MY MINISTER
By JOHN CHARTERS
HE was not a great man, and had no desire or pretence to be. He was not much interested either in politics or policy. His speeches were an inaudible string of platitudes. His noting on files was ambiguous and indecisive ; and he had no presence at all. An outside chance had made him a Minister in an Indian Provincial Government when the major parties of his community had refused to join the Ministry. And his unexpected glory made him very happy.
When I joined his Department I was a, little apprehensive, for I had criticised it frankly both in public and in private. But he bore no ill will at all. "I am glad you have come, Mr. Charters," he said, "for I know you are absolutely honest and so am I. Indeed, I often get into trouble with my colleagues for not giving enough patronage to Party members. . . . I have told all my officers to make you happy. I know you will be, for we are a very contented family."
Honest he certainly was. Sometimes we disturbed him as he was paying out thick wads of notes to those marginal men of the Party whose vacillating votes were his greatest concern. But he was a landed proprietor of substance and quite uninterested in contracts, budget secrets or any of the possible perquisites of office. Nor did he intervene over appointments. Occasionally he would send a cautious message (verbal, never written). "Did Mr. Charters know that the gentleman whose petition had been refused was a supporter of the Ministry?" But, when I just replied "Yes," the matter never went further.
Certainly, too, he exerted himself to make me happy, even though I tried his patience often. "Why are you always so restless, Mr. Charters?" he asked me once, as I was urging him to engage in a major interdepartmental battle. "The Secretary and the Deputy- Secretary seem quite content to let things go on as they are." He paused and added hopefully: "I don't think we pay you nearly enough for doing so much. Would you be happier if I persuaded the Finance Department to agree to an increase in your salary? And couldn't we bring Mrs. Charters out to India? I'm sure she would prevent you from taking all this too seriously." And he postponed the battle by sending me on casual leave, lending me a bungalow and including, a little ambiguously, a gun.
I think he enjoyed two things most, touring and parties. When he went on tour he had a special bogey attached to the train, and as many as possible of us were persuaded, but never instructed, to come. The Minister would usually take one or two of his younger relations in his compartment and send them to us with sweets and friendly messages at intermediate halts. When we arrived he would leave us to discuss policy with the local officers and notables, whilst he had a revel of opening ceremonies. He would lay the foundation- stones of dispensaries, hack away the last sod to open a canal, or give away prizes at village schools with equal gusto. And, after he had spoken of the vigour with which the best of Ministries was tackling the most difficult of problems, he would courteously introduce each of us as the most able, devoted and impartial officer in the Province.
Parties he loved, and his own most of all. For weeks ahead we planned, laid in stocks, advised on invitation cards and arranged transport. There was singing and Indian dancing and ice creams. Whisky, to conform with his strong belief in the legend of the Englishman East of Suez, was served with tea ; and always we ended with a huge group photograph, destined to join hundreds more on the walls of his rambling and whimsical house, a series which began rather oddly with the German Emperor and his family in 1898.
He was, of course, never a popular figure except in his own District. The Press treated him with derision. But he cared very little. Once in a conference with non-officials we were being badly harassed. He was described as a Quisling, and his staff as worse than the Beasts of Belsen. He turned to me with a smile: "I always think, Mr. Charters, that only two things in life really matter, eating and drinking. If we send for some tea I am sure they will be less violent."
Perhaps the unkindness of his colleagues hurt him more, when they
snubbed him in the Cabinet. But he was very buoyant. "I have had a most cordial interview with his Excellency," he would say, as he came back from Government House. Afterwards the Governor would send for one of us, peevishly repeating that he never could understand what our Minister was talking about.
The final crisis came very suddenly. No one anticipated the landslide in the Assembly. "Do you really think this will do? " the Minister asked us diffidently as he tucked away his speech. "I don't think Burke or Macaulay could have said more, sir," I replied. "Anyhow," he said brightening, "I've had some rather special sweets brought up from my District, and after the debate we'll all have tea in my room."
The first thing I noticed, as I took my place in the Secretaries' box in the Legislative Assembly, was that my Minister was chewing betel nut, and would therefore be completely, instead of mainly, inaudible. But a much worse disaster was apparent. Fifteen Government supporters had crossed the floor since the previous day, and were seated on the Opposition benches, lured, it was rumoured, by the greatest bribes in the Province's history. Government whips ran up and down the benches, pleading with them in vain. Ministers clustered round the Speaker, demanding an adjournment. But to no purpose. A vote was pressed for and obtained on an irrelevant issue, and in one brief hour the Ministry was defeated and my Ministet out of office with no chance in the world of ever recovering it.
Shyly we stole to his room to condole. He was heartbroken, and mockingly around his desk were pyramids of sweets, yellow and silver and round and square, designed to grace his oratorical triumph. "I had intended," he said sadly, "to invite some of my colleagues ; it doesn't seem quite suitable now. But at least," he added with a flicker of his old happiness, "there's one consolation. There'll be a great deal more for all of us."
It may be thought that in drawing this picture I have ranged myself with those who consider India to be quite unsuited to Parliamentary Government. That would be a wrong impression. My Minister, indeed, was not a man of great personality. He was as different from a Sikander or a Rajagopalachariar as was Addison- from Pitt or Newcastle from Chatham, and no generalisations can cover any of these sets of contemporaries. Yet he was far better than no Minister at all. His reactions to his civil servants' schemes were unexpected, but therefore most valuable as expressing the feelings of that middle-class of his community which ultimately had to bear the weight of working most reforms. He was straight and kind- hearted and genuinely anxious that the condition of the people should be improved. And, if the political background against which he worked was corrupt and inefficient, it may be recollected that our own Parliamentary tradition was not built up without having to traverse a centuries-long morass of corruption and nepotism on the way.
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