After the crowd had fully absorbed the contents of the newspaper, a heavy silence fell over them. It wasn't just the words they had read or heard—it was the weight of their collective history, now laid bare in a single moment of truth. Their emotions were raw and conflicted, oscillating between disbelief, grief, anger, and a growing sense of empowerment.
For many, the first reaction was one of stunned silence. The divide-and-rule policy, the looting of India, and the betrayal of their kings felt like a personal affront. These were not just historical facts—they were revelations that shattered the trust they had once held, even if dimly, for the British.
An old man, a farmer who had labored all his life under the taxes imposed by the British, dropped the hoe he was holding. His hands, rough from years of toil, trembled as he turned to his sons.
"They played us like fools… making us fight one another, and all the while stealing everything that was ours," he said quietly, his voice thick with disbelief.
A young woman, who had been listening intently, her eyes scanning the page as if trying to soak in every detail, felt her stomach twist in knots. She clutched the corner of her sari, her heart racing. The revelation that the British had systematically pitted Hindus against Muslims, Rajputs against Marathas, only for their own gain, pierced her deeply. The divisions she had seen in her own community suddenly made sense—but they were manufactured, a cruel ploy.
"We've been tearing each other apart for them…" she whispered to herself, her voice quaking with anger.
The betrayal of kings like Tipu Sultan and the Mughal Emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar brought a collective grief. They had always heard stories of great rulers, but now, they were hearing the deeper truth—these rulers had been betrayed, humiliated, and crushed by the British. The story of Tipu Sultan's final stand, his heroic but doomed resistance, and his tragic words in the moment of death, left many with tears in their eyes.
An elderly man, who had once sung stories of Tipu Sultan to his grandchildren, closed his eyes tightly, as if trying to hold back the flood of emotions. He remembered the pride with which her father had spoken of Tipu, and now that pride felt shattered.
"They slaughtered him, and we… we did nothing," He said bitterly, his voice catching in his throat.
Others felt the same, especially the younger generation, who looked at their elders with a mix of sadness and fury.
"They took our kings and our land, and now they want to take our spirit too," a student muttered, wiping his eyes in frustration.
Then came the anger—hot, seething, and undeniable. It started in whispers but soon grew into a roar within the crowd. The knowledge that the British had not only looted India of its wealth but had deliberately weakened and manipulated its rulers stirred a primal rage in the hearts of those who had lost so much.
A man who had been silent, standing at the edge of the crowd, suddenly erupted, his voice shaking with fury.
"They think we are sheep. They have made us weak, divided us! But no more!" he bellowed, fists clenched, his face flushed with rage.
The crowd surged with him, their emotions mirrored in each other.
"They killed our kings, stole our gold, and made us slaves in our own land!" shouted another, a farmer who had been listening quietly until now, his anger suddenly ignited.
The betrayal of Tipu Sultan, the humiliation of Bahadur Shah Zafar, and the manipulation of Indian princes stirred a sense of personal injustice among the crowd. The people began to see that they had been treated as pawns in a larger game, mere tools for the British to maintain their power. And this realization made their blood boil.
"We welcomed them, treated them as friends, and they turned us into beggars in our own kingdom!" one merchant exclaimed, his voice quivering with indignation.
The crowd murmured in agreement, their faces dark with rage. The sense of betrayal ran deep, and it fanned the flames of rebellion.
Yet beneath the sorrow and rage, there was something else—something more powerful resolve. The truth had laid bare their suffering, but it had also ignited a spark. Now that they knew, they couldn't unsee what had been revealed. The British were no longer an untouchable force, but tyrants who could be defied.
A young student, inspired by what he had heard, clenched the paper tightly in his hands.
"We've been fighting each other for too long, playing into their hands. But this is not the end. This is where we start to fight back," he declared, his voice filled with quiet determination. Others nodded.
"Tipu Sultan fought to the last breath. He didn't give up. Neither will we," someone in the crowd said. "It's time we unite—Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, all of us. If we don't, we will remain their slaves forever."
The people looked at each other, some nodding, others shaking with emotion, but all sharing the same thought—this truth would not be in vain. They had been divided and weakened for too long. But now that the truth had been laid before them, they had a chance to rewrite their future.
The emotions in the crowd—shock, grief, anger, and resolve—coalesced into one force. The people knew that they couldn't afford to remain passive anymore. The revelation of the British's betrayal, cruelty, and manipulation was a clarion call to action. As the newspaper crumpled in their hands, it was as if the chains around their hearts and minds began to loosen.
"This is the moment we wake up," an elder said softly, looking around at the crowd with determination in his eyes.
The crowd dispersed that day not with despair, but with newfound purpose. They carried with them not just the stories of Tipu Sultan's bravery, the betrayal of Indian kings, and the loot of India's wealth, but the knowledge that they could fight back. This would not be the last time the British heard from them. The seeds of revolution had been planted, and soon, those seeds would grow into something that even the British Empire could not suppress.
As the news of the British betrayal spread like wildfire through the streets, it also reached the ears of some of India's most prominent political and intellectual figures. These individuals, already engaged in various struggles for reform, education, and the dignity of their people, reacted with a mix of shock, anger, and a deep sense of purpose. Each of them felt the weight of this revelation in a different way, but they were all united by a growing resolve that something had to change.
Syed Ahmed Khan as one of the most prominent reformers and advocates of education, Syed Ahmed Khan had always believed in dialogue and progress. But reading the full extent of the British deceit, particularly the divide-and-rule policy that had deliberately driven a wedge between Hindus and Muslims, shook him deeply. His faith in the British as potential partners in India's upliftment was now severely tested.
Syed Ahmed Khan sat in his study, the crumpled newspaper in his hand, his brow furrowed in contemplation. His vision of Hindu-Muslim unity was unraveling before his eyes, revealed as a fragile facade the British had purposely torn apart for their own gain.
"We were played against each other, manipulated like pawns," he muttered to himself, pacing the room. How could education and progress flourish under such deceit?
He stared at the ceiling, wrestling with his thoughts. Would negotiation and reform ever be enough against such a powerful force of exploitation? While he still believed in education and collaboration, the seeds of doubt had been planted.
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The author of Vande Mataram, Bankim Chandra Chatterjee was a fierce advocate for Indian culture and independence. Reading the detailed accounts of British exploitation and the betrayal of Indian kings inflamed his already burning sense of nationalism. The death of Tipu Sultan, the humiliation of Bahadur Shah Zafar, and the systematic looting of India made his blood boil.
"This is what we have been reduced to," Bankim said aloud, his voice trembling with anger as he slammed the newspaper on the table.
To him, this was no longer just a political struggle but a battle for the soul of India. He saw the need for not just intellectual or political reform but an emotional awakening in the hearts of every Indian.
"We must inspire the people with more than words—our songs, our literature, our very souls must rise in revolt!" he declared, as thoughts of writing more fiery works to awaken the masses brewed in his mind. If India was to be saved, it would be through a nationalistic spirit that no British policy could suppress.
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Raja Ravi Varma, The celebrated artist, known for blending European techniques with Indian themes, was particularly affected by the stark imagery presented in the newspapers. The dehumanizing treatment of Indian rulers, the looting of wealth, and the division of his homeland stirred within him a profound sense of loss—not just of political freedom but of cultural dignity.
Ravi Varma sat in front of his easel, the brush in his hand frozen.
"How many kings and heroes must be betrayed before we rise?" he thought, gazing at an unfinished painting of a noble Indian ruler.
For him, this was a call to use his art to tell the true stories of India. He envisioned paintings that would depict the bravery of Tipu Sultan, the grandeur of India before British rule, and the suffering of its people under foreign oppression. His art would become a weapon of cultural resistance.
"The world must see who we truly are, not what they've reduced us to," he whispered to himself, picking up his brush again, with a newfound purpose driving each stroke.
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Gopal Krishna Gokhale, a moderate leader with faith in gradual reform, was deeply disturbed by the revelations. The divide-and-rule policy, the sheer scale of British exploitation, and the betrayal of Indian kings like Tipu Sultan forced him to reconsider the path forward. He had always advocated for cooperation and dialogue with the British, but now, the foundation of that belief seemed to crack under the weight of the truth.
"How can we reform a system built on lies?" Gokhale thought to himself, pacing anxiously in his study.
He felt torn between his ideal of gradual reform and the urgent need for resistance that now seemed undeniable. Could India's progress truly be achieved through slow reform, or was more radical action necessary? He resolved to press even harder for constitutional reforms, but a lingering doubt began to settle in his heart.
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The great reformer and educator, Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar, who had dedicated his life to the upliftment of women and the underprivileged, read the newspaper with growing sorrow and rage. For him, the exploitation of India's resources and people was not just a political crime—it was a moral one.
"All my life, I have fought to uplift our people. And yet, we have been betrayed again and again," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
Vidyasagar saw the British policies as not only a betrayal of kings and rulers but also of the common man and woman. The systematic exploitation of India's poor and vulnerable now stood before him as an even greater injustice.
"Education alone cannot free us. We must fight for our dignity, for our very humanity," he declared, his eyes blazing with determination. The British betrayal only strengthened his resolve to uplift the downtrodden and empower them to resist.
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Bal Gangadhar Tilak, one of the earliest and fiercest proponents of Swaraj (self-rule), had always believed that India's freedom would not come through dialogue or compromise—it would come through defiance. As he read the detailed accounts of British deceit, he felt a surge of vindication. Everything he had warned about—the exploitation, manipulation, and betrayal of Indian rulers—was now undeniable.
"I have been telling them all along—there is no reform under a foreign yoke. We must break free," Tilak muttered, his fists clenching in anger.
To him, the revelations were a call to arms. This was the proof he needed to rally the masses for total independence. There was no room for moderation or compromise anymore.
"If they can destroy our kings, they will not hesitate to destroy all of us. We must throw them out before they strip us of everything!" he declared to his followers.
He would soon go on to use this moment to fuel the growing nationalist movement, calling for direct action and stirring the masses with his famous slogan: "Swaraj is my birthright, and I shall have it!"
As these figures absorbed the revelations in the newspaper, each came to the same conclusion in their own way—India could not afford to wait any longer. The British had shown their true face, and no amount of reform, negotiation, or compromise would restore what had been lost. Whether through art, literature, political action, or education, they all felt the urgent need to wake the masses and ignite a fire of resistance and unity across the country.
For the first time, these leaders—despite their differences—felt a growing sense of unity in their purpose. This was not just a moment of realization; it was the birth of a new phase in the struggle for India's freedom.