Dhaka, and, indeed, the rest of the lands that are now Bangladesh, and even far beyond, in the 1920s and 30s were riveted by a scandal. The kind of scandal that even today, worldwide, continue to obsess the “redtops” and popular media.
Revealing insights into the private lives of the rich, famous and powerful may well be a covert means of enjoying, secretly, the fall from grace, however temporary, of those with wealth, and the power and protection it brings.
The case of the “Tichborne Claimant” had scandalised and enthralled mid Victorian Britain. Likewise, nearly a hundred years later, the Bhawal Case enraptured the lands of Bangladesh.
The Bhawal Zamindari was the second greatest land holding in these lands by the end of the 19th century, with aristocratic roots going back five centuries. In fact, one of the truly great families of the lands that are now Bangladesh, with the great name of Gazi, and the largest palace in the land, at Gazipur.
The palace, built in the late 19th century, and believed to have been designed by the same architectural practice which designed the White House in Washington DC, is said to have contained 365 rooms.
What the scandal achieved, was to bring into the spotlight the history of such, “noble” families, and the way in which their history interlaced with that of the lands in which they lived.
The earliest family member on record was Fazail Gazi, who, in the mid 16th century, already holding substantial lands, and with very apparent influence, supported the temporary rule of the last of the Pashtuns, Sher Shah Suri.
However, skillfully making his peace with the Mughals, after the fall of this last Pashtun rule in Bengal, he is credited with retaining his landholdings, maintaining the foundation of the family fortunes of the ensuing centuries. Fortunes that survived, not only the fall of the last of the Pashtun rulers, but also both the rise and fall of the Mughal dynasty, and the arrival, and decline of the British. All in the best traditions of the greatest of the aristocratic families, around the world, and throughout the centuries!
In late April, 1909, the then zaminder of Bhawal, Raja Ramendra Narayan Roy, was persuaded by his family to take treatment, for what is believed to have been the syphilis which was the result of the debauched life led by him, and the two brothers who predeceased him, in Darjeeling. It was soon announced, by his wife, Vivabati Devi, and his personal doctor, that he had died, and been cremated there.
In fact, his body, left for cremation, by the wife and her apparent co-conspirator, with whom she is believed to have become enamored, that family doctor, had remained unattended during a storm, and was rescued by a passing group of Sadhus. Revived by those holy mendicants, he joined them, apparently having suffered memory loss in the trauma of his attempted murder.
For 12 years, it seems, he wandered across the subcontinent in this guise of an indigent devotee. It appears, however, slowly recovering some of his memory, he returned to Dhaka, and took up a station on Buckland Bund, on the banks of the Buriganga, close to the Bhawal palace, where he was recognised by servants and tenants of the estate.
It is said that he first attracted attention for being unusually well built for a Saddhu. His identity, however, was denied by many of his family, now in possession of the considerable wealth, lands and revenues.
His sister, Jyotirmayi, however, had long believed he was still alive, and being told of the resident of Buckland Bund who bore a remarkable resemblance to her brother, arranged for him to be invited to visit the family palace.
Although the family, including his nephew, Buddhu, remained unconvinced, on a subsequent visit, when he remembered the name of his infantile wet nurse, known to few, the conviction grew that he was, indeed, the lost master of the family, especially amongst estate workers and servants. His wife, unsurprisingly perhaps, continued to deny him.
But, on May 29, 1921 he arrived at Bhawal palace in Dhaka with two lawyers, and met with the district magistrate, and the Government appointed Collector of Dhaka, JH Lindsay, to make his claim for restoration.
Unsurprisingly, perhaps, such Government bodies as the Court of Wards and the Board of Revenue, both with a clear financial interest in the outcome, sought evidence against him, and, indeed, managed to find others to identify him as someone completely different.
Despite this, both the public, and even many of the estate’s tenants remained convinced, and some tenants even went so far as to pay their rents to him.
Both opponents and supporters then commenced a campaign for support of their positions, stimulating press articles, and publishing pamphlets.
The Board of Revenue even went as far as identifying witnesses who could testify he was someone completely different; the passions aroused may be judged by the fact that one such witness was even stabbed to death by unidentified assailants, evidently protagonists for recognition.
In 1924, he moved to Calcutta, where he received considerable public recognition, being accepted into membership of the Bengal Landowners Association, and becoming a Director of the company that ran many of the river transport services of the time, Bengal Flotilla Service. He was not slow to use such recognition to advance advocacy for his case.
In 1929, moving back to Dhaka, he and his lawyers began assembling a case for presentation to the courts, and in November, 1933, the case came, finally, before the courts, with the defendant in the case being the Court of Wards, who had consistently denied recognition.
It is, of course, worth remembering that the 12 years during which public interest had been sustained, was, itself, a traumatic period for India, and Bengal. The 1920s was a period of considerable political interest, with Gandhi emerging as a substantial figure in the burgeoning independence movement, and Jinnah wrestling with his own commitments; and Subhas Chandra Bose was developing his firm belief in the process of wrestling independence from Britain, and such colonial establishments, indeed, as the Court of Wards!
1930, even as the case was being prepared, was the year of the politically and socially traumatic Chittagong Uprising, led by Surya Sen. And in 1931, the assassination of the District Magistrate in Comilla shocked society in Dhaka and Calcutta.
Throughout Bengal, politics were generating, at best, rising tensions and social preoccupation. Perhaps the case provided a much needed distraction?
The case lasted for three years, with hundreds of witnesses called on both sides, although, arguably, the greatest disagreement was between the claimant’s ever loyal sister, and the disloyal, even, if gossip is to be believed, adulterous, wife.
However, in August, 1936, Justice Pannabal Basu, who, after Independence became education and Land Revenue Minister of West Bengal in 1952, delivering the last verdict of his distinguished career in the judiciary, shook the British establishment to its bureaucratic roots by finding for the claimant.
However, unwilling to be defeated, an appeal was immediately made against the judgement, and that appeal opened in October 1936. Once again, the case dragged on, and although the hearing ended in August 1939, the outbreak of war delayed judgement until November 1940, once again finding by a two to one majority, for the claimant.
The establishment, in the midst of war, were ready to withdraw. The wife, however, was not, and sought leave of the Privy Council in London to appeal the Calcutta verdict. That appeal was finally granted, and commenced at the beginning of July 1946. The appeal was dismissed after a 28 day hearing in London, perhaps one of the last such judgements on Indian justice. The same evening that news was telegraphed to Calcutta, Raja Ramendra Naryan Roy collapsed with a stroke, and died, two days later.
Was there ever a finer example of the adage, “Justice delayed, is justice denied?”
The case, surely, provided much needed distraction from the political and international turbulence that engulfed the lands of Bangladesh, together with most of the contemporary world. And the ending of the Zamindari only a few years later marked, in fact, the true ending of this colourful distraction, a glimpse of what interested society, high and low, in these lands, nearly a century ago.
