An absorbing novel, In the City of Gold and Silver is an English translation of Dans la ville d’or et d’argent, a highly praised work of historical fiction published originally in French and translated into eight languages including Italian, Spanish and German. Set in that complex and complicated tragedy of the subcontinent’s history that the British dismiss as the “Sepoy Mutiny” and nationalist historians, both Indian and Pakistani, call the “First War of Independence”, it recounts the tumultuous life of Begum Hazrat Mahal, the redoubtable last Queen-Regent of Awadh (Oudh). So charismatic was the leadership displayed by this young woman warrior in 12 bloody battles and in the long siege of the Lucknow Residency that the Times of London wrote of her in 1858: “She has more strategic sense and more courage than all her generals put together.” Her British antagonists grudgingly conceded that she was “the soul of the revolt”.

But if her contemporary freedom fighter Lakshmi Bai, the great Rani of Jhansi, lives on in subcontinental memory eulogised in folk songs and ballads as the “sword-wielding female warrior rearing up on her horse,” Mahal’s far more courageous opposition to the British and her pivotal role in the resistance struggle of 1857 has been left untold. When the sepoys, both Hindu and Muslim, outraged at the use of cow and pig fat in the cartridges for the new breech-loading Enfield rifles, turned mutinous and marched from Meerut to Delhi, Mahal took the initiative of calling her countrymen to arms. From the courtiers at Lucknow to the taluqdars (landed barons) across the plains to village peasants, all rallied to their queen’s cry. Awadh echoed with cries of revolt against British rule. “Today, few remember the warrior queen, except in Lucknow, where old families take pride in having participated in this extraordinary saga,” writes Mourad. “In 1957, to mark the centenary of the insurrection, Prime Minister Nehru came with great pomp and circumstance to rename Queen Victoria Park, the Begum Hazrat Mahal Park. In lieu of the bust of the famous former empress of India, Nehru had a memorial erected there, in honour of the heroic begum.”

Like all fans of historical fiction, readers of this work will want to know exactly how much of the story is true. They can be reassured that the dates and important historical events within which the story takes place are scrupulously based on recorded details and that all the main characters existed in real life.

Mourad is a master storyteller with a strong sense of history. To breathe life into the historical characters and offer explanations for how they might have come to make their decisions, she has had to create imaginary conversations and scenarios. To find “the woman behind the warrior” she has also placed at the core of her historical novel a love story for which there is actually no historical record: The mutual passion between the lonely Mahal and her loyal commander-in-chief, the brave Rajah Jai Lal Singh. Their relationship sustains them as they are inexorably drawn into the vortex of the War of Independence in 1857 against the powerful East India Company.

The creative license of fiction offers novelists an entry into the deepest thoughts and most private conversations of characters, wonderful worlds always denied to even the finest non-fiction writers. This poetic inventiveness enables an extraordinarily resolute, fearless woman to be brought to life: We hear Mahal’s voice, we sense her pain and we marvel at her indomitable courage and spirit. Mourad draws on exhaustive research to trace Mahal’s remarkable journey from her birth in a family of humble artisans to her ascent as Queen-Regent of one of the richest and most powerful kingdoms of India. Named Mohammadi by her parents, she grew up to be not only a renowned beauty but also a very fine poet. She was first given the title of “Iftikhar un Nisa,” – the pride of women – by a besotted Nawab Wajid Ali Shah, and then, after the birth of her son Prince Birjees Qadir, elevated to Begum Hazrat Mahal.

Awadh was one of the richest regions of India, the Gangetic plain’s heartland. In February 1856, the British decided to annex this wealthy kingdom and arbitrarily exiled the last king of Awadh, Wajid Ali Shah, to Calcutta. Mahal had to remain behind in Lucknow with her son, the young prince. She was never able to see her beloved husband again. Her fierce offensive posed the most serious threat to the British rule and even though she had to face defeat, she refused to compromise. She and her son were offered handsome privy purses to give up their claim to the throne of rich Awadh but she rejected the offer with contempt and died virtually penniless in Nepal.

What about Nawabi Lucknow? The British victors decided that the rebel town must be punished for its long resistance; it must serve as an example of the price one pays for opposing the British power. “The city of gold and silver,” the most sophisticated symbol of Hindu-Muslim culture, the town of a thousand palaces, gardens, temples and mosques, each one richer and more beautiful than the other, was systematically destroyed, after being savagely looted. Mourad writes: “As the title of the book suggests, a great part of my project is to celebrate the gunga-jumni culture of Nawabi Lucknow, the interweaving of different cultural traditions, gold and silver threads, into a harmonious whole, a single work of art. Architecture, music, poetry, drama, painting, textile design and culinary art reached unsurpassed heights of refinement in Awadh.” Not only did Nawabi Lucknow preside over a new fluorescence in India’s long tradition of Hindu and Muslim cosmopolitanism, it was also home to a modern Indo-European cosmopolitanism that was unmediated by the colonial relationship.

As Mahal has been forgotten, so has the more substantive legacy of Awadh. Lucknow has come to be overwhelmingly defined by an extreme cultural refinement and little else. The discourse surrounding the Fall of Awadh has long been dominated by the colonial vision of Awadh as a pre-revolutionary Indian France, destroyed by a vain and emasculated elite — a vision propagated as late as 1977, in the Satyajit Ray film, Shatranj Ke Khilari (The Chess Players).

Mourad’s book is part of a larger movement to revisit the history of Awadh, and move beyond the colonial textbook version. By deftly weaving dense historical detail with wonderful narrative, she has succeeded in seamlessly transforming what could have been a dusty academic subject into a rich, gripping page-turner.