It was 123 winters ago that the Metcalfe Hall was destroyed in a fire. Built by Sir Charles Metcalfe, brother of Sir Thomas whose creation is the Metcalfe House in Delhi, the Hall or Testimonial as it was known, had stood quite near the Taj Mahal since the 1830s when Sir Charles was the Governor of the North East Presidency. He had earlier been the British Resident at Delhi, having entered the East India Company’s service in the first decade of the 19th Century, establishing his reputation after negotiating the Treaty of Amritsar with Maharaja Ranjit Singh in 1809.
In 1838, when Lord William Bentinck resigned as Governor-General, Metcalfe succeeded him for a year. After that he was appointed Governor of Jamaica and then Governor-General of Canada, distinguishing himself in both assignments. On his return to England in 1845 he was made a baron and died the next year at the age of 61.
A man like Lord Metcalfe could not be expected to build anything but the best. So the Testimonial was a grand building by all accounts. But after the death of his grand nephew, Sir Theophilus Metcalfe in 1883, it somehow came into the possession of an English dandy, perhaps a distant cousin. In 1887, a big banquet was held at the Hall as part of a winter carnival to which the high military and civil officials, the elite and their families were invited. Though the guests had been seated for more than an hour, there was no sign of either food or drink, until they started wondering as to what sort of meal they had been invited.
Their doubts were ultimately set at rest, for within the twinkling of an eye there was everything on the tables; the china and the glass, the fruit trays and the salads. Soon the host started serving out trays of drinks and delicacies rare to suit all tastes. It was jolly good work. The man just went up to one of the side rooms and returned with the dishes, as though scores of servants were handing them to him. Within no time everyone got what he wanted and there was laughter and gaiety. The host too was in high spirits, and in the heat of the moment threw a challenge for a demand of any kind. But there was probably nothing anyone could ask for, yet the Englishman pressed on.
Request for goodies
Goaded thus, some of those present did make requests for things which they thought were hard to get at the moment or were too far away to be brought at so short a notice. A Colonel asked for the “falsa” fruit. “Here you are, dear Colonel,” said the host, presenting a juicy handful to him from almost under the table. Many looked down to see where the lot could have been hidden under the table, even though the fruit is a seasonal one available for only one month in the summer.
Next a Major demanded jamuns in the middle of winter. The host went to the side room and soon appeared with a plateful of jamuns and handed them over to the Major. There were a few other requests and after these had all been met to the great surprise of the party, the liquor began to have its effect and the banquet gave way to a candlelight dance, at which the cynosure of all eyes was the Commissioner’s daughter who danced with a young doctor. They made a happy pair and soon excited the jealousy of the others. But soon they began to view the doctor with a kindly eye and were graced with an equally kind glance by the young Collector, who danced with the hitherto neglected girls and even pinched one of them. On the other side, a little removed from the dancers, a Captain and a Major quaffed off several pegs of rum while an ageing nawab and a septuagenarian seth sat nursing tall glasses of gin and condemning the “vulgar” who gave their daughters the liberty of painting themselves like dolls and dancing with strangers.
In such a mood then the party continued, with fist-fights breaking out occasionally among the now drunken guests or an exchange of words among the ladies, who were equally tight, despite their protestations. But the climax had to be reached, and it came towards the end of the dance. The host had gone into the ante-room from where he had served the astonishing sumptuosities but which to all practical purposes was empty and bare.
All at once when the last steps of music were being gone through at midnight a shriek was heard which sent the shivers through the entire gathering. The ladies cried and the more delicate among them fainted, while the bravest of the males stood trembling. Some of the boozed company, however, braced up courage, and braved into the mysterious ante-room. There lay prostrate the host of the evening, the dandy Englishman, his skull broken as if it had been dashed against the wall. A strange tale no doubt and not readily believable too! Was the Englishman another Dr Faustus who had sold his soul to the devil? Nobody knows exactly what happened or how the fire occurred which destroyed the Testimonial eight years after the party. But, according to the late “T.S.”, the story was corroborated by some of the old Anglo-Indians, who swore that on certain nights, long after the tragedy, they had heard the clatter of empty dishes, forks and spoons while passing by the ruined Testimonial. Now a modern colony marks the site.
