This I figure to be worth about one and a half crores.
LAWRENCE: Sir, of all the …
HARDINGE: That will be enough, Mr Lawrence. (Gets up.)
Good luck in Lahore. Anything you would like?
LAWRENCE: Yes, sir. I would like to select my own officers.
HARDINGE: What … yes, yes. I think we can arrange that, Elliot. I must run along. Good luck, Lawrence. Conduct yourself like a gentleman and don’t kill more natives than you can help. (Exit.)
(Lights fade, as Hardinge marches out to the sound of the Bengal Infantry March. Remaining characters move away towards stage right. Lights return to suggest a more democratic atmosphere in which Elliot, Currie, and Lawrence are talking. Scene is the same.)
CURRIE: (Derisively.) What gems of the Indian Empire can we offer the next Ranjit Singh?
(Pause. Lawrence doesn’t answer. Instead he turns around as if he is looking for someone.)
Mr Lawrence, I am talking to you.
LAWRENCE: (Feigning surprise.) Oh!
CURRIE: Who’re you looking for?
LAWRENCE: (Innocently.) Ranjit Singh.
CURRIE: (Angrily.) We have a clown to contend with, Elliot, in addition to an Oriental. Mr Lawrence, the days of Clive, Hastings and the Nabobs are gone. This is the age of administering India. India is no more one great adventure. We need regular sorts, not charlatans.
ELLIOT: (Appeasingly.) Ah, ah, what sort of men would you like, Mr Lawrence?
CURRIE: Probably natives!
LAWRENCE: As a matter of fact I did have a native officer in mind.
CURRIE: (Shocked.) What?
LAWRENCE: His name is Sher Singh, the son of Chattar Singh of Attari, who was governor of the North-West Frontier districts under His late Highness. He comes from one of the leading Sikh families. I’ve known him for five years, and he’s a capable young man.
(Sher Singh quietly enters and sits down unceremoniously beside Lawrence. He looks on with a matter-of-fact air.)
CURRIE: (As if he has seen a ghost.) What’s that?
LAWRENCE: (Calmly.) What’s what?
CURRIE: (Horrified.) That!
LAWRENCE: (Quietly.) That is Sher Singh.
CURRIE: How nice! How nice to meet you Mr Sher Singh …
SHER SINGH: (Correcting.) Sardar Sher Singh.
CURRIE: (Astonished.) What?
LAWRENCE: (Explaining.) Not ‘Mister’ but ‘Sardar’ Sher Singh.
CURRIE: How nice, ‘Sardar’ Sher Singh. Now kindly get out.
LAWRENCE: (Firmly.) He will go out with me.
CURRIE: Come on, Elliot. I think we’re only crowding Mr Lawrence’s style.
(They turn to leave.)
Ah, I’ve a young man, Lumsden, who I’d like you to take along.
LAWRENCE: If you wish.
CURRIE: I do. (Turning back again.)
A word of advice, Mr Lawrence. I hope you will restrain your orientalism and keep the natives at a distance. Keep them in their place if you have to rule them.
LAWRENCE: Who’s going to rule anyone! His Highness Dalip Singh is the Maharaja. His mother is the Regent. Sardar Lal Singh is the Wazir. I am merely the agent of a friendly power.
CURRIE: Come, come Mr Lawrence.
LAWRENCE: (Emphatically.) As for treating the people, I will simply do for them as I would have them do for me.
(Exeunt Currie and Elliot.)
LAWRENCE: Sher Singh?
SHER SINGH: (Elegantly bowing.) The one and only.
LAWRENCE: What brings you here?
SHER SINGH: Breathing the fresh air of the Sutlej.
LAWRENCE: I mean here?
SHER SINGH: Just following my nose.
LAWRENCE: And what does the nose say?
SHER SINGH: The nose says that my friend Larins is going up in the world. And he needs my help.
LAWRENCE: (Raising his eyebrows.) Oh? How does Sher Singh’s nose come to this conclusion?
SHER SINGH: Because Sher Singh follows the advice of the wise man of our land. Unlike you Angrez who keep your noses up, we keep our noses down.
LAWRENCE: (Tongue in cheek.) Ah, that explains the difference. Obviously we have not been making good use of our noses.
SHER SINGH: There are noses and noses.
LAWRENCE: Ah, I see.
SHER SINGH: Yes.
LAWRENCE: And with that we end today’s dissertation on noses.
(Seriously.)
Sher Singh, I’m appointed the Resident at Lahore.
SHER SINGH: (Lets out a loud cry, and leaps and embraces Lawrence.) Wah, wah Larins! It is written. Ever since the day my grandmother read your horoscope, I said to myself, Larins is to become a great man. It is written. You are merely reaping the fruit of your past lives, Larins. I mean Larins Sahib. Now you are a big man I must call you ‘Sahib’—Resident Sahib.
(And he bows.)
LAWRENCE: (Trying to cope with Sher Singh’s burst of enthusiasm.) What’s written, or where it’s written, I don’t know. I do know that keeping the Darbar together and honouring the Treaty are not going to be easy.
SHER SINGH: (Dismissing Lawrence’s difficulties with an easy flourish.) You leave the Darbar to me. It’s easy to handle a Sardar (Confidentially.) You know why? Because he’s not very smart. Wah, I’m an old hand at this game. Besides they’re my own flesh and blood, aren’t they?
LAWRENCE: Which side are you on?
SHER SINGH: I know you, my friend. And that’s enough for me. If you can repeat your triumphs of Ferozepur in the whole of the Punjab, then the Punjab will forget the One-eyed Lion.
(Pause.)
Can I join you, Larins?
LAWRENCE: Don’t be a fool, Sher Singh. How will the Sardars take it?
SHER SINGH: (Hurt.) You don’t want me?
LAWRENCE: Of course I want you. You’ve a brilliant career ahead of you in the Darbar. As the future brother-in-law of His Highness, you’re likely to be one of the most powerful men in the Punjab. Why do you want to spoil it?
SHER SINGH: I don’t want brilliance that way. I want to earn it, just like you. Just like the One-eyed Lion.
LAWRENCE: Are you sure?
SHER SINGH: Only God can be sure. For myself, I know what I want. Together we’ll do for the Punjab in a year what the Lion couldn’t all his life.
LAWRENCE: (Admonishing.) Don’t speak like that about His late Highness. He was a great man. We should be lucky if we can continue his work.
SHER SINGH: (Jeering.)
