Elephant Complex by John Gimlette

Author:John Gimlette
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2016-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

After all that had gone on before, what happened next feels like Gilbert and Sullivan. In this scene, there are spies and archers, feathery generals, acrobats, priests, nobles in pearly doublets, and a little mechanical clock that makes everyone laugh.

The scenery was still there, known nowadays as the Audience Hall. Only the players were missing. But even without them it was hard to take it all in: a long, palace roof, suspended on a hundred stalks. Close up, I could see these columns were intricately fluted and carved, and getting in amongst them was like being in a forest of table legs. But otherwise the stage was now empty. Back in 1814, it was here that the courtiers had signed away their monarchy, and 2,357 years of independence. For the first time in its history, the island would come under a single ruler, and the Kandyans—after 167 sovereigns—would become curiously kingless.

In the temple next door, I found some paintings of this final scene. In one, I could see the governor, Sir Robert Brownrigg, in his plumed bonnet, and Ehelepola, now sitting on a horse. Ehelepola had been disappointed not to be crowned, and his new title (“Friend of the British”) had left him less than impressed. Next to him was a pale and slightly sinister character. John D’Oyly had been the grand spymaster, and his face was eloquently blank. He’s said to have spoken seven languages and to have had ears in every home. It was he who’d planned this war and who’d drafted the Kandyan Convention. The clock, too, was his idea, a gift for the Keeper of the Tooth. Once set in motion, it caused peals of delight, and everyone forgot what a momentous day this was.

Only one person was missing from these pictures, and that was the king. He’d fled into the hills and had been hiding in a cave. Later, he’d be found by his nobles, who stripped him of finery and bound him in creepers. He was only saved by D’Oyly, who appeared out of nowhere and bundled him off to Colombo. Then, in February 1816, the king sailed out of this story on a magnificent man-of-war, HMS Cornwallis. The crew would remember him as a jolly, if slightly imperious, passenger. On one occasion, he smashed up his bed with an axe because a servant had slept on it, and at least once he had to be asked not to beat his wives. Eventually, however, after four weeks at sea, the ship reached Madras. From here, the king was taken to Vellore, where he’d spend the next seventeen years in gilded captivity. He’d never return to Ceylon, but would eat and eat until finally the dropsy claimed him, at the age of fifty-two.

—

Whilst researching this picaresque tale, I happened to meet one of the governor’s descendants. Ceylon had never entirely let go of the Brownriggs, and Henry was now a dealer in Asian art in London. Hesitant and thoughtful, he was always modest about his ancestor’s role.

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