Under one
excuse and another he had been kept persistently in the background, his
place being taken first by the regent and then by succeeding ministers,
until it was generally supposed that the young Rajah was either afflicted
with some loathsome disease or mentally deficient, probabilities which the
Government, with unpleasant recollections of Behar Singh's too great
intelligence, accepted with unusual readiness. There were no causes for
suspicion. The Rajah never left the precincts of his palace garden, a
piece of land whose cultivation had cost untold sums, and which, together
with the Hindu temple, was supposed to stand as the eighth wonder of the
world. Fabulous stories were told of the beauty and rarity of the
vegetation, and of the value of the jewels which were supposed to decorate
the temple and royal apartments. As there was no opportunity of confirming
or refuting the statements, they were allowed to grow unhindered.
It was in this small sphere that Nehal Singh spent his childhood, his
youth and early manhood. Of the outer world he had seen nothing, though he
had read much, his education extending over all European history and
penetrating deep into that of his own country. Nevertheless, the picture
his mind had formed had little in common with the reality--it was too
overshadowed by his own character. As a blind man may be able, through
hearsay, to describe his surroundings detail by detail and yet at the
bottom be possessed by an entirely false conception, so Nehal Singh, to
all appearances well instructed, was in reality as ignorant as a child.
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