A Gracious Ruler
By V Ramnarayan
I am no fan of royalty, though I used to believe in the
superstition that that was the way authors were rewarded by publishers. I have certainly
not been in awe of princes, nawabs and rajas, with the notable exceptions of
Ranji, Duleep, Pataudi and Hanumant Singh. It was but natural for me then, when
invited to be part of a weeklong celebration of the GNB Centenary in January
2010, each day inaugurated by an erstwhile raja or maharaja of one of India’s
princely states of yore, not to be overly excited. I had around the time
embarked on the enjoyable adventure of translating into English a slim biography
of the iconic GN Balasubramaniam, the matinee idol among the great 20th
century Carnatic music vocalists, and that was enough reason for me attend the
lectures on him every evening.
The princely chief guest on one of those evenings was
Marthanda Varma of the former Travancore court. As I was leaving home for
Narada Gana Sabha that evening, my mother said to me, “If you get a chance to
meet the maharaja, please talk to him about your grandfather. Like everyone in
the family, she referred to her father as Anna, and continued, “After retiring
as Inspector of Schools in Trivandrum, Anna was appointed as the maharaja’s
private tutor for sometime, and Marthanda Varma even mentioned him to a
Malayalam magazine once.”
The programme that evening was pleasant enough and the
maharaja made an excellent speech, keeping it short and sweet. I had no chance
of meeting him, and was sorry I was going to disappoint my mother. After the programme,
I stopped at the open air cafeteria for a cup of coffee, and lo and behold,
someone seated the chief guest next to me while he waited for his car. My
esteemed companion seemed friendly enough, so I made bold to bring up the topic
of grandfather Sivaramakrishna Iyer. The maharaja not only remembered him with
some pleasure, but asked me if I had with me any photograph of him belonging to
that particular vintage. Even as I was preparing to reply, he said he would
send me a photograph of them both. Just then, one of the organisers came over
to inform Marthanda Varma that the car was ready to take him home. “You spoke
so well today, Sir,” he added. “I owe it all to this man’s grandfather Sivaramakrishna
Iyer. He transformed me from an indifferent student into a scholar.”
The promised photograph never came, but I can never forget
Marthanda Varma’s warmth and grace.
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