And the maharajas were very particular that this order was maintained but tried to use all stratagems to ensure that they were able to get some small advantage due to forgetfulness by the Viceroy, that would enable them to claim a higher rank or extra privileges next time. Often, these small items meant hell for the officers in charge of protocol.

For example, Nizam Mehboob Ali Khan (1867-1911) of Hyderabad, managed to extract a promise from the Viceroy that whenever he came to Delhi, he would be allowed to use a ceremonial elephant to take him to his palace or camp in Delhi. Years passed and in 1903 a grand durbar was held at Delhi by the Viceroy of India. As elephant processions would cause choas in the small streets of Delhi.

New Delhi was not planned then, the Viceroy gave him a ruling that all ruling princes of India, coming for the durbar in the special trains organised for them by the railways should detrain at Delhi and proceed to their ceremonial camps by horse-drawn coaches or the new fangled motor cars. But as the Nizam arrived at Delhi railway station and the ceremonial elephant was not there, he simply refused to get off his train and just went on playing cards with his courtiers. The officers of the Indian Political Department pleaded with him, that special trains carrying the other maharajas were piling up on the track. He must make way for them by getting out of his compartment and take the coach to his camp.

The Nizam told them to request the Viceroy to honour his earlier promise or tell the Nizam that the word of the Crown Representative was no longer valid and the British Government has stopped honouring its own assurances. The officials consulted protocol experts and they were unanimous in telling the Viceroy, that if he had given his word to the Nizam it must be kept up. Reluctantly Lord Curzon gave permission for the elephant contingent to come to the station and the triumphant Nizam detrained, happy in the knowledge that no other Indian ruler would leave the station on elephant back.

As the maharajas arrived at the official residence of the Viceroy, they would keep a keen ear to hear or asked one of their senior sardars to ensure that the correct number of salutes were fired in their honour. Further, only those Indian princes, who were entitled to a gun salute of eleven or more were to be referred as "His Highness".

The honours ranged from 21 for the Nizam to eight for the lowest "salute" states. Till 1877 when Queen Victoria assumed the title of the Empress of India, the salute ranks were skewed. For example the Viceroy enjoyed 31 gun salutes and the Maharaja of Gwalior had equal rank with him outside his own state of Gwalior and higher rank when the Viceroy visited him in Gwalior. That meant the Maharaja in his home was ranked higher than the Viceroy.

But the 1877 Proclamation changed all that and the Viceroy kept his gun salutes at 31 salvos as compared to 21 for the senior-most of the Indian rulers. The King Emperor was given the rank of 101 salvos.

Even here, for official ceremonies in Rajputana the Ruler of Udaipur was to be received first, although he and a number of other Rajput rulers had 19-guns salute each. In 1987, the ruler of Jodhpur Maharaja Thaket Singh protested against this during a Viceregal levee. The Viceroy Lord Lytton ordered him to leave the camp immediately and as a punishment against his intransgience reduced Jodhpur’s gun salutes to 17.

Each maharaja also had to ensure these salvos when other maharajas visited him. They had no choice. When Maharaja of Mysore visits the Nizam 21 salvos had to be fired, whereas the ruler of Travancore had to be content with just 19. Circumventing these obligations, often led to laughable incidents. Once when a ruler visited the Maharaja of Kashmir, the host did not want to welcome him with the requisite number of salutes. But he had no choice as the Viceroy would pull him up, in case the guest complained.

But one of Kashmir minions had a bright idea. He told the Kashmir army to ensure that the gunpowder used was at the minimum. Net result was, that as the guest anxiously counted the number of salvos, he found that they were all right in number. But as the exultant maharaja gleefully told his other guests, the sound produced was so feeble that it appeared as if the dignitary had been welcomed with sighs instead of salutes.