Month: September 2019

Lachmi Bai, Rani of Jhansi: The Jeanne D’Arc of India by Michael White

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Literary rating: ★★★½
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆☆

“Fear not,” she retorted with animation, “that I will suffer the indignity of capture at their hands. My dead body they may find, but the spirit of the Rani of Jhansi will have carried more than one of them to an accounting before the great tribunal of justice.”

“With the exception of a white turban, she was attired in a blood-red uniform from head to foot.”

I’m surprised how sympathetic a portrayal this novel has of Queen Lachmi Bai (as it’s spelled here), considering when it was published. For this came out in 1901, a point at which India was still firmly under British rule – heck, Queen Victoria was on the throne as the year began. Yet Lachmi Bai is very much the heroine, portrayed respectfully, to an almost idealized degree. For instance, it begins with the rebel massacre of British troops and their families at Jhansi. Yet this is depicted as being in explicit defiance of her command to secure them as prisoners.

It’s a mix of historical fact and pure speculation, the latter being particularly evident in a fairly platonic love triangle between the Queen, and two of her (entirely fictitious, I suspect) lieutenants, the Hindu Prasad Singh and the Muslim Ahmad Khan. The latter is the villain of the piece. His blood-lust is responsible for the massacre, and he is depicted in phrases such as “the expression of his mouth and chin denoted cruelty and treachery—the latter, perhaps, an accomplishment rather than a failing to the Oriental mind.” [While there is an argument to be made here for Islamophobia in his depiction, given the highly positive way Lachmi Bai and Prasad are portrayed, accusations of general “racism” seem lazy]

However, even he spends much of the middle portion working faithfully in support of the queen’s mission to free her country from the British. Speaking of whom, there is one scene early in the book told from the point of view of the Empire. But thereafter, they are largely referred to as “the Foreigners,” again demonstrating the Indo-centric viewpoint of the novel. While they ultimately prevail, this is not reported with any sense of triumph. Indeed, White is remarkably prophetic, Lachmi Bai saying, almost with her final breath: “Not forever shall their horsemen ride triumphantly through the land. A day will come when their law shall be no longer obeyed, and our temples and palaces rise anew from their ruins.” 46 years later, India did indeed become an independent country.

“But even if defeat is again the will of God, if die we must; is it not better to perish as warriors should, in a feat of arms upon which the eyes of our enemies will gaze with marvel, than as wild beasts hunted through the jungle?”

“Her horse leaped forward, straight for Sindhia’s guns.”

The story told here bypasses her entire life and marriage, joining proceedings after she has already become a widow. In the early stages, Lachmi Bai also takes a back seat, with the storyline revolving around Ahmad and Prasad’s rivalry. The former manipulates the latter into believing the Queen is having an affair with young officer Dost Ali, and also the Queen into believing Prasad is plotting against her. This leads to his exile for the middle of the book, until returning after the fall of Jhansi, as the Queen is making her escape from the city. Though I must say, Ahmad’s eventual fate is rather underwhelming, in a “Cersei Lannister” kind of way. Without getting too spoilery, hopes he would meet the point of Lachmi Bai’s sword proved unfulfilled.

The latter half focuses more on the Queen, as fate deals her cards both good and bad. It’s made clear the military reverses suffered are not her fault, or in any way reflect her bravery. Her commanders are to blame, along with a tendency for her forces to break under pressure. Yet, as the quote above says, she would rather have a glorious death than a subservient life. The comparisons to Jeanne D’Arc are understandable, and made explicit: “A second Jeanne D’Arc, as valiant in battle, more subtle in council than the Maid of Orleans, moved by the same passionate love for her country, had cast in their teeth a wager of defiance, to stand until either they were driven from her state, or she had perished.”

Of course, we know how the story ends, and White gives Lachmi Bai the heroic send-off she deserves: “She drew the folds of a shawl over her face to hide her death agony, and again lay down. The blackness of night grew deeper, the silence more intense. Presently, strange, warrior forms seemed to appear from the unknown and filled the Rani’s tent. One supremely beautiful figure, in dazzling raiment, came forth to enfold the dying woman in her arms.” It’s surprisingly touching, and a decent end to a story which has survived the passage of almost 120 years better than I expected

Author: Michael White
Publisher: J. F. Taylor & Company, available as an e-book for free from Project Gutenberg.

Manikarnika: The Queen of Jhansi

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★★★½
“Show me the Mani”

The movie opens with a particularly elaborate disclaimer, admitting that “certain cinematic liberties have been sought,” and that “this film does not claim historical authenticity.” Probably wise: Indians take their national heroes very seriously; just last year, another historical epic, Padmaavat, sparked months of protests, up to and including buses being set on fire. This seems to have largely (but not entirely) escaped such a fate, and likely deservedly. It certainly does little to disrespect the woman, the myth or the legend of Manikarnik, the woman who would become Queen Lakshmibai, and lead a revolt against the British who occupied India in the mid-19th century.

It definitely does adjust things – most notably skipping over the whole “child marriage” thing, which was a key element of Jhansi Ki Rani and The Tiger and the Flame. In this case, Manikarnika (Ranaut) is already fully-grown when she catches the eye of the king of Jhansi, eventually becoming his queen. Thereafter, it goes through her becoming a widow, eviction by the British, rebellion and eventual death in battle, albeit with only a moderate degree of historical accuracy. For, undeniably, there are a fair number of those “certain cinematic liberties,” especially in terms of events being staged and timed for dramatic impact. I’m willing to cut them some slack, since a lot of the results are highly effective.

Curiously, there’s a lot of style adopted from Wonder Woman here, in particular the use of super slow-mo during the action scenes. But it also carries a significant amount of heart: perhaps due to the lead actress also being the co-director? Ranaut knocks it out of the park in some scenes, such as when she’s facing off against villainous British officer Captain Gordon (Edward Sonnenblick, who played a similar role in Jhansi Ki Rani). There are a lot of lines which could come over as cheesy, such as, “This throne doesn’t make me a Queen. It’s the love and faith of Jhansi’s people which does.” But the lead actress delivers them with such conviction, even this Brit was left wanting to stand up and cheer, as a subsequent forced departure from her palace turns into a torch-lit procession of support.

After her bad-ass credentials are established with her shooting a tiger, the first half doesn’t have much action to its name, though is never dull. And this is more than made up for by a rousing second-half filled with impressive battles, though the overall impact is severely hurt by some really poor CGI, such as cannons which fire with zero recoil, and breezes which affect only our heroine, not the grass in which she is supposedly standing. The lack of supporting characters is notable: her husband Gangadhar (Sengupta) was most notable to our eyes, for the Indo-mullet hairstyle he wore. On the British side, Gordon is replaced half-way through by Sir Hugh Rose, to no particular purpose.

However, this is probably the most beautiful film I’ve seen this year; it looks like a Ridley Scott film, and there’s little higher praise than that in my mind. Between that and Ranaut’s intense performance, there’s enough reason to see this, and overcome any problems.

Dir: Kangana Ranaut and Radha Krishna Jagarlamudi
Star: Kangana Ranaut, Atul Kulkarni, Jisshu Sengupta, Vaibhav Tatwawaadi

Jhansi Ki Rani

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★★★½
“I can only apologize.”

Not for the show, I should stress. But as a Brit… Wow, were were really such utter bastards to the Indians when the country was a colony? I was under the impression it was all tea and cricket. But the British, as depicted here, appear largely to be working entirely for the East Indian company, treating the local population with, at best, disdain, and often brutality. All the while, seeking to manipulate local politics (with, it must be said, the help of some Indians) to their own advantage. After 70 episodes of this, such is the guilt, I can barely enjoy my chicken tikka masala without giving it reparations.

I say 70 episodes, but the entire series is considerably longer. Wikipedia lists it as 408, but those are apparently 25-minute shows. Netflix seems to have doubled it up (bringing its length into line with the more traditional Hispanic telenovelas which I’ve previously reviewed). Yet even allowing for that, to this point they only seem to have about 30% of the show. They also shortened the title from its full name, Ek Veer Stree Ki Kahaani… Jhansi Ki Rani, which translates as Story of a Brave Woman… The Queen of Jhansi.

Simply based on the level of intrigue here, this feels like an Indian version of Game of Thrones. Albeit without the incest. Or the dragons. Or the budget. And is based on a real character, Lakshmibai. But it’s quite easy also to draw a line between Arya Stark and the teenage heroine here, Manikarnika (Gupta) a.k.a. Manu, neither caring one bit for ‘traditional’ behaviour. Manu, in particular, objects to the occupying British forces and their disrespectful treatment of the native population. So she crafts a secret identity, Kranti Guru, and uses this to fight back against the Brits, even (gasp!) desecrating the Union Jack. She’s helped by her mentor, Tatya Tope, who occasionally dons the mask as well, when necessary.

However, a literally stellar horoscope leads to Manu being betrothed to the Maharaja of Jhansi, Gangadhar Rao (Dharmadhikari). And this is my biggest issue. Cultural differences be damned, there is no way in which a prepubescent girl marrying a middle-aged man can seem appropriate, or other than incredibly creepy. Manu gets her first period in one of the final episodes, and the reaction of everyone can be summarised as, “Good, now you can give the king a heir.” [The reality was slightly less creepy: Lakshmibai did, indeed, marry the king at age 13. However, they didn’t have a son until she was in her twenties]

The British – already unhappy with Manu’s rebellious outbursts – are far from happy at the prospect of her marrying Gangadhar and continuing the line. Even before she arrives at the palace, there are backroom conspiracies involving some of his relatives (not least his own mother), who ally themselves with the colonialists for their mutual benefit. These schemes go up to and include multiple assassination plots against the king, and indeed, his bride-to-be. Time for Kranti Guru to come out again, particularly to face off against gold-toothed British psychopath Marshall (Verma). His relentless pursuit, without regard for who gets hurt, earns him Manu’s undying enmity. [Weirdly, he’s played by an Indian actor in “white face”, as are some – but not all – of the other English officers, some of whom are dubbed.]

To be honest, Manu’s action scenes are a bit crap, mostly consisting of her waving a sword around in severely choreographed battles. She’d last about two minutes against other teenage warrioresses, like Hanna or Hit-Girl. Still, she has a certain charm, not least for her razor-sharp intellect, which lets her argue with – and usually kick the mental ass of – religious scholars, politicians and the king. She also has an unshakeable faith that everyone is redeemable, and more than once, turns enemies into loyal allies. Most notable is dacoit (bandit) Samar Singh, initially hired to murder Manu. When the tables are turned, and she forgives him, he abandons his life of crime. That’s the level of devotion she inspires.

Run away, foreigner, run away!
This brave Manu riding the horse is Lakshmi Bai
Fire will rain on you, now you are doomed. 
Look at the colourful India, India will defeat you. 
She has come to claim your head, the Queen of Jhansi has come. 
Run away foreigner, the Queen of Jhansi has come!

Despite its origins, there are no song-and-dance numbers, though the music still plays a significant, if repetitive part. The song quoted above shows up in every other episode, and the re-use of certain cues could be turned into a drinking game, e.g. take a shot every time that “sad trombone”-like arpeggio sting is heard. However, the most defining style element is the reaction shot. It seems nothing dramatic can happen without everyone present in the scene subsequently being ready for their close-up – sometimes multiple times. And considering how often such moments happen in the king’s court… it takes a while. This does lighten the intellectual burden required to keep up. Chris was usually present for only about one-third of the screen time each day, yet she was able to hang in there, with only minor explanations from me.

For the great majority of the time, it’s light stuff, with Manu escaping every pitfall her enemies set for her. Then, the hammer drops: to extend the GoT comparison, it’s the Rani equivalent of the Red Wedding. Fewer bodies, to be sure – just one – yet the resulting emotional wallop was still brutal, sending me through multiple stages of grief during the subsequent fall-out. “No… Surely they haven’t… It’s got to be a dream sequence.” All told, it was easily the most impactful death in any of the telenovelas I’ve watched, regardless of their origin, and the repercussions ran on for multiple episodes. As do the reaction shots. So. Many. Reaction. Shots.

I wonder if the 70-episode cutoff point was chosen by Netflix, being the point at which Manu “grows up”. It appears she is played by an older actress (right) in the latter stages of the series. As it stands, however, it’s an interesting approach to have a series apparently aimed at adults, with a 14-year-old character as the lead. While I can’t say it was wholly successful, it proved a remarkably easy watch, and I was genuinely sorry when I ran out of episodes.

Creative Director: Sujata Rao
Star: Ulka Gupta, Sameer Dharmadhikari, Vikas Verma, Ashnoor Kaur

The Tiger and the Flame

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★★½
“The kitten and the candle”

This is the edited and English-dubbed version of the first Indian film released, to have been shot in Technicolor. While becoming a rare example of an Indian movie given a Western release, it was severely cut down, going from its original running time of 148 minutes to a mere 96. Much of this was accomplished by trimming the musical numbers, with all that’s left being the titular ballet, put on by the King of Jhansi (Mubarak) – a bit of an odd scene to leave in. Most of the rest is a reasonably accurate biopic of his wife, Queen Lakshmibai, covering her marriage at a very early age to the King, subsequent widowing, and eventually becoming the local leader at the head of the rebellion against the British in the late eighteen fifties.

One particularly interesting aspect is the way Modi (who produced the film, as well as directing and starring in it) brought on board a significant amount of Hollywood talent to work on the project. These were led by cinematographer Ernest Haller, who won an Oscar for his work on Gone With The Wind. Certainly, in this Westernized version, it plays like a thoroughly solid Hollywood biopic, even if rather more authentic in its ethnic casting. Well, at least in one direction; the British roles are also played by Indians. I’m a bit surprised it was a commercial failure in its home territory, especially considering it was released only 5½ years after the country gained its real independence from Britain. You’d think that would have made its topic resonate well with a local audience.

However, with the obvious caveat that I’m going off the abbreviated, dubbed version, I can perhaps see why. It’s an impressive spectacle – with a couple of battle sequences which are particularly impressive. However, it comes over as the fifties equivalent of disaster porn, being empty visuals without any real emotional content. And, say what you like about Bollywood movies, it’s the emotional content which typically powers them. Local viewers were also apparently unimpressed by the lead actress – not coincidentally, the director’s wife – being in her mid-thirties and thus too old to play the heroine.

Personally, I didn’t feel that was too much of a problem. However, I didn’t get any sense of the characters involved. Lakshmibai is very much a figurehead, rather than an active participant, whose activity is largely limited to giving mildly stirring speeches to her soldiers. Admittedly, we have to bear in mind both the era and the source. But if you consider that Anne of the Indies pre-dated this by two years, it’s clear the era was not an absolute impediment. That does a much better job of mixing history and sword-play, while still giving you reason to care about the people wielding the weapons. This is closer to a pretty costume drama than a heroic tale of rebellion, and offers little insight into how Lakshmibai was able to lead an army.

Dir: Sohrab Modi
Star: Mehtab, Mubarak, Sohrab Modi, Sapru
a.k.a. Jhansi Ki Rani

Queen Lakshmibai: India’s Joan of Arc

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“Being young, vigorous, and not afraid to show herself to the multitude, she gained a great influence over the hearts of the people. It was this influence, this force of character, added to a splendid and inspiring courage, that enabled her to offer a desperate resistance to the British…. Whatever her faults in British eyes may have been, her countrymen will ever believe that she was driven by ill-treatment into rebellion; that her cause was a righteous cause. To them she will always be a heroine.”
  — “History of the Indian Mutiny” by Sir John Kaye and Colonel George Malleson

The notion of a warrior woman, who leads the fight against occupying forces is something which quite a common trope of legend and lore worldwide. The family tree includes the likes of Boudicaa in Roman England, through Vietnam’s Trung Sisters, Martha Christina Tiahahu of Indonesia – and, of course, Joan of Arc in France.

Lakshmibai is far from unique in Indian history as a warrior woman. The line probably starts with Rudrama Devi, who reigned in her own right over the Kakatiya kingdom for three decades during the late 13th century. In terms of rebellion against the British, who began occupying parts of India from around 1757, Lakshmibai was preceded by Rani Velu Nachiyar. After Nachiyar’s husband was killed in 1772, she raised an army and allied with other monarchs to fight the British.

Half a century later, in 1828, Manikarnika Tambe was born – the girl who would become Rani Lakshmibai. Her mother died when Manu, as she was known, was still a toddler. She was therefore brought up more by her father, who worked for local ruler Baji Rao II. This may explain why her upbringing was non-traditional, Manu learning how to wield a sword, as well as archery and horsemanship. But barely after becoming a teenager, at the age of 13, she was married to the Maharaja of Jhansi, Raja Gangadhar Newalkar. As was tradition, she took a new name: Lakshmibai, in honour of the Hindu goddess of wealth, fortune and prosperity, Lakshmi.

She was not able to provide him with a heir, their only child dying while only a few months old. Instead, shortly before the Maharaja’s death in 1853, they adopted a son. And that’s where Lakshmibai’s problems with the British started. For the British East India Company refused to recognize the adopted son as heir to the throne, applying what was called the ‘Doctrine of Lapse’ and annexing the state of Jhansi to its territories. The following year, Lakshmibai was literally pensioned off, being given a stipend and ordered to leave the palace. Despite this, she does not seem to have initially harboured strong anti-British feelings at this point.

“Her two qualities worth mentioning are her bravery and her generosity. Mostly, she was dressed in male attire. She used to wear a pajama with a vest of dark purple colour. On her head, she wore a turban like cap. On her waist would be a duppatta-like cloth in which a sword would be tucked.”
  — Vishnubhat Godse

In June 1857, rebel soldiers seized the fort at Jhansi and massacred, not only the officers garrisoned there, but their families. After the rebels left, Lakshmibai took over, running Jhansi on behalf of the British until they could send a superintendent. That’s not exactly Joan of Arc-like… Instead, she fought off efforts by the rebels to claim the Jhansi throne for her husband’s nephew, as well as an attempted invasion by neighbouring states. It’s possible the latter enemy’s alliance with the British helped sour relations between them and Lakshmibai, though she still seems to have intended to act as a caretaker to this point.

But clearly something changed her mind. For when the British eventually showed up, in March 1858, she declined to hand over the fort, instead issuing a proclamation: “We fight for independence. In the words of Lord Krishna, we will if we are victorious, enjoy the fruits of victory, if defeated and killed on the field of battle, we shall surely earn eternal glory and salvation.” Brave words, though with hindsight, basically saying, “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough,” to the British, at the point of basically peak Empire, might not have been the wisest of tactics…

The British laid siege to Jhansi, and the last hope of rescue ended when an approaching force of 20,000 supporters, under the command of Lakshmibai’s childhood friend, Tatya Tope, was headed off and beaten at the Battle of Betwa River. After ten days, the walls were breached, and the British entered. There is some debate over what happened to the civilian population thereafter. Some reports indicate all were massacred, but Brahmin priest Vishnubhat Godse gave an eye-witness account which said, “All men between the ages of five to thirty were searched out and killed… But the British did not kill women; they stood at a distance from women and told them to hand over whatever gold and jewellery they were wearing.”

Legend states that the queen leapt from the fort on a horse, with her adopted son strapped to her back. Godse’s account is slightly tamer: “She wore male attire, riding shoes and armour covering her whole body. She did not carry even a paisa coin on herself. With a resounding ‘Jai Shankar’ war cry, she descended from the fort and, crossing the city, went out through the north gate. The Company cavalry chased them for about a kos and a half (3 miles). Thereafter, [Lakshmibai]’s horses were no longer in sight.” She regrouped with the remnants of Tatya Tope’s forces, but they were again beaten by Imperial forces, and forced to flee once again.

Two months later, on June 17, she fought her final battle, her army going up against the 8th King’s Royal Irish Hussars. Again, what exactly happened to Lakshmibai has been clouded through the mists of time and folklore. One story says she dressed as a cavalry officer and attacked the hussars; unhorsed, she was wounded, but fought on, firing at her opponent with a pistol, before being shot by his rifle. Godse’s account is almost terse, saying she was “wounded by a bullet, but she continued to fight. Just then, her thigh was wounded with a sword and she fell off the horse. Tatya Tope rushed forward and held her dead body.”

“The high descent of the Rani, her unbounded liberality to her troops and retainers, and her fortitude, which no reverses could shake, rendered her an influential and dangerous adversary.”
  — Sir Hugh Rose

Her post-rebellion legacy was a complex one. Some English writers maligned Lakshmibai, blaming her for the massacre by the rebels at Jhansi – in particular army doctor, Thomas Lowe, who called the queen the “Jezebel of India.” However, Sir Hugh Rose, commander of the British forces who took Jhansi spoke of her in much kinder terms, calling her “Personable, clever and beautiful,” “The most dangerous of all Indian leaders,” and “The bravest and best military leader of the rebels”.

She became a character in a number of English novels, such as The Rane: A Legend of the Indian Mutiny written in 1887 under the pseudonym of “Gillean”, by British officer John Maclean. In it, she seduces an agent of the empire, reinforcing Lowe’s negative depiction. Yet others were more sympathetic, such as Michael White’s Lachmi Bai, Rani of Jhansi, published in 1901. For example, that version of her story absolves Lakshmibai of responsibility for the rebel massacre, blaming a treacherous Muslim associate instead.

In India, of course, there is no such divergence, and she is revered to this day. There are many statues of her, typically on horseback with her son on her back, as the stories depict. She has been honoured in poem and song, and multiple films and TV series. The first was 1953’s  Jhansi Ki Rani, released in an English dub three years later as The Tiger and the Flame. The first Technicolor film to be made in India, it was also the most expensive Hindi film made to that point. The makers brought in talent from Hollywood, such as Ernest Haller, Oscar-winning cinematographer for Gone With The Wind, and editor Russell Lloyd, who had also worked with Vivien Leigh, on Anna Karenina in 1948. However, this version proved to be a flop at the box-office.

There have been three television series and two further movies based on the life of the queen. [Some of these adaptations and versions will be reviewed here shortly, and will be listed below] Still to come, and potentially the biggest in the West, is The Warrior Queen of Jhansi, originally titled Swords and Sceptres. In this, Devika Bhise (shown above right) plays Lakshmibai, with Rupert Everett as Sir Hugh Rose, and the supporting cast including Ben Lamb, Derek Jacobi and Jodhi Ma. This picked up distribution through Roadside Attractions in June, and is supposedly scheduled for a fall 2019 release – though no date has been fixed as yet. I’m curious to see how it performs, and if it will help Lakshmibai become as familiar an icon here, as she is in India.

Lakshmibai on the page, screen and TV