When Rajey came out to India one of his younger aunts said to him: “You have succeeded your father and you will be like him.”
“Like him,” was the quick reply, “that is impossible, I can never dare hope to be like my father.”
Rajey’s attitude towards me in my widowhood was one of absolute devotion. He referred to me in everything, although he treated me like a child and took great care of me. He would not allow any alterations to be made in his father’s household, and he always answered when he was taxed with keeping too large a staff, “I cannot dismiss any of them, they were with my father.”
His budget was kept unchanged, as he often said he would not live to be thirty-two years of age. I tried all I could to laugh him out of this strange idea, but it was to no purpose. Rajey’s belief was founded on his horoscope, which ceased to say anything after thirty-two years. Several fortune-tellers told him the same thing, that he had not a long life written on his hand. I asked a woman palmist to read Rajey’s hand and tell me when he would get married. She said: “He has no marriage line on his hand.” At Dehra Dun a fortune-teller said the same thing, and an English clairvoyant also foretold his fate at a garden party at Calcutta. I do not think my son allowed his mind to be influenced by these predictions. His melancholy presentiment was due to his ill-health, for I know that he suffered more than he allowed any one to guess.
From the moment of his accession Rajey tried to do his best for Cooch Behar. One of his first acts was to intimate that the Dewan’s services were no longer required. “He was never a true friend to my father,” was his only comment when the overjoyed natives of Cooch Behar called down blessings on his head for this display of authority.
Rajey also showed the priests that he possessed decided opinions and meant to retain these opinions even in the face of custom and tradition. Before the installation of a Maharajah, it was usual for the priests to perform a Hindu ceremony known as the Abhishek. Rajey declared the Abhishek should not take place. “I do not recognise caste,” he said. “But it must be done,” declared the State officials. “Who comes next to the priest in my household?” he asked. “Your mother,” was the reply. “Then my mother shall act as my priest,” he answered. I did the priest’s work, for my son would not hear of any one else assisting him.
There was a complete religious ceremony according to the tenets of the New Dispensation at the Installation, and I shall never forget how splendidly Rajey behaved at his Durbar when the Revenue was brought in, and he was acclaimed Maharajah by his subjects. As he sat on his throne, he received symbolic offerings of betel leaf, attar, and flowers. “Take them to my mother,” he commanded, and two A.D.C.s brought to me my son’s tribute.
At the auspicious hour I was waiting on the balcony with other zenana ladies to see the State procession pass. The elephants were in their gala trappings. The strains of our National Anthem fell on my ears. The troops were in brave array. Suddenly a tall young figure, gorgeous in Raj costume, fell at my feet and paid me homage. It was Rajey! He had actually thought of me in the supreme moment of his life. The grandeur and pageantry were all forgotten. I was the mother whom he delighted to honour, that was the one idea in his mind.
At his second Durbar, while he was dressing, he suddenly looked very grave and said: “This is my last Durbar,” and so it proved to be.