As soon as the Maharajah was again able to transact business, he begged me to write to the Government of India and request that the Jubraj should be acknowledged by them as his successor. I did so, at the same time strongly urging that the guarantee should be extended to the Jubraj's children, so as to preclude the possibility of a disputed succession on his death. The Jubraj earnestly supported this request, but the Maharajah preferred adhering to the old Manipuri custom, which really seemed made to encourage strife. If, for instance, a man had ten sons, they all succeeded one after the other, passing over the children of the elder ones, but when the last one died, then his children succeeded as children of the last Rajah, to the exclusion of all the elder brothers' children. All the same, if these could make good their claim by force of arms, they were cheerfully accepted by the people who were ready to take any scion of Royalty. The consequence had always been in former days that to prevent troublesome claims, a man, on ascending the throne, immediately made every effort to murder all possible competitors. It is obvious that such a cumbersome system was undesirable, and I held that having once interfered we ought to set things on a proper and sensible basis, and that there was no middle course between this and leaving the people to themselves. Thangal Major, who always greatly dreaded the violent and unscrupulous disposition of Kotwal Koireng (afterwards Senaputtee), agreed with me. The Maharajah, however, with a father's tenderness for his sons, would not advocate my proposal, but still, would have gladly accepted it. The Government of India judged differently, and only sanctioned my proposal so far as to allow me to say that they would guarantee the Jubraj's succession, and maintain him on his throne. This decision gave great satisfaction. This year was unpleasantly distinguished by a great deficiency of rain in the valley, and a corresponding superfluity, though at irregular intervals, in the hills. For a long time there were apprehensions of scarcity, while in the hills the rainfall was so heavy that the Laimetak bridge was washed away and the river rose six feet above its banks. On one side, a large portion of its pebbly bed was hollowed out, and much widened, and 80 feet width of solid boulders carried away. The Eerung rose about 40 feet, and portions of the hill road were cut away, but the want of steady rain was felt.