by John Buchan
“I am perfectly fascinated by that idea of yours, of you and me taking a walk together on your frontier. But then I have misgivings — when I think of the possible effect upon your mind of the teaching of your new friends at Kashmir, and their maxims upon the ‘political convenience’ of ‘the quiet removal to another world of a troublesome colleague.’ What a temptation to rid yourself of an importunate economist once for all! Your description of the enchantments of Kashmir brings the wonder of them well before me, and makes me half jealous of you in my own trade of man of letters.”
VII
The Mohammedan population of India has always been a problem by itself, different in kind from that of the other races. The sixty-two millions of the followers of Islam had, with a few exceptions, hitherto taken little part in political life, and their leaders had held aloof from the National Congress. Their loyalty to the British Raj had been beyond criticism, but, owing to their insistence upon a system of education which was essentially religious, they found themselves outstripped by the Hindus in the securing of public posts, and were beginning to smart under a sense of inferiority. The partition of Bengal had been to their benefit, but the fate of Sir Bampfylde Fuller, whom they regarded as their special champion, had roused anxiety, and there was a danger that their young men might fall a prey to the peripatetic agitator. Minto, like the Secretary of State, had a liking for the Mohammedan, and the wiser heads in the body decided that the best preventive to unrest was to seek an interview with the Viceroy and state their grievances. The deputation was received at Simla on 1st October, and the address, bearing the signatures of every class of the Moslem community, was presented by the Aga Khan. Never before had so representative a body voiced Mohammedan views, and the address was notably moderate and dignified. It pointed out that the position of Moslems “should be commensurate not merely with their numerical strength but also with their political importance and the value of the contribution which they made to the defence of the Empire.” Accepting, without great enthusiasm, the setting up of representative institutions, it claimed that provision should be made for the election of Mohammedans by purely Mohammedan electorates.
Minto replied in a speech which was one of the most sagacious and tactful that he ever made. He realized that no reforms would work which did not carry with them the assent of this great community, and that the moment had come for a clear statement of his policy. The following passage was accepted as a charter of Islamic rights: —
“The pith of your address, as I understand it, is a claim that, in any system of representation, whether it affects a municipality, a district board, or a legislative council, in which it is proposed to introduce or to increase the electoral organization, the Mohammedan community should be represented as a body. You point out that in many cases electoral bodies as now constituted cannot be expected to return a Mohammedan candidate, and that, if by chance they did so, it could only be at the sacrifice of such a candidate’s views to those of a majority opposed to his own community, whom he would in no way represent; and you justly claim that your position should be estimated not merely on your numerical strength but in respect to the political importance of your community and the service that it has rendered to the Empire. I am entirely in accord with you. Please do not misunderstand me; I make no attempt to indicate by what means the communities can be obtained, but I am as firmly convinced as I believe you to be, that any electoral representation in India would be doomed to mischievous failure which aimed at granting a personal enfranchisement regardless of the beliefs and traditions of the communities composing the population of this continent.”
There was far more in his speech than the formal pledge; there was an accent of friendliness and sincerity which deeply impressed his hearers. “Your address,” Mr. Morley wrote, “was admirable alike in spirit, in its choice of topics, and in the handling,” and he added that its gravity and steady dignity were thoroughly appreciated at home. After the interview the delegates had tea in the garden, and the old Prime Minister of Patiala said to Lady Minto, “A hundred years ago Lord Minto came and saved our state. We cannot forget the gratitude we owe to his family. Now God has sent his descendant not only to help Patiala but to save India, and our hearts are full of thankfulness.” The language of hyperbole was not without reason. The speech undoubtedly prevented the ranks of sedition from being swollen by Moslem recruits, an inestimable advantage in the day of trouble which was dawning.
The Mohammedan deputation having been received, the Viceroy departed on a lengthy tour. He went first to Quetta, where he held a durbar of Baluchi chiefs and enjoyed a day’s hunting over remarkable country, a network of ridges, blind ditches, and old irrigation works. Then by way of Rawal Pindi he reached Kashmir, proceeding to Srinagar up the Jhelum in a lordly house-boat. “It was amusing,” Lady Minto’s diary notes, “to see the Viceroy trying to take a little exercise by walking along the bank. He was surrounded by a concourse of people. His dignity demanded a huge escort in front, soldiers bringing up the rear, policemen to the right and left of him, scouts on ahead, and skirmishers surveying the country on either side. Had we been marching through an enemy’s country it would have been impossible to take more drastic precautions.” In Kashmir the Mintos were royally entertained, and, later in Poonch, among other forms of sport had a day’s bear-shooting, when the bag was thirty-one bears, of which Lady Minto accounted for five. Here is an extract from her Kashmir diary: —
“At Dachigan Camp two thousand were accommodated, including the Maharaja’s band of eighty musicians, and the beaters numbered six thousand. We were told to expect bear, deer, and barasingh, but the forest was nearly devoid of game. Owing to the disturbing noises of this vast imported multitude the wild animals had all migrated over the mountains into Tibet. I was fortunate, however, in killing a large brown bear, and the next day Rolly shot the only barasingh in the beat. The return of the party was a curious sight. They alighted from the tongas at the gates, where the pipes and drums awaited them, playing a suitable Scottish air for the return of the successful sportsmen. Rolly and the Maharaja slowly advanced, accompanied by the band, and followed by a huge retinue, and preceded by an army of men carrying torches. It seems at five o’clock the Maharaja heard there was to be another beat, and became terribly fussy lest the Viceroy should be out in the dark. Orders were sent to all the neighbouring villages that men carrying torches must line the road, and with some of the coolies sent from the camp this was accomplished. The Maharaja drove to the foot of the mountain himself to see that all was faithfully carried out, and sure enough, as if by magic, for eight solid miles a thick avenue of coolies held flaming torches to illumine the Viceroy on his way. . . .
“It was amusing to see old Dandy’s departure from camp, lying at his ease on the soft mattress of a specially-made wooden bedstead, which was carried by four coolies with four relief men, and one man in a red uniform, fully armed, and holding a sword at the salute, walking beside him to ensure that he should not fall out. The coolies speak respectfully of the Viceroy’s dog as ‘Dandy Sahib,’ who accepts their homage and seems quite aware of his own importance.”
The next visit was paid to Bikanir, where they had some marvellous sport with the sand-grouse. In the brief space of this Memoir it is impossible to do justice to the splendid hospitality extended to the Viceroy and his family by the Princes of India. For many of them Minto felt the warmest regard, they looked to him constantly for counsel, and in the native states perhaps his happiest hours of recreation were spent.
On 26th November his younger son, Esmond, arrived from England, and accompanied him for the rest of the tour. At Nabha the old Raja went up to the little boy, who could hardly be seen under an enormous sun hat, and bent low so as to look in his face. Then he said in Punjabi, “Your father is kind to the Phulkian misl (confederation), because God, the Immortal, has caused the noble spirit of his ancestor, who saved their forefathers, to pass into him. You must never forget this, and must be kind to my grandch
ildren as your father is to me. My sword is yours.” He put out his sword for Esmond to touch. Then came Patiala, and then Delhi, where Minto dined with the 18th Sikhs, and was conveyed to the barracks in a motor-car, the property of some Raja. “It meandered about all over the road, and finally charged a lamp-post, nearly demolishing the whole party.” On inquiry it was discovered that the Raja had not allowed his accomplished chauffeur to drive “not thinking his station in life to be adequate; so the Viceroy’s life was entrusted to his principal sirdar, who knew nothing about motor-cars.”
So closed the first year of Minto’s Viceroyalty. He could look back on it with a modest comfort, for his health had stood the strain of incessant work — no small feat for a man of sixty — and he had established the best relations with the civil service, the native princes, and large classes of the Indian people. Sir Arthur Godley, the permanent under-secretary at the India Office, summed up the year in a kindly Christmas message: —
“You came into office at a time of unusual difficulty, and at the end of twelve months you can not only say like Sieyes, J’ai vécu, but you can look round upon a greatly improved state of things, and look back upon some thoroughly good pieces of work. And the prospect before you is, I hope and believe, a satisfactory one. Not the least of your achievements is that of having established thoroughly satisfactory relations with the Secretary of State. I can assure you (so far as I can judge) you have completely won his confidence, and (what is not so easy to win by correspondence alone) his friendship.”
CHAPTER 10. VICEROY OF INDIA, 1907-8
The first month of 1907 was given up to functions and gaieties, for it was the month of Lady Minto’s Fête in Calcutta for her Nursing Association and local hospitals, and it saw the advent from the north of the ruler of Afghanistan. Of the Fête let it be recorded that it was a conspicuous success, the most comprehensive fancy fair which India had ever seen, perfectly organized in all details, and productive of no less a sum in net profits than £25,000. Side by side with the anxieties of this gigantic tamasha the Vicereine had to face with the Viceroy the entertainment of the Amir Habibullah, on whose visit hung grave issues for India’s foreign policy. The great Durbar was held at Agra, where the Amir arrived on 9th January in a deluge of rain — which he fortunately considered a good omen. The Viceroy and the commander-in-Chief were there to meet him, and a large concourse of guests, English and native. The Amir’s camp was superbly equipped. Huge silver poles support the great Durbar shamiana, where about a dozen gorgeous silver chairs are arranged in a circle. There is a large empty room with prayer carpets, where his devotions will be said. His bed is a silver four-poster with gold and silver embroideries instead of sheets, and his bath is a large inlaid marble tombstone with an iron pedestal beside it, on which a man stands and pours water over him. His other toilet requisites are all encased in plush and embroideries. On his dressing-table is a golden case full of scents — one bottle containing the pure extract of attar of roses.
Then began a succession of garden parties, dinners, and receptions, and a Grand Chapter of the Indian orders of knighthood, when the Amir was invested by the Viceroy with the Grand Cross of the Bath. It was a scene of impressive splendour as he walked in procession with the Viceroy and the Princes through the Dwan-i-kas to the Jasmine Hall, with its priceless traceries and carvings, which in other days had witnessed the glories of the Mogul dynasty. He was — after much anxious discussion — addressed as “His Majesty” and given a salute of thirty-one guns. He proved to be a short, thick-set gentleman, cheerful, voluble, strong-headed, with a passion for novelties, most friendly and susceptible, and obviously of a stout heart and a quick intelligence. He wore English clothes, except for a small astrakhan cap, adorned with a diamond sun, and occasionally put himself into knickerbockers and Norfolk jacket. He was deeply impressed by the review which he witnessed of 32,000 Indian troops, and rated his sirdars for making him believe that the Afghan army outweighed the combined forces of India and Russia. “And the whole army of India, I now learn, is but a fraction of the total military strength of the British Empire, and the whole army of the British Empire, I further find, is one of the smallest among the armies of the world’s Great Powers. What! Have you naught to say? Look to it, I shall require your answer.”
There was high comedy in the visit. The Amir lost his heart to so many ladies of diverse types that it was difficult to say whom he most admired.
“Lord Kitchener entertained the Amir at dinner last night,” says Lady Minto’s diary, “and it seems to have been a great success. He became most hilarious, drank three bottles of soda-water and a tub of plain water, and the effect could not have been more invigorating had the liquid been wine. He led Lord Kitchener to a sofa and said, ‘You my friend, I your friend. Now we joke.’ Lord Kitchener had the greatest difficulty in getting rid of him towards midnight.”
He delivered various homilies on total abstinence, and a surprising address at Aligarh College on the need of religious education, but he resolutely declined to mention politics. Here is a picture by Lady Minto of his appearance at the State Ball in Calcutta: —
“He had never seen dancing in his life, and I was terrified that he was going to ask me to teach him. We sat together on the dais in the ballroom discussing old Persian sayings, from which many of our proverbs are derived. There happened to be an eclipse of the moon, and the Amir gallantly said, ‘The moon in our country is masculine, and he even hides his face to-night so that your ball may have no rival.’ Later at supper I told him that it was our custom to put our knife and fork together if we had finished and wanted our plate removed. He said, ‘You tell, I learn!’ . . . He said, ‘Please you tell me I been heavy guest or light guest?’ Of course I said, ‘You’ve been a light guest;’ whereupon he added, ‘Then I come and stay with you next year, not official. I come as your friend for a long time.’ With a sickly smile I told him that we should look forward to that pleasure, privately praying that the Government will never allow the experiment to be repeated oftener than once in five years.”
The Amir purchased enormous quantities of goods at the Calcutta Fête; he gave largesse to any one who took his fancy; he did his best to arrange a marriage for Lord Kitchener, whose celibacy was a constant grief to him; and he departed at long last in tears, having found the rivers of Damascus more attractive than his own scanty waters of Israel. In his farewell speech he gave a promise which he loyally kept throughout the anxious days of the Great War: “Before I came to India we called ourselves friends; now I find myself in such a position that our friendship, which was like a plant before, is now like a big tree. I have gained much experience in India, and from that experience I hope to benefit my country in future. Let me say that at no time will Afghanistan pass from the friendship of India. So long as the Indian Empire desires to keep her friendship, so long will Afghanistan and Britain remain friends.”
Lady Minto, 1907
Melancholy telegrams and letters were dispatched to the Viceroy from every haltingplace on his return journey, and he crossed the frontier in utter dolefulness. “He drew Sir Henry M’Mahon aside, put on his motoring goggles to hide the tears that were coursing down his face, and was too overcome to say one word. He finally jumped on to his horse, spurred him into a gallop, and disappeared through the mountain passes towards his barbaric kingdom.”
The visit was not perhaps to the advantage of Habibullah; the fleshpots of the West were much too attractive to him, he fell out of conceit with his own people, and the way was prepared for the fate which befell him twelve years later. But from the point of view of Indian policy it was an unequivocal triumph, for relations of cordial friendship had been established which made it possible to tide over the difficulties of the agreement with Russia, now approaching completion. The British Government warmly congratulated Minto on the success of the visit, and two extracts from the correspondence of the Viceroy and the Secretary of State may be quoted to show that the burden of it was not light and that this was
appreciated in Whitehall. On 6th February Minto wrote: —
“The Amir is still with us. I am afraid these words can hardly convey what they mean to me. Lady Minto and I are at the last stages of exhaustion. He fills up one’s every spare moment. He came down to Barrackpore on Sunday for luncheon, after which I hoped for an afternoon to myself, but could not leave him. He then got involved in a game of croquet with my daughters, and finally remained till dark. He dined at the Frasers’, and sang a Persian love song to Lady Fraser to his own accompaniment on the piano, and has shot clay pigeons with me, though for international reasons I thought it wise to divest the amusement of the conditions of a match! The worst of it is he won’t go away, and now, though every one was sworn to secrecy, he has discovered that our State Ball is on Friday, and insists on remaining for that. A horrible rumour reached us this evening that he wants to stay for the races on Saturday, but I have told M’Mahon that he absolutely must insist on his leaving, as His Majesty’s ships are specially awaiting his arrival at Bombay, and there is a naval programme there which he cannot neglect. He is simply irrepressible, more like a boy out of school than anything else. Not a word of affairs of state. . . . I only pray that the joys of Calcutta may not have entirely unsettled him! The responsibility of another such visit would really be more than I could bear, and I hear with apprehension that his sirdars say that there is no doubt there will now be an excellent motor-road from Kabul to Peshawar! I am in great hopes, however, that the attractions of Western life may suggest a visit to you in London rather than to me!”
To which Mr. Morley replied with an incursion into realpolitik: —
“I felt the horrible force of your opening words, ‘The Amir is still with us.’ Ah, well, il faut souffrir pour être beau, and Viceroys cannot have bright feathers in their caps without prodigious doses of boredom. I am glad His Majesty has at last taken himself off, and without one single bit of new engagement on our part. If, as I most confidently expect, he gets knocked on the head some fine morning by his brother or some other near relative, we are not bound to put him back on his shaky gadi, or, rather I should say, to avenge his deposition therefrom. One great spring of mischief in these high politics is to suppose that the situation of to-day is to be the situation of tomorrow. If I were Lord Chesterfield, writing to a son whom I meant to be a statesman, I should say to him, ‘Remember that in the great high latitudes of policy all is fluid, elastic, mutable; the friend to-day, the foe to-morrow; the ally and confederate against the enemy, suddenly his confederate against you; Russia or France or Germany or America, one sort of Power this year, quite another sort, and in deeply changed relations to you, the year after!’ Excuse this preachment, and be sure not to suspect any ‘application,’ such as your Scotch preachers are fond of.”