Then it suddenly emerged that Bahadur was my neighbour! Taking into consideration the particular sensitivity of the English towards ‘Indian affairs’, I instructed the embassy staff to be reserved, even cold, with the neighbours, and not make friends with them. One fine summer’s day, however, Bahadur himself paid me a visit. Even though our buildings stand side by side, he arrived in a car (oh, the Orient!). He wore national dress: a round lambskin hat, a long black caftan (something between a frock-coat and a lapserdak) on a short fat body, close-fitting black trousers tight at the shins, and soft white shoes with no counters. Bahadur did not remove his black hat even indoors. It was the time of afternoon tea. The maid carried in a tray with two cups, a teapot, hot water, and the other necessary ingredients. With a cordial gesture, I invited Bahadur to partake… And then! And then sheer horror appeared on his face and his hands convulsed as if he wanted to shield himself from a blow with a cudgel. I looked at my guest in bewilderment. He said in an apologetic tone: ‘The law of my country forbids my sharing a meal with foreigners.’

(Brailsford

Henry Noel Brailsford, a publicist writing for the Manchester Guardian, Morning Leader, The Star, Nation, Daily News and editor of the New Leader, 1922–26; member of the Independent Labour Party, 1907–32. In 1935, Agniya referred to the Brailsfords as their ‘most intimate friends in England’, though this changed when he became a severe critic of Stalin’s purges; Webb, diary, 18 Nov. 1935, p. 6092.

later explained to me that this was a polite formula concealing a less than polite meaning. The point is that Bahadur, a Hindu, treats all Europeans as belonging to a lower caste than he; he would find it degrading to share a meal with them.)

I looked at Bahadur in surprise and asked: ‘How do you expect to work in London? Here, people are forever meeting over lunch, dinner or high tea.’

‘Yes, I am aware of that,’ my guest replied, ‘but there’s nothing I can do.’

The maid left and I closed the door behind her. Bahadur looked around cautiously and said: ‘You can’t imagine how hard it is for me here in London. I understand perfectly well that I can achieve nothing here if I don’t share meals with foreigners, but what can I do? It is the law of my country. I have already appealed to His Majesty my sovereign with a letter regarding these difficulties and I am waiting impatiently for Him to resolve this serious problem.’

See what problems may occur in the epoch of socialist revolution and in the eighteenth year of Soviet rule in the USSR! To eat or not to eat – this is the question!

I sympathized with Bahadur and he, a little moved perhaps or with my Soviet origin in mind, said to me in a half-whisper, casting wary glances at the door: ‘Here, in private, I can make a small exception, but let it remain strictly between ourselves…’

Bahadur shyly took a cup of tea from my hands, but he refused outright the offer of a pastry. Having drunk half of the cup, he put it on the table and pleaded: ‘This is strictly between ourselves.’ I solemnly vowed to keep his secret.

Then the conversation turned to other subjects. We talked about our homes, the conditions of life in London, the weather, etc. For some reason my guest was terribly interested in the question of whether or not I had a cowshed. Flummoxed, I replied that I had a garage but not a cowshed.

‘But it’s precisely a cowshed that interests me,’ Bahadur repeated with obscure insistence.

I couldn’t understand what he was on about. Why would a man in London suddenly need a cowshed? After some cautious interrogation, it emerged that Bahadur really did need a cowshed. In accordance with native customs and religious laws, he had brought with him from Nepal not only his national dress, interior decor and servants, but also his very own Nepalese cow. Upkeep of the cow has been causing my neighbour no end of difficulties. With no cowshed at home, he has had to rent separate premises for his four-footed friend, and this has proved highly inconvenient. That is why he was so keen to know whether or not I had a cowshed.

Other curious things transpired. Nepal is a semi-independent country in the Himalayas on India’s borders. The country’s mountainous character and the belligerence of the local population had prevented its complete subjugation by the British. So the British had acted in accordance with their proverb: if you can’t strangle your enemy, embrace him. And they had embraced Nepal so skilfully and tightly that throughout the previous century the Nepalese contingent (the Gurkha) had been the most reliable of the Indian troops. An agreement on the exchange of diplomats was concluded between Nepal and England (represented by the East India Company) back in 1815. The British immediately took advantage of the opportunity, and a British resident minister has been present in the Nepalese capital for more than a hundred years now, exercising considerable influence over the political, economic and cultural life of the country (there are even English schools there). For a long time, however, Nepal had no official representatives in England, nor even in India. The reason? Because Hinduism forbids Nepal to have any dealings with foreign countries. It forbids foreigners from entering Nepal and Nepalese citizens from travelling to foreign countries. Theoretically, Nepal is a closed country (like Japan in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries), but this did not prevent the British from having a resident minister there and Gurkha troops in India. However, it did prevent Nepal – through the efforts of her reactionary priesthood – from having its diplomats abroad. Only in recent times, with the growth of the national movement after the war, have attitudes in the country begun to change. The priests fought with the more progressive elements of the secular arm headed by the prime minister (Bahadur’s father) about whether or not to send a representative to England. The struggle was fierce and stubborn. Bahadur’s father finally won – but how? He reread all the books of the sutra (the sacred Hindu texts) and found a small note in one of them to the effect that although the Nepalese are not allowed to leave their country, they may do so in exceptional cases and for diplomatic purposes. That tiny note decided the outcome of the struggle. The priesthood was shamed, and Bahadur was sent to England to represent Nepal’s interests. But he has to be cautious: one false step and the priests could mount a campaign against him and his father…

That is why Bahadur refuses to eat with foreigners! I saw him at many receptions afterwards and even attended a reception given by him: never and nowhere did he touch any food (even in his own home, where all the guests drank and ate according to established European ritual). But I have seen him, on various ceremonial occasions, wearing the red uniform of an English general, while on his head he wears a Nepalese skullcap-like affair, with a tall and luxuriant light-brown plume. It is strewn with big diamonds, rubies and sapphires, and sparkles in the sun or under electric light with every colour of the rainbow. It is very heavy and costs fabulous money. Indeed, on such occasions my neighbour is wearing an entire fortune on his head. Oh, Orient, this is you!…

Something mysterious happened to Bahadur’s wife. He arrived married in London. His wife fell ill and died, but from what I don’t know. I only know that she fell ill during her husband’s visit to Italy, where he bestowed the highest order of his country on Mussolini and the Italian king. Anticipating her death, Bahadur’s retinue took his wife out into the country, to a clearing, and there she eventually died. Apparently this was done because, according to Hindu laws, it is bad for the deceased if his body is kept between stone walls. Out of concern for their mistress, the servants moved her away from stony London in good time. Once I happened to visit Bahadur when he was in mourning. He received me dressed in what seemed to be white pyjamas beneath a light summer coat, soft white shoes without counters, and a small white cap. It was quite an amusing sight (as if the man had just jumped out of bed at night), but it turned out to be Nepalese mourning dress.

A few months later, Bahadur left London and returned with a new wife, who never leaves the house. She does not even venture into the embassy garden.

What incredible things occur in our days! What remarkable contradictions exist side by side in the epoch of socialist revolution and in the eighteenth year of Soviet rule in the USSR!