Latest / The Hidden History of Bengal: Kingdoms, Empires, and Revolution — Fexingo History / The Bengal Famine of 1770: When the East India Company Starved a Million
Transcript
- Lucas: We’ve spent a lot of time talking about battles and rebellions in Bengal, from Plassey to the Sannyasi uprisings, but there’s a quieter, more devastating chapter that often gets overshadowed by the military drama. I want to talk about the Great Bengal Famine of 1770, an event that killed nearly one-third of the region's population and fundamentally changed how the British viewed their rule in India. Luna: I knew famines happened, but I didn't realize they were so concentrated in that specific decade. Lucas: It’s shocking when you look at the numbers. Between 1769 and 1773, mortality estimates range from six to ten million people, which was roughly thirty percent of the entire population of Bengal, Bihar, and Odisha. It wasn’t just a bad harvest; it was a systemic collapse where the machinery of state extraction kept turning even as the land turned barren. Lucas: To understand why this happened, we have to go back to the aftermath of the Battle of Plassey in 1757. The East India Company had effectively taken control of the Diwani, or the right to collect revenue, from the Mughal Emperor Shah Alam II. For twelve years, they treated Bengal like a cash cow, sending vast sums of wealth back to London while ignoring the agricultural infrastructure. Luna: So they were taking the money but not maintaining the fields? Lucas: Exactly. They neglected irrigation works, allowed the Zamindars to over-extract from tenants, and disrupted the traditional granary systems that had protected communities during lean years. By 1769, the soil was exhausted, the canals were silted up, and the social fabric was fraying. Then the rains failed. Lucas: The monsoons of 1769 were erratic, leading to a poor harvest, and then 1770 saw almost total crop failure. But what makes this tragedy distinct is the response—or rather, the lack of it—from the Company’s leadership in Calcutta. Instead of suspending revenue collection to allow farmers to save seed for the next season, they doubled down on extraction. Luna: That sounds incredibly ruthless. Did anyone actually try to stop them? Lucas: There were voices of dissent, mostly from lower-level officials who witnessed the horror firsthand. One of the most poignant records comes from Benjamin Smith, a surgeon and medical officer stationed in Murshidabad. He wrote detailed letters describing villages where entire families had died, leaving only bones and clothes behind. He pleaded with the Council in Calcutta to halt tax collection, arguing that starving taxpayers couldn't pay anyway. Lucas: He argued that preserving the population was essential for future revenue, a point he made repeatedly. But his warnings were largely ignored or dismissed as exaggeration. The administrators were more concerned with meeting their quarterly targets than with the dying masses in the countryside. Luna: It’s hard to believe they could be so blind to the human cost. Lucas: It’s easy to judge with hindsight, but we have to remember the mindset of the time. To many in the Company, India was seen primarily as a commercial enterprise, not a territory to be governed for the welfare of its people. They believed that market forces would eventually correct the imbalance—that if food became scarce, prices would rise, and merchants would bring in supplies. Lucas: They failed to account for the fact that the peasants had no money to buy food, and the merchants were either hoarding grain to drive prices higher or were themselves fleeing the region. The result was a complete breakdown of the food distribution network. People were eating leaves, grass, and even clay, leading to widespread edema and disease. Luna: What about the local rulers? Were they powerless against the Company? Lucas: Nawab Mir Qasim had been removed by 1763, so there was no strong central indigenous authority left to coordinate relief efforts. The Nawab was essentially a figurehead, and the real power lay with the Company’s Council in Calcutta. However, some local Zamindars did attempt to help their tenants, though many others hoarded grain to sell at inflated prices during the crisis. Lucas: This dual behavior—some helping, many exploiting—fractured the remaining social cohesion. We have accounts of neighbors turning against each other, and in some extreme cases, cannibalism was reported, though historians debate how widespread that actually was. What is certain is that the landscape became a graveyard of abandoned huts and skeletal remains. Luna: Did the Dutch traders have any perspective on what was happening? Lucas: Yes, the Dutch, who still held a factory at Chinsurah, provided some of the most vivid external observations. They noted the massive exodus of people toward cities like Calcutta, hoping for charity, only to find that even the hospitals were overwhelmed. Their correspondence describes a silence that was heavier than any noise—a quietness born of mass death. Lucas: Eventually, the pressure became too great to ignore. In late 1770, the Council did announce a suspension of revenue collection for several months and authorized some funds for relief. But by then, the damage was done. The famine peaked in 1770, and while deaths continued into 1772, the worst had already passed. The population never fully recovered to its pre-famine levels for decades. Luna: It feels like a turning point for how the British governed India after that. Lucas: It was a crucial inflection point. The trauma of 1770 forced the East India Company to rethink its approach. Under Warren Hastings, who took over as Governor-General in 1772, there was a shift toward more formalized administration. They began to understand that governance required more than just extraction; it required stability and some level of public care to ensure long-term profitability. Lucas: Hastings established the Supreme Court in Calcutta and reorganized the judicial system, partly in response to the chaos and lawlessness that had emerged during the famine. He realized that a purely commercial mindset was unsustainable for ruling a subcontinent. The famine served as a brutal lesson in the limits of laissez-faire imperialism. Luna: So the suffering actually led to some structural changes in the administration. Lucas: In a way, yes. But let’s be clear, these changes were driven by self-interest and political necessity, not moral awakening. The Company wanted to prevent future rebellions and ensure steady revenue streams. Still, it marked the beginning of a more bureaucratic form of colonial rule, where laws and codes replaced pure opportunism. Lucas: We also see the seeds of later debates about famine relief. The experience of 1770 haunted British administrators for generations. When famines struck again in the late nineteenth century, the debate was always about whether the government should intervene directly or let the market work. The ghosts of 1770 were present in every policy discussion. Luna: It’s haunting how those old mistakes echo through time. Lucas: Absolutely. And it reminds us that history isn’t just about dates and treaties; it’s about the lived reality of millions of people who vanished without a trace. Their stories are preserved only in the letters of men like Benjamin Smith and the silent ruins of their villages. Luna: Those letters must be heartbreaking to read. Lucas: They are profound historical documents, though. They give voice to the voiceless. If you’re interested in diving deeper, I recommend looking up the archives of the Bengal Council from that period. You can see the frantic, often desperate attempts to manage an unmanageable situation. Lucas: Before we move on, I want to take a quick moment to acknowledge the support that keeps this podcast going. For those who’ve been joining us through these conversations about South Asia, your listener contributions are what allow us to do the deep research and keep the episodes ad-free. If you’d like to support the show, you can find us at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It helps us keep the lights on and the history coming. Luna: Thanks for keeping the archive alive for all of us. Lucas: Back to our story. While the administrative reforms were happening in Calcutta, the human landscape of Bengal was permanently altered. The famine accelerated urbanization as survivors moved to cities for work, changing the demographic balance between rural and urban areas. Lucas: This shift had long-term economic consequences. The agrarian elite, the Zamindars, were weakened, and new merchant classes rose to prominence, particularly in jute and indigo trading. The social hierarchy was shaken, creating space for new forms of resistance and reform that would emerge later in the nineteenth century. Luna: So the famine paved the way for the Renaissance we talked about earlier? Lucas: Indirectly, yes. The trauma of the famine contributed to a growing sense of crisis among the Bengali intelligentsia. Figures like Raja Ram Mohan Roy would later argue for social and religious reform, partly motivated by the desire to strengthen Indian society against both internal decay and external domination. The famine was a foundational wound in the collective memory. Lucas: It also highlighted the vulnerability of the common person to distant decisions made in London. This realization fueled the early nationalist sentiment, even if it didn’t coalesce into a political movement until much later. People began to question the legitimacy of foreign rule when it could cause such devastation. Luna: It’s a powerful reminder of the connection between policy and survival. Lucas: It is. And as we look at the legacy of the East India Company, we can’t separate their economic successes from this catastrophic human cost. The wealth that built Britain’s industrial revolution was partly extracted from the bones of Bengal’s victims. Lucas: As we close out today, I’m left thinking about how often history simplifies complex tragedies into mere footnotes. The Great Bengal Famine deserves more attention because it shows us the true face of early colonialism—not just as a political takeover, but as a humanitarian disaster that reshaped a civilization. Luna: I’ll definitely be thinking about Benjamin Smith’s letters the next time I hear about colonial economics. Lucas: That’s exactly the kind of connection we want to make. History is personal, Luna. And in Bengal, it was deeply, painfully personal for millions. Thanks for listening, and join us next time as we explore another hidden corner of this rich history.