Our journey from Shorapur to Hyderabad was a striking contrast. The arid, sparse land of Shorapur slowly transformed into the lush, fertile plains of the Deccan. As we travelled further south, the scenery became greener, with fields of crops and fruit orchards stretching into the distance. The winding rivers we passed sparkled under the sunlight, while the occasional caravan of traders carrying cotton, spices, and other goods hinted at the thriving markets of Hyderabad. The gentle hills in the distance gave way to the grander, more imposing skyline of the city as we approached.
Upon reaching Hyderabad, we found the city brimming with life and trade, but there was a sense of unease in the air. Nizam Nasir-ud-Daulah was still on the throne, but like many princely rulers of this era, his power was waning. His alliance with the British, established through the Subsidiary Alliance, had left him a ruler in name only. British troops stationed in the city and European officers in high positions of power made it clear who truly controlled Hyderabad. The Nizam appeared frail, both in physical stature and in his ability to govern. His court was lavish, filled with riches from the past, but it was clear the grandeur masked a growing dependency on British support.
The people, meanwhile, were caught between two forces. On the one hand, they had the Nizam's heavy taxes, which weighed down the agricultural community and local merchants. On the other, there were the British, who steadily tightened their grip over trade and resources. The common folk, though mostly unaware of the rebellion brewing elsewhere, were growing restless under this dual pressure. Many felt the economic strain and the slow erosion of their culture and autonomy.
Hyderabad's economy was vast and complex. The city was renowned for its flourishing cotton trade, with textile markets bustling with merchants from across India and beyond. Silk weaving was another important industry, as was the city's legendary pearl trade, which made Hyderabad famous. Its connection to the diamond mines of Golconda, though no longer as prosperous as in previous centuries, still brought wealth and prestige. The Charminar, standing tall at the centre of the city, not only attracted traders and pilgrims but also symbolized the cultural and architectural marvels of the region. However, as much as Hyderabad's economy seemed to thrive, the profits were increasingly being siphoned off by British interests, with local wealth serving more to maintain colonial authority than to uplift the people.
Seeing the state of affairs in Hyderabad, I started planning. After some thought, it became clear to me that our best course of action would be to work directly with the next in line for the throne, Afzal-ud-Daulah. I knew that Nizam Nasir-ud-Daulah would pass away in May of 1857, only months before the revolution would erupt. If we could bring Afzal-ud-Daulah into our fold before his ascension, we could secure a powerful ally in the south—someone who might be willing to stand up against the British when the time came.
After discussing the matter with Sufiyan, he agreed with the idea, though he suggested caution. It was essential to first assess whether Afzal-ud-Daulah had any inclination towards opposing British rule. His future position as Nizam could mean either great potential for collaboration or a risk of betrayal, especially if he leaned towards appeasement like his predecessor.
We decided to take the next few days to discreetly gather intelligence. Sufiyan would tap into our limited southern network to investigate the political atmosphere around Afzal-ud-Daulah, while I would quietly observe the dynamics at play in the Nizam's court. This plan could prove crucial in turning the tide of power in our favour as the clock ticked closer to 1857.
After a few days of observing the Nizam's court, it became clear that both the current Nizam, Nasir-ud-Daulah, and his future successor, Afzal-ud-Daulah, were under immense pressure. Much like my father in Delhi, they were navigating the treacherous waters of British dominance, searching for ways to regain their lost influence. However, unlike more overt resistance seen in other regions, the Nizams were cautious, discreetly probing for opportunities but refusing to act until they were absolutely certain they could secure some advantage without risking further degradation of their power.
It became evident that Afzal-ud-Daulah, though outwardly compliant with British demands, was quietly seeking ways to undermine their control and restore autonomy to Hyderabad. This subtlety gave me hope. Sufiyan and I confirmed our belief that Hyderabad, though wary, could become a key ally in the fight against British rule. The question was no longer if Afzal-ud-Daulah would resist, but when, and under what circumstances he would act.
One day, while walking through the bustling markets of Hyderabad, a twist of fate unfolded. I spotted Afzal-ud-Daulah in the crowd, moving with the grace and ease of a man used to hiding his true intentions behind a carefully curated public persona. Our eyes met, and he greeted me with a casual smile, though I sensed an underlying tension. We exchanged pleasantries, and before long, he invited me to join him for a meal, suggesting that he knew of a restaurant nearby that served the finest Hyderabadi delicacies.
As we made our way through the busy streets, we continued to talk about harmless topics—cultural affairs, the vibrancy of the market, and the weather—but I could feel that we were both slowly circling the real matter at hand. Once we reached the restaurant, we were led to a private area, away from prying eyes and ears. It was a perfect setting for a conversation that neither of us could afford to have in public. The restaurant, known for its traditional biryani and kebabs, served as the backdrop for what I hoped would be a pivotal moment in my mission.
Inside the secluded room, the air seemed to shift. The privacy afforded us a sense of security, and I knew the time was approaching for a more direct conversation. Afzal-ud-Daulah's subtlety in bringing me here told me that this meeting was no mere coincidence—it was an opportunity, one I had to seize carefully.
As I began to express my ideas to Afzal-ud-Daulah, his reaction was strikingly similar to that of Rani Chennamma.
He initially tried to play the part of a disinterested ruler, feigning ignorance of any desire to fight the British.
"I have no such thoughts," he remarked dismissively, his tone laced with subtle indifference. But I could see through the mask. His hesitation wasn't from lack of interest but from the weight of the risks involved.
I patiently laid out the details of our plans, explaining how carefully we had been strategizing and the network we were building across regions.
The more I revealed, the more his feigned indifference began to falter. I could see the wheels turning in his mind. The depth of our preparation, the growing unrest in key areas like Mysore, Nargund, and Shorapur—it all started to resonate with him. His resolve to stay neutral started to waver.
However, even as the conversation progressed,
Afzal-ud-Daulah kept his distance. "I will think on it," he said, his tone more serious than before, yet still withholding any commitment.
He hadn't outright agreed to join our cause, but I knew that the seed had been planted. His hesitation told me more than his words ever could—he was intrigued, and the idea of resistance had now firmly rooted itself in his mind.
Leaving the restaurant, I couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. Though I had no immediate, concrete answer, I was confident that Hyderabad's future ruler had begun to entertain the possibility of standing against the British. It was only a matter of time before he would make his decision, and I knew in my heart that the first step towards securing a powerful ally had already been taken.