One day he said to me: “Mother, if we believe that God is all-merciful, we shall never ask Him ‘Why?’ We may think father has gone too soon. He was young and strong and many lives depended on him, but God is merciful and God knows best. If God loves us he would not do anything that would hurt us. It is all for the best, and we must believe it.” Jit has been one of the best of sons to me, so loving, so kind and thoughtful, and he often treats me as if I were the same age as his little daughter.
Victor is a wonderful brother. I do not think in the wide world any one could find a more unselfish and affectionate brother than he is to Jit. Anything that Jit says is law to him. He would give his life for his brother; he would go to the ends of the earth to get anything that would make his brother happy. In his life Jit comes first. Victor has married the daughter of a distant cousin of mine, a pretty girl. They have two children, both boys. Victor’s wife is called Nirupoma; she is of the same faith as we are, a Brahmo. She is well educated and edits a magazine in Bengali. She is devoted to her husband and children.
Baby has married Alan Mander, the younger brother of Lionel. I did not wish her to marry so young nor to part with her so soon, especially as it was only six months after I had lost my Rajey, but now my life has come to that stage that I must not be heard, my love must pray silently for the happiness of my children. They are very precious and their happiness is my happiness. Baby wished to marry this boy; he is fine-looking, and has travelled a good deal, and as he was anxious to have the wedding soon I did not stand in the way, and they were married at Woodlands on the 25th February, 1914. During the War he was in the Army and now they are in England. Alan has been a very good son-in-law; I don’t think I could have had a better, even in fancy.
Among the Maharajahs of India I know but few. The Maharajahs of Bikanir and Gwalior call me “Mother;” the former was at school at Mayo College with Rajey. The Maharajah of Kapurthala was like a brother to my husband; the Maharajah of Idar I know very well. In India there are very few Maharanis, perhaps none except myself, who come out, so it is difficult to get to know them, and without a special invitation one cannot visit their States. Some of the Maharajahs could do much for their country. Surely there is enough money in India to revive its ancient history and search out its ruined palaces and temples; but the Maharajahs seldom meet together to discuss these things, and that is perhaps why our Western visitors do not know much of our ancient India.
During the last few years I have travelled a little, and would like to tell my readers something about my country. Once I went on a Hindu pilgrimage to a place called Hardwar. In my book “Nine Ideal Indian Women,” there is a story about Sati; near Hardwar is Sati’s birthplace, an old palace now in ruins, and this I and my third sister went to see. Among the ruins are said to be dozens of cobras, but they do not hurt any one. We sat on the steps that led down to the river and had a little service. There was a feeling about the whole place, even after these thousands of years, as if it had been the home of a beautiful soul and was near the spiritual world. We gazed upon the beautiful scene: the wonderful old ruined palace with its flights of steps leading down to the deep blue river, and in the distance the pure white snows of the Himalayas. We noticed a strange thing as we sat there; in the middle of the river was a tiny island, and on this a tortoise was playing with a snake; one would never have thought that a snake and a tortoise could be together, yet here they were like two friends.
In that same book of mine is the story of Harischandra and the burning ghat; that ghat still remains in Benares. We sisters went there to see it one day after sunset in a boat kindly lent to us by the Maharajah of Benares. Down the stream floated hundreds of little lights; it looked as if the Ganges had rows of necklaces round her throat. It was an impressive sight; on the banks and down in the water were thousands of men and women with clasped hands and down-bent heads, saying their evening prayers near the ghat where the Maharajah Harischandra worked disguised as a chandal.
Nearly two years ago I came from Simla to meet my sister, who was waiting for me to go with her on a pilgrimage to Sarag-duar (the Door of Heaven). We planned to go by train to a station near the place, and as there was no passenger train about that time a railway carriage had to be attached to a goods train. When we arrived at the station some of our party went in tongas and for my sister and me a friend sent a carriage, the best that could be had, but very ordinary in our eyes. We started off happily. It was a very rough rocky road, but our hearts were full of the Sarag-duar and we were longing for the end of the journey. My sister’s two little children who were with us behaved wonderfully, and did not complain of either hunger or fatigue. After several hours we arrived at the river-side. It was early in the morning, the sky was bright blue, at our feet the Ganges flowed between high banks, and tall trees guarded the Door of Heaven. Two boats were waiting and we crossed the river. As we went over I felt as if I must say to the river: “May you take me on my last crossing even as you take me to the Door of Heaven to-day.” We arrived at the Sarag-duar; it was still beautifully cool and fresh, and as my sister had brought fruit and sweets we sat there and refreshed ourselves. While we were eating, a message arrived from one of the holy men that he would like to see us, and after a few minutes he came. What a good and handsome face he had! He was dressed in an almond-coloured (sacred) robe and brought fruit and flowers for us. His good words dropped on our hearts like cool water on an aching brow. When he saw my sister’s children he said he must send some milk for them, and soon after he had left us warm milk came. In this little land of peace there is one house in which food is cooked once a day for the hermits and the pilgrims, of whom there are thousands in the summer months and hundreds in the cold weather. In the fields are splendid cows. Gifts of money are made by some generous friends and this pays for the food. It is a wonderful place, so peaceful, so beautiful; whoever visits it, whatever his religion, must feel that it is indeed near heaven. Far away are blue hills, and nearer great plains over which herds of wild elephant, tigers, and leopards roam, but do no harm. Some of the hermits live among the roots of the big trees, and even in the winter months when the cold is very severe they bathe daily in the river. No women are allowed in that holy place, nor any families; we were allowed to halt there a few hours as a special favour because we were my father’s daughters. There is no smoke of cooking, no shouting, no cry of children; all is peace; even the river is calm and quiet.