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Sita Ram's wound was so severe that he had to be sent home on sick leave before he was again fit for service, and in this chapter he tells of his return to the village. Soon after his arrival there he discovered that his family had 'arranged' a marriage for him, as is still the custom throughout most of India, although nowadays more and more educated young Indians are insisting on choosing their own bridegrooms or brides. We are also given some insight into the problems of caste in India, for Sita Ram was for some time declared an outcaste because of the help he had received when wounded from 'untouchables'.

He is never very accurate where chronology is concerned, although he is correct in mentioning the defeat of Holkar by General Hislop at Mehidpur on 21 December 1817. However, he is wrong when he ascribes the death of Chitu, one of the leading Pindari chieftains, to a bite from a snake. Chitu was in fact present during the fighting at Asirgarh, described in the next chapter, but escaped and roamed the jungles until he was killed and eaten by tigers. According to Fortescue, 'he had very narrowly missed capture by the 17th Light Dragoons in March 1818, escaping only through the speed of his black horse, an animal with hoofs so abnormally large that his tracks could always be recognized. Since that time Chitu had roamed far and wide, living the life of a hunted beast, until soon after the fall of Asirgarh he disappeared into the jungle and was seen no more. The black horse was, however, tracked, and was found grazing, still saddled and bridled; and search in the jungle revealed first mangled remains which could not be identified, and at last the head of the once famous chieftain.'¹ The fate of the other famous Pindari chieftain, Karim Khan, was less spectacular. He surrendered to Sir John Malcolm on 16 February 1818.

After his purification to restore his caste, Sita Ram married and soon thereafter returned to his regiment. This seems to have been a leisurely journey, but it was probably difficult to ascertain exactly where his unit was located in the vast distances of central India. He travelled by way of Jaipur in Rajasthan and was greatly impressed by the lay-out of the city; Jaipur is in fact the only city in India, other than New Delhi, which has been built to a plan, and of course Jaipur preceded New Delhi by 200 years. While there Sita Ram visited the Maharajah's zoo and saw for the first time a giraffe and an ostrich. These had been presented by Nasiruddin, Nawab of Surat on the west coast, whose vessels traded throughout the Indian Ocean. The East India Company had assumed control of Surat since 1800, and the Nawab, who had previously been subject to the Mahrattas, became a pensioner. The titular dignity continued until the death of Nasiruddin in 1821, and it is this kind of information which lends authenticity to Sita Ram's story.

'Burrumpeel' also makes a reappearance in this chapter,

having apparently recovered from the wounds he received in the Gurkha War. Attempts have been made to identify him with William Pickersgill, who was an officer in the 2/15th Bengal Native Infantry which Sita Ram is presumed to have joined on the break-up of the ‘Flank’ battalion. However, the Army Lists show no officer serving with the 2/15th in 1818 who was serving with the 2/26th in 1812, although Pickersgill was severely wounded in the Gurkha War and was sent to Mauritius to convalesce. We are therefore no wiser concerning the mysterious ‘Burrumpeel’ but this does not necessarily imply that he did not exist. During a campaign of the kind fought against the Pindaris, there must have been a good deal of coming and going within units, as well as many temporary attachments to units which were under-officered, and ‘Burrumpeel’ may come into this category.

It is noteworthy that during the Pindari War the enemy always had much better information about our movements than we did of theirs. Any movements on our part, even if conducted with the utmost secrecy, were immediately known to the enemy. Large numbers of spies were employed by us, and were permitted to help themselves from a large bag of rupees whenever they gave us accurate information, but this was very rare. I am sure they always informed the enemy of our activities, and only told of a party of Pindaris being near after they had warned them of the approach of our force. Therefore the enemy always had time to escape. Our troops would march as quickly as possible to the place where the Pindaris were reported to be, and it is perfectly true that they had been there, for the villagers bore witness to the fact. The spies got the credit for being very good, but one thing is certain—the enemy never were there at the time when the Sirkar's troops arrived. Whenever our army did fall in with the enemy, it was purely by chance, when no information about their presence had been received, or when the spies claimed that there were no Pindaris within forty miles.

I would have thought that everyone would have been glad to assist the Government to exterminate these ill-bred dogs, but such was not the case. Numbers of rajahs and princes gave them assistance, some quite openly, and others by stealth. All the folk in Bundelkhand² were on their side, but this is hardly surprising. If they had possessed horses, they would have been Pindaris as well, since an inhabitant of Bundelkhand is a greater villain and lover of plunder than a Mahratta, if that be possible. It used to puzzle the Generals and Colonels when they heard that a party of these robbers had taken refuge in the territory of some rajah whose towns had themselves been looted, but I have already explained the reasons for this.

Detachments marched at all hours of the night without knowing which direction to take, and guides were then ordered to show the way to such and such a place. But these guides, unless they were watched like hawks, usually managed to fade away like wild animals into some dense piece of jungle. When a sahib, cleverer than others, ordered the guides to be tied with ropes, they either selected the wrong road, or pretended not to understand what was said to them. Shooting them had no effect—they sympathized with the Pindaris and hated the Sirkar. I have also heard that the frightful punishments inflicted by the Pindaris on anyone suspected of informing or giving help to their enemies was another reason for this refusal to co-operate with us. They would burn out eyes with a heated spear-blade, cut off ears, nose, and lips, and perform other horrible mutilations. We sepoys hated them cordially, and as we were servants of Government, they never spared us.

At this time³ the Pindaris' fortunes seem to have been improving a little. We heard that the Mahratta chiefs had agreed to come to their assistance, but the Company's good fortune could not be resisted. The Mahratta army was beaten on the Sipra Nadi⁴ near Ujjain, which was a long way from where we were. The news soon spread all over Bundelkhand, and the Pindaris broke up into small parties and were in flight throughout the countryside. They tried to escape into Maharajah Scindiah's⁵ territories near Rampura but were intercepted in several places and cut to pieces. Added to which, numbers of their former supporters abandoned them. When the Pindaris saw the Sirkar everywhere victorious, and when they could no longer count on receiving information as had formerly been the case, their fear was like that of the deer when pursued by the cheetah. Karim Khan was defeated and eventually surrendered to one of our General sahibs; Chitu, the other chief, ran off into the deep jungle and is reported to have been killed by a snake.⁶ The power of the Pindaris had now been completely broken, while the reputation of the Company Bahadur was correspondingly increased. The various columns of the army were now broken up, ⁷ and my battalion was sent to Ajmer. However I was attached to a regiment returning to Agra as I had been given permission to return to my home for six months' sick leave.

Only twenty men in my regiment were killed during this campaign, but 180 died of cholera and fever, while nearly 100 were ruined in health and fit only to return to their villages. It was said that 700 followers ⁸ and servants died of the cholera, which was a disease which had not been encountered in those parts previously. The European officers and soldiers also died from it. Their Doctor sahibs had never seen it before and knew of no cure for it. It was more deadly than small-pox and a dreadful disease.

I arrived safely in Agra with the regiment to which I was attached and bought myself a pony for 11 rupees. I then set off for my village in the company of four or five sepoys who had also been given leave. I arrived at home early one morning before it was light and waited outside until daybreak. When my mother came out to draw water I called to her, but she did not recognize me. During the four years I had been away I had grown from youth to manhood, and I had also grown whiskers and a moustache. In fact I considered myself a rather handsome sepoy. My mother seemed so alarmed when I spoke to her that I also became frightened, but my father told me later that my uncle had written home to say I had been killed, and my mother therefore thought she had met my ghost. However my father now appeared from the house and I was pleased to learn that none of my family had died during my absence. Everything was exactly the same as when I had left home. I also had the great pleasure of experiencing some ease for the first time for many months. My health rapidly recovered. I also satisfied my ambition by seating myself on the same bench in front of our house where my uncle had sat and recounting stories of my own escapes to the crowd who came every evening to listen and gossip, as they had previously done when my uncle was with us. I soon became a man of some importance in my village. The old priest was still alive and greeted me most warmly; he prided himself on the efficacy of the charm he had given me when first I left home.

While I had been away my mother had arranged my betrothal with the daughter of a local landowner. You will be aware, your Honour, that betrothals are arranged by our parents, and we are not allowed to see the faces of our wives until our wedding night. I did not much want to be married while I remained a soldier, but it was all part of my fate so what could I do about it? The priest fixed the auspicious day which was six months ahead. I often tried to get a glimpse of my betrothed's face during this time, and asked her nurse⁹ about her. All I was told was that she had a neck like a dove, her eyes were like doe's, her feet like a lotus leaf, and that she was consumed with love for me, and with this I had to be satisfied! I only saw her once while getting into a bullock-cart, but she was a long way off and I could not see her face. My mother and the priest told me that my wife's dowry would be quite enough for us to live on and there was therefore no longer any need for me to remain in the army. She nearly managed to persuade me to write to my uncle and obtain my discharge. However my father was not so keen for me to be married because the priest's marriage fees would cost him a lot of money. He also did not wish me to leave the service because his lawsuit about the mango orchard had not yet been settled. Now that I had returned home he wanted me to act as his agent in the courts, since my being in the Sirkar's service would give me an advantage over the other claimant who was now urging his suit.

I employed my time as formerly in looking after my father's farm, and my wound quickly healed; however it gave me great pain whenever it rained. One evening, when I was telling the story of how I was wounded, I happened to mention the incident of the little girl who was looking after the cows in the jungle, and who gave me water which saved my life. A Brahmin priest who was listening said that from my own description the girl must have been of a lower caste than even a sweeper, and that therefore I must be defiled from having drunk water drawn by her. I protested in vain that I drank the water from my own brass bowl, but he talked so loudly, and reviled me so much, that the news was all over the village in no time at all. Everyone now shunned me and refused to smoke with me.¹⁰ I consulted Duleep Ram, our priest, who heard all my case and decided that I had broken my caste. He could no longer associate with me, and I was not even allowed to enter my father's house. I was plunged into despair. Through my father's influence a panchayat¹¹, or court composed of five persons, was assembled to sit in judgement over me. After the priests had performed many ceremonies over me, and ordered me to fast for many days, I was declared clean and was given a new Brahminical cord. I had to give feasts for the priests and also gifts, and all the money I had saved during five years' service was spent. But who can struggle against destiny?

The day for my marriage drew nearer. All the ceremonies for this were conducted without my being present; my mother, and the girl's mother, arranged all these with the priests. The ceremony was performed, and on the first night my bride's face was allowed to be seen by the members of my family. Her nurse's description of her turned out to be false. How could the moon be beautiful if it had suffered from small-pox? Moreover my wife's dowry was mostly property settled on herself. As my leave was soon finished I decided to rejoin my regiment, leaving my wife in the care of my mother.

I set off for Ajmer in Rajputana¹² where my regiment was supposed to be, or at least where it was under orders to go at the time I went on leave. There had been no letter from my uncle during my stay at home although I had sent him two. But in those days the posts were very uncertain, and letters were usually entrusted to people travelling to a place, wherever it might be, instead of sending them by the Government's posts. I arrived in a few days at Agra and went to the Adjutant-General sahib for information. He could not tell me much but thought my regiment had gone with a force to Nagpur. I was given two months' advance of pay and set off via Jaipur, meeting with no adventures until I arrived there. Jaipur is one of the cleanest cities I have ever seen. Its streets are broad and it is altogether a beautiful place. Peacocks walked about everywhere; all the animals were tame; the deer came close up to one; pigeons of all colours abounded; clear streams of water ran on either side of the streets; the shops were large; and the gardens all round were beautiful. 'There creepers bloomed on numerous trees, different kinds of flowers were in blossom, on which swarms of bees were gathering honey. Cuckoos were singing on the mango trees, and peacocks strutted about in shady places,'¹³

A priest told me that the town had been built by Maharajah Jai Singh, and that a French sahib had furnished the plans; however the people do not like to be reminded of the latter. I went to the king's garden and here I saw an animal that astonished me. It had a head like a nilghai¹⁴ with a neck four yards long and hooves like a horse. Its skin was covered with spots like a cheetah, but it did not eat flesh. It lived on the boughs of trees which it pulled down with its tongue which was a yard long. I asked the keeper about the animal and he told me it came from the great desert in Africa, 8,000 miles away, and that it was very gentle. I do not know its name or its species. All I do know is that it was a wonderful animal, and never has such a beast been described in any grandmother's tale.¹⁵ This was an astonishing city, and truly a place of wonders. I soon saw yet another remarkable animal, a bird one hundred times as large as a turkey, and ten times as big as a sarus crane. It could run as swiftly as the wind, but although it had wings, it could not fly. Its keeper told me that its food was stones, and that it too came from Africa where the people use it instead of a horse.¹⁶ This really was a city of enchantments. These marvellous animals were all presents to the Rajah from the Nawab of Surat, Nasiruddin, who had big ships trading with all parts of the world.

I remained in this place for several days and then proceeded to Ajmer. I could see the high hill of Taragarh beside Ajmer while still two days' journey away. I discovered that my regiment had left, and I therefore attached myself to some irregular cavalry¹⁷ and went on with them towards Nagpur. After fifteen days I found my regiment¹⁸ at Amboorah. My uncle was quite well although he had again been wounded in his right arm by a bullet. To my great delight I found my Captain sahib had returned, but he was much thinner and could no longer wrestle. However he was as brave as ever and was worshipped by his men. I have only met two other sahibs like 'Burrumpeel' sahib, and they were true Englishmen—not sahibs from the hilly island.¹⁹

I was now quite fit enough to take my place in the ranks and my old wound never bothered me except in damp weather. In a few days we were ordered to storm a village called Ahanpura, which was defended by Arab soldiers²⁰ in the pay of Apa Sahib.²¹ These men were said to be the bravest in the world, and even a match for European troops. Nevertheless our Colonel did not hesitate to try and take the place with us Hindustanis. The Arabs fought desperately for their lives, and my regiment lost many sepoys; in my company alone eleven men were killed and wounded. As soon as one house was taken, the enemy retired to another. They did not run away, but died at their posts like men. They were expert marksmen and we always suffered severe casualties whenever we fought them. Even dislodging them from a few huts was a difficult business.

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