It was December 2009. Around this time, Nashik, my hometown, is usually swaddled in blankets, coping with frigid winter winds and temperatures that can drop as low as 10°C. I was in 4th grade, engrossed in my own little protected world, unaware of the events happening around me. One fine day, I was selected to participate in a district-level elocution competition. The only theme for the event was Anant Lakshman Kanhere. “Who is this person?” “Why can’t I choose my own topic?” “What’s so special about him?” I bombarded my parents with a hundred questions that day. Really, what was so special about him that the organisers decided to put him in the spotlight? My speech, a collaborative effort between my parents and teachers, answered many of those questions. Anant Kanhere was an eighteen-year-old who assassinated the collector of Nashik, A.M.T. Jackson, on December 21, 1909. The year 2009 marked the centenary of that incident.
Over the next few days, I became word-perfect in my speech. And in the end, I bagged the first prize. But the memory that stayed with me from this entire episode wasn’t the first prize; it was the story of that 18-year-old boy who sacrificed his life and left a lasting mark on Indian history. I was captivated by his bravery. My history textbooks and mainstream historical narratives only deepened this impression. It wasn’t until very recently that I began to see the story from the other side of the narrative. I let that tiny seed of doubt grow in my mind, and since then, I’ve found it difficult to accept the popular belief about Jackson, the British officer assassinated by Kanhere, as the whole truth. I no longer agree with the notion that he was merely a colonial officer biased against the locals. From that moment on, I decided to try wearing a different pair of glasses to understand him. I went down rabbit holes and uncovered many riveting facts I had once conveniently overlooked. At this point, you might be wondering: Who was this man, and what was so special about him? Why was he assassinated? Let me tell you his story.
Arthur Mason Tippetts Jackson was an Indian Civil Service (ICS) officer, an Anglo-Indian civil servant popularly known as Pandit Jackson among the masses. Some sources claim he was born between 1866 and 1867, but beyond that, the details of his early life are wrapped in ambiguity. No corner of cyberspace seems to know where he was born, what he studied, how he came to India, what drew him to Indology, or how and where he learned the vernacular languages. Any information about his formative years and journey to India seems to exist beyond the reach of the real world. According to a few sources, Jackson arrived in India in 1888, but even that detail is vague. He was eventually posted in Nashik as a collector, though the exact date of his appointment remains unclear. Towards the end of the year 1909, he was due for a transfer to Mumbai as a district collector, but before he could take charge, he met an unfortunate and untimely end.
On the night of 21st December 1909, Jackson arrived at Vijayanand Theatre to watch a Marathi play titled Sangeet Sharada, originally written by Govind Ballal Deval in 1899. The play, performed under the banner of Kirloskar Natak Mandali, opposed the then-prevalent practice of child marriage. Many claim the play was arranged as a farewell in Jackson’s honour; however, there is no strong evidence to support this. Some even suggest that Jackson was personally invited by Shankarrao Mujumdar, the manager of the Kirloskar Theatre group. The role of Sharada, the play’s female protagonist, was performed by none other than Balgandharva (Narayan Shripad Rajahans), one of the most celebrated figures in Marathi theatre. Jackson was all set for his upcoming transfer to Bombay, where he was to assume the post of district collector. Among the audience that night sat a young revolutionary named Anant Lakshman Kanhere. Originally from Aurangabad, he had travelled to Nashik with a singular purpose: to eliminate Jackson. Concealing a pistol, Kanhere entered the theatre and, during the interval, possibly while Jackson was meeting the manager of the troupe, he leapt in front of him and fired four bullets. Jackson died on the spot. Kanhere was arrested immediately. Though the exact motive behind the assassination remains unclear, several sources suggest that Jackson was targeted due to his alleged role in the arrest and trial of Babarao Savarkar (Ganesh Damodar Savarkar), the elder brother of Vinayak Damodar Savarkar. Jackson’s murder sent shockwaves through the British administration and stunned even Indian nationalist leaders. The Maratha, a newspaper founded by Tilak and known for its radical views, remarked: “It may be that the law of sedition in India is very vague, but Mr. Jackson, at all events, was not responsible for it. Mr Jackson was only part of the system and machinery…”
But the real question here is: why did such a well-educated man, a Sanskrit pandit, become the target of such a cold-blooded assassination? As mentioned earlier, the exact motive behind the act never fully surfaced. However, it is widely believed that Jackson was aware of the activities of the Abhinav Bharat Society, a revolutionary organisation founded by the Savarkar brothers. The group was originally established in 1900 under the name Mitra Mela. In 1904, it was renamed Abhinav Bharat, a name inspired by Giuseppe Mazzini’s revolutionary organisation, Young Italy. The Society’s pursuits were considered seditious by the British Imperial Government. Babarao Savarkar, co-founder and later the secretary of Abhinav Bharat, fearlessly led many of its initiatives, often risking his own life. He was imprisoned for a month during the sedition trials of the ‘Kal’ editor Shivrampant Paranjpe. About a year and a half later, he was again arrested in Mumbai, under Sections 121 and 124A, accused of waging war against the Crown and inciting sedition. Multiple justifications were given for this detention, but what truly intensified the situation was his trial, which took place in Nashik, before none other than Jackson himself. Babarao’s growing popularity and leadership in the revolutionary movement made this incident more than enough to spark outrage in the minds of the young revolutionaries of Abhinav Bharat.
However, the roots of the growing hatred toward Jackson among the youths can be traced to an incident that occurred well before Babarao Savarkar’s arrest. An impoverished cart owner named Bhausingh was reportedly kicked, without provocation, by the executive engineer officer J.K. Williams somewhere along the Nashik–Trimbakeshwar road. Bhausingh eventually succumbed to his injuries. The case was brought to trial, with Jackson presiding over the proceedings. Yet, in a strikingly convenient move, Jackson took leave during the trial and ensured that J.K. Williams was seamlessly acquitted. To many, this act shattered the image of Jackson as a fair and cultured officer. Behind the face of a dutiful and learned administrator, they now saw a façade, a cunning figure who shielded colonial injustice under the guise of law. Though the exact date of this incident remains unclear, it stirred deep anger among the city’s revolutionaries. One of them was Anant Kanhere. Kanhere was deeply influenced by the radical ideologies of leaders like Tilak and Savarkar. In September 1909, during a visit to Nashik, he came across Savarkar’s translation of the Italian revolutionary Giuseppe Mazzini. Inspired by Mazzini’s life and struggle, Kanhere resolved to take similar action--to avenge what he perceived as the immoral deeds of Jackson, for his role in acquitting J.K. Williams and prosecuting Babarao Savarkar. Determined and focused, Kanhere began practising with a pistol sent by Savarkar from London, shooting at tree trunks to improve his aim. He even visited the collector’s office to observe and confirm Jackson’s identity and daily routine.
Krishnaji Karve, Vinayak Deshpande, and Anant Kanhere, three young revolutionaries of Abhinav Bharat, decided to assassinate Jackson in early 1910. The specific reason for choosing this time remains unclear; however, their plan was soon accelerated when they learned of Jackson’s promotion to Bombay. To them, he needed to be eliminated before he left Nashik. The trio concluded that the night of the drama performance would provide the perfect opportunity to carry out their plan. Anant Kanhere, who was just 18 years old at the time, volunteered to take full responsibility for executing the assassination. They had also prepared a backup strategy: if Anant’s attempt failed, Vinayak Deshpande was to shoot Jackson next. If both Anant and Vinayak failed, Krishnaji Karve would be the last to act. To avoid capture and protect one another, all three had agreed to take poison and end their lives if necessary.
During the interval, possibly while Jackson was meeting the manager of the drama group, Anant Kanhere leapt in front of him and fired four bullets. Jackson died instantly. Kanhere was immediately apprehended by two police officers. He had no time to either shoot himself or ingest poison, as originally planned. Anant Kanhere, along with his two confidants, Krishnaji Karve and Vinayak Deshpande, was prosecuted and hanged on 19th April 1910, just four months after the incident. A Special Tribunal was established by the Government of Bombay to try those involved in the conspiracy. This tribunal consisted of Sir Basil Scott, the Chief Justice, Mr. Justice Chandavarkar, and Mr. Justice Heaton. [Interestingly, a few years later, Sir Basil Scott’s brother—a London-based lawyer—recommended Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel’s name to Sir Basil Scott when the latter returned to Bombay after completing his law education in the UK.] In the wider investigation, the police tried 38 individuals in connection with the Nashik Conspiracy Case. Of these, many were sentenced to varying prison terms; only eight were either acquitted or discharged. Vinayak Damodar Savarkar was one of the 38 accused and was presented before the Bombay High Court. On 23rd December 1910, he was sentenced to life imprisonment for 25 years on charges of sedition, and his property was confiscated. Just over a month later, on 30th January 1911, he received another life sentence in connection with the Jackson murder case. The pistols he had sent from London were found in the homes of the revolutionaries who carried out the assassination, making it evident that V.D. Savarkar was indirectly involved in this case.
This forms the basis of the popular narrative: Jackson was a British officer who deceived the locals and showed bias against Indians. But how was he as a scholar? Was there another side to this story? The answer is yes, and it’s a side that often remains concealed. Jackson was a learned Indologist, one among a wave of young British intellectuals in the late 19th and early 20th centuries who were deeply fascinated by the Indian subcontinent. Their interest was largely inspired by the pioneering work of first-generation English Indologists such as Henry Colebrooke, Sir William Jones, Charles Wilkins, James Prinsep, and Max Müller, to name a few. Jackson contributed several scholarly papers on Indian history and authored books on Indian folklore and culture. He was not only a Sanskrit scholar but also a man of wide learning and refined cultural taste. He was fluent in Marathi and regularly attended Marathi plays. While his political role and motivations remain a matter of debate, to question his intellectual engagement with Indian culture is to overlook substantial evidence of his genuine interest. He authored three books focused on the folklore of Gujarat and the Konkan region, and his work was acknowledged as valuable in the compilation of the Bombay Gazetteer. Although little is known about his life before he was posted as collector of Nashik, local accounts describe him taking walks along the banks of the Godavari River and participating in the Simhastha Mela. In fact, it is said, though not documented, that Jackson once claimed he must have been a Brahmin in a previous life, so deeply did he feel connected to Indian traditions.
Recently, while reading the autobiography of Aranyarushi Padmashree Maruti Chitampalli, I came across an intriguing anecdote. He once visited a small village named Goregaon, in the Raigad district near the town of Mahad, to meet his guru. As Chitampalli explored the area, he came across a small temple, built in 1826. According to the sources, two Sanskrit pathshalas once stood in front of this temple. These schools had once been vibrant centres of Sanskrit learning, housing a rich collection of texts. Interestingly, some of the books in their collection bore the stamp of A.M.T. Jackson. It is said that Jackson had donated a portion of his personal library to one of these institutions, a lesser-known facet of Jackson’s life. Adding another layer to this complex legacy, Durga Bhagwat, one of the early female scholars in Indian studies, wrote an essay on Jackson. [This article was first published in a Diwali special edition of the Marathi magazine Sadhana in 1957. It is now included in her Marathi book Bhavmudra.] Born in 1910, the very year following Jackson’s assassination, Durga Bhagwat spent a few years of her childhood in Nashik. Like many others, she was introduced to Jackson through a singular lens: as a cruel, merciless officer serving the British imperial throne.
However, over the years, a new facet of Jackson’s personality was revealed to Durga Bhagwat. She began to question the mainstream, popular notions of him as merely an unjust and callous colonial officer. Instead, she recognised his intellectual worth and wrote a sincere, unfeigned essay on his personal book collection. How she came across his collection, or how his books ended up in her possession, remains an unanswered question. But setting that aside, what fascinated me most was her avant-garde perspective in perceiving Jackson’s personality. What many extreme ideologies fail to grasp is the raw human existence behind masked titles and imposed identities. The subtle gradients and hidden niches of a person’s character are often overlooked when reduced to rigid ideological interpretations. In Jackson’s case, one sees a man with a quenchless thirst for knowledge, a deep reverence for books, and a prodigious curiosity about the Indian subcontinent, its culture, its people, and the mysteries it held for millennia. He amassed an enormous collection of texts, not as a colonial trophy, but seemingly as a seeker, fascinated by a civilisation he earnestly tried to understand.
After Jackson’s death, his wife endured agonising days. Alone and heartbroken in a foreign land, she found herself without the means to meet even her basic needs and with no funds to return to her homeland. Though some locals held meetings, staged protests, and expressed sympathy for her situation, none of it translated into material support. Her last resort was painful. She decided to sell her late husband’s beloved book collection. With a heavy heart, she approached the Royal Asiatic Society, requesting them to purchase Jackson’s treasured library. In return, what she received was a scant sum of a few thousand rupees. What Durgabai may have experienced when she later handled those very books is something deeply intimate and, perhaps, untranslatable. In brushing her fingers across their pages, breathing the scent of those books or opening the old cupboards that had long held Jackson’s literary treasure, she might have felt the lingering presence of this man preserved in ink and parchment. She has captured those sentiments in her essay, documenting the quiet emotions that arose as she interacted with the intellectual legacy of a man behind the uniform.
Growing up, we tend to hold tightly to popular portrayals of historical events and figures, often accepting simplified narratives without question. What we frequently overlook in the process is the importance of examining history from a broader, more nuanced perspective, one that is free from emotional attachments and ideological rigidity. What I find most fascinating about historical figures is their hidden complexity. They rarely fit neatly into the boxes we create for them. Branding Jackson as an intellectual, a pandit, or a sympathiser of India feels reductive. These labels are challenged when we consider his role in the Bhausingh incident. Jackson, who could have upheld justice by adhering to the law, chose instead to look the other way. His inaction revealed the deeply ingrained biases that many British officers held toward Indians. And yet, we also can’t ignore the fact that Jackson engaged in extensive, serious research about the country he lived in and served. His scholarship not only acquainted him with Indian culture and traditions but may have given him insight into the psychology of the people. He was studious enough to understand their habits, interests, and values; perhaps to earn their admiration, or perhaps to cultivate a sympathetic image of himself in their eyes.
Now, let’s revisit the question: Was he really that cruel type of British officer? Perhaps yes. Deep within, he may have harboured the same racial prejudices that many of his contemporaries held, an ingrained disdain for the ‘brown-skinned’ Indians, as colonial vocabulary crudely described us. Was he a scholar, a cultured Indologist? Definitely yes. His knowledge of Indian languages, folklore, and cultural traditions is undeniably impressive. Did he possess sympathy for the people he was ruling? Probably yes. At the very least, he never openly displayed contempt for the locals. On the contrary, he was respected, perhaps even liked, by many, and was popularly referred to as Pandit Jackson. So, what does all this tell us? In bold and underlined letters: the complexities of history. Many may feel uncomfortable confronting alternative narratives or unearthing layers that contradict popular beliefs. But to me, asking those uncomfortable questions is vital. They not only offer broader perspectives beyond the simplified narratives we inherit, but they also teach us to engage with the ambiguities of our own lives and the histories we are actively shaping for future generations. Revisiting the past with new questions, challenging our own beliefs, and interrogating long-held assumptions, no matter how uncomfortable, is perhaps the most important responsibility of our time.
Samyukta Parchure is an independent researcher based in Pune. She has a Master’s degree in South Asian Studies from South Asia Institute, University of Heidelberg, Germany. Her research interests include cultural studies, Indian independence history, human geography, languages, music and films. In addition to her work as a freelance writer, she is also a language tutor and a travel guide.