Lang John
Wanderings in India, and Other Sketches of Life in Hindostan
THE MARCH CONTINUED
The next encampment-ground at which we halted was close to a dâk bungalow; and, during the day, there were several arrivals and departures, the travellers merely halting for an hour or so, while some refreshment was got ready. The Lieutenant, who appeared to know everybody in Hindostan (I never met a person who did not know him), contrived, to use his own phrase, to "screw a small chat out of each of them." On one occasion he returned to the tent richer than he left it. He carried in one hand a small basket containing preserved oysters, crystallized apricots, and captains' biscuits, and in the other a stone bottle of Maraschino. Under his arm was a quantity of gauze, which he wanted for a veil, he said. These contributions he had levied from a lady who was going to Muttra, where her husband was an official of some magnitude. She had just returned from England, the Lieutenant informed me, and was looking as blooming as possible. To my question, "Do you know her?" he responded, "Oh yes; she is one of my sixty!"
"Sixty what?"
"First cousins."
"All in India?"
"Every one of them. My good sir, I have at this moment, in the Bengal Presidency alone, upwards of two hundred and twenty relations and connexions, male and female, and every one of them – that is to say, the men and the boys – in the service of the government."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes. What is more, four-fifths of the number are in the civil service. I should have been in the civil service too, only I was sent away from Haileybury for rebellion and card-playing. It is not an easy matter for me to go to any station in these provinces without finding a cousin in it."
"Do you know the assistant-magistrate of Agra?"
"Yes."
"Is he a cousin of yours?"
"He isn't. But his wife's father and my father were own brothers; so it amounts to pretty much the same thing."
"And do you know the judge of Jampore?" This was a gentleman to whom I had letters of introduction.
"Yes. His mother was my aunt."
"It must be dangerous," I suggested, "to express an opinion of any one in India in the presence of a man who has so very many relations."
"Oh, dear no!" said the Lieutenant. "A man with such a frightful lot of connexions has no right to be, and is not generally, very sensitive. Bless me! if I had nothing to do but to stand up for my relations, I should run the risk of being perpetually knocked down. Life is much too short for that sort of thing. Therefore, when I hear any one abuse or reflect upon any relation or connexion of mine, I am invariably silent; or, if appealed to, express my indifference by a shrug of the shoulders."
Here we were interrupted by the old Soubahdar, who came to the door of the tent. He had dined, washed, smoked, slept, and had now got up to grumble. His huge teak-box, which measured four feet by two, and two feet deep, and without which he never travelled, had received a slight injury, and of this he had come to complain. He said, that in the time of Lord Clive or Lord Lake, if such a thing had happened, the men in charge of the hackeries (carts) would have been hanged on the spot; and Phool Singh Brahmin, whose exertions, he alleged, prevented the utter destruction of the box, would have been promoted to the rank of havildar.
"Clive and Lake!" whispered the Lieutenant to me. "He talks like a leading article in a London newspaper." Then, turning to the old man, he inquired, "Would Lord Clive or Lord Lake have sanctioned your carrying about that beastly trunk on a march at all?"
"Yes, Sahib."
"It is not true. Lord Clive and Lord Lake gained their victories by the help of self-denying men, who cheerfully endured any personal inconvenience; not by a parcel of old grumblers like yourself, who have no right to refer to the career of those illustrious men."
"Sahib, I was with Lord Lake's army."
"Then, that's the very reason that you ought not to be here."
"But our present Colonel, Sahib, was with Lord Lake."
"And I wish he was with Lord Lake now!"
"I shall report this, Sahib."
"Very well. Do!"
Whereupon the old officer left the tent, and the Lieutenant assured me that the Colonel, who was as imbecile as the Soubahdar, would cause the matter to be investigated, and that he, the Lieutenant, would, to a certainty, receive a severe reprimand.
"For what?" I asked.
"For not having made arrangements for the safe conveyance of the baggage, and for having treated with a want of courtesy a native commissioned officer of the regiment. I need scarcely say, that this reprimand will not in any way interfere with my night's rest."
"But, the complainant will forget it," said I, "before he gets back to the regiment."
"Forget it!" exclaimed the Lieutenant. "Forget it! A native – especially a native commissioned officer – forget a grievance! Catch that old man forgetting the slightest unpleasantness that has occurred to him during this march. He will, it is true, forget his present grievance to-morrow, when he has a fresh one; but at the end of the journey they will be forthcoming in a lump."
This prophecy was destined not to be fulfilled; for, presently, a Sepoy came to the Lieutenant, and reported that the Soubahdar was very ill. We hastened to the old man's tent, and found him, strange to say, in the last extremity. He was going very fast; but, nevertheless, he continued to gurgle forth a grievance. He demanded, with his last breath – why the East India Company did not give him his pay, as in Lord Lake's time, in sicca rupees?
"You shall, in future, receive it in sicca rupees," said the Lieutenant, bending over the old man, whose hand he grasped tightly.
"And will my losses be made good?" he asked, with awful energy.
"Yes," said the Lieutenant.
"It is well!" and the old man slipped almost imperceptibly from one world to another.
That the old Soubahdar, who was upwards of eighty, had died of natural causes, there could be no question; but, clamorous as was the entire company for the interment of the body, the Lieutenant determined on taking it to Agra, for the purpose of a surgical examination. Meanwhile the old man's effects were scrupulously collected and put under seal.
We were now only twenty-six miles from Agra, the capital of the North West Provinces, and it was agreed to perform the distance in one march. We therefore started at sundown, and travelled all night. The moon was shining brightly, the road was in excellent order, and, notwithstanding that the old Soubahdar was lying lifeless on the top of some of the treasure-boxes, the Sepoys were in high spirits, and on several occasions even jocular in respect to the deceased's weakness – that of perpetually grumbling.
Shortly after the day had dawned, I beheld on the distant horizon something like a large white cloud. Had we been at sea, I should have said it was a sail or an iceberg, to which it bore a striking resemblance. I pointed it out to the Lieutenant, who smiled.
"Don't you know what that is?" he said.
"No," I answered.
"Can't you guess?"
"No. What is it?"
"That is the famous Taj Mahal. That is the building that defies the most graphic pen in the world to do justice to its grandeur and its transcendent beauty. Bulwer, in the Lady of Lyons, has a passage which sometimes reminds me of the Taj: —
A palace lifting to eternal summer
Its marble halls from out a glassy bower
Of coolest foliage, musical with birds.
But how far short must any description of such a place fall! How far distant do you suppose we are from that building?"
"About two miles."
"Upwards of nine miles, as the crow flies! Yes; that is the Taj, the tomb of a woman, the wife of the Emperor Shah Jehan. The pure white marble of which it is built was brought from Ajmere. For upwards of twenty-five years, twenty-five thousand men were employed, day by day, on that edifice. I am afraid to say how many millions it cost. The Mahrattas carried away the huge silver gates and made them into rupees. What became of the inner gate, which was formed of a single piece of agate, no one can say. The general opinion is, that it is buried somewhere in Bhurtpore. The original idea was, to build a corresponding tomb on this side of the river for the Emperor himself, and connect the two by a bridge of white marble. A very pretty idea, was it not? Lord William Bentinck was for pulling the Taj down and selling the marble, or using it for building purposes."
"Impossible!"
"Not at all. He thought it was very impolitic to allow these gorgeous edifices to stand – these monuments of folly, extravagance, and superstition, which served none but the worst of prejudices, leading the natives to draw prejudicial comparisons between the simple and economical structures of the British and these stupendous and costly erections of the Moghul Emperors. And most assuredly our bungalows, churches, and other buildings do present a most beggarly appearance alongside these masses of polished marble and red stone. It looks as though we had no confidence in our hold of the country, and therefore would not go to any expense worth speaking of. Look at our court-houses, in the civil lines, as that part of Agra is called – a parcel of paltry brick and mortar pigeon-holes, not to be compared with the tenements that the menial servants of the Emperors inhabited. Look at the Government House, the Metcalfe Testimonial, and other paltry European edifices.
"Surely," said I, "you would preserve rather than deface or destroy these magnificent works of art – these wonders of the world?"
"Works of art and wonders of the world they doubtless are; but, under existing circumstances, they are eye-sores, and I would pull down every one of them, and convert the material into useful buildings – barracks – splendid barracks for our British and native troops; hospitals, worthy of being called hospitals; court-houses, churches, magazines, and so forth."
"But what barbarians the natives would think us!"
"What does that signify? Are we the conquerors of the country, or are we not? As to what they would think of us, they can't think much worse of us than they do already. Do we not eat swine's flesh? and do not English ladies dance (the natives call it 'jumping about'), and with men who are not their husbands? Barbarians! Why, the very dress that we wear renders us barbarians in their sight."
The sun had now risen high in the heavens, and his rays fell upon the Taj, which we were gradually approaching. I was wrapped in admiration, and wishing in my inmost heart that my talkative companion would cease, and leave me to gaze in silence on that glorious scene, when suddenly the procession halted, and the Lieutenant shouted out the word "Hulloa!" in a voice so loud that I was completely startled.
"What is the matter?" I asked.
"Matter!" the Lieutenant echoed me. "Matter! Look a-head! There is a wheel off one of those rickety carts, and those confounded boxes are scattered all over the road." Here the little officer bounded like an Indian-rubber ball from his seat, and in a towering passion with all the world in general, but no one in particular, rushed to the spot where the disaster had occurred, and there began to fret, fume, and snort most violently.
"Hush, Sahib!" said one of the Sepoys, saluting his officer very respectfully, "or you may wake the Soubahdar, and then what will happen?"
This appeal had the effect of restoring the Lieutenant to calmness and good-humour. He smiled, and seemed to feel that matters would certainly have been worse, and the delay more protracted, had the old man been alive and witnessed the accident.
One of the boxes was smashed to pieces, and the rupees were lying about in all directions, the Sepoys picking them up, and searching for others in the dust and sand. I never witnessed a more ridiculous or grotesque scene than this – the native soldiers in their red coats and chacos, but with bare legs and without shoes, kneeling, and sifting the earth through their fingers, the Lieutenant in his pyjamahs and solar hat, a cheroot in his mouth, and in his hand the buggy-whip, which he used as a baton while giving his orders.
"Does this often happen?" I was tempted to ask.
"Constantly," was the Lieutenant's reply. "The Government has a bullock-train for the conveyance of stores; and even private individuals, by paying for the carriage, may have their goods taken from station to station; but, in respect to treasure, we cling to the old system. The military authorities apply to the magistrates, whose subordinates provide these hackeries, which were in vogue some five thousand years ago. And just observe those rotten boxes."
"Why are they not lined with cast iron or zinc?"
"It would be too expensive. The Government cannot afford it."
"But why should not the Government use its own bullock-train for the conveyance of treasure, instead of hiring these antiquated and rotten conveyances?"
"Because the bullock-train is under the post-office authorities; and the military authorities have nothing to do with the post-office authorities."
"Is that a reason?"
"No – nor is it rhyme; but it is a part of our Indian system, and, what is more, it is Government logic. However, I am not going to stop here all day. We will push on, and get into Agra before breakfast. The treasure will come all right enough, and I will be there to meet it at the office of the magistrate and collector."
We now took our seats in the old buggy. The hood was raised, the syce sat behind, and off we went at a canter, which very soon became a gallop. In the parlance of the Lieutenant, the old horse was indeed "a ripper." When warm there was no holding him, and he went over his seven and a half miles of ground in thirty-seven minutes. At the bridge of boats which crosses the Jumna, we met, by chance, the assistant magistrate (the friend with whom I was going to stay, and the husband of the Lieutenant's first cousin). He was dressed in a pair of large jack-boots, corduroy breeches, a shooting-coat, and a solar helmet, and was riding an immensely powerful Cape horse. He did not recognise either of us at first, but pulled up, and turned round the moment the Lieutenant shouted out his name, with the addition of "Old boy!" – household words in the mouth of the Lieutenant, for he not only applied them to things animate, but inanimate; for instance, his corkscrew, his teapot, his buggy, his watch, his hat, everything with him was an old boy, in common with the Lieutenant-Governor, or the general commanding the division.
After I had been greeted by my friend, who had been at a loss to account for my delay in reaching Agra – the Lieutenant thus addressed him:
"I say, old boy. Look here. I have a lot of treasure for you about seven or eight miles from this; but there has been a break down. Send out a lot of fellows to give assistance, will you?"
"Yes."
"And look here, old boy. There's a dead Soubahdar."
"A what?"
"A dead Soubahdar. He died suddenly, and I don't wish him to be buried without an examination, because I bullied him mildly only a short time previous to his going out. You will manage that for me, old boy, won't you?"
"Oh, yes."
"He died of old age, and his last grievance; but still I should like a medical man's certificate; just to satisfy the colonel who served with him in Lord Lake's time, you know, and all that sort of thing."
"I can manage all that for you," replied the official, riding by the side of the buggy; "but push on, for the sun is becoming rather oppressive, and I have no hood to my saddle, remember."
My host and hostess made me as comfortable and as happy as any traveller could wish to be made. Of the former I saw little or nothing from eleven in the morning till three or four in the evening, for he was what is called a conscientious officer, and attended strictly to his work. During these hours I used to read, or pay a visit to the mess-rooms of a regiment where a billiard-table was kept. To the officers of the regiment I was introduced by Lieutenant Sixtie, previous to his return to his own corps. He stayed eight days in Agra – upon some plea or other – and sent his company on, in advance of him.
Agra – that is to say, the society of Agra – was at the time split into two sections, the civil and the military. They were not exactly at open war, but there was a coolness existing between the two branches. They did not invite each other, and very seldom exchanged calls. For me, who was desirous of seeing all parties, this was rather awkward, living as I was in the house of a civilian. So I resolved upon taking a small bungalow for a short period, and furnishing it in a mild and inexpensive manner. I was candid enough to confess to my host that, as I was in no way connected with either branch of the service, I was anxious to avoid taking any part in their local differences; and he had the good sense not to press me to remain under his roof.
A few days after I had located myself in my bungalow, I received a call from a native gentleman, a Seik chieftain, who was, and now is, a state prisoner on a handsome stipend. He drove up to my door in a small phaeton, drawn by a pair of large black mules of incredible swiftness and agility. This fallen chieftain – a tall and powerfully-built man – was no other than the renowned Rajah Lall Singh, who commanded the Seik cavalry at the battle of Ferozeshah, and who was subsequently Prime Minister at Lahore, during a portion of the time that the British Government undertook the administration of the Punjab on behalf of Maharajah Dulleep Singh. Lall Singh was now studying surgery. More than one medical officer in charge of the hospitals which he attended, informed me that the Rajah was already a comparatively skilful operator, and could take off an arm or a leg with surprising dexterity. Notwithstanding his previous character – that of a sensualist and faithless intriguer; one, indeed, who had not been constant even to his own villanies – I could not help liking his conversation, which was humorously enlivened with imitations of English officers with whom he had come in contact, and was entertaining to the last degree. His anecdotes, relating to the late Runjeet Singh, were peculiarly interesting; coming as they did from the lips of a man who had been so much in the company of that remarkable monarch, who in many respects resembled Napoleon the First, especially in the selection of the instruments of his power. "All his" (Runjeet's) "chief men," said the Rajah, "were persons of obscure origin: Tej Singh, Sawan Mull, Deenanauth, and the rest of them."
"But you were an exception," said I.
"Indeed not," was his reply. "I began life as a muleteer, and hence my partiality for mules, perhaps."
After a while the Rajah invited me to take a drive with him, to a house about two miles in the country, and situated on the banks of the Jumna. It was not his own house, which was then under repair, he said, but had been placed at his disposal by a friend. I thanked the Rajah, and stepped into his carriage; he followed me, seized the reins, shook the whip, and away we went at the rate of sixteen miles an hour.
The garden-house, at which we soon arrived, was a spacious building of European architecture. It had formerly belonged to a general officer who had married a native woman of considerable wealth. The furniture was all of European make, and was arranged very much in the same manner as that in the Sahib Logue's apartments at Bhitoor. In point of quality it was also very much the same – a portion costly, and the rest of a common description. This house, too, was constantly inhabited by English folks who sought a change of air for a few days. Since his removal to Agra, Lall Singh lived more like an European than a native, and had got into the habit of sitting at ease in a chair, instead of cross-legged like a tailor on the carpet. His dress was of the simplest and most unpretending character imaginable; and, with the exception of a signet-ring on his forefinger, he had no ornament on his person. The table of the apartment to which he conducted me was literally covered with surgical instruments – saws, knives, scalpels of every size and shape. Amongst them I perceived a pair of swords in wooden scabbards covered with rich green velvet, and ornamented with gold and precious stones. Observing that my eyes rested on these swords, he took one up, and remarked, "These have performed some curious operations in their time; but never in a hospital. They have been used chiefly for taking off heads. This once belonged to Dhyan Singh, and that to Heera Singh, who were both assassinated. They are of Damascus steel, and are sharper than any of these knives or scalpels. I have sent a number of swords to England to have them made into surgical instruments." Here our conversation was interrupted by a domestic, who announced —
"The Lallah Sahib;"
and presently a native gentleman walked, or rather limped (for he was lame of the right leg) into the room, and made a very graceful salaam, first to the Rajah and then to myself. He was rather short in stature, but very stoutly built, and about forty years of age. His eyes were full of intelligence and vigour, and his features regular and well-shapen. His manners were easy, affable, unassuming, and modest, and his attire as plain and quiet as possible.
"This gentleman, Sahib," said the Rajah, addressing me, "is a great friend of mine. This house belongs to him. A strange world is this! Only a few years ago, I offered a reward of a lac of rupees (ten thousand pounds) for his head, or two lacs to any one who would bring him alive to my tent."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; and if I had caught him, how changed would have been the whole face of affairs in this country!"
"How so?"
"This gentleman was the contractor for the British army; and, if I had got hold of him, the army could not have been supplied."
"But why was he worth more alive than dead?" I asked, with a laugh, in which the native gentleman heartily joined.
"Because," returned the Rajah, coolly, "if we had secured him alive we would have made him feed us with the supplies bought with his own money; which should also have paid the reward for his capture. This, by the way, was claimed by several who brought in heads, alleging that each was the head of the Lallah the contractor; but the attempted imposition was discovered, and the perpetrators were themselves decapitated."
Unlike Hindoos and Mussulmans, who drink in secret, Lall Singh drank neat brandy openly; and, rising from his chair, he administered unto himself a couple of glasses – or rather a tumbler half-filled – on this occasion. He could take more than two bottles of brandy without being in the least intoxicated. This was owing, of course, to the circumstance that he consumed considerable quantities of bhang; just in the same way that an opium-eater is rarely or never affected by drinking deeply of wine.
The Rajah's visitor, the Lallah Jooteepersâd, had a grievance, and a rather substantial one. He had claimed from the Government fifty-seven lacs of rupees (half a million and seventy-thousand pounds sterling) as the balance due to him for feeding the armies employed during the two Seik campaigns; and the Government had threatened to prosecute him, in one of their own courts, for an attempt to make an overcharge of forty thousand rupees, or four thousand pounds.
"And if they understand the principles of good government thoroughly," said the Rajah, "they will convict you, imprison you for life, and confiscate all your possessions, real and personal. That is the way the Lahore Durbar would have settled so large a claim. But the Indian Government has not the courage to act in that way."
"But I have not attempted to make an overcharge; and if my agents have done so, let it be deducted, if it be incorrect," said the Lallah.
"You are a criminal," said the Rajah.
"How so?" asked the Lallah.
"You say the Government owes you fifty-seven lacs?"
"Yes – and honestly."
"Well, is not that enough to warrant your being transported for life, or hanged? But, as I have told you, the Government has not courage to prosecute you."
In this opinion, however, Lall Singh was in error; for, that very night, the Lallah was informed that he was, to all intents and purposes, a prisoner, and must not leave Agra. The firm belief of every native, not only in the district but throughout India, was, that these proceedings had been taken to evade payment of the contractor's just demands. But the Lallah himself was the first to deny this assertion, and to declare that the prosecution arose out of the circumstance of the Commissary-General being a near relative of the Governor-General of India; that a civilian in power had a quarrel with the Commissary-General, and had represented, semi-officially, that great frauds had been committed, and there could be no question that the heads of the departments were cognisant of such frauds; that the Governor-General, anxious that the honour of a member of his ancient family should be cleared up, had determined upon a strict investigation; and that the civilian in question suggested the public prosecution of the contractor as the speediest and most satisfactory means of arriving at the result! And such was the opinion of many officers of the Government, civil and military!
The contractor, however, was eventually acquitted, and the Government paid the bill. But, to this day, the natives of India believe that the object of the Government was to cheat their creditor; while the officers, civil and military, are equally sanguine that it was "the honour of the family" that led to the most extraordinary and protracted trial that ever was known in India, and which was emphatically denounced, by the press and public; of every country in Europe, as absurd, unjust, and shameful. Nevertheless, Jooteepersâd cannot have harboured any revenge for the wrongs (involving disgrace and dishonour) which were heaped upon him; for it is he who has fed, for several months, the five thousand Christians during their incarceration in the fortress of Agra; and, amongst the number of civilians there shut up, is the gentleman who conducted the prosecution on the behalf of the Government, and who, in the execution of his duty, strove very hard indeed for a verdict of guilty! Without Jooteepersâd we could not have held Agra!
When the sun had gone down, and it was cool enough to walk abroad, Lall Singh led me into the extensive gardens which surrounded his temporary abode. The Lallah had left us, and I was now alone with the ex-Commander of the Seik Cavalry and the ex-Prime Minister of Lahore. I felt much more pleasure in his society than I should have felt had he been in the plenitude of his power; for he bore his altered condition with great dignity and cheerfulness, and discoursed upon all sorts of topics without any restraint or reserve. He even talked about the Ranee of Lahore – with whom his name had been so frequently coupled – and with a chivalrous spirit (whether his assertions were true or not is another matter) assured me that his intrigues with her had been confined exclusively to politics. I asked him where this helpless woman had fled to, after her miraculous escape from Benares, in the garb of a man? He replied that he knew not. He was sure she was not in Nepal – where the authorities supposed her to be – but somewhere in our own provinces.
"Was she a beautiful woman?" I asked.
"No; and never had been," was his reply. "But she had eyes which could charm like those of a snake, and a voice sweeter than that of a bird."
"They say she was the Messalina of the East," and I explained to him what the allusion signified.
"It is not true," he exclaimed vehemently. "She was a vain and clever woman; but the very opposite of the character that she has been described. She was proud of the influence she possessed over men in making them subservient to her will and her caprices."
"Had she great power over Runjeet Singh?"
"None. She was his doll, his plaything, and the only being who could calm him when he had the horrors. Nothing more."
"How the horrors?"
"Runjeet Singh began life as a petty chieftain, with a few hundred followers. He acquired a vast kingdom, and had the most powerful army that the East ever saw, or will see. Whilst he went on conquering, shedding blood, and plundering, he was easy in his mind; but, when he found that he had got as much as he could manage, he stopped; and then came his disquiet. His great fear then was that he could not retain what he had become possessed of – and his chief horror was that the Koh-i-noor would be carried off – that diamond which Runjeet Singh stole, and which the Ranee has worn a thousand times as a bracelet. That diamond which is now in the crown of England."
"Where did it come from originally?"
"No one can say that. The history of the Koh-i-noor has yet to be written. Did you ever see a likeness of Runjeet Singh?"
"Never."
"Then I will show you a very faithful one; a miniature taken by a famous painter who came from Delhi, and spent his life in Lahore. The Maharajah was a diminutive, shrivelled man, frightfully pitted with the small-pox, which had destroyed one of his eyes; but with the other he could gaze for an hour without ever winking. He had a shrill and squeaking voice; but it terrified those who heard it, especially when he was angry. He did not talk much; but he was a great listener. Then, shrivelled and emaciated as he was in his later years, he was possessed of immense physical strength when roused; and upon horseback, where skill could be exercised, few men in his kingdom could have disarmed him."
"Indeed!"
"He inspired all those who approached him – whether European or native – with respect mingled with intense fear."
Our conversation was here interrupted by a gardener, who presented the Rajah and myself respectively with a nosegay; and who volunteered the information, that some workmen, in digging the foundation for a vine trellis had come upon an old house under the earth, and in it had been found several gold and silver coins.
