Mystery, scandal, an exciting legal soap opera — the sensational Bhawal sanyasi case had it all. Little wonder that the courtroom battle, which began in Dhaka in 1930 and concluded 16 years later at the Privy Council in London in 1946, captured the public imagination with such intensity and for such a long time that it spawned books, films (including a blockbuster Bengali movie starring the iconic Uttam Kumar), and, of course, tomes of research work on the curious case of the zamindar who came back from the dead.
In 1909, Ramendranarayan Roy, the second of three brothers who ruled the wealthy estate of Bhawal near Dhaka in erstwhile East Bengal, went to the hill station of Darjeeling to convalesce after a nasty bout of venereal disease. With him were his wife Bibhavati, her brother Satyendranath, a doctor, and a retinue of servants.
The Mendicant Prince
A few weeks later, news came from Darjeeling that Ramendranarayan had died and been cremated. But soon there were rumours that Bhawal’s ‘Mejo Kumar’, or the second prince, had been poisoned. There was talk, too, that those who had taken his body for cremation that stormy night had left the pallet and run off to take shelter from the rain. When they returned, they found that the corpse had vanished but lit a pyre anyway and came back and reported that Ramendranarayan had been cremated.
Back from the dead
(Top) File photo of Ramendranarayan Roy, prince of the erstwhile Bhawal estate in Bengal (present-day Bangladesh); and (bottom) the sanyasi who appeared in 1921 claiming to be Roy long after the prince was thought to be dead. | Photo Credit: Wiki Commons
The next episode of the Bhawal story takes place 12 years later. In 1921, a sanyasi arrives and settles near the estate. He creates an immediate stir, as the villagers and tenants notice that he bears a striking resemblance to the “long-dead” Mejo Kumar. Intrigued, Ramendranarayan’s sisters and his aged grandmother quiz the sanyasi closely, whereupon they become convinced that he is none other than their second prince.
By now, much has changed in Bhawal — the other two princes are dead, and the estate’s glory days have faded. But though the family and villagers joyfully accept the sanyasi as Ramendranarayan Roy, the British, who have taken over much of the estate in the absence of any male heirs, do not. And neither does Bibhavati and her brother Satyendranath, who maintain that he is an imposter. And so begins the sanyasi’s long legal battle to establish himself as Ramendranarayan, the second prince of Bhawal.
Aruna Chakravarti’s deftly crafted historical novel, The Mendicant Prince, marries the factual details of the Bhawal case with a fictional dramatisation of the characters — their thoughts, motivations and interactions with each other. The result is a treat, as the dramatis personae of the mysterious affair take on a life beyond the pages of history and transport us right into the heart of one of the most gripping legal cases of all time.
Bibhavati comes across as a particularly perplexing figure. Though she was grossly neglected by her womaniser husband, she seems devastated by his death. At the same time, she displays a slavish obedience to her brother, whose actions in Darjeeling and later, are suspicious, to say the least. There were, in fact, rumours of incest between Bibhavati and her brother. The author doesn’t go there, but lets the characters tell their own tale.
Chakravarti, an award-winning translator with several historical novels to her credit, is in her element when she evokes the world of prosperous families in early 20th century Bengal. Their social and cultural rites, especially the cloistered life of their women, come alive through her detailed descriptions. She is equally faithful in her narration of the long-running case, its testimonies and judgments, as it goes from Dhaka to Calcutta and, finally, to the Privy Council in London.
The enigma remains
Much of the story is told through first-person narrative of the various characters. However, the person about whom we want to know the most — the Bhawal sanyasi himself — remains an enigma. There are no first-person accounts from him (barring his public statements in court) to give us a tantalising look into his mind.
Given that this is historical fiction, Chakravarti may have missed an opportunity here to add layers to his persona, and to his claim that he was found in a cremation ground by sadhus and, having lost his memory, wandered with them for 12 years before recollecting his ‘true’ identity.
Meticulously researched and vividly rendered, The Mendicant Prince manages to capture the irresistible draw of the Bhawal sanyasi case, and will doubtless charm a new generation of readers, as well as those who have known about the story that has now passed into lore.
The reviewer is a journalist and author.
