Retreat of a princedom
I recently visited a former ruler of an erstwhile princely state at his home. Over many years, the one-time maharaja had begun to accord me the privilege of a friend. The original family palace having been delivered to the government after the integration of the princedom with independent India, he had chosen to reside in a modest lodge on the outskirts of the capital of the state over which his forefathers had reigned for centuries. I was received with warmth in the spacious lawns. Nowhere in sight was there any uniformed retinue of attendants, nor was there any fleet of carriages and vintage automobiles that would have served his family. Those symbols of royalty had disappeared long since, as the state became a part of a democratic polity.
Visible now in the person of the former maharaja was an endearing old-world charm and his penchant for gracious hospitality. He was a distinguished Army officer, who had been decorated with the Maha Vir Chakra during India’s victorious 1971 war. He preferred to be recognised as a professional soldier rather than cling to the remnants of a princedom that he had inherited. With comfortable ease, the war veteran has transited from being addressed as ‘Your Highness’ to ‘Brigadier sahib’, the sobriquet I use for him. ‘Every inch a king’ was how Shakespeare had described King Lear after he had been deprived of his crown. It struck me that here in real life, I was face to face with an officer who was a princely hero on his own merit, much beyond the silver spoon he had been born with.
As he poured coffee for me from crockery adorned with the emblem of the old state, his attendant brought before him an unusual complaint. It transpired that my host was not receiving the letters posted to him. Amazingly, the local post office, situated just 2 km away, did not have a record of the Villa, the maharaja’s residence. I was stupefied! The palace would normally have been a landmark in the town, indeed the epicentre, in relation to which any other locality could be identified. Instead, people were oblivious of the existence of a person whom they might, some decades earlier, have regarded as a benevolent ‘mai-baap’. Ironically, a maharaja of yore had to visit the post office to furnish the coordinates of the house where he had lived for nearly 60 years.
The Brigadier was unfazed at the absurdity of the situation. He instructed the attendant: ‘Just tell the post office to deliver my letters to the Army unit next door. The Colonel will ensure that they reach me.’ Truly, the Army will never forget its heroes, no matter where they are, much after all inherited titles have vanished.
