CHAPTER 20
The Pachmarhi Week was preceded by hectic preparations. The most difficult problem was to arrange for the supply of ice, which was required in large quantities for making iced drinks, cocktails and cooling potations of all kind. The ice factory in Piparia was commanded to deliver a truckload every day, to be collected by an army pick-up van in the morning. As a backup an old American refrigerator which ran on kerosene was brought up from the Officer’s mess at Jabalpur and installed in the Old Hotel.
The golf course received the special attention of the horticulture department, which was charged with the upkeep of the greens. A team of gardeners was kept busy, watering, fertilising, and mowing the grass to obtain the billiards table smoothness which was favoured, but which alas, given the reddish soil of Pachmarhi and the rugged nature of the terrain proved to be unattainable.
The army band practised hard every evening and if, by chance, you took your evening walk along the Chota Chukker in the direction of the barracks, you could hear the trumpets sounding their fanfare in the gathering gloom.
The Public Works Department was the busiest of all, for it was its job to see that all the bungalows, including of course the Governor’s residence were in tip-top condition. This department was also in charge of maintaining all the view-points, approach roads, swimming pools, and of course the ghat road from Piparia, which was, and still is, Pachmarhi’s only link with the rest of the world and its hands were more than full.
The Vicar of Pachmarhi was also busy, for it was in his church that the Viceroy and his party would come for worship and he had to keep the beautiful church of All Saints in good order, with whatever funds he could muster from his congregation. He could not, unlike the chaplain at the Catholic church, count on money being made available by the church hierarchy. With the funds available he had to ensure that the pews were given a coat of paint, the beautiful stained glass windows cleaned and the damage down to the masonry by the last monsoon rains repaired. There was hardly any money left after all this to look after the vicarage, and it was no wonder then that the row of outhouses at the back where the servants lived was falling into disrepair.
It was in one of these outhouses that Maan Singh was put up Shiva who had been told by his village elders to look after a guest. Shiva had no idea who his guest was or why he had come to Pachmarhi. Maaan Singh had come disguised as a holy man, a sadhu with dreadlocks and a flowing beard who was on a pilgrimage. Such men are common in Pachmarhi and no one would look askance on a sadhu wandering about the streets. Visitors from his village often came to Shiva and there was nothing unusual in a sadhu staying with him, and as the vicar never came down to the outhouses and never bothered himself with Shiva’s social life it was unlikely that any questions would be asked of him. But the biggest advantage of the location, from Maan Singh’s point of view, was that the police would never think of looking in a t the vicarage for a suspected terrorist and he could carry out his reconnaissance of the place without any danger of running into the police. Other places, even the temples and pilgrim caravanserais were sure to be under surveillance.
This reconnaissance was necessary. He had to be sure that Lord Chelmsford, the Viceroy, and his party had arrived in Pachmarhi and the Governor’s ball would take place as scheduled and all the dignitaries would be there. As the leader of the group the task naturally fell to him, though it might have been safer to assign it to some other member of the group who was not so keenly sought by the police.
The Viceroy had indeed arrived along with the Governor of the Central Provinces & Berar and other civil and military officials. Bungalows which had remained untenanted though the year now bustled with activity. Apart from Government House where the Viceroy stayed, there was Runnymed where the Governor was lodged, there was Rock Fort where the army brass stayed and Sunnigdale and Glen View and Ratheburn and one castle-like structure with the romantic name of Otranto. When it came to nomenclature Scottish names were more favoured than others – perhaps because the owners thought that the mists and rain and the wild, heather-clad hills of Scotland bore some faint resemblance to the hills of Pachmarhi.
The Pachmarhi Week got underway with a golf match between the Army and civilians. The first hole was within sight of Bison Lodge, the oldest brick and masonry structure on the plateau, constructed almost forty years ago by Captain Forsythe. The Viceroy inaugurated the tournament by teeing off and firing a rather wild shot, which missed the fairway and rolled into the rough behind some cypress trees at the edge of the course. The shot was wildly cheered nonetheless. As the players paired off and the sun got hotter, the Viceroy and his party left the scene and the remaining spectators sought the shade. Cartwright, who wasn’t playing, found himself in the company of Colonel Pemberton the Viceroy’s military attaché.
“This place is too hot to be a hill-station, “the colonel said, unbuttoning the collar of his tunic, and swotting at an imaginary fly.
“I believe it’s quite pleasant during the rains.”
“Is it? I wonder. But then you may have to contend with swarms of mosquitoes and may be even poisonous snakes, I suspect. No this isn’t a real hill-station, no snow-clad hills, no pine trees, no alpine flowers as we have in Simla. Now that’s real hill-station. Do you know, er….”
“Cartwright!”
“Do you know Cartwright, I have seen more spring flowers in the garden of the viceregal in May and June than in Hyde Park at the height of summer. That’s Simla for you.”
“You are not fond of jungles Colonel. And waterfalls. That’s what we have here. Plenty of them. In fact, tomorrow there is to be a picnic at the Bee Falls, if I am not wrong.”
“Ah, yes. You’re right of course. But I don’t much care for this jungle. Oh, it’s thick all right, but it looks, too……too bloody foreign, you know. All this riotous vegetation. Oppressive, I call it. Not at all like the woods at home. But the viceroy is keen on it, so there’s no getting away from it. I think I’ll push along now. See you at the picnic tomorrow.”
Next morning, before the sun was too high, the Viceroy’s party was on its way down to the Bee Falls. A posse of mounted policeman had already trotted down the path a little earlier, reconnoitring the hillside. Men from the Special Branch, some of them disguised as local aborigines were pottering about the jungle along the track. At the Bee dam a few others, dressed as sadhus, were, of course kept away. The Viceroy’s retinue started only when the all clear had been given.
The Viceroy, riding a splendid chestnut horse led the procession, followed by his aides, the Governor and other officials. Then came the ladies. Last of all were the servants, the syces and grooms, and khansamas, and chobdars, who walked. Some of these servants had already been dispatched in advance of the main party, carrying picnic hampers and rush mats and mattresses, and utensils and cutlery and plate and all kinds of other impedimenta. The path descended gently along the hillside. The jungle, green and refulgent even in summer, stood silent. The cicadas shrilled. The red dust, which carpeted the path rose and settled on the trees as the horses passed over. It was already hot and sultry.
The horses were moving in a single file, as the track was not wide enough, and this irritated Mrs. Macgregor, who was riding just ahead of Cartwright.
“Can’t we go a little faster.”
“I wouldn’t advise it ma’am.” Said Cartwright, looking at the steep drop on the valley side. He realised the cause of Mrs. Macregor’s irritation. Mrs. Cooper, was riding with the Governor’s wife and this, felt the SP’s wife was a breach of protocol. As the Collector was a bachelor, the SP’s wife automatically took precedence among the wives of district officials. Her proper place, she felt, had been usurped by Mrs. Cooper and she did not like it.
“Trust Helena Cooper to thrust herself forward. Don’t you think I should have been riding with the Governor’s wife.”
Cartwright merely inclined his head at this. “Is there going to be any bathing at the pool.”
“Bathing. Gosh, no. the very idea……..”
“Well, I just thought a cool bath would be rather welcome after all the heat and dust.”
“You do say the most shocking things, sometimes, Mr Cartwright. How can you think of bathing, with all these servants looking on.”
“I am sorry, I did not take that into account.”
“Besides, the very idea of the whole procession trooping into the water in their trunks and bathing costumes and bare legs. Really, it would be most improper. Moreover…..”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It would be a shocking breach of protocol. Imagine the Viceroy, splashing around the pool and rubbing shoulders with the District Forest Officer, to say nothing of his wife. Most improper. It’s just not done.’
At last they reached a little cove where a stream came coursing down the hillside and made a pool among the ferns. The pool was so clear that one could see the sandy bottom and the little fishes swimming among the pebbles. The jungle had stepped back a bit here and the large pool and the waterfall stood in a small cleaning. Along the margins of the pool was a sandy beach and it was here that the picnic was laid out.
There were dishes containing roast quail and partridge, eggs and bacon, stacks of toast, cucumber and tomato sandwiches, jars of jams and jellies, and cakes and cookies and canapés and savouries and so on. It was a collation to please a king. There was also tea and sherbet which was called sorbet and for those who liked stronger spirits, there was Findlater’s whiskey and Beefeater gin-these latter being placed decorously under covers.
The Viceroy had already taken off his shoes and dipped his toes in the crystalline water of the pol. May other followed suit. When everyone was thus disposed about the pool a gong was rung by Major Stanley.
“Excellency, ladies and gentleman, before we make a beeline for the eatables, we are going to play a little game. The game is quite simple really. It is called Your Guess Is As Good As Mine. A little verse will be read out before you. This verse would be about some local notable. All that you have to do it to guess who this notable is. If you are all ready, may I ask Mr. Bains, the Collector of our district, to read out the first verse.’
Bains, stood up a little self-consciously and began to read from a little piece of paper.
“I am a loyal servant of the King ,
And will faithfully play my part,
In upholding the Raj in everything,
Polo and Shikar are my passions
And I follow the Paris fashions
But I am really an old pagan at heart.”
“That sounds like our friend Old Preddy.” Said the SP. ask Mrs. Macgregor to read out eh next verse.”
“Oh dear!” said Mrs Macgregor as she took up the next piece of paper.
“I am a man of peace you see.
I think violence is bad per se.
I have sworn to free my county
But I have no quarrel with my enemy
Indeed in a tight situation you can count on me.”
“There is no prize for guessing this one. It’s Gandhi of course.”
“You can’t count on Gandhi.” Said a voice from the back.
“He would stab us in the back, given half a chance, just like the rest of them,” said a uniformed figure.
It was the Viceroy who silenced that hubbub. “Nonsense, you can rely on Gandhi . Mind you, I don’t speak for the rest of the Congresswallas, but Gandhi is worth all the rest of them put together.”
This settled the matter.
Now the vicar rose and began to read out.
“You can’t scare the Brits with empty slogans
Or with paper resolutions.
But they will clear out soon enough
If you give them a bit of their own stuff.
A whiff of grapeshot from the big guns.”
“This is seditious stuff vicar,” said Macgregor.
“It is only a game. And this actually what some Indians seem to think.”
“And if they do it is for the police to get them,” shouted a uniformed man. The army’s dislike of civilians seemed to extend to the polices as well.
“Are you talking of the terrorists vicar,” asked Mrs. Macgregor, who was as agitated as the rest of them “Aye, but which one.”
“Wait a minute, I don’t think you’ve got it quite right. If you allow me. I should like to rephrase your jingle.” The speaker was a senior member of the Viceroy’s entourage.
There were shouts of ‘good on you’, and ‘come along,’ and ‘give it to them sir!’
“The British lion is never afraid
Of paper tigers and their rodomontade
Of cowards who throw bombs and run away.
And politicians who have feet of clay.
We’ll blow away the whole tin-pot brigade.”
The speaker stretched the last word into bre-ee-gay-de, and there was a round of applause at this. “That’s the stuff,” someone shouted from the back of the crowd.
After the applause had died down the Viceroy made a move towards the picnic hampers.
“Well, that was well said,” Mrs. Macregor said to Cartwright as she tucked into a ham sandwich.
“Yes, the speaker certainly has a talent for versification.”
“I wonder what got into the vicar, talking about bombs and guns.”
“Oh. I suppose he just wanted to talk about a local desperado called Maan Singh. Pity no one got around to answering that one.”
“But it almost spoiled the whole picnic.” Mrs Macgregor, was now eating an apple pie. “That gentleman saved the day. Who is he, do you know.”
Carwright looked at the distinguished looking gentleman dressed rather foppishly in old fashioned clothes. I think he is Mr. Crump, the Financial Commissioner.
“Oh, is he. Fancy that. Will you introduce me.”
“I don’t know him myself.”
“It doesn’t matter. You only have to introduce me, you know.”
She took Cartwright by the hand and they sidled along crab fashion, till they were face to face with the great man, who was standing all by himself, a little away from the throng and tossing pebbles into the pool.
“Sir, may I present, Mr. Macgregor.’
Mr. Crump bowed deeply. “How do you do, ma’am.”
“Oh, your little poem was wonderful Mr. Crump. It’s just what everyone here feels.”
“You are very kind madam.” Mr Crump was a widower. He liked to affect an old fashioned gallantry when talking to ladies. “I do think we are prone to exaggerating the terrorist threat sometimes and that has a bad effect on morale. I don’t think the terrorists have any public support whatsoever and we can snuff out the whole things in a year. Remember that the average Indian is a peace loving man who wants to enjoy the pleasures of his home and hearth undisturbed. Politics means nothing to him.”
“You are absolutely right of course.”
“I have not had the pleasure of meeting your companion.”
Sir, I am Cartwright, the Assistant Collector here.”
“Indeed, You are a lucky devil Cartwright, to have district like Hoshangabad as your first posting. And you couldn’t have asked for a better mentor than Bains. By the way, how is that infamous desperado Maan Singh. I believe he was last sighted somewhere close to Pachmarhi.”
“No sign of him sir. He seems to have disappeared into thin air.”
“Any chance of him making an appearance in the near future.”
“With all this security. I doubt it.”
“But we do make a tempting target, don’t we.” M Crump said, looking around, “virtually the entire government of India is here. I would be on my guard, if I were you.”
Cartwright bowed his head in assent. The picnic was winding up as the Viceroy got ready to leave. But before the party broke up, one of the sadhus who had been watching the proceedings from a vantage point, behind a clump of Sal trees quietly slipped away. No one took any note of his departure. The Special Branch men hidden behind the trees though he was one them and the others were not busy to notice.
