Challenge from the northwest

ion conducted within a shared understanding of the framework of authority) can be located in the period, it comes from the far northwest of the Mughal domain. Eventually, however, this challenge was to have repercussions that were felt by the Marathas and other groups.
Challenge from the northwest
The northwestern frontier between the Mughals and Ṣafavids had always harboured elements that possessed the potential to destabilize the balance between these states. The area, which falls largely in present-day Afghanistan, also had a tradition of religio-political movements, often intended to provide a direct challenge to the Mughals or Ṣafavids. An important instance is the Roshani movement of Bāyazīd Anṣārī and his successors, which was crushed by the Mughals in the late 16th and early 17th centuries. Again, in the reign of Aurangzeb, a frontal attack on the legitimacy of his rule was made by the Pashtun leader, Khushḥāl Khan Khatak, though in this case from the standpoint of orthodox Islam. Significantly, in Khushḥāl Khan’s poetic and other literary works, there was also an explicit and nostalgic yearning for the time of Sher Shah of Sūr, the Afghan who had expelled the Mughal ruler Humāyūn from Hindustan. The spirit of these writings was translated into action in the early 18th century, when Mīr Vays Khan Hotak, a leader of the Hotaki clan of Ghilzays, succeeded in carving out a Pashtun state based at Kandahār, under the nose of the Ṣafavid governor of the area. Between 1709 and 1715, Mīr Vays ruled Kandahār unofficially, but his successors were not so modest. His son, Mīr Maḥmūd, first attacked Kermān in Iran and then, in 1722, took the Ṣafavid capital Eṣfahān itself and proclaimed himself its ruler. However, the success of the Ghilzays was not to last long, as they were challenged both by their fellow Pashtuns—the Abdālīs (Durrānīs)—and by the plans of Nādr Qolī Beg (later Nādir Shah), a Ṣafavid subordinate who harboured substantial ambitions of his own.
Between Mīr Maḥmūd’s death (1725) and 1731, Nādr Qoli Beg rapidly consolidated his hold over eastern Iran and placed a severe check on the rise of Pashtun power. Subsequently he marched into Afghanistan and later the Mughal territories, sacking Delhi in 1739. Nādir Shah’s success in welding together a disparate set of territories while operating outside the system of Mughal sovereignty provided a model for the Pashtuns after his assassination in 1747. Many from the Abdālīs and Ghilzays had been employed by him, and they had had an opportunity to learn at close quarters. Among those who had been subordinate in this way to Nādir Shah was Aḥmad Khan, a member of the relatively small Sadozai lineage of Abdālī (Durrānī). In the wake of the Persian conqueror’s death, a congregation of Pashtun khans at a shrine near Kandahār elected Aḥmad Khan to be their leader. His trajectory took him into conflict with the Mughals and then the Marathas, and finally he acted as a crucial catalyst in the formation of the Sikh state in north India.
The Afghan factor in northern India, 1747–72
Unlike Nādir Shah, Aḥmad Shah Durrānī (or Aḥmad Shah Abdālī)—as Aḥmad Khan came to be known after 1747—had little interest in the area west of Afghanistan. Rather, his principal endeavour was to create a state that would lie astride the major overland trade routes that passed from northern India to central and western Asia. Kandahār naturally had an important place in this scheme, but a great deal of attention also had to be paid to centres in north India, such as Multan and Lahore. It is no coincidence that Aḥmad Shah mounted 9 and possibly 10 expeditions to the Punjab, beginning with the first year of his reign, after he had taken Kabul. His campaigns bear an obvious similarity to the seasonal migration of the powindah (pastoral nomads) from Afghanistan to India, which normally took place in the agricultural off-season. It was always in autumn and winter that the Durrānī-led armies set out to the east; when summer’s heat approached, they beat a tactical retreat to the hills from which they had come.
The ability of the Pashtuns to form a lasting state in this process was severely curtailed by the opposition that Aḥmad Shah faced within his own home territories. In the 1750s, when the first concerted challenge to his authority in the Punjab was posed by an alliance of Mughals, Sikhs, and Marathas, Aḥmad Shāh was too preoccupied with the rebellion of Nāsir Khan Balūch, to the west, to devote attention to the threat in the east. Thus, in 1757 Aḥmad Shah’s son Tīmūr, appointed governor of the Punjab, was forced to retreat from Lahore to Peshawar under the force of attacks from Sikhs and Marathas. It was only in 1760 that Aḥmad Shah returned to fight a campaign in northern India, which culminated in his defeat of the Marathas at Panipat in January 1761. However, even this did not turn the tide in his favour. The large-scale attacks that were unleashed on the villages of Sikh peasantry led only to intensified resistance, and Aḥmad Shah found his area of control in the 1760s constantly under threat. His campaigns of 1768 and ’69 were accompanied by widespread desertions on the part of his allies and levies, who thought the Punjab project to be an unviable one. His death in 1772 thus left his son and successor, Tīmūr Shah, with many problems to resolve.
The Afghan presence in northern India during this period was of course not simply restricted to Aḥmad Shah’s campaigns. In the course of the middle decades of the 18th century, several Afghan lineages had carved a place for themselves in northern India in the area known as Rohilkhand, to the east and northeast of Delhi and Agra. They diverted trade from these older imperial cities to their own centres and also helped create a new set of routes to Lahore and the northwest. In so doing, they helped weaken further the economic power of the Mughal centre and accelerated the consolidation of regional states on the Gangetic plain itself. But a vacuum still existed in the Punjab, which neither the Mughals nor the Durrānī were able to fill. It was in this context that a Sikh kingdom came to be consolidated in the late 18th century.
The Sikhs in the Punjab
Early history
The origins of the Sikhs, a religious group initially formed as a sect within the larger Hindu community, lie in the Punjab in the 15th century. The Sikh founder, Guru Nanak (1469–1539), was roughly a contemporary of the founder of Mughal fortunes in India, Bābur, and belonged to the Khatri community of scribes and traders. From an early career as a scribe for an important noble of the Lodī dynasty, Nānak became a wandering preacher before settling down at Kartarpur in the Punjab at about the time of Bābur’s invasion. By the time of his death, he had numerous followers, albeit within a limited region, and, like many other religious leaders of the time, founded a fictive lineage (i.e., one not related by blood) of Gurus who succeeded him. His immediate successor was Guru Angad, chosen by Nanak before his death. He too was a Khatri, as indeed were all the remaining Gurus, though of various subcastes.
In practice, the essential teachings of Nanak, collected in the Adi Granth (Punjabi: “First Book”), represented a syncretic melding of elements of Vaishnava devotional Hinduism and Sufi Islam, with a goodly amount of social criticism thrown in. No political program is evident in the work, but—as has already been remarked with regard to the Roshanis—religious movements in the period had a tendency to assume political overtones, by virtue of the fact that they created bonds of solidarity among their adherents, who could then challenge the authority of the state in some fashion. The Sikh challenge to the Mughal state could be seen as prefigured in Nanak’s own critical remarks directed at Bābur, but in reality it took almost three-quarters of a century to come to fruition. It was in the early 17th century—when under somewhat obscure circumstances Guru Arjun (or Arjun Mal) was tortured and killed by Mughal authorities—that the first signs of a major conflict appeared. Guru Arjun was accused of abetting a rebel Mughal prince, Khusraw, and, more significantly, found mention in Jahāngīr’s memoirs as someone who ran a “shop” where religious falsehoods were sold (apparently a reference to the Khatri origins of the Guru). His successor, Hargobind (1595–1644), then began the move toward armed assertion by constructing a fortified centre and holding court from the so-called Akal Takht (“Throne of the Timeless One”). After a brief imprisonment by the Mughals for these activities, Hargobind was released, and he once more entered into armed conflict with Mughal officials. He was forced to spend the last years of his life in the Rajput principality of Hindur, outside direct Mughal jurisdiction, where he maintained a small military force. (See Har Rai; Hari Krishen.)
A brief period of relative quiet followed Hargobind’s death. However, under his son Tegh Bahadur, who became ninth Guru in 1664, conflicts with the Mughals once again increased, partly as a result of Tegh Bahadur’s success as a preacher and proselytizer and partly because of the rather orthodox line of Sunni Islam espoused by Aurangzeb. In 1675 Tegh Bahadur was captured and executed upon his refusal to accept Islam, thus laying the path for the increased militancy under the last of the Gurus, Gobind Singh (1675–1708). It should be stressed that it was the very success of the Sikh Gurus in attracting followers and acquiring temporal power that prompted such a response from the Mughals. However, rather than suppressing Sikhism, the policy of Aurangzeb backfired. Guru Gobind Singh assumed all the trappings of a chieftain, gave battle to Mughal forces on more than one occasion, and founded a new centre at Anandpur in 1689. His letters also suggest the partial assumption of temporal authority, being termed hukmnamas (loosely, “royal orders”). However, he still chose to negotiate with the Mughals, first with Aurangzeb and then, after the latter’s death, with Bahadur Shah I.
Ironically, with Gobind Singh’s death, the Sikh threat to Mughal dominance increased. In a further twist, this resulted from the assumption of leadership in the Punjab by Banda Singh Bahadur, a Maratha who had come under the Guru’s influence during the latter’s last days at Nanded in Maharashtra. Between 1709 and late 1710 the Sikhs under Banda enjoyed dramatic successes in the sarkars (districts) of Sirhind, Hisar, and Saharanpur, all of them ominously close to Delhi. Banda set up a capital at Mukhlispur, issued coins in the names of the Gurus (a particularly bold lèse-majesté), and began to use a seal on his orders even as the Mughals did. In late 1710 and 1711 the Mughal forces counterattacked, and Banda and his forces retreated. Expelled from Sirhind, he then moved his operations west into the vicinity of Lahore. Here too he was unsuccessful, and eventually he and his forces were forced to retreat to the fort of Gurdas Nangal. There they surrendered to Mughal forces after a prolonged siege, and Banda was executed in Delhi in 1716.
This phase of activity is especially important for two reasons. First, as distinct from the sporadic militancy exhibited under Hargobind and then Gobind Singh, it was in this period that a full-scale Sikh rebellion against Mughal authority broke out for the first time. Second, Banda’s role in the matter itself, which was somewhat enigmatic, lends the affair a curious flavour. Some of Banda’s letters speak of orthodox Islam as an enemy to be rallied against, thus suggesting that the Sikhs at this time were moving somewhat away from their initial orientation as mediators between popular Hinduism and Islam. Further, this early Maratha-Sikh alliance prefigures later coalitions that were to emerge in the context of the Durrānī attacks on Punjab.
From Banda Singh Bahadur to Ranjit Singh
The quelling by Mughal forces of the Sikhs under Banda did not mean an end to Sikh resistance to Mughal claims. In the 1720s and ’30s Amritsar emerged as a centre of Sikh activity, partly because of its preeminence as a pilgrimage centre. Kapur Singh, the most important of the Sikh leaders of the time, operated from its vicinity and gradually set about consolidating a revenue-cum-military system, based in part on compromises with the Mughal governors of the province. Other Sikhs were, however, less willing than Kapur Singh to deal with the Mughal authorities and took the paths of social banditry and raiding. These activities served as a damper on the attempts by the Mughal governors of Lahore subah to set up an independent power base for themselves in the region. First ʿAbd al-Ṣamad Khan and then his son Ẓakariyyā Khan attempted the twin tracks of conciliation and coercion, but all to little avail. After the latter’s demise in 1745, the balance shifted still further in favour of the Sikh warrior-leaders, such as Jassa Singh Ahluwalia, later the founder of the kingdom of Kapurthala. The mushrooming of pockets under the authority of Sikh leaders was thus a feature of the two decades preceding Durrānī’s invasion of the Punjab and took place not merely in the eastern Punjab but in the Bari Doab, not far from Lahore itself. A unique centre was yet to emerge, and the end of the line of Gurus with Gobind Singh ensured that spiritual and temporal authority could not be combined in a single person as before.
Nevertheless, the principal opposition faced by Durrānī in his campaigns of the 1750s and ’60s in the Punjab came from the Sikhs, even if the Mughal forces and Marathas played a role of significance on occasion. These were sanguinary engagements, which cost the Sikhs many thousands of lives, as the Afghan chroniclers themselves testify. Eventually, by the mid-1760s, Sikh authority over Lahore had been established, and the Afghans had been unable to consolidate their early gains. Under Aḥmad Shah’s successor, Tīmūr Shah (ruled 1772–93), some of the territories and towns that had been taken by the Sikhs (such as Multan) were recovered, and the descendants of Aḥmad Shah continued to harbour ambitions in this direction until the end of the century. But by the 1770s they were dealing with a confederation of about 60 Sikh chieftains, some of whom founded what were to remain princely states under the British—such as Nabha and Patiala. However, rather as in the case of the Marathas, the confederate structure did not mean that there were never differences or conflicts between these chiefdoms. Nevertheless, at least in the face of their major adversary, the Durrānī clan and its allies, these chiefdoms came together to present a united front.
The Sikh chiefdoms continued many of the administrative practices initiated by the Mughals. The main subordinates of the chiefs were given jāgīr assignments, and the Persianized culture of the Mughal bureaucracy continued to hold sway. Unlike the Gurus themselves, who, as has been noted, were exclusively drawn from Khatri stock, the bulk of the Sikh chieftains tended to be of Jat origin, a fact that drew disparaging remarks from at least some contemporary writers, who spoke of them as Sudras (the lowest of the four varnas [social classes]). Thus, besides the states set up in other regions, such as Bharatpur, the Jats can be said to have dominated state building in the Punjab in this period as well.
It was one such chief, Ranjit Singh, grandson of Charhat Singh Shukerchakia, who eventually welded these principalities for a brief time into a larger entity. Ranjit Singh’s effective rule lasted four decades, from 1799 to 1839, and was realized in a context already dominated by the growing power of the English East India Company. Within 10 years of his death, the British had annexed Punjab, and so this period can be seen as the last gasp of the old-regime polities in India. His rise to power was based on superior military force, partly serviced by European mercenaries and by the strategic location of the territories that he had inherited from his father.
Ranjit Singh’s kingdom combined disparate elements. On the one hand, it represented the culmination of nearly a century of Sikh rebellions against Mughal rule. On the other hand, it was based on intelligent application of the principles of statecraft learned from the Afghans. This emerges from the fact that he used as his capital the great trading city of Lahore, which he captured in 1799, in the aftermath of invasions by Shah Zamān, the successor of Tīmūr Shah. Having gained control of the trade routes, he imposed monopolies on the trade in salt, grain, and textiles from Kashmir to enhance his revenues. Using the cash he was able to collect by these means, he built up an army of 40,000 cavalry and infantry, and by 1809 he was undisputed master of most of Punjab.
Over the remaining three decades of his rule, Ranjit Singh continued to consolidate his territories, largely at the expense of Afghan and Rajput, as well as lesser Sikh, chieftains. In 1818 he took Multan, and the next year he made major gains in Kashmir. At the time of his death, the territory that he controlled sat solidly astride the main trade routes extending from north India to Central Asia, Iran, and western Asia. However, in a number of areas, he established tributary relations with chieftains, thus not wholly subverting their authority. Once again, therefore, the model around which the Sikh state was built bears a striking resemblance to that of the Mughals. Jāgīrs remained a crucial form of remuneration for military service, and, in the directly taxed lands, officials bearing the title of kārdār (agent) were appointed at the level of a unit called—as elsewhere in Mughal domains—the taʿalluqa (district).
However strong the state of Ranjit Singh might have appeared, it was in fact based on a fragile system of alliances, as became apparent soon after his death. At the level of the palace, a dispute broke out in the early 1840s between two factions, one supporting Chand Kaur, daughter-in-law of Ranjit Singh, who wished to be regent, and the other supporting Shīr Singh. But such disputes could scarcely have been the real reason for the collapse of Sikh power within a decade. Rather, it would appear that the state created by Ranjit Singh never really made the transition from being a conquering power to being a stable system of alliances between conflicting social groups and regional interests. In any event, the process of disintegration was accelerated and given a helping hand by the British between 1845 and 1849.
Rajasthan in the 18th century


Hawa Mahal
Such relatively ephemeral successes at state building as that of Ranjit Singh are rare. However, one can find other instances in the context of the 18th century in which consolidation was rapidly followed by reversals. Such instances can be divided into two categories: those in which the consolidation of a particular state proved a threat to British power and hence was undermined (e.g., the case of Mysore, below) and others in which the logic of consolidation and decline appears not to have concerned the British. In the latter category can be placed the case of Jaipur (earlier Amber) in eastern Rajasthan, a Rajput principality controlled by the Kachwaha clan. From the 16th century the Kachwahas had been subordinate to the Mughals and had, as a consequence, gradually managed to consolidate their hold over the region around Amber in the course of the 17th century. The crucial role played in high Mughal politics by such members of the clan as Raja Man Singh thus paid dividends, and the chiefs were permitted to maintain a large cavalry and infantry force. In the early 18th century the ruler Jai Singh Sawai took steps to increase his power manyfold. This was done by arranging to have his jāgīr assignment in the vicinity of his home territories and by taking on parcels of land in which the tax rights were initially rented from the state and then gradually made permanent. By the time of his death in 1743, Jai Singh (for whom Jaipur came to be named) had emerged as the single most important Rajput ruler.
This example was followed some years later in the 1750s by Suraj Mal, the Jat ruler of Bharatpur, who—like Jai Singh—adopted a modified form of Mughal revenue administration in his territories. However, by this time, the fortunes of the Jaipur kingdom were seriously in question. Under threat from the Marathas, recourse had to be taken more and more to short-term fiscal exactions, while at the same time a series of crop failures in the 1750s and ’60s spread a pall over the region’s fragile agriculture. The second half of the 18th century was thus marked by an economic depression, accompanied by a decline in the political power of Jaipur, which became a vulnerable target for the ambitions of the Marathas, and of Mahadaji Sindhia in particular.
The south: Travancore and Mysore
The states discussed so far, with the exception of some of those of the Maratha confederacy, were all landlocked. This does not mean that trade was not an important element in their makeup, for the kingdom of Ranjit Singh was crucially linked to trade. However, lack of access to the sea greatly increased the vulnerability of a state, particularly in an era when the major power was the English East India Company, itself initially a maritime enterprise. In the south, unlike the areas discussed so far, several states did make a determined bid in this period to consolidate their power by the use of maritime outlets. Principal among these were Travancore in Kerala under Martanda Varma and Rama Varma, and Mysore under Hyder Ali and Tippu Sultan.
These states rose to prominence, however, only in the latter half of the 18th century, or at least after 1740. Before that, the southern Indian scene had been dominated by a group of Muslim notables who had accompanied the Mughal expansion into the region in the 1680s and ’90s or else had come in a second wave that followed immediately after 1700. Among these notables, many of whom set themselves up as tribute-paying chiefs under Mughal authority, can be counted the relatively petty nawabs (deputies) of the Balaghat, or northern Karnataka (such as ʿAbd al-Rasūl Khan of Sira), but there were also far more substantial men, such as the Niẓām al-Mulk and Saʿd Allah Khan at Arcot. The Niẓām al-Mulk had consolidated his position in Hyderabad by the 1740s, whereas the Arcot principality had emerged some three decades earlier. Neither of these rulers, while establishing dynastic succession, claimed full sovereignty, and thus they continued to cast themselves as representatives of Mughal authority. Southern Indian politics in the 1720s emerged, therefore, as a game with many petty players and three formidable ones: the Marathas (both at Thanjavur and elsewhere), the Niẓām, and the Arcot (or Karnatak) nawab.
In the second half of the 18th century, the power of all three of these centres declined. The succession struggle at Arcot in the 1740s and early ’50s left its rulers open to financial manipulation by private British merchants, to whom they were increasingly in debt for war expenses. In the 1750s the power of Hyderabad also declined (after the death of its founder, the Niẓām al-Mulk), and control of the coastal districts was soon lost, leaving the kingdom landlocked and relatively sparsely populated. The reign of Pratapasimha (1739–63) marks the beginning of Thanjavur’s slide into fiscal ruin. Here again it was the mounting costs of war and the intrusive presence of the Europeans on the coast that triggered the crisis.
In this context the only route remaining was for states to build an elaborate and well-organized war machine while keeping external supply lines open. The control of trade was also seen as crucial in the statecraft of the period. These principles were put into practice in the southern Kerala state of Venad (Travancore) by Martanda Varma (ruled 1729–58). He built a substantial standing army of about 50,000, reduced the power of the Nayar aristocracy on which rulers of the area had earlier been dependent militarily, and fortified the northern limits of his kingdom at the so-called “Travancore line.” It was also the policy of this ruler to extend patronage to the Syrian Christians, a large trading community within his domains, as a means of limiting European involvement in trade. The key commodity was pepper, but other goods also came to be defined as royal monopoly items, requiring a license for trade. These policies were continued in large measure by Martanda’s successor, Rama Varma (ruled 1758–98), who was able, moreover, to defend his kingdom successfully against a dangerous new rival power—Mysore.
The rise of Mysore to importance dates to the mid-17th century, when rulers of the Vadiyar dynasty, such as Kanthirava Narasaraja and Cikka Deva Raja, fought campaigns to extend Vadiyar control over parts of what is now interior Tamil Nadu (especially Dharmapuri, Salem, and Coimbatore). Until the second half of the 18th century, however, Mysore was a landlocked kingdom and dependent therefore on trade and military supplies brought through the ports of the Indian east coast. As these ports came increasingly under European control, Mysore’s vulnerability increased. From the 1760s, steps were taken to change this situation. A cavalry commander of migrant origin, Hyder Ali, assumed effective power in the kingdom in 1761, reducing the Vadiyars to figureheads and displacing the powerful Kalale family of ministers. First Hyder and then, after 1782, his son, Tippu Sultan, made attempts to consolidate Mysore and make it a kingdom with access to not one but both coasts of peninsular India. Against the Kodavas, the inhabitants of the upland kingdom of Kodagu (Coorg), they were relatively successful. Coastal Karnataka and northern Kerala came under their sway, enabling Tippu to open diplomatic and commercial relations on his own account with the Middle East.
Tippu Sultan: wall painting
Tippu’s ambitions apparently greatly exceeded those of his father, and he strove actively to escape the all-pervasive shadow of Mughal suzerainty, as discussed above. However, as in the Sikh kingdom of Ranjit Singh, the problem with the Mysore of Hyder and Tippu was their inability to build an internal consensus. Their dependence on migrants and mercenaries for both military and fiscal expertise was considerable, and they were always resisted by local chiefs, the so-called poligars. More crucial was the fact that by the 1770s Mysore faced a formidable military adversary in the form of the English East India Company, which did not allow it any breathing room. It was the English who denied Mysore access to the relatively rich agricultural lands and ports of the Coromandel coastal plain in eastern India, and, equally as significant, it was at the hands of an English attacking force that Tippu finally was killed in 1799 during the fourth of the Mysore Wars.
Politics and the economy
It emerges from the above discussion that the 18th century was a period of considerable political turmoil in India, one in which states rose and fell with some rapidity, and that there was a great deal of fluidity in the system. Did this political turmoil have a clear counterpart in terms of economic dislocation? This does not seem to have been unambiguously the case. It is of course true that raids by military forces would have caused dislocation, and the practice of destroying standing crops was followed by armies throughout most of the century. On the other hand, economic warfare and the attempt to destroy the productive base of a rival state were relatively uncommon in the first half of the 18th century. But, after 1750, such means were exploited to the harshest degree. The destruction of irrigation tanks, the forcible expropriation of cattle wealth, and even the forced march of masses of people were not unknown in the wars of the 1770s and thereafter. All these must have had a deleterious effect on economic stability and curtailed the impulse toward growth.
Such negative effects also can be exaggerated, however. When viewed from Delhi, the 18th century is certainly a gloomy period. The attacks of Nādir Shah and then of Aḥmad Shah Durrānī, and finally the attempts by the Rohillas (who controlled Delhi in 1761–71; see Rohilla War) to hold the Mughals to ransom left the inhabitants of the city with a sense of being under permanent siege. This perspective can hardly have been shared by the inhabitants of other centres in India, whether Trivandrum, Pune, Patna, or Jaipur. There was a process of economic reorientation that accompanied the political decentralization of the era, and it is on account of this that the experience of Delhi and Agra cannot be generalized. However, even the trajectory of the regions was mixed. In some, the first half of the 18th century witnessed continued expansion—Bengal, Jaipur, and Hyderabad, for example—while others were late bloomers, as in the case of Travancore, Mysore, or the Punjab. No single chronology of economic prosperity and decline is likely therefore to fit all the regions of India in the epoch.
It would also appear for a variety of reasons, some obvious and others less so, that the mid-18th century marks a significant point of inflection in key processes. For example, the engrossing by the English East India Company of the revenues of Bengal subah had the effect of reversing the direction of flow of precious metals into the area; whereas Bengal had earlier absorbed gold and silver in exchange for its exports, this pattern no longer held. Similarly, on the external trade front, the latter half of the 18th century saw the growth, under the company’s aegis, of semi-coerced forms of crop production, the case of indigo being a prominent one. But another reason why the latter half of the 18th century differs from the period before about 1750 is the changing character of war. In the post-1750 period, warfare became more disruptive of civil life and economic production than before, and at the same time the new technologies in use made it a far more expensive proposition. The use of firearms on a large scale, the employment of mercenaries, and the maintenance of standing armies all are likely to have had profound ramifications. But it does appear hyperbolic to describe the processes of the post-1750 period as a total inversion of what went before.
Cultural aspects of the late precolonial order
Even as it has sometimes been maintained that the 18th century witnessed a general decline in material life, the cultural life of the period also has often been denigrated. In fact, there appears to be scant justification for such a portrayal of trends. Even Delhi, whose economic condition unequivocally declined, housed a number of major poets, philosophers, and thinkers in this epoch, from Shah Walī Allah to Mīr Tāqī Mīr. Further, as regional courts grew in importance, they tended to take on the function of the principal patrons of high culture, whether in music, the visual arts, or literature. It is thus also in relatively dispersed centres, ranging from Avadh to Bikaner and Lahore to Thanjavur, that one finds the courtly traditions of culture persisting. Thanjavur under the Marathas is a particularly fine example of cultural efflorescence, in which literary production of a high quality in Tamil, Telugu, Sanskrit, and Marathi continued, with some of the Maratha rulers themselves playing a significant direct role. Similarly, it is in 18th-century Thanjavur that the main compositions of what is today known as the Karnatak tradition of Indian classical music came to be written, by such men as Tyagaraja, Muttuswami Diksitar, and Syama Sastri. Finally, the period brought the development of a distinct style of painting in Thanjavur, fusing elements imported from the north with older local traditions of textile painting.
This vitality was not restricted purely to elite culture. To begin with, many of the theatre and musical traditions, as well as formal literary genres of the period, picked up and incorporated folk influences. At the same time, the melding of popular Hinduism and Islam gave a particular flavour to cultural productions associated with pilgrimages and festivals. More than in earlier centuries, the tradition of long-distance pilgrimages to major centres from Varanasi to Rameswaram increased and can be seen to fit in with a general trend of increasing mobility. It was common for post-Mughal states to employ mercenary soldiers and imported scribes and clerks. In 18th-century Hyderabad, for example, Kayasthas from the north were employed in large numbers in the bureaucracy, while in Mysore the Maharashtrian Brahmans were given fiscal offices as early as the 1720s. It is apparent that the mobility of musicians, men of letters, and artists was no less than that of these scribal classes. When a major new political centre emerged, it rapidly attracted talent, as evidenced in Ranjit Singh’s Lahore. Here, Persian literature of high quality was produced, but not at the cost of literary output in Punjabi. At the same time, new developments were visible in the fields of architecture and painting. Farther to the north, the principality of Kangra fostered an important new school of painting, devoted largely to Vaishnava themes. Indeed, a surprisingly large proportion of the surviving corpus of what is understood today to be part of India’s traditional culture is attributable to the 17th and 18th centuries.
Sanjay Subrahmanyam
India and European expansion, c. 1500–1858
European activity in India, 1498–c. 1760
When the Portuguese navigator Vasco da Gama landed at Calicut (now Kozhikode) in 1498, he was restoring a link between Europe and the East that had existed many centuries previously. The first known connection between the two regions was Alexander the Great’s invasion of the Punjab, 327–325 BCE. In the 2nd century BCE, Greek adventurers from Bactria founded kingdoms in the Punjab and the bordering Afghan hills; these survived into the late 1st century. This territorial contact in the north was succeeded by a lengthy commercial intercourse in the south, which continued until the decline of the Roman Empire in the 4th century CE. Trade with the East then passed into Arab hands, and it was mainly concerned with the Middle Eastern Islamic and Greek worlds until the end of the European Middle Ages. The only physical contact with Europe came from occasional travelers, such as the Italians Marco Polo and Niccolò dei Conti and the Russian Afanasy Nikitin in the 15th century, and these were few because of commotions within the tolerant Arab-Islamic world created by successive incursions of Turks and Mongols. For Europe in 1498, therefore, India was a land of spices and of marvels attested to by imaginative Greek authors. For Muslims, Europe was the land of Rūm (Rome) or the Greek empire of Constantinople (Turkish after 1453), and, for Hindus, it was the abode of the foreigners called Yavanas, a corruption of the Greek word Ionian.
The Portuguese


Vasco da Gama
The Portuguese were the first agents of this renewed contact, because they were among the few Europeans at that time to possess both the navigational know-how and the necessary motivation for the long sea voyage. During the 15th century the direct routes for the Indian trade—via the Red Sea and Egypt or across Persia, Iraq, Syria, and Anatolia—had become increasingly blocked, mainly by activities of the Ottoman Empire. The surviving Egyptian route was subject to increasing exploitation by a line of middlemen, ending with the Venetian near-monopoly of the European trade in the eastern Mediterranean, and in 1517 it likewise passed under Ottoman suzerainty. The motive for finding a new route was therefore strong, especially among the Portuguese and the Spanish, who had inherited crusading zeal from wars against the Muslims (Moors) in Iberia and North Africa. Both countries sought an indirect route to the East, but Spain became focused on exploiting the wealth of the New World (discovered while seeking a new route to Asia) while the Portuguese—bolstered by navigational techniques learned from the Genoese (rivals of the Venetians)—sought a route to the East around southern Africa.
Vasco da Gama, upon his arrival in Calicut, hoped to find Christians cut off by Muslim expansion, to deal a blow at Muslim power from their maritime rear, as it were, and hoped to corner the European spice trade. He found his Christians in the Syrian communities of Cochin and Travancore, he found the spices, and he found Muslim Arab merchants entrenched at Calicut. It was his successors, Francisco de Almeida and Afonso de Albuquerque, who established the Portuguese empire in the East. Almeida set up a number of fortified posts; but it was Albuquerque (governor 1509–15) who gave the empire its characteristic form. He took Goa in western India in 1510, Malacca in the East Indies in 1511, and Hormuz (Ormuz) in the Persian Gulf in 1515, and he set up posts in the East Indian Spice Islands (Indonesia). The object of these moves was to establish for Portugal a strategic command of the Indian Ocean, so as to control the maritime spice trade and thereby cripple the economy of the Ottoman-controlled Middle East. While Malacca was the nerve centre for the spice-producing islands of Indonesia and the exchange mart for the trade with the Far East (East Asia), Goa, not Malacca, was the capital because of Portuguese concern with the Ottoman threat.
The Portuguese method was to rely on sea power based on fortified posts and backed by settlements. Portuguese ships, sturdy enough to survive Atlantic gales and mounted with cannon, could easily dispose of Arab and Malay shipping. The bases enabled the Portuguese to dominate the main sea-lanes; but Portugal, with fewer than one million people and involved in Africa and South America as well, was desperately short of manpower. Albuquerque turned his fortresses into settlements to provide a resident population for defense. Intermarriage was encouraged. At the same time, Christianity was encouraged through the church. Goa became an archbishopric. St. Francis Xavier started from Goa on his mission to the south Indian fishermen. The Inquisition was established in 1560. The new mixed population thus became firmly Roman Catholic and provided a stubborn resistance to attacks.
A lack of resources precluded any attempt to establish a land empire. Portugal’s control of the Indian Ocean—its period of empire—lasted through the 16th century. During this time it attained great prosperity. Goa acquired the title of Golden, and it became one of the world’s wonder cities. Trade with Europe was a royal monopoly, and, in addition, a system of licenses for all inter-Asian trade enriched the royal exchequer. Inter-Asian trade was free to individual Portuguese; and it was the profits of this, combined with trimmings from the royal monopoly, that gave them their affluence.
The three marks of the Portuguese empire continued to be trade, anti-Islamism, and religion. The Portuguese early considered that no faith need be kept with a non-Christian, and to this policy of perfidy they added a tendency of cruelty beyond the normal limits of what was a cruel age; the result was to deprive them of Indian sympathy. In religion the Portuguese were distinguished by missionary fervour and intolerance. Examples of the former are the Madura mission of Roberto de Nobili (1577–1656), nicknamed the White Brahman, and the Jesuit missions to the court of the Mughal emperor Akbar. Of the latter, there was the Inquisition at Goa and the forcible subjection of the Syrian church to Rome at the Synod of Diamper in 1599.
The Portuguese thus had few friends in the East to help them in a crisis, and in 1580 the Portuguese kingdom was annexed to Spain; thenceforth until 1640, Portuguese interests were sacrificed to those of Spain. Because of the Spanish failure to quell a Dutch rising in the Netherlands, and after the English defeated the Spanish Armada in 1588, the route to the East was opened to both English and Dutch.
This first real impact that Europeans had on India left distinct though not extensive traces. The first is the mixed population of Goans and other Luso-Indians along the western coast of India and in Sri Lanka and with them a lingua franca in the ports and markets. Then came Roman Catholicism, which today has millions of followers and an array of churches, convents, and colleges all over India. More tangible traces include imported commodities such as tobacco, potatoes, pineapples, tomatoes, papayas, cashew nuts, and chilies.
The Dutch
In the race to the East after the Spanish obstacle had been removed, the Dutch, having ample resources, were the first to arrive after the Portuguese. Their first voyage was in 1595, helped by the local knowledge of Jan Huyghen van Linschoten, who had worked for six years in Goa. Jacob van Neck’s voyage to the East Indies (Indonesia) in 1598–1600 was so profitable (400 percent for all of his ships) that the die was cast for a great Eastern adventure. The Dutch objective was neither religion nor empire but trade, and the trade in mind was the spice trade. The Dutch were monopolists rather than imperialists. Empire came later, in the 18th century, as a safeguard for monopoly.
Jan Pieterszoon Coen
The Dutch therefore went directly to the East Indies, the main source of spices, and only secondarily to southern India for pepper and cardamom and to Ceylon (Sri Lanka) for these and cinnamon. From 1619 their headquarters were fixed at Batavia (Jakarta) in Java, from which they developed a series of outlying stations in the East Indian islands (e.g., Celebes [Sulawesi] and the Moluccas) and intermediate ones such as Cape Town in South Africa, along with Ceylon for supply. This was the work of the governor-general Jan Pieterzoon Coen (served 1618–23; 1627–29), and the whole system may be said to have been completed under the governor-general Joan Maetsuyker (served 1653–78).
The Dutch system demanded the control of the eastern seas, and this meant the elimination of European rivals, beginning with the Portuguese. The Dutch succeeded with superior resources and better seamanship, but the Portuguese, though defeated, were not destroyed. Ousted from most strongholds, the Portuguese retained their capital, Goa, in spite of blockades and sieges; they did not cede the area to India until 1961. The second European obstacle was the English, who followed the Dutch to the East Indies; no match for the Dutch in resources, the English were virtually excluded from the East Indies when, in 1623, the Dutch seized their “factory” (trading post) at Amboina (present-day Ambon) and executed its agents and allies—an action the English later dubbed the Amboina Massacre.
It remained for the Dutch to organize their trade, which was operated through the Dutch East India Company, a complicated organization dominated by the maritime state of Zeeland. Much larger than the English company, it had the character of a national concern. Dutch sea power, more efficient than that of the Portuguese, secured monopoly conditions in the islands and sea-lanes. It was only in land areas such as Travancore that resort had to be made to competition. But there remained the problem of trade, for the Dutch, like the English, were short of exchange goods. Textiles were needed to buy spices in Indonesia, and silver was needed to buy textiles (cotton or silk) in India and China. To work the spice monopoly, the Dutch developed an elaborate system of Eastern trade from the Persian Gulf to Japan, the ultimate object of which was to secure the goods with which to secure the spices without recourse to scarce European resources. It was this trade that brought the Dutch to India at Surat, on the Coromandel Coast (Negapatam), in Bengal, and up-country at Agra.
The British, 1600–1740
The English venture to India was entrusted to the (English) East India Company, which received its monopoly rights of trade in 1600. The company included a group of London merchants attracted by Eastern prospects, not comparable to the national character of the Dutch company. Its initial capital was less than one-tenth of the Dutch company’s. Its object, like that of the Dutch, was to trade in spices; and it was at first modestly organized on a single-voyage basis. These separate voyages, financed by groups of merchants within the company, were replaced in 1612 by terminable joint stocks, which covered operations over a term of years. Not until 1657 was a permanent joint stock established.
The company’s objective was the spices of the East Indies, and it went to India only for the secondary purpose of securing cottons for sale to the spice growers. The British East Indian venture met with determined Dutch opposition, culminating in the massacre at Amboina in 1623.
In India the English found the Portuguese enjoying Mughal recognition at the western Indian port of Surat. Portuguese command of the sea nullified the English embassy to the Mughal court in spite of its countenance by the emperor Jahāngīr. However, the English victory at Swally Hole in 1612 over the Portuguese, whose control of the pilgrim sea route to Mecca was resented by the Mughals, brought a dramatic change. The embassy of Sir Thomas Roe (1615–18) to the Mughal court secured an accord (in the form of a farmān, or grant of privileges) by which the English secured the right to trade and to establish factories in return for becoming the virtual naval auxiliaries of the empire. This success, with England’s exclusion from Indonesia by the Dutch in the same period, determined that India, not the Far East, should be the chief theatre of English activity in Asia.
There followed through the 17th century a period of peaceful trading through factories operating under Mughal grants. This held good for Surat and later for Hugli (1651) in Bengal. In the south the factory at Masulipatam (1611) was moved to the site of Madras (now Chennai), granted by a Hindu raja (1640); it shortly (1647) came under the control of the sultans of Golconda and thence passed to the Mughals in 1687. The only exception to this arrangement was the island port of Bombay (now Mumbai); although independently held, its trade was small because the Marathas, soon locked in combat with the Mughals, held the hinterland.
The trade the company developed differed radically from that of the Dutch. It was a trade in bulk instead of in highly priced luxury goods; the profits were a factor of volume rather than scarcity; it worked in competitive instead of monopolistic conditions; it depended upon political goodwill instead of intimidation. The English trade became more profitable than that of the Dutch, because the smaller area covered and the lack of armed forces necessary to enforce monopoly reduced overhead charges. But it encountered its own difficulties. The Indians would take little other than silver in exchange for their goods, and the export of bullion was anathema to the concept of mercantilism, then England’s reigning political economy. Lack of military power meant management of Asian governments instead of their coercion. Lack of home dominance meant compromise and hazard of fortune.
To solve the silver problem, the English developed a system of country trade not unlike that of the Dutch, the profits of which helped to pay for the annual investment of goods for England. Madras and Gujarat supplied cotton goods, and Gujarat supplied indigo as well; silk, sugar, and saltpetre (for gunpowder) came from Bengal, while there was a spice trade along the Malabar Coast from 1615 on a competitive basis with the Dutch and Portuguese. Opium was shipped to East Asia, where it later became the basis of the Anglo-Chinese tea trade. The merchants lived in factories (trading houses) or in a collegiate type of settlement where life was confined, colourful, and often short.
The company had many difficulties in England. There was mercantilist disapproval and mercantile jealousy of the company’s monopoly; moreover, government instability threatened the company’s privilege. King Charles I encouraged the rival Courteen Association (1635), and Oliver Cromwell allowed virtual free trade until 1657. Under the later Stuarts the company prospered, only to have its hopes dashed by a war in India and by the Whigs’ Glorious Revolution of 1688–89. The Whigs promoted a new company in 1698, which, however, failed to oust the old one after some years of struggle. In 1702 the government insisted on a merger, which was completed in 1708–09 under the name of the United Company of Merchants of England Trading to the East Indies. This was the body that 40 years later launched on the sea of Indian politics.
A way for rivals to harass the company, besides attacks on the export of bullion, was to limit the sale of cotton goods in England. In 1700 the sale of Asian silks and printed or dyed cottons was forbidden, but trade continued for reexport to continental Europe. After 1700 the company found a new profitable line in the Chinese tea trade, whose imports increased more than 40-fold by 1750.
In India the company suffered a serious setback when it resolved, under the inspiration of Sir Josiah Child, to resort to armed trade and to attack the Mughals. The emperor Aurangzeb was too strong, however, and the venture (1686–90) ended in disaster. Out of this fiasco came both the foundation of Calcutta (now Kolkata) by Job Charnock in 1690—a mudflat that had the advantage of a deep anchorage—and the age of fortified factories surrounded by satellite towns. These were the answers, with Mughal consent, to increasing Indian insecurity. The Madras factory was already fortified, and Fort William in Calcutta followed in 1696. The company thus had, with independent Bombay, three centres of Indian power.
For the next half century the company confined its relations with the Mughals, who had now spread to the deep south beyond Madras, to disputes over rights and terms of trade at local levels. Fresh privileges were obtained in Delhi, and these they were content to argue about rather than fight for. The factors were learning the art of Indian diplomacy as they had formerly to learn the arts of Indian commercial management.
The French
The French had shown an interest in the East from the early years of the 16th century, but individual efforts had been checked by the Portuguese. The first viable French company, the French East India Company, was launched by the minister of finance Jean-Baptiste Colbert, with the support of Louis XIV, in 1664. After some false starts, the French company acquired Pondicherry (now Puducherry), 85 miles (137 km) south of Madras, from a local ruler in 1674. It obtained Chandernagore (now Chandannagar), 16 miles north of Calcutta, from the Mughal governor in 1690–92. At first the French initiatives suffered from the mixing of grandiose political and colonial schemes with those of trade, but, under the care of François Martin from 1674, the company turned increasingly to trade and began to prosper.
The progress of the settlements was interrupted by events in Europe. The Dutch captured Pondicherry in 1693 (see War of the Grand Alliance); when the French regained it under the Peace of Ryswick (1697), they gained the best fortifications in India but lost their trade. By 1706 the French enterprise seemed moribund. The company’s privileges were let to a group of Saint-Malo merchants from 1708–20. After 1720, however, came a dramatic change. The company was reconstituted, and over the next 20 years its trade was expanded, and new stations were opened. The Indian Ocean island of Mauritius was finally settled in 1721; Mahe in Malabar and Karaikal on the eastern coast were acquired in 1725 and 1739, respectively. Chandarnagar was revived. The French company remained under the close supervision of the government, which nominated the directors and, from 1733, guaranteed fixed dividends. In spite of the company’s growth and its fostering by government, its sales in Europe in 1740 were only about half those of England’s East India Company. Its trade was large enough to be worth seizing but not great enough to rival that of the English.
Other enterprises in India included a Danish East India Company, which operated intermittently from 1616 from Tranquebar in southern India, acquiring Serampore (now Shrirampur) in Bengal in 1755, and the Ostend Company of Austrian Netherlands merchants from 1723, a serious rival until eliminated by diplomatic means in 1731. Efforts by Swedes and Prussians proved abortive.
The Anglo-French struggle, 1740–63
In 1740 India appeared to be relatively tranquil. In the north the Persian Nādir Shah’s invasion (1739) had proved to be only a large-scale raid. In the Deccan the Niẓām al-Mulk provided some measure of stability. In western India the Marathas were dominant. However, there was competition between Marathas, Mughals, and local rulers for political supremacy in the Deccan. There was a sense of impending change in the air; the Mughal emperor was sickly, the nizam was aged, and the Marathas were active and ambitious.
It was on this scene that events in Europe precipitated an Anglo-French struggle in India. The War of the Austrian Succession began with Frederick II of Prussia’s seizure of Silesia in 1740; France supported Prussia, and from 1742 England supported Austria. The stage thus set, the English decided that the French Indian trade was too powerful to be left alone; the neutrality of previous years was therefore abandoned. Both sides depended on sea power for success, but it was the French who moved first—with an improvised fleet from Mauritius, Bertrand-François Mahé, comte de La Bourdonnais, drove the British in alarm to Bengal and captured Madras after a week’s siege in September 1746. Quarrels between La Bourdonnais and the governor of Pondicherry, Joseph-François Dupleix, marred this unexpected success, but an English attack on Pondicherry was repelled. Then the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle (1748), which ended the war, returned Madras to the British in exchange for Cape Breton Island in North America.
It would thus appear that the status quo had been restored. In fact the situation had radically changed. Madras was now recognized as British by European treaty, and this was accepted by one of the rival Indian chiefs. The French had grown in prestige as skillful soldiers and in power by detachments of the French fleet left behind on La Bourdonnais’s departure. Above all, the astute Dupleix had seen the opportunity offered for exploiting the new French reputation in the confused politics of the region. For some years there had been a disputed succession to the governorship of Karnataka (the Carnatic), itself a dependency of the Niẓām al-Mulk of Hyderabad. The nizam had installed a new Carnatic nawab (deputy; from the Arabic nawwāb) in 1743, but the dispute smouldered on between the partisans of the two rival families, who looked impartially to Marathas, Mughals, and Europeans for help.
In 1748, on the morrow of Aix-la-Chapelle, an occasion for French interference occurred with the death of the aged Niẓām al-Mulk. There was a disputed succession between his second son and a grandson, Muẓaffar Jang. Dupleix, encouraged by his easy repulse of the Carnatic nawab from the walls of Madras, decided to support both Muẓaffar and the claimant to the Carnatic nawabship, Chanda Sahib. Dupleix’s reward for success would be the means of ruining the British trade in southern India and gaining an indefinite influence over the affairs of the whole Deccan. At first fortune favoured him. The Carnatic nawab was killed in the Battle of Ambur (1749), which demonstrated convincingly the superiority of European arms and methods of warfare. The threatening invasion of the new nizam (now a hereditary title), Nāṣir Jang, ended with the nizam’s murder in December 1750. French troops conducted Muẓaffar Jang toward Hyderabad; when Muẓaffar in turn was murdered three months later, the French succeeded in placing the late nizam’s third son, Ṣalābat Jang, on the Hyderabad throne. Thenceforward, in the person of the skillful Charles, marquis de Bussy-Castelnau, Dupleix had a kingmaker at the centre of Muslim power in the Deccan. (See Carnatic wars).
The British response to these dramatic successes was to support for the Carnatic nawabship the late nawab’s son, Muḥammad ʿAlī, who had taken refuge in the rock fortress of Trichinopoly (now Tiruchchirappalli). They had already interfered in the affairs of Tanjore (Thanjavur) and were no strangers to Indian politics. The French supported Chanda Sahib for the nawabship. There thus developed what was really a private war between the two companies.
Bussy-Castelnau was established at Hyderabad, with the revenues of the Northern Sarkars (six coastal districts) to support his army. In the south the French had only Muḥammad ʿAlī to remove. But from 1751 Dupleix’s star began to wane. Robert Clive (later 1st Baron Clive of Plassey), a discontented young British factor who had left the countinghouse for the field, seized the fort of Arcot, political capital of the Carnatic, with 210 men in August 1751. This daring stroke had the hoped-for effect of diverting half of Chanda Sahib’s army to its recovery. Clive’s successful 50-day defense permitted Muḥammad ʿAlī to procure allies from Tanjore and the Marathas. The French were worsted, and they were eventually forced to surrender in June 1752. Dupleix never recovered from this blow; he was superseded in August 1754 by the director Charles-Robert Godeheu, who made a not unfavourable settlement with the British.
The French gained but a brief respite; the Seven Years’ War in Europe, in which Britain and France were once more on opposite sides, broke out in 1756. Both sides sent armaments to the East. The first British force was diverted to Bengal, so that the French general Thomas-Arthur Lally had an advantage on his arrival in 1758. Lally was brave but headstrong and tactless; after taking Fort St. David, he lost time and credit marching to Tanjore, where he forfeited Indian sympathy by executing temple Brahmans. Then his attack on Madras (1758–59) miscarried, while Clive’s troops from Bengal defeated the French garrison of the Northern Sarkars. When Sir Eyre Coote arrived with reinforcements, the British defeated Lally decisively at the Battle of Wandiwash in January 1760. Bussy-Castelnau, who had been recalled from Hyderabad, was captured; and Lally retreated to Pondicherry, where, after an eight-month siege made tense by bitter recrimination, he surrendered in January 1761. The French threat to British power in India had come to a temporary close.
This defeat could be partly blamed on Lally, but there were also other, more vital causes. An overriding factor was the British command of the sea. Lally could get no allies for lack of money and no money for lack of supply from France. The British could supply Madras from both Britain and Bengal. The French company was under the control of the French government, and the company suffered from the vicissitudes of its politics.
European military superiority
The supremacy in Indian politics, which seemed to come so suddenly to the Europeans in India, also requires explanation. There was the matter of arms. The Mughals imported their cavalry tactics from Turkestan and their artillery from Turkey. Their firearms remained slow-firing and cumbersome, so that they were outclassed both in rate of fire and in range by the 18th-century European musket and the cannon landed from European fleets. In the face of charging Mughal cavalry, infantry armed with such faster and more accurate weapons could fire three times instead of once, thus destroying the traditional dominance held by heavy cavalry in Indian warfare. Moreover, beyond this technical advantage, the Europeans also had the advantage of discipline. Troops with loyalty guaranteed by regular pay were more than a match for the personal retinues or mercenary soldiers of the Indian chiefs, however brave the latter might be individually. A chronic problem with Indian armies at that time was the lack of means to pay them; campaigns would be diverted for collecting revenue for this purpose (when Europeans later trained Indians in the European manner, their advantage increased; discipline removed the uncertain factor of personal leadership, and regular pay removed the Indian general’s bugbear of mutiny). A further advantage was civil discipline; the European forces were directed by men themselves under discipline, who were without hereditary connections or ties to the local population (though to modern eyes European company men often seemed refractory or disloyal, by standards of India at that time they were regularity itself). Indian loyalty was to an individual leader who might be killed, to relatives who might back the wrong side in a conflict, and to governments that might (and often did, for various reasons) fail to pay their troops. On the Indian side, whatever the situation, someone was nearly always looking over his shoulder thinking of the chances of a change of leadership or a successful coup and what this might mean to him personally. Thus, the European possessed not only an expertise denied to the Indians but also a spirit of confidence, a tenacity, and a will to win that was rare in the Indian forces of the time.
Revolution in Bengal
The revolution in Bengal was the product of a number of unrelated causes. The imminence of the Seven Years’ War prompted the British to send out Clive with a force to Madras in 1755. Succession troubles in Bengal combined with British mercantile incompetence to produce a crisis at a moment when the French in south India were still awaiting reinforcements from France.
ʿAlī Vardī Khan—the nawab and virtual ruler of Bengal—died in April 1756, leaving his power to his young grandson Sirāj al-Dawlah. The latter’s position was insecure because of discontent among his officers, both Hindu and Muslim, and because he himself was at the same time both headstrong and vacillating. On an exaggerated report that the British were fortifying Calcutta, he attacked and took the city after a four-day siege, on June 20, 1756. The flight of the British governor and several councillors added ignominy to defeat. The survivors were held for a night in the local lockup, known as the Black Hole of Calcutta; many were dead the next morning.
News of this disaster caused consternation in Madras. A force preparing to oust Bussy-Castelnau from the Deccan was diverted to Bengal, giving Clive an army of 900 Europeans and 1,500 Indians. He relieved the Calcutta survivors and recovered the city on January 2, 1757. An indecisive engagement led to a treaty with Sirāj al-Dawlah on February 9, which restored the company’s privileges, gave permission to fortify Calcutta, and declared an alliance.
This was a decisive point in British Indian history. According to plan, Clive should have returned to Madras to pursue the campaign against the French; but he did not. He sensed both the hostility and insecurity of Sirāj al-Dawlah’s position and began to receive overtures to support a military coup. The chance of installing a friendly and dependent nawab seemed too good to be missed. Having taken this decision, Clive chose the right candidate in Mīr Jaʿfar, an elderly general with much influence in the army. In so acting, Clive was probably influenced by the example of Bussy-Castelnau at Hyderabad; for six years Bussy-Castelnau had maintained himself with an Indo-French force, sustaining the nizam, Ṣalābat Jang, and maintaining French influence in the largest south Indian state with outstanding success. This system of a “sponsored” Indian state, controlled but not administered, was the one Clive had in mind for Bengal.
The prospects for success seemed good. The event, however, proved otherwise, and there were reasons for this not realized at the time. The chiefs were so lacking in vigour that they made little resistance to British encroachments. External danger could come from only one direction and source—the Mughal authority—and that was at the moment in dissolution. While Bussy-Castelnau had no French merchants to satisfy, the British merchants in Calcutta were ready and eager to exploit the situation. And, because the British company’s government was made up entirely of merchants, it is easy to understand why the sponsored state of 1757 became the virtually annexed state of 1765.
Before breaking with Sirāj al-Dawlah, Clive took the French settlement of Chandernagore, which the nawab left to its fate lest he need British help to repulse an Afghan attack from the north. The actual conflict with Sirāj al-Dawlah, at Plassey (June 23, 1757), was decided by Clive’s resolute refusal to be overawed by superior numbers, by dissensions within the nawab’s camp, by Mīr Jaʿfar’s failure to support his superior, and by Sirāj al-Dawlah’s own loss of nerve. Plassey was, in fact, more of a cannonade than a battle. It was followed by the flight and execution of Sirāj al-Dawlah, by the occupation of Murshidabad, the capital, and by the installation of Mīr Jaʿfar as the new nawab.
Clive now controlled a sponsored state, and he played the part with great skill. His position was prejudiced at the outset by the nawab’s failure to find the expected hoarded treasure with which to fulfill his financial promises to the British. The nawab therefore looked for financial support toward his Hindu deputies, with whom saving was second nature. Clive had therefore to intervene repeatedly. In 1759 he defended Patna from attack by the heir to the Mughal throne, ʿAlī Gauhar (later Shah ʿĀlam II), who hoped to strengthen his position in the confused world of Delhi politics by acquiring Bihar. Clive also had to deal with the Dutch, who, hearing of Mīr Jaʿfar’s restiveness and alarmed by the growth of British power in Bengal, sent an armament of six ships to their station at Chinsura on the Hooghly River. Though Britain was at peace with the Netherlands at the time, Clive maneuvered the Dutch into acts of aggression, captured their fleet, defeated them on land, and exacted compensation. They retained Chinsura but could never again challenge the British position in Bengal.
Clive left Calcutta on February 25, 1760, at the height of his fame and aged only 34, looking forward to an English political career. The nawab was completely dependent on the British, to whose trade it seemed that the rich resources of Bengal were now open. But the prospect was less brilliant than it looked; and for this, and for the troubles that ensued in the next few years, Clive had a direct responsibility. Two measures undermined the plan of a sponsored state, leading to the company’s bankruptcy on the one hand and to the virtual annexation of Bengal on the other. The first of these was an understanding with Mīr Jaʿfar, not mentioned in the actual treaty, that personal domestic trade (i.e., trade within India) of company employees would be exempted from the usual tolls and customs duties. The company’s trade with Europe had since 1717 been exempt from such taxes, but the application of such concessions to individual employees—or to anyone, for that matter, who held an exemption pass (dastak)—was a fiscal disaster, since the pass system was widely abused. Local Indian traders were soon unable to compete against rivals with such an advantage, and the company itself was soon out-positioned by its own employees (who received little compensation from the company and relied on their own entrepreneurial skills to make ends meet.) From free trade many company employees passed to intimidation, employing agents who used the British name to terrorize the countryside and infringe on the company’s monopoly.
The second measure was the acceptance of gifts. This was not forbidden by the company and was, in fact, a recognized custom; but it opened the floodgates of corruption. On the strength of rumours regarding the vast sum of the Murshidabad treasury, large amounts were paid to the armed forces and to the company leaders following the city’s capitulation. In addition, Clive obtained a further Mughal title and then claimed a revenue assignment, or jāgīr, for its upkeep, which was worth a large annual sum. In the context of contemporary values these grants equaled nearly one-fourth of the average annual Bengal revenue and represented some 6 percent of the then annual revenue of Great Britain. With such a vigorous opening of the floodgates, it is not surprising that the other servants of the company asked for more almost as a matter of right and that the company’s directors in London, with relatives and connections on the spot, preferred verbal denunciations to any resolute or sustained action. The effects became speedily apparent when in fact the Murshidabad treasure turned out to be only a fraction of its rumoured value, so that (as Clive later admitted to a parliamentary enquiry), the nawab had to sell jewels, goods, and furniture to meet his obligations. The results of these measures unfolded in the next decade and continued to be felt for a generation.
The extension of British power, 1760–1856
The period of disorder, 1760–72
The departure of Clive signaled the release of acquisitive urges by the company’s Bengal servants. These urges were so strong that the governor, Henry Vansittart (served 1760–64), found himself unable to control them. Under the company’s constitution, he had only one vote in a council of up to a dozen and could be overruled by any knot of determined men. During these years, a body of British merchants, long separated from British standards and social restraints, suddenly found themselves with real but undefined authority over the whole of a large and rich province. It is not surprising that they thought mainly of getting rich quickly.
The first step was the deposition of the nawab Mīr Jaʿfar on the grounds of old age and incompetence. He was supplanted by his son-in-law, Mīr Qāsim, after the latter had paid a large gratuity to the company and to Vansittart personally. In addition, he ceded to the British the districts of Burdwan, Midnapore, and Chittagong. Both sides wanted power, and both sides were short of money. The nawab had lost substantial land revenue and the lucrative tolls on the British merchants’ private trade; the company was receiving no remittances from Britain, because the directors considered that Bengal should pay for itself. A clash was inevitable.
Mīr Qāsim removed his capital to distant Munger where he could not be so easily overseen, asserted his authority in the districts, and raised a disciplined force under an Armenian officer. He then turned to the company and negotiated a settlement with Vansittart, by which the company’s merchants were to pay an ad valorem duty of 9 percent, against an Indian merchant’s duty of 40 percent. At this the Calcutta council revolted, reducing the company’s duty to 2.5 percent and on salt only. The breach came in 1763, when Mīr Qāsim, after defeat in four pitched battles, murdered his Indian bankers and British prisoners and fled to Avadh. The next year Mīr Qāsim returned with the emperor Shah ʿĀlam II and his minister Shujāʿ al-Dawlah to be finally defeated at the Battle of Buxar (Baksar). That conflict, rather than Plassey, was the decisive battle that gave Bengal to the British.
These events had been viewed with growing alarm in London. The news of the Mīr Qāsim campaign coincided with the victory of Clive’s faction in the company over that of Lawrence Sulivan. Clive used it to appoint himself governor with power to act over the head of the council; he intended an administrative reformation and a political settlement. He arrived in May 1765 to find that the British victory at Buxar had placed Shah ʿĀlam in his hands but had created a situation of deep confusion in other respects. Mīr Jaʿfar had been restored to power but soon died; his second son succeeded him after bestowing lavish gratuities to the company. The British merchants and their agents were the unresisted predators of the Bengal economy, and no one knew the next step to take.
Clive acted with extraordinary vigour. Within four days of arrival he had set up a Select Committee; and, when he left less than two years later, he had effected another revolution. Turning to India’s political situation, Clive had to decide where to stop. No one barred his way to Delhi, and he could at that moment have turned the whole Mughal Empire into a company-sponsored state. But he realized that Delhi was easier to have than to hold. He fixed his frontier at the borders of Bihar and Avadh. Shah ʿĀlam was given the districts of Kora and Allahabad, and he settled in the latter city, with a tribute (or subsidy) from Bengal that was nearly 10 percent of its estimated revenue. Shujāʿal-Dawlah received back Avadh, with a guarantee of its security, in return for paying the troops involved and a cash indemnity. These two were to be buffers between the company and the Marathas and possible marauders from the north.
Clive’s next step was to settle Bengal’s own status. The Mughal emperor still had much influence, though little power; his complete disfavour might therefore have done the company more harm than good. Clive’s solution was to obtain from Shah ʿĀlam the “dewanee,” or revenue-collecting power, in Bengal and Bihar (the company was thus the imperial divan [dīwān] for those two provinces). The nawab was left in charge of the judiciary and magistracy, but he was helpless because he had no army and could get money to raise one only from the company.
This was Clive’s system of “dual government.” The actual administration remained in Indian hands, and for superintendence Clive appointed a deputy divan, Muḥammad Riḍā Khan, who was at the same time appointed the nawab’s deputy. The chain was thus complete. The company, acting in the name of the emperor and using Indian personnel and the traditional apparatus of government, now ruled Bengal. The company’s agent was Riḍā Khan; the success of the experiment turned on his efficiency and the extent of the governor’s support.
Within the company, Clive enforced his authority by accepting some resignations and enforcing others. Gifts amounting to a value of more than 4,000 rupees were forbidden, and those between that figure and 1,000 rupees were only to be received with official consent. The regulation of private trade was more difficult, for the company paid virtually no salaries. Clive formed a Society of Trade, which operated the salt monopoly, to provide salaries on a graduated scale; but the company directors disallowed this on the ground of expense, and two years later they replaced it by commissions on the revenue, which cost the company more. Finally, Clive dealt with overgrown military allowances with equal vigour, overcoming a mutiny headed by a brigade commander. He used a legacy from Mīr Jaʿfar to start the first pension fund for the Indian army.
Clive left Calcutta in February 1767. His work—diplomatic, political, and administrative—was a beginning rather than a complete settlement. But in each direction, instead of looking back to the past, it reached out to the future. This creative period exacted a heavy price. Clive was pursued to England by his enemies, who launched a parliamentary attack, which, though triumphantly repulsed in 1773, led to his suicide the following year.
It is worth noting how the company’s servants so enriched themselves at that time that they undermined the economy of Bengal, and those who returned to Britain became a byword for ostentation. Apart from the great political prizes already mentioned, it must be remembered that all the company’s servants were engaged in private trade on their own account. Their new authority and the company’s power enabled them to exploit their trade with little hindrance. They had the means of using intimidation (through their agents) against Indian rivals such as the indigo growers and Indian police, customs, revenue, and judicial officials. Presents and bribes were the price Indians had to pay for freedom from harassment. They were able, through their connection with the administration, to arrange virtual monopolies for particular articles in particular districts, fixing a low purchase price as well as a high selling price. They could arrange commissions on revenue collection, mercantile transactions, and any form of commercial activity. What was not done through agents could be arranged through intermediaries, who also, of course, had their own compensation. Thus, a man could make a fortune, lose it in Britain, return for another, lose it again, and return for a third. It is significant that from the time of Clive’s second governorship lamentations increased that the opportunities for quick fortunes were slipping away.
The Company Bahadur


Warren Hastings
The year 1765, when Clive arrived in India, can be said to mark the real beginning of the British Empire in India as a territorial dominion. However, the regime he established was really a private dominion of the East India Company. It was not a British colony, and it fitted into the highly flexible structure of the dying Mughal Empire. The structure of the administration was Mughal, not British, and its operators were Indian, personified by the deputy nawab Muḥammad Riḍā Khan. It was a continuation of the traditional state under British control, and it can be aptly described by the company’s popular title, the Company Bahadur—the Valiant, or Honourable, Company. This Company Bahadur state continued through the governorship of Warren Hastings and in essence until the early 19th century, although Lord Cornwallis (governor-general, 1786–93 and 1805) substituted largely British for Indian personnel. The revenue was collected by the officers of the deputy nawab; the law administered was the current Mughal (Islamic) criminal code, with the traditional personal codes of the Hindu and Muslim communities; the language of administration was Persian. Only the army broke with the past, with its British officers, its discipline, and its Western organization and tactics.
It was this state that Warren Hastings inherited when he became governor of Bengal in 1772. Noteworthy in his 13-year rule were his internal administration, his dealings with his council, and his foreign policy. Hastings inherited a state that in the five years since Clive’s departure had stepped back toward the corruption from which Clive had rescued it. But Hastings was armed with authority by the directors, so that the first two years of his government were a period of real reform. He first dealt with the dastaks, or free passes, the use of which had crept in again since Clive’s departure; they were abolished, and a uniform tariff of 2.5 percent was enforced on all internal trade. Private trade by the company’s servants continued but within enforceable limits. The Bengalis began to experience some security and a settled order, if not yet an equitable society. Next, the company took over the responsibility for the revenue collection from Riḍā Khan, who was arraigned for corruption; the charges could not be proved, however, even with the approving support of the British authorities. Hastings substituted British for Indian collectors working under a Board of Revenue. In a way this was a retrograde step, for the new collectors were often as corrupt as their predecessors and more powerful; but the change gave legal power to those who already wielded it in fact, and in the future their irregularities could more easily be dealt with than could the surreptitious dealings through the old Indian collectors. Finally, Hastings instituted a network of civil and criminal courts in place of the deputy nawab’s. The same law was administered by British judges, who were often incompetent, but a model was provided into which Western ideas and practices could later be fed.
These changes held good through the period of Hastings’ rule and may be said to have provided a viable, though not yet very competent or equitable, state. Criminal and personal law cases were virtually in the hands of Indian assessors to British judges who did not know Persian; revenue administration was distorted by the collectors’ desire for both personal gain and increased returns for the company. Hastings was least successful in his revenue administration, in which he never advanced beyond a condition of trial and error; a five-year settlement made in ignorance proved unsuccessful, and he was finally reduced to annual settlements, which meant hit-and-miss arrangements with the traditional zamindars.


Sir Philip Francis
Hastings was personally incorrupt, but he had to tolerate a good deal in others and to resort to extensive jobbing to placate his supporters both in Bengal and in London. He left a personal legend behind him, but his administration was disorderly as well as strong. A reason for this can be found in his relations with his council. Under the Regulating Act of 1773, Hastings became governor-general of Fort William in Bengal, with powers of superintendence over Madras and Bombay. He was also given a supreme court, administering English law to the British and those connected with them, and a council of four, appointed in the Regulating Act. The leading council member, Sir Philip Francis, hoped to succeed him, and, because Hastings had no power of veto, Francis was able with two supporters to overrule him. For two years Hastings was outvoted, until the death of one member enabled him to use his casting vote. But the struggle continued until Francis—wounded by Hastings in a duel—returned to London in 1780, to continue his vendetta there. The conflict culminated with charges against Hastings of corruption by an Indian official, Nand Kumar (Nandakumar), and with the latter’s conviction before the supreme court of perjury and his execution under English law. The episode exposed the moral weakness of the council majority, which failed to reprieve Nand Kumar, and convinced the Indians of Hastings’ overriding power.
This struggle, lasting for years, left Hastings triumphant but also embittered; he had to deal not only with the opposition in Calcutta, which never ceased, but also with the constant threat of supersession in the involved politics of London at that time. This strain probably accounts for the acts that formed important items in Hastings’s subsequent impeachment—these were the dunning (demands for money) of Raja Chait Singh of Varanasi and his deposition in 1781 and the pressuring of the Begums of Avadh (the mother and grandmother of the nawab Āṣaf al-Dawlah) for the same reason. Hastings’s financial difficulties at the time were great, but such actions were harsh and high-handed.
The impeachment of Hastings at the behest of Edmund Burke and the Whigs, which followed his return from India and ended in his acquittal but retirement in 1795, was a kind of very rough justice. Hastings had saved for the company its Indian dominions, and he was relatively incorrupt. But the charges served notice that the company’s servants were responsible for their actions toward those they governed, and for these actions they were answerable to Parliament. Hastings was so identified with the company’s rule that he was the inevitable target for any such assertion of principle.
The company and the state
During the first half of the 18th century, the East India Company was a trading corporation with a steady annual dividend of 8–10 percent, offering its employees prospects of a modest fortune through private trade, along with great hazards to health and life. It was directed in London by 24 directors—elected annually by the shareholding body, the Court of Proprietors—who worked through a series of committees.
The Bengal adventure from 1757 turned the two courts—of directors and proprietors—into political bodies, because they now controlled a great eastern state. Shares became political counters, the purchase of which might secure votes needed to change the company’s policy. A second result was the return to Britain of the company’s servants with fortunes; their ostentation and lack of restraint earned them the title nabob (the English version of nawab). These events soon produced reactions. The shareholders wanted to share in this new wealth, in the guise of increased dividends, and the directors wanted the company as well as its servants to benefit from this wealth. Two processes were thus set in motion—one a rising pressure for increased dividends and the other an attempt by the company to discipline its servants and to secure some profit for itself. Broadly speaking, it was the success of the first and the failure of the second that provoked state intervention in the company’s affairs.
The close personal connection between the “direction” and the company’s servants themselves weighed heavily and eventually stultified the directors’ efforts. It produced an infirmity of purpose, which led to the return to Bengal by one faction of servants dismissed for irregularities by another—a factionalism epitomized by the struggle between Clive and Sulivan for control of the company. These developments occupied the 1760s, drastically reducing the prestige of the company. On the side of discipline, alarm at the overruling of Vansittart and the wars against Mīr Qāsim and Shah ʿĀlam led to the dispatch of Clive as governor in 1765. As the effect of Clive’s measures diminished after his return to England in 1767, three “supervisors” were dispatched to Bengal in 1769 with plenary powers, but they were lost at sea. Then Hastings was appointed in 1772 with a reform mandate. But it was too late, for bankruptcy was now knocking at the door.
The company had hoped for large profits from Clive’s first control of Bengal. The hopes then shortly dashed were revived by his second governorship. Clive believed that he had secured an ample revenue surplus for the company. On the strength of these expectations, the company’s dividend was raised to 12.5 percent in 1767; in the same year the first signs of parliamentary opposition were bought off by the offer of a large annual cash incentive to the state in return for undisturbed possession of Bengal. As the expectations withered, this became a financial millstone that compelled the company in 1772 to ask for a loan to avert bankruptcy. This opened the floodgates of parliamentary criticism, leading to committees of inquiry and revelations of malpractices, to Clive’s suicide (1774), and to the beginning of state intervention.
In 1773 the British government gave a substantial loan to the company, but its price was the Regulating Act, passed the same year. The act sought to “regulate” the affairs of the company, in both London and India. In London the qualifications fee for a vote was doubled, and the directors’ terms were extended from one to four years, with a year’s gap before reelection. This ended the soliciting of votes for the control of policy by private interests and gave continuity of policy to the direction. In India a governor-generalship of Fort William in Bengal was established, with supervisory control over the other Indian settlements and Warren Hastings as its first incumbent. Hastings was given four named councillors, but future appointments were to be made by the company. Finally, a supreme court with a chief justice and three judges was set up. The Regulating Act was a first step toward taking the political direction of British India out of the hands of the company and of securing a unified overall control. But it had serious defects, which bedeviled administration in Bengal and made India (despite British preoccupation with the American Revolution) a leading subject of controversy over the next 20 years.
The governor-general possessed no veto in his council. With three political councillors from Britain, each ready to take Warren Hastings’s place, this led to his virtual supersession by the majority for two years and to a paralysis of the executive. Hastings used the energy in fighting his council that should have gone to reforming Bengal. The superintending power added responsibility with little power to enforce it. The supreme court decided to administer English law (the only law it knew) and to apply it not only to all the British in Bengal but also to all Indians connected with them; in practice this meant those Indians in Calcutta, and it led to such grave abuses as the hanging of Nand Kumar for an offense not recognized as being capital in any Indian code.
In 1780 the company’s privileges ran out, but this was during the crisis of the American Revolution, so a decision was delayed until 1784. Charles James Fox’s radical measure to transfer the control of British India to seven commissioners was defeated by the influence of King George III in the House of Lords, but the next year the matter was settled for more than 70 years by Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger’s India Act of 1784. Its essence was the institution of a dual control. The directors were left in charge of commerce and as political executants, but they were politically superintended by a new Board of Control, the president of which, in the person of Henry Dundas, soon became the virtual minister for India. The directors dealt with the board through a secret committee of three, but their dispatches to India could be altered, vetoed, and dictated by the board. The governor-general could be recalled by the crown. In India the governor’s council was reduced to three, including the commander in chief, and by an amending act he acquired the veto, which Warren Hastings had missed so much. Finally, there was to be a parliamentary inquiry before each 20-year renewal of the company’s charter.


Edward Law, earl of Ellenborough
Pitt’s India Act proved to be a landmark because it gave the British government control of policy without patronage. The cumbrous dual system developed into a seesaw arrangement of give and take, becoming ever stronger on the government side as greater ability, influence, and power had their effect. The inquiry provision produced a national inquest on Indian affairs every 20 years, marking successive stages in the diminution of the company’s political power. On the first such inquiry, in 1793, the company repelled an attempt to compel it to support Christian missionary work; this incident led to the foundation of the Church Missionary Society in 1799. In 1813 the company was obliged by Parliament to admit missionaries and was deprived of its monopoly on trade. By the Act of 1833 it lost its trade altogether and was thenceforth a governing corporation under increasing state surveillance. In 1853, with the introduction of competitive examinations, the company lost most of its patronage and also had to admit nominated directors. Policies were increasingly dictated to a sulky or apathetic board. The last case of the recall of a governor-general by the company was that of Lord Ellenborough in 1844; this was the real swan song of the company, because it was recognized that such a thing could never happen again. The company had become a managing agency of the British government.
Relations with the Marathas and Mysore
After Clive’s settlement in 1765, the East India Company had no desire for any further acquisitions. Its object was still trade; it regarded the acquisition of Bengal as a political framework for the safe conduct of trade, justified by the danger of near anarchy in its most profitable scene of operations. But such a resolution was easier to make than to keep. Indian states were ever ready to seek European help in achieving their own projects; many of the company’s servants looked longingly at territorial revenues that might assist their own enrichment, and the exigencies of Indian politics at times made nonalignment difficult to observe.
In 1765 the three centres of the company’s power were independent of each other, but the post-Mughal Indian pattern was becoming clear. In the north there were the Mughal fragments of Allahabad, Avadh, and Delhi, with the Sikhs resurgent in the Punjab. In the Deccan the nizam of Hyderabad maintained his Mughal regime uneasily, sometimes overwhelmed by two vigorous and expansive powers—the Marathas and Mysore.
The Marathas had made their bid for the Mughal succession in the previous decade, and they were now recovering from a disastrous defeat at Panipat (1761). The unified leadership of the peshwa had given way to a confederacy of the peshwa and four military dictatorships developing into monarchies. The Marathas were restless, energetic, and acquisitive; their greatest enemy was their own divisions.
In the south the old Hindu state of Mysore had passed into the hands of Hyder Ali in 1762. When Warren Hastings took overall control of the company’s possessions in 1774, Madras had already stumbled into war with Hyder Ali and had submitted to a virtually dictated peace under the walls of Madras in 1769. The nawab of the Carnatic had become by degrees dependent on the company because he needed its support against the threat of Hyder and the nizam. Ingenious and feckless, the nawab involved Madras in south Indian politics and the company in his affairs by borrowing from company employees.
Hastings had a natural gift for realpolitik, but he was tied to a policy of nonaggression. Much of his diplomatic skill was spent repairing the blunders of others. His major work for British India was preserving the company’s dominion against a coalition of country (Indian) powers, virtually unaided from home, at a time when Britain was itself hard pressed both in America and by a European coalition. His first work was to safeguard Bengal from the reviving power of the Marathas, who had conducted Shah ʿĀlām II to Delhi in 1771. Hastings intervened and handed Allahabad and Kora to Shujāʿ al-Dawlah of Avadh in return for a subsidy and a treaty. The following year he found himself assisting the nawab of Avadh to crush the Afghan Rohillas in the Ganges–Yamuna Doab (this stroke was the first item in the indictment at his impeachment, but its effect was to stabilize the north Indian situation for the next 10 years).
In western India, Hastings was the victim of Bombay brashness and of directorial blunders. A succession struggle in Pune for the peshwa-ship led Bombay to support Raghunatha Rao in the hope of securing the island of Salsette and town of Bassein. (See Treaty of Purandhar.) When this was countermanded by Calcutta, London intervened to renew the venture. In 1779 a British army was surrounded on its way to Pune, one month before a force sent by Hastings completed a brilliant march across India at Surat. This precipitated the Convention of Wadgaon, the terms of which were likewise repudiated by British officials. In 1782 the British made peace with the peshwa, abandoning Raghunatha and having only Salsette to show for seven years of war. This first round of what came to be called the Maratha Wars was a draw.
While this war was in progress, Hastings was confronted with a far greater menace. In 1780 the ineptitude of Madras provoked a coalition of the nizam, Hyder Ali, and the Marathas, which defeated the company’s armies and swept over the Carnatic. Though without hope of succour from Britain, itself hard-pressed, Hastings set about sustaining the Madras forces and dividing his foes. In 1781 the military balance was restored, and the next year the Marathas made peace (the Treaty of Salbai). Hyder Ali died (1782), French help arrived too late to affect the issue, and in 1784 the Treaty of Mangalore with Hyder Ali’s son Tippu Sultan restored the status quo. Hastings thus had little to show in the way of empire building. His feat of defense without external aid was nevertheless remarkable. He preserved the British dominion in India, and by so doing he made it possible for others to extend it. The company had become one of the recognized great powers of India.
Pitt’s Act of 1784 reiterated the company’s own intentions by forbidding aggressive wars and annexations. Lord Cornwallis and his successor Sir John Shore (governor-general 1793–98) were eager to comply, but Cornwallis nevertheless found himself involved in the third Mysore war (1790–92) with Tippu Sultan, who possessed his father’s ability without his judgment. The cause was a combination of Tippu Sultan’s intransigence with conflicting obligations undertaken by the Madras government. It took three campaigns before Cornwallis could bring Tippu Sultan to bay. Half his dominions were annexed, more as a precaution than as an exercise in imperialism. But Tippu Sultan remained formidable and, not unnaturally, more hostile than ever.