Maharajahs
Peter Quennell
Ilindoo Holiday: An Indian Journal J. R. Ackerley
(Penguin Travel Library £2.95)
During the pre-war years, a lively 'cultural exchange' still flourished bet- ween the Eastern and Western worlds; and, While many Westerners retained a romantic regard for the so-called 'Wisdom of the East', its inhabitants looked hopefully towards Europe for a solution of their own Problems, and welcomed a series of oc- cidental sages, who were prepared to settle down in their midst and lecture them on such literary subjects as Beowulf, Herbert Spencer, Samuel Smiles and the later works of James Joyce. These sages were par- ticularly popular in Japan; but they also roamed through the Indian sub-continent, Where the enlightened sovereigns of certain Native States sometimes enrolled them among their favourite courtiers.
Two close friends, E. M. Forster and J. R. Ackerley, both received this flattering treatment; and each of them subsequently Published a book, in which he recorded his impressions. Ackerley's Hindoo Holiday, now reissued as a paperback, is probably the better work; but Forster's The Hill of Devi, though slightly less revealing — much of his text was derived from his letters to his Mother — makes an admirable accompani- ment. Frequently they cover the same ground. It was thanks to Forster's recom- Mendation that, in 1923, Ackerley obtained Ills Pleasant post as Private Secretary to the Maharajah of Chhatarpur (renamed Chhokrapur); and Forster himself had ,known that ruler well, and had explored the Deautiful territory he governed. Each Englishman grew extremely fond of his demanding 'Maharajah Sahib'; but Forster found Ackerley's employer a little too capricious and 'exotic', a seeker after truth and happiness 'who always wanted l'That anyone else had got and tired of it When he got it', and complained that he was °ccasionally either ill-mannered or in- Iolerably effusive: 'He now says I am a wizard" and implores me to open my tleart so that God will fill it and inspire me to relate the future. "Where are Socrates an.c1 Plato? We do not know — yes, yes".' His Maharajah, on the other hand, possess- 'one of the sweetest characters' Forster !lad ever come across, and, despite some 1.?veable absurdity, a kind of tragic dignity, tne.Poor man's only fault being his wildly eexcitable nature and total lack of humdrum _13rnmonsense. The Maharajah of Dewas's eaareer ended in breakdown and disaster. He Le,cused his son of attempting to poison Lurri, defied the British government, and "ad a sad and solitary end. When Hindoo Holiday first appeared,
several gifted fellow writers enthusiastically acclaimed it; 'exquisitely entertaining' said David Garnett; 'radiantly delightful' added the young Evelyn Waugh. Nor do their praises strike me as overdone. Apart from its other qualities, it remains a wonderfully amusing book, woven around the central portrait of a fantastic human type — a type, moreover, that must have nearly vanished today, since Indian petty sovereigns have been replaced by middle- class bureaucrats and politicians. The Maharajah of Chhatarpur had high, yet disorganised, ideals. He saw himself as an hereditary philosopher-king, born to divide his time between the search for wisdom and virtue, and the exacting performance of his traditional religious duties.
Not that he neglected the ardent pursuit of pleasure. He had a strong interest (an in- terest his Secretary shared) in attractive male dancers; Ackerley was often consulted and appealed to, as these personable young men came and went — the boy, for exam- ple, in whom His Highness thought he detected a resemblance, which he somehow found deeply appealing, to Napoleon III, and who, despite the rewards he was of- fered, if he would agree to remain at Court and dance in the role of the divine Krishna, proved exasperatingly elusive.
Like Forster's saintlier friend, he also en- joyed talking and was never tired of asking questions: Did I come from London? Of whom did my family consist? Could I speak Latin and Greek? Did I know Rider Haggard?
Was I religious? Was I a pragmatist?
Had I read Hall Caine? Had I read Dar- win, Huxley and Marie Corelli? His Highness seemed very disappointed that I didn't know what pragmatism meant...
Thus might one of the earlier Roman emperors have interrogated a wandering Greek pundit who had strayed into his presence. The Court of this enquiring prince, as Ackerley describes it, was a magnificent parody of autocratic rule, in which the autocrat, though deprived of real power and supervised by a British Political Agent who sternly forbade him to build a Greek Villa, based on the Parthenon, just behind his crumbling palace, was still the centre — the social and religious focus at least — of his small, populous, impoverish- ed state. The results were comic, now and then pathetic. The half-finished palace was rapidly falling to pieces; every courtier kept a jealous hold on his position; there was endless activity and unceasing intrigue; but nothing ever really worked.
By one feature of Hindu civilisation Ackerley and Forster appear to have been equally dismayed — a strain of negligence and vagueness, shown by the tendency, for example, to plant a garden but omit to pro- vide it with water, or conduct a religious ceremony with passionate enthusiasm, yet with extraordinary lack of aesthetic har- mony or style. What troubled him, wrote Forster, having watchid the Gokul Ashtami Festival, an eight-day event held in honour of Krishna's birth, which comparatively few Europeans can have seen, was the hideousness of almost every detail. 'The altar is a mess of little objects, stifled with rose leaves; the walls are hung with deplorable oleographs, the chandeliers, draperies — everything bad. Only one thing is beautiful — the expression on the faces of the people as they bow to the shrine. . Meanwhile he depicts the Maharajah danc- ing incessantly, 'jigging up and down' and twanging a stringed instrument that hung by a scarf around his neck.
In both narratives, the author's princely patron has an important part to play; in neither does he monopolise the scene. Hin- doo Holiday contains some fine descrip- tions of landscape and memorable glimpses of other courtiers, besides vivid sketches of Anglo-Indian visitors to the Palace, notably Mrs Montgomery, who gave her new ac- quaintance this final piece of advice: 'You'll never understand the dark and tor- tuous minds of natives; and if you do I shan't like you — you won't be healthy.' In fact, her warning was needless; Ackerley made no far-fetched efforts to penetrate the secrets of an alien race, but was content to observe and record with the help of an uncensorious mind and an especially recep- tive eye. One can well see why Evelyn Waugh, then at the start of his own literary progress, so very much enjoyed this book. He and Ackerley had a sense of humour and splendid grasp of the absurd that the novelist in his triumphant later years would develop as his sharpest weapons.
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