The heat of indigo

Over a century-and a half has passed since the “Indigo Disturbances” in the lower delta of Bengal, but the fate of one book—or rather its translation—continues to perplex and intrigue. Nearly 20 million sq. km were dedicated to the cultivation of indigo plants in the 19th century, chiefly in India. But like most plantation crops, the farming of indigo was a history of brutality, forced cultivation and violation of farmers’ rights. This led to a number of peasant uprisings in the late 1850s, in which the cause of the riots was espoused by a loose coalition comprising the native intelligentsia, European missionaries and officials of the newly anointed Raj, eager to distance themselves from the opprobrium attached to indigo farming.

In 1860, Dinabandhu Mitra, an inspector of the post office department, published a play from Dhaka titled Nil Darpan. Fiercely critical of the indigo trade, the play was performed across Bengal, galvanizing public opinion, so much so that even the lieutenant governor of Bengal, John Peter Grant, took notice. Or rather, it was brought to his notice by the Rev. James Long, the first bibliographer in modern India and a one-man clearing-house for everything that was printed on Indian soil. Long read Bengali fluently and was struck by the robust nature of the play. He first met with the secretary to the government of Bengal and both men decided that an English translation of the play would greatly embarrass the planters. A translation was duly commissioned and it came out under the name of The Indigo Planting Mirror.

The title page informs us that it was translated by “a native”. The name of the native was later revealed to be Michael Madhusudan Dutt, the foremost poet of the day. The printer was given as C.H. Manuel of the Calcutta Printing and Publishing Press. While the lieutenant governor was away on a tour, Long and Seton-Karr, the secretary, placed an order of 500 copies with Manuel. The printing bill, according to Manuel, came to ₹ 300. Long and Seton-Karr also drew up two lists of recipients of the book. Long’s list was a mix of members of Parliament (MP), old India hands, various advocacy groups (such as the Aborigines’ Protection Society, Peace Society, Reform Association) while the Bengal Office list was dominated by MPs and government officials. Twenty copies were sent to the secretary of state and crucially, seven copies to English and Indian editors within India.

One of the Indian recipients, the editor of the Lahore Chronicle, sent a copy to Walter Brett, the editor of a Calcutta newspaper, the Englishman, which, along with the Bengal Hurkaru—another Calcutta daily—were two of the most strident supporters of the planters’ cause. On 25 May 1861, the secretary of the Landholders’ and Commercial Association, W. F. Fergusson, wrote an indignant letter to the government, alleging a “foul and malicious libel on indigo planters” and sought to institute legal proceedings. The first person to be indicted was Manuel but he was authorized by Long to reveal that the missionary was responsible for the book’s publication. Charges against Manuel were dropped but the government chose to remain silent, much to the chagrin of the planters. Thus it was Long who was indicted and tried for libel before the Calcutta Supreme Court on 19 July 1861. The presiding judge was the detested Mordaunt Wells, who had a few years earlier stated from the bench that India was a nation of forgers and perjurers.

It is not possible to go into the details of this stirring case, at the end of which Long was found guilty and sentenced to a month in prison and a fine of ₹ 1,000, which was paid on the spot by Kaliprasanna Singha, one of the leading lights of the Bengal Renaissance. But what is curious was first, the willingness—nay, zeal—on part of the government to foot the bill for the printing of a play so openly critical of the planters as well as the government; and second, the use of the government machinery to distribute the book. After the lists had been drawn up, the 202 copies were distributed under the official seal of the Bengal secretariat through the post office. No wonder the planters were livid! But the The Indigo Planting Mirror had done its work and the death-knell of the indigo trade was not far away.

Endpapers is a monthly column on obscure books and forgotten writers.

Abhijit Gupta teaches English at Jadavpur University, Kolkata, and is director, Jadavpur University Press.