The Autobiography of an Indian Princess

by Maharani of Cooch Behar Sunity Devee

My great delight was to entertain. The Maharajah and I used to sit together long before the season, whether in the hills or in Calcutta, and make out our programme. In the hills we gave one big ball, and two smaller—one poudré and the other fancy-dress—and dinners and luncheons almost every day, unless we dined or lunched out, and I am glad to feel now when I look back to those happy days that nearly every one of these parties was successful. We often gave Indian dinners, when the guests sat on the floor and ate with their fingers. The present Lord Suffield, then Captain Charles Harbord, every time he came, tried to eat with his fingers, but he never was clever at getting his food to his mouth.

Our entertainments were known to be enjoyable. Our grounds in the cold weather were always covered with tents big and small. The polo tournaments were great events, and many of the regimental players stayed with us for them. We generally gave a garden-party to meet Their Excellencies the Viceroy and his wife. I remember on one occasion I had on a pretty blue dress made by Kate Reilly, and Lady Lansdowne admired it, which made me very proud.

Once I went to see a Maharani, the wife of a rich and educated Maharajah. He was a friend of my dear husband’s and fond of my youngest son. I sent messages that I wished to pay my respects to Her Highness, but the dear lady was laid up with fever. After a few days a message came: would I mind going to visit her, as she much wished to see me but was still in bed with fever. Of course I went, delighted to be allowed to see an up-country Maharani in private; we seldom get a chance of seeing other Maharanis in their home-life. This was in Simla. I went in a rickshaw. I waited in the drawing-room for a few minutes, and then was asked to go up to the bedroom. Never shall I forget that picturesque scene. At the farther end of the room, on a single bed lay a lovely woman covered with a gold silk brocade quilt; her face was fair and small, and a huge square-shaped diamond was in the middle of a plait that surrounded her head like a crown. Around the bed stood four or five beautiful young girls, some with great fans and each wearing a different coloured sari embroidered with gold and a few valuable jewels; they were all fair with jet-black eyes. I thought I had never before seen so many good-looking girls together. At the foot of the bed was a huge Big Dane dog; it sat so still I thought it was stuffed. I went near, and the Maharani looked prettier than ever as she smiled and talked. The heir came in and stood for a minute with clasped hands—he was a step-son, and was devoted to his stepmother; he told me, “My own mother could not have been more kind to me.” I said I hoped Her Highness would soon be well, and then I remarked that the heir’s mother, the first Maharani, must have died very young. “She was lucky, I envy her,” said the Maharani. I was surprised at this. The Maharani went on, “How happy I would be if I could be like that, but there is no such luck for me—to leave the Maharajah, my husband, and to die a happy wife’s death. Would I had such luck.” Little did I then guess the sufferings of a widow. It was strange that this Maharani should die a few hours after her husband, and I was told they had the same funeral pyre.

Our shooting parties were the happiest, gayest affairs imaginable. We drove miles from the palace right into the jungle to the place where the shooting camp was pitched, usually on the bank of a river, and it used to be quite like a little town under canvas. We had dining- and drawing-room tents, a large number of tents for guests, and the State band sometimes came out to camp with us. Many guests came to our shooting camps in those happy years, among them Lord Frederick Hamilton, Colonel and Lady Florence Streatfeild, Colonel Frank and Lady Eva Dugdale, Colonel Lumsden, Colonel and Mrs. Baird, Colonel and the Hon. Mrs. Burn, Lady Hewitt, Lady Bayley, Lady Prinsep, the Duke of Sutherland and Lord Pembroke, Lord and Lady Minto, Lord and Lady Lansdowne, the Count of Turin, Lord and Lady Galloway, Sir Edward and Lady Sassoon, the present Lord Suffield, Lord Ilchester, Lord Hyde, Lord Jersey, Lord and Lady Lonsdale, Mr. Elphinstone, the Pelham Clintons, the Derek Keppels, Prince and Princess Henry of Pless, the late Sir Henry Tichborne, and many others. All these friends invite me to parties when I am in London. Colonel Evan Gordon, who was our Superintendent for several years, used to get nougat and chocolate from Paris, and these we took in our howdahs and while we were waiting for the day’s sport, enjoyed the sweets and read novels. I might just mention here that Mrs. Evan Gordon is a true friend of ours. She helped me much in my coming out in English society; her father, old Sir R. Garth, was the first man I went out for a drive with. Mrs. Gordon’s sister, Mrs. Pemberton, sent my dear old nurse Mrs. Eldridge out from England, for which I shall ever be grateful to both sisters. Mrs. Gordon had built a little thatched-roof church, and every Sunday Colonel Gordon preached, and all my English staff, and the bandsman’s family, which was a large one, joined. It was so nice; I like my staff to keep up their religion.

On one occasion when I was in camp and my husband was out with the shooters, it grew late and got quite dark, and I became very anxious, as there was no sign of the return of the Maharajah’s elephants. It grew later and later—almost dinner time—and I asked the engineer who was in charge of the camp, Hari Mohum Chatterjee, to fire guns. After a short time came the welcome sound of their return. True enough they had lost their way; it was a pitch dark evening, and the poor mahouts did not know where they were going.

Those were happy times. We put the cares of State completely aside, and enjoyed every hour with light hearts. Everybody was full of fun and high spirits.

We were usually out eight or nine hours after big game and returned to camp about 6.30 p.m. Then came a refreshing hot bath, dressing for dinner, and a cheery meal partaken of by often no less than twenty shooters.

Later in the evening my husband talked to the “shikari,” who told him where to look for big game. We settled the next day’s programme, who was to go and with whom, and all was excitement. Outside was the lovely solemn Indian night; the sky of deep sapphire blue lit up with silver stars was like a canopy over our camp, and the soft winds lifted the tent openings as if curious to find out what it was we were seeking in the solitude of the jungle. These were nights of romance, and I always thought the music sounded more soothing than it did in our palace in the capital. In the camp everything was natural, and the best of every one seemed to come to the surface. We were a party of comrades in the truest sense of the word.

Sometimes, when all was still, we heard the tigers roar in the depths of the jungle. My husband’s valet once saw a tiger coming down on the opposite side of the river to drink. He said it was a grand sight. The moon was at the full and the huge beast looked splendid as it stood by the swift river.