Clive of India
Visits Seringapatam
If you have read the book or seen the T.V. production entitled “Sharpe’s Tiger”, you will instantly recognise the name of the Muslim ruler Tippu Sultan who was determined to stand against the expansion of British influence in India through the commercial /military tool of the East India Company, (EIC).
After acceding to his father Haider Ali in 1782, he proceeded to establish his rule with a combination of cunning, force of arms and mind boggling cruelty. Employing the maxim of “my enemies’ enemies are my friends” he naturally turned towards the French for help who were hell bent on wresting the jewel of India from their old enemy the British. In fact Napoleon was at this same time trying but failing to establish dominance in Egypt in order to control lines of communication from Britain to India. But for the brilliant naval defeat inflicted on his warships in the Nile at Abukir bay by Nelson’s fleet, he would undoubtedly have got his way.
Purely by coincidence I had made a spontaneous purchase at auction some months before our trip, of a Silver Gilt Seringapatam medal, (see picture), which to my mind is a classic example of the medal makers craft combining beauty, symbolism and martial history all in a disc just under two inches wide.
Look at the picture on the left which shows the two Forlorn Hopes beginning the assault of the breech after the artillery had broken the walls on the north western edge of Tippu’s citadel.
In Bernard Cornwell’s riveting story, this was where a huge mine had been placed to blow the British and EIC forces to hell, having lured them to attack at this point by presenting it as the weakest point in his defenses. Private Sharpe, who was inside Seringapatam posing as a deserter to the Sultans army, was desperately trying to alert General Harris’s forces to this danger. In the end, unable to make good his escape, it was Sharpe who managed to prematurely ignite the fuse, which lead to a fearful explosion, rocking the foundations of Seringapatam and facilitating the assault in the process.
Cornwell skillfully engineers the facts for the sake of the story, about an explosion, (which did take place some two days beforehand), to coincide with the assault, in order to enhance Sharpe’s role.
On the reverse of the medal you can see a British Lion overcoming a tiger. The symbolism here needs no further elaboration from me. But it is worth noting the irony that a favourite plaything of the sultan’s was an organ incorporating a mechanical tiger which gored a defeated redcoat when a handle was turned. This trophy was captured by the British and despite being damaged during the London Blitz can still be seen at the Victoria and Albert museum.
As the Jet Airways plane banked to the left on its final approach above Trivandrum airport we caught our first sight of the Arabian Sea. Even with the restricted vision afforded by an aircraft window I could clearly make out the line of the steeply shelving waters edge, and parallel to it and inland some 50 yards, an exotic green fuzz of Coconut palms. Breaking the regularity of these features were 30 foot long, open decked, black wooden fishing boats drawn up onto the sand for the evening.
You cannot imagine the relief this sight was to me after spending a week in Northern India during one of the coldest Februarys on record. To add to our discomfort during that part of the trip, my wife Mary-Anne had fallen victim to a vicious stomach bug that had left her feeling weak and desperate to relax beside a pool. I was also keen to have some time off having enjoyed a marathon 5 days of celebration and dancing in the streets for my friend Pradeep’s wedding.
But now we were starting the second leg of our tour and looking forward to staying at a friend’s house for a couple of days to recuperate before continuing our journey to Mysore, which is generally known as the silk capital of India.
In addition and of great interest to me of course, was its history as being the ancient seat of Tippu Sultan, the “Tiger of Mysore”, whose fortified city lay 12 miles to the north east protected by a junction in the crocodile infested Cauvery river. The city’s name is Seringapatam.
Our intrepid traveler Clive Richards has returned, bearing stories of fabled Seringapatam. Here he visits the historical sites and relives some of Sharpe’s adventures as told in Bernard Cromwell’s Sharpe’s Tiger.
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Put on your shako, lift that pack and soldier with Clive as he shares his journeys into Northern India reliving the sights, smells and delights as well as remembering all those who have lived, fought and died in this most conflicted and intoxicating country.
