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Ch 2 - A Passage to India · A Passage to India

• 0:00
  Chapter two. Abandoning his bicycle, which fell before a servant could catch it,
• 0:08
  the young man sprang up onto the verandah. He was all animation.
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  Amidu la amidu la am I late, he cried, Do not apologize,
• 0:20
  said his host, You are always late. Kindly answer my question, am
• 0:26
  I late? Has mahmoud Ali eaten all the food? If so, I
• 0:31
  go elsewhere? Mister mahmoud Ali, how are you? Thank you? Doctor
• 0:37
  Aziz, I am dying, dying before your dinner. Oh poor mahmoud Ali.
• 0:45
  Amidu la here is actually dead. He passed away just as you rode
• 0:50
  up on your bike. Yes, that is so, said the other.
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  Imagine us both as addressing you from another and a happier world. Does there
• 1:03
  happen to be such a thing as a hookah in that happier world of yours?
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  As he's don't chatter, we are having a very sad talk. The
• 1:14
  hookah had been packed too tight, as was usual in his friend's house,
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  and bubbled sulkily. He coaxed it, yielding at last, the tobacco jetted
• 1:26
  up into his lungs and nostrils, driving out the smoke of burning cow dung.
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  That had filled them as he rode through the bazaar. It was delicious.
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  He lay in a trance, sensuous but healthy, through which the talk
• 1:42
  of the other two did not seem particularly sad. They were discussing as to
• 1:48
  whether or no it is possible to be friends with an Englishman. Mahmoud Ali
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  argued that it was not Amidula disagreed, but with so many reservations that there
• 2:00
  was no friction between them. Delicious indeed, to lie on the broad veranda
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  with the moon rising in front, and the servants preparing dinner behind, and
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  no trouble happening. Well, look at my own experience this morning. I
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  only contend that it is possible in England, replied Hamidullah, who had been
• 2:25
  to that country long ago, before the Big Rush, and had received a
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  cordial welcome at Cambridge. It is impossible here. Azziz, the red nosed
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  boy has again insulted me in court. I do not blame him. He
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  was told that he ought to insult me. Until lately. He was quite
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  a nice boy. But the others have got hold of him. Yes,
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  they have no chance here, that is my point. They come out in
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  ending to be gentlemen and are told it will not do. Look at Leslie,
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  look at Blakeston. Now it is your red nosed boy, and feeling
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  will go next. Why I remember when Turton came out first. It was
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  in another part of the province. You fellows will not believe me. But
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  I have driven with Turton in his carriage. Turton, Oh, yes,
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  we were once quite intimate. He has shown me his step collection. He
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  would expect you to steal it now Turton, but red Nosed Boy will be
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  far worse than Turton. I do not think so. They all become exactly
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  the same, not worse, not better. I give any englishman two years,
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  be he Turton or Burton. It is only the difference of a letter,
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  and I give any english woman six months. All are exactly alike.
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  Do you not agree with me? I do not, replied mahmoud Ali,
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  entering into the bitter fun and feeling both pain and amusement at each word that
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  was uttered. For my own part, I find such profound differences among our
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  rulers. Red Nose mumbles, Turton talks distinctly. Missus. Turton takes bribes
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  Missus. Red Noose does not and cannot because so far there is no missus
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  red noose bribes. Did you not know that? When they were lent to
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  Central India over a canal scheme, some Raja or other gave her a sewing
• 4:41
  machine in solid gold so that the water should run through his state and does
• 4:47
  it. No, That is where Missus Turton is so skillful. When we
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  poor blacks tape bribes, we perform what we are bribed to perform, and
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  the laud discovers us. In consequence, the English take and do nothing.
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  I admire them, We all admire them. Huzzies, Please pass me the
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  hookah. Oh not yet, hookah is so jolly. Now you are a
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  very selfish boy. He raised his voice suddenly and shouted for dinner. Servants
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  shouted back that it was ready. They meant that they wished it was ready,
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  and were so understood for nobody moved. Then Hamidula continued, but with
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  changed manner and evident emotion. But take my case, the case of young
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  Hugh Banister. Here is the son of my dear friends, my dead friends,
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  the Reverend and missus Banister, whose goodness to me in England I shall
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  never forget or describe. They were father and mother to me. I talked
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  to them as I do now. In the vacations, their rectory became my
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  home. They entrusted all their children to me. I often carried little Hue
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  about. I took him up to the funeral of Queen Victoria and held him
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  in my arms above the crowd. Queen Victoria was different, murmured mahmoud Ali.
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  I learned now that this boy is in business as a leather merchant at
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  Kanpor. Imagine how I longed to see him and to pay his fare.
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  That this house might be his home, But it is useless. The other
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  Anglo Indians will have got hold of him long ago. They will probably think
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  that I want something and I cannot face that from the son of my old
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  friends. Oh what in this country has gone wrong? With everything? Baki
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  said? I ask you, Aziz joined in, why I talk about the
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  English Oo? Why I be either friends with the fellows or not friends?
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  Let us shut them out and be jolly. Queen Victoria and Missus Banister were
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  the only exceptions, and they're dead. No, no, I do not
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  admit that I have met others. So have I said mahmoud Ali, unexpectedly,
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  veering. All ladies are far from alike. Their mood was changed,
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  and they recalled little kindnesses and courtesies. She said thank you so much in
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  the most natural way. She offered me a lozenge when the dust irritated my
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  throat. Hamidullah could remember more important examples of angelic ministration, but the other,
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  who only knew Anglo India, had to ransack his memory for scraps.
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  And it was not surprising that he should return to But of all, this
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  is exceptional. The exceptional does not prove the rule. The average woman is
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  like missus Turton, and Aziz, you know what she is. Aziz did
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  not know, but said he did. He too generalized from his disappointments.
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  It is difficult for members of a subject race to do otherwise. Granted the
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  exceptions, he agreed that all englishwomen are haughty and venal. The gleam passed
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  from the conversation, whose wintry surface unrolled and expanded interminably. A servant announced
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  dinner. They ignored him. The elder men had reached their eternal politics.
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  Aziz drifted into the garden. The trees smelt sweet green, blossomed chum puck,
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  and scraps of Persian poetry came into his head. Dinner, but when
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  he returned to the house for it, mahmoud Ali had drifted away in his
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  turn to speak to his sais. Come and see my wife a little,
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  then, said Amidula, and they spent twenty minutes behind the Porda. Amdula
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  Begum was a distant aunt of Aziz and the only female relative he had in
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  Chandrapor, and she had much to say to him on this occasion about a
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  family circumcision that had been celebrated with imperfect pump. It was difficult to get
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  away because until they had had their dinner, she would not begin hers,
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  and consequently prolonged her remarks in case they should suppose she was impatient. Having
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  censured the circumcision, she bethought her of kindred topics and asked Aziz when he
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  was going to be married. Respectful but irritated, he answered once is enough.
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  Yes, he has done his duty, said Hamidullah. Do not tease
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  him. So he carries on his family, two boys and their sister.
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  Aren't they live most comfortably with my wife's mother, where she was living before
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  she died. I can see them whenever I like. They are such very,
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  very small children, And he sends them the whole of his salary and
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  lives like a low grade clerk, and tells no one the reason. What
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  more do you require him to do? But this was not Hamidula Begum's point,
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  And having courteously changed the conversation for a few moments, she returned and
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  made it. She said, what is to become of all our daughters?
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  If men refuse to marry, they will marry beneath them? Or and she
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  began, and the oft told tale of a lady of imperial descent who could
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  find no husband in the narrow circle where her pride permitted her to mate,
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  and had lived on on wed her age now thirty, and would die on
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  wed for no one would have her now. While the tale was in progress,
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  it convinced the two men the tragedy seemed a slur on the whole community.
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  Better polygamy almost than that a woman should die without the joys God has
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  intended her to receive wedlock, motherhood power in the house. For what else
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  is she born? And how can the man who has denied them to her
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  stand up to face her creator and his own At the last day, Aziz
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  took his leave, saying, perhaps but later his invariable reply to such an
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  appeal. You mustn't put off what you think, right, said Hamidullah.
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  That is why India is in such a plight, because we put off things.
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  But seeing that his young relative looked worried, he added a few soothing
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  words, and thus wiped out any impression that his wife might have made.
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  During their absence. Mahmoud Ali had gone off in his carriage, leaving a
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  message that he should be back in five minutes, but they were on no
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  account to wait. They sat down to meet with a distant cousin of the
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  house, Mahamad Latif, who lived on Hamidullah's bounty, and who occupied the
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  position neither of a servant nor of an equal. He did not speak unless
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  spoken to, and since no one spoke, kept on offended silence. Now
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  and then he belched in compliment to the richness of the food. A gentle,
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  happy and dishonest old man all his life, he had never done a
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  stroke of work. So long as some one of his relatives had a house,
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  he was sure of a home, and it was unlikely that so large
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  a family would all go bankrupt. His wife led a similar existence some hundreds
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  of miles away. He did not visit her, owing to the expense of
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  the railway ticket. Presently, Aziz chaffed him also the servants, and then
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  began quoting poetry Persian, Urdu, a little Arabic. His memory was good,
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  and for so young a man, he had read largely. The themes
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  he preferred were the decay of Islam and the brevity of love. They listened
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  delighted, for they took the public view of poetry, not the private which
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  obtains in England. It never bore them to hear words words. They breathed
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  them with the cool night air, never stopping to analyze the name of the
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  poet, hafiz hali Ikbal was sufficient guarantee India. A hundred Indias whispered outside
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  beneath the indifferent moon. But for the time India seemed one and their own,
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  and they regained their departed greatness by hearing its departure. Lamented, they
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  felt young again, because reminded that youth must fly. A servant in scarlet
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  interrupted him. He was the Tuprasi of the civil surgeon, and he handed
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  Aziz a note, old calender, wants to see me at his bungalow.
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  He said, not rising, he might have the politeness to say why some
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  case, I dare say, I dare say nothing. I dare say nothing.
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  He has found out our dinner hour, that's all, and chooses to
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  interrupt us every time in order to show his power. On the one hand,
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  he always does this. On the other it may be a serious case,
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  and you cannot know, said Hamidullah, considerately, paving the way towards
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  obedience. Had you not better clean your teeth after pan? If my teeth
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  are to be cleaned, I don't go at all. I am an Indian.
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  It is an Indian habit to take upon. The civil surgeon must put
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  up with it. Mohammed, la'tief my bike please? The poor relation got
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  up slightly immersed in the realms of matter. He laid his hand on the
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  bicycle's saddle while the servant did the actual wheeling. Between them, they took
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  it over a tintack. Azis held his hands under the ewer, dried them,
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  fitted on his green felt hat, and then, with unexpected energy,
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  whizzed out of Hamidullah's compound. Aziz azzies imprudent boy. But he was far
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  down the bazaar, riding furiously. He had neither light, nor bell,
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  nor had he a break. But what use are such adjuncts in a land
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  where the cyclist's only hope is to coast from face to face, and just
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  before he collides with each it vanishes. And the city was fairly empty at
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  this hour. When his tire went flat, he leaped off and shouted for
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  a tonga. He did not at first find one, and he had also
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  to dispose of his bicycle at a friend's house. He dallied furthermore to clean
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  his teeth, but at last he was rattling towards the civil lines with a
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  vivid sense of speed. As he entered their arid tidiness, depression suddenly seized
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  him. The roads, named after victorious generals and intersecting at right angles,
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  were symbolic of the net Great Britain had thrown over India. He felt caught
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  in their meshes. When he turned into Major Calendar's compound, he could with
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  difficulty restrain himself from getting down from the tonga and approaching the bungalow on foot.
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  And this not because his soul was servile, but because his feelings,
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  the sensitive edges of him, feared a gross snub. There had been a
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  case last year, an Indian gentleman had driven up to an official's house and
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  been turned back by the servants, and had been told to approach more suitably.
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  Only one case among thousands of visits to hundreds of officials, but its
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  fame spread wide. The young man shrank from a repetition of it. He
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  compromised and stopped the driver just outside the flood of light that fell across the
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  veranda. The civil surgeon was out, but the Sahibaz left me some message.
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  The servant returned an indifferent note. Azzis was in despair. It was
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  a servant whom he had forgotten to tip, and he could do nothing now
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  because there were people in the hall. He was convinced that there was a
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  message and that the man was withholding it out of revenge. While they argued,
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  the people came out. Both were ladies. Azziz lifted his hat.
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  The first, who was in evening dress, glanced at the Indian and turned
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  instinctively away. Missus leslie, it is a tonga, she cried, ours
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  inquired, the second, also seeing Aziz, and doing likewise, take the
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  gifts the gods provide. Anyhow, she screeched and both jumped in oh Tonga
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  Walla club club. Oh, why doesn't the fool go go? I will
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  pay you tomorrow, said Aziz to the driver, and as they went off
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  he called courteously, you are most welcome, ladies. They did not reply,
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  being full of their own affairs. So it had come the usual thing,
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  just as mahmoud Ali said, the inevitable snub his bow ignored his carriage
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  taken. It might have been worse, for it comforted him somehow that may
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  dumb Calendar and Leslie both be fat and weigh the tonga down behind beautiful women
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  would have pained him. He turned to the servant, gave him a couple
• 20:11
  of rupees and asked again whether there was a message. The man, now
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  very civil, returned the same answer. Major Calendar had driven away half an
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  hour before, saying nothing. He had, as a matter of fact,
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  said damn Aziz, words that the servant understood but was too polite to repeat.
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  One can tip too much as well as too little. Indeed, the
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  coin that buys the exact truth has not yet been minted. Then I will
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  write him a letter. He was offered the use of the house, but
• 20:48
  was too dignified to enter it. Paper and ink were brought on to the
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  verandah. He began, dear Sir, at your express command, and I
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  have hastened as a subordinate should, and then stopped. Tell him I have
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  called. That is sufficient, he said, tearing up the protest. Here's
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  my card. Call me a tonga husur. All are at the club.
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  Then telephone for one down to the railway station. And since the man hastened
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  to do this, he said, enough enough, I prefer to walk.
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  He commandeered a match and lit a cigarette. These attentions, though purchased,
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  soothed him. They would last as long as he had rupees, which is
• 21:41
  something. But to shake the dust of Anglo India off his feet, to
• 21:47
  escape from the net and be back among manners and gestures that he knew,
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  he began a walk, an unwonted exercise. He was an athletic little man,
• 22:00
  daintily put together, but really very strong. Nevertheless, walking fatigued him,
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  as it fatigues everyone in India except the newcomer. There is something hostile
• 22:11
  in that soil. It either yields and the foot sinks into a depression,
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  or else it is unexpectedly rigid and sharp. Pressing stones or crystals against the
• 22:23
  tread. A series of these little surprises exhausts, and he was wearing pumps,
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  a poor preparation for any country. At the edge of the civil station,
• 22:37
  he turned into a mosque to rest. He had always liked this mosque.
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  It was gracious, and the arrangement pleased him. The courtyard, entered
• 22:48
  through a ruined gait, contained an ablution tank of fresh clear water, which
• 22:53
  was always in motion, being indeed part of a conduit that supplied the city.
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  The court yard was paved with broken slabs. The covered part of the
• 23:04
  mosque was deeper than his usual. Its effect was that of an English parish
• 23:11
  church whose side had been taken out. Where he sat, he looked into
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  three arcades, whose darkness was illuminated by a small hanging lamp and by the
• 23:22
  moon. The front, in full moonlight, had the appearance of marble,
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  and the ninety nine names of God on the frieze stood out black, as
• 23:33
  the frieze stood out white against the sky. The contest between this dualism and
• 23:40
  the contention of shadows within pleased Aziz, and he tried to symbolize the whole
• 23:47
  into some truths of religion or love a mosque by winning his approval, let
• 23:53
  loose his imagination. The temple of another creed, Hindu, Christ or Greek
• 24:00
  would have bored him and failed to awaken his sense of beauty. Here was
• 24:07
  Islam, his own country, More than a faith, more than a battle
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  cry, more much more Islam an attitude towards life, both exquisite and durable.
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  Where his body and his thoughts found their home. His seat was the
• 24:29
  low wall that bounded the courtyard. On the left, the ground fell away
• 24:33
  beneath him towards the city, visible as a blur of trees, and in
• 24:37
  the stillness he heard many small sounds. On the right over in the club,
• 24:45
  the English community contributed an amateur orchestra. Elsewhere, some Hindus were drumming.
• 24:52
  He knew they were Hindus because the rhythm was uncongenial to him, and
• 24:57
  others were bewailing a corpse. He knew who's, having certified it. That
• 25:03
  afternoon, there were owls, the Punjab mail and flowers smelt deliciously in the
• 25:11
  station master's garden. But the mosque that alone signified, and he returned to
• 25:18
  it from the complex appeal of the night and decked it with meanings. The
• 25:22
  builder had never intended some day he too would build a mosque smaller than this,
• 25:30
  but imperfect taste, so that all who passed by should experience the happiness
• 25:36
  he felt now, and near it, under a low dome, should be
• 25:41
  his tomb, with a Persian inscription alas without me for a thousand years,
• 25:48
  the rose will blossom and the spring will bloom. But those who have secretly
• 25:55
  understood my heart, they will approach and visit the grave where I lie.
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  He had seen the quatrain on the tomb of a Deccan king and regarded it
• 26:04
  as profound philosophy. He always held pathos to be profound, the secret understanding
• 26:14
  of the heart. He repeated the phrase with tears in his eyes, and
• 26:18
  as he did so, one of the pillars of the mosque seemed to quiver.
• 26:23
  It swayed in the gloom, and detached itself. Belief in ghosts ran
• 26:30
  in his blood, but he sat firm. Another pillar moved, a third,
• 26:38
  and then an englishwoman stepped out into the moonlight. Suddenly he was furiously
• 26:45
  angry and shouted, madame, madame. Oh. The woman gasped, Madame,
• 26:52
  this is a mosque. You have no right here at all. You
• 26:56
  should have taken off your shoes. This is a whole place for Moslems.
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  I have taken them off, you have, I had left them at the
• 27:07
  entrance. Then I ask your pardon. Still startled, the woman moved out,
• 27:12
  keeping the ablution tank between them. He called after her, I am
• 27:18
  truly sorry for speaking. Yes, I was right, was I not?
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  If I remove my shoes, I am allowed, of course, But so
• 27:27
  few ladies take the trouble, especially if thinking no one is there to see.
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  That makes no difference. God is here, madam. Please let me
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  go. Oh can I do you some service now or at any time?
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  No? Thank you, really none? Good night? May I know your
• 27:51
  name? She was now in the shadow of the gateway, so that he
• 27:55
  could not see her face, but she saw his, and she said,
• 28:00
  with a change of voice, Missus moore, missus advancing He found that she
• 28:07
  was old. A fabric bigger than the mosque fell to pieces, and he
• 28:12
  did not know whether he was glad or sorry. She was older than Hamid
• 28:18
  la Begum, with a red face and white hair. Her voice had deceived
• 28:23
  him. Missus Moore, I am afraid I startled you. I shall tell
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  my community, our friends about you, that God is here. Very good,
• 28:34
  very fine. Indeed, I think you are newly arrived in India.
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  Yes, how did you know by the way you addressed me? No,
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  but can I call you a carriage? I have only come from the club.
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  They are doing a play that I have seen in London and it was
• 28:53
  so hot. What was the name of the play? Cousin Kate? I
• 29:00
  think you ought not to walk at night alone, Missus Moore. There are
• 29:04
  bad characters about, and leopards may come across from the Marabar Hills. Snakes
• 29:11
  also, for example, a six spot beetle, he continued, You pick
• 29:17
  it up, it bites, you die, but you walk about yourself.
• 29:22
  Oh, I am used to it, used to snakes. They both laughed.
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  I'm a doctor, he said, Snakes, don't dare bite me.
• 29:34
  They sat down side by side in the entrance and slipped on their evening shoes.
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  Please may I ask you a question now? Why do you come to
• 29:45
  India at this time of year, just as the cold weather is ending.
• 29:48
  I intended to start earlier, but there was an unavoidable delay. It will
• 29:55
  soon be so unhealthy for you. And why ever do you come to Chandrapor
• 30:00
  to visit my son? He is the city magistrate here. Oh, no,
• 30:04
  excuse me, that is quite impossible. Our city magistrate's name is mister
• 30:10
  Heaslow. I know him intimately. He is my son all the same,
• 30:15
  she said, smiling. But Missus Moore, how can he be? I
• 30:21
  was married twice. Yes, now I see, and your first husband died
• 30:26
  he did, and so did my second husband. Then we are in the
• 30:32
  same box, he said cryptically. Then is the city magistrate the entire of
• 30:37
  your family. No, there are the younger ones Ralph Anstella in England,
• 30:44
  and the gentleman here is he Ralph Anstella's half brother. Quite right, Missus
• 30:52
  Moore, this is all extremely strange, because, like yourself, I have
• 30:56
  also two sons and a daughter. Is not this the same box with a
• 31:00
  vengeance? What are their names? Not also Ronnie Ralph an Stella. Surely
• 31:08
  the suggestion delighted him. No, indeed, how funny it sounds, their
• 31:15
  names are quite different and will surprise you. Listen please, I am about
• 31:19
  to tell you my children's names. The first is called Ahmed, the second
• 31:26
  is called Kharim. The third she is the eldest, Chamila. Three children
• 31:32
  are enough. Do not you agree with me? I do? They were
• 31:37
  both silent for a little, thinking of their respective families, She sighed and
• 31:42
  rose to go. Would you care to see over the Minto hospital one morning?
• 31:48
  He inquired, I have nothing else to offer at Chandrapur. Thank you,
• 31:53
  I have seen it already, or I should have liked to come with
• 31:57
  you very much. I suppose the civil surgeon took you. Yes, and
• 32:04
  missus Calendar, his voice altered. Ah, a very charming lady, possibly
• 32:13
  when one knows her better. What you didn't like her? She was certainly
• 32:19
  intending to be kind, but I did not find her exactly charming. He
• 32:24
  burst out with, she has just taken my tongo without my permission? Do
• 32:30
  you call that being charming? And major Calendar interrupts me night after night from
• 32:37
  where I am dining with my friends, and I go at once, breaking
• 32:40
  up a most pleasant entertainment, and he is not there, and not even
• 32:45
  a message. Is this charming prey? But what does it matter? I
• 32:51
  can't do nothing, and he knows it. I am just as subordinate.
• 32:54
  My time is of no value. The veranda's good enough for an Indian.
• 33:00
  Yes, yes, let him stand, And missus Callender takes my carriage and
• 33:06
  cuts me dead. She listened. He was excited partly by his wrongs,
• 33:13
  but much more by the knowledge that someone sympathized with them. It was this
• 33:19
  that led him to repeat exaggerate contradict. She had proved her sympathy by criticizing
• 33:24
  her fellow countrywoman to him, but even earlier he had known the flame that
• 33:31
  not even beauty can nourish was springing up, And though his words were credulous,
• 33:37
  his heart began to glow secretly. Presently it burst into speech. You
• 33:45
  understand me, you know what others feel. Oh if others resembled you.
• 33:52
  Rather surprised, she replied, I don't think I understand people very well.
• 33:59
  I only know either I'd like or dislike them. Then you are an Oriental.
• 34:05
  She accepted his escort back to the club and said at the gate that
• 34:09
  she wished she was a member so that she could have asked him in Indians
• 34:15
  are not allowed into the Chandraport Club, even as guests, he said simply.
• 34:22
  He did not expatiate on his wrongs, now, being happy, as
• 34:28
  he strolled downhill beneath the lovely Moon and again saw the Lovely Mosque, he
• 34:32
  seemed to own the land as much as anyone owned it. What did it
• 34:37
  matter if a few flabby Hindoos had preceded him there or a few chilly English
• 34:44
  succeeded. End of Chapter two,