Hindoo Holiday (25 page)

But, I said, the recommendation this time came from the King himself, and so, apart from questions of obedience, it must also be part of a Dewan's policy, in governing a State which was a monarchy, to see to it that the King's wishes were upheld and his promises fulfilled. But he denied this with amusement. His Highness, he said, had given him the power to run the State as he wished, so long as he reported on everything he did, and these orders he faithfully and loyally carried out. For nine years now he had been Dewan, and not even His Highness knew more about the administration of the State and its difficulties than he did; no man now could show him his business, and so he took orders from no man. If His Highness was displeased with him he could always get a new Dewan; but this would not occur. Once he had resigned his office, but he had been recalled almost immediately; he was indispensable to His Highness. But where would the State be now if he had listened to His Highness's recommendations? Dozens of times a day men came to him with promises from His Highness; but all he said to them was, “My good boy—go avay.”

“Then,” I said, “the upshot of all this is, that His Highness's promises and my patronage are not only to prove of no benefit to Abdul, but will, if persisted in, cause his ruin?”

With this the Dewan imperturbably agreed.

But things could hardly be worse for Abdul than they were at present, I said; for even without his increment he seemed already to have forfeited the goodwill of his officer and was being persecuted by him. But the Dewan denied this; naturally his officer was displeased with Abdul for going behind his back, but this would soon be forgotten—unless the increment were granted.

I listened to him with amazement, astonished by the audacity, the cleverness of all this, with its flavor of insolence. Accustomed as I was to my unique, dignified position as “The Sahib,” it was quite the last reception I had expected, and I began to understand something of Abdul's fear, Babaji Rao's admiration, and the Political Agent's dislike for this man, and why I had been practically ignored by him. Like all Europeans, I had been expected to interfere; I
had
interfered, and there was a feeling of personal animosity behind the Dewan's words for which I was sorry, since I did not wish to make enemies.

He went on to say that though he himself had sometimes been tempted to make favorites of people, it was a thing he had never practiced; but I asked him to believe that neither had I been actuated by quite that feeling, and that I did not care for Abdul more than for any one else I had met in the State. I had only put myself in his position. He had quite reasonably looked upon me as a unique opportunity of securing benefits for himself, and I had allowed myself to be used by him. I was very sorry, I said, that I had done so; but it was the kind of error of judgment that most of us committed at some time or other in our lives, causing annoyance and unhappiness to other people and often to ourselves. Once one was involved it was difficult to withdraw. Just as Abdul had tried to make the most of me, I might exploit His Highness, I said, on the strength of the relationship between us, and perhaps would be considered a fool for not doing so. But I had not undertaken Abdul's cause quite stupidly; if I had thought him a fool I should never have interfered; but he seemed to me to be an industrious and able man, poorly paid, and worthy of a rise. Apart, therefore, from promises and petitions, could not his officer quite honestly, without feeling himself under pressure or in any awkward position, raise Abdul's salary, on account of industry and merit, if not to twenty rupees, at any rate by so much as he thought fit?

But the Dewan would not budge. Abdul was not worth a rise in salary, he said; but he would nevertheless instruct the officer to raise it if that were my wish.

I got up to go. I had been with him for an hour and a half, and it seemed clear that I might stay with him for the rest of my life without getting any further. I said I was sorry, but the matter had better be left where it was, and could I come one day to take his photo with my borrowed camera?

The effect of this request was quite remarkable. From being intractable, politely dictatorial, and rather unfriendly, he became suddenly bashful and shy, and began simpering and smoothing his belly.

“Very pleased. Thank you, thank you; yes, any time; thank you.”

And a little later on Babaji Rao came up to see me in my house, and brought word from the Dewan that he had thought the matter over and was prepared to raise Abdul's salary (on account of merit) by three rupees with his blessing, but that any greater increment would be given without his blessing.

His Highness has been informed that there is plague in Gaya; which is a
great misfortune
, for it may mean another postponement of his pilgrimage. He has sent a messenger to find out the extent and gravity of the outbreak. Meanwhile his sore throat is better. But Babaji Rao, when he brought me this news with the Dewan's message, rubbed his forehead a little impatiently; there is always a slight outbreak of plague in Gaya at this time of year, he said, but His Highness's itinerary will not take him near the infected area.

Narayan spent most of yesterday evening with me, and gave me betel to chew. He carries it with him, wrapped up in a piece of muslin, in a metal snuff-box. I chewed betel a good deal while I was away, accepting it from the various merchants in Benares, Agra, and Delhi from whom I bought things, and soon came to like it.

I asked Narayan which God in the Hindoo pantheon he worshipped, and he named Krishna, the dark hero-god.

He is the most popular of the Hindoo gods, he said, though all the others also have their adherents. I asked him how and when he worshipped, and he said that at twelve o'clock, before taking his food, he poured oblations of rice, sandal, and
dhal
(pulse) before an image of Krishna which he had in his house.

“What are the prayers that you pray?” I asked.

“Poetry,” he said.

“And do you make special requests of him?”

“Yes, for a better brain and a healthy body.”

Later on Sharma came up the hill to seek him, and we induced the boy to come and sit with us in my house. He seemed very nervous and kept his eyes fixed upon his friend.

I said it was a pity that they did not eat European food, for we might all have had dinner together, but Narayan said that as a matter of fact Sharma ate and drank in secret all manner of forbidden things, such as meat and eggs, cake, crystallized fruit, and invalid port. He would never admit to this, of course, but it was true nevertheless.

“He is a fool-boy!” he observed, expressing his disgust at the thought. But then all low-caste Hindoos were the same, he said; they ate meat or anything else they could get hold of—all of them, and he dismissed equally, with a contemptuous sweep of the hand, his friend beside him, the beautiful Sharma, favorite of the King, and the rude peasant workmen who were building the garage outside.

Sharma had no idea, of course, what was being said about him. They both came and sat with me while I ate my dinner, and though I tempted Sharma with chocolate and crystallized fruits, much to the amusement of Narayan and Hashim, he refused to accept them. After dinner the carriage came to take me to the Palace, and both the boys drove down with me into the city.

“What is sin?” His Highness greeted me with as I entered the enclosure and bowed to him. I wasn't very good at this, not understanding what lay behind the question, and produced some excessively dull observations on transgression of the principles of Christian morality which must have bored him considerably.

“Why, anyway?” I asked, suddenly realizing that life was beginning to sag and that it was my fault.

“It is this tour of mine,” he said. “I have had such a day! They say that if I do not go it will be a sin.”

“Who say?” I asked.

“My priests—and Babaji Rao.”

“But I thought there was plague in Gaya?”

“I think so, too,” he said, popping a betel-leaf into his mouth; “but my messenger cannot get definite information.”

“Well,” I said, “since you have good health and good weather and a gay fair at Garha and a desire to enjoy it and good friends to enjoy it with, I think it will be a sin if you
do
go on your pilgrimage to Gaya.”

This was much more the kind of thing he was wanting, and with his arms clasped round his knees, he began to rock on his rump. Such a queer, unearthly little figure he looked, bareheaded and wrapped in a dark-red toga, rocking on his rump in the moonlight.

“All day long,” he said, “it has been a struggle between my conscience and my inclination. But I must go.”

There had been a kind of conference held during the day, he told me, to decide finally whether the pilgrimage was to be undertaken or not, for if it were undertaken, the rituals, the shaving and purifications, would have to be begun by midday to-morrow, and from that moment there would be no getting out of it. The conference had decided nothing; but it had been very exhausting. The priests had quite rent him, he said, when he had shown a mild disposition to waver. They had been unanimous in their displeasure, and as for Babaji Rao—Babaji had been
formidable
. Chiefly moved, I expect, by acute nervousness at the idea of having to cancel at the last moment, for the second time in one month, all his arrangements for special rail-transport and accommodation, he had quite domineered over the little man, lecturing him on duty, expatiating on sin and eternal punishment (which had not impressed him much), and rebuking him for an infirmity of purpose which would bring down ridicule and contempt upon them both.

This last warning had certainly had its effect; but on top of it had come the Dewan, practical, skeptical, and scornful, who had told the King to do just as he wished, and not to take the least notice of any of them.

“They are all mad!” he had cried, waving a contemptuous hand at the opposition; “and as for Babaji Rao—he is the maddest of them all!”

His Highness wheezed with husky laughter as he repeated it to me; and so, he said, suddenly grave again, the conflict had continued all day—and I could very well picture his small thin figure sitting, crumpled but alert, in the midst of them, chewing betel and expressing, every now and then, a feeble determination to do his duty whilst egging on the Dewan with the same breath.

“But of course I
must
go,” he remarked, as though the whole city were bent on hindering him, and expectorated a bright-red stream into the spittoon beneath him.

I didn't understand the reason for the resignation in his words, for there was none in his voice, and made my second mistake that evening. I urged him again to postpone.

“The Dewan,” I said, “is certainly the only sensible man among them, and as for ridicule—no one will dare to laugh at you. What is the good of being a king if you can't indulge every whim that comes into your head?”

But he shook his finger at me sadly.

“You should not be saying these things,” he said; “for today is a Friday, and advice given on a Friday should never be taken, for it is sure to have bad results. So you must say ‘Go, Maharajah! Go! You
must
go!'—and then, perhaps, to-morrow——?” he turned his hands.

However, I was not quite happy about it when I left him. Babaji Rao might still manage to commit him to the rituals from which there was no retreat, so when I returned from my ride this morning before breakfast I sent this letter to the Palace:

The reply was disappointing:

However, later on Babaji Rao came up to see me, looking as if
his
day also had passed in anxiety and worries.

“You have got your wish,” he said in a distant voice; “His Highness's tour has been postponed.”

“That's a good thing!” I replied.

“I thought you would think so,” he remarked rather coldly; “we have not the same point of view.”

And, later still, came another note from the Palace:

Narayan and Sharma sat with me this evening before dinner. I asked Narayan what he thought of the Mohammedans here who look after the Guest House, and he said that Hashim was the only good man among them. The cook was a thief, and as for Munshi, he was old and very crafty. But Hashim was a good man.

“Why is Hashim a good man?” I asked.

“If he hear secret talk he say nothing. Other people hear and tell all, all. I do not like that. That is bad.”

I smiled, but he remained quite grave.

“Not good,” he repeated; “I do not like.”

They had some business, the two of them, in the city, so could not sit with me while I had dinner; but they said they would return later on and drive down to the Palace with me. When I had finished I found them waiting for me on the verandah of my house, and with them a young man named Prasad.

I met him first some months ago, when His Highness sent him up to me as a companion on approval. But I did not like him at all. He was vain, and his manners were as bad as the English he was alleged to speak; he didn't remove his shoes on entering my house, nor wait to be offered a chair or a cigarette; and since he was ugly as well, I told His Highness that I never wanted to see Prasad again.

I was surprised, therefore, to find him on my verandah with Narayan and Sharma. He had driven up in the carriage, he said, and wished to drive back in it again. He thereupon seated himself in front, next to the coachman. But it seemed to me that there was an air of uneasiness about the three of them, and though on the way down Prasad became playful, and suddenly twitching Narayan's hat from his head, tried it on himself and then pretended to throw it into a tank, this jocularity was not well received; Narayan was annoyed, and Sharma alarmed and vigilant. When Prasad left us in the precincts of the Palace, I asked Narayan what he thought of him.