The Autobiography of an Indian Princess

by Maharani of Cooch Behar Sunity Devee

After my return I resumed my life at Lily Cottage like an unmarried girl, and was not sorry to forget the strenuous days at Cooch Behar. Our home was very peaceful, and as it was half an hour’s drive from the town we were right out of the city. Lily Cottage is not isolated now. Houses have sprung up all round it and not many traces of the surroundings of my girlhood remain. It is a large house, with a sanctuary, bedrooms, and drawing-room on the upper story; below is the room that was used by the missionaries, and the dining- and guest-rooms. The grounds were very pretty, and I especially remember the little hut outside where father and the missionaries cooked on Sundays. I used to get up quite early, and take my bath, for I attended to our prayer-room, and it is a strict Brahmo rule that this quiet sanctuary may be arranged only by those whose body and dress are clean. My father plucked flowers from the garden and brought them to the prayer-room every morning, and the service there usually lasted until about half-past twelve. After that I breakfasted and then began my daily lessons.

In India we offer betel leaf if any guest comes, as English people do cigarettes. Our cooks are high-caste, and they have to bathe before they enter the kitchen. One maid goes to the market to buy vegetables, fish, and fruit every morning, other maids have to clean the brass plates, etc., early in the morning; after this they must bathe before they enter any of the rooms in the house. The sanctuary at Lily Cottage is very large; the floor is of marble; and when I went away my mother and sisters used to arrange the flowers. It was wonderful the designs mother made, sometimes from the stars she had seen the evening before. After prayers the children had their breakfast, and then the gentlemen, and then the ladies. Our chief food in India is milk; very little meat is eaten, but plenty of vegetables and fruits in their seasons.

The Government had, according to their ideas, discovered for the ideal wife the ideal governess, a lady of good family, Miss S⸺, a society woman to her finger-tips, but useless except as a teacher of les convenances. I wanted to learn everything possible about the history of other nations, and I was anxious to acquire a good general knowledge of languages. German was the only foreign language which my governess seemed to think necessary for a Maharani; but, as her German was dominated by a strong Scottish accent, I doubted its conversational value. It was an unfortunate experience. No doubt the lady meant well, and regarded me as an uninteresting pupil. But she frightened and repelled me with her trying temper, until I became quite cowed, and my education suffered in consequence. Mrs. White taught me painting, and my sister-in-law taught me Bengali. She was very clever, and the only language I know well is Bengali, thanks to her kind help.

I corresponded frequently with my husband in England; his letters were full of cheery accounts of his visit, and his wish to see me again. He returned to India in February, 1879, and every one was delighted to see how he had profited by his travels. The same year he joined the Presidency College in Calcutta, and lived in a house in Theatre Road. My husband’s stay in Calcutta was a time of great happiness for me. He often came to Lily Cottage, where it was decided I should live until he was eighteen, and I was sixteen. He was very fond of my mother, and often teased her about the keys which, according to the Bengali custom, she carried in a knot in her sari. His great delight was to steal these keys and then enjoy her distress when she discovered her loss. “I can’t understand why Englishmen hate their mothers-in-law,” he said to the English ladies of his acquaintance, “mine is the sweetest imaginable, and I love her as my mother.”

The Maharajah and I went to our church regularly every Sunday morning, wet or fine, winter or summer. He respected the missionaries and treated my brothers and sisters as if they were his own, in fact he loved and was beloved by one and all.

The Maharajah was full of praise of England, and there never lived a more loyal subject than he. Indeed, in most ways he was as Western in his ideas as people had anticipated. But he was entirely Indian at heart. The magic of the East held him. The “Land of the Lotus” was his own beloved country. His upbringing never eradicated the strong claims of blood.

When I was sixteen and the Maharajah eighteen it was decided that our “real” marriage should take place in my own dear home. In quiet ways we had gathered the fragrant flowers of friendship’s garden, and there we had seen the roses of love which were blooming for us. Our future lay rich and glowing before us, and our happiness was perfect. We were married in the Church of the New Dispensation. How well I remember my wedding morn! As I write I glance at a modest ring, turquoise and diamonds, which never leaves my finger. It was my husband’s gift to me on that exquisite day, and I prize it more than all the lovely jewels he delighted to give me.

Every one rejoiced that day. We were like one united family, and I knew that all the good wishes and kind words came straight from the hearts of those present. We started on our new life under the happiest auspices. We left Calcutta by special train in the afternoon for Burdwan, where we were to spend our honeymoon. Our saloon was beautifully decorated with flowers, and a party of friends and relations came to see us off. Just before the train started I pressed my face against my father’s arm and had a good fit of sobbing. I knew I was really leaving my childhood’s home that day. But when I found myself alone in the train with my husband a heavenly happiness came over me. We were alone together! We two, who loved each other, and I shall never forget a Bengali song he sang to me that day: “He who has not undergone suffering cannot know love.”

At Burdwan we were received in state, and I was treated like a strict purdah lady. The railway station and its approaches were covered in like a huge tent so that no outsiders could catch a glimpse of me, and directly the train stopped a bevy of maidens escorted me to a state carriage. When I was safely on the way to the palace, the draperies were withdrawn and my husband exchanged greetings with the officials who had assembled to offer him their congratulations.