A Closer Look at Dean Mahomet (1759-1850)

Though I’ve known about Dean Mahomet for a long time (and Ennis did a post on him last year), it wasn’t until recently that I actually read through the free online version of edition of The Travels of Dean Mahomet, for a class I’m teaching. For people who haven’t heard of him, Dean Mahomet is the first Indian writer to have published a book in English, The Travels of Dean Mahomet (1794). Having moved first to Cork, Ireland, and then London and finally Brighton, Mahomet opened first the first Indian restaurant in England, The Hindoostanee Coffee House, and then started a profitable business doing “shampoo baths” at the shore resort town of Brighton. He married an Anglo-Irish woman, and was treated with respect by English and Anglo-Irish society around him.

The following is a bit of a dry academic/history type of post. I’m not so much interested in celebrating Dean Mahomet as a “hero” (I don’t think he necessarily is one), nor would it mean much to condemn him as some kind of race-traitor. Rather, the goal is simply to think about how we might understand his rather unique book, The Travels of Dean Mahomet, in historical context. What can be learned from it? In literary terms, it’s probably fair to say that The Travels of Dean Mahomet isn’t the greatest book. For one thing, the story Mahomet tells is of his life while he was still in India, and it often seems that the most interesting part of the story is actually Dean Mahomet’s life after India and Ireland — it was only then that he separated from his patrons in Cork, and moved to England and started a series of businesses. Dean Mahomet left a lasting legacy in his trans-culturation of “shampoo” (Hindi: “champna”), and it appears that the word and concept of shampooing (transformed somewhat from his usage, of course) came into widespread usage in the west through him. Fortunately, in Michael H. Fischer’s edition of the Travels, there is a substantial account of Mahomet’s English experience (click on Part 3).

As a literary text the Travels pales in comparison to, say, The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, which was published just five years earlier, and which may have inspired Dean Mahomet to try his own hand at writing an autobiography. Equiano is a spirited autobiography with carefully poised arguments against the transatlantic slave-trade, and indeed, against slavery itself. The author of Equiano cleverly used Biblical references and deployed western/Christian values to force his readers to confront their blindness regarding slavery (“O, ye nominal Christians!”).

By contrast, the historical reference points of Dean Mahomet’s narrative avoid any negative judgment of British colonial expansion in India whatsoever. In fact, Dean Mahomet clearly marks his perspective as directly aligned with the East India Company’s point of view with regard to its military opponents. (His point of view on Indian culture was inevitably different, and his own, or nearly so.) Perhaps it’s inevitable that he supported the Company Raj: Dean Mahomet was himself aide-de-camp and then a soldier with the British East India Company’s army. He was born in 1759, and left India around 1783 in the company of his “master” (and later, patron), Captain Godfrey Evan Baker, an Anglo-Irish Protestant from a wealthy family in Cork.

Not only was Dean Mahomet associated with the East India Company, but his father was a Sepoy, and died in combat when Dean was about 10 years old. Dean was effectively “adopted” by Baker, and became attached to a European-only regiment. This is really where he mastered the English language, and learned to read and write well enough to be able to think of publishing a book. He certainly did not receive much (or any) formal schooling.

His military association may make us uneasy, but Dean Mahomet’s unique status as the only 18th century Indian writer in English was only achieved because of that association. For what it’s worth, one notes that Dean Mahomet actually saw very little action during the first decade or so he was associated with Captain Baker. For several of those years, he was a child. And as Michael Fischer points out, even as early as the 1780s, it was the Sepoy regiments that were doing the heaviest fighting in the First Anglo-Maratha War and the Second Anglo-Mysore War. Fischer speculates that Baker and Mahomet, once they were assigned to a more active combat role, may have found their involvement in the subjugation of various opponents of British rule less pleasant. Also, Fischer mentions that Mahomet’s patron and friend, Captain Baker, resigned from military service in disgrace in 1782 — after being convicted of embezzling funds. (Not exactly an uncommon activity for British soldiers at the time; what was less common was to actually be court-martialled for it.)


Within the book itself, one finds generally two different types of chapters. One type of chapter is more action-based, and tells the story of specific military encounters, experiences, and travels. The other chapters are more essay-like, and in those Mahomet describes in close and appreciative detail aspects of Indian society, religion, and geography for English readers.

On the question of culture, one thing that strikes one immediately in Mahomet’s account is that he doesn’t seem at all defensive or apologetic about, say, the practice of Purdah, nor does he comment on matters of “race.” The former question would be commented on by many later British travelers in India, and would become a key sign of the radical difference of “Oriental” culture in the European imagination — see how they treat their women! But Dean Mahomet is either unaware of all that, or because he’s writing before the exoticism of “Purdah” had been established as a staple of Anglo-Indian writing, he overlooks it:

It may be here observed, that the Hindoo, as well as the Mahometan, shudders at the idea of exposing women to the public eye: they are held so sacred in India, that even the soldier in the rage of slaughter will not only spare, but even protect them. The Haram [Harem] is a sanctuary against the horrors of wasting war, and ruffians covered with teh blood of a husband, shrink back with confusion at the apartment of his wife. (Letter XIII)

In vividly describing how strict gender segregation works, I think Mahomet is supporting the practice. But note the graphic allusion to violence in the last sentence — doesn’t it seem to play into a colonial stereotype? That type of language sometimes makes an appearance in the more military-oriented chapters. For instance, in the passage below Mahomet echoes some of the key tropes of colonial discourse when he uses words like “savages” to describe the hill-dwelling tribes in Bihar:

Our army being very numerous, the market people in the rear were attacked by another party of the [Paharis], who plundered them, and wounded many with their bows and arrows; the picquet guard closely pursued them, killed several, and apprehended thirty or forty, who were brought to the camp. Next morning, as our hotteewallies, grass cutters, and bazar people, went to the mountains about their usual business of procuring provender for the elephants, grass for the horses, and fuel for the camp, a gang of those licentious savages rushed with violence on them, inhumanly butchered seven or eight of our people, and carried off three elephants, and as many camels, with several horses and bullocks. (Letter IX)

Such language is disconcerting — the word “savage” is an extremely loaded pejorative — but thankfully, rather rare in The Travels. It’s clear that Dean Mahomet values the urban and established northern Indian culture he comes from; it’s only the people we would today refer to as “tribals” that get called “savages.” (The Marathas, who are often mentioned in the book as military opponents, are never called by that name.)

More common are the chapters in Travels were Mahomet directly describes cultural matters such as Muslim rituals (marriage, circumcision, death), the Indian cities he visits (Calcutta, Delhi, Allahabad, Madras, Dhaka, etc.) and the pomp and pageantry of Indian Nawabs. He liberally uses Persian or Hindi words in these passages, though every so often he finds unusual ways to describe things (Ramadan [he says “Ramzan”], for instance, is described as a “month-long Lent”). A good example might be the following passage on a local Nawab in Calcutta:

Soon after my arrival here, I was dazzled with the glittering appearance of the Nabob and all his train, amounting to about three thousand attendants, proceeding in solemn state from this palace to the temple. They formed in the splendor and richness of their attire one of the most brilliant processions I ever beheld. The Nabob was carried on a beautiful pavillion, or meanah, by sixteen men, alternately called by the natives, Baharas, who wore a red uniform: the refulgent canopy covered with tissue, and lined with embroidered scarlet velvet, trimmed with silver fringe, was supported by four pillars of massy silver, and resembled the form of a beautiful elbow chair, constructed in oval elegance; in which he sat cross-legged, leaning his back against a fine cushion and his elbows on two more covered with scarlet velvet, wrought with flowers of gold. (Letter XI)

As I’m looking over this language, it doesn’t seem exactly “neutral” or merely appreciative. It actually seems to ply the language of exoticism to excess. Is that really what Dean Mahomet thought as he watched the Nawab’s procession, or is this simply an attempt to create a certain aura of mystery and power for his English readers?


One of the difficulties in reading Dean Mahomet’s rhetoric about India during the early Company Raj is the fact that he apparently plagiarized a number of descriptive passages from British travel writers, especially John Henry Grose’s Voyage to the East Indies (1766). That’s right — here we have a very early Indian writer born and raised on the Gangetic plains, plagiarizing descriptions of key Indian cultural matters from a British writer! According to Michael Fischer (see his comments in Part 3), about 7% of the text of The Travels actually comes from other sources. Why Mahomet chose to do this is open to speculation — perhaps he simply hadn’t encountered certain things, and used Grose to fill in certain gaps (for instance, he knew a lot about Muslim religious practices from personal experiences, but actually knew surprisingly little about Hinduism; he gets some key things wrong in his account of caste in the book). Or it’s possible that he simply liked the way Grose and others put things, and borrowed the language out of sheer laziness. Who knows? (One might also note that modern ideas about copyright and copyright law were still in a formative phase in the late 18th century.)

The plagiarism issue brings us back to Equiano, albeit somewhat obliquely. In a 1999 article in the journal Slavery and Abolition, Vincent Carretta argued (I think, convincingly) that Gustavus Vassa was in fact not born in Africa at all, as he states in The Interesting Narrative, but rather South Carolina (see this article in the Chronicle of Higher Ed, and this follow-up colloquy). According to Carretta, some of the text from the first three chapters of Equiano’s book, describing Equiano’s life as a child in Nigeria, and subsequent capture by slave traders, are in fact taken from a Quaker traveler named Anthony Benezet. Equiano probably invented a different early life to strengthen his point about the evils of slavery and the slave-trade: the disruption of the idyllic African childhood makes a better story than being directly born into slavery, which is what probably happened. Carretta also shows that nearly everything Equiano describes as happening to himself in his adult life can be verified by historical documents.

One thing I get from both of these “plagiarism” cases is a distinct sense that, while both books are remarkable and surprising in their own ways, neither author was fully in command of an individualized “voice” as he wrote. Both Gustavus Vassa/Equiano and Dean Mahomet were always in some sense writing within the existing conventions of English travel literature of their day. The fact that they even borrowed aspects of their own self-description from English writers only reinforces how precarious their respective authorial positions were.

15 thoughts on “A Closer Look at Dean Mahomet (1759-1850)

  1. Ah, Brighton, wonderful town. Gay capital of England. Nice to see it has an important role in the history of British-Indians. It also has a spectacular Indian style Pavilion built by John Nash in the style of a Moghul palace.

    I also like the spelling of ‘Hindoostanee’

  2. “though every so often he finds unusual ways to describe things (Ramadan [he says “Ramzan”], for instance, is described as a “month-long Lent”).

    Lent is how Ive always explained the month of Shravan or Paryushan to my non-Indian friends. Ramzan is the word for Ramadan in South Asia. I heard the term “Ramadan” for the first time when I was in college in the US. its just associating a foreign thing/situation in a way such that it seems familiar to them.

    as to his lack of knowledge of Hinduism, it is possible that the strict segregation of functions in the Hindu caste system, reserving things/occupations to do with the polluting objects such as meat or leather for the Muslims or lower castes, probably restricted his association with Hindus. Depending on where he lived (for eg. inland, it is very unlikely that he would even come across meat-eating Hindus – Brahmins, Vaishyas, though of course it ois fairly likely that most of our knowledge of Hinduism stems from our upper caste (meaning non-shudra)documentations of Hinduism – so biased enough in that sense.)

    Within the Muslims of India themselves, there were role distinctions as well, with Muslims being occupationally classified as butchers, gardeners, barbers etc.

  3. Aranyi, I’m not sure if this helps, but Mahomet was born and raised in Patna. He only got the chance to travel and see northern India because he was attached to an EIC military unit. At any rate, I agree with your explanation.

    His comments on religion are often fascinating. For instance, he seems to think of Jains as merely a class of Brahmin:

    The Bramins are again divided into five orders: first, into those that eat no flesh: second, into those that eat some kind of flesh; third, those that marry; fourth, those that vow celibacy: and fifth, the Bramins that forbear walking at all, for fear of destroying some living creatures; these wear a piece of silk or muslin before their mouths, lest the smallest fly should be drawn in by their breath.

    He also describes some interesting instances of syncretism, or Hindu-Muslim religious mingling:

    I met with a relation of mine, a Mahometan, who requested my attendance at the circumcision of one of his children. Previous to this ceremony, which I shall describe in the order of succession, it may be necessary to premise, that a child is baptized three times according to the rites of this religion. The first baptism is performed at time of the birth, by a Bramin who, though of different religious principles, is held in the utmost veneration by the Mahometans, for his supposed knowledge in astrology, by which he is said to foretel the future destiny of the child

    According to Dean Mahomet, the first of four Muslim “baptisms” was performed by a Brahmin! In recent years anthropologists have recorded lots of local instances of this kind of syncretism happening in different parts of India. (A fact that fundamentalists on both sides try to forget.)

  4. And Red Snapper, according to Michael Fischer, Dean Mahomet’s “Indian vapour bath parlor” (eventually known as “Mahomet’s Baths”) was just down the street from the Royal Pavilion. Dean Mahomet also did some shampooing/massaging of royalty, and worked those opportunities for all they were worth. Here’s what Fischer has to say:

    Even more valuable to Dean Mahomet than his fees from such royal patronage was the attention among the general public that it brought to him and his baths. His visits to the Royal Pavilion to supervise his vapor bath apparatus excited the fascinated gossip of Brighton society, in part because he received advanced word of the King’s arrival in town. Dean Mahomet capitalized on these royal connections by inserting the royal coat of arms in his newspaper advertisements (March 1822 onward). He also publicized his fervent expressions of loyalty to the royal family. He dedicated his book Shampooing to King George.
  5. Interesting Indo-Irish nexus… which makes me wonder what ever happened to what was to be Cauvery Madhavan’s third book, about the Irish soldiers in India in the 19th century…

  6. Dude – you buried the lede!

    he apparently plagiarized a number of descriptive passages from British travel writers

    “18th century Kaavya! First Indian author published in English was a plagiarist!”

    Sweet!

  7. Excellent article, Amardeep old bean.

    You know, I was discussing this very same topic with my punkahwallah earlier today while I was sipping my usual Gin & Tonic on the verandah.

    “Bahadur Singh”, I said, taking a bite out of my cucumber sandwich, “Don’t you miss the good old days, when an English gent could happily wear his tartan pagri and matching sherwani, whilst smoking his hookah, and marry a local lass or three without the Colonial Office deciding he’s done a Marlon Brando and deciding to send an ambitious young East India Company officer to do a Martin Sheen on his arse ?”

    Such wonderful memories. Our intercourse with the locals was more along the lines of equals, you see, even though we were sneakily grabbing every opportunity to expand our influence in the name of our blessed Monarch (aha, another excuse for a toast – “Bahadur Singh, fill up my glass, my good man”) and thereby earn a few more bob to pay for that mansion back in dear old Blighty. The regrettable events of 1857 changed things dramatically, unfortunately, and the increase in enterprising English Roses deciding to join us on the subcontinent and trying to find a suitable husband via shenanigans at Scandal Point in lovely Simla meant we couldn’t mingle — and by mingle, I mean canoodle — with the doe-eyed dusky local beauties as much as we used to. Such a shame — this racial nonsense.

    By the way, Red Snapper, my dear old boy — I suspect that “shampoo baths” still occur in Brighton, although the term might mean something else these days. You know the rumours about all those boarding school fellows.

    Anyway, I will contribute again to this wonderful discussion later on after some of you other chaps have voiced some further thoughts over brandy and cigars. But I am afraid I must dash now — the Memsahib is wearing her jodhpurs again and it’s drawing the native men to her like flies to a jalebi.

    Toodle-pips.

  8. Amardeep, Yeah, because as far as I know, in Islam, they dont believe in astrology… they tend to rely on themselves for prophecies which i find rather fascinating (Im thinking of Istakhara – i think thats how its spelt).

  9. I must say that the dude had an amazingly long lifespan for someone from India in that period. Must be all the sex with white chicks…hmmm…there’s a lesson to learn 😉

  10. Technophobicgeek,

    Must be all the sex with white chicks…hmmm…there’s a lesson to learn 😉

    In which case, Razib will probably live to be 300 🙂

  11. ^^^Just kidding, by the way. I’m not stalking Razib. We already have enough Bunny-Boilers lurking on this blog 😉

    I also like the spelling of ‘Hindoostanee’

    I really like it too although I think it could benefit from a few more vowels.

  12. From Dean Mahomet to Salman Rushdie: muslim indian apostates writing for their english masters and bedding their women.