Once upon a time, there lived a princess, Gayatri Devi, in a Palace. She was the daughter of Sri.Jayachamarajendra Wodeyar, the Late Maharaja of Mysore. When she was four, her father wanted to select four companions to study with her in the Palace as the family still followed the Purda system (not allowing commoners to see their face). One was Amba, Gayatri’s cousin, the other was Tita, the daughter of Mrs.Defries, the tutor, Veena was the third and I was the fourth. The Rajas of yore believed that educating a Brahmin meant getting access to a place in heaven. When Jachamarajendra Wodeyar wanted a Brahmin companion for his daughter, he asked my aunt Nagarathna, who had studied with his sisters, to send her daughter. Since she did not have one and I was about the same age as Gayatri, I was selected. This is what Warren Buffet refers to as ovarian lottery!!
It
seems like a fairy tale, even as I write this. Mrs Watsa was our headmistress
and taught all the Arts subjects including English. Mrs Defries took science
and we had tutors coming to teach other subjects. For science experiments, we
were driven in a covered car to a girl’s school during their lunch time, for
exclusive attention! I believe there were specially fatted frogs for our
dissection! For Girl Guide activities, we went to Good Shepherd Convent.
The
classrooms were in the private wing of the palace where the family lived. Those
areas are now sealed and out of bounds to visitors. We had a regular curriculum
and wore uniform even if we were only five students. When we got to
high-school, on Saturdays there were cooking classes. All I remember learning
was how to make chocolate fudge and potato soup. We were provided with
everything, including books, uniform and shoes. Every year, we celebrated
Christmas with a huge tree decorated with lights and gifts. The Maharaja would
dress like Santa and distribute the gifts to us. That was fun because we
actually believed he was Santa, what with his pot belly and booming voice!
I
went to school in a horse driven carriage driven by two white thoroughbreds.
The driver looked impressive in his riding dress and a blue turban. A syce stood behind to hop down and open
the door for us to get in and out. For some strange reason, the mode of
transport changed to a boxed cart drawn by two bullocks! It would take ages for
us to reach the palace. Again, after some time, for some reason, a gleaming
green Rolls Royce or an Austin Princess or a Daimler would drive to my doorstep
to pick me up. It was no big deal for me then. Even today, when our friends
brag about their fancy cars, I do not get excited because a vehicle is a
vehicle. As long as it reaches me safely
and comfortably to my destination, I don’t care if it is a Lexus or a bullock
cart.
We
played games like seven tiles and ‘catching cook’ but most of the time put
together a large jigsaw puzzle of Venus reclining. Occasionally, we played with
the doll’s house or the doctor set. But I had to always be the patient and
suffer the treatment given by four doctors.!All activities were indoors. I
guess that is why I never had any interest in sports. Every year we had
excitement as Gayatri’s mother, the Maharani, gave birth, one after another, to
four more daughters and a son. We loved
playing with the little Prince,Srikanta Datta … Bandu we called him as he was cute and cuddly. He is now heir to his father’s throne but has
no kingdom! But as I refresh this tale, Srikant
passed away due to a massive cardiac arrest at the age of 60.But tragedy had struck the family when Princess Gayatri,after delivering her fourth child,succumbed to cancer at the young age of 28.
*****
Dassera
was a grand festival celebrated in style in the Palace. The Raja sat on his
golden throne every evening and held a Durbar
attended by his noblemen dressed in long black coats and a turban. The Raja
wore large precious stones in his ears and round his neck. His brocade coat
gleamed as the huge chandeliers lit the golden threads woven into it. We would
be up with the family in the balcony overlooking the Hall and peep out of slits
in the curtains. Gayatri and her sisters would be dressed in their regal finery
and the Maharani looked gorgeous in her flowing zari saree and rows and rows of necklaces.
Pomp
and pageantry have their own place in society. The Dassera procession along the
gaily decorated roads of Mysore
was a sight for sore eyes. The Maharaja looked so imperial in the howda on the back of the elephant as it
marched majestically down the avenues, while uniformed boys shoveled its
droppings into baskets. The torch light parade at the Bannimantap was a
spectacular event. Today, the same ceremony is held but has lost its flavour.
The chief guests as this public tamasha,
are politicians. They have neither the
charisma nor the regal lineage, to justify their involvement.
Mrs Wasta was an excellent teacher. She was responsible for igniting the spark of
love for the English language, in my bosom.
What mattered to me was Mrs Watsa’s class and understanding the English
language. Our Hindi master was impressed
with my mastery over the lessons he taught, thanks to the special tuition
arranged by grandmother. Except for the fact that I was studying in the palace
with a princess, there was nothing special about my early schooling. But that was a firm foundation over which my
future was built.
Bless u Chaya.. Its not everyone who could experience these glories.. Loved your rendition... :)
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