Golden Afternoon (55 page)

What I do remember is that my darling Tacklow, whose idea of purgatory would, if admitted to, be a perpetual round of garden parties, receptions, state balls, banquets and similar functions, did his best to wriggle out of this; on the grounds that if anyone should act as stand-in for His Highness, it should be Saadat. But it did no good. His Highness wanted to be represented by Tacklow, and he wouldn't budge from that, even when the Assistant to the AGG Rajputana unexpectedly came out strongly on Tacklow's side — not, as I would have expected, because he too thought that the Heir Apparent was the proper person to represent his father, but for a more altruistic reason …

He wanted to save Mother, Bets and me from boredom and disappointment and, worse, from feeling snubbed. Even though we had all three been invited to the celebrations, we would find that this did not mean we would be able to attend the more glittering and exclusive functions. For instance, the only functions that Bets and I were likely to be asked to were the garden party and the cricket match (or was it polo? I can't remember). We would certainly not be asked to the state banquet. And it was more than likely that Mother would not be either. It was, you see, all a matter of precedence. Now that Tacklow had retired and was no longer in the service of the Government of India, but had ‘gone private', his place, according to the Raj's rule-book of precedence, was a lowly one and would debar him and his family (particularly his daughters!) from attending the more glittering and exclusive functions, and leave only those that were designed for the
hoi polloi
.

Mother had pointed out a shade tartly that although Tacklow no longer had a right to a seat at the top table, he would on this occasion be representing His Highness the Nawab of Tonk, who had. But the Major shot that one down by observing regretfully that Tonk was only a minor state and ‘outgunned' by so many of the senior and more powerful ones that a mere representative, who happened to be employed by its ruler, would cut very little ice. As to Tonk House, the Major was afraid that we could find we had let ourselves in for a most uncomfortable three or four days, since it was seldom used and had been allowed to fall into a shocking state of disrepair. While as for the staff …!

All in all he painted such a gloomy picture that, visualizing a repeat performance on a larger scale of my first disastrous dance at the Srinagar Residence and having no desire to be relegated to the ranks of a wallflower for three days on end, I sided with the opposition and could only hope that Tacklow would stick to his guns and refuse the invitation. Which he certainly would have done had it not been for Mother.

Mother had never cared a toot for precedence. In fact I very much doubt if she even noticed who sat where at
Buna Khaners
(big dinners) let alone who went in on whose arm or ahead of whom. She never gave a
Burra Khaner
herself (apart from anything else, I don't think Tacklow could have afforded it!). She only invited people she liked and who made her laugh, and if anyone took offence over her seating plans, she either never learned about it, or, if she did, refused to believe it on the grounds that no one could
possibly
be so petty. But, as I have said before, she dearly loved a party, and of late she had spent a lot of time living under canvas and wearing the gear that went with that — khaki shorts, knickerbockers and putties, sensible walking shoes and a khaki topi. Not that she hadn't enjoyed every minute of our trip down the Ganges and the Christmas camp. But she couldn't wait to put on her prettiest evening dress and go off partying, and didn't disguise her disappointment when Tacklow, after listening to the Major's discouraging talk, said that in that case he thought we had better give up the idea of attending the Ajmer festivities.

The Major said that he was sure that Tacklow had made the right decision. After which he changed the subject and we chatted a bit about this and that and he left.

Well, it was three to two against. But since the two were Mother and the old Nawab, they won easily. For when had Tacklow ever been able to refuse his darling Daisy anything that it was in his power, or his purse, to give her? While, as the Major had pointed out, the Nawab was his employer. So, of course, we went to Ajmer. And contrary to the Major's dire predictions, had a wonderful time there. This was largely because the new Viceroy, Lord Willingdon, and his wife, knew my parents, as did every ruling prince whose forebears had made a treaty with the Raj, which I presume meant all of them. Bets and I had met a good many of them and got to know their wives and daughters and it was nice to see them and their schoolboy sons and applaud their boys' skill on the cricket field, or at the prizegiving.

The focal point of the garden party, which I presume must have taken place in the college grounds, was a marble pavilion (or platform) reached by a long flight of steps and furnished with carpets, chairs and sofas and a scattering of small tables. Here the Willingdons were seated, together with a number of the more important rulers and their wives (the few who were not in purdah — most of them were in those days, as were all unmarried daughters who had reached marriageable age
^*
) and a selection of the more senior British officials and their ladies. The rest of us circled around on the spacious lawns, or beside the long tables laden with sandwiches and cakes, while scores of liveried servants handed round cups of tea, and a band played.

The Indian guests outnumbered the British ones by at least ten to one, as was normal in Rajputana, since this was Rajasthan — ‘the Country of the Kings'. Almost every ‘King' was present, and there was a constant coming and going of people up and down the long flight of red-carpeted steps that led to the marble pavilion. It looked, I thought, a bit like Jacob's Ladder, and watching it, I noticed the Viceroy's ADCs were having to work hard, some of them leading guests up from the lawns while others escorted down those who had spoken to one or other of the Willingdons for what was presumably an allotted time, their place taken by a newcomer. Lady Willingdon, watching the lawns below from the vantage point of the pavilion, had spotted Mother just as tea was being served to her and those on the surrounding sofas, and, beckoning to an ADC, she sent him off to fetch my parents. I saw Mother being removed from a dense cluster of friends and acquaintances — she was always at her best at a party, for she possessed the invaluable knack of making everyone near her feel that they too were enjoying themselves. Led up Jacob's Ladder, she was plonked down next to Lady Willingdon and plied with tea and cake, and later Tacklow, too, was fetched up to the pavilion, where they both stayed until the tea interval was over and the Willingdons went down to do what was later to become known as ‘a walkabout', meeting as many of the guests as possible — something that ‘Mauve Marie'
^†
was exceptionally good at.

Bets and I, true to the Major's prediction, were not invited to the state banquet, but my parents were, and though the senior lady present went into dinner with the Viceroy, Mother found herself seated on his other side. It seems he had attended far too many state dinners of late, and been landed with making conversation to too many elderly ‘
burra mems
', so he had gone on strike and demanded to have at least one woman next to him who could be relied upon to entertain him and make him laugh. Tacklow's position at the table was probably a fairly lowly one — I know that it was a long way away from Mother and nowhere near Lady Willingdon, and also that he would never have noticed, or cared, where he was placed.

Bets and I were asked to a dinner party and ‘gramophone hop' thrown by some of our age group, so we too had an enjoyable evening. In fact the entire visit was a great success, and the old Nawab — who considered that he and his state had acquired much
izzat
(honour) from the favour shown to his President of the Council of State by the Viceroy and Vicereine— was delighted. We hoped that Major Barlow, who as Assistant to the AGG Rajputana ranked only one step below his chief in the Province, and had of course been present, was equally pleased at the way things had turned out. But since Tonk was only one among many states that he had to visit, and (as he had pointed out to us) not one of the really powerful ones, we were not to see him again for many months. By which time so many other and far more interesting things had happened that we had almost forgotten about it. Unfortunately, the Major had not. But we were not to discover that until later.

The most interesting happening of the next year was Nunni-mia's wedding. Nunni was only twelve years old, but he had been betrothed to the ten-year-old daughter of a Bhopal nobleman, and their marriage was one of those token affairs in which the girl bride would spend the first three days of her married life in the care of her new mother-in-law and under the eagle eyes of the ladies of the
zenana
so that she could get to know something about her young husband before being returned to her own family until she was old enough for the marriage to be consummated. As his father's favourite son, and heir-designate after Saadat, Nunni was a very eligible bridegroom, and the
shadi
was celebrated with all the usual colour, pomp and ceremony of an Indian wedding. No expense was spared, and Tacklow became a little worried as to whether the state's exchequer could stand it. But our old Nawab doted on Nunni and nothing was too good for him.

A special train was laid on to take the wedding party to Bhopal from the railhead nearest to Tonk, and that alone must have set the old boy back quite a packet. Not to mention the fleet of cars and lorries needed to take us all there, which included the Meades and ourselves, as well as all the young bridegroom's kith and kin, every nobleman in Tonk and anyone in any position of authority, plus a host of Nunni's friends and any number of courtiers, servants and assorted retainers.

It soon became obvious that the train was going to be shockingly overcrowded, and Tacklow — who would be attending the wedding in his official capacity while his wife and daughters were going as invited guests — suggested that it would help towards easing the congestion if he and his family, their luggage and our two servants, were to travel to Bhopal by car. This would not only put our four-berth carriage and adjoining servants' carriage at the disposal of the wedding party, but allow him to be waiting on the platform to receive His Highness when the Nawab arrived at Bhopal, since the distance by road was a good deal shorter. The offer was accepted with undisguised relief, to the disappointment of Bets and me, who had been looking forward to the long, leisurely train journey which would have allowed us to gossip with the ladies in the purdah carriages.

However, the trip by road, though hot, bumpy and dusty, was not without interest and, since the Nawab had insisted on putting two of his best cars at our disposal, as well as picnic baskets full of delicious food and fruit and iced drinks in Thermos flasks, we were chauffeured like millionaires across the lovely, empty spaces and through the narrow valleys and low, stony hills of King's Country, and arrived, as Tacklow had said, well ahead of the wedding party from Tonk.

His Highness the Nawab of Bhopal was away, but he had left orders that we were to be put up in the New Palace — a disappointment, since I had hoped that it might be the Old Palace, the new one being one of those modern ones. I envied the Tonk party, who were housed in older and far more attractive buildings in the city.

The wedding party was greeted with garlands and a
fu-fu
band and much banging of tom-toms, and that night there was a men-only party, given by the bride's family. Everything looked set for a thoroughly pleasant occasion. But it was not to be. The very next morning a spanner was tossed in the works by the bride's father, who suddenly announced that the bride-price — the sum paid by the groom's family to the bride's father
for the privilege of marrying his daughter — was insufficient, and that his
vakils
(lawyers) advised that it must be doubled. This, not unnaturally, led to considerable
gurr-burrh
or Indian uproar. For a time everything came to a grinding halt and it began to look as though we would all have to turn round and go home again. However, after endless argument and acrimony, my darling Tacklow, in whose lap this nonsense-work had landed, managed to sort it out and settle it to everyone's satisfaction.

That evening I saw the prettiest sight I have ever seen at any Indian festivity. Nor did I ever see anything like it again. Bets and I must have been to some party, probably dinner in the
zenana
quarter with the begums. Whatever it was, we ended up at a comparatively late hour of the night, sitting on top of a high wall in the dark, waiting to see a procession pass. The wall was one of a pair that ran on either side of a narrow street, somewhere in the old city, and presumably near the
zenana
quarters of some nobleman's palace, for several of the begums, shrouded in
bourkas
, were perched on the wall beside us.

It was a little like sitting up in a
machan
at a tiger beat, listening for the beaters to approach and wondering what would come out of the jungle opposite you. We could hear the noises of an Indian city all around us. But there was nothing and no one in the dark slot of the lane below us, until at last we heard drums and flutes and all the joyous din of a
fu-fu
band approaching from somewhere on our right, together with the bright flame of torches.

The torchlight and the noise came steadily nearer and suddenly the lane below us was full of men, some bearing torches, and the rest marching four or five abreast, carrying wands of leaves and flowers made from tinsel and glittering sheets of foil. I had seen these tinsel and paper flowers before, since they could be bought in almost any fair-sized bazaar throughout India. But I had never previously seen them put to such good effect, and it taught me an excellent lesson on the wonderful effect of a single colour used
en masse
as opposed to a dozen different ones …