Read an excerpt from The Queen's Last Salute, Moupia Basu's book on the Rani of Jhansi, before the release of Kangana Ranaut's Manikarnika Excerpted from the book The Queen's Last Salute: The story of the Rani of Jhansee and the 1857 mutiny, written by Moupia Basu and published by Juggernaut in January 2019 *** The people of Jhansee [Jhansi] loved Maharani Lakshmibai and the few liberties she took even as a widow were either ignored or forgiven by everyone. She would walk into the durbar brisk and confident, flashing her sunny smile. She was neither shy nor diffident. In her bid to take on the guardianship of the state of Jhansee, she had cast away the stereotypical notions of her gender. But Chandraki was not too happy about it. She was now a familiar figure beside the queen. The queen often shared her worries and problems with her. Chandraki was always around if Lakshmibai needed something to be done, be it running errands, carrying messages, or looking after the prince while the queen addressed matters of the court. She often helped the queen dress up for special events, and on those occasions, Chandraki would insist that Lakshmibai dress more as a queen and less as a widow. ‘You have not worn this for a long time, Your Majesty! Wear it today. Let your firanghee guest know how beautiful you are,’ Chandraki said as she handed the queen a nose ring studded with pearls and rubies and a singular emerald that hung like a teardrop. ‘I can’t wear this, Chandraki! Only women whose husbands are alive can wear it.’ Chandraki frowned as she kept the ring back in its box. ‘Why not? Is it your fault that the Maharaj died? If you died before him, would he have stopped wearing colourful clothes or jewellery?’ Lakshmibai smiled. ‘I haven’t invented these customs. Who am I to question them? But I didn’t shave my head, did I? Nor do I wear white clothes all the time,’ she pointed out to Chandraki. ‘Your clothes are hardly colourful. You dress like a man and when you dress like a queen, you wear only white saris. Here is your white sari,’ Chandraki said angrily as she shoved a white piece of clothing made from very fine muslin into the queen’s hands. Lakshmibai took it from her and kept it away. ‘Won’t you wear your favourite white sari?’ Chandraki mocked. ‘Not now,’ the queen replied, ignoring the sarcasm. ‘There are some military matters that need immediate attention. I will change into the sari when I meet Major Malcolm in the afternoon.’ Lakshmibai strode into the courtroom purposefully, sporting pyjamas, a jacket, her long hair gathered up and covered by a turban, her bejewelled sword dangling by her side. She did not wear any jewels other than a pearl necklace, a diamond ring and diamond bangles around her wrists. ‘Kaale Khan, I would like to inspect the armoury tomorrow. Have you drawn up the list for the new rifles that we require?’ she asked her commander-in-chief as she sat on the throne. ‘Yes, Your Highness. Also, the new consignment for the Beaumont Adams Revolver arrived last evening.’ ‘Good! I will also visit the stables tomorrow. Nana Sahib has sent two thoroughbreds. I want to take a look at them,’ the queen announced. Then turning to Chandraki, she asked, ‘What news of the traders, Chandraki? Any more requisitions being made in the name of the firanghee officers?’ ‘Your Majesty, Lallan Powar, who owns a shop on the eastern side of the city was approached by the thanedar to supply wood to the two regiments that passed through Jhansee in the last few days. The neighbouring shop has been asked to supply weapons to the British troops.’ Chandraki drew in her breath sharply. ‘Your Highness, the firanghees are fully aware that these vendors are not being paid. Even if some senior officers do pass orders for the payment to be made, the underlings don’t hand over the money and pocket it themselves. I spoke to the vendors myself. In disguise, of course.’ She smiled, eyes sparkling. ‘Good girl, but be careful,’ Maharani Lakshmibai warned. ‘Send a note to Lieutenant Governor Colvin that I want to meet him at the earliest,’ the queen said. Major Colvin hated these meetings with the queen. She always made him feel that he was inefficient and incompetent even if the matter at hand wasn’t his fault. He squirmed under the fiery gaze of Maharani Lakshmibai. ‘Why are your officers paid so little? The tehsildar gets just 250 rupees a month, but he’s expected to maintain a lavish lifestyle as per his position. And the thanedar gets only fifteen to twenty rupees as salary? No wonder they resort to these practices,’ Lakshmibai said. ‘That’s not in my jurisdiction, Your Majesty,’ Major Colvin replied somewhat brusquely. ‘All this is decided by those sitting in Fort William!’ ‘But it’s my people who are suffering,’ she said. There was silence for some time. Major Colvin shifted nervously. He could feel Lakshmibai’s piercing gaze on him. ‘Since you have been most inefficient in resolving this problem either on purpose or because you’ve been incompetent, I’m forced to write Lord Hamilton a letter to acquaint him with the situation and the financial losses being faced by my subjects.’ Colvin sighed. He knew the letter would further reinforce Hamilton’s belief in his incompetence as an officer, and his days here were numbered. But there was little he could do. In any case, the earlier he left this place, the better it would be for him. With Riyaz Khan gone, Lakshmibai knew Jhansee had lost one of its best officers. He was capable of executing any task with a force of intent that was most extraordinary. Following Chandraki’s tip-off the year before, Riyaz Khan on the king’s orders had successfully and ruthlessly put an end to the exploitation of Jhansee’s small-time traders and vendors at the hands of the officers of the Company. Most of the officers had been severely reprimanded while Jagat Singh and Sarmad Shah had been removed from office. Even the British officers who had supervised this process had not been spared. Lakshmibai felt Riyaz Khan’s absence all the time. Sadly, there was no one to fill his place. But, not one to sit and cry over her loss, she took over the governance of the state with much gusto. It was evident that the British officers who were directly associated with her were impressed by her confidence as well as her diplomatic skills. Major DA Malcolm, the political agent in Gwalior for Rewah and Bundelkhand, forwarded her case to Fort William, the headquarters of the East India Company. ‘Maharani Lakshmibai is highly respected and is fully capable of assuming the reins of Jhansee. She has single-handedly stemmed the wave of corruption that had swept across the kingdom and restored to her people what was their right,’ he wrote in his letter to Lord Dalhousie. But Malcolm’s pleas fell on deaf ears. It seemed that Fort William had made up its mind. Lakshmibai would attend to the matters of the court regularly and stay up late in the night working out various arguments to support her pleas. ‘According to Dalhousie sahib, since Jhansee was once a peshwa stronghold, with the British having taken over the Maratha empire, the Company Sarkar holds supremacy over it,’ she said as she held up a letter in her hand in front of her council of ministers. Suddenly she rose from her seat and started pacing up and down the room. Her ministers looked at each other. ‘On one hand, Major Malcolm says he thinks I’m capable of ruling the state and has spoken to the Company Sarkar in Calcutta. But he is insisting that we keep a regiment of the Native Infantry and Irregular Cavalry stationed here. He’s scared that the zamindars may take advantage of a king’s absence,’ she said, addressing her council. ‘Why? Damodar Rao is the king of Jhansee, isn’t he?’ quipped one of her ministers. ‘Agreed, he is a minor, but you are the ruler until he grows up. Maharaj Gangadhar made that very clear.’ Lakshmibai shook her head. ‘That argument is not being accepted by Fort William. Dalhousie says that Damodar Rao is not the biological son of Maharaj!’ She clapped her hands. A dasi walked in. Lakshmibai turned to her and said, ‘I want to see Mr Lang immediately!’ her face set in a firm expression. ‘Who is Mr Lang?’ one of her ministers asked. ‘He’s my solicitor.’ She grinned. Lord Dalhousie’s reply arrived a few weeks later, turning down Lakshmibai’s appeal. He argued that Jhansee was a British creation and could be disposed of by British authority. ‘He has cited Sir Charles Metcalfe’s ruling in 1837 which says that adoptions are recognised as “regular” if made by ancient hereditary kingdoms of India, but they will be considered “irregular” if the state exists under a paramount power, which in this case, he says, is the East India Company!’ the queen said, her eyes flashing with fury. ‘So what do you propose to do you’re your Majesty?’ ‘The firanghees think they will quote some obscure ruling made decades ago and use it against me? I will quote several more such obscure rulings and treaties and throw it at them. I’m not going to give in,’ she said emphatically. The missives went to and fro between Maharani Lakshmibai and Lord Dalhousie for several months. During this time, the queen continued to sit on the throne with aplomb even as she pushed her appeal with a continuous volley of arguments through a string of letters to Fort William. ••• One morning, in early February 1854, Chandraki went looking for Rani Lakshmibai when she failed to appear in court. Chandraki had decided that it was now time that she told Queen Lakshmibai about Jaywant, who was pushing her to take him to the palace and make him meet the queen. Though she did not want to leave Jhansee, Chandraki could no longer bear to be away from him. She was willing to follow him wherever he went. But the moment she entered the queen’s chamber, she gave up the idea of talking about Jaywant. She found the queen in a rage, pacing back and forth in her room frantically, holding yet another letter in her hand. ‘Look at this! Just look at what Dalhousie is saying. He quotes his predecessors, Lord Auckland and Lord Ellenborough, saying that Maharaj Gangadhar Rao, when entrusted with the kingdom by the British, “ruled it for eleven years, neither very wisely nor very well”! Can you imagine? He is saying that under the Maharaj’s rule, Jhansee had been misgoverned, revenues had declined and order was not being maintained. Can you believe this?’ She thrust the letter into Chandraki’s hands. ‘It’s a pity you can’t read what is in that letter. I’ll tell you,’ she said, raising her voice and flailing her arms. ‘He further says that Jhansee’s incorporation within the British territory would greatly benefit the people of the state as it had in the past. And . . . that the construction of roads and railroads in India was was one proof of the benefits of civilisation,’ she stammered, voice trembling with anger. ‘Does he mean we were uncivilised before these firanghees came? Were we savages?’ She banged her fists in anger on the various pieces of furniture she passed as she marched up and down her room. ‘I know what the problem is. Dalhousie doesn’t like female rulers. Ellis told me that he’s old-fashioned and a woman sitting on the throne doesn’t agree with his notions of how a woman is supposed to live her life. I’m going to change his way of thinking, just you wait!’ She sat down to draft a letter to Dalhousie, citing examples of how loyal the kings of Jhansee had been to the Company Sarkar, and how equally loyal their representatives had been. She described Jhansee as ‘a powerless native state’, dependent on the protection of the British. ‘My late husband devoted his attention to the arts of peace, not to keeping up even the semblance of a warlike state,’ she wrote.<doc-sep>Cast: Kangana Ranaut, Ankita Lokhande, Danny Denzongpa, Atul Kulkarni and Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub Director: Radha Krishna Jagarlamudi Rating: 3/5 Kangana Ranaut's Manikarnika is, perhaps, surprisingly better than what its shoddy trailer made one believe it would be. Is it a flawless film? Actually, quite far from it but the movie manages to hold your interest till the strange ending. Ranaut as the fierce Rani Laxmibai, one of the bravest warriors the country has ever known, is mostly on point. There are also parts where she falls flat but Ranaut who takes up most of the screen time cannot be ignored, whereas the supporting cast is reduced to mere cogs in the machine, working tirelessly to extol Rani Laxmibai. Much of the slow first half is spent on showing Rani Laxmibai's brave, kind, fair, progressive and independent nature. She shoots a tiger only to heal it and save the villagers, she can take on three sword-wielding men, hop and jump to mount an elephant and the only one who can domesticate the untameable horse, Badal. Ranaut does all that with great ease. However, charged with the love for her country, Ranaut's Laxmibai starts giving sermons on patriotism at the drop of a hat. One would wonder if the actual Rani ever had so much time in hers hands in the midst of a bloody rebellion against the British Raj. Coming to the British, they are nothing we have never seen before. They are portrayed as evil, greedy and scheming officers who laugh at people for not knowing English, require everyone to bow to them and hang little girls out of spite. They do all that and more while shooting off dialogues in the funniest Hindi accent you will ever hear. You will once again ask yourself - why do British officers in Bollywood films speak amongst themselves in Hindi and once again you will be left with no answer. There is a scene where Rani Laxmibai herself goes to a British camp to rescue a stolen calf. On the tent is the signage - Dogs and Indians not allowed. Then there is another scene where General Hugh Rose, tormented by Rani Laxmibai's rebellion against the Company has a nightmare where he sees Goddess Kali. Then there is this time when Rani speaks in fluent English and says that is a mere language. "Words without culture have no meaning," she adds. It is in awkwardly executed scenes like these that one wonders if there was any deliberation on them at all. One of the best parts about the Radha Krishna Jagarlamudi-directed Manikarnika is the choreography. Ranaut as well as her fellow actors do a great job of wielding swords. However, one of the biggest flaws of Manikarnika and one that will leave you confused is its take on women empowerment. On one hand, Rani Laxmibai is waging war against the British and on the other hand her husband, Maharaja Gangadhar Rao Newalkar wears bangles as a token of shame and calls them shackles. It is confusing to see the same movie applauding a woman's bravery and looking down upon women accessories. The VFX used in Manikarnika is not its strongest point and is quite jarring at times. The screenplay too is chaotic, with the film jumping from one scene to another in a rather haphazard manner. The underutilisation of actors like Ankita Lokhande, Danny Denzongpa, Atul Kulkarni and Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub indicates that the Kangana Ranaut-directorial was made with only one person in mind - Kangana Ranaut. Also read: Manikarnika Movie: Release Date, Budget, Trailer, Cast, Songs, Box Office Collection Prediction<doc-sep>
If all the characters around Laxmi Bai in the movie had been replaced by cardboard cutouts, the viewing experience would be no different. Rating: Cast: Kangana Ranaut, Richard Keep, Danny Denzongpa, Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub, Jisshu Sengupta, Atul Kulkarni, Suresh Oberoi, Kulbhushan Kharbanda Director: Kangana Ranaut & Radha Krishna Jagarlamudi It’s a crying shame, really, that Bollywood has finally made a movie about the only female sangrami considered worthy of the epithet “Mardani”, but it’s come in this season of shameless gratification and appeasement. Rani Laxmi Bai deserved better. At the very least she deserved not to become yet another accessory in the fictitious narrative being spun to burnish the haughty claims of valour and patriotism of a political party in pursuit of power. But then, Bollywood has often dived to crawl on all fours when asked to smile and take a selfie. Despite that, despite the fact that this film does disservice to a very special episode of our history, Rani Laxmi Bai nee Manikarnika, as played by Kangana Ranaut, stands fierce and tall in a film whose sets have a warm, glamorous, seductive glow, but whose story and screenplay are like a catalogue of trite Bollywood cliches, complete with stock characters. If all the characters around Laxmi Bai in the movie had been replaced by cardboard cutouts, the viewing experience would be no different. Manikarnika, as written by K.V. Vijayendra Prasad (of Baahubali: The Beginning fame), and Prasoon Joshi (Censor Board chief), does its best to reduce Jhansi to a political metaphor for a very saffron Akhand Bharat, but Kangana, with her power-packed swag, keeps grabbing the film, making it her own. Kangana plays her character here — as she does often — with a tinge of very real, very feminine vulnerability. She begins by projecting latent courage as Manikarnika’s primal, driving force till it begins to exude from every gesture and pore of Rani Laxmi Bai. Kangana walks through the film, at times in slow-mo, at times with the camera glancing at her reverentially from below, with stirring authority and control. Even while delivering long, difficult dialogue, she creates definitive, iconic cinematic moments that will remain ingrained in your brain forever. As will, sadly, the film’s penchant for propaganda, solely for the benefit of the incumbents of Raisina Hill. Manikarnika, born in a Marathi Brahmin family in Varanasi in 1828, is introduced by The Voice, and then by creatures big and small — a pandit, a lion, aam janta… They speak of her key traits as she aims her bow at a tiger. Though we are distracted by the long, flowing pallu of her saree, we get the drift: She’s fierce, but just. She’s a warrior, but won’t kill without reason. She’s a protector and destroyer. She’s destined to be a legend. One of Jhansi’s mantris, Dixitji (Kulbhushan Kharbanda), sees in her all the qualities required of the maharani of his princely state around which the men of East India Company are circling, sniffing for a way in. He takes the marriage proposal to Peshwa of Bithor (Suresh Oberoi), who is like her father, and both men watch with doe-eyed admiration as she beats her teacher, Tatya Tope (Atul Kulkarni), and two others in a round of talwar-baazi. The man she is to marry, Gangadhar Rao (Jisshu Sengupta), the maharaj of Jhansi, is more of an arts and crafts guy who wears choodiyan (bangles) as a mark of his shameful weakness for failing to confront the Brits. He also seems clueless that his cousin, Sadashi (Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub), is conniving with angrez log for a shot at his throne. Rani Laxmi Bai begins to chart Jhansi’s course as soon as she arrives, first by taming a paglet horse, and then by confronting a badtameez East India official. Given that the Brits are nasty, greedy, corrupt, malevolent, the film now turns into a series of clashes, including bloody battles, where even if Rani Laxmi Bai loses, she emerges as the winner — morally. General Hugh Rose (Richard Keep) is specially summoned to fight her and capture Jhansi. But he is so shaken by her bravely that he wakes up sweating and screaming at night because she gives him darshan in his dreams as the angry, blood-thirsty Kali Ma. In between happy times and personal tragedy, Rani Laxmi Bai established her political leanings — she’s a cow rakshak, is loathe to the idea of English becoming our matra bhasha — as well as her feminist credentials.