For the Rohilla chief a still more horrible fate was prepared. On his arrival at Mathra, Sindhia inflicted upon him the punishment of Tashhir, sending him round the bazaar on a jackass, with his face to the tail, and a guard instructed to stop at every considerable shop and beg a cowree, in the name of the Nawab of the Bawani. The wretched man becoming abusive under the contemptuous treatment, his tongue was torn out of his mouth. Gradually he was mutilated further, being first blinded, as a retribution for his treatment of the Emperor, and subsequently deprived of his nose, ears, hands and feet, and sent to Dehli. Death came to his relief upon the road, it is believed by his being hanged upon a tree 3rd March, 1789, and the mangled trunk was sent to Dehli, where it was laid before the sightless monarch, the most ghastly Nazar that ever was presented in the Diwin Khas.
Perhaps, if we could hear Gholam Kadir's version of the revolution here described, we might find that public indignation had to some extent exaggerated his crimes. It is possible that the tradition which imputes his conduct to revenge for an alleged cruelty of Shah Alam may be a myth, founded upon a popular conception of probability, and only corroborated by the fact that he died childless. Perhaps he merely thought that he was performing a legitimate stroke of State, and imitating the vigorous policy of Ghazi-ud-din the younger; perhaps the plunder of the palace was necessary to conciliate his followers; perhaps the firing of the palace was an accident. But the result of the combination of untoward appearances has been to make his name a bye-word among the not over-sensitive inhabitants of Hindustan, familiar, by tradition and by personal experience, with almost every form of cruelty, and almost every degree of rebellion. It is said that during moments of reaction, after some of his debauches in the palace (v. p. 183), Gholam Kadir attempted to justify his conduct by representing himself as acting under supernatural inspiration. "As I was sleeping," he averred, "in a garden at Sikandra, an apparition stood over me and smote me on the face saying, Arise, go to Dehli, and possess thyself of the palace." It may be that at such times he experienced some feelings of remorse. At all events, his punishment was both immediate and terrible, and his crimes proved the ruin of his house. Ghausgarh was forthwith razed to the ground, so that as already mentioned no vestige but the mosque remains. The brother of the deceased fled to the Panjab.
The first care of the Patel, after these summary vindications of justice, was to make provision for the administration of Hindustan, to which he probably foresaw that he should not be able to give constant personal attention, and in which he resolved to run no further risks of a Musalman revival. The fallen Emperor was restored to his throne, in spite of his own reluctance, "in spite of his blindness," as the native historian says, who knew that no blind man could be a Sultan; and at the enthronement, to which all possible pomp was lent, the agency of the Peshwa, with Sindhia for his deputy, was solemnly renewed and firmly established. We also learn from Francklin that an annual allowance of nine lakes of rupees was assigned for the support of the Emperor's family and Court, an adequate civil list if it had been regularly paid. But Shah Nizam-ud-din, who had been restored to office, was an unfit man to be entrusted with the uncontrolled management of such a sum; and during the Patel's frequent and protracted absences, the royal family were often reduced to absolute indigence. Sayid Raza Khan, on whose authority this shocking statement rests, was the resident representative of the British Minister at Lucknow, and was the channel through which the aged Emperor received from the British Government a monthly allowance of 2,000 rupees. This, together with the fees paid by persons desirous of being presented, was all that Shah Alam could count on in his old age for the support of his thirty children and numerous kinsfolk and retainers. Captain Francklin was an eye-witness of the semblance of State latterly maintained in the Red Castle, where he paid his respects in 1794. He found the Emperor represented by a crimson velvet chair under an awning in the Diwan Khas, but the Shah was actually in one of the private rooms with three of his sons. The British officers presented their alms under the disguise of a tributary offering, and received some nightgowns, of sprigged calico, by way of honorific dresses.
The so-called Emperor being now incapable of ruling, even according to the very lax political code of the East, and all real power being in the hands of a Hindu headborough supported by mercenary troops, the native records, to which I have had access, either cease altogether, or cease to concern themselves with the special story of Hindustan. And, indeed, as far as showing the fall of the empire, my task is also done. I do not agree with those who think that the empire fell with the death of Aurangzeb, or even with the events that immediately preceded the campaign of Panipat, in 1761. I consider the empire to have endured as long as "the king's name was a tower of strength"; as long as Nawabs paid large fines on succession, and contending parties intrigued for investiture; as long as Shujaa-ud-daulah could need its sanction to his occupation of Kattahir, or Najaf Khan led its armies to the conquest of the Jats. We have seen how that state of affairs originated, and how it came to an end; there is nothing now left but to trace briefly the concluding career of those who have played their parts in the narrative, and to introduce their successors upon the vast and vacant theatre. In so doing it must be borne in mind that, although we, from our present standpoint, can see that the Moghul Empire was ended, it did not altogether so appear to contemporaries. Whether federation or disintegration be the best ideal destiny, for a number of Provinces whose controlling centre has given way, is a question which may admit of more than one answer. But it is, in any case, certain that in the year 1789 the Provinces of which the Empire had been composed, were not ripe for independent and organic existence. There was still, therefore, a craving for a paramount power; and that craving was to be finally met by the British. In the meanwhile the almost effete machinery of the Empire, directed and administered by Sindhia, made the best available substitute; General de Boigne who had the most complete information on the subject bears unequivocal testimony on this subject. His words will be found at the beginning of the next chapter.
NOTE. It would be curious to know what became of Gholam Kadir's jewel-laden horse after the rider fell into the pit. In Skinner's life, it is conjectured that he came into the hands of M. Lestonneaux. It is certain that this officer abruptly abandoned Sindhia's service at this very time. Perhaps the crown jewels of the Great Mughal are now in France. The Emperor (who composed poetry with estimation under the name of "Aftab") solaced his temporary captivity by writing verses, which are still celebrated in Hindustan, and of which the following is a correct translation. The resemblance to the Psalms of David is noticeable:
"The storms of affliction have destroyed the Majesty of my
Government: and scattered my State to the winds.
I was even as the Sun shining in the firmament of the Empire: but the sun is setting in the sorrowful West.
It is well for me that I have become blind; for so I am hindered from seeing another on my throne.
Even as the saints were afflicted by Yazid; so is the ruin that has fallen upon me, through the appointment of Destiny.
The wealth of this world was my sickness; but now the Lord hath healed me.