My dear Jit has begun his work well and is doing his best to make the State prosperous. His love for his people is deep and he takes great interest in administration. He works hard and sometimes sits at his table and writes till midnight. He looks into every detail himself, and I often wonder how he can do so much: a boy who was never brought up as the heir. How I long for my dear husband to come and see his Jit working for the good of the State. He built a hospital in Lord Carmichael’s name, and has done many things to improve the health of the people, but unfortunately during his reign we have had the dreadful Western War from which the country has suffered much. Such things as rice and potatoes have been sent out of the State, and jute could not be exported. Everything has been very high in price, more than double. Jit has increased the salaries of the officers, and the pay of the servants, besides giving numberless subscriptions and donations, and helping in the War Loan; but he does things quietly and no one knows of them. He has five children, three girls and two boys; they are all lovely, especially the eldest girl. Jit is a clever man and has written some charming poems and books. It is hard for him that all the old officers now are either dead or retired and he has to work with new and untried men, but he takes it quite coolly.

One day he said to me: “Mother, if we believe that God is all-merciful, we shall never ask Him ‘Why?’ We may think father has gone too soon. He was young and strong and many lives depended on him, but God is merciful and God knows best. If God loves us he would not do anything that would hurt us. It is all for the best, and we must believe it.” Jit has been one of the best of sons to me, so loving, so kind and thoughtful, and he often treats me as if I were the same age as his little daughter.

Victor is a wonderful brother. I do not think in the wide world any one could find a more unselfish and affectionate brother than he is to Jit. Anything that Jit says is law to him. He would give his life for his brother; he would go to the ends of the earth to get anything that would make his brother happy. In his life Jit comes first. Victor has married the daughter of a distant cousin of mine, a pretty girl. They have two children, both boys. Victor’s wife is called Nirupoma; she is of the same faith as we are, a Brahmo. She is well educated and edits a magazine in Bengali. She is devoted to her husband and children.

Baby has married Alan Mander, the younger brother of Lionel. I did not wish her to marry so young nor to part with her so soon, especially as it was only six months after I had lost my Rajey, but now my life has come to that stage that I must not be heard, my love must pray silently for the happiness of my children. They are very precious and their happiness is my happiness. Baby wished to marry this boy; he is fine-looking, and has travelled a good deal, and as he was anxious to have the wedding soon I did not stand in the way, and they were married at Woodlands on the 25th February, 1914. During the War he was in the Army and now they are in England. Alan has been a very good son-in-law; I don’t think I could have had a better, even in fancy.

Among the Maharajahs of India I know but few. The Maharajahs of Bikanir and Gwalior call me “Mother;” the former was at school at Mayo College with Rajey. The Maharajah of Kapurthala was like a brother to my husband; the Maharajah of Idar I know very well. In India there are very few Maharanis, perhaps none except myself, who come out, so it is difficult to get to know them, and without a special invitation one cannot visit their States. Some of the Maharajahs could do much for their country. Surely there is enough money in India to revive its ancient history and search out its ruined palaces and temples; but the Maharajahs seldom meet together to discuss these things, and that is perhaps why our Western visitors do not know much of our ancient India.

During the last few years I have travelled a little, and would like to tell my readers something about my country. Once I went on a Hindu pilgrimage to a place called Hardwar. In my book “Nine Ideal Indian Women,” there is a story about Sati; near Hardwar is Sati’s birthplace, an old palace now in ruins, and this I and my third sister went to see. Among the ruins are said to be dozens of cobras, but they do not hurt any one. We sat on the steps that led down to the river and had a little service. There was a feeling about the whole place, even after these thousands of years, as if it had been the home of a beautiful soul and was near the spiritual world. We gazed upon the beautiful scene: the wonderful old ruined palace with its flights of steps leading down to the deep blue river, and in the distance the pure white snows of the Himalayas. We noticed a strange thing as we sat there; in the middle of the river was a tiny island, and on this a tortoise was playing with a snake; one would never have thought that a snake and a tortoise could be together, yet here they were like two friends.

In that same book of mine is the story of Harischandra and the burning ghat; that ghat still remains in Benares. We sisters went there to see it one day after sunset in a boat kindly lent to us by the Maharajah of Benares. Down the stream floated hundreds of little lights; it looked as if the Ganges had rows of necklaces round her throat. It was an impressive sight; on the banks and down in the water were thousands of men and women with clasped hands and down-bent heads, saying their evening prayers near the ghat where the Maharajah Harischandra worked disguised as a chandal.

Nearly two years ago I came from Simla to meet my sister, who was waiting for me to go with her on a pilgrimage to Sarag-duar (the Door of Heaven). We planned to go by train to a station near the place, and as there was no passenger train about that time a railway carriage had to be attached to a goods train. When we arrived at the station some of our party went in tongas and for my sister and me a friend sent a carriage, the best that could be had, but very ordinary in our eyes. We started off happily. It was a very rough rocky road, but our hearts were full of the Sarag-duar and we were longing for the end of the journey. My sister’s two little children who were with us behaved wonderfully, and did not complain of either hunger or fatigue. After several hours we arrived at the river-side. It was early in the morning, the sky was bright blue, at our feet the Ganges flowed between high banks, and tall trees guarded the Door of Heaven. Two boats were waiting and we crossed the river. As we went over I felt as if I must say to the river: “May you take me on my last crossing even as you take me to the Door of Heaven to-day.” We arrived at the Sarag-duar; it was still beautifully cool and fresh, and as my sister had brought fruit and sweets we sat there and refreshed ourselves. While we were eating, a message arrived from one of the holy men that he would like to see us, and after a few minutes he came. What a good and handsome face he had! He was dressed in an almond-coloured (sacred) robe and brought fruit and flowers for us. His good words dropped on our hearts like cool water on an aching brow. When he saw my sister’s children he said he must send some milk for them, and soon after he had left us warm milk came. In this little land of peace there is one house in which food is cooked once a day for the hermits and the pilgrims, of whom there are thousands in the summer months and hundreds in the cold weather. In the fields are splendid cows. Gifts of money are made by some generous friends and this pays for the food. It is a wonderful place, so peaceful, so beautiful; whoever visits it, whatever his religion, must feel that it is indeed near heaven. Far away are blue hills, and nearer great plains over which herds of wild elephant, tigers, and leopards roam, but do no harm. Some of the hermits live among the roots of the big trees, and even in the winter months when the cold is very severe they bathe daily in the river. No women are allowed in that holy place, nor any families; we were allowed to halt there a few hours as a special favour because we were my father’s daughters. There is no smoke of cooking, no shouting, no cry of children; all is peace; even the river is calm and quiet.

From there we went to the place where Harischandra’s brother Lachman spent his last days, and had to cross the river by a bridge of planks which shakes all the time one walks. As we went we saw jutting out into the stream the piece of rock on which Dhruba, when a little boy, knelt one day to pray to his God and was much disturbed by the loud noise of the waters. So Dhruba addressed the river and said: “Mother Ganges, how can my prayers reach the feet of God if you disturb me so; how can my mind be quiet while such loud sounds go on?” And it is a curious thing that just where Dhruba sat the river is perfectly calm, while a few yards off on the other side of the rock the water boils and rushes. We bathed in the river; it was icy cold but it gave us new strength and new hope.

I should so much like my Western sisters to see some of these peaceful holy spots. Unfortunately there is no history of India in which all the old stories are told; they would make the country so much more interesting to the traveller. India is not the country some Western writers make it out to be. It is an ancient land and a spiritual. Modern ideas, to my thinking, often make young people hard and perhaps selfish. If we do not love each other can we do good to any one? In the old history of India unselfish love was given to one and all, and the crown of India was love. We are lucky indeed to be the children of such a country, but are we worthy of that love, have we forgotten what our ancestors did? Learn all the good you can from other countries, but remain an Indian still is my poor advice. Hurting others cannot make us Indians happy. I am so proud of being an Indian. Let the world know how beautiful and good India’s daughters were, and let us try and follow in their footsteps; in their time Love and Peace reigned. Love will bring us all together and make India once more happy and rich. A number of Western authors make great mischief by writing things that are not true. One lady, Maud Diver, I know has written many untrue things about us, and I am afraid people who do not know us will believe the worst. It is a great mistake to write such things; one by one we shall all go, but our letters and books will remain for the next generation to read.

I often feel that if Her Majesty would include a Maharani among her ladies, she would get to know the Indians much better; she is so fond of anything Indian and takes so much interest in India that it would help her, especially at such a time as this. Her Majesty might take a lady from each Presidency in turn, changing her every four months; and if His Majesty also would choose an Indian of noble birth from each Presidency, changing him in the same way every four months, I am sure it would keep Their Majesties informed of the state of feeling throughout the whole of India, and they would gain first-hand and correct information. Much mischief is often done because things have to go through so many channels. I might mention here that sometimes the representatives of His Majesty are not very sympathetic nor tactful with the Indians. Indians do not get asked to parties as they used to be, and it is only natural they should expect to be invited by the high officials in India who represent their Emperor.

The last time I visited England was in order to be with Baby for the first arrival in her family. I got there on the 13th June, 1920, and went to Baby’s house, where I was very comfortable. Her little girl was born on the 8th July at 7, Lyall Street, a house which Baby had rented. The dear newborn delighted our hearts. We thanked God for her safe arrival. It is our custom to have a children’s feast on the eighth day after the birth. On the following week we had all the children from the garage next door and some others to tea. Each of them and every member of the household staff received a little souvenir of our happiness.

When Baby was strong enough to be moved she returned to her house at Kingston and I visited her there. Suddhira and Alan gave up their room to me and occupied the drawing-room, which was not at all comfortable for them, still we were all very happy at being together.

In September I moved up to town to Grosvenor Street, where I had rented a house from a rich lady. Our stay there would have been a happier one had it not been for the continual annoyance of receiving unpleasant messages from the owner. Oh, what a worry the house problem in England is nowadays!

Since I lost my dear husband I had lived in a very retired way. Now in Grosvenor Street I began to see a few old friends, and this happy intercourse recalled to me the golden days of my life. I had the great pleasure of meeting Lord and Lady Lansdowne, General Birdwood, Colonel and Mrs. Burn, Lord and Lady Suffield, General and Lady Blood, the latter as cheery as ever. Lady Hewitt, Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Beverley and others. Lady Headfort was as kind as ever. I had the great honour of going to see Their Majesties and stayed to tea with them. I went to see Her Majesty Queen Alexandra. How sad it made me to see her so changed! This was the first time Her Majesty spoke sadly. H.R.H. Princess Beatrice was the same gracious and kind Princess. I had the honour of having tea with her. Miss Minnie Cochrane, a lady-in-waiting to the Princess, is a very dear friend of mine and it made me so happy to meet her again. I also went to see H.R.H. the Duke of Connaught. How it saddened me when I met him all alone in his drawing-room! In the days of the past, H.R.H. the Duchess and her children filled the house with their merriment. My heart went out to the Duke in his loneliness. I compared myself with this Royal Prince. He had lost his life’s companion and his first-born, and my husband and eldest son are both gone. H.R.H. was most kind and sympathetic.

Just as I was beginning to revive old friendships and go about a little there came the crushing sad news of my poor darling Hitty’s last illness. How shall I bear his loss! I am no longer young and sorrows have worn away my strength. I am nearing the end of life’s journey, oh, why have I suffered this terrible blow? Why was my Hitty called away so early? His life was hardly begun and it is ended! The half-opened flower of his manhood is for ever closed. Before I left for England I had put aside jewels and household silver-ware for him, hoping he would marry soon. I was prepared to go, I thought that perhaps my ashes would be brought back from England, but he is gone and I still linger here. How cruel it seemed to me; what great sorrow I suffered! Only a mother who has lost her boy can realise the anguish. If we could but have a glimpse of our happy departed dear ones in the realms of bliss what consolation it would be to our bereaved aching hearts!

Jit was sweet in those dark days. How he tried to comfort me. He said: “Mother, be brave, be brave. Trust in God, mother—God does everything for the best. Hitty is happier there than he was here. He is with father and Dada.” Jit said many kind and comforting words; how I love him for his gentleness! Indira, too, was very kind and often came and spoke consolingly. Suddhira and Alan were a help and comfort to me. I do not know what I should have done at that time had they not come and stayed with me. Suddhira often cooked for me, and she looked after and nursed me as if she were the mother and I her child. Her loving devotion touched me deeply. What a sweet true daughter she proved herself in those days of bitter bereavement! Her little baby girl was a real blessing, and seemed a bright messenger from above bringing hope from our heavenly home.

In February I left England and arrived in Bombay on the 26th of the same month. Jit and Indira were there on their way to Calcutta. I arrived at Howrah on the 1st March, the anniversary of the day when our mother was taken from us. Victor met me, and with him were my brother and other relations. How I missed my Hitty. I went straight to Lily Cottage, where we had a short “In memoriam” service. Monica was there, and after the service I went to my sister Sucharu’s, where Bino and others were waiting. One and all wept over my sad loss. They were all devoted to dear Hitty, and Victor in particular feels the parting.

Dear Hitty is resting now near his father and brother in the palace garden, where all is quiet and still, and the scent of the flowers seems to speak of the sweetness of heaven. His voice is hushed and no one will ever again look upon his dear face, but his soul lives on in the Land Immortal where he has been called to greater work. I am longing to be with my loved ones who have gone before, to be where we shall never part again.

This sad loss has brought a great change into my life. I feel the unknown world is very near to me and I must try and finish what I think I have to do quickly. God gifted me with everything that was precious, and one thing I wish to leave behind me and that is Love. I feel my strength has gone and often wonder why I am left. I had a house with four walls like rock and a strong roof that sheltered me, and now the roof is gone and two of the walls are down. The happy past is very far away, and I seem to be living in a different world. Life goes on, days and months have passed laden with sorrow and grief, but I am still walking on the edge of this life. My only wish now is to serve my family and my people and my Church, the Church of the New Dispensation.

It is my happiness to know that Jit and Victor are working hand in hand for the welfare of Cooch Behar. Jit’s great ambition is to make his State a model one, and he is always eager to help forward its progress.

Some of the Governors of Bengal have been most kind to my school at Darjeeling, where sixty or seventy children of all castes are taught kindergarten, and I am glad to say it does very well indeed. My technical school for poor Hindu ladies in Calcutta too is a success. The Victoria College was established by my dear father for the better education of women.

We often used to speak of a terrible tragedy which happened in our own family through a relation not knowing how to read.

This lady’s son was ill with typhoid, but he got better rapidly and one day the doctor told the mother the patient might eat a little solid food. After the doctor had left, two bottles of medicine arrived. The happy mother at once insisted that the boy should take a dose to hasten his recovery. But, alas! one of the bottles contained liniment for external use only, and this happened to be the bottle picked up by her. The boy died in great agony. The poor mother became almost insane with grief when she found out that she was the unwitting cause of her son’s end. This is one of the many stories of what has happened in Hindu homes where the ladies are kept from the knowledge of reading and writing. It is no wonder therefore that we have tried hard for education for our country-women. But we found it uphill work for many years.

My father founded other institutions, but they do not all exist now because of lack of finances, but we do not despair, where there is a will there is a way and Indian women are not so ignorant as Western people think. In the zenanas you will find fine characters, educated up-to-date women, good nurses, clever accountants, sweet singers, most loving mothers, and devoted wives, and as far as looks go, it is hard to beat a real Indian beauty. I have an ambition, if I live, to have an Asram for gentlefolk where they can live in peace and receive instruction, and it is my great hope that before many years have passed Indian women will stand in their right place and once again India will cry aloud: “I am proud of my daughters.”