A Passage to India: Chapters 1–5

Strength comes from the sun, infused in it daily, size from the prostrate earth.

“I only contend that it is possible in England,” replied Hamidullah, who had been to that country long ago, before the big rush, and had received a cordial welcome at Cambridge.

Granted the exceptions, he agreed that all Englishwomen are haughty and venal.

Having censured the circumcision, she bethought her of kindred topics, and asked Aziz when he was going to be married.

His memory was good, and for so young a man he had read largely; the themes he preferred were the decay of Islam and the brevity of love.

“Aziz, Aziz, imprudent boy....”

He had neither light nor bell nor had he a brake, but what use are such adjuncts in a land where the cyclist’s only hope is to coast from face to face, and just before he collides with each it vanishes?

He began a walk, an unwonted exercise.

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 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.

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!

The flame that not even beauty can nourish was springing up, and though his words were querulous his heart began to glow secretly.

He did not expatiate on his wrongs now, being happy.

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.

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.

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.

I found afterwards that he had sent touts all over the bazaar to announce the fact—told all the litigants, 'Oh, you’d better come to my Vakil Mahmoud Ali—he’s in with the City Magistrate.'

“I was going to tell you, Adela, but something changed the conversation and I forgot. My memory grows deplorable.”

“So he called to you over your shoes. Then it was impudence. It’s an old trick. I wish you had had them on.”

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.

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.P.

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.

Who was this ill-bred upstart, that he should criticize the leading Mohammedan landowner of the district?

He was a straightforward enemy and a staunch friend, and his hospitality was proverbial.

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.

Ronny laughed deferentially. “You wanted something not picturesque and we’ve provided it,” he remarked to Miss Quested.

No, it was not picturesque; the East, abandoning its secular magnificence, was descending into a valley whose farther side no man can see.

Assured of her approbation, Ronny continued: “The educated Indians will be no good to us if there’s a row, it’s simply not worth while conciliating them, that’s why they don’t matter..."

Assured of her approbation, Ronny continued: “The educated Indians will be no good to us if there’s a row, it’s simply not worth while conciliating them, that’s why they don’t matter..."

Most of the people you see are seditious at heart, and the rest ’ld run squealing.

“Oh, really,” was the haughty rejoinder.

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.

Whatever she said produced a murmur of deprecation, varying into a murmur of concern when she dropped her pocket-handkerchief.

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.

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.

Many of the guests, especially the humbler and less anglicized, were genuinely grateful.

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.

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!

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.

She must needs pronounce his name frequently, as the greatest she knew, yet she had never found it less efficacious.