Bâqar Ali was both angry and astonished at this, but agreed that the only solution now was for Dr Kennedy to proceed with his mission and to question Sharaf un-Nissa directly, which he did as soon as the permission to enter the old city had arrived from Aristu Jah.
He set off, as agreed, within a covered palanquin, in order to preserve—as far as possible—his anonymity. But while no one could see in, it also meant that Kennedy could not see out, and isolated as he was inside the lattices of the litter, he was unaware that he was in fact being followed, not by one but by two shadowy but entirely separate figures, who themselves were apparently unaware that they were not alone in tailing their quarry.
66
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 …
68
du
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 (
gonah
dw
) 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 threatening 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