PROLOGUE
5 December 1961. The Douglas DC-3 flight from Bombay, bringing home the remains of the last maharaja of Indore circles twice above the city in slow motion, in homage to the one who had endeavoured to lead the state with elegant modernity, and ultimately, with a lot of detachment, for over thirty years.
He is awaited by a noisy and colourful crowd of thousands of curious subjects from the city and neighbouring villages, gathered at the airport and along the road leading to his palace, watching from rooftops and treetops. Each one is eager to catch a glimpse of the funeral cortege. A welcome distraction for those leading monotonous lives, an occasion for others who see this man they had never seen but had heard so much—everyone is ready for the show. The sovereign too had loved shows.
Very little is known first-hand about Yeshwant Rao Holkar II. This silence around him can be explained by the maharaja’s own wish for discretion. Not long before his death, he had burnt all his letters and other papers, including the little pocketbook that he always kept on his person, a British habit he had picked up as a young student in England. He had abandoned the idea of penning his autobiography towards the end of his life, no
doubt as a way to ensure that what he did not write, no one would dare write in his stead. This is without counting on my determination to silence the rumours and say the unsaid. He spoke very little in public and private. His rank prevented him from showing himself for who he was—and he was an advocate for restraint, even among his own family. Fortunately, the archives in Britain and in India speak volumes. They are backed up by the testimonies of his kin and the inhabitants of the city of Indore as well as several articles in the international press reporting on the smallest of facts about him and the slightest of his movements. I spent months following his trail that led me to Madhya Pradesh where he had lived, to Qatar where he is said to have reincarnated as a sheik (with caution regarding the sheik’s heirs), to Berlin where his artistic journey began with the architect of his remarkable palace, and then to London, Paris and New York. His journeys became mine.
The luxurious, avant-garde palace that he had audaciously built in the late 1920s, in the middle of the economic depression, in an India still under British dominion, says a lot about him. Realistic about his lack of political powers and with a fortune worth billions, this young freedom loving prince with a refined aesthetic sensibility immersed himself in the roaring twenties, becoming the famous oriental dandy adored by the artistic world. He and his first wife formed a legendary couple, known as cosmopolitan patrons who lived life at full speed. After presiding in traditional attire, adorned with flower garlands, at the palace ceremony honouring the royal elephant to ensure the state’s prosperity for the year ahead, they would dance fox trots and sip gin pomegranate cocktails in evening dress. Behind the figure of the modern maharaja, icon of elegance and a lifestyle that has become a model for other Indian
princes, hides another, more mysterious one. Torn between the two irreconcilable worlds which he inhabits India and the West—wanting to live in both while belonging to neither, he ends up realizing that he could never be happy. Disoriented, the happiness of the Europeans is not for him, and the joy of the Indians is no longer for him. This chronic melancholy makes him singular and bizarre in the eyes of his countrymen and enigmatic to those in the West.
The wonderfully romantic life journey of this extraordinary man, shaped by great events in history, paints a picture capturing the lives of maharajas in the first half of the twentieth century in India, France, the United States, and England. It helps us dive into the tragic destiny of these oft-extravagant royals, who over time became stripped of all that once gave them splendour— power, titles, wealth, and palaces. The last members of royal lineages that were still relevant lived out their final days in idle luxury. While the royals were able to adapt under British suzerainty beginning in 1858, India’s independence in 1947 marked a first setback. The second, and fatal one, occurred in 1971, when Indira Gandhi abolished their subsidies and privileges.
The translations of the extracts of letters used herein have been made by the author. The names of Indian cities are those used during the maharaja’s time—for example, Bombay instead of Mumbai.
CHAPTER I
Being Born Holkar in Indore: A Royal Privilege
At dusk on the 6 September 1908, the Indian city of Indore is in the throes of jubilation. It was an important day for the prosperous capital of the eponymous princely state situated in Central India. The 21-gun salute at the maharaja’s palace instilled a great sense of euphoria in the people.1 Thousands abandoned their work for the day, and within minutes, the dirt roads swarmed with men in white dhotis and women in vivid saris. The colourful crowd gathered in the brouhaha to admire the fireworks visible from the surrounding fields. Children and adults were entranced by the extravagant procession of the sumptuously adorned royal elephants parading with great dignity before them. Rushing into town from all directions on foot, by ox-cart or by bicycle, the people jostled good-naturedly in that playful atmosphere, hoping to catch as many of the candies distributed as a sign of goodwill. Temples were assailed by the famished poor when they learned that food was being distributed in great quantities to mark the occasion. Some surprised prisoners
found themselves pardoned and released. Farmer charities were suddenly overflowing with incoming donations. What was happening in the city of Indore? A son had been born— and not just anybody.
He was the firstborn son of the beloved king of Indore, Tukoji Rao Holkar III, and his first wife, Maharani Chandrawati. The fourteenth prince in the family, his birth ensured the continuity of the powerful Holkar dynasty, which had been reigning over Central India since the eighteenth century. For the people of Indore, this birth, which occurred on the auspicious day of Dol Gyaras,2 augured a great future.
The royal astrologer Neelakanth Mangal Joshi immediately drew up the birth chart of the new-born prince so as to determine the great course of his life. This historic moment sparked many days of exuberant and inordinately expensive celebrations, in which the entire city of Indore took part, rejoicing in the grandeur of His Highness. None of this would happen for his sister, Manorama Raje, born the following year. After all, she was only a girl.
The arrival of this son was a blessing for the Holkars, as he ensured the continuity of the line. The birth was celebrated beyond the borders of the state. Announced from one of the maharaja’s supernumerary and lavish baroque palaces, the Yashwant Niwas,3 named for the crown prince supposedly born there, the news quickly reached the local British authorities. This was not a matter of protocol, but of necessity. The British Resident in Indore Hugh Daly, and the agent of the governor-general of Central India, James Kaye, sent word to the Viceroy Gilbert Elliot, based in Calcutta, who then informed King Edward VII in London. A congratulatory telegram was eagerly awaited on the Indian
Yeshwant Rao Holkar II photographed during his investiture ceremony on 9 May 1930. He succeeded his father Tukoji Rao Holkar III, who abdicated in his son’s favour, on 26 February 1926.
The maharaja seen here in traditional Indian dress, wearing the famous Chaumet necklace, in a portrait by the French painter Bernard Boutet de Monvel, 1934.
The maharaja built the 1935 Duesenberg J Gurney Nutting Speedster with most attention to detail. It was, at the time, the most expensive car ever built—around 40,000 rupees (110,000 euros), while an ordinary car cost 4,000 rupees (11,000 euros).
Eckart Muthesius worked very closely with Yeshwant Rao Holkar II to design Manik Bagh, a ground-breaking homage to the maharaja’s past, present, and future legacy. Here, he is seen sitting in an armchair he had designed for the maharaja’s library.
