Khoshbagh: Tracing the history of the region’s last independent Nawab
Khoshbagh, the final resting place of Siraj-ud-Daulah, preserves the echoes of a turbulent past, where history and colonial narratives continue to shape perceptions of the last Nawab of Bengal
It was a scorching mid-April day in 2024, with the sun beating down relentlessly over Murshidabad, India. Disembarking from a country boat on the western bank of the Bhagirathi River, our group of five took a mechanised rickshaw, ferried on the same boat, towards Khoshbagh — the final resting place of Siraj-ud-Daulah, the last independent Nawab of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa.
Khoshbagh, meaning "The Garden of Happiness", is the only surviving royal relic in Murshidabad that holds memories of the slain Nawab. At the entrance, independent guides offered their services, promising to unveil untold stories of its antiquity. We chose one.
Located south of Murshidabad along the Bhagirathi, Khoshbagh is a tranquil, walled royal graveyard built by Nawab Alivardi Khan (1676-1756), Siraj-ud-Daulah's grandfather. It houses the tombs of Alivardi Khan, his mother, and the ill-fated Nawab himself, alongside other family members. The complex is divided into two courtyards, the first beginning at the entrance and the second to the west, accessed via another gateway.
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Historian Nikhil Nath Roy, in Murshidabad Kahini (1897), describes Khoshbagh's layout:
"The entrance faces east, with chambers on either side, large enough for elephants to pass through. Guard posts stand at the northeastern and southeastern corners. At the courtyard's centre lies an open area with three graves. Near the eastern gate rests Alivardi Khan's mother, while an elevated platform in the northern section contains 17 graves. In the western courtyard, a prominent tomb catches the eye."
This 18th-century mausoleum, surrounded by verandas, houses Siraj-ud-Daulah's grave, marked by a small white marble tombstone inscribed in Persian: "Nawab Siraj-ud-Daulah Khan Bahadur Haibat Jang, passed away in 1757 AD."
Our guide confirmed its authenticity despite being unable to read Persian. He pointed out the tombs of Siraj's wife, Lutfunnisa, and Nawab Alivardi Khan, whose grave is elevated and adorned with black and white marble. Other graves lack markers, their identities preserved only through oral tradition, often mixing history with myth.
The story of Siraj-ud-Daulah's downfall is riddled with contradictions. His defeat at Plassey, which paved the way for British rule in India, and his subsequent murder have been shaped by the victors' narratives.
The Nawab's final moments, as recorded in Siyar-ul-Mutakhkherin (1781-82) by Sayyid Ghulam Husain Tabatabai, suggest he lamented, "I must die to atone for Hossein Kuli Khan's murder." The English translation, published under the pseudonym Nota Manus and dedicated to Warren Hastings, raises questions about its objectivity. Banglapedia notes that Tabatabai's work took a pro-British stance, as he wrote during their rule.
Siraj's tragic demise is further dramatised in Siyar-ul-Mutakhkherin, with a supernatural twist—his blood allegedly fell at the very spot where he had executed Hossein Kuli Khan. Historian Nikhil Nath Roy dismissed this as mere legend, crafted to portray Siraj as cruel.
Akshay Kumar Maitreya, in his 1898 book on Siraj-ud-Daulah, cites historian Kaliprasanna Bandyopadhyay's scepticism, "The author of Mutakhkherin was a government scribe and a pensioner of the East India Company. His account fails to do justice to Siraj or censure Mir Jafar for his betrayal."
Other historical sources, such as Riyaz-us-Salatin (1788) by Ghulam Husain Salim Zaidpuri and Muzaffarnamah (1772) by Karam Ali, also bear colonial influences. Karam Ali, a supporter of Siraj's rival Shawkat Jang, portrayed the Nawab negatively.
Even Sir Jadunath Sarkar, in History of Bengal, Vol II (1943), sought a more neutral perspective by citing Jean Law, the French factory chief at Qasimbazar. Law claimed Siraj was notorious for cruelty, abducting Hindu women and overturning boats for amusement. But was he a firsthand witness, or were these tales fabricated?
Jean Law, an English-born Frenchman, aligned himself with Siraj only when convenient. When the Nawab's downfall became imminent, Law deserted him, later joining Emperor Shah Alam in his failed Bengal invasions. His account, like many colonial narratives, served personal and political interests.
Siraj-ud-Daulah remains a polarising figure. While some British and contemporary sources painted him as a tyrant, others argue he was vilified to justify colonial conquest. Historian Nikhil Nath Roy posed an ethical question, "Did justice demand that Siraj hold a trial before executing a man who had violated his mother's dignity?" British-style courts only existed in India in 1772, long after Siraj's death.
As we concluded our visit to Khoshbagh, we asked our guide if prayers could be offered at Siraj's grave. "Yes," he replied. The youngest among us recited Surah Al-Fatiha, while the rest raised their hands in supplication. In the silence of the tomb, the prayer brought a moment of serenity, a stark contrast to the relentless Murshidabad heat.
For some in our group, this was a return visit after 17 years. Much had remained unchanged — especially the absence of other tourists. As we left, we looked forward to another pilgrimage to honour the last Nawab of Bengal, whom George Bruce Malleson aptly described in The Decisive Battles of India (1883), "Whatever may have been his faults, Siraj-ud-Daulah had neither betrayed his master nor sold his country."
