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Impressions

Inscriptions and petitions

Marquess Curzon of Kedleston
Lord Curzon remains one of the more significant of figures in the history of British colonial rule in India. Having served as Viceroy and Governor General of India between 1899 and 1905, he reflected on his impressions of the country in a combination of the serious and the comic. In the following article (which was originally published by Sidgewick & Jackson, London, in 1984 and which we will print in installments and in the historical interest) he comes forth with his opinions in a manner which amuses as well as worries, depending on how you look at the manner of narration. Star Literature expresses its thanks to Mahbub Alam, former ambassador-cum-literary aesthete, for making the article available to its readers.****
To speak agreeably to him with whom we deal is more than to speak in good words or in good order. — Bacon, Of Discourse.
The Indians excel in street decoration, illuminations, and every form of ceremonial observance. When the Viceroy or a Governor proceeds upon tour, still more of course if a member of the Royal House visits India, he passes through streets fantastically adorned, and under triumphal arches, built of the slenderest materials (very often little more than bamboo), but often decorated with the greatest ingenuity and taste. A feature of these arches is the inscriptions with which they are as a rule embellished, and the composition of which affords a much-valued scope for the talents of the local babu or university student, who may possess a smattering of European or even classical knowledge, and who is appealed to for a scholarly composition of words. I recall certain of these inscriptions under which I passed in the course of my official tours.
In some cases there would be a half-conscious reflection of the Prayer Book or the Scriptures. It is true that I was spared the particular welcome that was extended to an unusually ugly Governor, who, on leaving the railway station, read in gigantic characters over the gateway the inscription:
Good Lord! Deliver us!
But at Maida I was welcomed by the words:
Blessed be our Lord;
While at Burdwan the local scholar had even dipped into the Vulgate:
Welcome our Lord
Nisi Dominusfrustra.
Elsewhere, an inscription in the vernacular must, I think, have been a quotation from one of the Indian Sacred Books, for it ran when translated:
Rejoice, O Heart, in the advent of Messiah-like being, representing a nobler one.
At Chittagong, my dress, which so far as I remember was ordinary mufti, received an ambiguous but wholly unmerited compliment:
He cometh as a bridegroom
Clad in the garment of love.
Sometimes the Sovereign would be acclaimed in the same breath as his representative. For instance, Murshidabad thus addressed me:
Vive 1 'Empereur and Viceroy. Hail gracious Lora.
On the other hand, at Trichinopoli I drove under the following:
Welcome, our future Emperor.
Any alarm that I might have felt at being regarded as a pretender was, however, removed by the assurance that this particular inscription had been prepared many years before for the Duke of Clarence when he visited Southern India, and that it was pulled out again from time to time, if ever the Viceroy appeared on the scene. At Jeypore an accidental misspacing of the words converted.
A Gala Day
into
A Gal a Day
which sounded rather naughty.
But it was when, in deference to my assumed academic reputation, resort was had to the classics, that some of the best efforts were forthcoming. Thus at Azimgunje I was welcomed by:
Vive, Vale.
At Manipur there was a fine combination both of language and sentiment:
Bonjour! Bon Soir!
Vive I'Empereur,
Fidus Achates.
This reminds me of a dinner I once gave in London to an Oriental potentate who knew a little French but no English, and who, as I parted with him at the door, exclaimed: 'Bon Soir, Bien, Merci, Tres fatigue'.
At Sivasamudram a more practical turn was given to the exhortation:
Gloria in excelsis
Be ever healthy.
At Madura, where I was welcomed on one archway to
The Athens of Southern India,
another said:
Adieu the successful Fighter of Famin.
But the salutation which struck the homeliest note and gave me perhaps the greatest pleasure was that of Karachi:
Hail Overworked Viceroy,
Karachi wants more Curzons.
It is, however, in letters, appeals, and petitions, of which the Viceroy receives many scores weekly, that some of the greatest triumphs are achieved. My private secretaries used to paste the best of these into an album, which I still possess, and a few of the gems of which I will here extract. It must not be supposed, if I, or any one else, quote amusing specimens of what is commonly known as Babu English, that we do it with any idea of deriding the native intelligence, or of poking fun at its errors. On the contrary, one of the most remarkable experiences in India is the astonishing command of the English language — - to them a foreign tongue — that is acquired by the better-educated Indians, enabling them not merely to write, but to speak it with an accuracy and a fluency at which I never ceased to wonder.
(The blunders and absurdities that find a frequent place in the Indian Press are cited both because they strike a note of gaiety in the rather dull routine of Indian official life, and, still more, because they often reveal a sense of humour on the part of the writers that is both quaint and refreshing. It is in this spirit only that I reproduce a number of extracts from my own collection).
The cause of education seemed to spur the inscription writers to their best efforts. The High School at Bikanir thus addressed me in language the sentiment of which was unimpeachable even if the expression was somewhat obscure:
Fulls wells the fountain of true fealty here
To hail Your Excellencies' advent dear.
Live I so live I
To my King faithfully.
Live I so live I To my Lord heartily.
On one of the walls at the High Schools at Dhar I read the rather enigmatic gloss on a familiar precept:
Spare the rod — spoil the child
No pains
No cains
Sometimes the universal Anglo-Indian custom of condensing composite official titles into initials (for instance 'Agent to the Governor-General' became AGG) operates as a snare, for on one occasion a very popular political officer, on returning from leave, to the state to which he was accredited, found the welcome extended to him on a triumphal arch expressed in the following abbreviated from:
Let us give a big WC
To our popular AGG!
I had one correspondent, who claimed to be the legitimate heir to the Native State of which his ancestors had been dispossessed, and to which he apparently expected to be restored. He always addressed me as 'your afflicted and distressed', or as 'your affectionate, humble, and beloved child'. He would always inquire kindly after my own family, who were quite juvenile, but whom he persisted in describing as my 'venerable children'. Perhaps the best among his many productions was one in which he explained his apparent failure to see me when I visited the town in which he resided.
T wrote to Mr. A to procure me interview with your Sublime Lordship. Although he is very aptitude, theological, polite, susceptible, and temporizing, yet he did not fulfil the desire of the Royal blood. When your susceptible Lordship was at the Judge's Bungalow, I wrote again. What I heard of your superfine Lordship's conduct, the same I have seen from the balcony of my liberal Highness father. Your inimitable Lordship returned the complements of thousands of people that were standing on the street, but my fortune was such that I could not play before your sumptuous Lordship upon my invaluable lute, which will be very relicious to the ear to hear.... I hope that your transident lordship will keep your benevolent golden view on the forlorn royal blood to ennoble and preserve the dignity of His Highness father in sending the blessing letter of the golden hands.'
THE SECOND INSTALLMENT OF THE ARTICLE WILL APPEAR NEXT WEEK.