Such were the uproarious goings-on when Lala Ujagarmal, a rich man of the city, arrived. When he saw this strange sight he was dumbfounded. He asked the khansama, ‘What’s all this commotion, Sheikhji? What would the sahib say if he were to see all this?’
Noor Ali replied, ‘But what can we do if these are the sahib’s own orders? He has decreed a feast for all his servants today and asked us to celebrate Holi. We hear the Lat Sahib, his lordship the viceroy himself, has issued orders to all sahibs to socialize with the people and participate in all their festivals. That’s why our sahib has given this order, though normally he wouldn’t even look at us. Come in, please, and be seated. What can I get for you? A new consignment of liquor has just arrived from England.’
Ujagarmal, who had been awarded the title of Rai Sahib by the British, was a gentleman of liberal ideas. He attended British dinners without any qualms, followed a Western lifestyle, was the moving spirit behind the Union Club, was thick with the British generally, and regarded Mr Cross as an especially dear friend. In fact, he had always been close to the district magistrate, whoever he might happen to be. On Noor Ali’s invitation he took a seat and said, ‘Is that so? Right, then, bring on something special. And let someone sing a ghazal.’
‘Yes, sir, anything for you, sir.’
Ujagarmal had already had a couple before leaving home; when he’d had a few more, he asked unsteadily, ‘So, Noor Ali, will the sahib too play Holi today?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But I haven’t brought any colours or anything with me. Send someone at once to my bungalow to fetch some, and some water pistols.’
He joked happily with the groom, Ghasite, about what fun it all was.
Ghasite exclaimed, ‘What fun, what fun. Happy Holi!’
Ujagarmal began to sing. ‘I’m going to play Holi with the sahib today, I’m going to play Holi with the sahib today, oh, I am going to aim my water pistol at him.’
Ghasite: ‘I’ll smear him with coloured powder.’
Milkman: ‘I’ll cover him in a cloud of colour.’
Dhobi: ‘I’ll guzzle bottle after bottle.’
Orderly: ‘I’ll sing Kabir after Kabir.’
Ujagarmal: ‘I’ll play Holi with the sahib today.’
Noor Ali: ‘Hey, watch out, everyone! I can hear the sahib’s motorcar entering the compound. Rai Sahib, here, I’ve got your colours and water pistols, so just start to sing a song now and, as the sahib enters, shoot your water pistol at him. All of you now, go ahead and cover his face with colour. The sahib will be beside himself with joy. The car is in the driveway. Ready, steady . . .!’2
Mr Cross got out of the car with his gun in hand and began calling for his servants, but with the Chautal song in full flow, no one could hear him. Puzzled, he wondered at first what was wrong. Was that singing coming from his bungalow? This was too much! His face contorting with rage, Mr Cross took hold of his riding whip and approached the dining room, but no sooner had he stepped in than Ujagarmal discharged his water pistol. He was utterly drenched and some coloured water got into his eyes. As he was wiping his eyes, the groom and the milkman and all the others ran up, got hold of the sahib and rubbed coloured powder all over his face. The dhobi picked up some oil and soot and blackened the sahib’s face with it! The sahib’s rage knew no bounds, and he began thrashing around blindly with his whip. The poor souls had thought that the sahib would be pleased and give them a big tip, but on being whipped instead they quickly came to their senses and ran helter-skelter.
When Ujagarmal saw things take such a turn he realized at once that Noor Ali had taken him for a ride. He shrank into a corner. When the room had emptied of all servants the sahib advanced towards him. Ujagarmal was scared out of his wits. He bolted out of the room and ran as fast as his feet could carry him, with the sahib close on his heels. Ujagarmal’s carriage was parked outside the gate. Sensing the commotion, the horse gave a start, pricked its ears and ran off with the carriage behind it. What a scene it was, with the horse and carriage in front, Ujagarmal chasing it, and Mr Cross chasing him, whip in hand. All three were bolting as if they had broken free of their reins. Ujagarmal tripped but promptly picked himself up and was off again before the sahib could catch up. The chase lasted till they were out of the grounds and on to the open road. Finally, the sahib stopped. To proceed further with soot on his face would be ridiculous. In any case, he thought Ujagarmal had probably been punished enough. He decided to go and sort out the servants, and so turned back. Ujagarmal breathed again; in fact, he sat down right where he was to catch his breath. The horse too stuttered to a halt. The coachman got down, attended to Ujagarmal, picked him up in his arms and deposited him in the carriage.3
Ujagarmal was the leader of the all the cooperators and collaborators in the city. He had complete faith in the continuing goodwill of the British and always sang praises of all kinds of progress being made under their rule. In all his speeches, he took the non-cooperators to task. Recently he had risen further in the esteem of the British and had been given several government contracts which had previously been the preserve of British contractors. As cooperation with the British had brought him both honour and wealth, he secretly wished the noncooperators to carry on with their ways even as he denounced them. He thought of non-cooperation as a passing fad and was keen to make hay while the
