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Ch 20 - A Passage to India · A Passage to India

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  Chapter twenty. Although misquested had not made herself popular with the English, she
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  brought out all that was fine in their character. For a few hours,
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  an exalted emotion gushed forth, which the women felt even more keenly than the
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  men, if not for so long, What can we do for our sister,
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  was the only thought of Madame Calendar and Leslie as they drove through the
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  pelting heat to inquire Missus Turton was the only visitor admitted to the sick room.
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  She came out and nobled by an unselfish sorrow. She is my own
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  darling girl, were the words she spoke. And then, remembering that she
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  had called her not pooka and resented her engagement to young Heaslap, she began
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  to cry. No one had ever seen the collector's wife cry. Capable of
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  tears, yes, but always reserving them for some adequate occasion, And now
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  it had come. Ah. Why had they not all been kinder to the
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  stranger, more patient, given her not only hospitality, but their hearts,
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  the tender core of the heart that is so seldom used. They employed it
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  for a little under the stimulus of remorse. If all is over, as
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  Major Calendar implied, well, all is over and nothing can be done.
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  But they retained some responsibility in her grievous wrong that they couldn't define. If
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  she wasn't one of them, they ought to have made her one, and
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  they could never do that now she had passed beyond their invitation. I don't
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  one think more of other people sighed the pleasure loving Miss Derrick. These regrets
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  only lasted in their pure form for a few hours before sunsets. Other considerations
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  adulterated them, and the sense of guilt so strangely connected with our first sight
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  of any suffering, had begun to wear away. People drove into the club
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  with studious calm, the jog trot of country gentlefolk between green hedgerows. For
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  the natives must not suspect that they were agitated. They exchanged the usual drinks,
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  but everything tasted different, And then they looked out at the palisade of
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  cactuses stabbing the purple throat of the sky. They realized that they were thousands
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  of miles from any scenery that they understood. The club was fuller than usual,
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  and several parents had brought their children into the rooms reserved for adults,
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  which gave the air of the residency at Lucknow, one young mother, a
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  brainless but most beautiful girl, sat on a low ottoman in the smoking room
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  with her baby in her arms. Her husband was away in the district,
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  and she dared not return to her bungalow in case the niggers attacked. The
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  wife of a small railway official, she was generally snubbed, but this evening,
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  with her a bund and figure and masses of corn gold hair, she
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  symbolized all that is worth fighting and dying for more permanent, a symbol perhaps
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  than poor Adela. Don't worry, Missus Blakeston, and those drums are only
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  more rum, the men would tell her. Then they've started, she moaned,
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  clasping the infant and rather wishing he would not blow bubbles down his chin
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  at such a moment as this. No, of course not. And anyhow,
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  they're not coming to the club, and they're not coming to the Borasahib's
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  bungalow either, my dear, and that's where you and your baby will sleep
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  tonight, answered Missus Turton, towering by her side like Pallas Athene, and
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  determining in future not to be such a snob. The collector clapped his hands
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  for silence. He was much calmer than when he had flown out at fielding.
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  He was indeed always calmer when he addressed several people, rather than in
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  a tete a tete. I want to talk, specially to the ladies,
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  he said, not the least cause for alarm. Keep cool, keep cool,
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  don't go out more than you can help. Don't go into the city,
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  don't talk before your servants. That's all, Harry, Is there any
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  news from the city, asked his wife, standing at some distance from him
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  and also assuming her public safety voice. The rest were silent during the August
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  colloquy. Everything absolutely normal, I had gathered as much. Those drums are
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  merely morum, of course, merely the preparations for it. The procession is
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  not till next week. Quite so, not till Monday. Mister McBride's down
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  there disguised as a holy man, said Missus Callendar. That's exactly the sort
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  of thing that must not be said, he remarked, pointing at her,
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  Missus Callendar, be more careful than that, please in these times, I
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  well, I She was not offended. His severity made her feel safe.
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  Any more questions necessary questions? Is the newhere? Is he missus leslie quavered
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  jail bail has been refused? Fielding spoke next. He wanted to know whether
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  there was an official bulletin about miss Questa's health or whether the grave reports were
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  due to gossip. His question produced a bad effect, partly because he had
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  pronounced her name. She, like Aziz, was always referred to by a
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  paraphrasis. I hope calendar may be able to let us know how things are
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  going before long. I fail to see how that last question can be termed
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  a necessary question, said Missus Churcheth. Will all the ladies leave the smoking
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  room now, please, he cried, clapping his hands again. And remember
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  what I have said. We look to you to help us through a difficult
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  time, and you can help us by behaving as if everything is normal.
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  It is all I ask. Can I rely on you? Yes? Indeed,
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  borasai, they chorused. Out of piqued, anxious faces. They moved
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  out, subdued yet elated Missus Blakeston in their midst like a sacred flame.
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  His simple words had reminded them that they were an outpost of empire by the
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  side of their compassionate love for Adela. Another sentiment sprang up, which was
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  to strangle it in the long run. Its first signs were prosaic and small.
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  Missus Turton made her loud, hard jokes at bridge. Missus Leslie began
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  to knit a comforter. When the smoking room was clear, the collector sat
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  on the edge of a table so that he could dominate without formality. His
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  mind whirled with contradictory impulses. He wanted to avenge misquested and punish Fielding while
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  remaining scrupulously fair. He wanted to flog every native that he saw, but
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  to do nothing that would lead to a riot or to the necessity for military
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  intervention. The dread of having to call in the troops was vivid to him.
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  Soldiers put one thing straight, but leave a dozen others crooked, and
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  they loved to humiliate the civilian administration. One soldier was in the room this
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  evening, a stray subaltern from Augurka Regiment. He was a little drunk and
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  regarded his presence as providential. The collector sighed, there seemed nothing for it
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  but the old, weary busines of compromise and moderation. He longed for the
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  good old days. When an Englishman could satisfy his own honor and no questions
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  asked afterwards. Poor young Heathlap had taken a step in this direction by refusing
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  bail, but the collector couldn't feel this was wise of poor young Heathlap.
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  Not only would the Nawab Bahadur and others be angry, but the government of
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  India itself also watches, and behind it is that caucus of cranks and cravens
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  the British Parliament. He had constantly to remind himself that in the eyes of
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  the law, as he was not yet guilty, and the effort fatigued him,
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  the others less responsible could behave Naturally, they had started speaking of women
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  and children, that phrase that exempts the male from sanity. When it has
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  been repeated a few times, each felt that all he loved best in the
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  world was at stick, demanded revenge, and was filled with a not unpleasing
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  glow in which the chilly and half known features of misquested vanished and were replaced
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  by all that is sweetest and warmest in the private life. But it's the
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  women and children, they repeated, and the collector knew he ought to stop
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  them intoxicating themselves but he hadn't the heart. They ought to be compelled to
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  give hostages, etc. Many of the said women and children were leaving for
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  the hill station in a few days, and the suggestion was made that they
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  should be packed off at once in a special train, and a jolly suggestion.
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  The subaltern cried, the armies got to come in sooner or later.
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  A special train was in his mind, inseparable from troops. This would never
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  have happened if Barabas Hill was under military control station. A bunch of Gurkhas
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  at the entrance of the cave was all that was wanted. Missus Blakeston was
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  saying, if only there were a few Tommies, remarked someone English no good,
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  He cried, getting his loyalties mixed. Native troops for this country.
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  Give me the sporting type of native. Give me Gurkhas, give me Rajputs,
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  give me huts, give me the Punjabi, give me seeks, give
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  me Maratha's beals, Afridis and pathans. And really, if it comes to
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  that, I don't mind. If you give me the scums of the bazaar's
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  properly, lad mind, I'd lead them anywhere. The collector nodded at him
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  pleasantly, and said to his own people, don't start carrying arms about.
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  I want everything to go on precisely as usual until there's a cause or the
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  contrary. Get the women folk off to the hills, but do it quietly,
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  and for Heaven's sake, no more talk of special trains. Never mind
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  what you think or feel. Possibly I have feelings too. One isolated Indian
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  has attempted, is charged with an attempt did crime. He flipped his forehead
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  hard with his fingernail, and they all realized that he felt as deeply as
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  they did, and they loved him and determined not to increase his difficulties.
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  Act upon that fact until there are more facts, he concluded. Assume every
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  Indian is an angel. They murmured, right, you are Burra Sahib angels,
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  exactly from the subaltern. Exactly what I said. The natives all right,
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  if you get them alone, Leslie, Leslie, you remember the one
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  I had a knock with on your midne last month. Well, he was
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  all right. Any native who plays polo is all right. What you've got
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  to stamp on is these educated classes. And mind, I do know what
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  I'm talking about this time. The smoking room door opened and let in a
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  feminine buzz. Missus Turton called out, she's better, and from both sections
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  of the community a sigh of joy and relief rose. The civil surgeon,
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  who had brought to the good news, came in. His cumbrous, pasty
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  face looked ill tempered. He surveyed the company, saw Fielding crouched below him
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  on an ottoman, and said, hmm. Everyone began pressing him for details.
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  No one's out of danger in this country as long as they have a
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  temperature, was his answer. He appeared to resent his patient's recovery, and
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  no one who knew the old major and his ways was surprised at this squat
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  down calendar. Tell us all about it take me some time to do that.
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  How's the old lady temperature? My wife heard she was sinking, so
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  she maybe I guarantee nothing. I really can't be plagued with questions. Leslie,
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  sorry, old man. He slaps just behind me. At the name
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  of Heathlap, a fine and beautiful expression was renewed on every face. Miss
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  Question was only a victim, but young Heathlap was a martyr. He was
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  the recipient of all the evil intended against them by the country. They had
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  tried to serve he was burying the Sahib's cross, and they fretted because they
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  could do nothing for him. In return. They felt so craven sitting on
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  softness and attending the course of the law. I wish to God I hadn't
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  given my jewel of an assistant leave. I'd cut my tongue out first to
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  feel I'm responsible. That's what hits me, to refuse and then give in
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  under pressure. That is what I did, my son's that is what I
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  did. Fielding took his pipe from his mouth and looked at it thoughtfully,
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  thinking him afraid. The other went on. I understood an Englishman was to
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  accompany the expedition. That is why I gave in. No one blames you,
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  my dear calendar, said the collector, looking down. We are all
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  to blame in the sense that we ought to have seen the expedition was insufficiently
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  guaranteed and stopped it. I knew about it myself. We lent our car
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  this morning to take the ladies to the station. We are all implicated in
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  that sense, but not an atom of blame attaches to you personally. I
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  don't feel that I wish I could responsibility is a very awful thing, and
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  I've no use for the man who shirks it. His eyes were directed on
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  Fielding. Those who knew that Fielding had undertaken to a company and missed the
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  early train were sorry for him. It was what is to be expected when
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  a man mixes himself up with natives, always ends in some indignity. The
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  collector, who knew more, kept silent, for the official in him still
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  hoped that Fielding would tow the line. The conversation turned to women and children
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  again, and under its cover, Major Calendar got hold of the subaltern and
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  set him on to bait the schoolmaster. Pretending to be more drunk than he
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  really was, he began to make SEMy offensive remarks. Heard about Misquested's servant
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  reinforced the major. No what about him? He Slop mourned Misquested's servant last
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  night, never to lose sight of her. Prisoner got hold of this and
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  managed to leave him behind, bribed him. He Slop has just found out
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  the whole story with names and sums. A well known pimp to those people
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  gave the money, Mohammed Latif by name. So much for the servant.
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  What about the Englishman. Now our friend here? How did they get rid
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  of him? Money? Again, Fielding rose to his feet, supported by
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  murmurs and exclamations for no one yet suspected his integrity. Oh, I'm being
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  misunderstood. Apologies, said the Major offensively. I didn't mean they bribed mister
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  Fielding. Then what do you mean they paid the other Indian to make you
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  late? God bolet? He was saying his prayers. I know those prayers.
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  That's ridiculous. He sat down again, trembling with rage. Person after
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  person was being dragged into the mud. Having shot this bolt, the Major
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  prepared the next he slop also found out something from his mother, as he's
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  paid a herd of natives to suffocate her in a cave. That was the
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  end of her, or would have been only she got out nicely planned,
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  wasn't it neat? Then he could go on with the girl. He and
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  she and a guide provided by the same Mohammed Latief guide now can't be found
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  pretty. His voice broke into a roar. It's not the time for sitting
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  down. It's the time for action, calling the troops and clear the bazaars.
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  The Major's outbursts were always discounted, but he made everyone uneasy. On
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  this occasion, the crime was even worse than they had supposed, the unspeakable
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  limit of cynicism untouched since eighteen fifty seven. Fielding forgot his anger on poor
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  old good Bully's behalf and became thoughtful. The evil was propagating in every direction.
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  It seemed to have an existence of its own, apart from anything that
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  was done or said by individuals, and he understood better why both Aziz and
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  Hamidullah had been inclined to lie down and die. His adversary saw that he
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  was in trouble and now ventured to say, I suppose nothing that's said inside
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  the club will go outside the club. When the while at leslie, why
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  should it responded leslie? Oh nothing. I only heard a rumor that a
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  certain member here present has been seeing the prisoner this afternoon. You can't run
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  with the hare and hunt with the hounds, at least not in this country.
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  Does anyone here present want to? Fielding was determined not to be drawn
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  again. He had something to say, but it should be at his own
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  moment. The attack failed to mature because the collector did not support it.
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  Attention shifted from him for a time. Then the buzz of women broke out
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  again. The door had been opened by Ronnie. The young man looked exhausted
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  and tragic, also gentler than usual. He always showed deffer to his superiors,
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  but now it came straight from his heart. He seemed to appeal for
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  their protection in the insults that had befallen him, and they, in instinctive
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  homage, rose to their feet. But every human act in the East is
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  tainted with officialism, and while honoring him, they condemned as ease and India.
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  Fielding realized this, and he remained seated. It was an ungracious,
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  caddish thing to do, perhaps an unsound thing to do, but he felt
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  he had been passive long enough, and that he might be drawn into the
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  wrong current if he did not make a stand. Ronie, who had not
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  seen him, said, in husky tones, Oh please, please all sit
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  down. I only want to listen what has been decided. He slopped.
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  I'm telling them I'm against any show of force, said the collector apologetically.
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  I don't know whether you will feel as I do, but that is how
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  I am situated. When the verdict is obtained, it will be another matter
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  you are sure to know best. I have no experience burasa'ib. Now is
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  your mother? Old boy? Better? Thank you? I wish everyone would
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  sit down. Some have never got up, the young soldier said, and
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  the major brings us an excellent report of misquested Turton went on, I do,
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  I do. I'm satisfied you thought badly of her earlier, did you
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  not? Major's why I refused bail. Calendar laughed with friendly inwardness and said
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  they slab pi slab next time. Baal's wanted ring up the old doctor before
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  giving it. His shoulders are broad and speaking in the strictest confidence. Don't
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  take the old doctor's opinion too seriously. He's a blithering idiot. We can
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  always leave it at that. But he'll do the little he can towards keeping
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  in quad. The he broke off with affected politeness. Oh but he has
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  one of his friends here. The subaltern called, stand up, you swine,
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  mister Fielding. What has prevented you from standing up? Said the collector
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  entering the fray. At last, it was the attack for which Fielding had
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  waited, and to which he must reply. May I make a statement,
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  sir? Certainly seasoned and self contained devoid of the fervors of nationality or youth.
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  The schoolmaster did what was for him very comparatively easy thing. He stood
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  up and said, I believe doctor Aziz to be innocent. You have a
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  right to hold that opinion if you choose, But pray, is that any
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  reason why you should insult mister Heathlop. May I conclude my statement? Certainly,
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  I am waiting for the verdict of the courts. If he is guilty,
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  I resign from my service and leave India. I resign from the club
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  now here here said voices not entirely hostile, for they liked the fellow for
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  speaking out. You have not answered my question. Why did you not stand
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  when mister Heaslop entered with all deference, Sir, I am not here to
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  answer questions, but to make a personal statement, and I have concluded it.
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  May I ask whether you have taken over charge of this district. Fielding
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  moved towards the door. One moment, mister Fielding, you are not to
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  go yet. Please, before you leave the club from which you do very
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  well to resign, you will express some detestation of the crime and you will
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  apologize to mister Heaslop, Are you speaking to me officially? Sir? The
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  collector, who never spoke otherwise, was so infuriated that he lost his head.
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  He cried, leave this room at once, and I deeply regret that
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  I demeaned myself to meet you at the station. You have sunk to the
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  level of your associates. You are weak, weak, that is what is
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  wrong with you. I want to leave the room, but cannot while this
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  gentleman prevents me, said Fielding lightly. The subaltern had got across his path.
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  Let him go, said Ronnie, almost in tears. It was the
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  only appeal that could have saved the situation. Whatever he Slop wished must be
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  done. There was a slight scuffle at the door, from which Fielding was
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  propelled a little more quickly than his nap into the room where the ladies were
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  playing cards. Fancy if I'd fallen or got angry, he thought. Of
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  course, he was a little angry. His peers had never offered him violence
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  or called him weak before. Besides, he Slop had heaped coals of fire
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  on his head. He wished he had not pitched the quarrel over poor suffering,
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  he Slop. When they were cleaner issues at hand. However, there
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  it was done, muddled through, and to cool himself and regain mental balance,
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  he went onto the upper veranda for a moment, where the first object
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  he saw was the Marabar Hills. At this distance and hour, they leaped
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  into beauty. They were Monsalvas Valhalla, the towers of a cathedral, peopled
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  with saints and heroes and covered with flowers. What miscreant lurked in them?
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  Presently to be detected by the activities of the law. Who was the guide?
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  And had he been found? Yet? What was the echo of which
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  the girl complained? He did not know, but presently he would know.
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  Great is information, and she shall prevail. It was the last moment of
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  the light, and as he gazed at the Marabar Hills, they seemed to
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  move graciously towards him like a queen, and their charm became the skies.
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  At the moment they vanished, they were everywhere. The cool benediction of the
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  night descended, the stars sparkled, and the whole universe was a hill.
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  Lovely, exquisite moment. But passing the Englishman with averted face and on swift
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  wings, he experienced nothing himself. It was as if someone had told him
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  there was such a moment, and he was obliged to believe. And he
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  felt dubious and discontented suddenly, and wondered whether he was really and truly successful
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  as a human being. After forty years experience, he had learned to manage
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  his life and make the best of it on advanced European lines, had developed
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  his personality, explored his limitations, controlled his passions, and he had done
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  it all without becoming either pedantic or worldly. A creditable achievement, But as
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  the moment passed, he felt he ought to have been working at something else
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  the whole time. He didn't know at what, never would know, never
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  could know, and that was why he felt sad. End of chapter twenty