By K R N Swamy
In 1913 Mr Victor Bayley was posted to the Railway Secretariat in Simla, as Assistant Secretary and spent the winter there. His house faced southwest and one little spur caught all the sun, making it wonderful in those winter days.

But the family was sorely troubled by monkeys, which came and rooted up everything out of pure mischief. “There was a regular monkey road, which passed just outside our garden fence, and they went by twice a day, once the way down, and again on their way home, and on both ways they paused to rootle in our garden. They lived at the top of the Jakko Hill, under the care of a Hindu fakir….The monkeys became such a nuisance that I decided to go and complain to the Fakir. He was not in the least the ascetic type of Fakir, but a jovial old gentleman who used to descend from his hut at the top of Jakko, riding a white pony daubed with yellow spots so that it looked like a child’s toy. He loved to stop in the road and have a good gossip, roaring with jolly laughter at his own jokes. He gave me a cordial invitation to come and see him at the top of the Jakko some time. I wondered if he could do anything about the destructive monkeys and decided to accept his invitation”.
“So one Sunday I set out, accompanied by my son aged five…It was a bit of a climb, as the summit was a good thousand feet above my bungalow…..All of a sudden, the trees were full of monkeys, watching us as we slowly puffed up the last ascent and I took out a handful of corn. In an instant, we were the centre of a swarm of monkeys. I seized the boy and held him in my arms, but the monkeys climbed over us grabbing at the pocket, where I had put the bag of corn. The old Fakir came running and shouted to me to throw the bag of corn on the ground. I managed to do so and the monkeys immediately pounced on it and left us alone. The Fakir hurried us along to his hut, shouting angrily at the monkeys in a tongue I could not understand. “Sahib, you should not have brought corn with you. I can give you as much corn as you desire……”.
I asked him about the monkeys. “Sahib, there is a king and Queen, a Prime Minister and a Commander-in-Chief. There are four regiments, The Chota Simla Pultan, the Lakar Bazar Pultan, the Sudder Bazar Pultan, and a Reserve Pultan. (Pultan in Urdu means regiment)…I will show you the King and Queen”. He called out something in a loud tone and repeated the call once or twice. We were sitting on the verandah of his wooden shack in the dim green shade of the trees, my son on my knee…and troupes of monkeys could be seen all around us. Presently a big fat fellow came lolloping towards us. The Fakir called again and the monkey shambled up to the edge of the veranda. “It is the King, Sahib”. I salaamed gravely to His Majesty and to my astonishment the creature salaamed back. “Good, he is pleased with you. Now I will call the Queen”. A smaller monkey came sidling up and took up a position a few feet behind her lord and master, who looked round and snarled at her with atrocious manners. The Fakir said something in the monkey tongue which caused them to look sheepish… “Sahib, they say they are sorry for the fright they gave the Chota Sahib, I have scolded them well”…..I asked to see the Prime Minister and the Commander-in-Chief. They were duly summoned and loped forward, taking up a position behind the King and the Queen.
“I am greatly troubled by the Chota Simla Pultan” I said, guessing that this was the regiment that destroyed our flowers. “Every day they come into my garden and eat seeds and pull up the plants. I am in much trouble about it”. “That is bad, I will speak to the King” said the Fakir. Then ensued an extraordinary scene. The Fakir addressed the King who scratched himself sulkily…..the Fakir pressed his point and at last the King turned to the prime minister and chattered angrily. The prime minister chattered back and a shrieking match followed until the ferocious King seemed about to spring on his unfortunate minister. I asked if they were angry, but the Fakir shook his head. “They do, but talk after the monkey fashion. I have told them they are not to touch your garden in future. You will have no more trouble. It is a pity you did not tell me before. They are great thieves!”
The remarkable thing is that we were never troubled with monkeys in the garden again. They passed by twice a day as usual, whistling and chattering among themselves. But they did not come into the garden. Sometimes I would see a row sitting on the fence scratching themselves. But they did not jump down on our side of the fence. Once, indeed, a baby monkey ran into the garden. But there was a tremendous scolding noise from the mother and a long hairy arm shot out and dragged it back!”
Similar was the experience of a British major in the Indian Army. To quote his words “While serving as the ADC to the Commander in Chief of India – General Auchinleck, one day he summoned me for a personal errand. As I closed the study door, I noticed that he had a twinkle in his eyes and wondered what was to come. “I want you to go to the Monkey Temple” he said, “Find the old priest and give him ten rupees - he’ll know what’s expected of him. Oh, and give him my warm salaams”.
Seeing the bewilderment on my face, he leaned back in his chair with his fingertips together and looked at me for a moment, still with that twinkle in his eye. It was the time of the year, he said, when the vegetables were about ready for harvesting. Unfortunately, he pointed out, the gardeners were not the only ones who knew this: Bands of monkeys would soon descend on gardens all over Delhi to raid the produce.