By Shrabani Basu
In the summer of 1887 as Queen Victoria approached the Golden Jubilee of her reign, she was overcome with feelings of loneliness. She had never stopped mourning for her beloved husband, Prince Albert, who had died in 1861, and had chosen to wear widow’s black all her life. As she looked ahead to the special occasion and the celebrations that loomed before her, the lonely Queen missed his presence more than ever.
The government was keen to make a splendid show to celebrate the Jubilee. They suggested to Queen Victoria that they should invite some Indian princes, who with their colourful clothes and expensive jewellery would provide the necessary glamour to the occasion. The Queen liked the idea. At her Jubilee, her Empire would sparkle before the world. She also suggested that it would be good to have some Indian servants around her, to help when the Indian princes called at the Palace.
And so it was that Abdul Karim and Muhammad Buksh were sent to England as Jubilee presents for the Queen. The tall 24-year-old Karim was a clerk in Agra Jail and the smiling and portly Buksh was a seasoned table-hand who had worked for the Maharana of Dholpore. They arrived for the Jubilee, not knowing quite what to expect. But from the day they kissed the Queen’s feet and began waiting on her, it was the young Karim who caught the Queen’s eye. He was to become her closest companion for the last 13 years of her life, filling the void left by the death of her husband and, later, of her close friend, John Brown.
Extra English lessons were quickly arranged for Karim so the Queen could speak to him more easily. The youth from Agra charmed the Queen with his stories of India and even served the Queen her first curry. Always fascinated by India—her “Jewel in the Crown” and the country she ruled from thousands of miles away—the Queen chose Karim to learn about India. Soon he became her Urdu teacher, giving her lessons every evening. He read to her the poetry of Ghalib, she walked around with a phrase-book of Hindustani words. While Buksh remained waiting at tables, Karim was rapidly promoted and soon became noticeably close to the Queen. She tended to him personally if he fell ill and fussed about his comfort and well-being.
Within a year, Karim was promoted as the Queen’s Indian Secretary. He was given the grand title of Munshi Hafiz Abdul Karim. She commissioned portraits of him to be painted by Rudolph Swoboda and Von Angeli, and all photos of him waiting at table were destroyed. Karim was given houses in Balmoral, Windsor and Osborne and allowed to use the billiard’s room with the other gentlemen of the Household. He accompanied her on her European holidays. Soon the pair were inseparable. Karim was given his own carriage and rode splendidly on the French Riviera dressed in his exotic clothes. The local press mistook him for a Prince.
He was given acres of land in Agra, despite the objections of the Viceroy. At every step the Queen honoured him with titles and medals and gave him the CIE and the MVO, one step away from a Knighthood. Even Karim’s father, Haji Wuzeeruddin, was given the title of Khan Bahadur, invited to the Viceroy’s Durbar and rubbed shoulders with the landed gentry of Agra. Wuzeeruddin became the first person to be allowed to smoke a hukkah (water-pipe) in Windsor Castle.
Karim helped the Queen with her correspondence and advised her on Indian politics. Often the Queen wrote to the Viceroy of India, demanding answers to some of the issues raised by Karim. It was more than the Household could bear. Once they even threatened to resign collectively if the Queen took Karim on her European vacation. But the Queen flew into a rage and swept everything from her desk on to the floor. Photos, files, ink-pots, boxes all went crashing as the Queen heard the Household’s threat. The Queen won the argument. A sombre party headed for Europe: Karim accompanied the Queen and the Household did not resign.
Not to be put down, the Household continued to plot against Karim, now involving the Prince of Wales and the other Royals in their tirade. They even tried to nail accusations against him of siding with Islamic revolutionaries and had him shadowed on a trip to India but could find no evidence against him. Besides, the Queen would hear none of it. She stood by him like a rock, defending her “dear Abdul” to the last. She even took him away to a remote cottage in the Heartland of Scotland for a few days, prompting much gossip in the Household.
When they persisted in maligning Karim, the Queen denounced her courtiers as racist, and sent them stern memos on how to behave. In frustration, the Household declared that the Queen was “off her head over the Munshi” and threatened that the Prince of Wales would have to step in, as there were murmurs that she was losing her sanity.
The Diamond Jubilee of the Queen became known in the Household as “the year of the Munshi.” While the world watched the spectacular display of Empire and glory in 1897, the Palace was torn apart by intrigue, jealousy and threats of resignation over the Munshi.
The Queen had made every provision for Karim. When she died in 1901 in her beloved Osborne, it was the Munshi who was the last person to see her body alone. Her other Indian servants stood on guard over her coffin night and day, showing the special affection she held for them in her heart.
After her death, the Household and Royals came down hard on the Munshi. All the letters from the Queen to him were destroyed and the family was sent packing to India by Edward VII, the new King. The fairy-tale had ended. Eight years later, the Munshi died heart-broken in Agra. He was only 46.
His descendants left for Pakistan when the country was partitioned in 1947, leaving behind all the land and exquisite gifts given to Abdul Karim by Queen Victoria and other European royalty. Only a diary and a few memorabilia survived. A lonely grave in Agra, some portraits in Osborne House, the Hindustani journals they wrote for 13 years, and a house that bears his name in Balmoral, are all that remain today of the Queen’s closest confidant. Yet it was a story that despite the best efforts of the Establishment, could not be erased from the history books.
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Shrabani Basu is a London-based journalist and author of Victoria and Abdul: The True Story of the Queen’s Closest Confidant from which this post is adapted. She is the correspondent for the Calcutta newspapers Anand Bazar Patrika and The Telegraph. Her other books are Spy Princess: The Life of Noor Inayat Khan and Curry: The Story of the Nation’s Favourite Dish.
