The Lost Heer is an ambitious project. The foundation of the book stands on the premise that, in a patriarchal society like Punjab, canonical recognition of women’s lives has largely remained non- existent. History has largely privileged male protagonists while women have mostly been seen to perform supportive and nurturing roles, hiding behind the purdah and lurking in the shadows.
Harleen Singh,
The Lost Heer
Penguin Viking (2025)
This book is an attempt to shift the spotlight from Shakespeare to Shakespeare’s sisters, or to rephrase that to reflect the spirit of the present book, from Nanak to Nanaki. So, the focus moves from the mighty Maharaja Ranjit Singh to his many widows, from the several chiefs of princely states to the lesser known feisty women, traditionally reduced to the relational roles of consorts, spouses, daughters, sisters and mothers. There are the many, relatively lesser known and virtually unknown women who played significant role in political, economic and socio cultural arena of Punjab. The book unveils a new trajectory of Punjab’s history roughly from the later half of 18th century up until the Punjab Partition in 1947, led by legions of its forgotten women, its lover-rebels, its lost Heers.
The author quotes a poem by poet Gurbachan Kaur Mann, who, unlike Amrita Pritam, does not want to beseech a Waris Shah to document her plight (Ajj Aakhan Waris Shah Nu, kiton kabran wicho’n bol/ I say to you, O Waris Shah, wake up from your grave) but urges women to take matters in their own hands (Chunn chunn gundey maar muka, jina izzat teri lutti/ O woman kill every scoundrel who snatched your honour).
The author, Toronto-based Harleen Singh, dons the mantle of a consummate researcher and doggedly pulls out several extraordinary women of Punjab lurking in the shadows. Many a reader, even the ones priding themselves with a fair amount of knowledge of Punjab’s history, would be hearing some of these names for the very first time.
The pages are replete with stories. The choice of women from the 18th century onwards, in a sense, belies the titular description which emphasises the “colonial” period. But then, it really depends on what definition of “colonial” the author uses for the present purpose. Is it when the British completely take over Lahore Durbar in 1849, a decade after the death of Maharaja Ranjit Singh? Or does it connote the very first flutter of colonial activity, as was sighted in the other princely states outside Lahore and beyond the Sutlej? Also the term “Punjabi” does not connote a straitjacket racial-cultural identity but includes the multifarious denizens and residents, who, in their years of association, acquired a Punjabi colour. So the very first women missionaries, the myriad non-Punjabi residents, women connected with the British officialdom, the memsahibs and the later radical white women are also included herein.
The strength of the book lies in the truly wide sweep in terms of the women featured in the book. From Mai Fatto (d. 1773) , the feisty wife of Ala Singh of the Patiala Royal family to Bibi Sahib Kaur, her great granddaughter to her courageous Aunt Rajindra, who picked the sword multiple times to defend her paternal home of Patiala. The memory of Rajindra ‘galloping on her horse with an army of 3,000 men, ravaging the estate of a bully chief’ is strategically revived.
Rani Nur Un Nissa of Ludhiana and her many run-ins with the powers that be, and Rani Lacchman Kaur who had become the sole chieftain of Firozepur after her husband Dhanna Singh died, leaving her to singlehandedly endure the many wily moves of “imperialist’ Ranjit. She complained about her ‘quarrelsome and rebellious’ subjects, who had ‘little respect for the rule of a woman’. In October 1835, she breathed her last after 16 years of ruling Ferozepur as an independent ruler.
Equally fascinating is the story of Mai Sahib of Kaithal, widow of Bhai Udai Singh, the woman who instigated her own anti-British rebellion in Punjab. And there was Mai Moran: “As one of his queens, Moran Sarkar gave regular diplomatic advice to Ranjit, who even minted some coins in her name. In time she became the “Punjabi Heloise, whose literary intellect and political prowess matched her graceful dance moves and melodious voice.” In highlighting this aspect of Mai Moran, the author presents her in a light that is very different from the done-to-death reputation as the alluring Muslim “courtesan” who the great Emperor wed, much to the chagrin of the supreme authority of Sikhs, the Akal Takht.
Harleen writes about the fascinating Emily Eden, painter and sister of Lord Auckland, the Governor General who documented Ranjit Singh’s wives. Emily’s interaction with the zenana ladies is one of the earliest-recorded accounts of a social connection between a European woman and women from Punjab.
Similarly, the story of Elizabeth Janvier Newton who reached Ludhiana in 1835, as a twenty-three old is recorded. A young enthusiastic American with an evangelical zeal, she left the New World with her husband and sailed for six long months in order to reach Calcutta and subsequently to Punjab for an adventure packed stint as an early missionary.
Then there is a very engaging story of Anna, estranged wife of general Ventura, French officer in Ranjit Singh’s army. As the gleam of Sikh Raj faded and missionary activity became pronounced, several key reform movements came about and these are seen from the lens of women activists: Leelawati of Brahmo Samaj, Mai Bhagwati of Arya Samaj, Harnam Kaur of Singh Sabha and Zainab Khatun amongst Muslim women.
Then there are pioneers in the professional spheres hitherto dominated by men: Sardarni Balwant Kaur, the earliest Punjabi woman to earn her MBBS in 1923, P.D. Sharma, who got a flying license in 1936, the trailblazing actresses like Shyama and Mukhtar Begam, down to the ghazal singer Mallika Pukhraj and the poet Amrita Pritam .
There are more fascinating lives, like that of Damayanti Talibuddin, a Punjabi Christian Economics professor at Kinniard College, Lahore, Manorama Bose, a Bengali Christian woman appointed as Principal of the Victoria Girls School housed in what was once the haveli of Nau Nihal Singh, the flamboyant grandson of Ranjit Singh. Freda Bedi who wrote dispatches of the Bengal famine for The Tribune. Profiles of interesting women like J.C. Bull, who set up the “Photographic Studio” in Lahore with great aplomb and the iconic Flora Anne Steele, the folklorist and phulkari revivalist, who was erroneously publicised by the British Press as the “inventor of Phulakri” who back in 1888 was sounding quite contemporary by grumbling that “real phulkari is seldom seen these days…jazz colours, cheap stuff have once more ousted sober toil.” The book is replete with many such gems.
The book offers a rich harvest, in that it is a truly broad survey featuring some virtually unknown names and secondly due to the sheer number of women that have been covered. The book ironically seems to uphold the very Imperialist credo of being “monarch of all I survey.” The book with its dense information base is an excellent ready reckoner and can help launch detailed studies on the many remarkable Punjabi women documented here.
The book is not only a portrait of the chosen women but narrates a history of Punjab along the way, highlighting many relevant questions like socio cultural environment, women’s education, female infanticide and widow remarriage and the Freedom movement. What’s more, it comes with elaborate end notes and a detailed bibliography. The book benefits from the sage intervention of editor Karthik Venkatesh, known for his expertise on Punjab.
The one area in which the author and editors could have done better is in having more illustrative chapter names. To call them One, Two, Three is vague and an opportunity wasted. A book that spans centuries and covers a myriad women could have become much more useful for future researchers had the chapter names acted as a tangible guide to the labyrinth inside. The sketches of these women move from one to the other and are overwhelming at times in the absence of the specific titles.
Singh’s immersive intimate portrayal of the women is a delight. The eminently readable, seemingly effortless expression is achieved after years of dogged research but well nigh impossible without a profound passion. She has reinscribed the importance of amateur historians who bring delight to their work without undercutting its gravity. A truly welcome addition to the library on Punjab Studies.
Sakoon Singh is a novelist and academic based in Chandigarh.
