Beneath the thundering traffic of the Second Hooghly Bridge and the indifferent stares of hurried passersby, a small, weed-choked well near Kolkata’s Hastings Crossing guards a sinister chapter of Bengal’s colonial past— and a gallows that once swayed with the body of Maharaja Nandakumar, the first Indian to be hanged under British rule.
That was August 5, 1775. In 2025, the city is poised to mark the 250th anniversary of this controversial execution. But history’s only memorial here is a rubbish-strewn grave of apathy— littered with broken bottles, syringes, and the stench of indifference.
The site where Nandakumar met his fate now reeks not of reverence, but of rotting trash. As night descends, the space transforms into a den of inebriation and illicit trade. What should have been an iron-clad memorial is instead an open-air testament to bureaucratic apathy.
The gallows once stood as a chilling reminder of colonial machinations. In 1773, Nandakumar, Diwan of Bengal, dared to accuse the newly returned Governor-General Warren Hastings of corruption. What followed was less a trial and more a vendetta. In a courtroom presided over by Elijah Impey — Hastings’ childhood friend and the first Chief Justice of colonial India — Nandakumar was sentenced to death under dubious legal pretexts. Many historians still argue it was a grand conspiracy sealed with old school ties.
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On August 5, 1775, the noose tightened around Nandakumar’s neck. The gallows at Hastings Crossing bore silent witness. And then the years piled on, burying that memory beneath layers of time— and now, beneath layers of filth.
The site was once maintained by the State Public Works Department (PWD), its historical gravity preserved in careful upkeep. But ever since the reins passed to the Kolkata Municipal Corporation (KMC), the gallows well has descended into dilapidation. Locals whisper of midnight drinking sessions and drug deals; no plaque, no signage warns of its importance. Strangers walk past unaware that the ground beneath their feet once held the weight of a colonial crime.
When asked about this civic travesty, local councillor Nizamuddin Sams was quick to point fingers towards Fort William, the headquarters of Indian Army’s Eastern Command. “We had started the renovation. But the army men came and stopped it,” he said.
According to Sams, the deadlock has now broken, and a fresh budget of ₹50 lakh has been sanctioned for a grand restoration.
Plans, as reported, include clearing the well, erecting walls to protect the site, installing bright lights and finally commemorating Maharaja Nandakumar with a proper plaque. KMC sources promise a radical makeover that will cleanse not just the space, but also its sullied memory.
But for now, the gallows remains entangled in neglect. On the day of the 250th anniversary of Nandakumar’s hanging, one can only hope that this historic wrong is at least physically righted— before history itself decays into an unmarked pit beneath the urban sprawl.
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