From Maharaja Ranjit Singh to fakirs: DAG revisits Emily Eden's India

It was on March 4, 1835, that George Eden, the 1st Earl of Auckland, arrived in Calcutta. Accompanying Lord Auckland — the 14th Governor-General of India (1836–1842) — were his sisters, Emily and Fanny. While he is chiefly remembered for the disastrous First Anglo-Afghan War (1839–1842), Emily left behind a very different legacy.

A prolific artist who once admitted she would have "a fit of sketching on me that amounts to a fever," Emily Eden documented 19th-century India — its kings, princes, warriors, servants, and fakirs. Those sketches now form the exhibition Princes and People at DAG, curated by art historian Mary Ann Prior, alongside the companion book Princes and People of India: Portraits by Emily Eden.

Of talent and access

Many British artists turned to India for inspiration, documenting its grandeur, landscapes, fakirs, and rulers, often exoticising the country through a distinctly European gaze. Eden stood apart in more ways than one. She was among the few women artists working in colonial India and, as the Governor-General's sister, enjoyed an extraordinary degree of access unavailable to most.

One of her best-known portraits is that of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, whom she described as "the only Indian subject that was interesting at home."

Eden depicts an ailing Singh in profile, plainly dressed and seated with one leg resting on a silver chair and the other on a footstool. His left hand is raised, index finger pointing outward. The portrait captures both the frailty and quiet authority of the ‘Lion of Punjab’, founder of the Sikh Empire.

Her depictions of the Sikh court are especially striking. While Ranjit Singh himself appears almost austere, his successors and courtiers are rendered in dazzling attire. The juxtaposition heightens, rather than diminishes, his authority.

Her gaze extended beyond royalty. She portrayed warriors, servants, common people, animals, and elaborate jewellery, paying particular attention to horses adorned with ornate trappings.

One particularly arresting work depicts the Akalis, or Akali Nihangs, whom Eden described in a letter as an "alarming class of people" whom "even Ranjeet Singh was not able to tame or handle." As Prior notes, "Although she found them loud and abusive, she was captivated by their clothing, weaponry and other paraphernalia." The result is a vivid portrait of fierce, unrefined warriors in flowing blue neela bana and towering, conical turbans.

Of clothes and fabric

A portrait of Emily Eden by Simon Jacques Rochard, completed shortly before she travelled to India, presents a refined aristocratic woman draped in silk, lace, and ribbons. In one of her early watercolours of her sister Eleanor, it is almost impossible to look beyond the elaborate straw bonnet.

Fashion clearly fascinated Eden, and that fascination carried into her Indian portraits. A Hindoo Fakeer, for instance, is shown with long matted hair, a simple white robe, and a striking green scarf.

Her first Indian watercolour portrayed a young student from Hindu College (now Presidency University), elegantly dressed in a necklace, embroidered slippers, and a carefully tied turban.

She paid remarkable attention to headgear, portraying turbans in all their variety, recognising how they reflected distinctions of class, caste, and region.

As Prior writes, "Emily's main focus of study was the faces of the Afghan, Indian, Persian and Chinese people she encountered, together with their costumes, jewellery, uniforms and weapons."

Of art and politics

Yet for all her observational precision, it is difficult to separate Eden's art from the politics that shaped it, both her own worldview and that of her brother.

Her artistic brilliance coexisted with an unwavering belief in Britain's civilising mission. As Prior observes, Eden regarded her years in India as "an unwelcome ordeal to be endured for a higher purpose", seeing colonial rule as Britain's obligation to "civilise" the country.

That politics also surfaces in what, and how, she chose to portray. The Sikh court is rendered in all its splendour, while her depictions of Afghan chieftains are noticeably restrained, perhaps reflecting Lord Auckland's markedly different political relationships with the two powers.

Thus Maharaja Sher Singh, son of Ranjit Singh, appears resplendent in bracelets, belts, and necklaces studded with gold, diamonds, and emeralds. Dost Mohammad Khan, the former ruler of Kabul deposed by the British, is portrayed far more modestly. Eden sketched little beyond the faces of the emir and his sons.

In that sense, her paintings are more than portraits; they are also records of imperial politics. Even as she complained about India's heat and mosquitoes and was slow to warm to the country, India ultimately transformed her career.

As Prior writes: "Without India, Emily might have never achieved the fame she enjoyed in the 1840s, which grew during her lifetime and persists to the present day."