Among the Rajputs
by Khushwant Singh

NOT all Rajputs are Rajasthanis and not all Rajasthanis are Rajputs. Rajputs are also found in other parts of India. In Rajasthan there are many other ethnic groups like Jats, Bishnois, Mewaris, varieties of tribes, including Bhils and a sizeable population of Scheduled Castes. However, the pride of Rajasthan are different clans of Rajputs claiming descent from celestial beings like the sun and the moon who parcelled out the vast region known as Rajputana between them: Udaipur, Jodhpur, Jaisalmer, Bikaner, Jaipur, Kota, Alwar, Bundi, Bharatpur, Dholpur and other areas.

The heart of Rajput pride was Ajmer, once ruled by Prithvi Raj Chauhan. After defeating Mohammad Ghauri many times, he was betrayed by his own kinsmen and fell fighting off the invaders. Rajputs fought as fiercely against each other as they fought against outsiders. But they succumbed to the British without putting up a fight. They became as loyal to their conquerors as other princely families of India. A phrase was coined about the Rajputs: Jis kaa Raaj, usee kay poot — whoever be the ruler, we become his sons. The British chose Ajmer, the capital city of the Chauhans as their headquarters from where their resident kept a close watch on Rajputana states.

Ajmer was a good choice to set up a school for scions of ruling families of Rajasthan. About 350 acres were allotted for the purpose. The main building was built in traditional Rajasthani style in unpolished marble. Different states were asked to build hostels of red and beige sandstone for boys coming from their states. A more impressive school campus does not exist in India or elsewhere. Early entrants came to the campus in princely style, riding elephants followed by hundreds of retainers on horseback or on foot. It took generations of British headmasters to persuade them to cut down their display of grandeur to modest proportions. Nevertheless they strenuously carry their titles: Rana, Raja, Maharaja, Maharao, Rawat down to Kunwar and Thakur.

The real change in the school came with Independence in 1947. From being the monopoly of the princely order it was turned into a public school for all who could afford to send their sons to it. Eight years ago, a girls’ school and hostel was added to the campus. It is strictly segregated, and mingling of boys and girls is frowned upon.

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States have gone; stately splendour remains in the traditions of Mayo College. Although I was not taken to the prize-giving site on the back of an elephant, I rode in Maharao of Kota’s Sumo behind a cavalry of student horsemen carrying their tent-pegging spears. As we neared the site, a band struck up a tune. We were received by Principal Sharma who handed me over to the Chief monitor, a natty looking Sardar named Parmit Singh Gandok. Other monitors lined on either side were dressed in white churidars, black sherwanis with gold buttons and enormous puggaris (turbans) of red and white stripes tied in Rajasthani style with their rear ends hanging down to their heels. We were escorted to the dais. Maharao Sahib insisted I occupy the throne chair made of velvet with silver arm-rests in the shape of peacocks and silver legs. I looked around the throng of over 2000 present — old boys from different parts of the world and their parents. Sitting in tiers behind them were younger boys in multi-coloured turbans. From a distance they looked like rows of chrysanthemums of different colours in full bloom. We stood up for the prayer chanted in Sanskrit. The Maharao read his speech of welcome, Principal Sharma read out his report on the achievements of his students, I gave away prizes: It lasted over two hours. We rose for the National Anthem (played out of tune) and departed for a well-earned cup of tea. I hung around Maharani Uttara Devi (Honey to her friends) of Kota. I felt strangely comfortable in her company. She told of her days in Cooch Bihar, school in Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu and Switzerland. Later that evening I met them again at the Principal’s residence. With them was their son Ijay Raj Singh, a handsome young man in his twenties, his lovely-looking wife, a princess from Suket (Himachal Pradesh) and their four-year-old son who eyed me suspiciously and clung to his father. Ijay Raj looks after Heritage hotel in Kota. Rulers of yesteryear have become hoteliers. I returned to my room. I heard voices of Maharao and his friends well after midnight. Old friends had once again come together to talk of the happy days they had spent with each other. I was an interloper who did not share their past. They had much to talk about. I had to catch up with lost sleep. The next morning I rose to the calling of partridges in the garden and bade farewell to Ajmer.

Vishakhapatnam

A phone out of order has one advantage:it does not disturb your peace. It also has the disadvantage of providing an excuse to people to thump your door because they could not get in touch with you. Twice my siesta was disturbed by people I didn’t know. I growled at them and told them to come after 4 p.m. Consequently I had six people, including a family of four, joining me for afternoon tea. The family was of an excise official, his charming wife, a girl of 10 who wanted to get into the I.A.S. and a boy who wanted to make it to the police service. They were at the Ashok Book Centre for a second round of handshakes and a third time at Green Hotel where I was to speak on "Challenges of the new millennium". We became old friends but I never got to know their names.

I had an hour to spare in between meetings. Ashok Kumar and his children joined me for a stroll along the beach which offered a spectacular view of the deep blue waters of the Bay of Bengal. Oil tankers were lined up awaiting their turn to unload their cargo on the dockyard beneath Dolphin hill. The road was lined with multi-storey apartments (mostly unoccupied), children parks, pools and temples till the end of the city at the base of Kailash hills rising steeply from the sea. Vizag is Andhra Pradesh’s second largest city and being so far much less crowded than Hyderabad, it is India’s city of the future.

Prasanna Kumar, retired Registrar, and a man of letters introduced me to A. Sankar Rao whose family has given much to the city. The Sankar Trust provides shelter, medical and educational facilities to their underprivileged. They have eye camps to carry out cataract operations and set up a hospital for people suffering from T.B. and other ailments. Along with these philanthropic works they carry out research into the needs of poor slum dwellers. A. Sankar Rao is a committed citizen; he made his fortune and is determined to give it to the people among whom he lives. So ended the first day of my third visit to Vishakhapatnam. I had two more days in the city packed with engagements. About them later.

Fair exchange

A farmer’s buffalo strayed into the neighbour’s field and ate up some of his wheat. When the neighbour complained, the owner of the buffalo replied, "Don’t worry, I will send you all the dung my buffalo yields from your crop tomorrow."

Money problem

A man presented a very soiled Rs 100 note to the clerk at the post office and asked, "please send this by money order to my mother."

The clerk examined the soiled note and said, "This is a tattered note, don’t you have a better one to send to your mother?"

"It is my note and it is my mother, I want to send it to. What is your problem?"

(Contributed by Ujagar Singh, Chandigarh)