After a day’s rest I paid a visit to the Maharajah, having first stipulated as to my proper reception. I was received by the Jubraj (heir apparent) at the entrance to the private part of the palace, and by the Maharajah a few paces from the entrance to the Durbar room (hall of reception), and conducted by him to a seat opposite to his own, with a table between us, his sons and officials being seated on either side. I read the Viceroy’s letter, informing the Maharajah of my appointment, and, after a short conversation, during which my age was asked (a question invariably put to European officers by Manipuris of rank), I took my leave, and was escorted back to the place where I was met on my arrival. I was favourably impressed by what I saw, but I at once realised that I was on no bed of roses, and that I would have to make a good fight to obtain and maintain my just influence with the Durbar. The Maharajah had undoubtedly grievances against us, and I felt that it was folly and injustice not to acknowledge these. At the same time, he and his ministers had on some occasions taken advantage of this state of affairs to behave in an unseemly way, and for this a sharp rebuke had to be administered. The natural sense of injustice is strong in mankind, and I saw that chafing under slights they had received, and often magnifying them, it was necessary for me first to acknowledge these, and try as far as possible to make amends, and then to come down on them very sharply for having forgotten their position.

The Maharajah returned my visit, and we had one or two interviews when we discussed affairs. I pointed out the extreme gravity of resisting the British Government in any way, and we soon became very friendly. Colonel McCulloch’s introduction had been a great advantage to me, and every one was inclined to give me credit for good intentions, at the same time that every effort was made to restrict my authority and influence.

The Maharajah was a rather thick-set man of about five feet five inches in height and forty-five years of age. In India he would have been called fair. He had the features of the Indo-Chinese race, and the impassive face that generally goes with them, but which is often not so marked in the Manipuris. He was far the ablest man in his dominions, and a strong and capable ruler. He had a great taste for mechanical arts of all kinds, and a vast fund of information which he had acquired by questioning, for he questioned every one he met. English scientific works were explained to him, and his researches extended even to the anatomy of the human body, of which he had a very fair knowledge. He had a taste for European articles, and owned a large assortment. He had glass manufactured in his workshops, and once sent me a petroleum lamp, every portion of which was made by his own artificers. His rule, for such a strong man, was mild as compared with that of his predecessors, and he thoroughly realised that his prosperity depended on his loyalty to the British Government. At the same time, he was most tenacious of his rights, and earnestly desired to preserve his country intact, and to give us no excuse for annexing it.

The fear of tempting us to annex was so great that, once when I thought of growing a little tea for my own consumption, he was much agitated. I, as a matter of courtesy, first sent to ask him if he had any objection to my growing a little, and, in reply, he sent an official to beg me not to think of it. This man said, “The Maharajah will supply you with all the tea you want free of cost, but begs you not to think of growing it.” The officer went on to explain, that it was feared that, if I successfully demonstrated that tea could be grown in Manipur tea planters would come up, and there would be a cry for annexation! Certainly our annexation of the Muttuk country in 1840 justified the suspicion, and we cannot blame people for having long memories.

The Jubraj, or heir apparent, was an amiable young man of twenty-six or twenty-seven, with a pleasant smile which was wanting in his father. He was of a weak character, although possessing some ability. Like his father, he could speak Hindoostani, but both were ignorant of English. Backed up and influenced by an honest and capable Political Agent, he would probably have made an excellent ruler, and, had we done our duty by him, he might now be at the head of a flourishing little state, instead of having died an exile in Calcutta.

The next son, Wankai Rakpar, afterwards known as the “Regent” during the recent troubles, was an ignorant, uncouth boor, who knew no language but his own, and was quite unfitted for any responsible work; he took little part in public affairs. The third known as Samoo Henjaba (Master of the Elephants), was a clever, pleasant, sensible young man, said by Thangal Major, no mean judge of character, to be the ablest of the ten sons of the Maharajah. He died during my tenure of office.

The fourth son, Kotwal Koireng, who afterwards acquired an infamous reputation as the “Senaputtee,” was always a bad character, cruel, coarse, and low minded. From early childhood he was given to foul language, and was absolutely dangerous when he grew up. His mother had been unfaithful to the Maharajah, who used to say that the son was worthy of her. Colonel McCulloch had always disliked him as a boy.

None of the other six sons of the Maharajah were in my time mixed up in public affairs, so I need not describe them, except that Pucca Senna was the champion polo player, though not otherwise worthy of notice. The practical ministers were Bularam Singh, or Sawai Jamba Major, and Thangal Major. They were both faithful adherents of the Maharajah, although the first who had once had much influence had married the daughter of the former Rajah Nur Sing. He was nominally the first in rank, but Thangal Major was rapidly gaining ground, and viewed with increasing favour by the Maharajah.

I quote the following description of the Government of Manipur from an article I wrote for The Nineteenth Century, by kind permission of the editor. “The government of Manipur has always been a pure despotism tempered by assassination and revolution. While he occupies the throne the rajah is perfectly absolute. A minister may be all powerful, and all the princes and people may tremble before him; for years he may practically rule the rajah; but he is after all a cipher before his sovereign, a single word from whom may send him into exile, make him an outcast, or reduce him to the lowest rank. Yet with all this power an obscure man may suddenly spring up, as if from the ground, to assert himself to be of the blood royal, and gathering a large party round him place himself on the throne. All this happened not unfrequently in days gone by, when many were the rajahs murdered or deposed. History tells us of rajahs being deposed, re-elected, and deposed again.”

There can be no doubt that in old days the people benefited by the system of constant revolutions, as a rajah was obliged to keep in touch with his subjects if he wished to occupy the throne for any length of time, and many concessions were made to gain a strong following. The average intelligence of the Manipuris being higher than that found among the cultivators of many other native states, the people knew what reforms to ask for, and often insisted on their being granted.

Nothing can be harder on the people of a native state, than for the paramount power to hold a ruler on the throne with a firm grasp, and protect him against internal revolution, and at the same time to refrain from insisting on needful reform.

Chandra Kirtee Singh’s long reign and strong government, were in many ways a great benefit to the people, because he was a man of sound sense, and though selfish and unscrupulous, naturally of a kindly disposition, a fact proved by the few executions that took place in his reign. In his earlier years he had the benefit of Colonel McCulloch’s good advice, enforced by his great influence. All the same there can be no doubt that a little more interference judiciously applied, would have vastly improved the state of affairs during the time he occupied the throne. Of course an individual Political Agent might bring about improvements in the administration, but these all rested on his personal influence and lasted only while he remained. Had the Government of India stepped in and exerted its authority they would have been permanent.

Bularam Singh was a typical Manipuri in face and had good manners, but he had no force of character, and gradually yielded to his more able colleague. He was generally known as the Toolee-Hel major, i.e., the major or commander of the Hel regiment.

Thangal Major was a remarkable character, and had a chequered history. His uncle had saved the life of Rajah Ghumbeer Singh (Chandra Kirtee Singh’s father), then a child, when his older brother Marjeet attempted the murder of all his relations. Thangal Major was one of the props of the throne when Ghumbeer Singh ascended it. He had been introduced at Court at an early age, and accompanied the Rajah in an expedition against the village of Thangal inhabited by a tribe of Nagas. He was given the name Thangal in memory of the event. He accompanied the old Ranee with her infant son Chandra Kirtee Singh into exile, when she fled after attempting the Regent Nursing’s life while he was engaged in worship in the temple of Govindjee in 1844; had stayed with him and carefully watched over his childhood and youth. When in 1850 the young Rajah came to Manipur to assert his rights, Thangal accompanied him and greatly contributed to his success. This naturally made him a favourite, and his bold, active, energetic character always brought him to the front when hard or dangerous work had to be done. For a time he fell into disfavour, but Colonel McCulloch, recognising his strong and useful qualities, and the fact that he was an exceedingly able man, interceded for him with the Maharajah, and he again came to the front. In person he was short and thickset, darker than the average of Manipuris, with piercing eyes and rather a prominent nose, a pleasant and straightforward but abrupt manner, and, though a very devoted and patriotic Manipuri, was extremely partial to Europeans. He knew our ways well, and soon took a man’s measure. He was acquainted with every part of Manipur, and, though ignorant of English, could point out any village in the state, on an English map. In fact, he had studied geography in every branch to enable him to defend the cause of Manipur against the survey officers who were suspected by the Manipuris of wishing to include all they could within British territory. He knew all our technical terms such as “watershed” in English, and had gained much credit for enabling the survey to carry on their work in 1872, when the patriotic but ill-judged zeal of an older officer, Rooma Singh, nearly brought about a rupture. Thangal Major’s knowledge of us and our customs, as well as of our moral code, was astonishing. He realised the power of the British Government, and though he would resist us to the utmost in the interests of Manipur, nothing would have induced him to join in any plot against our rule in India. When I say that he was unscrupulous and capable of anything, I only say that he was what circumstances and education had made him, and would make any man under similar conditions. He had not the polish of a native of Western India, and had not had the advantage of English training that many ministers in other states have. The internal administration of Manipur had never been interfered with by us, and Thangal Major was the strong able man of the old type. A strong and capable political agent might do well with him, but a weak one would soon go to the wall. He commanded the Toolee Nehah, and was often called by that title, but was better known as Thangal Major.

One of my predecessors had quarrelled with Thangal Major, and this had led to recrimination, and very unseemly conduct on the part of the Durbar. This conduct I had rebuked as directed, but it was a question as to how Thangal Major was to be dealt with. I was authorised to demand his dismissal from office, and for some time he had not been received by my two immediate predecessors. I made careful inquiries, and feeling convinced that there was a good deal to be said on Thangal’s side, and that by careful management I should be able to keep him well in hand, I sent for him. The old man, he was then sixty, having been born in 1817, came in a quiet unostentatious way, and after a severe rebuke, and receiving an ample apology from him, I forgave him, and restored him to the position of minister in attendance upon me; and thenceforth I saw him daily, generally for an hour or two.

In addition to the Minister, two Subadars, Lowremba and Moirang, were placed in attendance on me, but as time went on, and I and the Durbar became friends, we transacted business in a friendly way, through any one.