by Aline Dobbie
Again, there was this sort of timeless quality. Earlier, when I had arrived and been greeted, the camera had been left in the car, it did not seem quite right to appear at first looking like a female journalist. So when I wanted it I asked Gurung to ask our driver. Gurung strode off across the parade ground full of natural military importance but young Kishore, who was very new to us, was not going to let some stranger demand a camera and just take it. Fortunately, I saw from far away what his dilemma was and waved and shouted ‘Thik Hai’ – equivalent to ‘it’s OK’. One of the nicest things I witnessed on this occasion was the affection and respect with which Satish Kumar was greeted by the men whom he had commanded. Their faces lit up when he was spotted in our car and the greeting ‘Ram Ram’ was called with a salute. Westerners talk of Asians being inscrutable; well, actually, no more than we westerners. They mirror respect, warmth and admiration just as we do and when someone is welcome it is so obvious.
The author with Subadar Major Wazir Singh and the band of the Sikh Light Infantry at the Jat Regimental Reunion at Bareilly
It was suggested that we would like to go back to our hotel for a short rest and would be collected again at 16.30 hours. This did seem a good idea as it had been another very early start. It is amazing what a quick shower and a change of shoes can do for one’s energy!
At 16.30 hours, there was a tentative knock on the door of the sitting room. It was a young Jat, Santosh Lal. He had come with a JCO to give us the printed programme for the evening. When we got in the car sent by the Regiment there appeared to be no room for him and he looked forlorn and disappointed, so I said in Hindi come with us and gestured to the back seat alongside me. No, that would not have been correct but with a huge grin he squeezed next to the JCO in the front seat. What is new in India? We drove in the Jat car with its pennant flying, the two of us in the back and three big Jats in the front. They seemed very happy and so were we. Honour had been saved.
The first stop was the Regiment’s Hindu Temple or Mandir. This was a lovely experience because, by this time, the shadows had lengthened, the Regiment was winding down and we drove through the cantonment, which is always beautifully maintained. The Temple is beautiful, colourful and so spacious. We took off our shoes as is required and walked all around. The priest came forward to greet us and put a tilak on the forehead and the string for the wrist was fixed on Graham’s right wrist and my left wrist.
The Jat Regimental Hindu Mandir (temple), photographed here in 1947, visited by the author in 2002
Graham, I, the JCO, who was very shy but very correct, and Santosh were taken on a tour of the colourful wall paintings depicting the pantheon of Hindu Deities and the mythology surrounding them. There was a beautiful marble floor and a lofty ceiling; it was rather like being in a basilica – with no chairs. The other day in our collection of memorabilia, I came across an ancient photo of the Mandir from my late father’s time. How good it is that the place is renovated and maintained to such a high standard. We gave a donation and thanked the Priest for his welcome.
Then we moved on to the Regimental Museum, which we had previously visited on both occasions. This has been superbly renovated and updated with the help of modern digital reproduction, which has eradicated the previous slightly amateur feel. We both found it very moving; I saw a photo of Daddy taken in 1945. I also explained who various people were. Colonel Sharma, the Custodian, is charming. Looking at the Siachen Glacier conditions in which the Regiment had fought against Pakistan fairly recently, it was impressive and horrifying; 19,000 feet above sea level makes it the highest battle field in the world, and no human can exist there for any length of time. We were very impressed by the upgrade and attention to duty, sacrifice and regimental history.
As we were going round, the Retreat was played outside by two buglers and it was so evocative of all the tradition and ceremony through the ages; there was a moment that I felt I almost saw my father come round the corner in his virile young days with a familiar nod of the head, truly on these occasions the past is not another country, it remains in your heart.
Our tour was to take in the Canteen and we were proudly shown the array of merchandise available: 3,500 items can be purchased from cars, jcbs, tractors, air-conditioners, radios, electrical equipment and computers to groceries, pharmaceuticals, Brasso and polish! Quite obviously, large items like cars have to be ordered, but one can easily imagine the massive buying power of the Indian Army Canteen, as it is called with an army of over one million men. It is not difficult to make the mental leap to the idea of how beneficial it must be for a contractor to be a supplier to such an institution. Graham remembered that he needed some shaving gel and it was excellent that we had a good reason to buy something.
Then we all piled into the car and returned to our hotel for a change into full evening wear. Satish joined us looking very distinguished in his dark blue woollen Nehru-style dinner jacket. Being retired, he was not in full fig any longer. This time, however, it was a positive entourage of cars. The three of us in a Jat car, the JCO and the young Jat in another and our own car; government ministers may swan around Delhi in entourages but here in Bareilly things are done in Jat style!
The Officers’ Mess lawn was beautifully decorated and people were congregating for the reception. The entrances on to the lawn were elegantly adorned with flowers and there were awnings in the regimental colours and a delicate silk and floral welcoming arch and pots of bougainvillea and chrysanthemums all around. There were also rangoli drawings of welcome on the ground.
The officers looked resplendent in their Mess Dress, the ladies looked dazzling in an array of beautiful brightly coloured evening saris and they were all flashing wonderful gold jewellery, for which India is famous. The drinks were endless, mostly whisky and water for the men, I kept to coke and the eats were hot and welcome. The Regimental Band and the Sikh Light Infantry Band played from the bandstand, including a splendid rendition of La Paloma, which happens to be a favourite of mine. The Band Concert programme is in front of me as I write, and under each title there is a short explanation of the piece of music. Another piece was In a Persian Market, which I had not heard for years!
Aline and Graham with Officer’s wives of the Jat Regiment
The MC very sweetly made a welcoming speech about us and then I was invited up to the front to formally present my first book India: The Peacock’s Call, in which The Jat Regiment featured, to General Khanna. I was asked to say a few words and I chose to talk about the Memorial Gates to all those who died from the Commonwealth (which I have mentioned in Chapter 11). I explained how November was our Remembrance Season and that it is taken very seriously by all ages, not just the old who experienced the major conflicts. I told them how much the subcontinent’s soldiers had been revered by Britain and that as a nation we never forget. I told them of my affection for the Regiment and wished the whole Regimental Family every good wish in the future and how privileged we felt to be able to share their Regimental Reunion with them. We then processed into dinner with a formal seating plan.
Officer’s Mess, the Jat Regimental centre, Bareilly
I was seated between Lt Colonel Akhe Ram MBE and a general who was charming. Opposite me was Lt General Jasbir Singh, the Maharajah of Nabha. The food was western, which was intriguing. Everything was laid out as a Mess Night should be. When it came to clearing the tables, Gurung and his co workers bustled about; everything was done to a strict routine and timing so that all the white linen was whisked off together from every single table. We all clapped. The Toast to The President of India is always drunk in water, but with every solemnity. Then, there was the Toast to the Regiment, which could be either in wine or water, after which two pipers marched in and played some stirring Scottish tunes which were so familiar. Then, the Regimental Sergeant Major came in and was ceremoniously given what I think of as a quaich of rum. Of course, he was expected to drink it all in one go and was madly applauded. There was much drumming of the feet and General Ja
sbir Singh commented dryly that one day the poor fellow will fall over in all the excitement and the rum! Jasbir Singh is a keen mahseer fisherman and we talked fishing; I tempted him to come and fish the Tweed – there was a glint in his eye, so maybe he will. It was good to hear that, whether fishing for mahseer on the Cauvery or the Ramganga, the fish are put back whenever possible.
We signed the Mess Visitors’ Book, for me a very special honour, as no woman has signed that book previously. Gurung, at my request, managed to extract my name card from the napiery that had been removed. It had also been nice to meet up with Colonel Vijay Singh, whom we had met previously. We said our formal farewells to as many people as we could and then drove back to the hotel. Satish was leaving very early the next day to go back to Delhi with dear Colonel Akhe Ram, so we said we would see him in a few days time when we were invited for lunch at his Delhi home.
The prospect of my bed grew very attractive and it was lovely to know that it could be a leisurely start on the following day.
It was a relaxed rise followed by an excellent tomato omelette and tea! The young Jat Santosh Lal knocked at the door and shyly insisted on helping Graham to pack our cases. He was so shy and sweet and, of course, longing to talk and find out why and what; so he and I conversed in Hindi and I explained everything. This was important, because he would be ‘quizzed’ in due course and would receive ‘much izat’, i.e. face, when he knew all the answers! The hotel said that the Regiment was hosting us and there was nothing to pay and how glad they had been to have us. Again, we departed in the regimental car with our own following. I could see that the JCO and Santosh did not know what to do with us, so I asked if we might go and sit on the veranda at the Officers’ Mess and have tea and enjoy the gardens, waiting for Brigadier Shyam Lal to say farewell to all those who had come to the Reunion. That was considered a good idea. We were installed on the veranda and they retreated to a discreet distance. I assured them that all was perfect and Graham and I enjoyed ourselves. We talked to the Mess malis (gardeners). They were good sorts who enjoyed a ‘blether’ and we showed them some of our photos of our home and garden. They enquired as to who did all the gardening and I replied that Graham was the ‘head mali’ and I was the second mali. Well, why did we not employ proper malis he asked. Quite simple I replied, they would be paid like maharajahs. At this his eyes lit up and he briefly contemplated emigrating. But, seriously, his problem was the ravaging monkeys. They are a huge problem and, because of the sacred deity Hanuman, monkeys cannot be harmed, yet they are as big a pest as rabbits are to us. This was graphically demonstrated to us a little later when a troupe of the little monsters descended on the lawn and all the poor man could do was chase them to the road, yet again.
Finally, we drove round to Jat House and waited for Brigadier and Mrs Shyam Lal to arrive home, having said all their farewells. The Brigadier was feeling relaxed and called for some champagne. Indian champagne is extremely good and I was given a brandy glass full. Another charming colonel joined us; he had been their personal guest as they had served together before. It was lovely. The last time I had been at Jat House, we had been playing Holi, throwing coloured powder over each other in celebration of the great Hindu festival of spring. Now, there was a new incumbent in Jat House and it was ever thus. To think my mother had been hostess there long years ago for my guardian on occasions, who had been Commandant just before and up to Independence. I think we were all so relaxed that the afternoon could have flashed past but we had a journey to make so went in to eat. The lunch was delicious and Graham’s love of Indian mithai had been conveyed to the cook so there were glorious jalebis and gulab jamuns. Brigadier and Mrs Lal gave us each a gift. Mine was a set of six port-size glasses, from which the Loyal Toast had been drunk the previous night with the regimental crest on each glass. I had asked if I might buy two as a memento but this made a special and practical gift. We said our farewells with regret. It had been a memorable interlude and, as we drove away, we stopped to thank the men who had acted as our escorts during our very enjoyable time with the Regiment. For me, there is always a lump in my throat because I know how happy my parents were and, though nothing in life stays the same, visiting Bareilly periodically as I have had the pleasure of doing, captures the essence of an India that was loved by so many who are not Indians. Sometimes people fail to grasp that one can have an affection for and loyalty to a place or an institution that is not actually our own – let us just say that some of us were fortunate enough to borrow it for a short time in history.
Ahead of us lay a reasonable drive but we would be leaving the plains and climbing a hugely steep pass through any amount of hair pin bends to reach Naini Tal, and the temperature was going to change dramatically the higher we climbed.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
“Carpet Sahib’s Country”
“A country’s fauna is a sacred trust and I appeal to you not to betray this trust … if we do not bestir ourselves now it will be to our discredit that the fauna of our province was exterminated in our generation, and under our very eyes, while we looked on and never raised a finger to prevent it.”
Jim Corbett
Leaving Bareilly, I was, as ever, regretful but this time the anticipation of revisiting the area where I had been a toddler was filling me with energy. Nainital in the Kumaon Hills, the foothills of the Himalayas is approximately 2000 metres in altitude which is over 6000 feet. After the amalgamation of Garhwal and Kumaon along with a few other districts of Uttar Pradesh, a new state of Uttaranchal was formed on 9th November 2000.
With its tree-topped ridges, snow-covered peaks, chuckling streams, foaming torrents, famous mountain lakes and amazing valleys the Kumaon Hills had been a haven of refuge for the peoples fleeing the Central Asian plains in the first millennium BC; this continued with people arriving north from the Indo-Gangetic plains after every successive invasion and change of dynasty. With very little interference it has preserved its ancient relics and culture, as well as nurtured the religions and abstract ideals of Indian philosophy right from the times of the Vedas and the Upanishads up until the twelfth century AD.
With the Chalukyan wave of temple building in the South, just after the start of the seventh century, Kumaon became an area of energy for temple construction. Around 400 temples were built in the Almora District alone by the Katyuri kings. Almora is close to Nainital but about 400 metres lower in altitude. Most of these temples are currently still standing and, as objects of pilgrimages, they daily draw hundreds of visitors. The Pindari glacier, which is over three kilometres long and 457 metres wide, is surrounded by an alpine garden of ferns, wild flowers and rhododendrons, backed by majestic mountains that suddenly fill the horizon and leave one with a feeling of endless grandeur. Nainital is over a century old and founded by an English mountaineer who fell in love with the untamed area that surrounded the green-turning-to-blue lake. Named after the deity Nanda Devi, or Naina, the town developed into a charming hill station and idyllic hot weather destination for the Europeans escaping the great heat of the plains in the summer. Nainital Yacht Club is said to be the highest yacht club in the world and, even now, one sees the yachts out with their white sails rippling in the breeze. Nainital is a great honeymoon destination for modern India but, though I had visited it as a toddler more than once, I had no visual memory. This is the land of Jim Corbett, the famous hunter turned conservationist, who did so much to help the local people of Kumaon, yet recognised the vital importance of wildlife conservation, and in particular the plight of the tiger.
The author at Nainital
To grateful country folk who adored him he was known as ‘Carpet Sahib’, as they found it difficult to pronounce his name. Jim Corbett was a friend of my parents, but very much their senior and his thoughts and writings greatly influenced me as a child. From Bareilly, we had a four and a half hour drive, the last sixty kilometres of which was up a nerve-wracking mountain pass with twelve hairpin bends until we reached 6,500 feet. In day
light, this road is not worrying but, by the time we reached the foot of the mountain road, it was nearly dark and both of us were concerned as the traffic coming down seemed oblivious of the need for dipping their headlights. Our young driver was a nervous soul and the whole experience was a bit nerve-shredding! Suddenly, when the car had been brought to a virtual halt, Graham who was sitting on the right at the rear of the driver turned to me incoherent with excitement. I was alarmed and could not think what was happening. In the momentary panic, all I could think was ‘Well, the car is stationary, what can be the matter?’ Graham finally managed to point behind me excitedly and say ‘Look, the most wonderful leopard just there!’ I tried hard but missed him. Whilst the car was stationary, Graham had glanced out of the window and, in the light from our car’s headlights he had looked into the eyes of a full grown leopard, which was just standing there on a concrete culvert on the side of the road. The magnificent beast then coolly walked behind our car and crossed the road, Graham continued to see him but because he could not articulate his excitement the great cat was gone before I could do anything. It was so thrilling and in fact encouraging to see that leopard is still so much part of the Kumaon hills and valleys.
I will tell you a true story but one that does not have such a nice ending. In 1948, when I was less than two years old, my mother had brought me up to stay for a few weeks to escape the summer heat. She had rented a cottage in the grounds of a property at Naukuchiatal, which is not all that far from Nainital. Naukuchiatal is named after the nine-pointed lake which forms its centre. Tal means lake and apart from Nainital there are Bhimtal and Sattal as well. Mummy had brought her beloved little miniature dachshund Jerry with her; he was her absolute shadow and devoted to me as well. The little animal appeared to be out of sorts and she had taken him out one evening for a walk thinking that would ease his discomfort. He did not appear to be any happier. Later on the little dog managed to whimper three times and mother heard a strange noise and thought there was someone at the window. She shone her torch through the glass (in those days there was no electricity) and discovered what she thought was a man with a spotted waistcoat at the window. Poor darling she must have been so frightened, but she just shone her torch and heard a strange rasping noise but then he disappeared. The next morning, Jerry was very ill and mother sought help from the owner of the property who kindly said he would take the little dog to Nainital to see the vet. This journey was accomplished on horseback, carrying Jerry. Tragically, Jerry did not respond and died whilst at the vet’s. Mother’s friend brought the little one back and they buried him under a favourite white fig tree in the garden. The man in the spotted waistcoat was of course a leopard, who had smelled ‘dog’ and come for him. The scared little animal would have known but thank goodness Mummy had not realised this at the time; the animal had probably been watching during the time that Jerry had been taken out for a walk, it could have been horrific. Graham reckons that the big cat might also have been after me. To this day when there are large numbers of leopard in a restricted space they are inclined to prey on small children on the outskirts of villages and towns, after all vulnerable little toddlers have no skills in escaping. Mummy was broken hearted by the loss of Jerry and the whole holiday must have been wretched as my father was still at his work hundreds of miles away. Seeing that leopard, or at least Graham seeing him, brought this tale to mind immediately and we ‘phoned Mummy the next day and told her all about it.
