How Indian queens across history scripted stories of valour and victory

It’s never enough to tell their stories, no matter how many times they have been told: they were told before, and will be told again. The tales of their incredible valour, resistance and sacrifice run through the veins of pre-Independent India’s history, and throb across its pages, despite attempts by the mainstream historiographers to reduce them to footnotes. They are the empresses, queens, regents, princesses and begums who defied the stultifying patriarchal norms, broke the shackles of traditions and emerged as fierce protectors of their dynasties, kingdoms or regents; the warriors and bravehearts who fought to have an agency and, in the process, recorded their names in the annals of history.

 Some of these tales are part of our folklore, passed down from generation to generation. While some queens valiantly resisted the invaders, others stood their ground against the Mughals; still others bested the British. A new book, The Book of Indian Queens: Stories and Essays (Aleph Book Company), carries snapshots of the fascinating world of a galaxy of queens from every corner of the subcontinent, whose tales of courage adorn Indian history. Most of these stories, however, are excerpts from previously published books, both fiction and non-fiction by writers like Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, Ira Mukhoty and Archana Garodia Gupta. For a common reader, the accounts of queens contained in the slim book serve as appetisers. If they wish to dive deep, there is a host of books that seek to challenge the Eurocentric narratives in which the stories of these women have been subsumed in the preponderance of accounts of their male counterparts.

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Divakaruni blends fact and fiction to tell the story of Rani Jindan Kaur of Punjab, in her 2021 novel, The Last Queen (HarperCollins India). Ira Mukhoty, on the other hand, foregrounds the forgotten stories of women throughout history — from Radha to Raziya Sultan and from Meerabai to Hazrat Mahal — in Heroines: Powerful Indian Women of Myth and History (Aleph, 2017). In The Women Who Ruled India: Leaders. Warriors. Icons, (Hachette India, 2019), Archana Garodia Gupta subverts his-story written by men in charge who controlled the narrative, wresting from historical oblivion 20 powerful women iconoclasts who shaped the fates of their kingdoms across centuries — from Begum Samru of Sardhana to Didda of Kashmir, from Rani Abbakka of Ullal to Rani Mangammal of Madurai.

Queens from the South

Velu Nachiyar (r. 1780-90 CE), queen of Sivaganga in Tamil Nadu who ruled from 1780-1790, belonged to the warrior clan of Thevars and was termed as “veeramangai” (brave woman). The much-feted Tamil heroine is often hailed as the first queen who fought against the East India Company or British rule in India in the 1770s, predating the Rani of Jhansi and Kannadiga Chennamma of Kittur in the 1820s. A symbol of Tamil pride, Nachiyar has had postage stamps, commemorative buildings, annual parades and dance dramas in her name. Swaraj, a historical drama based on her life, is currently in the making, in which Suhasi Dhami is set to play her role.

The South India of the 18th century was an arena of political turmoil. Alliances shifted continuously. There were too many players, playing the game of war and peace with each other too often. The forces jostling for preeminence included Mughal governors and the European powers; significantly the British, but also the Dutch, Danes and the Portuguese. And then, there were the Nizam of Hyderabad and the nawab of Arcot in the Carnatic region, the Marathas and a resurgent Mysore under Haider Ali and Tipu Sultan.

It was in this backdrop that the story of Velu Nachiyar unfolds. She was married to Muthu Vaduganatha Periyavudaya Thevar, the prince of Sivaganga, a small border kingdom whose overlords continuously changed, at the age of 16 in 1746. Muthu became the king (in 1750) at a time when the Deccan was in turmoil. After the British invasion of the kingdom in 1772, Muthu was killed and it was subsequently occupied by the nawab of Arcot.

To exact revenge, Velu spent eight years in exile, raising her own army of women, ‘Udaiyal padai’, whose dalavai or commander was Kuyili, a Dalit.

On Vijayadashami, when local women gathered for a puja at the temple of Rajarajeshwari, next to the palace, Velu and her women warriors mingled with the throngs going to the temple, entered the palace and captured it, attacking the soldiers. shouting ‘Vetrivel, Veeravel’, the ancient Tamil battle cry.

When Kuyili, Velu’s commander, realised their weapons were not match to the British guns,  she doused herself with oil from the burning lamps, set herself on fire and hurled herself into the ammunition room, blowing it all up. Kuyili, thus, came to  be considered the first ‘human bomb’. The women took control of the palace after that. And Sivaganga was conquered.

This is just one story of a queen who dared. Detailed accounts of each queen’s act of bravery is not feasible in a piece. Suffice it perhaps to briefly touch upon them. Some other queens of the South included the likes of Belawadi Mallamma, the queen of the Belawadi kingdom in present-day Karnataka, who is believed to be the first queen in history who built and trained a women’s army in the 17th century, and defended her kingdom against Shivaji’s maratha forces for 27 days.

Kittur’s Rani Chenamma, married to Mallasarja Desai, the ruler of Kittur who died in 1816, fought against the British, defying the Raj’s policy of annexation, Doctrine of Lapse, introduced by Lord Dalhousie. Rani Abbakka, who belonged to the Chowta dynasty ruling over a small coastal town called Ullal near present-day Mangaluru, resisted and fought the Portuguese fearlessly when they attacked the kingdom in 1525. Undermining the queen’s ability to fight back, the Portuguese sent a few boats and an army of soldiers to capture and bring her to their headquarters in Goa, but their boats never returned. When a fleet of ships under the command of their famous admiral Dom Álvaro da Silveira was sent, the admiral had to beat a retreat, bruised and empty-handed.

Bravehearts  of the North

The Book of Indian Queens begins with an excerpt from Mahasweta Devi’s The Queen of Jhansi (2000), translated from the Bengali by Sagaree and Mandira Sengupta, in which she recounts the story of the celebrated historical figure, who was widowed at a young age and ruled as regent. Fighting valiantly in the uprising of 1857, she refused to cede the kingdom of Jhansi in Uttar Pradesh to the British. The excerpt describes the fierce battle in Gwalior where Rani Lakshmibai commanded her troops against the British and was killed on the battlefield in 1858.

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In the north, Begum Samru of Sardhana transformed herself from a courtesan to the head of a mercenary army and the ruler of the prosperous kingdom of Sardhana for 55 years, at a time when the largest of empires were crumbling. In Punjab, Rani Jindan Kaur, the youngest wife of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, ruled the Sikh empire as regent from 1843–1845 after  her five-year-old son was named heir following the death of the Maharaja. Centuries prior to this, Raziya bint Iltutmish (r. 1236–1240) became the first and only female monarch of India; not only did she tactfully balance opposing factions at court, ruled unaided by any man.

Indian lawbooks and religious texts deny women any role in politics, and often speak in horror of women holding power. “Infamous is the land where woman hold sway and rule; and infamous are the men who yield themselves to women’s dominion,” warns Jatakas. Abraham Eraly, in a piece on the queens of classic India, points out that, at the same time, some of the Puranas speak of stri-rajyas, women’s kingdoms.

The books on the Indian queens help the heroines of India reclaim their space in history.