While the brothers waited for their audience with His Highness, unbeknownst to them present in the palace was also Her Highness, studying them from an upstairs balcony. Mulam Tirunal had invited Sethu Lakshmi Bayi to evaluate her options and articulate a personal preference. The Junior Rani and Kochukunji, along with some giggling personal maids, also joined the proceedings, whispering their own opinions about the boys into the ears of the Senior Rani. All of them had no doubt as to which of the two candidates they liked more, and with a smile on her face many years later Sethu Lakshmi Bayi would remember how ‘they were all saying I should marry the older one because he was more experienced’.7 To the greatest surprise of the ladies, however, the Rani shook her head and pointed at the slightly built, timid-looking younger boy. The royal choice was made, even as the women were left baffled, and the party was promptly evacuated from the Maharajah’s palace. Shortly afterwards, an emissary conveyed the Senior Rani’s decision to Mulam Tirunal before he saw the boys, leaving him equally perplexed at the rejection of the popular Rajaraja Varma.
Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s selection of her second option instead of the favoured first was puzzling for obvious reasons. While the Senior Rani was not an adolescent yet, Rajaraja Varma’s good looks, magnificent physique, and most imposing personality were singularly attractive to anyone who saw him. While decorum denied the women any open deliberations about his appeal—formally focusing instead on his education and experience—the fact was that he was a strikingly handsome young man. Fair to the point of appearing European, which carried great weight in Indian society, with aquiline features and proud eyes, he was rendered all the more attractive by his perfectly sculpted body. Indeed, such were his good looks that Rajaraja Varma even modelled for Ravi Varma for his famous painting, Sri Rama Vanquishing the Sea (1906). This depicts the epic hero of the Ramayana, his eyes full of majestic fury as he stands by the ocean at Rameswaram and threatens Varuna, god of the seas.8 Every pleasing physical attribute of Rajaraja Varma comes to life in this work, which is why when he was cast aside by Sethu Lakshmi Bayi in favour of his ‘very much more ordinary looking’ brother, many thought the Rani had committed a grave nuptial error.9
But Sethu Lakshmi Bayi had her own girlish reasons that even at an advanced age would cause her to blush. While she generally held that it was ‘the sensitive face and slighter build’ of the younger boy that instinctively endeared him to her, this was not the whole truth of the matter.10 As a reserved, largely subdued person, she may have found the less glamorous-looking candidate more fitting to her tastes. But as she would admit years later in private to her dearest granddaughter, when she saw Rajaraja Varma, she was positively intimidated by his exceptional appearance. The ten-year-old Rani suddenly found herself very conscious of her own flaws next to this Apollo whom her grandfather had selected to depict a legendary hero himself. And so she preferred the less striking and rather average-looking nominee as her consort. ‘How grandmother did such a thing I could never understand,’ her granddaughter would later exclaim, but Sethu Lakshmi Bayi was convinced she did right. ‘You will never understand,’ she would insist, ‘I was so overawed that I was tongue-tied when I saw him. And so I thought it was better to go with the younger one if we had to spend all our lives together.’11
Now that Sethu Lakshmi Bayi had declared her decision, three days later the boys were sent to meet with the Dewan, Sir V.P. Madhava Rao, for him to officially discern if they were suitable enough to father future Maharajahs. Rao then sought an audience with the Senior Rani where he formally solicited her answer, and returned after she reiterated her liking for the younger of the two. Thus apprised of the royal choice, the government issued orders to prepare for the big event; Travancore, it was confirmed, would see its first pallikettu (royal wedding) in almost fifty years. In the meantime, on 27 February the bridegroom-elect, Rama Varma, was taken to Bhakti Vilas, the Dewan’s official residence, where an English physician, Col. James, conducted a thorough medical examination. Once the doctor gave his seal of approval to the prospective consort, the Resident was also notified and, through him, the Madras Government as well.12 In due course, when the Rani grew up and the marriage was to be consummated, astrologers were also involved to determine an auspicious day for that purpose, while the royal family’s head priest awkwardly tutored the young consort in the dos and don’ts of lovemaking.13 Nothing, it was clear, could be left to chance when it came to ensuring a robust supply of heirs to the dynasty, though, of course, the onus of a romantic performance fell largely on the husband; all the Rani received in terms of sex education was a pithy remark from her mother who merely stated: ‘He will do certain things. Don’t get bewildered’.14
For Rama Varma, this regal nod of approval from a little girl was about to refashion his life altogether. In spite of the urgency with which the Valiya Koil Tampuran had him summoned to Trivandrum and although there was talk about the Senior Rani’s forthcoming marriage, the boy didn’t dream of being considered a possible consort to the exalted Attingal Rani. He had seen her only once when she visited Harippad a few years ago on tour, and had looked upon her as a distant, awe-inspiring figure, so removed from the infinitely more mundane world he inhabited. His own childhood and life had been unexceptional, though at times difficult. He was the youngest of five siblings, and soon after his birth in 1889 his mother had died. His father, a Brahmin, had no interest in the matrilineal joint family after this, and in any case the man wasn’t especially eager to contribute to bringing up his children.15 A very spirited grandmother cared for them but the absence of parents left an indelible mark on Rama Varma. He was a demure child, constantly in the uneasy shadow of his glamorous older brother, perpetually bullied by cousins and friends, and generally not known for possessing any marks of a personality. The last thing he expected was to be chosen and commanded to marry her by the queen, over his charismatic brother, who, as it happened, was destined only for a respectable but perfectly ordinary future as a Deputy Superintendent of Police in service of the Government of Travancore.16
The months that followed were full of frantic activity. Rama Varma returned to Harippad to prepare for his new station in life, while in Trivandrum officials worked round the clock to ready the city for the big event. Massive crowds of people arrived from all over the principality to witness the celebrations, while at the palace Sethu Lakshmi Bayi sat in state and received congregations of distinguished visitors, including representatives of the Cochin durbar and of the Malabar grandees. But what caused a real flutter at Sundara Vilasam was the arrival of Raja Ravi Varma. Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s grandfather brought with him not only his usual bounty of fascinating stories from his life and travels beyond Travancore, but also an exquisite present for the bride: a magnificent length of silk woven with gold thread, which had been gifted to him by the Maharajah of Mysore. Half of this material was used for Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s wedding dress, with the rest assigned to the Junior Rani’s trousseau.17 In the meantime special religious observances began at all the important temples in the state for the benefit of the Senior Rani, who left by mid-March to worship personally at these shrines. She also spent three days at Attingal to propitiate their family goddess at the local temple. By the third week of April, Mahaprabha and Kuttan Tampuran arrived at the palace with her siblings, followed ten days later by bridegroom’s party from Harippad.
The actual wedding ceremonies commenced on 5 May, with the Senior Rani going out to acknowledge the masses in the capital, seated in a palanquin. Heralded by trumpets and traditional piped music, a dazzling procession of elephants, cavalry and soldiers attended to her. She worshipped at the Sri Padmanabhaswamy Temple and other shrines nearby, before performing a variety of rituals at the palace. The next morning, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi arrived in the sanctified chamber where the principal wedding ceremony was to take place. An ornate chair of state was placed on a high pedestal and the Rani took her seat in this, with Rama Varma standing before her. Surrounded by family members, the high priests an
d the Maharajah, when the clock struck 10:30, the bridegroom placed the wedding locket around her neck before bowing so that she could garland him. The couple then walked, hand in hand, around the sacred fire seven times before proceeding to a ritual bedchamber for a few moments. Outside, the state forces fired a twenty-one-gun salute and celebrations broke out on the streets.18
Over the next week a number of traditional ceremonies were conducted as per convention, and entertainments were put up at various palaces in the fort every evening. Kathakali dramas, nautch performances, fireworks and more formed part of the programme, as did the giving out of presents to Brahmins and alms to the poor. Separate feasts were held for government officials according to their castes, while Mahaprabha and Kochukunji hosted an elaborate luncheon for the lady of the Maharajah and the sons and daughters of previous monarchs. Inside the palace, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi was treated to music, food and much merrymaking, until the final procession on 12 May. The Senior Rani was taken around the capital in an exquisite ivory palanquin, with her husband following in a golden howdah atop the most majestic elephant in the royal stables, attended to by the Dewan and officials of the government. Paying their respects to the Maharajah, they then returned to the palace. Just outside the gates Sethu Lakshmi Bayi emerged from her palanquin and greeted the masses that had gathered to see her. She threw a few handfuls of silver coins into the crowd, before turning to enter the palace, now not only as queen but also a wife, and participate in the final series of religious rites. The wedding was officially concluded hereafter, although banquets and celebrations continued until 15 May, after which the guests began to take their leave one after another.
In only a matter of days, interestingly, life returned to normal in the palace. The girls went back to their routine of tedious ceremonials, long hours of study, along with outings to public institutions, factories and so on. In early 1907 the Governor of Madras came on a state visit to Trivandrum, and for the first time the new consort obtained a glimpse into the kind of society he was expected to cultivate and sustain. He was practically a village boy, with a basic education in Sanskrit and Malayalam, and to provide him a more sophisticated view of the world, tutors were assigned for his study. One Subramania Iyer became the principal teacher, while Miss Watts, was in charge of training him in table manners, conversational skills and other nuances of Western refinement. Rama Varma responded to all this with creditable enthusiasm. By a twist of fate, his life was transformed altogether, and he intended to make the most of this opportunity to become a polished gentleman of learning and ability. Indeed, some would later grumble, when the boy’s ambition began to exceed his station, that perhaps too much encouragement had been given too soon to this country aristocrat in his new avatar as consort to the Senior Rani, proving detrimental to the larger strategic interests of the latter’s dynasty.
But it was with great determination that Rama Varma pursued his study of English, reminiscing later how he diligently memorised ten words every day from the dictionary so as to improve his vocabulary and match that of his wife.19 He read a great deal, whether it was Tono-Bungay by H.G. Wells, original works by Shakespeare, or even The Principles of Psychology, a phenomenal academic treatise by William James.20 He took it upon himself to go beyond the rudiments of Sanskrit and it would become a family legend how his siblings and he conversed with one another only in that poetic language, because of their formidable proficiency.21 The law was another area of interest in which he was to accumulate thorough knowledge. Like Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, Rama Varma read so much that a granddaughter would later adoringly remark how ‘he knew everything about everything! One might even say that, verily, what he did not know about something was not worth knowing!’22 He made conscious efforts to excel at sports: riding, shooting, football and more, actively following in the footsteps of the Valiya Koil Tampuran. As a later critic would remark, ‘With his keenness for big game, his skilled horsemanship, his taste for amateur photography, his dignified demeanour, and his courteous affability, he cannot be considered a social failure.’23 The consort, born in rural Travancore and now raised to regal status, endeavoured for precisely such affirmation.
Marriage, thus, in the first instance meant a good education and the moulding of a presentable personality. It did not, at least for the immediate future, connote even a remotely conjugal relationship. Rama Varma lived at the Sripadam Palace, and it was only at specified times every day that he could call on his wife. These meetings were always chaperoned either by the Valiya Koil Tampuran or one of the mothers, and he would spend precisely one hour with the Ranis. Sethu Lakshmi Bayi would remember these days as a time of ‘great fun’, though she was somewhat peeved that her guardian ‘would never allow my husband to be with me for a minute longer than an hour’!24 Sometimes they would play hopscotch or go out for tennis, while on other occasions he would join them in the library and read them fairytales and stories. His English might have tottered at that stage but the girls were far too excited by the welcome presence of another playmate in their cloistered environs to care for these details. They sometimes all went out, as they did to the Mateer Memorial Church, for instance, upon an invitation from the Reverend. On another occasion they sat together in a public gallery watching a variety of entertainments till almost 11:30 at night, before which they enjoyed themselves when a troupe visited the palace with seven performing monkeys. In December 1906, the Valiya Koil Tampuran even arranged a holiday together, taking them to the beach at Varkala, where palace rules took a leave of absence and they were permitted (quite literally) to let their hair down. ‘What a supreme felicity,’ Kerala Varma wrote, ‘it was for me to meet accidentally my darling Senior Rani playing with her lovely sister and my dear nephew, her consort!’ In fact, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi so took to this escape from the rigidities of palace life that she almost seems to have rebelled from her official duties. ‘Had to bring an amount of pressure on the Senior Rani to make her reply to Mrs Carr’s letter,’ wrote her guardian disapprovingly, adding that ‘the older Her Highness grows, the lazier she seems to become.’25
While the Senior Rani was in high spirits, news arrived from another quarter to dampen collective enthusiasm, plunging the palace into melancholy and mourning. After the wedding celebrations, her grandfather Ravi Varma had retired to his family home in Kilimanoor. While there, his diabetes took a turn for the worst and a carbuncle appeared on his body. A surgical operation had to be conducted, but he was unable to recuperate, and at two o’clock on 2 October 1906, the artist died unexpectedly. The news was received with great sadness across India, and even the international press condoled the loss of this famous painter from the subcontinent; in Lord Curzon’s somewhat controversial words, Ravi Varma had with his ‘happy blend of Western technique and Indian subject … for the first time in the art history of India commenced a new style of painting’.26 In his letter to Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s uncle soon afterwards, Lord Ampthill, the Governor of Madras, also reflected a sentiment many shared with him: ‘When I think I would not see Ravi Varma in this world anymore,’ he wrote, ‘my heart is filled with sorrow.’27
Ravi Varma was lauded by many as a nation builder, someone who gave India a subconscious imagery and cultural pride in its history and Hindu heritage, and he was held by most to be an unequalled genius. Not only did he initiate the evolution of modern art in India but his work also served as inspiration to the pioneers of the country’s film industry, Dadasaheb Phalke and Baburao Painter. He was a visionary marketer, who despite his lack of successful business acumen executed a masterstroke by establishing a lithograph press to produce colour prints of his work. These found their way into millions of homes, where for the first time gods and goddesses could be pictured in an aesthetic fashion, even as the name of the artist became permanently etched in the public imagination. Interestingly, however, after his death, Ravi Varma’s reputation took a beating of sorts, as his art was considered too steeped in Victorian aesthetics and not Indian enough: Ravi Varma was more inspired by
the works of Rembrandt and other Baroque masters than by the offerings of India’s indigenous Pahari or Rajput artists. The founders of the Bengal School, for instance, with their anti-colonial nationalism, took severe exception to Ravi Varma’s style, although even the eminent poet and Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore was compelled to admit that his work was ‘really attractive’.28 Despite the controversy that had been part of his career from the onset and which only grew in the decades after his death, Ravi Varma had touched and changed Indian painting forever and earned himself a place before posterity as a trailblazer and as an exemplar of artistic excellence.
While he was widely appreciated in his day elsewhere in India, in Travancore the establishment had been relatively frigid towards Ravi Varma. When in 1904 the honour known as the Kaiser-i-Hind was bestowed upon him, the news was received with petty resentment at court, with both the Maharajah and the Valiya Koil Tampuran raising objections at his being addressed as a ‘Rajah’ in his commendation. It did not matter, as the artist’s brother noted in his diary that ‘It is the first time in India that an artist’s merits have been thus rewarded.’29 What concerned them was why he had been elevated to such glory without their approval. Rivalries, after all, were a part of life at court, and even death did not mean very much in an age when custom and protocol held greater weight that emotion and sentiment. Sethu Lakshmi Bayi did not only observe this in the manner in which life quickly returned to ordinary after the death of her grandfather. Some years later, in 1908 when the Junior Rani’s sister Ikkavukutty was taken ill in the palace, the Maharajah ordered her to be removed from the capital. The reason was that owing to blood relations between the royal family and the Mavelikkara people, a death would imply a ritual pollution on Mulam Tirunal for nearly two weeks and he would be unable to visit the temple and carry out his religious responsibilities. With all his endless orthodoxy, the Maharajah had Ikkavukutty sent away so that were she to die, he would not have to hear of the news and be put to all the inconvenience. As it happened, the poor child collapsed on the way to Mavelikkara, and died on the road in a government carriage.30
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