The Last of the Princes is one of those memorable poems ever written in the history of Indian English poetry which deal with irony, humor, wit and fun. A.K. Ramanujam, a university teacher, he is a folklorist, a translator, a linguist and above all a poet is an ironist of the first order, he can deal with the oblique approach. The poem is a recreation of a royal scenario dating back to pre-colonial times when the power got transferred to naturally. The native kings took their time to totter and fall down. The whole process of disintegration was worth seeing. To regale with his verse and wisdom is the job of the comic poet so full of satiric overtones and undertones. The poet wants to show how an empire builds and falls when time runs out of favor. What happened to the Moguls? How did the deshi kings come to manage their affairs?

The poet describes the fall and disintegration of the Mogul dynasty from the time of Aurangzeb. How did they take their time to die and fade away into the gloom? How did their glory wane? How did the things take time to get it lost in the din of time? Some of the heirs and descendants died of T.B. Some could not withstand English hegemony, manners and climate.

Some could not get away with the current trends and times. They could not get along with imported wine and women. The desire to keep European wives would have frustrated and maligned them to be placed in a badly shown light. 

So many brothers, sisters, uncles, aunties, nieces, nephews, appeared to be embarrassing, the folklore brothers and sisters crowding the space with the idea of clan, royal heritage and lineage, ancestry and descent as per blood flowing into their veins and the relationship denoting connection. The poet hints towards the assemblage and maintenance of the countless, numberless kith and kin, near and dear ones. 

So many in number, so countless, it was really a problem to deal with and maintain. Some of them would have been heroic indeed, whose bravery they kept  talking about. Some would have definitely grown poor and they counted their days.

The nobility, lineage, ancestry stood it in a long queue of reference and acknowledgement which needed a ballad-singer or bard to tell of some historian of patronage. But who would keep? Who would patronize? Had it been the heyday, power with the sway would have worked,

The poet takes a dig and says it all, laying them bare to make us acquainted with. These facts of history are not known to us. We just like to see things in a magnified format which is but our old habit as we love to cringe and do sycophancy. We need to shed our hypocrisy. Munshi Prem Chand too shows it in his story, Shataranj Ke Khiladi.

Folklore brothers, sisters and relations open a Pandora’s box of childbearing, unwanted pregnancy and population explosion unable to rear and look after. So many brothers and with it so many relations to be cooked with stories. And they could not think about birth control, even to check it for health and hygiene. Perhaps the time had been as such as it would have demanded then and they too would have been with their thinking so. So sad, one of the sisters committed suicide. The brother’s many wives, their unborn, stillborn babies, what to tell about its history, family and planning? The royal mynahs, parrots and with them the women kept in the harem added to the woes and deterioration. 

It was really tougher to deal, handle and dispense with the falling finance and income of a vanishing empire. For a large family it is difficult to maintain if the time keeps running out and the resources are depleting. The family, the house needs to be maintained properly. If the family is larger, problems will arise, feuds will rake it, splits will lay them bare off, whispers will cast an evil effect and conspiracies hatched will show it all in a very poor light about the misery to rattle it. Some morality, some ethics we need to handle, some sort of righteousness and good virtue which can uphold us in times of crisis. We look up to these in utter blessedness or thankfulness as for some Providence. We do not know what the royal kingdoms inculcated in, what they missed to combine in, but Raj-dharma from Indian philosophical point of view is different from though the poem is satiric, it has nothing too much to do with morality, religion and philosophy.

They took their time to die, this dynasty
falling in slow motion from Aurangzeb's time:
some of bone TB,
others of a London fog that went to their heads,

some of current trends, imported wine and women,
one or two heroic in war or poverty,
with ballads
to their name. Father, uncles, seven

folklore brothers, sister so young and lovely
that snakes loved her and hung dead,
ancestral
lovers, from her ceiling: brother's many

wives, their unborn stillborn babies, numberless
cousins, royal mynahs and parrots
in the harem:
everyone died, to pass into his slow

conversation. He lives on, heir to long
fingers, faces in paintings, and a belief
in auspicious
snakes in the skylight: he lives on, to cough,

remember and sneeze, a balance of phlegm.
and bile, alternating loose bowels and hard
sheep's pellets.
Two girls, Honey and Bunny, go, to school,

on half fees. Wife, heirloom pearl in her nose-ring,
pregnant again. His first son trainee
in telegraphy,
has telegraphed thrice already for money.

The last of the princes continues to live on, takes his time even though revenue has gone with the English, the titles and the exchequer, all. Passing his days in anonymity, he carries, keeps on as an heir to royal lineage, in dynastic  continuation as per heritage rights. He coughs badly and suffers from loose motions as his bowels get upset so often diluting in between. Two girls go to school on half-fees, Honey and Bunny by name, they are not English, European girls, but the Mogul descendants with the English names given to them. This shows  that the financial condition is critical and has worsened and yet the wife is pregnant again and is expecting a baby which will definitely be an extra burden and add to the existent woe and misery. His first son, a trainee in telegraphy, has telegraphed three times for money, but where will he find enough money to give to or send?

So, how are the pictures showing things in a poor light, cutting a sorry figure? A man coughing badly and with the bowels upset is one. Another is of the wife though with aged and mature sons and daughters is again expecting a baby even under impoverished circumstances and situations. The other is the daughters going to school as for taking better education but that too on half-fees under consideration, relaxation extended to, favor shown as for royal ancestry and lineage, heritage and kinship.

A descendant in the line of, he too was no less than the photos displaying the father, the grandfather, the great grandfather and the great-great grandfathers from the start  coming down to serially, hanging on the wall.