Showing posts with label Rani Lakshmibai. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rani Lakshmibai. Show all posts

Monday, 5 November 2012

Encountering royalty



      You never know what to expect on encountering royalty. I’ve seen ’em stark naked except for wings of peacock feathers (Empress of China), giggling drunk in the embrace of a wrestler (Maharani of the Punjab), voluptuously wrapped in wet silk (Queen of Madagascar), wafting to and fro on a swing (Rani of Jhansi), and tramping along looking like an out-of-work charwoman (our own gracious monarch).


Flashman on the March, pp. 148-9, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Thursday, 29 July 2010

When the stakes were on the blanket



She didn’t take fright, or weep, or even plague me with further questions; I’ve known cleverer women and plenty like Lakshmibai and the Silk One who were better at rough riding and desperate work, but none gamer than Elspeth when the stakes were on the blanket. She was a soldier’s wife, all right; pity she hadn’t married a soldier.


Flashman's Lady, p.281, Pan edition, 1979.



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Thursday, 15 April 2010

That ain’t how people die



As I scrambled up I saw she was writhing in the dust; her scarf and helmet were gone, she was kicking and clawing at her body, and her face was twisted and working in agony, with her hair half across it. It was hideous, and I could only crouch there, gazing horrified. Oh, if it were a novel I could tell you that I ran to her, and cradled her head against me and kissed her, while she looked up at me with a serene smile and murmured something before she closed her eyes, as lovely in death as she’d been in life – but that ain’t how people die, not even the Rani of Jhansi. She arched up once more, still tearing at herself, and then she flopped over, face down, and I knew she was a goner.



Flashman in the Great Game, pp.315-6, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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Tuesday, 2 February 2010

Mera Jhansi denge nay



‘…and that is why I resist as best I can. As you, and Lord Palmerston would. Tell him,’ says she, and by George, her voice was shaking, but the pretty mouth was set and hard, ‘when you go home, that whatever happens, I will not give up my Jhansi. Mera Jhansi denge nay. I will not give up my Jhansi!’



Flashman in the Great Game, p.97, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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Monday, 1 February 2010

Cold eyes and pale faces



‘Can you not see that that is not our way – that none of our ways are your ways? you talk of your reforms, and the benefits of British law and the Sirkar’s rule – and never think that what seems ideal to you may not suit others; that we have our own customs, which you may think strange and foolish, and perhaps they are – but they are ours – our own! You come, in your strength, and your certaintu, with your cold eyes and pale faces, like … like machines marching out of your northern ice and you will have everything in order, tramping in step like your soldiers, whether those you conquer and civilize – as you call it – whether they will do or no. Do you not see that it is better to leave people be – to let them alone?’



Flashman in the Great Game, p.95, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.




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