CHAPTER 30
Ever since he had deposed in the Maan Singh case, Cartwright had been made to feel the weight of official disapproval in numerous ways. To begin with he was relieved of his district charge and went back to being plain Assistant Collector - only a notch below the Collector in the official hierarchy but a world apart in authority and influence. No one could say that he was unfairly treated as the government had merely reverted him to his substantive rank. But as others of his seniority had been given independent charge this was clearly meant to be an official snub. The new Collector, Johnson, was the empire-builder type writ large. He had been told about Cartwright’s exploits and did not approve. He was barely civil to Cartwright and let his disapproval show in his official dealings. He had never frequented the club earlier, and now going there was out of the question. As there was already an invisible will between him and his Indian subordinates, he found himself more isolated than ever. Having no one to talk to, he poured out his feelings in a letter to Sunanda:-
My dear Miss Dube,
I told you in my last letter about my testimony in your cousin’s case. The aftermath, though not unexpected, has been rather disconcerting all the same. It seems as if I have committed some unspeakable crime and there is a conspiracy against me – a conspiracy of silence, whenever, I run into any against me – a conspiracy of silence. Whenever I run into any one of my compatriots, I am given the cold shoulder. I seldom went to the club before, but I never go there now. There is no point in embarrassing everyone. The Collector treats me with cold courtesy. He has relieved me of most of the work that I was doing earlier and assigned these matters to other native subordinates. I have very little to do in office, so I spend my time touring the district.
Last week I went to the jungles of Bori and there I ran into the vicar of Pachmarhi, Bainbridge, the only one of my countrymen who still treats me like a human being, and we had a jolly time.
Bainbridge is fond of his drink, and I have become fonder of it than I have been before. The Bori forest is perfectly delightful, full of stalwart trees that form leafy colonnades where the sunlight barely filters through. It’s like walking through the nave of a gigantic cathedral. At night the fireflies flit through the trees in the Dak Bunglow compound and the stars shine in the velvet blackness of the sky. The crickets keep up a shrill chorus all the time, but curiously this seems to deepen the silence and gloom of the jungle. Occasionally the cries of wild animals can be heard, the alarm cries of langurs, the startled honk of a swamp deer and sometimes the distant roar of a tiger. All perfectly delightful, as I have said.
It was on such a night that Baibridge and I got talking in the Bori Dak Bungalow. What a wonderful fellow he is. He was present in the Governor’s house when the whole episode took place. He shares my view of the matter and fully endorses what I did. What a relief to find someone who does so. Bainbridge is one of the few Englishman I have met, actually the only one, who takes a detached view of the empire. He doesn’t believe for a moment that it will endure forever. He doesn’t believe for a moment that it will endure forever. In fact he thinks the game will up in a few decades. It’s not that he believes that game will up in a few decades. It’s not that he believes that Gandhi will ever succeed in driving, us out of India. Nor does he set much store by random acts of violence. He does not believe that Indian will ever be able to expel the British from India either by the non- violent methods of Gandhi or by the violence of the revolutionaries. No, but he does think that the agitation against the British will create a national conspicuousness, something the Indians didn’t have earlier. It will create a class of educated Indian opposed to our rule -in fact it has already done that and their numbers are increasing apace. And it will win the hearts and mind of a large body of inflectional people in England. This he thinks is the great achievement of Gandhi’s non-violence; that it has won him admirers within the enemy camp. All this will eventually weaken our resolve to rule India and we will thus ultimately leave. I must tell you what he said about Gandhi. “Gandhi’ he said, ‘is more of a Christian than the Bible-toting evangelists who run through India in search of converts. They preach charity and submission but Gandhi practices it’.
I see that I have been going on and on about matters that must seem boring and remote to you, situated as you are in the lap of the Himalayas. My excuse is that I have no one to talk to here and sometimes my feelings get the better of me. By the way, I must tell you that I have been summoned to Nagpur to see the Chief Secretory. I have not the least idea why, but something must be in the offing. Good bye for now.
I remain
Yours ever
Cartwright.
Next morning he caught the Grand Trunk Express and was in Nagpur by evening. The capital of the Central Provinces, the Nagpur of those days was neatly divided into two halves. There was the native quarter, full of crowded lanes and bazaars, and there was the Civil Lines – colonial bungalows standing within vast compounds where the British lived. From the circuit-house, where he was staying, Cartwright rode to the secretariat in a cycle rickshaw. Anderson, the Chief Secretary, did not keep him waiting long. He was ushered in by a liveried peon, and found himself in a large room with big windows, which showed a distant view of the lake. Anderson, a tall, stooping man, stood up courteously on seeing Cartwright and led him to a sofa which was placed in a curtained alcove in one corner of the cavernous room. The Chief Secretary stood at the top of the official hierarchy, miles above a mere Assistant Collector, but Anderson seemed to carry his rank lightly and was at pains to make his subordinate feel at home.
“You must be wondering why I have summoned you all the way Nagpur,” said Anderson, after tea had been brought in and poured out.
“I was rather sir. But I do have a faint inkling of the matter. I suspect it has something to with my recent testimony in the case of Maan Singh.”
“You are right. It is true you have put a lot of back up. But I haven’t called you up there to administer an official reprimand. On the contrary, I think you are very brave man Mr Cartwright.”
“Thank you sir.” Cartwright wondered what was going to come next.
“I wish I had been at Pachmarhi to witness your exploit. By all accounts, it was a splendidly brave thing to have done, and it saved us a huge embarrassment. But for your timely intervention, who knows what might have happened. My dear fellow, I feel nothing but admiration for your conduct, and believe me, so does everyone else who matters in the Government of India, including, I may add, the Viceroy himself. Of course, your testimony was, shall we say, a little more controversial. Speaking for myself, I respect it. Only a deeply conscientious person could have set aside all worldly considerations and done what you did. Yes, I respect you all the more for it. Another cup of tea?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The Chief Secretary poured out a fresh cup and handed it to Cartwright. Then he poured out one for himself, and after an appreciative sip, began again in a reflective tone.
“But regrettably there are people who don’t quite see the matter in same light. As you might already have seen and felt, the official class in India is not always enlightened in its opinions. Although I belong to this community and can say without exaggeration that it has some of the finest individuals it has been my privilege to know, as a collective entity the official class is apt to be more narrow- minded and conservative than others. You know, all my life I have been standing against the light, as it were. Still I did end up as Chief Secretary. So it is a fir system in the end, you’ve got to admit that. But even in my most extreme moments. I never did go quite as far as you’ve done. Not by a long way. Never had the courage really.”
“And that puts me beyond the pale,” said Cartwright.
“Well, do you know what’s the worst thing that can be said about a district officer, that he is not pucca. A fellow may be perfect genius, a great scholar, a demon for work, but it all counts for nothing against that. The collective judgement of the tribe is a sentence against which there is no appeal. It clings to you like an imperceptible miasma, but it does you in all the same.”
“In that case, sir, allow me to put in my papers. I have no wish to spend the rest of my life as a marked man.”
“You could do that of course. But it would be far too drastic. I am going to suggest another option, and I want you to consider it carefully. Do you know, by the way, Pradyuman Singh, the ruler of the state Ratangarh, whom you have no doubt met, has just died.”
“Old Preddy dead! I can hardly believe it.”
“It’s true enough though. He did live life to the full, though in the end the daily dissipations proved too much. The point is; he died without an heir. The gentleman whom he wanted to adopt as his heir is still not officially recognised as his successor by the Government of India.”
“Yes sir.”
“If you are wondering what all this has to do with you, let me come to the point straightway. You know Somers, the political agent at Ratangarh; well he is going on Home Leave. The state will now go into the Court of Wards and the new agent will be virtually the state. I want to you go to Ratangarh as the Chief Commissioner.”
This was so genuinely a surprise that Cartwright could only mumble, “me, Chief Commissioner, but I am not even in the Political Service.”
“Of course. I am well aware of that. But that is not an insuperable obstacle. You will be seconded to the Political Service forthwith. Let me add that the powers that be have already been sounded out and the scheme has their approval.”
“Well, sir, I hardly know what to say.”
“I know all this is rather sudden. Think it over if you like. But my advice to you would be to say yes without delay. There are others who may have their eye on this posting. Or the powers that be might change their mind. Think what a wonderful opportunity is offered here. As the Chief Commissioner of Ratangarh, you will have carte blanche in most matters. You can do whatever you think fit. I know you care deeply for the people of India. Well, here is the chance to realise all your dreams, all your ambitions, all your well-meant schemes for improvement which would never see the light day otherwise. You can now have the resources of the entire state at your command. You will be the monarch of all you survey, and you will be entirely free of the trammels of officialdom. And this is an opportunity that may not come your way again. My advice, as your senior would be to accept, and accept without further delay. In your shoes, I would have done the same had the opportunity come my way. Sadly it never did. What do you say, my dear fellow.”
“In that case sir, I accept.”
“Splendid. Then consider the matter done. You will find a missive from the government of India awaiting you when you get back to Hoshangabad. Good luck my boy. I am proud of you.”
