Mirza Ghalib, "Dastanbuy" [Mutiny Diary] (1858) (excerpts)
Note: these excerpts derive from a PDF page-scan of the full translation posted by Prof. Frances Pritchett at her website here.
Mirza Ghalib, “Dastanbuy” (Mutiny Diary 1857-1858)
Translated from the original Persian by Khwaja Ahmad Faruqi
Bombay, Calcutta, New Delhi, Madras: Asia Publishing House
1970
[Below are a few brief excerpts from a longer text]
I, who am entangled in the irremedial anxieties of the times, consider that those who have not seen the sign of Cancer, those who are not aware of the effects of Saturn and Mars but only of their names, should not now concern themselves with these things about which they do not know. These people should study the present which has concealed within it the secrets of the past and the future; for the times, which so often undo the works of good men, did not, in fact, permit the British to be harmed by external powers. Rather, it was from within their own territory that the British armies were attacked
Readers of this book should know that I who, through the strokes of my pen scatter pearls on paper, have eaten the bread and salt of the British and, from my earliest childhood,
have been fed from the table of these world conquerors.
Seven or eight years ago the Mughal emperor of Delhi summoned me to his palace and asked me to write a history of the Timurid dynasty, for which he proposed to pay me six hundred rupees annually. I accepted his offer and began the work. Eventually the emperor's master of verse died and I was also appointed as the one responsible for the correction
of the royal poems.
I was aged and weak and had become used to my corner of loneliness and quiet. Further, I had developed a deafness which was a source of great inconvenience to my friends and I could only watch the lips of those who spoke. Twice a week I visited the royal palace where, if it was his will, I would remain for a while in the presence of the king. If he did not emerge from his chambers I would sit briefly in the hall of private audience before returning to my home.
During this time I used to take to the emperor whatever writing I had completed or send it by messenger. This was my connection with the court and the nature of my work.Although this small position gave me some restfulness and peace and was free from courtly entanglements, it assured me neither prosperity nor happiness. But even then the revolving skies
were conspiring to destroy what little well-being I had.
[...]
If you should ask I would tell you that suddenly, at noon on Monday, the sixteenth of Ramazan, 1273 A.H., which is the same as the eleventh of May, 1857, the walls and ramparts of the Red Fort shook with such force that the vibrations were felt in the four corners of the city. This was not an earthquake. On that infamous day rebellious soldiers from Meerut, faithless to the salt, entered Delhi thirsty for the blood of the British. It would not be surprising if the guards of Delhi's gates, being brothers in profession with the rebels, had entered into conspiracy with them. Ignoring their orders to protect the city, forgetting their loyalty to the salt, the guards welcomed their uninvited, or invited, guests. Swarming through the opened gates of Delhi, the intoxicated
horsemen and rough foot soldiers ravished the city like madmen. They did not leave their bloody work until they had killed officers and Englishmen, wherever they found them, and had destroyed their houses.
A few poor, reclusive men, who received their bread and salt by the grace of the British, lived scattered throughout different parts of the city, in lanes and by-lanes, but quite distant from one another. These humble, peaceful people did not know an arrow from an axe; their hands were empty of the sword; and even the sound of thieves in the dark night frightened them. These were not men who could do battle. They could do nothing but sit, helpless and grief-stricken, in
their locked houses; for no blade of grass can stop the swift flow of the running water.
I was one of these helpless, stricken men. Shut in my room, I listened to the noise and tumult, and I heard it shouted that the guardian of the Red Fort and the British agent there had been murdered. From all sides one could hear the foot soldiers running and the hoof beats of the horsemen and, looking out, one could see the earth stained by the blood of the rose-bodied. Every corner of the garden had become the graveyard of spring.
Oh, pity those great men, who embodied wisdom, who personified justice-those courteous rulers bearing a good name! Oh, pity those fairy-faced, slim-bodied women whose faces shone like the moon and whose bodies glittered like raw silver! A thousand times pity the children, innocent of the world, who put roses and tulips to shame and whose step was more beautiful than that of the deer and the partridge! All of these were sucked into the whirlpool of death and were drowned in an ocean of blood.
Even Death himself-who strikes sparks of extinction and consumes by fire, who finally clothes all men in black must wail at the bedside of the slaughtered, and wear mourning in grief for the murdered ones. The skies in their sorrow must fade like smoke, and the earth, like a cyclone, spin from its accustomed place.
Somehow this long and terrible day came to an end and darkness fell. The black-hearted, cruel killers made camp throughout the city; they stabled their horses in the Red Fort and took the royal chambers for their sleeping rooms. Gradually news flowed in from distant towns: the rebel soldiers had murdered the officers in their barracks and open rebellion had broken out. All through the country soldiers and landlords had joined forces and become as one body in a shameful lust that only waves of blood could satisfy. As the straws of a broom are tied up with one string so the multitude of rebels were bound together by a single cord. Such cataclysmic
strokes swept India that, if one sought prosperity or peace, no single grass blade would be found. Some of the soldiers although they had no leaders, prepared themselves for battle
by seizing guns, gunpowder and gunshot from the British. All the tactics they had learned they employed against their former teachers.
The heart is not stone or steel but will be moved. The eyes are not lifeless cracks in a wall but will shed tears at the panorama of death and at India's desolation. The city of Delhi was emptied of its rulers and peopled instead with creatures of the Lord who acknowledged no lord-as if it
were a garden without a gardener, and full of fruitless trees.
The raiders threw off all restraint and the merchants ceased paying taxes. Houses were abandoned and the apartments were like free tables of booty to be plundered at will. In its shamelessness, the rabble, sword in hand, rallied to one group after another. And if peaceful, good people came into the bazaar they were made to acknowledge their defeat and humility before the lawless multitude. Throughout the day the rebels looted the city and at night they slept in silken beds.
In the noblemen's houses there is no oil for the lamps. In total darkness they must await the flash of lightning, and so find the glass and jug with which to quench their thirst.
How can I describe the lack of judgement, the indifference of these times? Those rough labourers who spend their days digging and selling mud, have now found in it pieces of gold. And those others whose assemblies were illuminated by the blaze of flowers are plunged into failure and despair.
With the sole exception of the wife and daughter of the police chief, the ornaments of all the young women of Delhi have been seized by the black-hearted, cowardly robbers. Bereft of their embellishments, these women have been further debauched of their remaining charm and grace by the newly rich sons of beggars, and they have no choice but to satisfy the conceit of this rabble. Those loving and courteous people who sheltered the coquetries of the young women with their respect and affection, can do nothing now but bow beneath the wickedness of these newly rich, vile-natured ones who are so filled with pride that to see them you would say they were not men but whirlwinds puffed up with conceit. These lowly men, engrossed only in their own self-importance, are but small blades of grass floating pompously on the wide water.
Noble men and great scholars have fallen from power; and the lowly ones, who have never kńown wealth or honour, now have prestige and unlimited riches. One whose father wandered dust-stained through the streets now proclaims himself ruler of the wind. One whose mother borrowed from her neighbour fire with which to light her kitchen declares himself sovereign of fire. These are the men who hope to rule over fire and wind and we unhappy ones have no desires left but for moments of respite and a little justice.
The postal sýstem is in utter chaos and service has virtually stopped. It is impossible for postmen to come and go: thus letters can neither be sent nor received. However through the telegraph system which operates by vibrations and not wires, messages can be sent out.
Tell me, you who believe in law and justice, is there not cause for weeping and breast-beating in the complete breakdown of administration, the looting of God-given wealth, the chaos of the postal system and the failure of news as to the welfare of our relations and friends? In this anarchy brave men are afraid of their own shadows and soldiers rule over dervish and king alike. Is this not cause for grief? Do these heartbreaking events not merit our tears? None can ridicule our sorrowing, for to lament such wrongs is not unbelief or lack of faith.
This prisoner of loneliness, this afflicted Ghalib, now resumes his narrative of grief. When these wayward, hostile rebels first entered Delhi, they brought treasure with them. This they deposited with the royal treasury and they bowed their heads on the royal threshhold. Rebellious armies from various directions converged on Delhi and assembled here. When the emperor could no longer control this army, the army itself took control into its own hands and the king was rendered helpless.
[...]
At the moment, inside and outside of Delhi, there is an encampment of approximately fifty thousand cavalry and infantry; and the British, those possessors of knowledge and wisdom, control no ground except for a ridge at the western edge of the city. Here they have skillfully arranged their batteries and so have converted it into a kind of fortress. On all four sides they have fixed their fire-breathing, lightningstriking cannons; and, in this manner, through their perseverance they have made a haven of peace in a land of adversity.
The soldiers have seized guns from the armoury, which they have set up on the ramparts of the city, and the rebels are now actually confronted with the courageous British officers. The heavy smoke from the guns and cannons is like dark clouds hanging in the sky and the noise is like the rain of hailstones. Cannon fire is heard all day long, as if stones were falling from the skies.
These are the hot months of May and June and the heat has become intolerable. The sun has entered into the sphere of Gemini, and the heat increases steadily, until it seems that the sun itself is consumed by its own fire. People who lived comfortably in cool and ventilated houses are now scorching under the flaming sun and they spend their nights in restlessness on burning stones.
Had Isfandyar been engaged in this war, he would, in spite of his renowned bravery, have lost his will and confidence. If Rustam had heard this story he would have been overcome
by despair.
The soldiers who have assembled from all parts of India leave their encampments when the sun is well above the horizon and go forth to fight the lion-hearted British. They return to their camps just before sunset. That is the situation outside the town.
[...]
Now the steed of my pen halts. Let me cry out that the steed may again go forth! O you who commend justice and you lovers of truth who condemn injustice, if your tongue and your heart are one in this, for the sake of the Lord, think of what we have done! Although everyone knows that disloyalty is a sin, without reason for enmity or cause for envy we raised our swords against our masters and we killed helpless women, and infants playing in their cradles. The British rose up in revenge against such atrocity and, in order to punish the transgressors, deployed their armies with care. Their anger at the citizens of Delhi was so great that, after capturing the city, one would think they would leave not even a dog or a cat alive. However, although their hearts were full of the fire of fury, they restrained themselves. Women and children were not molested.
No general guarantee was offered for the protection of life or property because they were determined to distinguish between the guilty and the innocent and only those called for questioning were allowed to approach the authorities.
Most of the citizens had fled the city but some, caught between hope and despair, are still living inside the walls. So far no information has been received concerning those hiding in lonely places outside of Delhi. Those outside and those still living inside are both in great distress and there is no cure for their misery. If only each could know the fate of the other, whether they were alive or dead, much of their grief and anxiety would be allayed. This lack of knowledge is such that wherever one is, one is in despair. The hearts of the helpless inhabitants of the city, and those of the grief-stricken people outside, are filled with sorrow, and they are afraid of mass
Slaughter.
Monday, the fifth of October, was a day of calamity. Suddenly, at noon, white soldiers scaled the wall near the closed entrance of our lane, climbed over the rooftops, and from there jumped down into the street. The guards of Raja Narendra Singh tried to intercept them but were unsuccessful. Ignoring the small houses nearby, the soldiers entered directly into my house. They did not, in their consideration, touch my possessions but took me, my two children, two or three servants and a few good neighbours to the wise and experienced Colonel Brown¹ who was staying in the merchant Qutbuddin's mansion, situated on this side of the Chauk at a distance of some furlongs. Colonel Brown talked with me gently and humanely, asking of me my name only, but of the others their profession, and so dismissed me politely. I thanked the Lord, praised the courteous Colonel Brown and returned home.
During the evening of October seventh I heard a salute of twenty-one guns, of which, although I was pleased to hear it, I failed to understand the meaning. I remembered that on the arrival of the Lieutenant-Governor Bahadur there is a salute of seventeen guns; when the Nawwab Governor-General Bahadur arrives nineteen shots are fired; but I was at a loss to know the reason for the twenty-one gun salute. The following day, although on this point neither was my knowledge increased nor my ignorance decreased, I came to the conclusion that the British, those levellers of the high and the low, had somewhere won a victory over the rebels.
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- Literature of the 1857 Mutiny / 1857 Rebellion Amardeep Singh