What was happening in its recesses I could not see, but in the middle, on an ordinary-looking chair, sat the Princess, her destined daughter-in-law squatting at her feet and attendants in the background. She was wrapped in a gorgeous green-and-gold sari and covered with jewels on neck, arms, and ankles, but her bare feet projected in an uncomfortable manner; she looked as if a cushion on the floor would have suited her much better than her stiff seat. Near her, looking singularly incongruous, stood her son, and a stepson whose existence scandal said she resented. The young men were attired in immaculate European dress-clothes, and might had walked out of the Bachelors’ Club except that they wore on their heads curious mitre-shaped hats which indicated their connection with the Nizam’s house. They both spoke English perfectly. Our conversation with the lady was naturally limited to translated platitudes, but I was interested to see the heroine, who was reckoned very clever but not over-scrupulous.
At the great fortress city of Gwalior we visited very different ladies—the mother and wife of Scindia, who received us in pleasant apartments, well-furnished, light and airy. The old lady might have been an English dowager—she was extremely talkative and full of her son the Maharajah, who was expected back immediately from the Boxer War. The little wife was in the charge of an English governess and seemed anxious to remain in another room out of her mother-in-law’s way. She was about eighteen, and was much amused at the height of my daughter who was her contemporary. Unfortunately the poor young thing had no child, though she had been married for some years. The Maharajah was devoted to her and wanted to avoid a second marriage, but later on was obliged to consent to taking another wife with a view to providing an heir.
I do not know what ceremonies were then necessary, but when he married our young friend certain difficulties had arisen. The wife of Scindia had to be chosen from a very limited caste, and the only eligible young lady at the moment was the daughter of a quite middle-class family somewhere near Bombay or Poona. Now if the lady had been his equal by birth it would have been proper for the Maharajah to ride to her residence in order to bring her home, but he could not have gone to a comparatively humble abode. As a compromise he had to ride the same number of days which it would have taken him to reach his bride, but it was arranged that he should do this in his own dominions, sleeping each night at the house of one of his Sirdars.
At Lahore we saw the College for young Chiefs, modelled as far as possible on the lines of an English Public School and, like the Mayo College at Ajmere, intended to bring up a manly race of rulers without the risks attendant on sending them to England. The majority of the youths whom we saw were Mohammedans or Sikhs. The Mohammedans would mess together, but, though the Sikhs are by way of disregarding caste, in practice it was found that each youth preferred to eat in private. This may have been partly a question of dignity, as these young northern chiefs came attended with personal servants.
Their private rooms, with occupant’s name outside, were not unlike those of Eton boys, and each contained a little illuminated card calling attention to the special observances of the scholar’s own faith, and saying that the Directors of the College were anxious that the students should attend to their religious obligations.
I noticed outside one door “Granth Sahib,” and wondered what Scotsman had entered himself as pupil with such companions. On inquiry it proved that this was the shrine or chapel of the “Granth” or Sacred Book of the Sikhs, the one symbol allowed in their worship. We went into the room where it was kept, and found a large volume lying on the floor, with flowers thrown upon it, evidently the offering of some devotee who had performed “poojah” or worship.
At beautiful Amritsar, now a home of sad memories, in the Golden Temple in the Lake, we saw a far more gorgeous shrine, but still with the Granth as its centre of worship.
LORD AND LADY NORTHCOTE
I must not linger over these scenes, though every part of India offers a fresh temptation to dwell on its manifold races, its historic temples and palaces, but must hasten to our sojourn at Bombay, where Lord and Lady Northcote gave us some of the most delightful weeks of our lives, including a truly cheerful Christmas in a home away from home.
Every day brought something of interest seen under the best possible auspices, and every evening a happy time with our friends. It was a joy also to find how they had rooted themselves in the esteem and affection of both English and Indians in the Presidency.