National pride is often represented by artefacts of the past. A capitalist bought and brought the sword of Tipu Sultan from London to India, but has become the subject of capitalist flight to London. In 1799, after the fall of Srirangapatnam, the weapon was taken to England as part of the spoils of war, ransacked from the sultan’s treasury. The Kingfisher took flight, but the sword remains in Karnataka. But no patriotic millionaire is in sight, breaking into a sweat to bring back Tipu’s famous jewel-encrusted throne—or its remains after the destruction by ravaging British soldiers. These were presented to King George III and auctioned by Sotheby’s later. But its bejewelled golden central tiger head and huma bird still lie in England. No champions or takers?
The trophy, however, that eludes the champions of Indian heritage is the miraculous jewel, the Kohinoor. It is literally the jewel in the British monarch’s crown, publicly reminding independent India of the arrogance and avarice of the empire that ruled the subcontinent for over two centuries. Despite the government telling the Supreme Court that it was ‘gifted’ to Britain, instead of having been plundered from Rana Ranjeet Singh’s possessions, the nationalists are not giving up. Culture Minister Mahesh Sharma said last week that the government is still trying to bring it back. “No way,” say the Brits. “Pretty please,” the MEA says. It’s a historical impasse.
Are Tipu Sultan’s sword and the Kohinoor part of Indian heritage? India’s past they certainly are, but can they be called symbols of our culture?
Tipu Sultan was one of the cruelest rulers in South Indian history. His primary allegiance was to his faith, and not to India. Mysore was his kingdom, which he did not see as part of India. In 16 years, he enlarged the realm his father Hyder Ali had left to him and converted thousands of Hindus and Christians to Islam. There were only two functioning temples during his time. He massacred thousands of Nairs in his push into Kerala. Perhaps, the violent history of sectarian conflict in northern Kerala can be attributed to Tipu’s fanaticism. It would be stretching the truth to call a genocidal psychopath, a patriot.
The Kohinoor, on the other hand, has its own story. It’s difficult to believe that after Ranjit Singh’s death, his 11-year-old son Duleep Singh simply handed over his father’s empire and the K0hinoor to the benevolent British as a “gift”. Hence, unlike the sword of Tipu Sultan, the Kohinoor is definitely part of Indian culture. Ranjeet Singh was fiercely proud of his empire, which he expanded considerably. Duleep Singh, who spent most of his exile abroad, however, died a lonely man and was buried according to Christian rites. His grave lies in Elveden Church in Suffolk. Ranjeet Singh’s golden throne is on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum. Why not ask for it too back? Or the Birmingham Buddha? Or the 120-odd Amravati sculptures in the British Museum? Or the Saraswati idol looted from Bhojshala?
The paradox is that these trophies have become as much part of Britain’s heritage as ours. They represent for today’s enfeebled England the resplendence of its imperial past. The empire is striking back with perverse irony. Britain faces the Armageddon of Sharia; its mosques full of hate-spreading mullas. British citizens are flocking to Syria to fight British soldiers. Talismans of Britain’s imperial grandeur is all there is left to remind itself of national pride. No nation wants to return its past, even if it is borrowed. Britain is no different.
ravi@newindianexpress.com