The Star of India
Copyright© 2026 by Edward S. Ellis
Chapter 1: A Man May Smile and Smile, and Be a Villain Still
One morning in the month of April, 1857, Baird Avery, an assistant surgeon in the employ of the Honorable East India Company, was on his way to Delhi, the ancient capital of the Emperors of Hindostan, and at that time the residence of the royal pauper known as the “Great Mogul” of the Empire.
The distance which the young gentleman had to travel was near one thousand miles, and he was fairly upon the frightful hot season, during which the thermometer creeps up day after day to over one hundred in the shade, and stands at one hundred and forty in the flaming sun.
Avery left the metropolis of British India on the Hooghly nearly two months before, and had traveled leisurely to the northwest since that time. Most of his journey was made by the Ganges in a budgerow, a craft of some fifty tons burden, one half of which consists of a decked cabin, several small rooms and awning. The front of the vessel was occupied the crew, including a manjee, or steersman, and eight dandies or boatmen, whose duties were to work the sails, or row or drag the vessel as necessity required.
Avery was now in the neighborhood of Cawnpore, and was journeying by dawk or palanquin, a slow but pleasant means of conveyance, and one that has been long peculiar to the country.
The box-like structure was borne on the shoulders of four men, with the same number walking beside them, ready to serve their turn. The palanquin was large enough to allow the occupant to stretch out at full length on the well stuffed mattress, covered with morocco leather, while a shelf and drawer contained books, a telescope, writing material and a bottle of diluted brandy.
In the morning the heat became so intolerable that a halt was generally made at the roadside in the shade of a friendly grove of mangoes, or at some bungalow, where the traveler awaited the lesser heat of evening before moving forward again. The greater part of the trip, therefore, was performed at night, when a Mussalchee ran by the side of the palanquin with a lighted torch to guide the bearers through the jungles. Wild animals and serpents were kept away by the flare of these torches and the shouting of the natives.
Avery had visited this section more than once before, and it was his intention to repeat a call upon a Rajah, between whom and himself a strong friendship existed. This Rajah had for some time attracted attention by his pretensions to the title and possessions of his adopted father Bajee Rao. Leaving his palanquin by the wayside, the surgeon went forward, up a broad avenue, on the right of which was a well preserved parterre. Reaching a house built for a former Commissioner, he sat down and sent forward his favorite attendant, Luchman, with his compliments to the Rajah, and a request to know at what hour it would be agreeable to receive a call.
The response was overwhelming. Three of the most distinguished attendants of the pretender, accompanied by an escort of native sowars on prancing steeds and with drawn swords and brilliant uniforms, came down the driveway, covered with cunka (a sort of clayey marl), at a showy pace, and halted in front of the young surgeon, who was waiting to receive them.
They were sent, as he was informed, in answer to his message, and the Rajah, in the usual extravagant language of the Orient, begged the favor of the gentlemen’s company at the palace in the evening, when the air would be cool.
Left to himself, Avery spent the hours in looking over the grounds, while the palanquin bearers, having traveled all night, withdrew to cook their food for the morning meal, after which they passed the time in smoking their hookahs and in sleep. These fellows with their scant clothing and bronzed skins could have withstood the fervor of the Asiatic sun for hours when a European would have succumbed in a few minutes.
Just as the sun was setting, a gaudily caparisoned elephant, crowned with a towering howdah (the ordinary box-like saddle) swung down the avenue to the Commissioner’s house, and Avery climbed to the seat by means of a small ladder. He was then borne through a score of bazars and native streets to the house of the Rajah, who was seated upon a charpoy or native bedstead made of wood, with feet highly gilded. His dress was of white muslin, consisting of two coats of that material and a drapery of muslin with a fanciful border. His turban was of the same light fabric, through which golden thread was interwoven.
The instant the Rajah caught sight of his visitor, he extended his hand. Avery made a graceful salaam, and felt a thrill of genuine regard for the barbarian, whose coppery face seemed to glow with delight because of his visit. Since the Rajah spoke only Hindustani he was obliged to employ his moonshee.
“Rajah sahib salaam. Ap ka mizay kaisa hai?” (Peace to you, honorable sir. How is your temper today?)
“I have hastened hither,” was the response of the guest. “I have come a long way to grasp your hand.”