Cholera, malaria, influenza and now Covid-19 have all sown terror and uncertainty across the world, sparing no one, regardless of age, gender, or ethnicity. Yet, much like these modern plagues, disease has haunted humanity throughout its history. After the Black Death ravaged 14th-century Eurasia, the bubonic plague became an enduring spectre of mortality, resurfacing periodically in smaller outbreaks—a grim remindeꦯr that its shadow never truly lifted, even as other scourges took centre stage.
Natasha Sarkar’s study subtly highlights the stark parallels between the bubonic plague and Covid-19. The introduction to her work begins with the outbreak in Wuhan’s wet market, framing pandemics not just as biological threats but as mirrors reflecting the fragility and inequities embedded within human systems. What she calls the last great plague of colonial India, which also began in China in the 1850s, is a case in point. Spreading rapidly via sea trade, it reached Hong Kong in 1894, where its impact was devastating. The response was international—scientists from France and Japan, among others, joined the effort to combat the epidemic. Alexandre Yersin of France identified the bacterial cause of the p🦩lague, paving the way for modern microbiology.
From Hong Kong, the plague reached British India, where it became a focal point of the pandemic. Carried by sea trade to major ports, the disease spread uncontrollably after premature lifting of quarantine restrictions—an oversight that was eerily reminiscent of the premature relaxations that worsened Covid-19 outbreaks. Once 𝄹in India, the plague disregarded caste, religion, and race, killing indiscriminately, though colonial negligence magnified its impact. At first it was thought to focus on grain merchants but gradually it could be discerned spreading everywhere leaving a trail of dead rats. Children swung dead rats like toys and threw them out of windows. That rattus rattus was linked to the spread of plague soon became obvious though the suspicion had to go beyond rats.
In B💫ritish India, early detection and rapid response—cornerstones of epidemic prevention—were often absent. Hospitals were viewed with suspicion, likened to graveyards rather th𝕴an places of healing. As Sarkar observes, the colonial administration’s failure to build trust and provide humane care deepened this stigma. Communities ostracised plague victims, and forced isolation further alienated those in need of treatment.
Yet, amid this devastation, there were individuals whose efforts deserve recognition. Did you know that the Dr Nusserwanji Choksy Wards at Arthur Road Hospital commemorate a man who meticulously documented over 4,000 plague𒉰 cases? Figures like Nusserwanji Surveyor, who🅺 isolated the plague bacillus from a patient’s sample and Acacio Viegas, who identified the first case in Mandvi, played pivotal roles but remain overshadowed in public memory.
Waldemar Haffkine, a Russian bacteriologist, is perhaps the most celebrated figure of this era. He developed the first plague vaccine in 1897, arriving in Bombay at the epidemic’s peak. While his efforts were ground breaking, they coincided with the outbreak’s natural decline, raising questions about their immediate i🔯mpact. As Sarkar notes, inoculation campaigns in colonial India faced significant resistance. Many mistrusted Western medicine, fearing side effects and viewing vaccination as an act of state control. These campaigns were often enforced with coercion, disregarding local customs and consent, further fuelling scepticism. Jamsetji Tata was one of those who stepped forward to support Haffkine, being inoculated as often as requested and getting his household vaccinated too.
Sarkar also highlights how colonial Bombay’s unsanitary and overcrowded urban environments created fertile ground for the plague not to mention places like the Punjab and the United Provinces while Bengal especially eastern Bengal and Assam and Madras൲ practically escaped the wrath of the pandemic. Public health reforms, such as the establishment of the Bombay City Improvement Trust, aimed to address these issues but often displaced the urban poor in the process.
Her book is full of facts and figures, not to🍬 mention old photographs adding to her incredibly detailed source material.
History teaches us that epidemics reflect the societies they ravage. In British India, the plague’s devastation was compounded by colonial apathy, much as Covid exposed cracks in modern health systems. Yet, progress o🐲ften rises from the ashes of crisis, driven by the efforts of individuals whose names deserve remembrance. The plague drove sanitation reforms, urban planning improvements, and deeper scientific inquiry in colonial India, much as COVID-19 has reshaped global public health infrastructure and cooperation.
Yet, as Sarkar reminds us, pandemics are as much social and political phenomena as they are biological ones. The bubonic plague and Covid-19 both reveal how public health respons🍎es are shaped ﷺby the power structures of their time, often amplifying existing inequalities even as they drive progress.
Understanding these parallels is crucial—not only for learning from history but for building more equitable and effective systems to confront future outbreaks. Pandemics, as The Last Grea🎀t Plague of Colonial India work illuminates, challenge us to address entrenched inequalities while recognising 🎃the resilience and ingenuity that arise in response to these shared global challenges.
Natasha Sarkar is a commissioning editor and independent researcher who earned her PhD in History from the National University of Singapore.
