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Both were ladies. Aziz lifted his hat. The first, who was in evening dress, glanced at the Indian and turned instinctively away. So it had come, the usual thing�just as Mahmoud Ali said. The inevitable snub�his bow ignored, his carriage taken. It might have been worse, for it comforted him somehow that Mesdames Callendar and Lesley should both be fat and weigh the tonga down behind. Beautiful women would have pained him. He turned to the servant, gave him a couple of rupees, and asked again whether there was a message.

The man, now very civil, returned the same answer. Major Callendar had driven away half an hour before. One can tip too much as well as too little, indeed the coin that buys the exact truth has not yet been minted.

He was offered the use of the house, but was too dignified to enter it. Paper and ink were brought on to the verandah. Call me a tonga. These attentions, though purchased, soothed him. They would last as long as he had rupees, which is something. But to shake the dust of Anglo-India off his feet! To escape from the net and be back among manners and gestures that he knew! He began a walk, an unwonted exercise.

He was an athletic little man, daintily put together, but really very strong. Nevertheless walking fatigued him, as it fatigues everyone in India except the new-comer. There is something hostile in that soil.

It either yields, and the foot sinks into a depression, or else it is unexpectedly rigid and sharp, pressing stones or crystals against the tread. A series of these little surprises exhausts; and he was wearing pumps, a poor preparation for any country. At the edge of the civil station he turned into a mosque to rest. He had always liked this mosque. It was gracious, and the arrangement pleased him. The courtyard�entered through a ruined gate�contained an ablution tank of fresh clear water, which was always in motion, being indeed part of a conduit that supplied the city.

The courtyard was paved with broken slabs. The covered part of the mosque was deeper than is usual; its effect was that of an English parish church whose side has been taken out.

Where he sat, he looked into three arcades whose darkness was illuminated by a small hanging lamp and by the moon. The front�in full moonlight�had the appearance of marble, and the ninety-nine names of God on the frieze stood out black, as the frieze stood out white against the sky.

The contest between this dualism and the contention of shadows within pleased Aziz, and he tried to symbolize the whole into some truth of religion or love. A mosque by winning his approval let loose his imagination. The temple of another creed, Hindu, Christian, or Greek, would have bored him and failed to awaken his sense of beauty.

Here was Islam, his own country, more than a Faith, more than a battle-cry, more, much more. Islam, an attitude towards life both exquisite and durable, where his body and his thoughts found their home.

His seat was the low wall that bounded the courtyard on the left. The ground fell away beneath him towards the city, visible as a blur of trees, and in the stillness he heard many small sounds.

On the right, over in the club, the English community contributed an amateur orchestra. Elsewhere some Hindus were drumming�he knew they were Hindus, because the rhythm was uncongenial to him,�and others were bewailing a corpse�he knew whose, having certified it in the afternoon.

There were owls, the Punjab mail. But the mosque�that alone signified, and he returned to it from the complex appeal of the night, and decked it with meanings the builder had never intended. Some day he too would build a mosque, smaller than this but in perfect taste, so that all who passed by should experience the happiness he felt now. And near it, under a low dome, should be his tomb, with a Persian inscription:. He had seen the quatrain on the tomb of a Deccan king, and regarded it as profound philosophy�he always held pathos to be profound.

The secret understanding of the heart! He repeated the phrase with tears in his eyes, and as he did so one of the pillars of the mosque seemed to quiver.

It swayed in the gloom and detached itself. Belief in ghosts ran in his blood, but he sat firm. Another pillar moved, a third, and then an Englishwoman stepped out into the moonlight. Still startled, the woman moved out, keeping the ablution-tank between them.

A fabric bigger than the mosque fell to pieces, and he did not know whether he was glad or sorry. She was older than Hamidullah Begum, with a red face and white hair. Her voice had deceived him. Moore, I am afraid I startled you. I shall tell my community�our friends�about you. That God is here�very good, very fine indeed.

I think you are newly arrived in India. They are doing a play that I have seen in London, and it was so hot. There are bad characters about and leopards may come across from the Marabar Hills. Snakes also. They both laughed.

Why do you come to India at this time of year, just as the cold weather is ending? I know him intimately. Moore, this is all extremely strange, because like yourself I have also two sons and a daughter.

Is not this the same box with a vengeance? The suggestion delighted him. How funny it sounds! Their names are quite different and will surprise you.

Listen, please. The first is called Ahmed, the second is called Karim, the third�she is the eldest�Jamila. Three children are enough. Do not you agree with me? They were both silent for a little, thinking of their respective families. She sighed and rose to go. Is this charming, pray? But what does it matter? I can do nothing and he knows it. I am just a subordinate, my time is of no value, the verandah is good enough for an Indian, yes, yes, let him stand, and Mrs. Callendar takes my carriage and cuts me dead.

He was excited partly by his wrongs, but much more by the knowledge that someone sympathized with them. It was this that led him to repeat, exaggerate, contradict. She had proved her sympathy by criticizing her fellow-countrywoman to him, but even earlier he had known. The flame that not even beauty can nourish was springing up, and though his words were querulous his heart began to glow secretly.

Presently it burst into speech. I only know whether I like or dislike them. She accepted his escort back to the club, and said at the gate that she wished she was a member, so that she could have asked him in. He did not expatiate on his wrongs now, being happy. As he strolled downhill beneath the lovely moon, and again saw the lovely mosque, he seemed to own the land as much as anyone owned it.

What did it matter if a few flabby Hindus had preceded him there, and a few chilly English succeeded? The third act of Cousin Kate was well advanced by the time Mrs. Moore re-entered the club.

Windows were barred, lest the servants should see their mem-sahibs acting, and the heat was consequently immense. One electric fan revolved like a wounded bird, another was out of order. This was Adela Quested, the queer, cautious girl whom Ronny had commissioned her to bring from England, and Ronny was her son, also cautious, whom Miss Quested would probably though not certainly marry, and she herself was an elderly lady. Apparently the Turtons will arrange something for next Tuesday.

Look at this evening. Cousin Kate! Imagine, Cousin Kate! But where have you been off to? Did you succeed in catching the moon in the Ganges? The water had drawn it out, so that it had seemed larger than the real moon, and brighter, which had pleased them.

Moore, who was tired after her walk. He passed with his friendly word through red-brick pillars into the darkness. Moore agreed; she too was disappointed at the dullness of their new life. They had made such a romantic voyage across the Mediterranean and through the sands of Egypt to the harbour of Bombay, to find only a gridiron of bungalows at the end of it.

But she did not take the disappointment as seriously as Miss Quested, for the reason that she was forty years older, and had learnt that Life never gives us what we want at the moment that we consider appropriate. Adventures do occur, but not punctually.

She said again that she hoped that something interesting would be arranged for next Tuesday. Moore�Miss Quested�have a drink, have two drinks. Turton, with whom they had dined. Like themselves, he had found the atmosphere of Cousin Kate too hot. Moore was surprised to learn this, dignity not being a quality with which any mother credits her son.

Miss Quested learnt it with anxiety, for she had not decided whether she liked dignified men. She tried indeed to discuss this point with Mr. Turton, but he silenced her with a good-humoured motion of his hand, and continued what he had come to say. Meanwhile the performance ended, and the amateur orchestra played the National Anthem. Conversation and billiards stopped, faces stiffened.

It was the Anthem of the Army of Occupation. It reminded every member of the club that he or she was British and in exile. It produced a little sentiment and a useful accession of will-power. The meagre tune, the curt series of demands on Jehovah, fused into a prayer unknown in England, and though they perceived neither Royalty nor Deity they did perceive something, they were strengthened to resist another day.

Then they poured out, offering one another drinks. They refused�they were weary of drinks�and Miss Quested, who always said exactly what was in her mind, announced anew that she was desirous of seeing the real India.

Ronny was in high spirits. She became the centre of an amused group of ladies. How new that sounds! I really do know the truth about Indians. A most unsuitable position for any Englishwoman�I was a nurse in a Native State. Let me explain. That can be easily fixed up. Take your choice. I know the Government people and the landowners, Heaslop here can get hold of the barrister crew, while if you want to specialize on education, we can come down on Fielding.

Her impressions were of no interest to the Collector; he was only concerned to give her a good time. Would she like a Bridge Party? He explained to her what that was�not the game, but a party to bridge the gulf between East and West; the expression was his own invention, and amused all who heard it. Turton to her husband as they drove away. She had not taken to the new young lady, thinking her ungracious and cranky. Turton closed her eyes at this name and remarked that Mr.

Then they reached their bungalow, low and enormous, the oldest and most uncomfortable bungalow in the civil station, with a sunk soup plate of a lawn, and they had one drink more, this time of barley water, and went to bed.

Their withdrawal from the club had broken up the evening, which, like all gatherings, had an official tinge. A community that bows the knee to a Viceroy and believes that the divinity that hedges a king can be transplanted, must feel some reverence for any viceregal substitute.

At Chandrapore the Turtons were little gods; soon they would retire to some suburban villa, and die exiled from glory. Coming on top of the dinner too! No one can even begin to think of knowing this country until he has been in it twenty years.

Soon after I came out I asked one of the Pleaders to have a smoke with me�only a cigarette, mind. He implied that he had once been as she, though not for long. Going to the verandah, he called firmly to the moon. His sais answered, and without lowering his head, he ordered his trap to be brought round.

Moore, whom the club had stupefied, woke up outside. She watched the moon, whose radiance stained with primrose the purple of the surrounding sky. In England the moon had seemed dead and alien; here she was caught in the shawl of night together with earth and all the other stars. A sudden sense of unity, of kinship with the heavenly bodies, passed into the old woman and out, like water through a tank, leaving a strange freshness behind.

She did not dislike Cousin Kate or the National Anthem, but their note had died into a new one, just as cocktails and cigars had died into invisible flowers. They are apt to lie out in the evening. Moore, and was glad she should have had this little escapade. My memory grows deplorable. He called out to me when I was in the dark part of the mosque�about my shoes.

That was how we began talking. He was afraid I had them on, but I remembered luckily. He told me about his children, and then we walked back to the club. He knows you well. Not a Mohammedan? I was going all wrong. How perfectly magnificent! But Ronny was ruffled.

What a mix-up! Scratchy and dictatorial, he began to question her. What was he doing there himself at that time of night? Then it was impudence.

I wish you had had them on. As soon as I answered he altered. His mother did not signify�she was just a globe-trotter, a temporary escort, who could retire to England with what impressions she chose. But Adela, who meditated spending her life in the country, was a more serious matter; it would be tiresome if she started crooked over the native question.

Their attention was diverted. Below them a radiance had suddenly appeared. It belonged neither to water nor moonlight, but stood like a luminous sheaf upon the fields of darkness.

He told them that it was where the new sand-bank was forming, and that the dark ravelled bit at the top was the sand, and that the dead bodies floated down that way from Benares, or would if the crocodiles let them. The young people glanced at each other and smiled; it amused them when the old lady got these gentle creeps, and harmony was restored between them consequently.

The radiance was already altering, whether through shifting of the moon or of the sand; soon the bright sheaf would be gone, and a circlet, itself to alter, be burnished upon the streaming void.

The women discussed whether they would wait for the change or not, while the silence broke into patches of unquietness and the mare shivered. Moore had a short interview with her son. He wanted to enquire about the Mohammedan doctor in the mosque. It was his duty to report suspicious characters and conceivably it was some disreputable hakim who had prowled up from the bazaar.

Did he seem to tolerate us�the brutal conqueror, the sundried bureaucrat, that sort of thing? So he told you that, did he? The Major will be interested. I wonder what was the aim of the remark. He had some motive in what he said.

They used to cringe, but the younger generation believe in a show of manly independence. They think it will pay better with the itinerant M. Of course there are exceptions.

The phrases worked and were in current use at the club, but she was rather clever at detecting the first from the second hand, and might press him for definite examples. She discussed it all on the boat. We had a long talk when we went on shore at Aden. She knows you in play, as she put it, but not in work, and she felt she must come and look round, before she decided�and before you decided. She is very, very fair-minded.

The note of anxiety in his voice made her feel that he was still a little boy, who must have what he liked, so she promised to do as he wished, and they kissed good night. He had not forbidden her to think about Aziz, however, and she did this when she retired to her room.

Yes, it could be worked into quite an unpleasant scene. The doctor had begun by bullying her, had said Mrs. Callendar was nice, and then�finding the ground safe�had changed; he had alternately whined over his grievances and patronized her, had run a dozen ways in a single sentence, had been unreliable, inquisitive, vain.

Yes, it was all true, but how false as a summary of the man; the essential life of him had been slain. Going to hang up her cloak, she found that the tip of the peg was occupied by a small wasp.

She had known this wasp or his relatives by day; they were not as English wasps, but had long yellow legs which hung down behind when they flew. Perhaps he mistook the peg for a branch�no Indian animal has any sense of an interior. Bats, rats, birds, insects will as soon nest inside a house as out; it is to them a normal growth of the eternal jungle, which alternately produces houses trees, houses trees.

There he clung, asleep, while jackals in the plain bayed their desires and mingled with the percussion of drums. Moore to the wasp. The Collector kept his word. Next day he issued invitation cards to numerous Indian gentlemen in the neighbourhood, stating that he would be at home in the garden of the club between the hours of five and seven on the following Tuesday, also that Mrs. Turton would be glad to receive any ladies of their families who were out of purdah. His action caused much excitement and was discussed in several worlds.

Those high officials are different�they sympathize, the Viceroy sympathizes, they would have us treated properly. But they come too seldom and live too far away. Turton has spoken it, from whatever cause. He speaks, we hear. I do not see why we need discuss it further. But I can be a thorn in Mr. I shall come in from Dilkusha specially, though I have to postpone other business. There was a stir of disapproval.

Who was this ill-bred upstart, that he should criticize the leading Mohammedan landowner of the district? Mahmoud Ali, though sharing his opinion, felt bound to oppose it.

Ram Chand! Ram Chand, speaking very pleasantly, for he was aware that the man had been impolite and he desired to shield him from the consequences. I do not see why we should. The invitation is worded very graciously. This opinion carried great weight. The Nawab Bahadur was a big proprietor and a philanthropist, a man of benevolence and decision. His character among all the communities in the province stood high.

He was a straightforward enemy and a staunch friend, and his hospitality was proverbial. He held it a disgrace to die rich. For he was not like some eminent men, who give out that they will come, and then fail at the last moment, leaving the small fry floundering.

If he said he would come, he would come, he would never deceive his supporters. The gentlemen whom he had lectured now urged one another to attend the party, although convinced at heart that his advice was unsound. He had spoken in the little room near the Courts where the pleaders waited for clients; clients, waiting for pleaders, sat in the dust outside.

These had not received a card from Mr. And there were circles even beyond these�people who wore nothing but a loincloth, people who wore not even that, and spent their lives in knocking two sticks together before a scarlet doll�humanity grading and drifting beyond the educated vision, until no earthly invitation can embrace it. All invitations must proceed from heaven perhaps; perhaps it is futile for men to initiate their own unity, they do but widen the gulfs between them by the attempt.

So at all events thought old Mr. Graysford and young Mr. Sorley, the devoted missionaries who lived out beyond the slaughterhouses, always travelled third on the railways, and never came up to the club. Not one shall be turned away by the servants on that verandah, be he black or white, not one shall be kept standing who approaches with a loving heart. And why should the divine hospitality cease here?

Consider, with all reverence, the monkeys. May there not be a mansion for the monkeys also? Old Mr. Graysford said No, but young Mr. Sorley, who was advanced, said Yes; he saw no reason why monkeys should not have their collateral share of bliss, and he had sympathetic discussions about them with his Hindu friends. And the jackals? Jackals were indeed less to Mr.

And the wasps? He became uneasy during the descent to wasps, and was apt to change the conversation. And oranges, cactuses, crystals and mud? No, no, this is going too far. We must exclude someone from our gathering, or we shall be left with nothing. The Bridge Party was not a success�at least it was not what Mrs.

Moore and Miss Quested were accustomed to consider a successful party. They arrived early, since it was given in their honour, but most of the Indian guests had arrived even earlier, and stood massed at the farther side of the tennis lawns, doing nothing. I have no idea what we have to do. Ronny laughed deferentially. Neither she nor his mother answered. They were gazing rather sadly over the tennis lawn. No, it was not picturesque; the East, abandoning its secular magnificence, was descending into a valley whose farther side no man can see.

Most of her public appearances were marked by this air of reserve. European costume had lighted like a leprosy.

Few had yielded entirely, but none were untouched. There was a silence when he had finished speaking, on both sides of the court; at least, more ladies joined the English group, but their words seemed to die as soon as uttered. Some kites hovered overhead, impartial, over the kites passed the mass of a vulture, and with an impartiality exceeding all, the sky, not deeply coloured but translucent, poured light from its whole circumference.

It seemed unlikely that the series stopped here. Beyond the sky must not there be something that overarches all the skies, more impartial even than they? Beyond which again. They had tried to reproduce their own attitude to life upon the stage, and to dress up as the middle-class English people they actually were.

Save for this annual incursion, they left literature alone. The men had no time for it, the women did nothing that they could not share with the men. Their ignorance of the Arts was notable, and they lost no opportunity of proclaiming it to one another; it was the Public School attitude, flourishing more vigorously than it can yet hope to do in England. If Indians were shop, the Arts were bad form, and Ronny had repressed his mother when she enquired after his viola; a viola was almost a demerit, and certainly not the sort of instrument one mentioned in public.

Lesley said. Miss Derek did not belong to Chandrapore. She was stopping for a fortnight with the McBrydes, the police people, and she had been so good as to fill up a gap in the cast at the last moment. A nice impression of local hospitality she would carry away with her. Turton got up awkwardly. Oh, those purdah women! I never thought any would come. Oh dear! A little group of Indian ladies had been gathering in a third quarter of the grounds, near a rustic summer-house in which the more timid of them had already taken refuge.

The rest stood with their backs to the company and their faces pressed into a bank of shrubs. At a little distance stood their male relatives, watching the venture.

The sight was significant: an island bared by the turning tide, and bound to grow. Pulled the left rein when he meant the right.

All as usual. Turton, who had at last begun her progress to the summer-house, accompanied by Mrs. Moore, Miss Quested, and a terrier. They hate it as much as we do. Talk to Mrs. Her husband made her give purdah parties until she struck. Advancing, she shook hands with the group and said a few words of welcome in Urdu.

She had learnt the lingo, but only to speak to her servants, so she knew none of the politer forms and of the verbs only the imperative mood. Turton, as if she was describing the movements of migratory birds. Her manner had grown more distant since she had discovered that some of the group was Westernized, and might apply her own standards to her. The shorter and the taller ladies both adjusted their saris, and smiled.

There was a curious uncertainty about their gestures, as if they sought for a new formula which neither East nor West could provide. When Mrs. Indeed all the ladies were uncertain, cowering, recovering, giggling, making tiny gestures of atonement or despair at all that was said, and alternately fondling the terrier or shrinking from him. Miss Quested now had her desired opportunity; friendly Indians were before her, and she tried to make them talk, but she failed, she strove in vain against the echoing walls of their civility.

Whatever she said produced a murmur of deprecation, varying into a murmur of concern when she dropped her pocket-handkerchief. She tried doing nothing, to see what that produced, and they too did nothing. Moore was equally unsuccessful. Turton waited for them with a detached expression; she had known what nonsense it all was from the first. When they took their leave, Mrs. Moore had an impulse, and said to Mrs. Bhattacharya seemed not to know either. Her gesture implied that she had known, since Thursdays began, that English ladies would come to see her on one of them, and so always stayed in.

Everything pleased her, nothing surprised. Bhattacharya did not dispute it. Everyone was laughing now, but with no suggestion that they had blundered. A shapeless discussion occurred, during which Mrs. Turton retired, smiling to herself. The upshot was that they were to come Thursday, but early in the morning, so as to wreck the Bhattacharya plans as little as possible, and Mr.

Bhattacharya would send his carriage to fetch them, with servants to point out the way. Did he know where they lived? Yes, of course he knew, he knew everything; and he laughed again. They left among a flutter of compliments and smiles, and three ladies, who had hitherto taken no part in the reception, suddenly shot out of the summer-house like exquisitely coloured swallows, and salaamed them.

Meanwhile the Collector had been going his rounds. He made pleasant remarks and a few jokes, which were applauded lustily, but he knew something to the discredit of nearly every one of his guests, and was consequently perfunctory. When they had not cheated, it was bhang, women, or worse, and even the desirables wanted to get something out of him.

The impressions he left behind him were various. Many of the guests, especially the humbler and less anglicized, were genuinely grateful. To be addressed by so high an official was a permanent asset. Others were grateful with more intelligence. The Nawab Bahadur, indifferent for himself and for the distinction with which he was greeted, was moved by the mere kindness that must have prompted the invitation. He knew the difficulties.

Hamidullah also thought that the Collector had played up well. But others, such as Mahmoud Ali, were cynical; they were firmly convinced that Turton had been made to give the party by his official superiors and was all the time consumed with impotent rage, and they infected some who were inclined to a healthier view. Yet even Mahmoud Ali was glad he had come. Shrines are fascinating, especially when rarely opened, and it amused him to note the ritual of the English club, and to caricature it afterwards to his friends.

After Mr. Turton, the official who did his duty best was Mr. Fielding, the Principal of the little Government College. He knew little of the district and less against the inhabitants, so he was in a less cynical state of mind. Athletic and cheerful, he romped about, making numerous mistakes which the parents of his pupils tried to cover up, for he was popular among them. When the moment for refreshments came, he did not move back to the English side, but burnt his mouth with gram. He talked to anyone and he ate anything.

Amid much that was alien, he learnt that the two new ladies from England had been a great success, and that their politeness in wishing to be Mrs. It pleased Mr.

Fielding also. He scarcely knew the two new ladies, still he decided to tell them what pleasure they had given by their friendliness. He found the younger of them alone. She was looking through a nick in the cactus hedge at the distant Marabar Hills, which had crept near, as was their custom at sunset; if the sunset had lasted long enough, they would have reached the town, but it was swift, being tropical.

He gave her his information, and she was so much pleased and thanked him so heartily that he asked her and the other lady to tea. This party to-day makes me so angry and miserable. I think my countrymen out here must be mad. Fancy inviting guests and not treating them properly!

You and Mr. Turton and perhaps Mr. McBryde are the only people who showed any common politeness. It had. The Englishmen had intended to play up better, but had been prevented from doing so by their women folk, whom they had to attend, provide with tea, advise about dogs, etc.

When tennis began, the barrier grew impenetrable. It had been hoped to have some sets between East and West, but this was forgotten, and the courts were monopolized by the usual club couples. Fielding resented it too, but did not say so to the girl, for he found something theoretical in her outburst. Did she care about Indian music? All the nice things are coming Thursday. How lovely they suddenly were! In front, like a shutter, fell a vision of her married life.

She and Ronny would look into the club like this every evening, then drive home to dress; they would see the Lesleys and the Callendars and the Turtons and the Burtons, and invite them and be invited by them, while the true India slid by unnoticed.

Colour would remain�the pageant of birds in the early morning, brown bodies, white turbans, idols whose flesh was scarlet or blue�and movement would remain as long as there were crowds in the bazaar and bathers in the tanks. Perched up on the seat of a dogcart, she would see them. But the force that lies behind colour and movement would escape her even more effectually than it did now. She would see India always as a frieze, never as a spirit, and she assumed that it was a spirit of which Mrs.

Moore had had a glimpse. And sure enough they did drive away from the club in a few minutes, and they did dress, and to dinner came Miss Derek and the McBrydes, and the menu was: Julienne soup full of bullety bottled peas, pseudo-cottage bread, fish full of branching bones, pretending to be plaice, more bottled peas with the cutlets, trifle, sardines on toast: the menu of Anglo-India.

A dish might be added or subtracted as one rose or fell in the official scale, the peas might rattle less or more, the sardines and the vermouth be imported by a different firm, but the tradition remained; the food of exiles, cooked by servants who did not understand it.

Adela thought of the young men and women who had come out before her, P. She must gather around her at Chandrapore a few people who felt as she did, and she was glad to have met Mr. Fielding and the Indian lady with the unpronounceable name. Here at all events was a nucleus; she should know much better where she stood in the course of the next two days.

Miss Derek�she companioned a Maharani in a remote Native State. She was genial and gay and made them all laugh about her leave, which she had taken because she felt she deserved it, not because the Maharani said she might go. She was also very funny about the Bridge Party�indeed she regarded the entire peninsula as a comic opera.

Oh, Nancy, how killing! I wish I could look at things like that. McBryde did not speak much; he seemed nice. When the guests had gone, and Adela gone to bed, there was another interview between mother and son.

He wanted her advice and support�while resenting interference. Take a silly little example: when Adela went out to the boundary of the club compound, and Fielding followed her. I saw Mrs. Callendar notice it. Moore thought him rather absurd. Accustomed to the privacy of London, she could not realize that India, seemingly so mysterious, contains none, and that consequently the conventions have greater force.

Oh, how like a woman to worry over a side-issue! She forgot about Adela in her surprise. Go against my class, against all the people I respect and admire out here? I hate talking like this, but one must occasionally. I noticed you both at the club to-day�after the Burra Sahib had been at all that trouble to amuse you. I am out here to work, mind, to hold this wretched country by force.

He spoke sincerely. Every day he worked hard in the court trying to decide which of two untrue accounts was the less untrue, trying to dispense justice fearlessly, to protect the weak against the less weak, the incoherent against the plausible, surrounded by lies and flattery. That morning he had convicted a railway clerk of overcharging pilgrims for their tickets, and a Pathan of attempted rape.

He expected no gratitude, no recognition for this, and both clerk and Pathan might appeal, bribe their witnesses more effectually in the interval, and get their sentences reversed. It was his duty. But he did expect sympathy from his own people, and except from new-comers he obtained it. He spoke sincerely, but she could have wished with less gusto. How Ronny revelled in the drawbacks of his situation! How he did rub it in that he was not in India to behave pleasantly, and derived positive satisfaction therefrom!

He reminded her of his public-schooldays. The traces of young-man humanitarianism had sloughed off, and he talked like an intelligent and embittered boy.

His words without his voice might have impressed her, but when she heard the self-satisfied lilt of them, when she saw the mouth moving so complacently and competently beneath the little red nose, she felt, quite illogically, that this was not the last word on India. One touch of regret�not the canny substitute but the true regret from the heart�would have made him a different man, and the British Empire a different institution.

And God has put us on the earth in order to be pleasant to each other. He looked gloomy, and a little anxious. He knew this religious strain in her, and that it was a symptom of bad health; there had been much of it when his stepfather died. The sincere if impotent desire wins His blessing. I think every one fails, but there are so many kinds of failure.

Good will and more good will and more good will. Though I speak with the tongues of. Ronny approved of religion as long as it endorsed the National Anthem, but he objected when it attempted to influence his life.

Moore felt that she had made a mistake in mentioning God, but she found him increasingly difficult to avoid as she grew older, and he had been constantly in her thoughts since she entered India, though oddly enough he satisfied her less. She must needs pronounce his name frequently, as the greatest she knew, yet she had never found it less efficacious.

Outside the arch there seemed always an arch, beyond the remotest echo a silence. And she regretted afterwards that she had not kept to the real serious subject that had caused her to visit India�namely the relationship between Ronny and Adela. Would they, or would they not, succeed in becoming engaged to be married?

Aziz had not gone to the Bridge Party. Immediately after his meeting with Mrs. Moore he was diverted to other matters. Several surgical cases came in, and kept him busy. He ceased to be either outcaste or poet, and became the medical student, very gay, and full of details of operations which he poured into the shrinking ears of his friends. His profession fascinated him at times, but he required it to be exciting, and it was his hand, not his mind, that was scientific.

The knife he loved and used skilfully, and he also liked pumping in the latest serums. But the boredom of regime and hygiene repelled him, and after inoculating a man for enteric, he would go away and drink unfiltered water himself.

And this did not dispose him any better towards his subordinate. There was a row the morning after the mosque�they were always having rows. The Major, who had been up half the night, wanted damn well to know why Aziz had not come promptly when summoned. I mounted my bike, and it bust in front of the Cow Hospital. So I had to find a tonga. Now do some work for a change. He never realized that the educated Indians visited one another constantly, and were weaving, however painfully, a new social fabric.

He only knew that no one ever told him the truth, although he had been in the country for twenty years. Aziz watched him go with amusement. When his spirits were up he felt that the English are a comic institution, and he enjoyed being misunderstood by them. But it was an amusement of the emotions and nerves, which an accident or the passage of time might destroy; it was apart from the fundamental gaiety that he reached when he was with those whom he trusted.

A disobliging simile involving Mrs. Callendar occurred to his fancy. Then he got to work. He was competent and indispensable, and he knew it. The simile passed from his mind while he exercised his professional skill. During these pleasant and busy days, he heard vaguely that the Collector was giving a party, and that the Nawab Bahadur said every one ought to go to it. His fellow-assistant, Doctor Panna Lal, was in ecstasies at the prospect, and was urgent that they should attend it together in his new tum-tum.

The arrangement suited them both. Aziz was spared the indignity of a bicycle or the expense of hiring, while Dr. Panna Lal, who was timid and elderly, secured someone who could manage his horse.

He could manage it himself, but only just, and he was afraid of the motors and of the unknown turn into the club grounds. But when the time came, Aziz was seized with a revulsion, and determined not to go. For one thing his spell of work, lately concluded, left him independent and healthy.

She had died soon after he had fallen in love with her; he had not loved her at first. Touched by Western feeling, he disliked union with a woman whom he had never seen; moreover, when he did see her, she disappointed him, and he begat his first child in mere animality. The change began after its birth. He was won by her love for him, by a loyalty that implied something more than submission, and by her efforts to educate herself against that lifting of the purdah that would come in the next generation if not in theirs.

She was intelligent, yet had old-fashioned grace. Gradually he lost the feeling that his relatives had chosen wrongly for him. Sensuous enjoyment�well, even if he had had it, it would have dulled in a year, and he had gained something instead, which seemed to increase the longer they lived together.

She became the mother of a son. Then he realized what he had lost, and that no woman could ever take her place; a friend would come nearer to her than another woman. She had gone, there was no one like her, and what is that uniqueness but love? He amused himself, he forgot her at times: but at other times he felt that she had sent all the beauty and joy of the world into Paradise, and he meditated suicide.

Would he meet her beyond the tomb? Is there such a meeting-place? Though orthodox, he did not know. It was so with all his opinions. Nothing stayed, nothing passed that did not return; the circulation was ceaseless and kept him young, and he mourned his wife the more sincerely because he mourned her seldom. It would have been simpler to tell Dr. Unconquerable aversion welled. Callendar, Mrs. When he should have been ready, he stood at the Post Office, writing a telegram to his children, and found on his return that Dr.

Lal had called for him, and gone on. Well, let him go on, as befitted the coarseness of his nature. For his own part, he would commune with the dead. He gazed at it, and tears spouted from his eyes. Why could he remember people whom he did not love? They were always so vivid to him, whereas the more he looked at this photograph, the less he saw. She had eluded him thus, ever since they had carried her to her tomb. He had known that she would pass from his hands and eyes, but had thought she could live in his mind, not realizing that the very fact that we have loved the dead increases their unreality, and that the more passionately we invoke them the further they recede.

A piece of brown cardboard and three children�that was all that was left of his wife. He had breathed for an instant the mortal air that surrounds Orientals and all men, and he drew back from it with a gasp, for he was young. Perhaps some day a rich person might require this particular operation, and he gain a large sum.

The notes interesting him on their own account, he locked the photograph up again. Its moment was over, and he did not think about his wife any more. After tea his spirits improved, and he went round to see Hamidullah. He repaired to the Maidan. It was deserted except at its rim, where some bazaar youths were training. Training for what? They would have found it hard to say, but the word had got into the air. Round they ran, weedy and knock-kneed�the local physique was wretched�with an expression on their faces not so much of determination as of a determination to be determined.

The youths stopped and laughed. He advised them not to exert themselves. They promised they would not, and ran on.

Riding into the middle, he began to knock the ball about. He could not play, but his pony could, and he set himself to learn, free from all human tension. He forgot the whole damned business of living as he scurried over the brown platter of the Maidan, with the evening wind on his forehead, and the encircling trees soothing his eyes.

The main subject of the novel is a collection of different creeds, different classes and different races of India. It was published in This is a fictional composition of history and psychology.

With an air of focusing reality the setting of the novel is a village of Chandrapur. The point of view to this novel is a third person omniscient. A young Muslim doctor Aziz is having a discussion with his friend on whether a friendship is possible between an Englishman and an Indian. For Aziz seems some Englishmen are just while the others are rude as well.

The two other characters of this story are Miss Adela, a young girl and Mrs. Both of them are from England. They are in laws daughter and mother to each other. Both are passionate for travel. Therefore they have been to India. Adela is going to marry Ronnie who is Mrs. Ronnie is an official to the Englishmen at Chandrapur village.

Both the female characters wish to visit India and them out with their wishes. Moore comes across Dr Aziz at a local mosque and gets mutually befriended.

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