A Burka Clad Woman Commander of Indians in 1857

History often remembers kings, generals, and rulers—but sometimes, the bravest souls remain unnamed. Among the forgotten heroes of the Great Revolt of 1857 was a mysterious Muslim woman in Delhi, always seen in a green burka, carrying a sword and a gun, and riding on horseback. No one knew her name. No one had seen her face. Yet, her presence stirred Delhi’s residents with courage at a time when the city was engulfed in fire and fury.

She became a symbol of defiance, appearing suddenly at key moments, rousing men and women alike to take up arms against the British. She moved swiftly through the streets, gathering Hindus and Muslims together at the Ridge and Kashmiri Gate, urging them to fight shoulder to shoulder for the freedom of their land. After each clash, she would disappear—her trail vanishing into the bylanes of Delhi, leaving only whispers of her bravery behind.

We know of her existence from an unlikely source—the letters of her enemy. On July 29, 1857, Lieutenant Hudson—an infamous British officer known for his role in the suppression of the uprising—wrote to the Deputy Commissioner of Ambala about a Muslim woman he described as a “dangerous person.”

Hudson admitted that she was no ordinary rebel. Skilled in both swordsmanship and marksmanship, she had killed several British soldiers in skirmishes around Delhi. Her mastery of arms and her fearless presence in battle shocked the colonial officers, who had expected little resistance from women, let alone an elderly one.

So impressed was Hudson that he compared her to Joan of Arc, the French heroine who had led her people against foreign domination. To Hudson, this burka-clad warrior was India’s own Joan—an unlikely leader whose courage and charisma had turned ordinary people into fighters.

Her fate turned during one of the fierce engagements near the Delhi Ridge, the battlefield where the British laid siege to the city. In the chaos of combat, her horse was struck, and she fell. Captured by British soldiers, she was brought before their commanding officer.

At first glance, the general saw only an old Muslim woman—hardly a threat, he thought—and ordered her release. But Hudson intervened. He revealed to his superior that this was no ordinary prisoner; she was, in fact, the commander inspiring the rebels in Delhi, a figure far more dangerous than the men they had killed. Alarmed, the British decided to transfer her to Ambala prison.

From that moment, her story disappears into silence. No records mention her again. Did she die in captivity? Did she escape? Or did she fade back into the anonymity from which she had emerged? History leaves us only with questions.

Though nameless, she remains one of the unsung heroes of 1857. For the people of Delhi, she was remembered simply as the “green-burka-clad woman,” a warrior who defied convention, rallied Hindus and Muslims alike, and showed that resistance to tyranny was not the domain of men alone.

Her story, preserved in the writings of the very officer who sought to destroy her, stands as testimony to the hidden figures of India’s first war of independence—women and men whose names we may never know, but whose courage still echoes across history.

She may not have left behind a name, but her legend lives on—as Delhi’s forgotten Joan of Arc, the veiled warrior who fought for freedom.