The Princess and the Political Agent

by Binodini

  CHAPTER 20

  Maxwell said, ‘Sanatombi, can you help me out? The Viceroy is coming to Manipur. He will be coming with a lot of people. We have to host a proper reception. We have to put on a show at the polo ground. Tonjao and Meino will put up the pavilions. You look into that. I will go inspect the roads. There’s a lot of work to be done. Talk to the king’s grandfather about what kind of show to put on. Consult the queen …’

  The queen Maxwell referred to was the Dowager Queen, the Lady of Ngangbam. Sanatombi ran around a great deal for the tasks her husband had entrusted to her. She went to see the large pavilions being put up in the polo ground. Since the polo ground was not very far from the residency she came out on foot with Mainu. She carried in her hand a parasol with a long handle. One day she would wear an embroidered sarong of black and white with an easy fall and a red stole, on another day a limp sarong of pale pink and a small rose stole. In her loosely tied chignon she wore a spray of lantana she grabbed from the hedge as she came out. On another day a sprig of blue floss flowers, and yet another time, she stuck in her ear an out-of-season red chilli she found growing in the residency.

  Sanatombi looked into where the Viceroy would be seated, where the king would sit, and where the noblemen. And how to arrange the entrance way … … … . Most of the people in the crowds who gathered to watch the tents going up had really come to look at Sanatombi. Sanatombi walked around giving instructions—she was actually very good at her job; she put her heart and soul into her work. The eyes of the people followed her wherever she went. But she paid close attention to the work; nothing could be left out. Because Little Majesty cannot be embarrassed. Her Maxwell cannot be embarrassed. And what about the entertainment? She consulted the Dowager Queen, she consulted the royal grandfather, the king of Moirang. She organized everything before Maxwell got back—a martial arts dance of sword and spear, a game of polo, a ras dance performance, a dragon boat race. She made her decisions swiftly but she said, ‘We will wait for his opinion.’

  A dragon boat race was an absolute must. One could enjoy other forms of entertainment elsewhere but where but in Manipur could they see the dragon boat race? Maxwell also agreed. He agreed to everything Sanatombi said. When he saw that Sanatombi had completed all the arrangements, he said, ‘Good heavens, I never knew you were so efficient.’

  At this point, Little Majesty Churachand came up with a proposal—he sent a message: ‘We must have the Kabul Choir, please tell my brother-in-law too, it will be a lot of fun.’ Sanatombi was not very supportive of this, but it was the word from the king. A royal command could not be shrugged off. Maxwell had no idea what the Kabul Choir was.

  There was at around this time in Yaiskul, a group of accomplished dancers and singers who were fond of carousing and having a great time. They were very creative, coming up with all sorts of new things. They were a fun lot. Even though they did not have enough to eat at home, they spent their time hanging out together posing riddles to each other, making fun of people, and producing all sorts of new kinds of entertainment. They enjoyed themselves, giving the impression this was all there was to life. Even though people took them to be useless, lazy wastrels, these entertainers also could not be written off. The critics never knew when they would come up with a comedy that would eviscerate them. So even though they did not do any work but occupied themselves with useless stuff, the result always took on some form that people immediately liked and copied. They got together one day and said among themselves: ‘Let’s put together something called the Kabul Choir; we can sing during the spring festival and go around and make a lot of tips.’ They gathered together right away and started to make up the songs and dances for it. The songs had no lyrics—they made up sounds that only mimicked real words. The dances were only in name; it was all nonsense and none could tell from where they got all their movements. People whispered from ear to ear that it was a salad of a performance. But the gifted, crazy young men entertained everyone to no end. They started during one spring festival and began to travel all over the place. People talked about the Kabul Choir. The main members were Yumlembam Gulap, Sanamacha, Mutum Chaoba, Phingang Selungba and so on. They were all unmarried young men, and all were charming. Their costumes were Afghan, with waistcoats and pointy turbans. They made up their nonsense lyrics and sang.

  Maxwell asked closely about the Kabul Choir and said to Sanatombi, ‘You go to the palace first and take a look at it. It’ll be the end of me if it turns out to be a joke. I don’t know what it is.’

  Little Majesty Churachand arranged for an audition for the Kabul Choir at the palace one day. Sanatombi also came to watch. About thirty men started the music on the lawn. At first two men made sounds like bugles—

  Nabon kaibong do nothing

  Clang clang pettre pettre!

  Pinao pinao little little

  Clang clang napui clang …

  Then the choir came out accompanied by the beating of two drums, and they sang—

  Jhhangi is playing

  Play the jhhangi!

  For Allah pannaro

  Yo ya naro …

  After the choir was lined up, they launched into another song—

  Touch mister not

  Touch money not

  Jump with spear!

  Jump with spear! …

  How Sanatombi laughed that day, she had to be helped up. She laughed till she had to wipe away her tears. And then she consented, ‘Fine, let’s have it, add a part of it just for fun.’

  The young men of Yaiskul said loftily, ‘So, we needed an audition, eh … … … Did you see how Sanatombi left with her head spinning.’

  The Viceroy arrived. The chief commissioner of Assam also accompanied him. They came with many soldiers in attendance. Maxwell received them at the Tongjeimaril Passage. Sanatombi redecorated the residency. She began to hang paintings by Bhadrasingh in rooms that she picked out. Bhadrasingh the artist was really Maxwell’s discovery. He sent the young man to Calcutta to study painting. He brought expensive paints for him from England, and he let him sit and paint in one of the rooms of the residency. The large painting of the dragon boat race that Sanatombi had asked him to paint was hung in the dining room. The painting of his lordship, her great-grandfather Chandrakirti returning on a brace of elephants, she hung in the drawing room. Manipur must not be shamed. Maxwell must not be shamed. She laid out in advance what her husband Maxwell would wear on each of the days that the Viceroy was there. Nothing must be amiss when anything was called for, there cannot be any running around. The Meitei peons in their dhotis and shirts began to pin on their shiny brass badges. They were made to wear their turbans somewhat in the style of their clans. It was deemed improper for them to wear them in the manner of service to the court. Maxwell said ‘Fine, fine’ as well. He could not pay attention to this and had left it all to Sanatombi as there were many more important matters that he had to think about.

  The dragon boat race that was held on the second day of the Viceroy’s visit was a wondrous affair. It was said that nothing like this had ever taken place before. Sanatombi had seen a dragon boat race during the time of her great-grandfather the Divine Majesty Chandrakirti, but she had been little at the time and had not understood it much. But this time she herself was involved in its organization and so she paid attention to it more closely. She would run over to the palace to see how Little Majesty was coming along, to see how the noblemen of the land would make their entry. She wanted to help Little Majesty get ready herself, she wanted to arrange his costumes and regalia herself. But that was forbidden—she could not touch, she had to watch from afar. Sanatombi the consort of the Big Saheb stood out in the courtyard and inquired about Little Majesty and came back. But nothing must go wrong; it had been entrusted to her.

  It was the day of the dragon boat race.

  The dragon boats were lowered into the green waters of Thanggapat Canal, boats with decorations in many colours: the boat of the Luwang Clan with its antlered deer head at i
ts prow, the boat of the Khuman Clan adorned with the head of Kwakpa, the great boat of the king and the great boat of Lord Vishnu. The two racing boats waited at the ready. A new three-tiered parasol attended over the head of the king. The pena balladeers took up their procession penas and sang their ballads in praise of the king. The boat of Lord Vishnu floated about in the middle of the water. Brahmins in their pure clothes attended to Him. In the boat were drums, bells and cymbals.

  The rowers of the two boroughs, ready in their costumes, waited for the cry of ‘Shwa!’ to set them off. People crowded on both sides of Thanggapat Canal to cheer on their teams. They waited anxiously, nervously. The boats were set off. Waves rose on the waters of Thanggapat Canal, muscles rippled on the bodies of rowers.

  Two men on the boats raised their arms and urged the rowers on. Their supporters jumped into the water: ‘Row! Row!’ Married women supporters of the teams jumped in, not caring that they drenched their new kum sarongs and ruined them. The two mounted boats of the king and Lord Vishnu floated slowly, slowly, to and fro, in the middle of the water. Thanggapat Canal was brilliant. It was a spectacle; the dragon boat race was a spectacle to behold.

  The Viceroy watched from the newly made thatched pavilion. With other white men. At the Divine Majesty’s seat, with attendants with swords and spears, and laid out with long, velvet pillows, were a hookah of encrusted gold, a little gold chest for betel nuts, a spittoon, a napkin holder of gold, and the like. Wherever one looked, one saw a spectacle. And how handsome Maxwell looked that day. He wore his traditional uniform of his land, suitable for the occasion. He, too, was a man from a land ruled by kings, and he made his appearance as a warrior of royal Manipur. He seemed to be even taller than his usual height. No, he did not embarrass anyone; he rose to the occasion as he walked with the Viceroy.

  Where would the crowds turn their gaze? Should they look at Little Majesty, or should they look at the Saheb? Should they gaze upon the great antlered royal boat, at the Meitei noblemen adorned with egret feathers, or at the foreign soldiers walking about in their midst? They did not know; their eyes were pulled in every direction.

  ‘Look, look, there goes Sanatombi. Sanatombi, the native wife of the Big Sahib. Doesn’t she look like the goddess Bishnupriya,’ said someone in the crowd.

  On that day, Sanatombi wore a sarong of vibrant pink. A long-sleeved shirt of velvet hugged her body, over which draped row upon row of necklaces—a string of marei, a string of bokul beads, a pair of smallish earrings glittered in her ears. But Maxwell did not look around him, and sat with dignity to the left of the Viceroy. Today he was a dignitary of Manipur. A woman in the crowd said as if she might be overheard, ‘Doesn’t the white woman with the red hair next to Sanatombi look like a doll? These white women are not very good-looking, are they, Auntie?’

  Maxwell had arranged for a dinner for the Viceroy at the residency. Manipur’s residency glowed with lights. The driveway was lighted with lamps of clay mounted on rows of young bamboo staves.

  Maxwell said, ‘What shall I wear? And what are you going to wear? Dress up to the nines and come out.’ Seeing a sequined velvet shirt, he said, ‘Are you going to wear this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Go bare shouldered. Do what you do traditionally.’

  ‘Won’t they laugh if I go bare shouldered?’

  ‘No, they won’t. Our ladies go bare shouldered when they really dress up formally. They wear their dresses across the breasts like you do.’

  Sanatombi wore a finely woven sarong in black-and-white stripes with a hijam border. She wrapped it, tucked under her arms. She wore but a single gold kiyang strand embedded with emeralds. This necklace had been given to her by her great-grandmother. In her ears were stone-studded earrings of Indian make. On her feet she wore the red velvet slippers with the thin straps that Maxwell had brought for her from Burma. On top of them were fine golden chains, worn loosely like the women of Burma do. Red crêpe embroidered with gold covered her body. She wore in her ear a posy of spiked ginger lilies that Mainu had already kept ready, and a bunch of fragrant white patchouli blossoms in her chignon.

  Not Guilty came in and said, ‘My lady Mainu, why don’t you give our land’s son-in-law a posy to wear too? You really are so mean.’ He picked out the smallest posy and, rising on his toes, tried to pin it on Maxwell’s lapel as a boutonnière. But Maxwell took it from him and said, ‘Thank you.’

  Little Majesty came but left early without dining. Maxwell said to the Viceroy, ‘Your Excellency, custom doesn’t permit the raja to join us at dinner.’

  The Viceroy left for Burma after two or three days. Maxwell accompanied him to the border.

  Sanatombi said after they had left, ‘Oh my, their affair is really exhausting.’

  CHAPTER 21

  Maxwell was transferred again from Manipur after a few years. This time he took Sanatombi with him, to a place called Silchar. As he had been posted there before, he was not upset, but having tasted the flavour of Manipur he did not enjoy it like he had before. He came for work; he had to work. But Sanatombi did not like it at all and there was not a day when she did not mention Manipur. She would have been happier if it had been a place like Shillong. She had nothing to do in this place; she would only wait for her husband to come back home, and she thought—It must have been really hard for Grand Queen Mother to have lived in India for as long as she did. So, this was the place that Manikchand said he liked and went to every so often. The crows cawed in the morning—Indian crows. How harsh was their cawing, and how hot it was. She was in a bad mood from the moment she got out of bed. The red flowers of the flame-of-the-forest trees hurt her eyes, she could not bear to look at them. Maxwell knew it too—Sanatombi did not like it here. But he said, ‘Put up with it a bit, adjust a little.’ ‘I don’t like it,’ replied Sanatombi.

  It was not just Sanatombi; he did not like it here either. If he had to live in a place in India, it would be Manipur. He said to his friends, ‘It is Heaven on Earth.’ But Maxwell still thought about how to make it more pleasurable for Sanatombi. He would take her out whenever he had some time.

  It was the time of the festival of the Goddess Durga. Idols of the goddess began to be worshipped in bamboo shrines built by the roadside. Droves of people would come from villages afar, coolies from the tea estates, from the ghettoes. They wore whatever they had—bright reds, deep greens, heavy necklaces and bangles, wearing strings of beads; with babies on their backs and children in their arms came hordes of women. Their faces glistened with perspiration. Coconut oil mixed in with perspiration flowed down their faces. The crowds gathered around in front of the goddess. They ate snacks bought from the stalls. Four or five men sitting in front of the goddess beat vigorously on drums and gongs. How different it was! The choirs of Lord Govinda always dressed neatly, clay marks on their foreheads, and wearing combed strings of fine wooden sacred basil beads, as they sing the evening prayers—

  When all is submerged in the Annihilation

  The Ark assumes the form of the Lord …

  The men began to bang harder on the gongs. Their beat became faster and faster. Their bodies gleamed dark with perspiration. Sanatombi could not bear it any longer. She elbowed Maxwell and said, ‘Please let’s go.’

  The sun was hot, it was dusty, and there were a great many mosquitoes. But Sanatombi did not want to harp on how she was miserable in this place. Yet, she began to lose weight.

  One day Maxwell said, ‘I will take you to a great place next Saturday. A man from a tea estate has invited us. You will enjoy this one.’

  They went together. The preparations were remarkable. Sanatombi had seen many big dinners at the residency, she had seen them at other people’s places too, but such extravagant brilliance, such extravagant waste, she had never seen. Wealthy people from the surrounding tea estates arrived all dressed up. They came with many beautiful ladies—cleavage bared, in backless dresses, many tiny-waisted white maidens. Everything was shiny. Sanatombi looked at the
crowd as people entered one after the other. She sat quietly and watched. Maxwell would come now and then to look in on her, he would ask after her and then promptly go back to join the rest. They talked to one another a great deal, turning to the ladies, then turning to the men. They laughed loudly; they were having a great time.

  A beautiful white woman among them pealed with musical laughter, feigning surprise, feigning annoyance, feigning fright. Sanatombi continued to look on at their show. At the fully attired white men. The women lifted narrow stemmed glasses with drinks of many colours to lips as red as tayal fruit and sipped at them delicately. Maxwell brought over an Indian woman in a sari, sat her down near Sanatombi, and went off once again. The woman was also an outsider like Sanatombi. Musical instruments started to play. Wonderful instrumental music, airs from another land. The men and women in the room swayed to the music. One man with one woman, embracing each other in a dance; the ladies lowered their eyes, the men smiled. Sanatombi felt embarrassed; she had never seen men and women openly hold each other before. She turned her face to one side, she tried not to see. It would have been awful if the sari-clad woman had not been with her. Then she saw suddenly: Maxwell was also dancing with a lovely lady. His arm was around her narrow waist. Sanatombi’s heart raced, she turned her face away so as not to see. But she saw—the two held each other very close, the woman’s breasts seemed to be touching Maxwell’s chest. They seemed to be whispering to each other, and Maxwell laughed.

  They came back late together. Maxwell seemed very happy, but Sanatombi felt very small. She was miserable, she felt hurt. When Maxwell asked if she had enjoyed herself, Sanatombi burst out in sobs. Maxwell was alarmed and kept asking her, ‘What is the matter, what is wrong, did anyone say anything to you … … …?’ Maxwell understood and held her lovingly and only said, ‘I am sorry.’

  He held Sanatombi all night long and Sanatombi, remembering, drifted off to sleep after crying a little. She was sleeping on the breast of her Grand Queen Mother.