The Autobiography of an Indian Princess

by Maharani of Cooch Behar Sunity Devee

Photo: Johnston & Hoffmann, Calcutta.

“RAJEY.”

Among the stories is that of a Maharajah of Cooch Behar who had a number of wives, one of whom was a very pretty girl; she was the favourite wife and the others were very jealous of her. The Prime Minister had a very handsome son, who when walking one day in the palace gardens, looked up and caught sight of her beautiful eyes looking out of a window of the palace. He gazed at the lovely face, and the girl, who had never seen any man except her husband, stared back at him. The young man thought he had never seen any one so beautiful, and in the days that followed he often came to the garden. Unfortunately, some of the ladies of the palace saw him looking at the little Maharani in the window. It did not take long for the Maharajah to learn this, and he promised the wife who told him a handsome present if she had spoken the truth.

One day when the romantic pair were thus engaged in gazing at each other from a distance, the Maharajah saw them. Naturally, though unjustly, he suspected his wife’s fidelity. He sent a message to the Prime Minister commanding him to dine at the palace that evening. The Dewan, as he believed, greatly honoured, accepted the invitation.

After dinner the Maharajah said: “I have a present for you to take home.” When he reached his house, the Prime Minister told his wife to open the parcel. Directly afterwards he heard a terrible scream, and, rushing into his wife’s room, found her on the floor unconscious, with a half-open parcel which contained the head of his son. The Dewan guessed at once what had happened. Without a word he left his house just as he was, and started for Delhi, the capital of the Moghul Empire. Arrived there, he begged an audience, and when admitted to the presence of the Emperor he told him that Cooch Behar was one of the richest districts in India and suggested he should try to conquer it. The Emperor made several attacks on Cooch Behar; but the fort was so strong that each time his army was driven back from the place now known as Moghulhat.

This story is only one of the many I have heard. Their trend is always the same. The members of my husband’s ancient race have been brave soldiers, generous alike to friend and foe, and passionate lovers, and they have sought afar for their wives.

I have often thought how uncharitable the general public are about the failings of those in high places. Without knowing them well, without knowing their inner lives, the public have an unjust habit of writing and speaking unkindly of rulers and princes. Often the public will compare their own lives with the lives of their princes—a commoner’s with a ruler’s life! God has chosen one man to be a ruler and others to be his subjects. It is unfair to judge hastily without knowing the divine object of each life; people who rashly judge often do grave injustice to those who have been called to a high station.

When I first came to Cooch Behar we lived in the old palace, which was like a town. Hundreds of ladies occupied the various houses of which it was composed: the late Maharajah’s wives, his mother and grandmother, and many relations, with all their servants. Whenever there were festivities all these ladies gathered together and it was like a great crowd in a small city.

Now we live in the new palace, which is considered one of the finest in India. It was designed by a Western architect and is built in an eclectic style. It boasts a fine Durbar Hall, and the east front consists of a range of arcades along the ground and narrow piers, and the cement and terra-cotta used in the construction make an effective decoration. On one side of the palace is the swimming bath, and covered racket and tennis courts. The gardens are lovely. There is a river on the west, a town towards the east, and to the north in the far distance stand the great Himalayas like a fort. In the winter months on clear days we can see the snow distinctly. In the spring, flowers bloom everywhere, and as for fireflies, although I have travelled far, I have never seen so many thousands together; on dark nights they look like little stars twinkling in the fields. During the rains all the rivers, of which there are many, are in flood, and then I think of Cooch Behar as something like Venice. The thunderstorms at times are terrific; our old nurse, Mrs. Eldridge, used to say: “In all my travels I have never experienced such thunderstorms.” We had English nurses for all our children, except Rajey. I was highly amused at Mrs. Eldridge’s surprise when she first came. I asked her why she appeared to be so interested in me, and received this blunt reply: “Well, your Highness, when I came to take up my duties with you, I expected to find a stout, dark, uneducated lady. I must say, now that I’ve seen you, I’m so taken aback that I can hardly believe my eyes.”