187

FOUR YEARS AT AN INDIAN COURT.

By J. ERNEST NEVINS, M.B. LOND.

OF India, including Burma, rather more than one-third belongs to native states, of which there are about 450, ranging in importance from one (Hyderabad, 71,771 square miles) about the size of England, Wales, and a third of Scotland to one (Khangarh, in Scindia's territory) consisting only of seventeen villages, bringing in an income of about £80 a year in our money.

In their relations with the British, the larger ones are in a condition of "subsidiary alliance." They cannot declare war or send ambassadors to other states or to foreign powers, and they may not employ any Europeans in India without the consent of the supreme power. In all internal affairs they have independent control. They have power of life and death, of coining money, levying taxes, and maintaining an army the size of which is, however, regulated by the supreme government. To all the larger

states, and to groups of the smaller ones, a British officer, called the Resident or Agent, is appointed, whose duties are to watch what is going on, and, if possible, to influence the officials, including the prince, for good, but he has no control, and his advice need not be asked or accepted. Nearly all the states pay tribute in one form or another to England; that of the Maharaja of Cashmere including a certain number of shawls yearly, so that his tribute serves a double purpose. It acknowledges the sovereignty of our gracious Queen, and also supplies her with a fund of wedding presents.

When the chiefs go to any of the great British towns in state, they are received with honour. The larger ones with a salute of twenty-one guns, a guard of honour with a British officer, and the band and colours of the regiment. A smaller chief gets a smaller number of guns, and his guard is commanded by a native officer, and so on. Also when visiting the Viceroy or a governor, that official comes to the edge of the State carpet to receive some; only to the edge of the dais to receive others.

Theoretically, all these powers and honours are the hereditary right of the native prince, but practically they are like the rights of the small boy at school to eat all his cake himself and look as important as he likes as long as the big boy chooses to let him. If a prince persists in governing his state badly, the British advise and caution, and, if necessary, depose him; as in the case of the King of Oude just before the mutiny, and the Gaikwar of Baroda in 1875. In the former case the British confiscated the state; in the latter they allowed the widow of a previous good Maharaja to adopt an heir.

The amount of interference in internal affairs varies with the Resident a good deal, and sometimes reaches a degree which becomes, in my humble opinion, simply impertinence on the part of the British, or rather the British representative. In one case the Maharaja had invited a number of British to dinner at his own palace, and was informed by the Resident that he had no right to invite the British unless the invitations went through the Residency. As the Resident reports to the supreme government on the conduct of the Maharaja and his officials, and his report is confidential and undisputed, you may imagine the power for good or evil that is in his hands. As the princes vary in their importance, so do they in their degrees of social and intellectual advancement. The one

with whom I was is one of the most enlightened in India; but the most advanced of all has reached such a degree of refinement that he sends his shirts to England every week to be washed!

When I reached India, the Maharaja in whom I was specially interested was at the hills for the hot weather, but after a few days he went in his yacht to a little seaside resort on the Gulf of Cambay.

We were landed on the shore, where were all the great ministers of state, a party of nobles and commoners, an escort of mounted soldiers and police, and native trumpeters. Two beautiful Arab horses and a carriage drawn by great white bullocks were ready, but the Maharaja was courteous enough to walk up the rough sandy road to the palace. The procession was headed by an official carrying a gold staff with coloured silk streamers, and another man whose duty it is to call Maharaja's attention to the salutes of the bystanders in a sentence which means"Turn your eyes on the salaams, oh Protector of the Poor!" or some such title. If any specially great person is met his name is called out, so that Maharaja may not overlook his salute. The herald also has to warn the Maharaja not to knock his head getting out of the carriage, and to avoid any other little dangers in his path. After these came some servants, and then the Maharaja with the royal umbrella bearer, and behind them the nobles and ministers according to their rank, none walking abreast of the prince, even when talking to him.

The umbrella bearer has no easy life; as when the Maharaja is riding he has to run beside the horse holding the umbrella, which, with the necessary long handle, is no light weight. The umbrella is not a sign of rank as in China, and is falling out of use amongst the more advanced princes, who find that they get more comfort

from an English umbrella in their own hands than from one carried by somebody else.

On reaching the palace a "durbar," that is, a royal reception, was held in native fashion. The Maharaja squats on the floor at the end of the room, with the visitors in parallel rows on opposite sides of the room facing each other. After a very few minutes chat between the Maharaja and those nearest to him, whilst the others sit in solemn silence and stare at the Prince, the Prime Minister passes round, giving betel nuts, betel leaves, and spices to each, with a garland, or a little bouquet of flowers sprinkled with attar of roses. Then the Prince rises, everybody salaams deeply, and the durbar is over. If Europeans are invited, all sit on chairs.

The relations between a native prince and his servants are a curious mixture of servility and freedom. Under ordinary circumstances nobody, except an elder relation or a European, will walk abreast of him; yet, whilst we were staying at this seaside place, one of the amusements was a sort of "prisoner's base" game, in which some of the clerks and servants joined freely, trying to catch the Maharaja and being caught by him. Immediately the game was over the Maharaja was again a little god, and the rest of the world at his feet.

After a week at the seaside the Maharaja returned to the hills, going by train to Bombay, thence by yacht to the mouth of a river down the coast. It had been intended to visit the cave temples of the Island of Elephanta and return to Bombay before proceeding south, and with this view some native gentlemen remained on board. You may imagine their feelings when the yacht proceeded straight to sea, especially as the native is not as a rule partial to the wild, free movement of the ocean. The plan had been changed at the last moment because

of the tide, and it was nobody's business to inform the visitors. If it was the Maharaja's pleasure to go to sea everybody else had to smile and say, "How nice," even though their next cry might be "Steward!!!"

From the yacht we had to travel by steam launch for about three hours up the river to Dasgaum, which we reached about 10 p.m. By some unfortunate misunderstanding of orders no preparations were made, and no carriages were ready to proceed, so runners were sent to get any means of conveyance procurable, and we went to bed supperless, including the Maharaja. Next day we were up at five, by moonlight, and started in "tongas." A tonga is a low two-wheeled dogcart, with a pole in front, at the end of which is a cross-bar to go over two ponies' backs. We jolted along for about two hours, when we had to stop, as the body of the cart had twisted off the wheels. This sort of little accident is common in Indian travel, and everybody took it philosophically till we got to a village where things were fixed up by a blacksmith. At about ten we reached a large village, where we had breakfast. Nothing was prepared for the Englishman, but the Maharaja kindly sent me some of his breakfast, consisting of curried mutton and eggs, rice, curds, pillau (that is, a dish made of rice, currants, almonds, chicken boiled to shreds, and various spices), fruit, and native bread. This was brought in in dishes of leaves to a separate room, as, if I had eaten with the Maharaja and his people their caste would have been defiled. There was no spoon or fork, and I had to do the best I could with my fingers. It is very easy to eat mutton and hard-boiled eggs with your fingers, but it requires practice to eat crumbly rice and curds without a spoon or fork. The Maharaja and his people belonged to a meat-eating caste. It is only the Brahmins and the Jains who are pure vegetarians, the