Rajey obeyed and occupied the corner, the tears rolling down his cheeks, but he refused to tell about the offender, and I believe my husband loved the boy all the more because of his loyal but misplaced affection for his servant.
On another occasion when our English secretary’s boys were fighting, and the younger was getting the worst of the struggle, Rajey cried: “Stop! it’s not fair; nobody ought to hit a boy smaller than himself.”
He had a strong sense of justice and his father was his ideal. Whatever my husband did was right in the eyes of his first-born. No one was so wonderful nor so good as his father. Our doctor once said: “Rajey, I’m taller than your father.” “You dare say that,” the child answered in furious tones; “nobody in the world can possibly be taller than my father.”
Rajey was, even when a small boy, impressed with a sense of the responsibilities of those whose destiny it is to govern others. He seemed to realise the hollowness of earthly state, and he never tired of listening to one of our stories which, like most Indian legends, has a striking moral. Its simple cynicism may interest my readers.
Once the souls of the poor were standing in front of the closed gates of heaven. Since they parted from their bodies they had patiently spent many weary days hoping for admittance to the lovely country where the ills of life are forgotten. The horrors of their past lives had not yet faded from their minds, although in this place of waiting they were spared the pangs of poverty, hunger, and thirst.
The vast multitude gazed yearningly at the gates which did not open. Suddenly word came, “Make way, make way, O souls, a rich Maharajah’s spirit is on its way to heaven and must be instantly admitted.”
The poor murmured together, but again the gatekeeper spoke, and the crowd parted to give place to the soul of the Maharajah.
At last it came. And the poor caught a glimpse of the pomp and circumstance which attended its passage to heaven. The gates were flung open, the perfumed air of Paradise came forth for an instant, but the poor remained outside.
“Ah!” cried the weary spirits. “Is existence still to be the same for us as it was when we lived upon earth? There the rich always oppressed us. We were as dust under their feet. We toiled that they might have the luxuries they demanded. And now that we are dead we still suffer. Why should we not be admitted to heaven without delay? Alas! there is no justice at the hands of God since the soul of a Maharajah but lately dead takes precedence of us.”