The vast multitude gazed yearningly at the gates which did not open. Suddenly word came, “Make way, make way, O souls, a rich Maharajah’s spirit is on its way to heaven and must be instantly admitted.”
The poor murmured together, but again the gatekeeper spoke, and the crowd parted to give place to the soul of the Maharajah.
At last it came. And the poor caught a glimpse of the pomp and circumstance which attended its passage to heaven. The gates were flung open, the perfumed air of Paradise came forth for an instant, but the poor remained outside.
“Ah!” cried the weary spirits. “Is existence still to be the same for us as it was when we lived upon earth? There the rich always oppressed us. We were as dust under their feet. We toiled that they might have the luxuries they demanded. And now that we are dead we still suffer. Why should we not be admitted to heaven without delay? Alas! there is no justice at the hands of God since the soul of a Maharajah but lately dead takes precedence of us.”
“Oh, silence, rebellious ones!” cried the gatekeeper. “Surely, surely, you know that the road to heaven is an easy one for the poor to traverse. You have no temptations in your passage save the ills of poverty. You have not to combat with the lust of the eye, with the arrogance of riches, with the evil wrought by flattering tongues and the misuse of power. Think what allurements this ruler must have resisted in order to prepare himself for heaven. It is a stupendous feat for a Maharajah to have accomplished, and,” added the gatekeeper unctuously, “we seldom see them here, therefore it behoves me to give instant admittance to such a rare arrival.”
And the souls of the poor were silent, for they recognised the words of wisdom which the gatekeeper had spoken.
CHAPTER VIII
MY FIRST VISIT TO ENGLAND
The year 1887 was expected to be a memorable one for India, as our late beloved Queen-Empress would celebrate her Jubilee. India was anxious to show her loyalty to the Sovereign whose high ideals and humanity have endeared her to all her people. Many of our princes therefore decided to render their homage in person. My husband made his plans for this eventful year long beforehand, but he cleverly kept all of us in the dark as to his intention that I should accompany him to England. It must be remembered that the conditions of life among Indian ladies were very different in 1887 from what they are to-day. The Maharani of Baroda, I believe, had once gone to Switzerland, but for the wife of a ruler to visit England with her husband caused quite a sensation. I think I am right in saying that I was the first Maharani to do such a thing, and I may as well confess that I dreaded the experience. I knew absolutely nothing about the journey. I was going to be a stranger in a strange land, and I was sensitive enough to dread being stared at, for I well knew that this must be my fate in London. We sailed on the P. and O. boat Ganges or Ballarat, I forget which. I remember the captain of the boat took great pains to ensure our comfort on board. Our suite consisted of my two brothers Nirmul and Profulla, two A.D.C.’s, J. Raikut and S. Sing, our English private secretary, the late Mr. Bignell and his family, and our English nurse, besides our two selves and our three little children. We also had some Indian servants. I cannot describe my feelings when I realised that I had actually left India, had passed another milestone on life’s road, but I little dreamed that the far-off country for which I was bound was destined to be a land of sorrow for me in the distant future. The glory of the sea enchanted me. When the boat was out on the ocean and no land could be seen, all Nature seemed to speak of the infinite God, and I felt so small. In the dark evenings when the water gleamed with phosphorescence, it looked as if there were thousands of stars under the sea responding to the stars above. It really was grand; a grandeur that no one could describe unless he had actually experienced it. Before we embarked I had tasted meat for the first time in my life, and I disliked the flavour so much that for the first few days of the voyage I ate nothing but a few vegetables. I often had fits of depression and sometimes left the dinner table to relieve my feelings with a good cry.