The Daily Telegraph - Features

A ruthless warrior is cut too much slack

Ranjit Singh: Sikh, Warrior, King

Wallace Collection, London W1 ★★★★★

While the Wallace Collection is renowned for Old Master paintings such as Jean-Honoré Fragonard’s risqué vision of rococo upskirting, The Swing (1767), its collection of arms and armour is less of a draw. Inspired by a splendid 19th-century sword at the museum, “associated” with Maharaja Ranjit Singh (1780-1839), the great Sikh warrior-king, or “Lion of the Punjab”, who once ruled an empire the size of modern Germany, this new exhibition intends to redress that.

Guest-curated by recently appointed trustee Davinder Toor, who (unusually, for a curator) has lent almost half of the exhibits, the show examines the overlooked historical figure known as the “Napoleon of the East”. Ranjit Singh – who loved jewels and fine horses as much as weaponry – succeeded at checking the ambitions of the East India Company, with whom he warily signed a treaty of friendship; for Punjabis, says Toor, he is a hero who brought “tranquilli­ty” to the region, and presided over a dazzling durbar (royal court). Yet, after his death, his Sikh empire collapsed, and the contested, egg-sized Koh-i-Noor diamond, once jealously prized by Ranjit Singh, arrived on these shores. Today, it decorates the Queen Mother’s Crown.

With rich red walls, and latticewor­k panels inspired by Mughal sandstone screens, the show has the atmosphere of a classy armoury, with weapons and military parapherna­lia at every turn. The incongruou­s beauty of these objects designed to inflict harm is arresting – a delicate floral design, for instance, against a gorgeous green ground, decorates the butt of a matchlock musket. Ranjit Singh’s soldiers evidently enjoyed peacocking.

Amid, though, all the intricatel­y wrought flintlock pistols, ammunition pouches, and turban helmets gracefully forged to accommodat­e topknots, a 19thcentur­y “turban fortress” from Lahore stands out. This cone of fabric the size of a sorcerer’s hat, dyed midnight-blue for nocturnal camouflage, bristles with razorsharp pieces of steel: tiny daggers and “tiger-claws”, ready for hand-to-hand combat.

Throughout, paintings contextual­ise the munitions. Yet, the show’s starry-eyed approach verges on hero worship. In the catalogue, Ranjit Singh is described as a “lionhearte­d warrior”, “marked out by destiny” who sat on a golden throne, in the form of a lotus flower, and so on. That throne like a big bejewelled egg cup, has been lent by the V&A – but the provenance of several objects (“associated with”, or “likely to have belonged to”, Ranjit Singh) is ambiguous.

Ranjit Singh was a powerful, inspiratio­nal leader – but he was also avaricious and ruthless. This show surrounds him with an aura of splendour, but it could have done with more shade to offset this brilliant light.

From tomorrow; wallacecol­lection.org