The Lost Homestead by Marina Wheeler

Author:Marina Wheeler [Marina Wheeler]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hodder and Stoughton
Published: 2020-10-13T00:00:00+00:00

9

One spring day I went with my daughter Cassia to the Tower of London to relive the scene of Dip’s upset over the Koh-i-Noor diamond. Over time, Dip’s outrage subsided. Others, though, nurture the grievance (among them Narendra Modi and Shashi Tharoor) and campaign for the return of the Koh-i-Noor, a valuable object and symbol of colonial plunder.

In India it is a popular if slightly disingenuous cause. Because if the diamond were to leave Britain (drilled free from the Queen Mother’s Crown?), it’s unclear where it should go. It could plausibly be ‘repatriated’ to a number of homes. Why Delhi over Lahore? What about Tehran or Kabul?

Remember, Queen Victoria got hold of the diamond when the Punjabi Sikh Empire fell to the East India Company. The Koh-i-Noor was one of the spoils. That had always been the fate of this dazzling and coveted jewel – the ‘Mountain of Light’, as it was called. Successive conquerors acquired it and parted with it only when it was taken by force.

Before surrendering the Koh-i-Noor, the Sikhs had held it for only thirty-six years. Ranjit Singh, founder of the great Sikh Empire, had claimed it from Shah Shuja after defeating him in battle in 1813. Shah Shuja, the last ruler of the Afghan Durrani Dynasty, had it for seventy years after acquiring it just like the others. He seized it from Nadir Shah, a ruthless Persian-speaking warlord who had snatched it from the Mughals. At the time that his marauding hordes swept through North India, the Koh-i-Noor adorned the Peacock Throne in the Fort in Lahore. Nadir Shah prised it off and wore in on an armband. It is difficult to trace the diamond much further back, but you get the idea.

The queue for the Crown Jewels was so long Cassia and I almost went home. As it was sunny, we persisted – sixty thousand come every day, said the steward, from all over the world. We liked the crown. It was very attractive, as was the diamond. The glossy (and expensive) guide to the collection said something about the Koh-i-Noor’s provenance, but the exhibition did not. That was a shame, we agreed. Why not light up one of the hall’s walls to sketch out the jewel’s history? There could be an image of the child-Maharaja handing it over in the fort in Lahore. There could be material about its previous owners, rulers whose fortunes waned, from Empires that no longer exist. That would enrich the experience, which would be good, especially given the wait.

Far from the Tower, in Delhi, my cousin Jugnu’s wife Mala took me in hand. Mala (Malvika Singh) is a presence. She’s smart, forceful and warm. She knows everyone. If she wants something done (usually a favour for someone else), she doesn’t ask, she instructs. Frowning at me, but also a little smiling, she says, ‘Enough of your please and thank yous. God, why are you so British!’ So, thanks to Mala, Theo and I found ourselves touring Rashtrapati Bhavan, the official residence of India’s president, formerly Viceroy’s House.

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