CHAPTER 3
Cartwright’s initiation into the administration began when he was received at the Itarsi railway station by a portly Indian gentleman with an impressive moustache and an air of authority. He was conducted to the Dak Bungalow, under the tutelage of the same gentleman who introduced himself, as the Tesildar of Hoshangabad,
“What, if I might ask, is a Tehsildar?” Said Cartwright.
His question, made in obvious good faith, surprised the gentleman. He was so used to taking his own status for granted in the official circles in which he moved that this profound ignorance of things Indian shocked him. But he recovered quickly.
"Forgive me sir, but your question is wrong” There was twinkle in the Tehsildar’s eyes that robbed this statement of all offence.
“Is it? I am sorry, I only meant to find out.”
“Sir, you should have asked what is a Tehsildar not. He is in fact, if not in name, the prime mover in the scheme of things at the district level, he is a magistrate, a revenue officer and a major-domo all rolled into one. That is why you should not ask what he is, he is everything.”
“The Tehsildar had procured a small phaeton or a ghora gharry to take them to Hoshangabad, but Cartwright preferred to ride his own horse, when he was given the choice. Bahadur, a big chestnut horse with a beautiful tail was saddled for him. He had learnt riding before coming to India when he was told that the only way to move around the extensive interior areas was on horseback. As they trotted out over the road with a small retinue of retainers and petty officials following behind, a feeling of exhilaration seized him. He was at last in India. actually riding out over the far-flung tracts which were to be in his charge. The morning air was crisp and clear, fields of ripening wheat stood on either side of the dusty road, and beyond them were magnificent groves of mango trees. The clumps of noble trees enclosing tracts of rich cultivation reminded him of the English countryside, but the trees were much bigger than any that he had seen at home. With huge trunks, often gnarled and fissured with age, dense and spreading crowns that seemed to colonise the air with their concourse of twig and branch, these trees were true behemoths that surprised and delighted him. They moved on over the wide valley, cantering easily, and after progressing thus for about an hour theyfound suddenly that the valley was ended and they were looking at a line of mountains standing in the middle distance, while at their feet flowed a broad river. This was Cartwright’s first sight of the river Narmada and the Vindyan mountains.
The house where he was to live was close by the river. It was a small colonial bungalow, with a gabled porch, open veranda that went round the house and a tiled roof. Lined up in the porch and awaiting his arrival were a group of liveried servants whose stiffly starched tunics and caps showed that they were in ceremonial gear. This little group consisted of Yakub his cook, Ram Singh his bearer and general factotum. And Ramesh, his gardener. The Tehsildar performed the introduction as the servants came forward one by one, salaaming deeply. There were others, he was given to understand, his sweeper for instance, who stood too low in the hierarchy to brought before him for a formal introduction. But they were there in the background, their presence felt rather than seen. For the present he was put in charge of these three, as the Tehsildar excused himself for a while. He took his bath in a large draughty bathroom, in a zinc wash-tub. Indians of course did not use tube for bathing, they preferred running water. By the time he had bathed and dressed in a new suit of linen as he had been advised, the Tehsildar had reappeared.
“Bruua sahib coming for lunch sir.”
“Oh, is he really, I don’t know if the cook he made lunch.”
“Oh, yes sir he has already been told what to do. Please do not concern yourself about it sir.”
Just then a Morris Seven drove up to the porch in a small cloud of dust and form it stepped out Bains the Collector himself, dusting his suit and looking for a hat stand to hand his solar topee. “ Cartwright! My dear fellow, glad you are here at last.”
The Collector was a handsome man with the air of a person who has much to do and not much time to do it in. He seemed to know his way around the house and led Cartwright to the cool, high-ceilinged drawing room where a bearer silently appeared with two glasses of gin. The Collector took his glass with a sigh, glad to be able to have a drink in in congenial surroundings. “I have been so looking forward to having you with us you know. You are the first British officer they have given me. Other districts have sometimes even two Assistant collectors, but they think I can run the show without any. Do you know what Cooper the Chief Secretary at Nagpur told me, when I went to see him the other day, ‘carry on Bains, you are on a good batting wicket. ‘Little did he know that with the Congress boys getting restless by the day, to say nothing about the shadowy presence of Maan Singh, this is getting to be a pretty sticky wicket.” The Collector sipped his gin slowly, reflecting over the injustice of running his huge district with no British officer to assist him.
Cartwright looked around the dim, almost twilit room, as the Collector sipped his gin in silence. Antlered heads, affixed to wooden shields, hung on the walls, and on one side of the hexagonal room was a fireplace with a mantelpiece on which a row of books and files could be seen dimly.
The Collector walked over to the fireplace, and stood leaning against the mantelpiece. “Take a look at these cartwright. This is going to be your bedside reading for the next few days.”
Cartwright looked at the slim leather bound volumes. A Report on the Narmada Floods of 1903, The Gazetter of the Hoshangabad District. A History of the Hindoo State of Ratangarh, A report on the Revenue Settlement of the Soghagpur and Pipariya Tehsils and The Highlands of Central India by Captain J. Forsyth.“Floods. I take it that the river is prone to flooding then.”
“Not very often, but once in a while, yes. The floods when they do come, are pretty horrible. You have had your first look at the river, haven’t you. It looks quite placid now, though even now it’s a fairly large river, as wide as the Thames in London. But when the flood come, all that you can see is an ocean of muddy brown water. Only the Vindhyas at the far end of the valley remain visible. It would be useful for you to brief you self about these floods. This account was written by Smith, one of my remote predecessors, and he has done a pretty thorough job of it. Incidentally, one interesting observation that he makes is that the Narmade floods very fifteen years of thereabouts. So if he is right, we should be due for another cataclysmic deluge about now.”
The Collector had finished his drink and a bearer appeared as if by magic with replenishment, but he was waived away. “Khana Lagao. Is lunch ready?”
“Lunch is ready saar.”
They sat down to a meal of tomato soup, curried mutton, and chappaties, followed by a custard garnished with orange. After the meal was over, they walked back to the drawing room and the conversation which had almost come to a health during the meal, with the servants hovering about. Resumed. “I learnt from fellow passengers on the ship that the political temperature in the country is rising, with Gandhi’s call for non co-operaton. Is this true sir.”
“Well, yes and no. This isn’t a volatile area like the United Provinces or the Punjab. The natives of my district are sturdy cultivators, loyal all of them. The Congresswallas are mostly the district lawyers and the Brahmiz Zamindars. I can handle them, because they aren’t troublemakers essentially. It is that damned shadowy bandit who worries me. He is up to no good, I can tell you.”
“Do you mean the fellow called Maan Singh, sir, I heard some talk of the neighbouring state of Ratangarh.”
“Old Preddy, you ran into him, did you. He is a wily old fox, is Preddy. We know Maan Singh takes shelter in his state. There is suspicion old Preddy uses him to keep the Congress boys in their place. But no one’s ever been able to pin anything on him. A clever old man, our Preddy. You must read that book on Ratangarh so that you know its politics and topography well. Some of his territory is south of the river and these portions jut out like foreign enclaves into my district. It is these enclaves that Maan Singh uses for hiding. I suspect. But we well get the fellow, sooner rather than later.”
The Collector paused, as if to let Cartwright respond, if he had a response. Then he said, “Koi hai?” without really raising his voice and a bearer appeared.
“Huzoor”
“Ask the Tehsildar Sahib to come in.”
The Tehsildar walked in and bowed deferentially.
“Tehsildar Sahib, please make arrangements for Cartwright sahib to start tent touring form next week.”
The Tehsildar nodded his head and waited for further instructions, if any. Since none came, he bowed again and walked out. His manner was courtly without being servile. Yes sir, I will see that it is done. With due dispatch, in the best possible way, It is my business to get things done and you have every right to turn to me. This is what he seemed to be saying.
The Collector resumed his dialogue, “tent touring is much the best way to get to know the district. You will get a first hand look at the people and their problems, without the mediation of petty officialdom. Everyone will come to see you wherever you go, from the grandees to the humblest peasant. You will have to listen to all of them, and give them justice. Doing justice, that is what we are here for.”
“But isn’t that the job of the courts, I should have thought,” said Cartwright.
The Collector looked at him in some surprise. How could anyone be so ignorant, he seemed to be thinking, but he made allowances for the fact that Cartwright was a new hand, unfamiliar with India. They would have called him a griffin fifty years earlier. “yes of course, there are the courts, but you will find that people go to the courts only as a last resort. Many are too weak and too poor to do so and they look to the strong arm of the state to protect them. You must understand that these people have never known anything but autocratic rule. To them the law is the ruler’s will, and their rulers have, as often not, been rapacious and cruel. All the more reason therefore, for us to provide them with a dispensation where the ruler’s will is as benign, as merciful, and when the occasion demands, as ruthless and omnipotent as the Gods they worship.”
“I see, sir.”
“No you don’t. But you will begin to see, soon enough. By the way, you are going to find it rather lonely here. India takes some getting used to. And even after a lifetime one never really feels at home in this vast, impersonal landscape. But remember always that you have me at your side. And the other British officers whom you will meet at the club tonight.”
“I don’t suppose there would be any Indians there sir.”
“No. Natives are not permitted membership of the club. It doesn’t work out. They would only think us condescending, and their presence will put a constraint on us. It’s like mixing roast beef with dal hat, or Yorkshire pudding with jalebis. No, it doesn’t work. Besides a club is meant to be exclusive and homogenous or it isn’t a club. Don’t you agree?
But I do think that the time has come to let them in, simply because the political situation demands it. Oh, by the way, I want you to preside over a function in the local degree college in the afternoon. Bradely-he is the principal you know-was insistent that I attend the function, but for various reason I can’t make it. So you will have to stand in for me. I have spoken to Bradely and he is delighted with the idea.”
“Preside over the function…. But I have never done that before. I haven’t the faintest notion of what I am expected to do.”
“Take it easy, my dear fellow. All that you have to do is cut a ribbon, or light a lamp and then sit through the business. They will ask you to say a few words at the end-this I am afraid is unavoidable-but I am sure you will think of something to say. I hope you won’t find it too boring. But then a capacity to tolerate boredom is a part of your job. I’ll see you in the evening then.”
Without waiting for this answer the collector summoned his vehicle and took his leave of Cartwright, who in any case wasn’t sure about what to say. There were so many things that had passed through his mind, but all of them seemed a little irrelevant, now that he was actually breathing the air of British India.
