The Autobiography of an Indian Princess. Maharani of Cooch Behar Sunity Devee
quite low. Across the door there was a huge iron bar, which was too heavy for one man to lift. My father, seeing that the durwans would not open the door, went to lift the bar and did so quite easily. Then a voice was heard speaking from the upper floor. It was my father’s eldest brother. He had watched all that had happened, and, seeing that my parents were determined, he decided to let them go. “Let them pass, and open the gate,” he called out to the durwans. The wondering durwans threw open the door, and my parents passed from the shadows into the sunlight.
My father took my mother to the beautiful house of Maharshi Debendra Nath Tagore. The household were all waiting to welcome them, though they had great doubts whether my father would be able to bring my mother away from such a strict Hindu family. The Maharshi introduced my mother to his daughters as if she had been his own child. Although a rich man’s daughter-in-law and a rich youth’s wife, my mother was wearing a simple sari with hardly any jewels. She always spoke of the great kindness and affection she received from this family, and she deeply revered the old Maharshi. We have always felt that there is a great bond between our two families.
My parents remained away for some time during which my father’s formal conversion took place. After some months my grandmother and uncle begged him to return, and gave him a small house near the big house. There my parents lived until my father fell seriously ill, and his eldest brother declared that, in spite of all difficulties, he must come back to the old home. He came back, and after long suffering and much careful nursing grew well again. My dear old grandmother and all my aunts and uncles were very glad to have my father and mother back among them. A few months later my eldest brother was born, and the Maharshi Debendra Nath Tagore gave him the name Karuna.
The new arrangement was not without its trials. Our branch of the family had lost caste, and we underwent all kinds of vexations in consequence. One great trouble was with the servants. No Hindu would wait upon us, and a procession of cooks who objected to “Christians” (any one who was not a Hindu in those days was called a Christian) came and went. My father’s happy nature enabled him, however, to rise above such discomforts, and, as he was cheerfully seconded by my mother, caste soon had no terrors for us.
Our days were full of interest, and some of my earliest recollections are connected with the female education movement which my father started. There was an establishment called the Asram where his followers from all different classes lived in happy disregard of caste and class. This house was quite close to Coolootola, and there I spent many happy days with my sister-in-law, then Miss Kastogir, the ideal of my girlhood.
I remember another delightful house which a friend lent to my father for his people. It was a beautiful place with two big buildings in its grounds. In these houses the Asram people came and lived for months, and we stayed there too. I have the happiest memories of this Belghuria garden-house; it always seemed to me a Paradise on earth. I was a little girl when I first went there, but I never smell a rose without recalling the vanished perfume of the roses in that wonderful garden. There were roses everywhere. They scattered my path with scented softness, and turned their flushed or sweetly pale faces to meet my wondering eyes. Roses of youth … the fairest. Are any others ever so treasured?
We were not allowed to pluck the fruit or flowers in the Belghuria garden, and I remember seeing cards in my father’s clear handwriting fixed on the trees, which forbade us to hurt the growing loveliness.
My father had indeed a striking personality: tall and broad-shouldered, he gave one the impression of great strength. I always thought of him as an immortal; his eyes were “homes of silent prayer.” Lord Dufferin once remarked to me: “I did not know you were Mr. Sen’s daughter. I’ve travelled far and seen many handsome men, but never one so handsome.” Sir A. A. Chowdhuri’s father once said: “Mr. Keshub is no ordinary man, as you can tell by the perfect shape of his feet and the pink sole.” And my dear husband often said, “A sculptor would give anything to have your father’s foot as a model.” The expression of his face, people said, was like that of Buddha, calm and quiet. His voice was gentle, yet clear, and even by a large crowd every word could be distinctly heard. He had wavy hair and wonderfully white even teeth, and there was always a smile on his face. My father was quite indifferent to caste, although the Brahmo creed as first practised by Maharshi Debendra Nath Tagore and his followers included it, and this caused a split between my father and his old friend. They disagreed on this point, and finally my father left the Maharshi Tagore, first because of the question of caste, and secondly, because of the Maharshi’s jealousy of my father’s influence with his followers. I remember hearing people talk of the powerful influence of my father’s teachings. Even men with large families gave up their occupations to follow him. They looked upon him as almost a divinity, and I myself believe he was gifted with extraordinary powers, as the following strange incident seems to prove.
In a house at Monghyr, a few hours’ journey from Calcutta, my father lived at one time with his followers. One morning, after the usual service was over, a gentleman who had been present waited hoping my father would say he need not go to the office that day. As my father, however, said nothing he left looking very sad. After some time my father said to his followers: “You did not want Mr. ⸺ to go?”
“No, we hoped you would let him stay,” was the reply.
“Do you want him to come back?”
“Well, he’s about a mile away; how can any one overtake him?”
My father smiled and asked for a khole (a sort of drum), and struck it gently, calling the gentleman by name as he did so. It seems incredible, but is nevertheless true, that the person thus summoned heard the call as he stood under a tree by the roadside. “I hear him,” he cried, “I am to return,” and to the great surprise of all he did return, and related how he had heard his name called.
My father used to tell us stories from the Bible and other sacred books, and I remember how much impressed we were with the story of the Ten Virgins. He described it so well that we could see the whole thing, and I remarked: “We must be careful not to run out of oil or to fall asleep when the bridegroom is coming.” He also told us many other stories, and one was a particular favourite.
There was once a rich Maharajah who was very fond of mottoes and sayings, and always rewarded handsomely any person who brought him a new one.
In a village near his palace lived four Brahmin brothers who were so poor they often could not get their daily meal. One day they said to each other: “Our Maharajah is generous, he richly rewards those who bring him words of wisdom. Let us try and make some.” These Brahmin brothers were not only poor but stupid, and could think of nothing. Although by the next day they were not ready for the visit, they made up their minds to go and see what they could do. On the way the eldest brother suddenly stopped saying: “I have got it, I have got it. I am sure I shall receive a handsome present.” The other three were very much excited and eagerly asked what it was. “I saw a rat,” he said, “and I thought: ‘Silently he picks a hole in the wall.’ ” The brothers thought this splendid and looked forward to a great reward. A little further on the second brother stopped, saying: “I have got one too.” “What is it?” they asked. “Bump, bump, bump, he jumps.” “How did you think of it?” they asked. “Did you not see a frog jumping from one side of the road to the other?” After a while the third brother shouted: “Mine is the best.” “What is yours?” they asked excitedly. “Hither and thither he looks.” “What does that mean?” they inquired. “Did you not see a squirrel on the branch looking here, there, and everywhere?” When the palace came in sight the youngest brother was in tears; he could think of nothing. “You will all receive your presents,” he said, “I must wait without for you.” But when they arrived at the door and the kobal took their message to the Maharajah the youngest brother’s face beamed and he followed the others into the ruler’s presence.
Each had written his saying upon a piece of paper and it was placed upon a tray. After a while the Maharajah said, “It grows late. Return for your rewards to-morrow, when I shall have read your papers,” and the