But Captain Harvey was to suffer as were both ADCs. The servants ‘are being prompted to be insolent to them in the hope of some retaliation’, and when soon the Junior Maharani and her son left for their annual retreat in Ooty, they were informed ‘somewhat discourteously’ by a house servant ‘that they are to enter only one room in the house taken by His Highness and the Junior Maharani i.e. the dining room, and to wait there until they received their orders’.97 Captain Harvey, however, was willing to pick a fight if necessary and when reproached by the Junior Maharani, listed a number of his own grievances about her, including about her visit to the home of a male friend with the Maharajah and staying there for hours without the ADCs.98 Not that this meant anything but ‘in my opinion,’ wrote the tutor, ‘it simply won’t do with a man of his reputation and the stories that have been so long current’.99 Concerns of this nature had troubled the Resident also and on the eve of the Junior Maharani’s departure for Ooty, he wrote with some exasperation to the Government of India how the friend in question ‘will probably be in and out of their house all day’, adding: ‘I regret to say that his name has been, for some 18 months past, coupled with that of the Junior Maharani, and a good deal of scandal has been caused thereby.’100
The incident of black magic and these reports about the Junior Maharani caused the authorities in Delhi to take stock of the situation. The Political Secretary wrote secretly to the office of the Governor of Madras, essentially with a request to spy on the Junior Maharani and her friend. ‘Reports,’ he began, ‘which we are receiving couple his name with that of the Junior Maharani of Travancore, which appears to have caused a certain amount of scandal.’ It was probably a friendship, for the Junior Maharani was unorthodox and did not subscribe to old-fashioned notions of keeping a distance from male company. ‘Unfortunately, the young Maharajah of Travancore, who is the son of the lady in question, is in the position of “ward in chancery” so far as we are concerned, and we may have to take somewhat drastic measures in order to protect his moral and material welfare,’ if there was really a fire behind all the smoke of gossip about Sethu Parvathi Bayi.101 In other words, the Government of India held themselves responsible for the Maharajah’s upbringing, and while his mother was free to have friendships were she a private individual, as a Maharani, it was unbecoming of her to be so careless and in allowing indiscreet rumours to surface.
Within two weeks the Governor’s office responded stating that the gentleman and the Junior Maharani had definitely been seen walking together and driving in the same car, but beyond that there was nothing to worry about. He did have something of a reputation, because of which the Maharajah’s mother being seen with him caused a little scandal, but ‘There appears to be no reason to suppose that the liaison between [the man] and the Junior Maharani is having any evil influence on the Maharajah—in fact it is understood that he dislikes it.’102 Either way, however, the Viceroy and his advisers decided that perhaps it was time that the Maharajah was removed from the company of his mother. Writing to Mr Crosthwaite they pointed out that ‘it seems desirable that he should leave the State for some period’ and that ‘the question of his administrative training’, which would ordinarily have commenced in the following year, ‘be considered now instead of next year’.103 This would also mean that a special tutor would need to be found so that in addition to lessons given by Captain Harvey, the Maharajah could have detailed training in administrative affairs also.
It was a can of worms waiting to be opened. Musing on what was inevitably going to happen, the Resident remembered the words of his predecessor on the same subject, which succinctly expressed what concerned him as well:
When it comes to the selection of a suitable tutor, the chief difficulty will, I fancy, prove to be the Junior Maharani’s anxiety (however cleverly she may attempt to camouflage it in conversation) that the officer appointed shall have no influence whatever over her son. It was Mr Dodwell’s inability [he was the tutor before Harvey] to secure any such influence that reconciled her for so long to his continuance as tutor. Her antipathy to the Maharani Regent has become an article of faith with her, and she is afraid that the Maharajah, if disinterestedly advised, may recognise the futility of the feud between the two Palaces, and realising the greater virtues of his aunt, end by sending his mother to Coventry.104
And this, they felt, was something the Junior Maharani would never allow.
11
In Letters of Gold
Despite the bitterness in Mr Watts’s relations with the Maharani, in April 1929 the Resident noted how the former ‘hopes against hope’ that, by some change of heart, he would be offered another tenure as Dewan.1 It was a deep sense of denial about the inevitable; Mr Raghavaiah too had harboured such thoughts after his fallout with Sethu Lakshmi Bayi. To put an end to wishful speculation, the Maharani made it clear that she had already decided on her next minister and that there was no question whatever of Mr Watts continuing beyond June. The man was, Mr Crosthwaite said, ‘considerably chagrined’, and ‘inclined to look upon the termination of his time of office as an injustice’.2 Furthermore, he ‘ascribes the termination of his Dewanship as being due to the Valiya Koil Tampuran’. Indeed the latter’s opponents ‘allege that unknown to Her Highness, he takes money for appointments made in the State’.3 In some quarters it was rumoured that the new Dewan-to-be, in fact, owed his confirmation to Rama Varma alone, with one (Nair) canard telling how another (Nair) candidate missed out simply because he was an hour late in showing up with a suitcase bursting with cash.4
Resigned to his fate, then, Mr Watts spent his last weeks in Travancore receiving addresses from the public and well-deserved encomiums, including, ironically, from his worst enemies. They were not moved by sympathy at his fall but saw in supporting him yet another avenue to manifest their displeasure with Sethu Lakshmi Bayi. In the words of the Resident, ‘Meetings were held and addresses given to Mr Watts, not so much from admiration of the latter as in order to demonstrate against the Maharani.’5 Curiously enough, these were by ‘the very same people who were most hostile to Mr Watts and “the Palace” on Mr Watts’s first appointment, and who, since Mr Watts’s differences with Her Highness became well known, have allied themselves to Mr Watts. The latter,’ he commented, ‘should have known better than to encourage these demonstrations, but in spite of his decided astuteness and ability, he allowed his vanity to get the better of his commonsense.’6 Mr Watts, once lambasted as the Mussolini of Travancore, was now lauded as a ‘people’s Dewan’ mainly because in his unhappy relations with and subsequent departure from Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s court, he offered ample resources of political capital to be reaped by her rivals.
But the Maharani did not contest that, despite his headstrong propensities, in Mr Watts she did have a good public servant, with his heart in the right place, even if his mind and overblown eloquence sometimes carried him away. He too, on the eve of his departure, realised that while acrimony had raised its head in his relations with Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, on the whole his term in the state had been rewarding and that together, they had been able to achieve much for Travancore and its people. He was in a sentimental mood as he boarded his ship from Bombay, writing to the Maharani a most gracious letter of thanks:
Your Highness did me a very great honour in selecting me for the Dewanship, and that I can never forget or fail to appreciate at the fullest. Your Highness trusted me and believed in me, and I have throughout in thought and deed sincerely tried to prove myself worthy of that trust. In serving Your Highness I have never given self a thought but have always striven to conduct the administration under Your Highness’ control, so that Your Highness’ people may feel, now and for all time, that the period of Your Highness’ reign is one signalised by justice, sympathy, and single-minded effort to ensure the well-being of Your Highness’ country. Of Your Highness personally, if I may say so without offence, I have never abated my admiration. So too my goodwill and high regard for Your Highness will never weak
en. I pray that peace and health and happiness may be with Your Highness and Your Highness’ family. … And I can never forget the deep concern and sympathy Your Highness and Your Highness’ Consort have extended to me when trouble overwhelmed me and when illness befell me.7
Sethu Lakshmi Bayi too was considerate in bidding Mr Watts well and convinced the Government of India to allow her to settle on him the highest pension possible at £300 per annum. This delighted Mr Crosthwaite who wrote her a warm letter stating how ‘I have always felt sure that you would do that which was right’. ‘Your Highness’ decision showed,’ he added, ‘a most forgiving and noble hearted, sweet disposition, as I am well aware that Mr Watts during his last year of office behaved in an impossible manner towards his Ruler.’8 Life in England did not promise to be easy for Mr Watts. His much younger wife had left him for someone else and afflictions of illness were starting to show. To help him, the Maharani then granted a bonus of £1,000, which again surprised everybody. This latter gift was also, interestingly, proof that for all the incessant gossip, when it came to real decisions, her husband did not possess as much influence, as was ordinarily believed. ‘I know,’ confirmed the Resident, ‘the Valiya Koil Tampuran would never have allowed her to give it if he could have helped it.’9 A grateful Mr Watts picked up his life in London, but his health deteriorated, until a few years later, in 1933, he died of his illnesses. All public offices and institutions in the state were that day closed as a mark of respect and in memory of the contributions he had made to the progress of Travancore.10
And indeed, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi and her Dewan had achieved much in only a few years’ time. Plain numbers, more than anything else, revealed the extent of their accomplishments, establishing Travancore as one of the most prosperous and leading principalities in India. When the Maharani succeeded to power in 1924, the treasury commanded revenues of Rs 199 lakh; by 1929 this mounted to Rs 256 lakh, which was a 28 per cent increase, or a little less than one-third, in only five years—an unprecedented rate of progress.11 The value of trade in the same period rose from Rs 13 crore to Rs 21 crore, while the government’s cash balances escalated from Rs 74 lakh to Rs 170 lakh.12 Prosperity was conspicuous even in the daily lives of ordinary citizens who had better roads, more amenities, higher incomes, new conveniences and so on. ‘In the fullness of time,’ lavished one tribute, ‘Her Highness can look back with pride on her disinterested labours for the country and its people, the results of which she could, by the grace of God, see the people themselves reaping.’13 The Maharani deserved ‘special congratulations in so far as at no period in the history of Travancore were so many schemes launched with so much grit and boldness as at present’.14
Whether it was the opening of all but the temple department to all castes and communities, or in creating spaces for women to prosper, or even in matters of religious or social reform, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi had shown herself, with the assistance and energy of Mr Watts, as exceptionally able. Specific sectors attracted her especial attention, in all of which she left enduring legacies. Infrastructure was one such area. While in 1924 it had a budget of Rs 30 lakh, in 1930 over Rs 62 lakh would be invested in roads, bridges, irrigation and more.15 While Travancore altogether had about 5,000 miles of roads, the length of main roads jumped from 2,874 miles in 1925 to 3,252 miles in 1930.16 The Maharani built two particularly important highways during this period, namely one from Quilon to Cochin and another from Cochin to the plantation district in the east. The former for the first time provided a land route from Cape Comorin, at the tip of India, along the coast to Cochin,17 but it was the latter that had even more economic advantages. Hitherto tea, coffee and products from the high ranges left Travancore by going east into the Madras Presidency; the new Neriamangalam–Pallivasal road allowed it to be transported instead to Cochin Harbour, another of the Maharani’s visionary accomplishments.18 A bridge of superior technical quality was built at great expense across the Neendakara Bar, and numerous similar, smaller projects were taken up as well. Existing roads were widened and new ones built so that in 1926 alone 200 miles were constructed and in 1928 another 135 miles added. By the end of her regime, leaving aside reserved forest lands, Travancore had at least one mile of modern roads for every square mile of territory.19
The idea of bringing rail transport to the coast had first come up in the 1880s, but orthodox Brahmins decried the ‘fire carriage’ as the instrument of the devil, raising a shrill hue and cry so that it would be 1903 before a train chugged into the state. Even then the late Mulam Tirunal ‘refused to allow it to desecrate Trivandrum’20 and it was left to Sethu Lakshmi Bayi to erect the Central Station in the capital and to extend the line into the city.21 Even though the Maharani did not undertake further expansion to avoid indebting the state during an interim administration, she did allow groundwork to proceed and surveys were conducted to extend the railways south into Nagercoil and north towards Cochin, and by 1929 special staff were constituted to formulate estimates and plans.22 The policy of spending large sums on repair works of buildings was terminated and allotment under communications swelled in general, so that from Rs 10.2 lakh in 1925 it would rise by 162 per cent to Rs 26.7 lakh by 1930.23
Telephones, in what was a novelty, were made available to the public, especially to the benefit of traders and merchants in Alleppey, Cochin and Trivandrum. It was early in 1910 that the Indian Telegraph Department set up the state’s first connection, but under the Maharani services were thrown open to the people. In collaboration with the Chicago Telephone and Radio Company, eighty initial connections were set up in Trivandrum.24 Similarly, the implementation of a water and drainage system in the capital had been pending for half a century, until in 1928 it was finally implemented, after the Maharani gave it the stamp of official approval.25 Experts were deputed to study similar schemes in other major Indian cities, and construction would begin in 1931 with the Willingdon Water Works inaugurated by 1933. Built at a substantial cost of Rs 50 lakh, and to cater to the estimated population of 1961, this was a major achievement of the government.26 As one press eulogy went, ‘the Regency period will ever be remembered for [the] amenities of civilized life’ introduced to the people by Sethu Lakshmi Bayi.27 Along with the bridges she built and highways she laid, they would emerge as ‘monuments of keen political farsightedness and high statesmanship of a lady’ who got ‘these begun and completed as early as possible, with a view to facilitate [sic] trade and commerce’ and a better standard of living for her people.28
In February 1929 while Kowdiar Palace was deep in the darkness of black magic and sorcery, Trivandrum was illuminated in light when, for the first time, electricity arrived in the state. On 25 February, when the Resident was admonishing the Junior Maharani’s brothers in Peermade for their misdoings, in Trivandrum the lights were switched on for the first time ‘in the presence of a distinguished gathering’, with 541 street lights and two maiden private consumers receiving six hours of power in the evening.29 By 1930 the power station would be capable of handling greater demand and the capital had nearly 1,000 street lights, and 375 private and 113 government consumers with twenty-four hours of supply.30 Visitors were surprised to see even small alleys well lighted, and by 1931 electricity projects commenced in Kottayam, with plans drawn up for other major towns like Alleppey, Nagercoil and Quilon also. The blueprints of what would later become the Pallivasal Hydroelectric Scheme were also initiated at the same time.31 The onset of electricity in Travancore, in addition to the other modern facilities made available now transformed the capital. ‘The immaculate cleanliness of the city with its red sand streets, its well-kept houses, its inhabitants dressed entirely in white, the parks of its palaces, and the brilliant gardens’ impressed Maurice Dekobra,32 while Louise Ouwerkerk thought ‘the people looked prosperous and contented’ with their lives under a benevolent government.33
Medical facilities in the state were also improved under Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, with expenditure under this heading nearly doubled. Dispensaries
proliferated the country and a new cooperative scheme was initiated, where the government contributed the medicines and other supplies, while villagers offered the necessary infrastructure. ‘In all these places’ one report states, ‘the local people came readily forward and gave requisite furniture and suitable buildings for the dispensaries.’34 By 1929 not less than 1.65 million of the total five million subjects of the state were in a position to access the government’s health amenities and the modern medicines they supplied.35 In addition to the existing Medical Department, the Maharani also created a Public Health Division that was to deal especially with epidemics, maternity, child welfare and other broader issues that were not so far given due importance. In 1928 this was begun in collaboration with the Rockefeller Foundation, and two officers were sent to train in the United States, later to return and take over the new section.36
Agriculture, on which 54 per cent of the state’s population depended, also witnessed an impressive scale of developments. The cooperative movement flourished at an unusual pace and it was ‘gratifying’, the Dewan declared to the Sri Mulam Popular Assembly, that ‘the ryot and the small industrialist have begun to appreciate its advantages’.37 By the end of Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s reign there were nearly 2,000 cooperative societies at work in Travancore, with one for every 2,245 of the adult population of four million.38 The number of joint stock banks in the state catering mainly to agrarian families grew to 275, by the end of the Maharani’s reign, so that in 1932 Travancore accounted for 20 per cent of all banks in India.39 While the idea of bringing 25,000 acres of virgin land under tea cultivation through the Brooke Bond Scheme did not succeed, between 1925 and 1932 what did succeed was the husbanding of a tremendous 87,000 acres of forest land due to the efforts of the Maharani’s government.40 Revisions in the law were implemented to make things easier for farmers in these tracts allowing them to ‘cultivate land assigned to or acquired by them without fear of eviction or harassment from collecting officers’ through protective clauses.41 Although since 1904 taxes were no longer accepted in kind, when floods occurred in Kuttanad, the Maharani first reduced the commutation rate from twenty-four chuckrams (a denomination of the local currency)42 to twenty chuckrams, and then to eighteen chuckrams. However, when stressed farmers conveyed that it was easier for them to pay in paddy, despite objections from officials that this would be inconvenient administratively, ‘No considerations of such difficulty were allowed to stand in the way of affording relief to the people,’ and they were permitted to remit taxes in whatever form possible at the already discounted rate.43
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