"مذكرات وذكريات مسؤول في الخدمة السياسية الهندية" [و‎‎٥‎٥] (١٥٦/١٠٩)

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(S)
the end would inevitably come long before it was complete. I had not believed it then
but now I realised how far-sighted he had been. But even now most of us believed that
the multifarious problems which would have to be solved or settled before power be
transferred were so overwhelming in their complexity, particularly as regards the
status of Indian States, that our jobs in India would be safe for at least another
three or four years. Not only were we officials apprehensive about the future, but
the Rulers themselves were becoming restive and anxious about their own positions in
the expected free-for-all which would follow the final departure of the British.
Although up to now, they had been accustomed to look upon their Residents and Political
Agents with a certain amount of dislike, suspician and perhaps even with fear, they
now began to realise that they owed their very special and priveleged position to their
connection with the British and, specifically for the most powerful of them, to their
treaties with the British Crown. For the first time, and now that the writing was on
the wall, the Princes began to regret that they had ignored the advice so repeatedly
tendered to them previous to the outbreak of the war by the Political Department and
its officers to put their houses in order before their subjects turned against them.
Just before I left Baroda, the Rajah of Jhambugodha, a small and unimportant non-
jurisdictional state owning/no guns at all, asked me and a few British friends to
spend a day to two shooting in his jungles. He was a pathetic, but friendly and well
disposed little man. Sitting on his verandah in the dark after dinner, he asked me if
I could hold out any hope for him when we finally left the country. Poor fellow, he
already knew the answer before I could reply. He then asked me if it would make any
difference if, before independence finally came, he were to hand over his little state
to the British so that they could station their troops there for all time. It was a
sad evening for us all!
In March 19A6, my wife and our three sons sailed from Bombay in a military troop trans
port. There was a tearful scene on the quayside as the children said goodbye to our
faithful nanny, Anne Cavell, who was staying behind and had secured a good job with a
British Official in Mysore. About that time the Government of India, which had become
the target of considerable criticism for allegedly allowing certain unscrupulous persons
(building contractors, suppliers of military stores and equipment and such-like) to
make handsome fortunes for themselves out of war-time conditions by profiteering,
promulgated an Ordinance making it compulsory on them to declare their ill-gotten gains.
To this end, it was ordered that all high denomination rupee currency notes (as far as
I can remember all those exceeding Rupees 1,000 or the equivalent of about £72) would
forthwith cease to be legal tender. Holders of such notes could deposit their monies into
the branches of the Imperial Bank, supported by signed declarations on official forms
explaining by what methods they had acquired them and why they had hoarded large amounts
of cash without putting them into circulation again. If their explanations proved