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Moharbhanj was an ideal place for meditation. I had absolute leisure, I was at the top of my form 
physically and every other way, and I could not start anything serious until my wife and child 
arrived, which they did not do until October 29th. I was in a wild district with no one to talk to; it 
afforded the maximum opportunity for taking stock of my life, finding out what the past meant and 
taking aim for the future. 
The Durga Puja was in course. I was able to appreciate the enthusiasm of the aboriginal Hindu much 
better than I could have done in Calcutta, where the corrosion of civilization has eaten into 
primitive practice. 
Moharbhanj, though only thirteen hours from Calcutta, is as far from it morally as it is from London. 
The people were unspoilt. For the first time I liked Hindus. The maharajah was away for the day. He 
had sent his Minister of Public works to meet me and entertain me until his return. This gentleman, 
whose name was Martin, had taken a high degree at Oxford, and had studied science and 
engineering very thoroughly. No one could have suspected that he had a Bengali grandmother. But 
in the first twenty-four hours I had discovered the truth of the aphorism "Blood will tell". For all his 
European education, he believed in the most primitive superstitions, from ghosts and witches to 
mysterious medicines. 
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The next day the maharajah returned. I found him an extremely interesting and delightful 
companion. One could hardly expect less from the direct descendant of a peacock. I am sorry to say 
that he did not take his ancestry seriously. He had exchanged his illusions for another set far less 
fascinating, far less inspiring and equally absurd. He believed in Herbert Spencer and John Stuart 
Mill. One of his stories is extremely instructive. If it were graven upon the eye-corners, it would be 
a warning to such as would be warned! There are no principles of politics, economics and the rest; 
it is all balderdash. More, it is a damnable heresy and a dangerous delusion to apply the theories of 
the Thames valley to the practice of the Coromandel coast. 
Moharbhanj is a province on the sea-board of Orissa. In my wanderings I came to a range of hills of 
unparalleled wonder. It was between ten and twenty miles in length, and some three thousand feet 
high. The marvel of it is that it is composed very largely of pure iron pyrites, whose bare outcrop 
forms huge rounded bosses. I first saw these hills at sunset, and they glowed with crimson splendour 
too vivid to be merely mineral. It was like blood on a bull's shoulder in the sunlight. The maharajah 
knew the commercial value of his mountains, but he had no coal; to exploit his treasure he needed 
a light railway from the mountains to the sea. 
When he came to the throne he nobly determined to confer the benefits of liberal principles upon 
his people. Now he was not only the Maharajah of Moharbhanj, but its zemindar or landlord. He 
wished to create a peasantry of prosperous and independent freeholders. He understood that it 
would be fatal to make them a present of the land; so he made a law by which any man who 
cultivated his land continuously for fifteen years would at the end of that time become its owner. 
As is generally known, the greatest pride of the Hindu is to make his daughter's wedding as 
splendiferous as possible. For this purpose he will get himself into debt for generations ahead as 
recklessly as the most progressive nation will do for their own pet phantom of glory. 
So as soon as the new law was proclaimed, the Marwaris descended upon Moharbhanj like locusts, 
and advanced sums beyond the wildest imaginations of the peasants, to them. The marriages were 
magnificent; so were the mortgages. At the end of fifteen years the land belonged not to the 
cultivator but to the alien usurer. The maharajah could not even see that he had ruined himself and 
his subjects. He told me with honest pride, "I have conferred great benefit upon my people." Yet he 
was in a comical state of distress because the Marwaris refused to grant him the concession to build 
the light railway so that he could melt up his mountains! In the meanwhile the people were poorer 
than before, though the administration of his revenues by the British had increased his personal 
income from three to eighteen lakhs of rupees in less than twenty years. 
He told me one enthralling story about his raj. A great deal of it is