said, ‘Rissaldar-Major Baldev Singh, IOM, sahib, reporting for duty.’
Warren said, ‘I see you are from the Guides. Were you their rissaldar-major?’
‘No, sahib. I was senior rissaldar. My rank dates from yesterday, with this regiment.’
The adjutant, Lieutenant Dayal Ram, came running up. Warren noticed that he had done up his tunic one button awry. He said, ‘About the shooting, sir ...’
‘Later, Dayal. See that these officers are properly taken care of, and introduced to the CO.’
He turned on his heel and all except the doctor saluted. He went up into the dak bungalow. Now, he thought, we are complete. It remained to turn this collection of human material into a proud and war-worthy regiment of Indian cavalry. He pulled out his watch and saw that it only lacked quarter of an hour to durbar time. Durbar--an informal gathering of the regiment to air grievances and discuss whatever came into mind--was an old Indian Army custom. He was glad to see that the Ravi Lancers observed it.
As he strolled across the maidan he saw that the sowars were already gathering. It was with a small shock that he realized they were all wearing uniform. A durbar was a non-military gathering and normally everyone wore mufti. But, of course, they were on active service now, and no one had any plain clothes, except the suitcases which each officer was allowed to take in the baggage, full of civilian clothes and sports gear. It could not be helped, but he missed the comfortable sense of a family conference which plain clothes gave--the loose white shirts and wrinkled tight-fitting trousers, some men with flowers behind their ears, others wearing garlands round their necks. Some of the men here were wearing garlands, he saw, even though in uniform; also many wore tilaks , caste marks, painted on their foreheads--something which was not permitted in any regular regiment. But why not? There was no reason why a caste mark should have an adverse effect on a man’s efficiency or courage--rather the reverse.
He saw the officers gathered under a tree at the edge of the grove, and went to join them. Colonel Hanbury came down the dak bungalow steps and walked across. As he arrived the six hundred men, who had been squatting on their heels, rose to their feet. All made namasti towards him, with joined palms.
The colonel said, ‘Rest, lads.’ The men again squatted and made themselves comfortable, while the officers and VCOs leaned against trees or sat on chairs that had been brought from the dak bungalow. Shikari lay down at Warren’s feet and rested his head on his paws.
Colonel Hanbury began to speak in slow accurate Hindustani, with little feeling for the language, but perfectly plainly: ‘ Jawan-log , I will introduce to you the new officers who have come to join us for the war. Major Bateman ...’ he glanced at Warren, who took a few paces forward. ‘Major Bateman has come to us from the 44th Bengal Lancers, to be our second-in-command. He is a very good polo player, and has served in Burma and on the North West Frontier. Do you want to say a word?’
Warren said, ‘I am proud to have been chosen to serve with this regiment, and look forward to going into action with you.’
The colonel said, ‘Captain Ramaswami, IMS, is our RMO. He is from Madras, but trained in England to become a doctor.’
The captain said in English, ‘I do not speak Hindustani. My native language is Tamil which none of you here will understand. I did not ask to be sent here, as I am a specialist in the diseases of women. However, now that I am here I will look after you as best I can. My second specialty is the study of Vedic medicine, and if anyone wishes to be treated in the ancient ways, I will do so in order to continue my researches.’
Warren noticed the colonel’s frown, and thought, well, why not? If a man wants Vedic treatment, why should he not have it? Why should western ways be forced on him against his will?
The colonel said, ‘Here
Warren said, ‘I see you are from the Guides. Were you their rissaldar-major?’
‘No, sahib. I was senior rissaldar. My rank dates from yesterday, with this regiment.’
The adjutant, Lieutenant Dayal Ram, came running up. Warren noticed that he had done up his tunic one button awry. He said, ‘About the shooting, sir ...’
‘Later, Dayal. See that these officers are properly taken care of, and introduced to the CO.’
He turned on his heel and all except the doctor saluted. He went up into the dak bungalow. Now, he thought, we are complete. It remained to turn this collection of human material into a proud and war-worthy regiment of Indian cavalry. He pulled out his watch and saw that it only lacked quarter of an hour to durbar time. Durbar--an informal gathering of the regiment to air grievances and discuss whatever came into mind--was an old Indian Army custom. He was glad to see that the Ravi Lancers observed it.
As he strolled across the maidan he saw that the sowars were already gathering. It was with a small shock that he realized they were all wearing uniform. A durbar was a non-military gathering and normally everyone wore mufti. But, of course, they were on active service now, and no one had any plain clothes, except the suitcases which each officer was allowed to take in the baggage, full of civilian clothes and sports gear. It could not be helped, but he missed the comfortable sense of a family conference which plain clothes gave--the loose white shirts and wrinkled tight-fitting trousers, some men with flowers behind their ears, others wearing garlands round their necks. Some of the men here were wearing garlands, he saw, even though in uniform; also many wore tilaks , caste marks, painted on their foreheads--something which was not permitted in any regular regiment. But why not? There was no reason why a caste mark should have an adverse effect on a man’s efficiency or courage--rather the reverse.
He saw the officers gathered under a tree at the edge of the grove, and went to join them. Colonel Hanbury came down the dak bungalow steps and walked across. As he arrived the six hundred men, who had been squatting on their heels, rose to their feet. All made namasti towards him, with joined palms.
The colonel said, ‘Rest, lads.’ The men again squatted and made themselves comfortable, while the officers and VCOs leaned against trees or sat on chairs that had been brought from the dak bungalow. Shikari lay down at Warren’s feet and rested his head on his paws.
Colonel Hanbury began to speak in slow accurate Hindustani, with little feeling for the language, but perfectly plainly: ‘ Jawan-log , I will introduce to you the new officers who have come to join us for the war. Major Bateman ...’ he glanced at Warren, who took a few paces forward. ‘Major Bateman has come to us from the 44th Bengal Lancers, to be our second-in-command. He is a very good polo player, and has served in Burma and on the North West Frontier. Do you want to say a word?’
Warren said, ‘I am proud to have been chosen to serve with this regiment, and look forward to going into action with you.’
The colonel said, ‘Captain Ramaswami, IMS, is our RMO. He is from Madras, but trained in England to become a doctor.’
The captain said in English, ‘I do not speak Hindustani. My native language is Tamil which none of you here will understand. I did not ask to be sent here, as I am a specialist in the diseases of women. However, now that I am here I will look after you as best I can. My second specialty is the study of Vedic medicine, and if anyone wishes to be treated in the ancient ways, I will do so in order to continue my researches.’
Warren noticed the colonel’s frown, and thought, well, why not? If a man wants Vedic treatment, why should he not have it? Why should western ways be forced on him against his will?
The colonel said, ‘Here
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