Palace of Clouds

by Rajyashree Kumari Bikaner

  His love of animals was evident from the time he was a boy when he bought endless pigeons and was very attached to his first dog Sammy, a white and brown cocker spaniel, who sadly met a very unfortunate end in Bombay while we were on holiday there. The boys were busy playing football in the front garden and one of them kicked it onto the road, Sammy ran after the ball and was run over by a passing car. There was a great deal of tears and red eyes for quite some time thereafter. Sammy was replaced by Charles, a liver brown cocker spaniel. From then on, there were an endless number of dogs that came and went, and for a very long time he preferred spaniels but eventually he shifted his allegiance—and in the last decades of his life, was devoted—to his many beautiful Great Danes.

  My brother loved animals and birds of all kinds. He built a special building in Karni Bhawan called the ‘Khudi’ where he used to keep all his pigeons, and where his ducks were provided with a little pond to swim in. The Maharaja of Suket gave him a pair of beautiful macaws, named after the legendary lovers Laila and Majnu, and they too lived in the purpose-made building until they died.

  My brother was a reserved person who found it difficult to express love or affection at least, that was the case towards humans, when it came to his many animals he was openly loving and sensitive to their well being. I have known him to be in tears if one of his precious animals fell ill. It seems to be a trait he had since childhood, recently while reading the letters of Nanny Dent I came across a paragraph which was interesting, she writes of the time she said goodbye to the various family members before leaving for England. ‘Narendra felt my leaving him and would often hold my hand and look into my face, but he is one who never shows his love openly.’ It was a perceptive observation by Nana.

  I feel that at some point my brother simply switched off from the world and found solace in the non- exacting company of his animals, dogs and birds. He found his furry friends more relaxing than the company of humans with all their attendant problems. If an animal was sick, he would be deeply distraught. The very last time when he was gravely ill in 2003 and was leaving for Delhi by train to continue with his medical treatment, he took some cages with him as he intended to buy some pigeons on his way back. That was however, not to be. I am told that the night he died, his dogs were heard to be howling loudly for a prolonged period of time, perhaps they as sensitive animals could sense the loss of their master.

  My sister Madhulika was three years younger than me; those were the days when little children were given little or no explanation as to the arrival of siblings. I have no recollection of my mother being pregnant nor was I prepared in any way for a new baby entering the family, although one of my first memories is connected to her birth. I recall that we were staying in Old Bikaner House in Bombay at the time and it was about tea time when Champa Nani came and casually mentioned that a new baby sister had arrived and if I would like to go see her! Upon entering the room, I saw Jiji who had brought up our brother, sitting cross- legged on the floor with a chubby baby in her lap who was busily sucking away at her bottle. I was filled with great jealousy. I can remember that clearly, and I wished fervently that this baby would go back to the hospital from where she came. Fortunately, I kept my feelings to myself and did not give voice to my misgivings about the baby. She did not go back to the hospital and since August 1956, it was the three of us siblings: our elder brother and my younger sister and me sandwiched fairly comfortably in between.

  As my sister grew older, it was clear that she was going to be a little tom-boy and quite a handful. She found in our Danta cousin a perfect mirror image of herself. Ajayraj Singh, who hailed from the state of Danta in Gujarat, was the son of our maternal aunt Hitendra Kumari and an absolute little minx. Dhundi Bhai (as he was fondly referred to) and my sister were inseparable whenever they were in the same city: they got up to all manner of pranks and mischief, the stories of which are legendary. If one saw photos of them at that age, they would think that both looked like a couple of angels. Once it seems that when Danta uncle was in the bathroom shaving, both of them sneaked up locked him in, and poor uncle found himself trapped inside for several hours until someone finally came to his rescue. The diabolical duo were scolded and made to apologise but their mischief- making continued, unabated.

  Among the innumerable stories of my sister’s childhood escapades one of the funnier ones was of the Japanese doll and his mysterious haricut! My parents had brought her a little Japanese boy doll possibly from the time they attended the Tokyo Olympics. Like most Japanese boys the doll had a fringe and was very sweet. Then the maids, Eddie and I noticed that the fringe was getting shorter and shorter by the day, we all remarked about this and questioned my sister who with a perfectly poker face assured us that she was in no way responsible for the mysterious haircut! Eventually of course we found her snipping away at the poor doll by which time his fringe and vanished altogether.

  Bhanwar Singh, a former army man, was put in charge of looking after my sister when she was out of the Zenana area. Inside the ladies quarters it fell to Jiji to care for her, a relationship that was to last till the end of Jiji’s life in 2011 when finally after bringing up not only Jane but her son Raisinh, she finally succumbed to a heart attack and was deeply missed by our family. Bhanwar Singh used to teach military activities and marching to my sister; she took to army behaviour like a duck to water, and boy, could she march. She would give perfect salutes and even when standing stood like a soldier. In fact, Colonel Hari Singh of the regiment posted in Bikaner was so impressed with her at the time that he ordered a special stick to be made for her with a proper silver knob – a scaled down version of the ones carried by army officers. On ‘Dharatol Day’ at the army campus in Bikaner, she was invariably called on to perform a perfect salute and march-past, which she did very well to much applause, and needless to say, to my extreme embarrassment.

  Quite naturally, we had little in common as I was more into playing with dolls while my sister wanted to march around and drill. It so happened that all the little friends who used to come and spend the day with us in Bikaner naturally preferred to play house with dolls than to be marching up and down the room. This meant that she was left with no companions, which caused her great distress and then would eventually lead to an altercation between us whereupon she would cry and raise a fearful din. My mother’s room being adjacent to ours meant that soon we were hauled up to discover the cause of the dreadful row and then more often than not, I was ticked off for trying to bully her, which was quite unfair.

  One day, while we were at school at the Convent of Jesus and Mary in Delhi, my sister fell on her arm and quite obviously was in great pain, when she sought me out in the senior school to help her. To my eternal regret, I did not take her seriously. I thought she was just pretending to be excused from school for the rest of the day. As her older sister, it was my duty and responsibility to have comforted her and done something about it. Finally, I think one of her teachers called our governess Mrs. Edwards who then came by and collected her. By evening, her arm had swollen up like a balloon and she was in a lot of pain. My father and Eddie took her to the hospital to have her arm X-Rayed and it turned out that she had a greenstick fracture and her arm was put in plaster, which she used like a lethal weapon with much glee on one and all when she could not get her way, and did not hesitate to give anyone rash enough to be within striking distance a severe whack.

  Soon after this incident, we went to watch the movie, ‘Lawrence of Arabia’. My sister had a small box of sweets that she carried with her everywhere. At some point, she dropped it under the seat in front of us. During the interval, the very second the lights came on, she put her plastered arm under the seat in front of her to retrieve her box of sweets, just as the person in front rose from his seat and her arm got stuck. Eddie and I, after several manoeuvres, finally managed to extricate her arm while she wailed loudly. Undaunted by this incident, however, at some point in the movie when hordes of Arabs including Omar Sharif in their be
autiful robes and resplendent moustaches and beards appeared on screen, my sister casually—but very loudly—queried of no one in particular, ‘Are they nuns or nurses?’ I think several people looked back at us and I squirmed in embarrassment, but to be fair, my sister was only six years old at the time.

  My sister is the only one of us three siblings to have a happy married life and enjoy domestic harmony and also the only one to have a sunny disposition. Her knowledge and passion for cricket remains undiminished, and as a little girl she used to play very well herself. We have spent many a happy hour playing cricket in the central courtyard at our country home in Gajner. I am convinced that had the opportunity presented itself, she could well have played for the Indian Women’s team. An avid reader of the Wisden there is no fact or statistic about the game and its players that she is not aware of: her knowledge of this sport is encyclopaedic.

  My sister is an invaluable asset to the Maharaja Ganga Singhji Trust created by my father. The trust runs many diverse branches under its wings, ranging from an active fifty eight-room hotel to a museum and archives, as well as the philanthropic side of it. She is a stern task- master and ever since she has taken over the administration of the accounts and human resources department, things have slowly come under control. A behemoth organisation, the Maharaja Ganga Singhji Trust employs several hundred members of staff and needs constant monitoring. Nipping in the bud all avenues for abuse in the stores and kitchens, my sister continues to keep a close watch on the day to day developments and progress from her home in Mount Abu, over the happening sat Lallgarh Palace in Bikaner. Blessed with a pithy sense of humour, once when some complaint was being made to her in respect of the running of the trust, she remarked, ‘Well, the Chairperson (which happens to be me) is permanently at the beauty parlour, what can one expect?’ a baseless charge which I categorically deny!

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  My grandfather Maharaja Sadul Singhji of Bikaner.

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  There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colours are brighter, the air softer and the morning more fragrant than ever again.’

  -Elizabeth Lawrence

  W

  hen we were children, television was in its very infancy in India and only available in big cities such as Delhi, and the only films we were allowed to see were those with a universal certificate which my mother considered suitable for our viewing. My mother was an extremely strict censor. Life without computers, television and cell phones meant the freedom and enjoyment of the great outdoors, where we spent most of our waking hours in adventurous pursuits. The evenings however, were another matter: our entertainment after dinner primarily involved viewing dozens of cartoon movies, which my father bought back from his many travels abroad.

  These were mostly short three-minute cartoons and of course as children we had no patience with painstaking changes,- so my father arranged for Shekar, our in-house Palace photographer at the time, to stick several of them together so that they filled a sizeable reel lasting almost an hour or so. Bhanwar Singh, the male attendant who used to look after my sister Madhulika was taught how to operate the projector and every evening after dinner, we would settle down to watch these wonderful cartoons that made us laugh till we had tears in our eyes. More often than not, the film broke midway and then it was a lengthy process to stick the ends together with a noxious smelling liquid.

  Sometimes, my father came and watched the cartoons with us - he liked The Three Stooges and Laurel and Hardy best. He would roar with laughter and his infectious chuckle would make us burst into giggles. Many years later, these lovely old films were found by chance during a clear out – there were three large blue BOAC bags full of them and my sister Madhulika took them with her to Bombay. The bags were generously handed out to all the passengers who travelled on what is now British Airways.

  My mother had no idea of the fashion trends that were appropriate for young children; we were fairly innocent in those days and dressed up in pretty much what was provided to us by mother or our nannies, which were usually printed cotton frocks in the summer and loose woollen pants and flannel shirts in the winter. The style of clothes never seemed to vary and nor could they be described by any stretch of the imagination as fashionable or contemporary. Once a year, the tailor master used to arrive at the palace and we would troop off to get ourselves measured. I recall his large puffed-up cheeks and we nicknamed him ‘galphulla darzi’ (tailor with chubby cheeks). Quite unaware of what the rest of the world was wearing or how they were doing their hair, we innocently or ignorantly according to your point of view continued to have our hair plastered down with a lashing of oil, dressed with cute bow pins and clips and wore the clothes provided for us without question.

  During winters, as a special treat, several of the wives of Bikaner Thakurs, such as Mrs. Sankhu, Mrs. Raghubir Singh and Mrs. Ghantel would knit sweaters for my sister and me. They skilfully knit beautiful patterns on jumpers with bunnies and lambs frolicking all over them when we were very young. As we grew older, they eventually graduated to more Fair Isle prints. Their knitting talents knew no bounds and once, when I kept some rabbits as pets they even knitted little jackets for them.

  When I was about seven years old, my sister and I joined Mrs. Law’s Private School in Delhi: this was the first time I came into contact with girls of my age who were all dressed more stylishly than us. Some of them giggled and commented on my clothes, ‘Are you wearing your father’s pants?’ I was absolutely mortified and refused to go to school wearing the usual clothes. My mother finally relented and we were allowed to go off to Connaught Place to a shop called Raghomull’s where we were fitted out with more contemporary clothes. Since then, I was very firmly bitten by the fashion bug!

  Going back to Bikaner during school holidays was a great treat to look forward to. Before the privy purses and privileges of the princes were abolished in 1971, my father always sent the Bikaner saloon to fetch us. It had two compartments and could sleep six people comfortably; with two small shower cabins and a kitchenette and baggage room, it was a small and self- contained unit. Travelling in the saloon was the prelude of the holiday which we enjoyed greatly. The minute we arrived at the station we would try to spot Choru, who was in charge of the upkeep and maintenance of the saloon and, I think he pretty much lived in it. He had a cheeky lop-sided grin with which he used to greet us: the instant we spotted him, we knew that holidays had begun.

  On boarding the train, a tussle would begin between my sister and me as to who was to have the upper berth; asserting my right as the elder I usually more often than not bagged it for myself. Yes, I was a bit of a bully. The last time I used the saloon was when I got married and was returning to Delhi with my husband in 1973, and of all the princely privileges, most of which were mere window dressing, using the saloon was the one I missed the most—what the much loved Royal yacht Britannica was to Queen Elizabeth II, our little saloon was to us.

  Our family home, Lallgarh Palace in Bikaner was built by my great grandfather Maharaja Ganga Singh; before 1902, the family resided in the old Junagarh fort which is now in the city. When Maharaja Ganga Singh became Maharaja at the age of seven in 1887 on the demise of his brother Maharaja Dungar Singh, the Regency council handling the matters of state on his behalf while he was a minor, decided that the young Maharaja needed to move out of the old fort with its intrigues and shift to a more modern home. Sir Swinton Jacobs, an engineer employed in the Jaipur State Railways, was appointed to design the palace. Interestingly, he drew up the plans without even a single visit to Bikaner. Laxmi Niwas, the first wing of the palace, was completed by 1902. The young Maharaja in the meantime, shifted to an annexe in the palace called Sajjan Niwas, to oversee the progress while the palace was being built. He moved into Laxmi Niwas with his family sometime in 1902. By the time the other three wings of the Palace were built, great -grandfather was a well- travelled and confident young man and needed no assistance from Jacobs, and so he designed the second wing hims
elf. Sadul Niwas was named after my grandfather and was meant to be a suitable accommodation for the young heir- apparent. Considerably different in style to the fussy ‘haveli’ look of Laxmi Niwas that Jacobs had envisaged, Sadul Niwas was less structured and internally more European in plan, though keeping the external look of the Indo-Saracenic style set by Jacobs. This wing was completed in 1912.

  Colonel Jacobs had, over a period of time, perfected the Indo-Saracenic style of architecture which melded touches of Rajput and Mughal style of design with European elements. Charles Mant, an English engineer, was the first to introduce this form of architecture in India. However, Mant unfortunately died in his forties, leaving behind the legacy which was carried forward most successfully by Jacobs, in many palaces and other buildings in India. Perhaps one of his most famous projects was the Laxmi Niwas wing of the Lallgarh Palace in Bikaner. I may sound biased, but to me, Lallgarh is truly of the most beautiful palaces in India. It has four wings in the form of a square, each with a distinct character of its own. Some of the other prominent buildings Jacobs designed included the beautiful Rambagh Palace in Jaipur; Umaid Bhawan, the family palace in Kota and the St. Stephen’s College in Delhi.

  The front wing of the palace is Laxmi Niwas; very formal and imposing, with the most beautiful filigree work done all over the pink sandstone, all of it executed by the hands of skilled local craftsmen. The pink sandstone with which the whole palace is clad was sourced from a small town called Dulmera, situated a few miles away from the capital. Behind the entrance lies the large marble courtyard surrounded on all four sides by the Zenana quarters where the ladies of the family lived. This imposing courtyard was the formal area where guests were received and the court photographer used to take photographs during festivals, ceremonial occasions and wedding. All official group photographs that were mandatory at the time were also taken here, with the intricate facade in the background. All four sides are covered with delicate jali or fretwork in sand stone, exquisite as lace. The ladies in the Zenana used to view the ceremonies from this vantage point without being seen.