The Whispers of Palash: An Account of the Battle of Plassey
I am the Palash tree, a steadfast guardian of the land of Bengal. I have witnessed the sun rise and set countless times, felt the relentless fury of the monsoon rains, and enjoyed the gentle breezes that carried the murmur of the Bhagirathi River. The rhythmic thud of hooves has echoed through my branches as Mughal emperors paraded in their majestic grandeur. I have heard the laughter of children, the sweet melodies of lovers, and the mournful cries of the grieving. I have seen the rise and fall of empires. I have been a silent witness to it all. Yet, on that particular morning in 1757, I sensed something unusual was about to happen. Back then, I stood near a large mango grove called Laksha Bagh.
Adorned with stunning orange flowers resembling flames, I am known as the Flame of the Forest. My exquisite blossoms, often likened to a parrot's beak, captivate all who pass by. Scientifically, I am Butea monosperma, a member of Fabaceae, the Pea family of plants. Some affectionately call me the 'Parrot Tree,' while others, with less affection, label me the 'Bastard Teak.' The Indian Postal Department has even honored me with a commemorative postage stamp. I proudly stand as the official flower of Jharkhand.
Revered through the ages and mentioned in many Puranas, I am a sacred tree with rich cultural significance. My bright flowers are used to make the vivid dyes that color the jubilant festivities of Holi. My medicinal properties have earned me a place in Ayurveda. Let's not forget my large leaves, an eco-friendly alternative to plastic plates.
In essence, I am more than just a tree. I hold a unique place in the annals of history as a silent spectator of one of the world's most famous battles. Palashi, a small village along the banks of the Hooghly River, also known as Bhagirathi, lies 150 km north of Calcutta, in what is now Nadia district, is named after me, as I flourish there abundantly. I have provided shade and solace to soldiers, both native and foreign. I am speaking, of course, of the Battle of Palashi, or Plassey as the foreign tongues called it.
Our Nawab, Siraj-ud-Daula, was described as cruel, wicked, violent, impetuous and tyrannical by contemporary historians. Lacking experience, prudence, intelligence, and steadiness, he alienated most of his ministers, generals, and influential figures, including the powerful Jagat Seths and even the eunuchs of the harem. His mistreatment of them caused him to lose their support. The Battle of Plassey marked the first instance in the history of our subcontinent, where various factions, both native and foreign, concluded a formal alliance against a ruler who was widely despised.
One of the main reasons for Siraj's hostility with the British was their refusal to demolish recent expansions to the fortifications in Calcutta. They also gave assistance and protection to political opponents of the Murshidabad court. In response, Siraj seized the British factory at Kasim Bazar and captured Fort William on June 20, 1756. The Black Hole incident that followed has been exaggerated by colonial narratives. Allegations of Siraj's brutality are mostly the invention of a few biased British writers.
Before going to Murshidabad, Siraj-ud-Daula appointed Manik Chand in charge of Calcutta, which he renamed Alinagar in the memory of his grandfather.
Upon receiving news of the fall of Calcutta, the Madras Council dispatched Colonel Robert Clive and Admiral Watson to Bengal. Their mission was not just the retaking of Calcutta, but to bring about a revolution in Bengal. In the months that followed, there was a flurry of diplomatic activity and behind-the-scenes maneuvering.
Clive retook Calcutta on January 2, 1757. Soon after, he plundered the fort of Hooghly. Siraj marched his troops towards Calcutta and camped in a garden nearby. At his request, The British sent envoys to discuss terms. However, the next morning, on February 5, Clive orchestrated a deceitful surprise attack on Siraj's camp, claiming the Nawab had disrespected his envoys.
Although Clive's attack failed, Siraj-ud-Daula felt pressure from his rebellious followers, many of whom supported the British, to make peace. He also feared an invasion of Bengal by Ahmad Shah Abdali, which led him to agree to the harsh terms set by the British. The Treaty of Alinagar, signed on February 9, 1757, compelled Siraj to agree to most British demands, including the establishment of a mint. William Watts, the head of the British East India Company's Kasim Bazar establishment, who spoke the local language and was familiar with Bengal's politics and customs, accompanied Siraj to his court.
The humiliating terms of the Treaty of Alinagar shattered the fear that Siraj had instilled in his court. Disaffected chiefs (Manik Chand, Mir Jafar and others), merchants (Omichand) and bankers (the Jagat Seths - Seth Mahtab Kai and Seth Sarup Chand) saw the British as potential allies in their schemes to overthrow Siraj-ud-Daula.
Watts, the Resident, was sent not only to ensure the fulfilment of the Treaty, but also to manipulate Siraj into accepting additional terms designed for British advantage that were not included in the actual Treaty. Soon after reaching Murshidabad, the cunning Watts started the career of an intriguer.
The British aimed to expel the French from Bengal. When Siraj proposed a treaty of neutrality between Britain and France, Watts bribed the Nawab's secretary to draft a letter bearing the Nawab's seal, allowing the British to attack the French.
On 23 March 1757, Clive captured the French settlement of Chandannagar (Chandernagore). The British then demanded that Monsieur Jean Law de Lauriston, who was in charge of the French factory at Kasim Bazar, and the fugitives from Chandernagore be handed over, along with their trading centers. To avoid an open conflict with the British, Siraj had to order Law and his adherents to leave Bengal. Law was allowed to retire to Patna.
The British feared that the French and the Nawab might join forces and pose a threat to them. They realized they could not feel safe until Siraj's power was destroyed. Therefore, they promptly put into action the plan to overthrow Siraj. At the same time, Clive wrote friendly letters to Siraj, crafted to lull him into a false sense of security.
Watts was the mastermind behind 'buying over the whole Murshidabad Durbar' and uniting them. Individuals who saw financial and political gains from a change in Nawabship, also joined the conspiracy. They jointly agreed to place Mir Jafar on the throne of Bengal. By 11 June, 1757, the official deal was finalised. The next evening, under pretence of a hunting party, Watts fled from Murshidabad with his colleagues.
All that remained was an excuse to break the peace with Siraj. On 13 June, Clive sent an ultimatum to Siraj-ud-Daula accusing him of violating the terms of the Treaty of Alinagar, even though Clive himself had broken it. That same day, Clive began his march towards Plassey. Siraj-ud-Daula left the capital to join his army at Plassey. One officer who fought for Clive at Plassey remarked, "It is somewhat extraordinary that, notwithstanding the little care we took to keep our intentions a secret, yet they never came to the ear of the nabob, or, if they did, he never gave credit to them until we set out. This was the state of affairs when we began our march on 13 June 1757."
Siraj-ud-Daula wrote to Law for help. At Kasim Bazar, He took into service forty Frenchmen under Captain Sinfray (St. Frais), who had been sent back by Law when he received a message of recall from Siraj on 2 May. Sinfray warned Siraj about the conspiracy during a private audience, advising him to arrest Mir Jafar. Possibly in order to avoid a rift in the army at this critical moment, Siraj tried to reconciliate with Jafar, and Jafar swore on the Koran not to betray him.
"It was around one o'clock in the morning of 23 June, 1757. The tranquility of our village was disrupted by the arrival of men in unfamiliar uniforms, their language sharp and strange. They were the East India Company's forces, led by Robert Clive. I saw them set up camp in the mango groves. Clive occupied the nearby hunting lodge, using a telescope to watch the movements of Siraj's army from the roof. I could hear snippets of their conversations carried by the breeze. There was talk of the Nawab, of power, and of betrayal.
From a distance, the sound of drums and cymbals emanated from Siraj's camp. There was an undercurrent of unease, a subtle discord that even my roots could sense. Whispers carried on the wind spoke of discontent, of betrayals brewing in the shadows. I could feel the tension, the sense that all was not right.
As dawn broke, the sun spilled its golden hues over the plains of Plassey. The vast army of Siraj advanced towards the mango grove, with elephants adorned in scarlet embroidery, the horses with drawn swords glittering in the sun, the heavy cannons pulled by vast trains of oxen and the vibrant banners flying in the morning breeze. The enemy, although fewer in number, was disciplined and well-armed.
The battle began with a cannonade by Sinfray and his men. After losing thirty of his men, Clive withdrew his troops to the safety of the mango grove, where they lay down behind the muddy riverbank that surrounded the grove. They made holes in the mud bank for their cannons to fire through. Siraj's army pushed forward and fired upon the grove, but it caused little damage to the British. Clive's plan was to hold the position and then attack Siraj's camp at midnight, as he had done in Calcutta. Black smoke billowed across the battlefield, obscuring the view, carrying the acrid smell of gunpowder.
As I scanned the battlefield, I noticed only Mir Madan, Siraj's loyal general, and Mohanlal, the Prime Minister, along with a handful of Frenchmen under Sinfray, were engaged in battle. The traitors Mir Jafar and Rai Durlabh Ram, and Yar Latif Khan with their sections of the army stood as silent spectators.
The midday brought a change in the weather. A sudden downpour drenched the battlefield. I watched, disheartened, as the Bengal army's gunpowder spoiled in the rain, while the enemy covered their cannons and ammunition with tarpaulins. When the rain stopped, Mir Madan and Mohanlal ordered a gallant cavalry charge, believing the British guns were as ineffective as their own. But their advance was met with a heavy grape fire. In that charge, Mir Madan was mortally wounded. His body was hurriedly carried to Siraj's tent, where he breathed his last.
The fall of Mir Madan had so unnerved Siraj-ud-Daula that he summoned Mir Jafar to his tent, placed his turban before him, and begged him to defend it. However, Jafar, after returning to his position sent a letter to Clive, explaining what had happened and urging an immediate attack. (Clive did not get that letter until the battle was over.) I watched helplessly as Siraj ordered the troops under Mohanlal and Sinfray to retreat to the entrenchments, possibly the traitors had advised him to do so. Just then, a huge contingent of the Nawab's troops began to move away down to the banks of the Hooghly. This was Mir Jafar and others, withdrawing just as he had promised Clive.
Mohanlal's retreat heavily impacted his troops. They perceived the order as a signal that the Nawab had lost. I saw the tide turn decisively. What ensued was not an orderly retreat but a general rout of Siraj's troops. The British, who moments before had feared their own defeat, found new courage at the sight of the fleeing Bengal army, and began their attack. Sinfray and his men offered the last flicker of resistance before retreating. It was nearly 5 in the evening when I saw Siraj fleeing the battlefield. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the ravaged landscape, painting the scene in hues of orange and red.
Siraj-ud-Daula, who had fled on a camel from the battlefield, reached his palace at Murshidabad the following morning. He threw open his treasury to induce the soldiers to support him, but they took the money and left him unsupported. In disguise, he escaped with his beloved wife Lutf-un-nisa, his daughter and a few loyal followers towards Rajmahal. I later learnt that Law, who had reached the vicinity of Rajmahal to assist Siraj, turned back upon hearing of the disaster at Plassey.
At Murshidabad, Clive installed Mir Jafar as the puppet Nawab of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa, though real power now lay with the British. As for Siraj-ud-Daula, his fate was sealed; he was captured and executed by Mir Jafar's men, an undignified end for Bengal's last independent ruler!
Years have passed since that fateful day, and the landscape has changed completely. Nothing remains of the once-famous Laksha Bagh mango grove with its hundred thousand trees. The Plassey House hunting lodge has also vanished. The old village no longer exists and the battlefield has lost its identity. Yet, my fiery blossoms still bloom each spring, whispering the story of Plassey to the winds, a story buried beneath history, lest we forget. I, the Palash tree of Plassey, remember it all. I always will."
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| Plassey Railway Station - Source: Wikipedia |
Adorned with stunning orange flowers resembling flames, I am known as the Flame of the Forest. My exquisite blossoms, often likened to a parrot's beak, captivate all who pass by. Scientifically, I am Butea monosperma, a member of Fabaceae, the Pea family of plants. Some affectionately call me the 'Parrot Tree,' while others, with less affection, label me the 'Bastard Teak.' The Indian Postal Department has even honored me with a commemorative postage stamp. I proudly stand as the official flower of Jharkhand.
Revered through the ages and mentioned in many Puranas, I am a sacred tree with rich cultural significance. My bright flowers are used to make the vivid dyes that color the jubilant festivities of Holi. My medicinal properties have earned me a place in Ayurveda. Let's not forget my large leaves, an eco-friendly alternative to plastic plates.
In essence, I am more than just a tree. I hold a unique place in the annals of history as a silent spectator of one of the world's most famous battles. Palashi, a small village along the banks of the Hooghly River, also known as Bhagirathi, lies 150 km north of Calcutta, in what is now Nadia district, is named after me, as I flourish there abundantly. I have provided shade and solace to soldiers, both native and foreign. I am speaking, of course, of the Battle of Palashi, or Plassey as the foreign tongues called it.
The Battle of Plassey was fought between the British East India Company, led by Colonel Robert Clive, and the forces of Siraj-ud-Daula (r: 1756-57), the Nawab of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa, along with his French allies.The conflict's roots can be traced back to April 1756, when Siraj-ud-Daula succeeded his grandfather Alivardi Khan, as the Nawab of Bengal. This young ruler saw the British as just merchants. The British, who harbored deep discontent at his accession, favoured his rivals and those who contested his claim to the throne. They worked to create more traitors and encourage defections within Siraj's army.
Our Nawab, Siraj-ud-Daula, was described as cruel, wicked, violent, impetuous and tyrannical by contemporary historians. Lacking experience, prudence, intelligence, and steadiness, he alienated most of his ministers, generals, and influential figures, including the powerful Jagat Seths and even the eunuchs of the harem. His mistreatment of them caused him to lose their support. The Battle of Plassey marked the first instance in the history of our subcontinent, where various factions, both native and foreign, concluded a formal alliance against a ruler who was widely despised.
One of the main reasons for Siraj's hostility with the British was their refusal to demolish recent expansions to the fortifications in Calcutta. They also gave assistance and protection to political opponents of the Murshidabad court. In response, Siraj seized the British factory at Kasim Bazar and captured Fort William on June 20, 1756. The Black Hole incident that followed has been exaggerated by colonial narratives. Allegations of Siraj's brutality are mostly the invention of a few biased British writers.
Before going to Murshidabad, Siraj-ud-Daula appointed Manik Chand in charge of Calcutta, which he renamed Alinagar in the memory of his grandfather.
Upon receiving news of the fall of Calcutta, the Madras Council dispatched Colonel Robert Clive and Admiral Watson to Bengal. Their mission was not just the retaking of Calcutta, but to bring about a revolution in Bengal. In the months that followed, there was a flurry of diplomatic activity and behind-the-scenes maneuvering.
Clive retook Calcutta on January 2, 1757. Soon after, he plundered the fort of Hooghly. Siraj marched his troops towards Calcutta and camped in a garden nearby. At his request, The British sent envoys to discuss terms. However, the next morning, on February 5, Clive orchestrated a deceitful surprise attack on Siraj's camp, claiming the Nawab had disrespected his envoys.
Although Clive's attack failed, Siraj-ud-Daula felt pressure from his rebellious followers, many of whom supported the British, to make peace. He also feared an invasion of Bengal by Ahmad Shah Abdali, which led him to agree to the harsh terms set by the British. The Treaty of Alinagar, signed on February 9, 1757, compelled Siraj to agree to most British demands, including the establishment of a mint. William Watts, the head of the British East India Company's Kasim Bazar establishment, who spoke the local language and was familiar with Bengal's politics and customs, accompanied Siraj to his court.
The humiliating terms of the Treaty of Alinagar shattered the fear that Siraj had instilled in his court. Disaffected chiefs (Manik Chand, Mir Jafar and others), merchants (Omichand) and bankers (the Jagat Seths - Seth Mahtab Kai and Seth Sarup Chand) saw the British as potential allies in their schemes to overthrow Siraj-ud-Daula.
Watts, the Resident, was sent not only to ensure the fulfilment of the Treaty, but also to manipulate Siraj into accepting additional terms designed for British advantage that were not included in the actual Treaty. Soon after reaching Murshidabad, the cunning Watts started the career of an intriguer.
The British aimed to expel the French from Bengal. When Siraj proposed a treaty of neutrality between Britain and France, Watts bribed the Nawab's secretary to draft a letter bearing the Nawab's seal, allowing the British to attack the French.
On 23 March 1757, Clive captured the French settlement of Chandannagar (Chandernagore). The British then demanded that Monsieur Jean Law de Lauriston, who was in charge of the French factory at Kasim Bazar, and the fugitives from Chandernagore be handed over, along with their trading centers. To avoid an open conflict with the British, Siraj had to order Law and his adherents to leave Bengal. Law was allowed to retire to Patna.
The British feared that the French and the Nawab might join forces and pose a threat to them. They realized they could not feel safe until Siraj's power was destroyed. Therefore, they promptly put into action the plan to overthrow Siraj. At the same time, Clive wrote friendly letters to Siraj, crafted to lull him into a false sense of security.
Watts was the mastermind behind 'buying over the whole Murshidabad Durbar' and uniting them. Individuals who saw financial and political gains from a change in Nawabship, also joined the conspiracy. They jointly agreed to place Mir Jafar on the throne of Bengal. By 11 June, 1757, the official deal was finalised. The next evening, under pretence of a hunting party, Watts fled from Murshidabad with his colleagues.
All that remained was an excuse to break the peace with Siraj. On 13 June, Clive sent an ultimatum to Siraj-ud-Daula accusing him of violating the terms of the Treaty of Alinagar, even though Clive himself had broken it. That same day, Clive began his march towards Plassey. Siraj-ud-Daula left the capital to join his army at Plassey. One officer who fought for Clive at Plassey remarked, "It is somewhat extraordinary that, notwithstanding the little care we took to keep our intentions a secret, yet they never came to the ear of the nabob, or, if they did, he never gave credit to them until we set out. This was the state of affairs when we began our march on 13 June 1757."
Siraj-ud-Daula wrote to Law for help. At Kasim Bazar, He took into service forty Frenchmen under Captain Sinfray (St. Frais), who had been sent back by Law when he received a message of recall from Siraj on 2 May. Sinfray warned Siraj about the conspiracy during a private audience, advising him to arrest Mir Jafar. Possibly in order to avoid a rift in the army at this critical moment, Siraj tried to reconciliate with Jafar, and Jafar swore on the Koran not to betray him.
"It was around one o'clock in the morning of 23 June, 1757. The tranquility of our village was disrupted by the arrival of men in unfamiliar uniforms, their language sharp and strange. They were the East India Company's forces, led by Robert Clive. I saw them set up camp in the mango groves. Clive occupied the nearby hunting lodge, using a telescope to watch the movements of Siraj's army from the roof. I could hear snippets of their conversations carried by the breeze. There was talk of the Nawab, of power, and of betrayal.
From a distance, the sound of drums and cymbals emanated from Siraj's camp. There was an undercurrent of unease, a subtle discord that even my roots could sense. Whispers carried on the wind spoke of discontent, of betrayals brewing in the shadows. I could feel the tension, the sense that all was not right.
As dawn broke, the sun spilled its golden hues over the plains of Plassey. The vast army of Siraj advanced towards the mango grove, with elephants adorned in scarlet embroidery, the horses with drawn swords glittering in the sun, the heavy cannons pulled by vast trains of oxen and the vibrant banners flying in the morning breeze. The enemy, although fewer in number, was disciplined and well-armed.
The battle began with a cannonade by Sinfray and his men. After losing thirty of his men, Clive withdrew his troops to the safety of the mango grove, where they lay down behind the muddy riverbank that surrounded the grove. They made holes in the mud bank for their cannons to fire through. Siraj's army pushed forward and fired upon the grove, but it caused little damage to the British. Clive's plan was to hold the position and then attack Siraj's camp at midnight, as he had done in Calcutta. Black smoke billowed across the battlefield, obscuring the view, carrying the acrid smell of gunpowder.
As I scanned the battlefield, I noticed only Mir Madan, Siraj's loyal general, and Mohanlal, the Prime Minister, along with a handful of Frenchmen under Sinfray, were engaged in battle. The traitors Mir Jafar and Rai Durlabh Ram, and Yar Latif Khan with their sections of the army stood as silent spectators.
The midday brought a change in the weather. A sudden downpour drenched the battlefield. I watched, disheartened, as the Bengal army's gunpowder spoiled in the rain, while the enemy covered their cannons and ammunition with tarpaulins. When the rain stopped, Mir Madan and Mohanlal ordered a gallant cavalry charge, believing the British guns were as ineffective as their own. But their advance was met with a heavy grape fire. In that charge, Mir Madan was mortally wounded. His body was hurriedly carried to Siraj's tent, where he breathed his last.
The fall of Mir Madan had so unnerved Siraj-ud-Daula that he summoned Mir Jafar to his tent, placed his turban before him, and begged him to defend it. However, Jafar, after returning to his position sent a letter to Clive, explaining what had happened and urging an immediate attack. (Clive did not get that letter until the battle was over.) I watched helplessly as Siraj ordered the troops under Mohanlal and Sinfray to retreat to the entrenchments, possibly the traitors had advised him to do so. Just then, a huge contingent of the Nawab's troops began to move away down to the banks of the Hooghly. This was Mir Jafar and others, withdrawing just as he had promised Clive.
Mohanlal's retreat heavily impacted his troops. They perceived the order as a signal that the Nawab had lost. I saw the tide turn decisively. What ensued was not an orderly retreat but a general rout of Siraj's troops. The British, who moments before had feared their own defeat, found new courage at the sight of the fleeing Bengal army, and began their attack. Sinfray and his men offered the last flicker of resistance before retreating. It was nearly 5 in the evening when I saw Siraj fleeing the battlefield. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the ravaged landscape, painting the scene in hues of orange and red.
Siraj-ud-Daula, who had fled on a camel from the battlefield, reached his palace at Murshidabad the following morning. He threw open his treasury to induce the soldiers to support him, but they took the money and left him unsupported. In disguise, he escaped with his beloved wife Lutf-un-nisa, his daughter and a few loyal followers towards Rajmahal. I later learnt that Law, who had reached the vicinity of Rajmahal to assist Siraj, turned back upon hearing of the disaster at Plassey.
At Murshidabad, Clive installed Mir Jafar as the puppet Nawab of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa, though real power now lay with the British. As for Siraj-ud-Daula, his fate was sealed; he was captured and executed by Mir Jafar's men, an undignified end for Bengal's last independent ruler!
The Battle of Plassey was a turning point in Indian history. It marked the first step in the growth of British empire on the subcontinent. This victory gave the British indirect control of Bengal. Before Plassey they were traders; after Plassey, they were rulers.The Battle of Plassey was more of a skirmish, with minimal casualties. The enemy lost around 20 men, while we suffered over five hundred. Mir Madan and Sinfray were the true heroes of Plassey. It was the desertion in Siraj's camp that led to Clive's victory, a victory, which was achieved through treachery, forged contracts, bankers and bribes, rather than military skill. Sir Alfred Lyall justly observes that what happened at Plassey was a rout rather than a battle.
Years have passed since that fateful day, and the landscape has changed completely. Nothing remains of the once-famous Laksha Bagh mango grove with its hundred thousand trees. The Plassey House hunting lodge has also vanished. The old village no longer exists and the battlefield has lost its identity. Yet, my fiery blossoms still bloom each spring, whispering the story of Plassey to the winds, a story buried beneath history, lest we forget. I, the Palash tree of Plassey, remember it all. I always will."
Notes
Lutf-un-nisa Begum, originally a Hindu, was the sister of Mohanlal.Reference
- India Selected Readings by Hyman Kublin
- The Anarchy: The Relentless Rise of the East India Company By William Dalrymple
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