Though hunting of any nature is banned in India now, it still goes on perfectly legally in most countries of the world including the United Kingdom and United States and many countries in Europe and even in Africa. As recently as 2015, a much loved lion named Cecil was lured out of a reserve in Zimbabwe and despite the fact that he was collared, he was shot by an American dentist who paid a huge sum of money for the kill. As though that was not bad enough, the dentist preferred to hunt with a bow and arrow rather than a gun and succeeded in wounding the lion and then it took another two days before he was tracked and dispatched. This particular kill was covered by the media worldwide and brought to light the secret world of hunting wild animals for a price: there was understandably great outrage at this callous act, but it is not limited to one particular hunting expedition, in many countries including the United States there is what is known as ‘canned hunting’ where wild animals like lions are bred specifically for the purpose of hunting. I strongly condemn this. In my day, you took your chances with the fowl or animal as the case maybe, sometimes one bagged something for the pot and other times not. It was definitely not stage-managed.
Hunting is also viewed as a form of culling, to stop the overcrowding of animals, thus ensuring that the feeding and breeding grounds can support the number of healthy animals that dwell there. In South Africa, they regularly cull elephants when the numbers swell to a number that the parks cannot sustain. This is practised more or less in many parts of the world in reserves and national parks. There is a very fine line between when it is right to cull animals to maintain the wellbeing of the majority of them and in granting hunting rights at a price where hunters from all over the globe come and indiscriminately kill rhinos, elephants and giraffes, besides lions—particularly when they hunt with bow and arrows, which is not a precise method and results in wounding an animal and increasing its suffering. It is no doubt an emotive subject and the debate will rage on across the world between animal rights activists and avid hunters, but fortunately there is an awareness now which was not the case before.
The little state of Danta is situated on the Rajasthan-Gujarat border, from where my cousins Mahipendra and Ajayraj Singh hailed. They belong to a family of keen hunters themselves. I used to visit them regularly each summer during our school vacation.
Danta is surrounded by hills on every side. It has thick lush forests, most of which have steadily declined in recent years on account of the encroaching human population and the incessant demand for firewood. The decimation of the forests has led to a general decline in the breeding ground of many animals such as the Indian leopard and as a result their numbers have also gradually declined. In 2015, the Times of India reported the alarming news that the number of leopards was down by almost eighty percent, which is a serious cause for concern.
The first rifle I was given by my father was grandfather’s 220 Swift and as it was a powerful rifle but did not pack too much of a recoil, it was considered to be suitable for a teenager; it was a beautiful and accurate rifle with a scope. Thereafter I was given a 270 rifle which was also a lovely weapon. I always coveted the Super 30 but my father never allowed me to shoot one as he believed that it was too powerful a rifle with strong recoil.
Thakur Kalu Singh used to accompany me to Danta as my father wanted to make sure that both I and the guns and the ammunition that all went from Bikaner was in safe hands. He also sent our jeep from Gajner with Mathru, our driver who was a tiny little man, his head barely emerging over the steering wheel. His claim to fame was the vast number of children he had, which if I recall correctly were about thirteen or so. Every evening and later at night we all got into the jeep and then drove down into the forests. My cousin Mahipendra Singh and his uncle Maharaj Raghubir Singh were my main companions together with Coach Kalu Singh, though sometimes my Danta uncle also accompanied us. These drives went on for hours, sometimes late into the night. My cousin Ajayraj’s Uncle Maharaj Raghubir Singh or Raghu Bana as he was commonly called was responsible for the spotlight which he wielded expertly. Once, late at night when we were returning home Raghu Bana suddenly stopped us and whispered breathlessly, ‘I think there are a couple of tigers behind that bush.’ We were absolutely agog as I had never seen a tiger in the wild. Our excitement was short-lived as two large buffaloes emerged from behind the bushes instead, if they had indeed been tigers I am not quite sure what we would have done for I doubt very much if the 220 Swift could have knocked down a tiger in an emergency. Shooting at night with a scope under a spotlight was not easy, but I was trained by the best and taught to shoot under any conditions and circumstances.
I once recall shooting a hyena fleeing down a gulley with a little lamb clamped in its jaws; it was evening just before dark when our party crossed the bridge that spanned the gulley. Suddenly, Maharaj Raghubir Singh spotted the hyena crossing a fair distance away. At first, none of us could tell what it had in its mouth, and then with the aid of a pair of binoculars we saw that it was a little lamb that was quite clearly to be its dinner. I was, of course, deeply upset that this poor baby lamb was about to meet such a sad end, and I immediately rose to its defence. Though it was a very difficult shot in poor light with a scope, and that too on a moving target, I still managed to hit the hyena cleanly, and it fell where it was shot. ‘Rescue the poor lamb,’ I cried to all in the jeep. They galvanised themselves and ran down to see what the state of play was, but of course, rejected the lamb had been long dead.
I have absolutely no regrets about my hunting days which are now long over, it is excellent that India has introduced a ban on hunting but how effective is it? Poaching is rife in animal sanctuaries and the tiger population continues to decline steadily with each passing year. Regular reports appear in the newspapers regarding the killing of rhinos for their horns in the northeast of India which are prized for medicinal purposes, especially in China and other parts of the Far East. There is also the inevitable deforestation and mining that happens right across the country which is harming the breeding grounds of animals and birds alike. Until these issues are not squarely addressed, a mere cosmetic ban on hunting will not suffice to increase the number of endangered animals in India. It took decades for the fact that tigers had completely disappeared from Sariska sanctuary to sink in. I believe all possible measures are now being taken to reintroduce tigers back into the sanctuary, which is excellent news.
I must be honest and admit that had I been more aware of the truth about endangered animals and animal welfare and their rights as I am today, perhaps I would have chosen a different course of action and made different choices. I would urge everyone to join an animal protection society based in their own country: every individual counts in the constant battle for the protection of animals both wild and domestic, which are horribly abused and used all around the world, ranging from zoos to circuses and water- themed parks to fur farms and the killing in vast numbers of seals and whales all of which goes on routinely all round the world. Every fur garment comes from an animal which has been trapped and killed in a very brutal way. Seals are routinely clubbed to death this includes helpless little pups and the Japanese each year kill many hundreds of whales and dolphins. It happens and most of us are content to turn a blind eye and simply blame hunting as a sport, but it is a much wider issue.
My father had me running errands and chores from the time that I must have been ten years old or even younger. He travelled a great deal both within India and also internationally. When he was abroad he used to meticulously send postcards from wherever he was at the time, packed with colourful news. I remember eagerly awaiting the next one from Mexico, the Niagra Falls or the pyramids of Egypt. All however, was not play- invariably there were also letters dispatched from time to time, listing all manner of chores and errands that had to be attended to back home. Most concerned Ganpat Singh the supervisor of the Delhi household and mostly the chores were to do with things that he should have been getting on with but had not complied. I think it was quite a respon
sibility that he heaped on my little shoulders but that said, obviously at the same time it was a great compliment that he felt that I was able to take on an administrative role at such a young age. ‘Chastise Radakishen’ read one telegram sent by him, and invariably I had to take on men much older than myself and ask them to diligently perform their tasks according to my father’s instructions. I once recall that at father’s behest, I had to find fault with the performance of Guman Singh in Gajner. He looked extremely crestfallen I think his feelings were hurt and he told me very politely that he had been in the service of the family since the time of my great grandfather. I was naturally quite embarrassed but I was merely the messenger.
All of this prepared me for what lay ahead, as it taught me to make lists of things that needed to be attended to and also to remind staff to follow through. It has become a lifelong habit, and it is a well established bon mot of humour in our office set up that ‘Baisa’(meaning me) only pays attention to that which is on her daily list of activities. ‘They claim quite falsely I assure you, that I can walk past friends and family members without recognising them if it was not part of the agenda for the day!
My father was very keen to collect all the historical material that he had inherited from his ancestors and locate them in a museum in the Lallgarh Palace complex. Over several generations of the Bikaner family, a vast amount of material had been amassed comprising many old Bahis and Kharitas (old records maintained by hand in the past centuries); the more contemporary files running into thousands, from the period of Maharaja Ganga Singh and Maharaja Sadul Singh, and thousands of library books also from this period along with a stellar collection of photographs and albums, some dating to the period of Maharaja Dungar Singh. Bikaner has always been a very progressive state and thus all the written and pictorial material was intact. My father found that he had inherited all the above and much more in the shape of beautiful miniature paintings, ornaments, medals and trophies and many other historical artefacts. As a man dedicated to the history and committed to looking after the legacy of his ancestors, he wanted to vest all these articles in one museum. The purpose would be to maintain the records for research scholars and also to let the general public have access to these magnificent artefacts.
It was during the early seventies that my father asked me to assist him in this venture. It was the beginning of an adventure that went on for many years as slowly one store room after another was inspected and dusty corners explored, yielding exciting treasures. The hunt went on in our many properties and stores over several years. The end result was that a large collection of artefacts was collected and it was decided to house them in the Sadul Niwas wing of Lallgarh Palace. My father dedicated the museum to the memory of his father and thus Sadul Museum was founded in 1976.
The museum houses a vast array of old photograph albums covering family weddings and receptions and Viceregal visits and inevitably shikar; there are many miniature paintings, pieces of armour and exquisite textiles, citations, medals and trophies belonging to Maharaja Ganga Singh and a comprehensive collection of photographs depicting the target shooting careers of my father and myself. Both of us were greatly privileged to have received the Arjuna Award which are now on display in the museum. The museum previously was on the first floor of Sadul Niwas, but this was proving to be a problem as it meant that all day a steady stream of visitors kept coming into the main building, and disturbed our hotel guests and our offices. They even littered in our gardens. It was not an ideal situation, and thus, some years ago it was decided to move the museum to a new building, made particularly for this purpose, where the all the artefacts are displayed more appropriately. This new building was constructed in 2008. The museum is a thriving establishment today.
My father also insisted that I attend all trust meetings from the age of fourteen. It was hardly surprising that I found them unbelievably dull, but he inculcated a certain sense of responsibility and duty that has stood me in good stead in later years. I think he needed someone ready to take over the task from him or stand in when he was out of the country. My brother was not particularly interested and my sister was very young. I was in the in-between that fitted into his scheme of things, ‘the Goldilocks zone’ as it were and so was roped in to not only sit in trust meetings but also to organise the various sales that took place in the wake of the abolition of the Privy Purse. Dealing with dealers and arguing over prices with them was quite an interesting lesson.
Visiting London, especially for the first time, was a very exciting experience for me. So far I had only read about the city of Sherlock Holmes, Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus: my mother had told me where they would shop for us from Selfridges, Boots, the chemist and of course Harrods, the Mecca for all shoppers. I simply could not wait to see them all for myself. The first time I went to London was in 1968 at the height of Beatle mania. We were on our way to Spain for the World Shooting Championships at San Sebastian. We stopped in London on our way back for a week and stayed at the Westbury Hotel on Conduit Street. On the very first night that we arrived there I managed to tip most of the contents of tomato soup that I had ordered for my dinner onto the carpet, I was absolutely mortified and was sure that the hotel would throw me out once they discovered my crime. It was soon mopped up and since the carpet was more or less the same colour as the carpet I got away with it! At the lift foyer there was a glass show case with a jar of face cream, it was to advertise a product as most hotels do. In my eyes this was simply a magical object. The cream was by a company called Harriet Hubbard Ayer an American lady I was to later discover was a pioneer in her field in the early years of the last century. The company has long vanished and since then hundreds of new brands dominate the skincare market but the concept remains the same, to attract the customer to a product in the most seductive way possible and despite the fact that I was far too young at the time to be considering face creams it was for me an object to be coveted, it was so beautiful.
My parents called my governess Mrs. Edwards over from Glasgow where she was now living with her family, to come and keep me company. My father was of course only interested in sports thus my very first foray was to Lillywhites, the huge sports shop on Piccadilly Circus. Clearly he had no idea of where to take a teenager, and since that was the first time I was in a foreign place, I did not have the confidence to take off on my own. I recall spending a very boring afternoon at Lillywhites while my father discussed at length about the finer points of golf clubs with the salesman. Eventually, I was bored to tears, as I wanted to go to Carnaby Street and buy fashionable clothes and to Boots to buy the latest makeup. Instead here I was, surrounded by every conceivable sporting equipment one could think of. ‘Your face has gone red,’ observed my father. Well of course it had. I would have been happy to be any place other than this sports shop.
Fortunately, Eddie arrived just in the nick of time and saved the day. The very first place we headed off to was Carnaby Street, a tiny little street just off Regent Street, easily missed unless you were specifically looking for it. That was where the hot and happening action was for teenagers and the trendy youth shopping wise at the time. I was mesmerised by the sheep skin coats and sleeveless jackets and the boots with huge platform heels, very similar to what the Spice Girls made famous many decades later. The first thing I bought were a pair of purple and black platform shoes which obviously my parents disapproved of: ‘Do not wear such high heeled boots’ warned my father ‘you will do your back a terrible injury’. What did my father possibly know about current trends in fashion? So I wore them anyway, till one day I was crossing the road where a bus was coming at me, and my legs would not move, weighed down by the heavy boots I was wearing. I was rooted to the spot, absolutely sure that I was about to be reduced to pulp, when finally just in the nick of time I managed to hop on to the pavement.
Having Eddie there made everything better. We used to lunch and dine together at the hotel restaurant. I recall I took a great liking to a dish called ‘Ch
icken Maryland’ and much to Eddie’s dismay; I then proceeded to eat it at every meal. Eddie and I trawled all the shops on Oxford Street and we ended up buying lots of clothes and makeup from Mary Quant she was the trend setter in her time and made make up popular with the younger generation the other hip shop then, was Biba on Kensington High Street. Which sold trendy clothes once my mother and I went shopping to the famous stationery shop Smythsons at Bond Street, and I decided that I wanted a new diary. I picked a beautiful blue leather one embossed with gold, just as I was about to pay for it my father arrived and wanted to know what it cost, and on finding that it was for almost five pounds, he handed it back to the sales assistant and to make things more embarrassing, he announced to him and anyone else who might be within earshot, ‘My daughter and wife don’t understand anything about money.’ I made a red-faced exit from the shop, and that was the last time my parents accompanied me on any shopping trip. I asked for and received a sum of money which I was then permitted to spend on pretty much what I pleased without any further embarrassment or interference from them.
Maharaj Kumar Jagat Singh of Jaipur was studying at college in London at the time and my parents invited him to join us for dinner one evening. We often ate at the Indian restaurant called Gaylords on Mortimer Street. Like many other girls I had a huge teenage crush on Jagat Bapji, as he was more commonly referred to, so naturally I was terribly excited to meet him again after many years. When he arrived at the hotel I thought he was very handsome. He resembled his mother Maharani Gayatri Devi somewhat, and had long shoulder length hair, which of course was the fashion at the time. On the way to the restaurant it turned out that he had arrived in a silver sports car. ‘I have room for only one,’ he announced, and I hoped that I would be the one to ride in this amazing sports car with this handsome prince from Jaipur, but my parents were not having any of that and I was ordered into a taxi with them and Jagat Bapji followed us in his car. As I recall there was no exciting conversation, my parents asked him about his life at college and what plans he had for the future and we ended up chatting about our respective dogs, he had a small whippet called Bugs.
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