Punjabi by Nature

THIS WEEK, I have had two major encounters with Punjabi culture. One was Imtiaz Ali’s latest film, Amar Singh Chamkila, and the other was the exhibition, Ranjit Singh: Sikh, Warrior, King at the Wallace Collection, London. The biopic, where the assassination of popular, yet allegedly lewd folk musicians, is set in the religious and political extremism of 1980s Punjab (and its diaspora), contrasts sharply with the sophisticated and cosmopolitan Punjab of the Sikh Empire of the early 19th century presented in this dazzling exhibition.

The Sikh Empire has been divided by national and state borders so that one can only marvel now at its extent during its zenith under Maharaja Ranjit Singh (1780-1839). Priya Atwal’s book Royals and Rebels: The Rise and Fall of the Sikh Empire (2020) shows how Ranjit didn’t come out of nowhere but had consolidated his misl (warrior group) following his grandfather and father, to take control of other misls to found his Sikh Empire. He was dubbed the “Napoleon of the East”, though, unlike the Corsican, he never surrendered. Ranjit, who had initially built his army with disbanded East India Company Maratha mercenaries, deployed soldiers who had formerly fought for Napoleon as well as other Euro-American soldiers.

In India, Ranjit Singh is better known as the Lion of Punjab (please, no Loin jokes) or Sher-e Punjab, though I was a little baffled why Singh is translated as “Tiger”. Along with scholarly works, there are also popular texts on him, such as in the Amar Chitra Katha series. He is also featured in two long television serials, one short film (and probably many more) as well as popular biographies (including Khushwant Singh’s Ranjit Singh: Maharaja of the Punjab, 2001, and Sarbpreet Singh’s The Camel Merchant of Philadelphia, 2019). It was clear to all visitors at the exhibition that he is still widely remembered as Sikh families were having intense conversations in front of the exhibits.

This exhibition comes 25 years after the exhibition The Art of the Sikh Kingdoms at the Victoria and Albert Museum (later at San Francisco’s Asian Art Museum) which marked the 300th anniversary of the founding of the Khalsa. This focused on Ranjit Singh, as it noted the lack of religious iconography and that it would be inappropriate to display the Holy Book. Some of the exhibits remain but this exhibition is unusual in that the curator, Davinder Toor, who also wrote the text in the accompanying catalogue (along with an essay by William Dalrymple), has lent many of the exhibits.

Given the warrior nature of Ranjit Singh, the exhibition begins appropriately with a display of armour. This normally makes me flee, as I remember castles and fortresses with geometric displays of these instruments of death. Here, however, they are truly works of art from the first cuirass with an image of Guru Nanak. The helmet turbans are designed to accommodate the Sikh topknot, but my favourite item was the Turban Fortress (dastar bunga) of a Nihang warrior, a cotton turban with a gajgah (seizer of elephants) decorated with crescents and bearing other weapons, including small daggers, tiger claws and quoits (circular steel blades). There are two beautiful carvings in (hateful) ivory of Ranjit Singh and General Hari Singh Nalwa showing them in battle dress holding quoits. The quoits are intriguing, and others in the display have gold decorations and inscriptions in Gurmukhi, one of which is translated in the catalogue: “One infinite creator, preserver and destroyer, the highest master, most merciful and sustainer of the world. Remember! Uttering falsehoods is evil, always desist from such deeds. If you utter lies, you face great ruin ahead. This life is the time for performing good deeds. When you die, this time will not be at hand.” A beautiful object that would slice people and animals to shreds.

Ranjit Singh’s throne is on display but the Koh-i-Noor, which he won from the Afghans in 1813, is not. There are jewels, including the spectacular emerald girdle of Maharaja Sher Singh, said to be made with the emeralds his father Ranjit Singh used to decorate his horse harnesses with. The 18 emeralds are set in gold and decorated with diamonds and pearls. There are three jewelled medals, including the Auspicious Star of the Punjab (Kaukab-i-Iqbal-i-Punjab), that Ranjit Singh had made after having seen European medals. Set with diamonds and/or emeralds, according to class, they include one Ranjit Singh gave to Sir Claude Wade, and one belonging to Maharaja Duleep Singh.

Although few in number, the textiles are exquisite, including a pashmina sash (patka) from Kashmir, embroidered with human and animal figures as well as Persian verses, its opulence contrasting with a pair of woollen gloves from Kashmir and samples of Punjabi cotton cloth.

We are reminded of the wider importance of Ranjit Singh by a letter on parchment (1835) from Louis Philippe 1, the King of the French (Empereur des Français) to Ranjit Singh (Rendjit Sing, Bahador, Padichah du Pendjab) and a Persian manuscript, Tazkirat al-umara (Biographies of the Nobles, 1836), researched by Colonel James Skinner which contains a portrait of Ranjit Singh.

Among the most striking photographs is one by Felice Beato, of a Sikh Akali from Delhi in 1858. This Sikh would have been a contemporary of Ranjit Singh. However, the paintings are the most important part of the exhibition. The portraits of Ranjit Singh himself show him realistically (he was one-eyed and had smallpox scars) as well as unrealistically. The cremation of Ranjit Singh with four queens and seven servants is moving (though I’m not sure about the caption: ‘four high-born Rajput wives who have fearlessly offered themselves to be cremated alive’, or the choices of the servants, one of whom was barely 12). It isn’t certain how many wives Ranjit Singh had; estimates range between 20 and 40, including Hindu and Muslim, as well as Sikh. There are portraits of his first wife, Rani Mahtab Kaur and Duleep Singh’s mother, Maharani Jind Kaur.

The vivid picture The royal court of Maharaja Ranjit Singh (1863-64) draws on over a hundred other portraits to show his family, ministers and other members of the court. I found A panoramic view of the walled city of Lahore (1845-50) equally fascinating, as it was a depiction of the city after Ranjit Singh had rebuilt its fortifications. It names the buildings in English and Urdu, but is also delightful because of the people and animals, including many elephants, in the foreground.

It seems unbelievable that the Sikh Empire vanished within 10 years of Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s death in 1839. After the Anglo-Sikh wars which ensued, his youngest son, Maharaja Sir Duleep Singh was moved to Britain. Duleep Singh’s daughter, Princess Sophia, became a well-known suffragette.

I have been lucky to pay my respects at Ranjit Singh’s samadhi in Lahore though I am yet to visit the recently renovated museum in his summer palace in Amritsar. This fascinating exhibition that runs until the autumn reminds the world of one of India’s great heroes. It seems extraordinary that among all the recent biopics, there has not been one of the Lion of Punjab, which could, like this exhibition, show him as a Sikh, warrior and king.

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