had caused] the marriage ceremonies were not performed in the usual manner, though the marriage contract was gone through according to Mahommedan rites. In proof of this a learned man named Meer Ahmed Ali Khan78 attended on the part of Aristojah and two of his confidential servants were also present in the capacity of witnesses. Syed ood Dowlah79 was my representative on this occasion when they all assembled in my house, and performed the ceremony of the marriage contract only.80