It was the war that saw sultans fall, archdukes assassinated, and maps re-drawn; it saw economic super-powers battle it out on European soil, while its effects rippled across the globe. I was only vaguely aware of India’s role in World War 1 (perhaps because India was air-miles away from the epicentre, or let’s blame it on my history teacher). Sadly, on the centenary of the war, India too seems to have forgotten her World War I heroes.
Ironically, it is the Raj that keeps their memory alive. At The Imperial War Museum (IWM), London, I learnt that India had raised the world’s largest volunteer army, with nearly 1.5 million Indian men having fought for the British Empire. IWM, a British national museum organisation, with several branches, was set up in 1917 while WW1 was still being fought. Recently, IWM London unveiled permanent First World War Galleries that contain the most comprehensive collection of war-related artefacts.
The atrium feels like a war zone — military jets and rockets are suspended from the ceiling, while a damaged tank and a Reuters Landrover are strewn metres away. I begin to wonder if this museum is all about destruction. But as I go from floor to floor, I realise that the walls hold stories not just of politics and loss, but also of tenacity, camaraderie and love. I spot the uniform of a sepoy of the 57 Wilde Rifles, a regiment made up of Dogras, Pathans, Punjabis, Muslims and Sikhs; recruitment posters in Hindi and Urdu promising food, clothing and money to those who enrol; the words of the last German Emperor Kaiser Wilhelm II , ‘If we are going to shed our blood, England must at least lose India.’
Interactive displays fill the spaces with the sounds of missiles and holograms of soldiers marching through dangerous terrain, as I walk through a recreated trenchIn those moments, (ironically) sentiments don’t seem attached, merely to nationality. I’m moved by a letter of a British Second Lieutenant who — having censored the letters of his men — writes home saying, ‘By Jove! The tenderness of those great, rough fellows is wonderful’. In the Lord Ashcroft Gallery, extraordinary heroes who won the highest military titles in the British Empire are celebrated. Prominently on display is the kada (Sikh bangle) of the Victoria Cross (VC) awardee Parkash Singh, and the VC of Ishar Singh of pre-independent India.
The British Library, London, also captures the Great War through an exhibition titled, ‘Enduring War: Grief, Grit, and Humour.’ Here I see the human side of the international conflict and how people coped. I peruse posters that called upon women to work in munitions factories; laugh at the black humour captured in cartoons. The exhibit brings out the details of everyday, routine life, even in extreme times – a simple handkerchief is embroidered with the words of ‘It’s a long, long way to Tipperary’. I also find a letter of soldier Sher Muhammad Khan in which he describes his problems of reciting the prescribed prayers while on active duty.
But it is at the Royal Pavilion in Brighton that India really asserts herself. The Pavilion is one of the most unique structures I’ve seen in the British skyline. Built on the orders of George IV, the most notorious of British Kings, this royal residence was designed by architect John Nash, (also responsible for Buckingham Palace). Nash referred to the architecture as the ‘Hindu style’ given its minarets and domes. But I learn that Nash had never been to India! The interiors follow the Chinoserie style — simply put this means the European idea of Chinese decor. The building looks peculiar as a mahal gives way to the Orient. In keeping with King George IV’s decadence, twinkling chandeliers, gaudy paintings, embroidered carpets and carved furnishings assault the senses. Two generations after George IV, his successor Queen Victoria sold the strange palace to the state. In 1915, it was converted into a hospital for wounded Indian soldiers. A political move, to show the benevolence of the British Crown and to get more Indians to enlist, it was equipped with the best medical equipment.
As I walk through the Pavilion, I wonder what it was like for these Indian men — many from remote Indian villages — to find themselves in trenches in Europe and later in this magnificent palace. The answer lies in their letters describing the hospital as a ‘fantasy land’, ‘paradise’ and of ‘being tended like flowers’ when recuperating here.
Finally, I make my way to the Chattri Memorial, Brighton. Its umbrella-like dome can be spotted miles away. It sits on the exact spot where Hindu and Sikh soldiers were cremated. I feel both pride and loss as I read through each of the 53 names engraved on the plaque; lives cut short, with their memories forever etched in the history of two nations.
How to get there:
Direct flights from Chennai (six times a week), Delhi and Mumbai (twice daily), to London
Heathrow. Brighton lies just 50 minutes by train from London’s Victoria Station.
