The Autobiography of an Indian Princess

by Maharani of Cooch Behar Sunity Devee

From Cooch Behar we went up to the hills for the rainy months. The rains are very trying in Cooch Behar; all the rivers and tanks are flooded, and the insects! I don’t think my Western readers will believe it, but we have more than a thousand different kinds of flying insects; and since we have had electric light they have been worse than ever. My husband used to have dinner inside a sort of mosquito curtain room in order to escape from the pests.

Later on we went to Darjeeling almost every season; first we had the Hermitage, rather a small house where I could not have the English nursery staff, so the children had to be in another house, while the Maharajah and I lived in the Hermitage. When I went over to see the children, very often I would find Girlie and her brothers and some of the staff dressed up and ready to perform little plays and charades for my benefit. Girlie was quite clever at arranging these. She was musical, too, and the Maharajah used to say he sang best when Girlie played his accompaniments.

Sometimes we went to Simla; we had four houses there called Kennedy House, which was supposed to be the oldest house in Simla, and had been Government House. Kennedy House was situated on a ridge and had one of the finest views in the place. One of the houses, known as Rose-bank, has been pulled down and the railway station now stands in its place. I do not know for what reason Lord Curzon, when Viceroy, insisted on my husband selling this property. It could not be because a Maharajah is not allowed to have property in Simla, as other Maharajahs have houses there. It will always be a problem to me and to others. This property was sold for so little money that it was almost given away. Also, when my husband was a minor, the Bengal Government bought from him the present Government House in Darjeeling, for a steam launch and a few thousand rupees. To this day we do not know why it was sold for so little money, especially considering the Maharajah was a minor.

My husband thought a great deal of the elephants, without which no Indian ruler’s establishment is complete. The Pilkhana at Cooch Behar is under the management of a State Superintendent, and in 1900 fifty-two elephants were installed there. I have known eighty to be used at a shoot. The huge animals are beautifully trained, and are so intelligent. The Maharajah always fed his own elephant with bananas and bread. The faithful animal knew his voice.

On days of rejoicing the elephants are much used, and their heads are painted in gay patterns. It is a strange sight to see them salute with their trunks. The Cooch Behar elephants are almost pets, if such a word can be used of such huge creatures, and we often used to give them fruit and rice when we met them in the palace grounds. We Indians think more of our elephants than of any other animal, and they have always played an important part in the pageants of our country.

My husband loved animals. I remember once how he tenderly comforted an unfortunate kitten whose plaintive cries could not at first be located. The Maharajah directed that the little animal was to be found, and after a long time it was discovered locked up in the high gallery round the dome of the Durbar Hall. When the frightened little thing was caught, it was half mad with terror. My husband took it into the billiard-room, and sat nursing it, until it quieted down and was able to lap the milk offered it. He kept the little animal until it was quite comforted, and then let it go.

Pretty was born in Lily Cottage in the early morning of the 22nd November, 1891. The Maharajah was very pleased the baby was a girl. I was very ill after she was born, and as the doctors found the case hopeless, I was sent to Colombo as a sort of “kill or cure.” I did not die, but returned home well and strong. My kind mother and brothers and sisters accompanied me, and I had Girlie too. I was lame, and had to be carried for months; my eldest brother Dada carried me up to the temple at Kandy, where Buddha’s tooth is kept. I am sorry we did not see the tooth, but we did not let the priests know of our visit, or rather that we wished to see it. The temple is a fine one, and we were surprised to see so many Buddhist nuns together. They were all young women, and sitting with alms vessels just outside a room where I believe the tooth is kept. Pretty’s name is Prativa.

My youngest child is a girl; her name is Sudhira, but she is still called “Baby.” She came to us on the 7th March, 1894. Before she was born I was very very ill with pneumonia and pleurisy; nobody thought we would both live; the doctors said to the Maharajah: “Either the mother or the child,” and my husband said: “I want my wife,” but he was so happy when he found us both alive. The Maharajah spoiled all his children, and this youngest girl he did spoil much; she never would do anything unless she wished.

In many ways we led a very simple life, although when we entertained none of the ceremonial adjuncts were wanting. As a family we were ideally happy, and I loved my little children with the same devotion which I lavished upon their father.