One of the glories of the Wallace Collection is the armoury and pride of place in this exhibition is a splendid watered steel sword with walrus ivory handle – it belonged to the Sikh warrior king, Ranjit Singh (1780-1839), Lion of the Punjab.
By the age of 22, this diminutive, pockmarked youth with one dodgy eye had seen off invading Afghans, captured Lahore, been acclaimed Maharaja of the Punjab and taken Amritsar, the Sikh holy city.
He went on to seize the Koh-i-Noor diamond from the Afghans who had in turn taken it from the Peacock Throne of the Mughals. That gemstone had a chequered history way before it ended up in the Crown Jewels.
Ranjit Singh’s warrior record is centre stage in this engaging exhibition. Besides the sword, other armour reputedly he owned on display includes a splendid helmet with chain mail, a fine cuirass, and an enormous musket almost six foot long from the Royal Armouries.
Sikhism may not be intrinsically a warlike religion but developed a military ethos early on: at the start of the show there is a stirring illustration of an 18th century battle against the Mughals, with cartoon toppled warriors and decapitated heads. There’s also the splendid Turban Fortress, a towering turban studded with lethal weapons.
Even in this militarist context, Ranjit Singh was conspicuous as a war-leader – his fine helmet was in itself a victory for his approach over those Sikhs who objected to wearing a helmet over their turbans. A painting of him here in old age shows one good eye, which seems to miss nothing.
Part of his genius was in attracting foreign – Ferangi – soldiers to his entourage, with an eye to the East India Company, including French Napoleonic officers, who insisted that this austere ruler should be more French in conspicuous display.
Ranjit Singh allowed the foreigners to keep their Christian faith; they just had to wear beards and take indigenous wives. And so we get a fine portrait of General Jean-Francois Allard, whose forked beard could be tied behind him when he ate.
Britons too entered his service, including the Scottish-American Alexander Gardner, depicted in a tartan turban by Landseer: cultural fusion here. Indeed, Ranjit Singh’s youngest son Duleep Singh, came to Britain after his father’s death to captivate Queen Victoria; his daughter, Sophia, in turn became a striking suffragette.
Some of the splendour of Ranjit Singh’s court can be seen in his splendid golden throne, shaped like a lotus flower. But there’s a darker aspect: a painting of his cremation including four of his umpteen wives and seven maids, one 12 years old, committing suttee [immolating herself on her dead husband’s funeral pyre] to keep him company. The British helped nip that in the bud, and a good thing too.
