Pearls, Virgins, Elephants

Last week a remarkable collection of automobiles rolled into New Delhi, India.

There were Rolls-Royces, Mercedes, Isotta Fraschinis, Fiats. Some had cowls of aluminum. Others had a veneer of satinwood. A few were plated all over with gold. There were purple, vermilion, lavender and orange limousines and sports models with velvet and satin upholstery.

Residents watched for one car with a battleship searchlight on top, one with bulletproof steel shutters, another with a small pipe organ perched on the running board. The richest and most eccentric group of men in the world were coming to town for the annual meeting of the Indian Chamber of Princes.

Scattered throughout India are 562 native states, which range all the way from Hyderabad, with the area of England and Scotland together, a population of 14,436,148 and an annual revenue of about $30,000,000, down to an estate no bigger than an elephant stockade, with 32 souls and not enough annual income to buy silk for a single turban. But by & large, the states' incomes are fabulous. An astounding proportion goes to the native rulers. One rupee in every five of Kashmir's revenue goes to its maharaja (compared with approximately one pound in 1,600 of British revenue to King George VI). And the taxpayer gets almost nothing for his money. In one state which charges taxes of $5.50 per head, 10-c- per head is spent on education, 8-c- on public health. Much of the rest goes to keep the maharaja well supplied with pearls, virgins, elephants and other luxuries. If taxation fails, there are different ways of raising money--one prince is said to have sold his 300 stepmothers for 30 rupees apiece.

In spite of their scandalous feudal economics, the princes are useful to Britain as buffers against Indian nationalism and the popular Indian National Congress. Britain's technique, therefore, has been to flatter them with a pretense of needing their advice. The Chamber ot Princes, "a permanent consultative body," which was set up in 1921 to implement the pretense, has had pretty regular annual meetings but has never proved much.

Startling news, however, was made at last week's Chamber. Most of Britain's real political work is done quietly, across dinner tables and on elephants' backs, by so-called political agents. Until 1929, even the Chamber of Princes met in secret. But last week for the first time, Britain spoke to the princes publicly and sharply at an open meeting of the Chamber.

To the assembled potentates, sitting on leather benches under coats of arms emblazoned on the Chamber's paneled walls, the Viceroy, the Marquess of Linlithgow, who is very pally with the princes on social occasions, told them to: 1) reform their governments; 2) stay at home to rule instead of spending eight months of the year, as many do, in Cannes, Biarritz, Paris; 3) stop spending revenues on their own pleasures. Britain had been scared into this unprecedented dressing down by the success of Mohandas Gandhi's recent fast to force reforms in the state of Rajkot (TIME, March 13).

Next day the Chamber's native chancellor, the Maharaja of Nawanagar, made a sympathetic speech acknowledging the grievances. Then the princes drove home in their lavender limousines and gold-plated sports jobs.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.