IN THE PALACE OF THE MAHARAJAH
The Durbar--Outside the palace--The State elephants--The
soldiery--The Durbar Hall--Officials and gentry of the
State--The throne--Queen Victoria's banner--The hidden
ladies--_Purdah nashin_--Arrival of the _Dewan_--The
Maharajah's entry--The Sons' Salute--A chivalrous
Indian custom--_Nuzzurs_--The Dewan's task--The
Maharani--An Indian reformer--_Bramo Samaj_--Pretty
princesses--An informal banquet--The _nautch_--A
moonlight ride--The Maharajah--A soldier and a
sportsman--Cooch Behar--The palace--A dinner-party--The
heir's birthday celebrations--Schoolboys'
sports--Indian amateur theatricals--An evening in the
palace--A panther-drive--Exciting sport--Death of the
panther--Partridge shooting on elephants--A stray
rhinoceros--Prince Jit's luck--Friendly intercourse
between Indians and Englishmen--An unjust complaint.
The long arcaded front of the Palace of Cooch Behar gleamed in the glow
of torches held by hundreds of white-clad natives. From the broad steps
of the entrance to the lofty dome above it was outlined with lamps
flickering in the night breeze. Before the great portals were ranged two
lines of elephants with the State silver howdahs and trappings of
heavily embroidered cloth of gold. Their broad faces streaked with white
paint in quaint designs, their tusks tipped with brass, the great beasts
looked like legendary monsters in the ruddy torchlight as they stood
swinging their trunks, flapping their ears, and shifting restlessly from
foot to foot. Up the lane between them came carriages and palankeens
bearing the officials and nobles of the State to do homage to their
Maharajah, who this night held his annual Durbar. The flight of broad
steps in front of the great doorway was crowded with swordsmen and
spearmen; while on the ground below were the uniformed State Band under
a European conductor, and a Guard of Honour of the red-coated Cooch
Behar Infantry with muzzle-loading muskets.
The large circular Durbar Hall running up to the high domed roof and
surrounded by a balustraded gallery seemed set for a stage scene. The
floor was covered with the seated forms of officials and gentry clothed
in white and wearing their jewels. On a dais under a golden canopy stood
an empty gilt throne, one arm fashioned into the shape of an elephant,
the other a tiger. Beside it was a large banner, the gift of the late
Queen Victoria, heavily embroidered in gold with the same animals, which
are the armorial bearings of the State. Behind the throne stood a number
of swordsmen and halberdiers. One portion of the gallery was shrouded by
latticed screens, from behind which came the rustle of draperies and the
murmur of female voices; for they hid Her Highness the Maharani, her
daughters, and the ladies of Cooch Behar--_purdah nashin_, that is,
"hidden behind the veil" and never to reveal their faces to any men but
their near kin. In another part of the gallery were a few British
officers and civilians gazing with interest on the brilliant spectacle
below. Through the great entrance could be seen the crowd outside, the
soldiery and the lines of restlessly swaying elephants. Through them up
the broad roadway came a palankeen borne on the shoulders of coolies
and surrounded by torch-bearers and swordsmen. A cheer went up from the
crowd; and all inside the hall rose as the palankeen stopped, and from
it emerged a frail old man, clothed in white and adorned with splendid
jewels which flashed in the ruddy glow of the torches and the clearer
light of the electric lamps. It was the _Dewan_, the Prime Minister of
the State. As he entered the Durbar Hall the mass of white-robed
officials swayed like a field of ripe grain in the wind, as all present
bowed to him. He took his place before the empty throne.
Then the assemblage bent lower and a murmured acclamation went up from
all as their Maharajah entered, followed by a procession of Indian
aides-de-camp in white uniforms with gold aigulettes, white spiked
helmets and trailing swords, similar to the summer dress of British
officers in India. His Highness was clothed in a beautiful native garb
of pale blue, with a _puggri_, or turban, of the same delicate hue with
a diamond-studded aigrette. From the broad gold belt around his waist
hung a jewelled scimitar. His breast glittered with orders and war
medals, for he had seen active service with the British Army. His jewels
flashed in coloured fire in the lamps.
With slow and stately step he passed through the great chamber and
seated himself on the golden throne; while silver trumpets pealed a
welcome and the State Band played the National Anthem of Cooch Behar.
Then came a silence and an expectant pause; and there entered four
gallant young figures, the Maharajah's sons. Foremost came the heir,
Prince Rajendra Narayen, in the scarlet tunic of the Westminster
Dragons, and his brother, Prince Jitendra, in the beautiful white, blue
and gold uniform of the Imperial Cadet Corps. Then followed Prince
Victor, a godson of the late Queen Victoria, in the same magnificent
dress, and the youngest son, Prince Hitendra, in a fine Indian costume
of cloth of gold. The four young men halted and fronted their royal
father. Then the heir apparent walked forward to the steps of the throne
and held out his sheathed sword horizontally before him in the splendid
Indian salute which means "I place my life and my sword in your hand."
His Highness bent forward and touched the hilt, the emblematic sign
meaning "I accept the gift and give you back your life." Prince Rajendra
let fall the sword to his side, brought his hand to his helmet in
military salute and took his place on the dais beside his father. Each
of the other sons came forward in turn, did homage likewise; and then
the four stood two and two on each side of the throne.
Never have I looked on a more picturesque ceremonial or magnificent
spectacle than this scene of the Durbar. It seemed too splendid, too
glowing with colour, to be real life. The brilliantly lit chamber, the
flashing of jewels and gold, the dense throng of white-clad officials,
the glittering weapons of the armed attendants; and then the four richly
apparelled princes pledging their fealty to their Sovereign and Sire in
the historic Oriental custom that has come down to us through the
storied ages of Indian chivalry. I could hardly realise that this
gorgeous pageant was not some magnificent stage scene.
The staff officers now came forward and offered their swords. Then the
_Dewan_, followed by the swarms of officials and nobles, advanced one by
one to the steps of the throne and presented their _muzzurs_, the
Indian offering of gold or silver coins, which His Highness "touched and
remitted," as the quaint phrase runs. Each, after salaaming profoundly
before the throne, retired backwards and brought his gift to an
official, who counted the amount of the offering, for next day the donor
would be dowered with a present of equal amount, a profitable
transaction as his own was returned to him.
An attendant brought forward a splendid embossed gold hookah two feet
high and placed it before the throne. The long snake-like gold tube and
mouthpiece were handed to the Maharajah, who smoked during the remainder
of the proceedings. For now a quaint ceremony began. The accounts of the
various parts and departments of the State were brought solemnly to the
_Dewan_, who sat on the floor surrounded by piles of account-books,
which he examined. When he had concluded his lengthy task the Durbar
came to an end. The assemblage rose and bowed low as the Maharajah,
attended by his sons and his aides-de-camp, passed in procession out of
the hall.
Half an hour later the few military and civilian guests assembled in the
beautiful State drawing-room, where we were joined by the Maharani and
her two pretty daughters attired in exceedingly artistic native costumes
and wearing delicately tinted _saris_ draped most becomingly over their
heads. Her Highness looked almost as youthful and lovely as on the day
when the Maharajah first saw her and lost his heart to her. For, unlike
most Indian marriages, theirs was a true love-match. She was a daughter
of the famous religious reformer, Mr Sen, the founder of the _Bramo
Samaj_ faith, which substitutes for the mythology and the seventy
thousand deities of the Hindu worship, a purer belief in one God. The
Maharani has the fair complexion of high-class Brahmin ladies, and an
individuality and a charm of her own that makes her hosts of friends.
The pretty young princesses seemed more to be masquerading in an
attractive fancy dress than wearing their national costume; for they had
been brought up by English governesses and educated in England, had
danced through the ball-rooms of London and Calcutta in the smartest
Parisian toilettes, and were as much at home in the Park or at a gala
night at the Opera as in their own country.
Owing to the Durbar, dinner was served at a late hour in the State
dining-room, a spacious apartment in white and gold. At one end hung
full-length portraits of our host and hostess in the gorgeous robes they
wore at the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria in the celebrations in
London. Table and sideboard shone with massive silver cups won at
race-meetings and shows by the horses of the Cooch Behar stable. Native
servants in scarlet and gold waited on the guests; but with all the
luxury of a banquet served on silver there was no formality about the
meal. The Maharajah and his sons had changed their magnificent attire
for a comfortable native dress; and listening to their conversation in
colloquial English on polo, shooting, and London theatrical gossip it
was hard to realise that an hour before they had been playing their
picturesque parts in such a stately Oriental pageant. All the family
generally used English as their speech. The boys had been educated at
Eton; and Victor, in addition, had done a course at an American
University.
After dinner we adjourned to the Durbar Hall again to witness from the
galleries a _nautch_; and real Indian dancing is a spectacle of which
the European soon has his fill. And somewhere about three o'clock in the
morning, fatigued with the monotonous chant and the lazily moving fat
figures of the _nautch_ girls, overpowered by the heated atmosphere
heavy with scent, I gladly hailed the suggestion of Prince Rajendra to
escape from it all and go for a mad rush in his motor-car through the
surrounding country in the brilliant moonlight. His brothers followed us
in their cars. _Nautches_ and motor-cars, the brilliant spectacle of the
Durbar and these Eton-bred Indian Princes; what a fantastic medley it
all seemed! And the swift sweep through the park in the cool morning air
back to an Indian palace and a guest-chamber fitted like the best
bedroom in a European _hotel de luxe_. But when next day I left, in
response to an urgent message bidding me come to shoot a tiger near
Buxa, even the prospect of the sport scarcely reconciled me to quitting
the lavish hospitality of my hosts.
The Maharajah of that day is unfortunately no longer alive. The
descendant of a hill race, he had all the fighting spirit of his
ancestors who left their mountains to carve out a kingdom for themselves
among the unwarlike dwellers of the Bengal plains. He took part in the
Tirah Campaign with our troops, and held the rank of colonel in our
Indian Cavalry. A sportsman, he was regarded throughout India, that land
of sportsmen, as one of the best authorities in the world on big-game
shooting. He had not his equal in the art of managing a beat with
elephants; and it was a marvellous sight to see him working a long line
of them through thick jungle with the skill of a M.F.H. with his hounds
in covert. He was a splendid horseman. Excelling in all games, he
brought up his sons in the love of sport and athletics and made them
fine polo players, first-class cricketers and footballers and crack
shots. But, in addition, he was an extremely clever and well-read man
and a most interesting talker. He had been everywhere, seen everything,
and knew most of the interesting personalities of the day. His
hospitality was proverbial. In his residences in Calcutta and
Darjeeling, in his Palace of Cooch Behar, he kept open house. His
courtesy and charm of manner endeared him to all who knew him.
On my first visit to Cooch Behar in response to an invitation of His
Highness, Creagh and I were met at the railway station by Captain Denham
White, then temporarily acting civil surgeon of the State. He drove us
through the town which, though small, is well planned. The streets are
broad, well laid, and shaded with trees. In the centre of it lies a
large square tank or pond surrounded by roads bordered by public and
official buildings. Here afterwards I often saw the invalid permanent
civil surgeon, for whom Captain White was then acting, sitting in a
chair on the bank fishing, with a table beside him on which his servant
laid his tea. And undisturbed by the endless procession of bullock
carts, coolies, and natives of all ages, the old doctor sat and cast his
line, hooking some extraordinary large fish at times.
The poorer houses of the town were built on posts with bamboo walls and
thatched roofs, similar to the Filipino dwellings in Manila, cool and
airy and far healthier than the awful abodes of the lower classes in an
English city. Cooch Behar could boast a fine college, a good civil
hospital and quite a comfortable prison. I visited it once and found the
thieves, highway robbers, and murderers, anything but miserable despite
their chains, making soda water, grinding corn, cultivating vegetables
or eating better and more plentiful meals than they had ever got in
their own homes.
Beyond the town we drove through the open tree-shaded park to the
palace, a long two-storied building with arcaded verandas above and
below. It was shaped like a T laid on its side; and at the junction of
the two strokes was the portico leading to a large hall, off which
opened the great Durbar room surmounted by its lofty white dome. On the
left of the entrance, as one approached, were, on both stories, the long
series of guest-chambers. On the right along the lower veranda was the
State dining-room. Off the entrance hall to the right a broad staircase
led to the upper story. Its walls were crowded with trophies of sport
which had fallen to the Maharajah's rifle all over the world. Heads of
bison, Indian and Cape buffaloes, moose, wapiti, _sambhur_, cheetal and
roe deer from Germany--relics of many lands. To the right lay the State
drawing-room and the splendidly appointed billiard-room carpeted with
the skins of tigers. It occupied the front end of the short stroke of
the T, and so from its windows and doors gave a fine view over the park
on three sides, which made it a popular apartment for the afternoon tea
rendezvous with the ladies of the family and their European guests.
Behind, lay the private apartments of His Highness, the Maharani and her
daughters, from the flat roofs above which, reached by a small
staircase, one could see for many miles over the flat country beyond the
English-like park. From here the Maharani could look down unseen, for in
deference to the customs of her husband's subjects she and her daughters
were _purdah_ in the State outside the palace, and watch her sons
playing football with the Cooch Behar team in the annual association
tournament for a cup given by His Highness. The ground was situated in
the park close under the walls of the building.
At the time of this visit the Maharajah was the only member of the
family in Cooch Behar. He had issued invitations to a dinner-party in
our honour that evening, at which we met his staff and some of the
principal gentlemen of his State. He joined us at dinner himself; for,
being a follower of the _Bramo Samaj_ faith, he had no religious
prejudices that prevented him from eating with Europeans. I have hunted,
shot, played polo and pigsticked with Hindu Princes who yet could not
sit down at the same table with me when I dined at their palaces. At
most they entered the room when dinner was over and filled a glass of
wine to drink our Sovereign's health. But this meal in Cooch Behar was
enlivened for me by the interesting conversation of my host, whom I was
meeting for the first time. The State Band played outside the
dining-room. After dinner we adjourned to the billiard-room or made up a
bridge table. The Maharajah was practically the first Indian Prince to
adopt English customs and was a frequent visitor to England, where he
and his consort were great favourites of the late Queen Victoria. For
her and the then reigning monarch King Edward VII. he entertained the
warmest personal regard and admiration; and his loyalty to the British
rule was founded on his sincere conviction of the benefits it conferred
on India. I remember that during dinner that night he said to me:
"If ever, during my lifetime, the British quitted India, my departure
would precede theirs; for this would be no country to live in then.
Chaos, bloodshed and confusion would be its lot."
I drew him out on the subject of big-game shooting, of which few men
living knew more, and listened with interest to his tales of _shikar_.
Then the conversation ranged to art, the theatre, war, and politics; and
on each he could speak entertainingly. He was deeply interested in
developing the resources of his State and was anxious to introduce
scientific methods among his farmers. Among other plans he was anxious
to improve the quality of the native tobacco grown largely in the State,
and had got for the purpose the best species of American and Turkish
plants. His third son Victor, after finishing his course at an American
University, was sent to Cuba to inspect the plantations and factories,
and study the methods in use there.
On the following day my subaltern and I were obliged to set our faces
towards Buxa again; and it seemed like turning our backs on civilisation
when we left the luxury of Cooch Behar Palace behind us and wended our
way to our solitary little Station in the hills.
On another occasion I was present for the celebrations of the birthday
of the eldest son, Prince Rajendra, best known to his friends as
"Raji," who is now the Maharajah.[6] In the palace park the annual
sports of the Cooch Behar Boys' School were held. To a European new to
India the sight of the native youngsters competing in sprint, hurdle and
long-distance races and doing high and broad jumps like their
contemporaries in England would have seemed strange. But wherever the
Briton goes he takes his sports and games with him and imbues the race
he finds himself among with his own love of them. So Chinese lads play
cricket and football; and swarthy-bearded Indian sepoys rush round the
obstacle course in their regimental sports or play side by side with
their white officers on the hockey ground.
Among the marquees in the enclosure for the spectators who were watching
the schoolboys' competitions was one which was shrouded by _chikks_, or
bamboo latticed blinds which enabled the occupants to see all that was
passing outside and remain invisible themselves. It was intended for the
use of the Maharani and her daughters, who, as I have said, were
_purdah_ in their own State in deference to the prejudices of the Cooch
Beharis. This custom among the Hindus sprang up at the time of the
Mohammedan invasions, partly from imitation of their conquerors, but
probably more to shield their women from the licentious gaze of the
victorious Mussulmans, who would have had small scruple in seizing any
female whose Beauty attracted them.
The Maharani and the young princesses emerged heavily veiled from the
palace and entered a motor-car which was shrouded in white linen in such
a way as to hide them from sight. It took them through the park to the
sports enclosure, where servants held up white sheets to form a lane
through which the ladies could pass unseen to the seclusion of their
marquee.
Among the celebrations in honour of the day--how English customs are
seizing in the East!--was an amateur theatrical performance by the Young
Men's Club of Cooch Behar. After dinner, Prince Raji motored me into the
town to see it. The play was in Bengali, the plot being an episode in
the history of the State several hundred years ago and containing much
bloodshed and tragedy. It was excellently well staged and the acting was
capital. Being ignorant of the language I was dependent on my
companion's explanations. Like all Oriental plays it was of inordinate
length; and having witnessed six or seven acts I was quite ready to
depart without waiting for the end when my friend suggested it.
Once when staying at the palace I was fortunate in having an opportunity
of witnessing the Maharajah's skill in handling a line of elephants in a
beat. The previous night at dinner he told us that he had received
information of a "kill" by a panther near a village five miles away, and
that he had given orders for his elephants to be ready on the spot next
morning. The male guests present hailed the news with joy. We happened
to be a curiously assorted party in race and in costume round the table
that night. The Maharajah and his family wore Indian dress, as they
usually did in the palace; though elsewhere they invariably wore
European attire. Two Sikh nobles, officers of the Maharajah of Patiala's
Bodyguard, were in correct evening clothes but wore white _puggris_
round their heads, which concealed their long hair, which the Sikh is
forbidden by his religion to cut. They were tall, handsome men with the
good features of their race. As they spoke no English, we were obliged
to converse with them in Urdu. The Maharani was not well acquainted with
that language and so was forced to appeal to me to interpret for her
several times. The Indian aide-de-camp of His Highness wore white mess
dress; while a major in a British regiment and I were in the
conventional black and white.
After dinner we joined the ladies in the beautiful yellow and gold State
drawing-room. We found one of the pretty young princesses seated at the
piano, making a delightful picture in the charming Indian dress, the
gold-bordered _sari_ draped becomingly over her dark hair, her tiny bare
feet pressing the pedals as she played--how incongruous it seemed!--a
selection from a musical comedy; and, attracted by the melody of the
song then the rage in London, her brothers came in from the
billiard-room to join in the chorus.
Next morning my orderly woke me at 4-30 a.m. I hurriedly drank my tea
and got into shooting kit; for we were to start at five o'clock. When I
came out of my room on to the lower veranda I found some of our party
already assembled by the great entrance. The Maharajah was seated in his
motor-car with his youngest daughter, Princess Sudhira, beside him. To
my surprise she was attired in a very smartly cut coat and skirt and
wore a sun helmet; for, as she promptly informed me, she did not
consider herself old enough--she was only sixteen--to be bothered by
the restrictions of _purdah_ when it did not suit her. Her father shook
his head and smiled at the pretty rebel against Hindu customs.
Major F---- and I went with them in their car; while the Sikh officers
followed in another. We sped rapidly through the park and out along
rough country roads, by thatched cottages and grass huts, groves of
mango trees and dense thickets of bamboo. By the village wells dark-eyed
women, poising their water jars on their heads turned to stare at us as
we passed in a cloud of dust. From the hamlets tiny naked children
rushed out to gaze at the _shaitan ki gharri_--the "devil's car." We
soon reached the spot where the elephants were waiting for us beside the
road. On the backs of the splendid tuskers intended for the shooters
were howdahs fitted with gun rests and seats. Our elephants knelt down
for us to clamber up. The Maharajah, with the true spirit of
hospitality, left the sport to his guests and went off to take charge of
the line of beaters. Princess Sudhira, armed with a camera, shared his
howdah. The shooting elephants moved across the fields to a _nullah_
filled with small trees and scrub jungle, in which the panther was
reported to be hiding, and took up places in or on either bank of it.
The beaters made a long circuit and formed line across the _nullah_.
Then at a signal from the Maharajah they advanced towards us. As the
ground on either side consisted of open, ploughed fields devoid of cover
the panther would be forced to come along the ravine to the guns. The
loud cries of the _mahouts_, the trumpeting of the elephants, the
crashing of trampled jungle and the rending of boughs torn from the
trees made a pandemonium of noise. I was posted high up on a bank and
had a good general view of the scene. One of the Sikh nobles suddenly
raised his rifle and fired; and I saw the lithe form of the panther for
a few seconds as it dashed past his elephant and bounded like a great
cat along the _nullah_. I caught an occasional glimpse of it between the
patches of jungle but could not succeed in getting a shot. The Sikh's
bullet had wounded it; but for the time it had succeeded in making its
escape.
The Maharajah came up and rearranged the beat. Our howdah elephants were
sent along the banks; and we took up fresh positions farther on. Again
the line of beaters bore down on us. The panther clung obstinately to
the cover, not moving until the beaters were almost on it. Then it slunk
cautiously towards the guns and gave the other Sikh officer a chance to
wound it again. It turned and dashed against the line of beaters,
recoiling almost from under the elephants' feet. For the first time I
got a clear view of it but dared not fire lest I should hit anyone in
the line. The elephants trumpeted shrilly; and while some tried to
charge it and impale it on their tusks, others stampeded. All was
confusion; but the Maharajah's voice rang loud above the uproar and made
the excited _mahouts_ keep their animals in the alignment. The panther,
baffled in his attempt to break through, turned again and charged
towards us. I lost sight of it in the scrub; but both Sikhs fired, and I
saw it spring up the bank towards Major F---- who stopped it with a
bullet. I urged my _mahout_ forward and came on it rolling on the ground
howling in agony and tearing up the earth with sharp claws. It was
surrounded by the elephants of the other sportsmen and of the Maharajah.
Princess Sudhira calmly leant over the front of her howdah and
snapshotted it as it sprang up and tried to charge, only to be bowled
over by a final shot. With a last spasm the beautiful animal sank on the
ground and lay still, its yellow and black skin shining in the brilliant
sunlight. Several _mahouts_ climbed down and approached the body
cautiously, while we covered it with our rifles. But it was dead at
last; and they lifted it on to the pad of one of the "beater" elephants.
Then, exchanging our weapons for shot-guns we moved off in a long line
over the fields in search of partridges. Birds were plentiful. Covey
after covey flashed up from the grass under the elephants' feet. A
scattered fire opened along the line and the partridges dropped in
crumpled balls of feathers. How different it seemed from walking them up
over the stubble in the brisk air of an autumn morning in distant
England! The Maharajah was shooting now and we soon secured a good bag.
We reached the road, found the motor-cars waiting for us, and were
whirled back to the palace. Panther and partridges before
breakfast--what an attractive programme that would be for a
shooting-party in an English country-house!
Though formerly the haunt of every species of big game, Cooch Behar has
been so opened up for cultivation that it no longer affords cover for
the larger animals of the chase. But in recent years the Maharajah's
second son, Jitendra, had an unexpected bit of good fortune in _shikar_.
His father was absent in Assam organising a big shoot, and had taken
with him all his elephants except one. "Jit," then little more than a
schoolboy, was the only member of the family at the palace and was very
disgusted at being considered too young to be taken on the shoot. But
the Fates were good to him. One day an excited peasant repaired to the
palace with the information that a rhinoceros had appeared in a village
not five miles from the town. Jit was incredulous. Such a thing seemed
impossible; for a rhino had not been seen in Cooch Behar State for many
years. But the man stuck to his story. So the boy sent the solitary
elephant out to the spot, mounted his bicycle and rode to the village.
Here he found a crowd of peasants surrounding, at a respectful distance,
a small clump of bamboos in the middle of a large bare field in which
several cows were grazing. It seemed impossible that a rhinoceros, which
in India always inhabits dense jungle, could have come into such open
country. But the villagers declared the animal was there in the bamboos.
Jit, still half incredulous, mounted his elephant. Hardly had he done so
when a large rhinoceros burst out from the tiny patch of cover, and,
apparently objecting to the presence of the cows, charged furiously at
them. Up went their tails and off went the cows. Round and round the
field they raced, the young heifers leaping and frisking like black
buck, while the rhino lumbered heavily after them. The villagers
scattered and fled. The scene was so comical that Jit, standing like a
circus-master in the centre of the ring, could hardly stop laughing long
enough to lift his rifle and take aim. At last he fired; and the
rhinoceros checked, stumbled forward a few paces and collapsed in an
inert mass on the ground. Then the boy, fearful lest his father might
resent his having appropriated the best bit of sport that the State had
afforded for years, got on his bicycle and sped home to write a hurried
letter of explanation and apology, which had the effect of the
proverbial "soft answer."
The late Maharajah of Cooch Behar,[7] as I have said, was practically
the first Indian Prince to adopt English customs, and, with his family,
mixed freely in European society. By doing so he helped greatly the
cause of friendly intercourse between the two races and did much to
break down the great barrier between Briton and Indian. But, be it
remembered, that barrier is not of the white man's raising. Educated
Indians when in England, complain bitterly to sympathising audiences
that in their own land they are not admitted freely into Anglo-Indian
society. And the cry is taken up parrot-like and echoed in the British
Isles by people absolutely ignorant of Indian conditions. The educated
native, fresh from the boarding-houses of Bayswater, claims that he has
a right to be introduced to a white man's house, to his wife and
daughters. But he would hardly let a European see the face of _his_ wife
or permit him to enter anywhere but the fringe of his domicile. He has
all the Oriental's contempt for women, and yet demands to be freely
admitted to the society of English ladies, for whom in his heart he has
no respect. And we who live in the land know it. But until he
emancipates his own womenkind he cannot reasonably expect to be allowed
a familiar footing in an Englishman's home.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] He died in A.D. 1913, and was succeeded by his brother, Prince
Jitendra.
[7] He died in 1911; and his eldest son and successor, Rajendra, died in
1913. Prince Jitendra is now Maharajah.