The Maharajah wished to do a little hunting, and as I was going all the way by sea, I left my husband in England. When we arrived at Malta H.R.H. the Duke of Edinburgh came on board to see me, and I much appreciated his kind thought. He talked to me for some time, asked me news of London, and most kindly said he would send his A.D.C. to take me to the Royal Opera that evening, where his box was at my disposal. While we were talking, an old lady, one of the passengers, brought a few flowers for a button-hole, and presented it to H.R.H. How graciously the Duke accepted it, and pinned it on his coat! After the lady had gone I asked the Duke if he knew her, and his answer was “No.” This shows what wonderful manners the Royal Princes have; they can make even perfect strangers feel at ease.
On this homeward voyage, I could not help feeling that I was very different from the rather timid little person who had set out on the Great Adventure, and even little Rajey seemed to have become less of a child. “I am a big boy now, I don’t want people to kiss me when we arrive in Calcutta,” he told his doctor.
On my arrival at Bombay I found my dear mother with my younger sisters and brothers awaiting my arrival; also the Dewan of Cooch Behar and the doctor. What an affectionate welcome I had! My sisters hung round me and caressed me, and we all talked at the same time and laughed; it was too lovely for words. They thought I was looking so pretty, and said that even my hair had grown prettier. Some wanted to brush my hair, others to dress me in pretty saris, and we talked and talked all day and all night.
We stayed only a very few days at Bombay, and then went on to Calcutta. I was received at the station by Sir Henry Carnduff, and every one welcomed me and seemed glad that the visit had proved such a success. Lord Dufferin informed me that the Queen had written to him saying that she was “charmed with the little Maharani,” a remark which pleased me immensely. I drove straight to Woodlands, and there I found numbers of friends; we had a special service, and a lovely Indian breakfast. On the following day I went to Lily Cottage, and the welcome I had there I cannot describe. I had a Varan (welcome) ceremony and wonderful meals and congratulations continually pouring in; I don’t think any Indian woman ever had or ever will have such a welcome as I had that first time I returned from England. It is a glorious memory to have.
When my husband returned from England he had grand welcome receptions. It is said that such a magnificent elephant procession as he had from the station to the palace had never been seen before. I was not very well and could not accompany him to Cooch Behar. Victor was born on the 21st of May. There were great rejoicings at his birth, which took place at Woodlands; the Maharajah was delighted. We felt it a great honour that Queen Victoria should be his godmother; it was the first time an Indian Maharajah and Maharani had been thus honoured. He was named after her, and Her Majesty sent him a large silver cup. My great regret is that Victor never had the privilege of seeing his Empress godmother.
When we went to Cooch Behar I naturally expected all our people to say something nice to me about our visit to England, and they did, except one man, the Dewan Calica Das Dutt, whose remarks were somewhat like this: “What have they gained by going to England? Instead of having the Queen as godmother to the little Raj Kumar it would have been better if the Maharajah had had some guns.”
Victor is the sweetest-natured boy imaginable—most tender-hearted, kind, and unselfish. He adores and worships his brother Jit. As a little boy he always gave in to Jit; if it was Victor’s birthday Jit must have a present too. If Victor went anywhere Jit must go too. They were like twin brothers.
Once at a polo tournament at which I had to give away the prizes, Victor, then a little boy, and who was present with my other children, suddenly disappeared. He had seen a lady sitting in a carriage by herself. He offered to get in and sit with her. “No, dear,” the lady said, “you must go and watch with the other children.” But Victor insisted: “You are alone,” he said, “and I must come and sit with you,” and he did. The lady said to me afterwards, “Some day Victor will be a great man.” His one desire is to help and to serve others, and he never hesitates to sacrifice his own comfort and happiness in so doing.
When Jit was a little boy my sister Bino had twins, and when he heard it he said: “God has given Bino Auntie those as Christmas presents.”
After I returned from England, some English ladies in Simla expected to find me quite spoilt by being so much with the Royal Family and receiving such kindness from them, but I heard afterwards they were pleased to find me otherwise. I certainly began to “live” in a worldly sense. I entertained and was entertained, and I tried to show our Indian ladies that it is quite possible for them to have many social interests and good and true English friends, but I never allowed my devotion to Indian home-life to lessen. When I visited my relations, I sat on the floor as of old, and was one of them just as if I had not left the zenana. Our Indian ladies never weary of listening to the story of my doings in England. “Go on, go on!” they exclaim, whenever I pause to remember something else.