The little Princess Lakshmi was too young at this time, and spent most of her time with nannies and her mother, sometimes peering into the schoolroom where her sisters had their lessons. Rukmini had a set of her own tutors, while Uma and Parvathi learnt from another group. ‘We had a common Sanskrit master, and a dance teacher called Indira Tankachi, but only Rukmini really took to dance.’85 Later in the afternoon, the Maharani often went out for her drive around the capital. ‘That was quite impressive,’ tells Uma. ‘I remember sitting in her Sunbeam, which was always a unique experience, because only her car had soldiers on the footboards and stately outriders on horses. There would be huge crowds of people on the roads, and though we were only children, it was clear to us that grandmother was somebody of great importance, with all these people bowing and showing so much reverence. When we went out driving with our parents, it was never as impressive.’86
Sometimes the girls played pallankuzhi, a traditional game using a wooden board and the bright, colourful seeds of the manjari tree. At teatime they would gather around the aunts and others, ‘although we really hung around only for the palaharams (sweets) there were to eat!’87 Then in the evenings they would go to chitchat with their grandfather at a previously decided time. ‘We could always run in and out and see him when we liked, but he still liked to have a fixed, formal time for everything, a rigid exactness from which he would never deviate. He would get up at exactly the same time every morning; breakfast and take his meals at exactly the same times in the day. And he would send messages to mother saying, “I will see my grandchildren from this hour to this hour today, thank you very much”, and we had to be presented on the dot to him.’88 For all these rules, however, he was a lot of fun to be around. As a grandson would later tell, ‘With grandmother it was always comfortable. With grandfather it was always interesting. His stories were gripping and he never minced words or hid anything, even from us children. He had extremely strong opinions about everything and everybody. He hated Nehru and thought him an upstart; he took to hating Indira Gandhi after Nehru died; and he agreed wholeheartedly when Sarojini Naidu called Gandhi India’s own Mickey Mouse!’89
But his favourite activity with his granddaughters was teaching them to shoot. ‘He had an impressive collection of guns, and he had stopped going into the jungles by the time we were around. So we used to squat with him on the kitchen parapet, where he waited to shoot palm civets that lived in the trees on the grounds or foxes that wandered into the palace compound. Sometimes we went up to the attic in the evenings and shot from there, and on other occasions he taught us target shooting. At Kovalam he would make us study constellations in the sky, though we much preferred using the telescope to look for ships out at sea. And all throughout he would regale us with stories and anecdotes about his times in the forest, and we had great fun. Grandmother never approved of his teaching us to shoot, but we enjoyed it, and so she never stopped it either.’90 The Valiya Koil Tampuran was thrilled by the enthusiasm of his grandchildren, and even tried to get them to take an interest in riding, which their father too had started to enjoy. ‘Uma and Parvathi did not take to it, but I enjoyed riding very much, and grandfather and I would have endless talks about horses,’ recalls Rukmini.91
Grandfather was an amazing individual. He used to write plays in his spare time, which were dramatised and enacted in our family theatre at the back of Satelmond Palace. I remember one play where there happened to be a stabbing scene, with a real dagger, for effect, and the actors were so engrossed in their parts that the stabbing became actual! The poor victim was rushed to hospital, but nothing serious happened to him, luckily. Grandfather was also the editor of a magazine called Microcosm. He would also invite others to contribute. His editorials, which would criticise some current politician, author or other persons in the limelight, were masterpieces of caustic humour and wit!92
On previously decided dates, the girls were all packed into a car with their parents and taken to Kowdiar Palace for their formal visits, Indira and her husband going separately. ‘There were some standard questions they asked us all the time, and we were always taught the correct answers in advance. These were routine things about our studies and things like that, but grandmother always ensured we did not slip up. But the Junior Maharani sometimes asked us very unexpected questions too, and mother would become extremely tense at such moments. She did not mind general queries, but if we were asked about our personal relationships with grandmother, for example, she always got worried.’93 Uma and Parvathi did not quite find these visits to Kowdiar Palace enjoyable. ‘We seldom met them except on these courtesy calls, so we felt like strangers. And there was all this formality around the Maharajah, and we had to bow before him,’ recalls the latter. ‘I remember spending many of these visits hiding behind mother. You can imagine that if I found grandmother in retirement awe-inspiring, the ruling prince was even more daunting a prospect!’94 But the Junior Maharani knew that it was Princess Rukmini for whom Sethu Lakshmi Bayi harboured a soft corner, and so she received special attention at Kowdiar Palace too:
They were very nice to me, especially the Junior Maharani. She would take my hand or carry me inside, and I remember mother disliking this, since she did not know what was happening. The fact that she took me into her personal apartments, made her uneasy. But all the Junior Maharani did was to give me sweets and talk to me. The Maharajah was a delightful man and he had all these tricks up his sleeve to entertain children. But it troubled everyone else, and when we returned I was interrogated about what they did and what they had said, and so on. They were not comfortable that the Junior Maharani singled me out, though I myself don’t remember anything upsetting. The Maharajah’s sister would sometimes join, and she was also very sweet and kind, and very pretty. We did hear murmurings about the dispute, but leaving aside the formality of our meetings, in person they were very nice, charming people.95
As the girls grew, they would sometimes gang up and break rules set by adults in the palace. ‘We could run all around the large halls and play in the courtyard and the gardens. But the attic on the third floor was off limits,’ reveals Princess Lakshmi. ‘That was never going to restrain our curiosity in those days, though, and we would smuggle food upstairs and hold midnight feasts with all our cousins. Of course, this was until one night one of the servants woke up. They used to sleep around our beds, and we had to tiptoe carefully out of the room. That night, on not finding us there, they looked for us and discovered our secret, threatening to report the whole thing to our parents. Those were unforgettable days, which none of our own grandchildren today could possibly imagine!’96 When the family visited Vellayini, the attic there was a magical place, full of objets d’art collected by the Valiya Koil Tampuran or presented to the Maharani by visiting dignitaries, who over the decades had included personalities as diverse as the Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore97 and Edda Mussolini, daughter of the Italian dictator.98 ‘There was a beautiful spiral staircase that went up to the attic from the first-floor hall where mother and aunt’s apartments met, and we had an elegant model of the palace compound up there—all the buildings, the trees, the mandapam—made entirely of beautiful carved ivory. It was absolutely exquisite! We once came across a gold-lace turban with an aigrette, full of diamonds and emeralds, topped with a plume. It caused a sensation!’99
Visiting Pothencode was even more thrilling. ‘Grandmother was not very wise when it came to her own money,’ tells Rukmini. ‘She managed the finances of the state very well, but she was personally exceedingly generous to anyone and everyone who sought her help. It was that old-fashioned, queenly munificence; she could never say no when someone sought her assistance. Grandfather did not condone this, because he knew some people exploited her. But she was very wilful and determined, and he could never stop her. So instead, she gave him certain sums of money for safekeeping, which by the end grew into a massive fortune—we know because the estate duties on his death were mind-boggling, and this was only a small p
art of grandmother’s fortune! And he used to keep a good portion of this in gold and precious stones at Pothencode. There were cabinets full of jars of gems, arranged by type and colour; pink diamonds in one, blue diamonds in the next, rubies in the third and so on. I remember being so amazed when I saw it all for the first time. He even had furniture with secret drawers and fittings, where he hid some of his treasure, and gold tea sets and plates and things like that. He always complained that grandmother was squandering all her money, but she never, ever listened.’100
He had the finest collection of gems, among which were the famous solitaire studs that Kerala Varma Valiya Koil Tampuran, his uncle, used to wear in his ears—9.8 carat diamonds of unmatched brilliance! Grandfather gave one each to mother and aunt and they were made into pendants. He personally chose his stones to eliminate flaws and hence all the ones he purchased were without blemish. On the other hand, grandmother was not so fond of jewellery and therefore the ones she bought were not so faultless. I am certain people fooled her over the price. She made jewellery for her daughters and grandchildren and had no interest whatsoever in owning any herself. Grandpa was also a very fastidious interior decorator of his homes, not to mention superb architect! He purchased the most exquisite artefacts and furniture for his houses and had them so tastefully arranged. His taste I must say was really excellent. He also loved perfume! He always smelt fantastic! Grandma on the other hand was warm and cosy and so very comfortable to be with. She had this very sweet baby powder fragrance about her, quite different from grandpa’s exotic and heady scents!101
Through all these halcyon years, however, there remained a pall over the royal household that the marriage of Princess Indira was not as carefree and happy as her sister’s, and that she continued childless. This was because Kuttan’s health did not improve with the passage of years. ‘He was a very nice, gentle person,’ remembers Princess Rukmini, ‘and he used to give us children lots of presents, since he did not have any of his own. He bought me my first camera when I was six. But he was constantly ill, and aunt was very disturbed in the 1940s because of this.’102 He did enjoy the occasional good spell; during one such time, Kerala Varma and he flew to Madras in the aircraft the Junior Maharani had recently acquired, thrilled at their first journey by flight.103 But Kuttan never did recover, and it was belatedly that he was diagnosed with liver cancer. By then, however, it was too late. Princess Indira took him to Madras to the hospital of Lt Col Pandalai, the Elayarajah’s father-in-law, but nothing could be done. Kuttan died in 1949, leaving Sethu Lakshmi Bayi’s quiet, beloved younger daughter a widow at twenty-three.
‘At first aunt was devastated. For the four years of their marriage, she was constantly nursing him, and his loss affected her terribly. To this day, she does not like talking about it. But she was close to grandmother, who helped her come to terms with the loss.’104 Princess Indira slowly recovered, after a psychological convalescence in Trichinopoly, where she was sent with her aunt Kutty Amma, and on her return she would chart a new course among members of the royal family. ‘She always had a remarkable intellectual bent of mind,’ tells a cousin, ‘and so the Maharani encouraged her to study to get her mind off things.’105 Indira became the first female member of the royal family to go to college, and eventually to obtain a degree in psychology. She attended her intermediate classes at the Women’s College in Trivandrum, in a day and age where royalty was hardly seen without its regal marks and distinctions. ‘I used to go to class barefoot for some reason,’ she now remembers, ‘and I think they were surprised to see me. They were all dressed in silks, with jewellery and make-up, and all that, and though I was the Senior Maharani’s daughter, I didn’t dress like them. I think they were even disappointed by my lack of fashion sense.’106 Except for the first few times, Indira also did not arrive at college with an escort or in a state car. ‘My aunt Kochu Thankam’s husband used to drive into town everyday to drop his children, and I used to go with him. It was a very ordinary affair.’107
Independence in 1947 was a sensational development at Satelmond Palace. ‘I think it was obvious to grandmother that Travancore would have to accede to India, and she thought trying to fight for independence was foolish in those circumstances.’108 Sethu Lakshmi Bayi was also, as it happened, a great admirer of Nehru. In 1931, towards the end of the Regency, he had actually visited Trivandrum, but the Maharani did not see him to avoid ruffling the Government of India.109 On another visit in the early 1950s also she would be unable to meet Pandit-ji who was by now Prime Minister. However, she collected all his books, read his biographies, and even kept neatly cut paper clippings about him. ‘I think she understood him on an intellectual level, in the way the Valiya Koil Tampuran never comprehended. He, like Sir CP, did not trust Nehru, and even thought that the departure of the British was the worst thing for India, and would lead to civil war. But the Maharani disagreed.’110 Either way, the advent of freedom for India was a great event. ‘It was a situation none of them had imagined ever possible till the war began,’ tells Princess Rukmini, ‘and they were all doubtful about the future of Travancore, its people, and about all of us; what would become of us, the younger generation of the family, if our state became irrelevant?’111
The children themselves did not then care for what was happening, living in a fairyland of their own. The assassination attempt on Sir CP, the threat of attacks from communists, and the fear the Maharajah himself revealed in the end did not give too much comfort to the Maharani, but as the date set for India’s independence approached, everyone waited with bated breath for the new era to begin; or at least the younger ones did. ‘All of us stayed up for Nehru’s midnight broadcast,’ remembers a nephew, ‘both the daughters of the Maharani, and all of us cousins. The very fact that we stayed up was saying something, not only because of the irony of a royal party tuning into the announcement of a future republic. We really wanted to be participants at a historic moment and we were very conscious that this was one of those rare times that came once in a lifetime. I still remember the intonation of Nehru’s voice and other details of that broadcast! It was a very exciting evening.’112
But while Lalitha and Indira, with their young cousins and relations stayed up that night for India’s ‘tryst with destiny’, Sethu Lakshmi Bayi was in bed, fast asleep. A new age was upon them, and she needed her rest before it dawned.
19
The Reluctant Princess
While it took Sir CP and Kowdiar Palace much time to wake up and smell the coffee, there was one rather unexpected individual in the royal house who did, surprisingly, foresee the phenomenal changes that were about to transform everything for them. Princess Lalitha was neither the penetrating intellectual in her family, nor especially politically inclined. But underneath her disarming exuberance and charm she had firmly fixed principles and a keen eye that was sensitive to events transpiring around her. ‘We always thought of Lalitha as a woman of the masses,’ tells a sister-in-law, ‘and I used to think that if she ventured into politics, she would have been a great success.’1 And not only did the princess comprehend that a great wave of change was about to overwhelm the state and its presiding dynasty, but she also charted measures to prepare for it, and weather the all-altering era that inevitably lay ahead.
‘Lalitha,’ recalls a cousin, ‘had certain strong convictions about society and people. Even as a child she disliked being different from others.’ This was quite unusual for a princess who was meant to revel in her uniqueness, surrounded always by influences meant to reinforce that very feeling of being special. ‘She hated all those marks of royalty, and those forms of address. She used to love everybody. Even the servants, so accustomed to worshipping her family, were surprised by how interested she was in them and their lives.’2 In keeping with her own sensibilities, then, Lalitha initiated a number of small but significant changes to ensure she was, to the extent reasonably possible, treated in as ordinary a manner as possible. ‘We never called her princess or Highness,’ remembe
rs another cousin. ‘She was akka, or elder sister, to us. She would have it no other way.’3
Within the palace too she modified a few things. ‘Mother’s establishment was always more relaxed, and that formal character, which pervaded everything else at Satelmond, was largely absent,’ remarks Parvathi. ‘She used to have lots of relatives and other visitors whom she entertained freely and not in the courtly style that she was meant to follow.’ At one time she even encouraged servants to stop calling her Tampuratti (princess) and refer to her just as amma (mistress), just like in other households of ordinary families. They were horrified at the idea and though, because of her insistence, they would address her that way, the moment her back was turned, they would go back to ‘Her Highness!’4 Sethu Lakshmi Bayi, interestingly, never stood in her daughter’s way, permitting her to lead her life the way she deemed best. ‘I think grandfather,’ tells Princess Rukmini, ‘expected mother to maintain all those royal standards, but mother, as usual, was stubborn about doing otherwise, and since grandmother did not object, nobody stopped her.’5
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