A passage to India
Bahadur and others be angry, but the Government of India itself
also watches—and behind it is that caucus of cranks and cravens,
the British Parliament. He had constantly to remind himself that,
in the eyes of the law, Aziz was not yet guilty, and the effort
fatigued him.
The others, less responsible, could behave naturally. They had
started speaking of “women and children”—that phrase that exempts
the male from sanity when it has been repeated a few times. Each
felt that all he loved best in the world was at stake, demanded
revenge, and was filled with a not unpleasing glow, in which the
chilly and half-known features of Miss Quested vanished, and were
replaced by all that is sweetest and warmest in the private life.
“But it’s the women and children,” they repeated, and the Collector
knew he ought to stop them intoxicating themselves, but he hadn’t
the heart. “They ought to be compelled to give hostages,” etc. Many
of the said women and children were leaving for the Hill Station
in a few days, and the suggestion was made that they should be
packed off at once in a special train.
“_And_ a jolly suggestion,” the subaltern cried. “The army’s got
to come in sooner or later. (A special train was in his mind
inseparable from troops.) This would never have happened if Barabas
Hill was under military control. Station a bunch of Gurkhas at the
entrance of the cave was all that was wanted.”
“Mrs. Blakiston was saying if only there were a few Tommies,”
remarked someone.
“English no good,” he cried, getting his loyalties mixed. “Native
troops for this country. Give me the sporting type of native, give
me Gurkhas, give me Rajputs, give me Jats, give me the Punjabi,
give me Sikhs, give me Marathas, Bhils, Afridis and Pathans, and
really if it comes to that, I don’t mind if you give me the scums
of the bazaars. Properly led, mind. I’d lead them anywhere——”
The Collector nodded at him pleasantly, and said to his own people:
“Don’t start carrying arms about. I want everything to go on
precisely as usual, until there’s cause for the contrary. Get the
womenfolk off to the hills, but do it quietly, and for Heaven’s
sake no more talk of special trains. Never mind what you think or
feel. Possibly I have feelings too. One isolated Indian has
attempted—is charged with an attempted crime.” He flipped his
forehead hard with his finger-nail, and they all realized that he
felt as deeply as they did, and they loved him, and determined not
to increase his difficulties. “Act upon that fact until there are
more facts,” he concluded. “Assume every Indian is an angel.”
They murmured, “Right you are, Burra Sahib. . . . Angels. . . .
Exactly. . . .” From the subaltern: “Exactly what I said. The
native’s all right if you get him alone. Lesley! Lesley! You
remember the one I had a knock with on your Maidan last month.
Well, he was all right. Any native who plays polo is all right.
What you’ve got to stamp on is these educated classes, and, mind,
I do know what I’m talking about this time.”
The smoking-room door opened, and let in a feminine buzz. Mrs.
Turton called out, “She’s better,” and from both sections of the
community a sigh of joy and relief rose. The Civil Surgeon, who
had brought the good news, came in. His cumbrous, pasty face looked
ill-tempered. He surveyed the company, saw Fielding crouched below
him on an ottoman, and said, “H’m!”
Everyone began pressing him for details. “No one’s out of danger
in this country as long as they have a temperature,” was his
answer. He appeared to resent his patient’s recovery, and no one
who knew the old Major and his ways was surprised at this.
“Squat down, Callendar; tell us all about it.”
“Take me some time to do that.”
“How’s the old lady?”
“Temperature.”
“My wife heard she was sinking.”
“So she may be. I guarantee nothing. I really can’t be plagued with
questions, Lesley.”
“Sorry, old man.”
“Heaslop’s just behind me.”
At the name of Heaslop a fine and beautiful expression was renewed
on every face. Miss Quested was only a victim, but young Heaslop
was a martyr; he was the recipient of all the evil intended against
them by the country they had tried to serve; he was bearing the
sahib’s cross. And they fretted because they could do nothing for
him in return; they felt so craven sitting on softness and attending
the course of the law.
“I wish to God I hadn’t given my jewel of an assistant leave. I’ld
cut my tongue out first. To feel I’m responsible, that’s what hits
me. To refuse, and then give in under pressure. That is what I did,
my sons, that is what I did.”
Fielding took his pipe from his mouth and looked at it thoughtfully.
Thinking him afraid, the other went on: “I understood an Englishman
was to accompany the expedition. That is why I gave in.”
“No one blames you, my dear Callendar,” said the Collector, looking
down. “We are all to blame in the sense that we ought to have seen
the expedition was insufficiently guaranteed, and stopped it. I
knew about it myself; we lent our car this morning to take the
ladies to the station. We are all implicated in that sense, but
not an atom of blame attaches to you personally.”
“I don’t feel that. I wish I could. Responsibility is a very awful
thing, and I’ve no use for the man who shirks it.” His eyes were
directed on Fielding. Those who knew that Fielding had undertaken
to accompany and missed the early train were sorry for him; it was
what is to be expected when a man mixes himself up with natives;
always ends in some indignity. The Collector, who knew more, kept
silent, for the official in him still hoped that Fielding would
toe the line. The conversation turned to women and children again,
and under its cover Major Callendar got hold of the subaltern, and
set him on to bait the schoolmaster. Pretending to be more drunk
than he really was, he began to make semi-offensive remarks.
“Heard about Miss Quested’s servant?” reinforced the Major.
“No, what about him?”
“Heaslop warned Miss Quested’s servant last night never to lose
sight of her. Prisoner got hold of this and managed to leave him
behind. Bribed him. Heaslop has just found out the whole story,
with names and sums—a well-known pimp to those people gave the
money, Mohammed Latif by name. So much for the servant. What about
the Englishman—our friend here? How did they get rid of him? Money
again.”
Fielding rose to his feet, supported by murmurs and exclamations,
for no one yet suspected his integrity.
“Oh, I’m being misunderstood, apologies,” said the Major offensively.
“I didn’t mean they bribed Mr. Fielding.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“They paid the other Indian to make you late—Godbole. He was saying
his prayers. I know those prayers!”
“That’s ridiculous . . .” He sat down again, trembling with rage;
person after person was being dragged into the mud.
Having shot this bolt, the Major prepared the next. “Heaslop also
found out something from his mother. Aziz paid a herd of natives
to suffocate her in a cave. That was the end of her, or would have
been only she got out. Nicely planned, wasn’t it? Neat. Then he
could go on with the girl. He and she and a guide, provided by the
same Mohammed Latif. Guide now can’t be found. Pretty.” His voice
broke into a roar. “It’s not the time for sitting down. It’s the
time for action. Call in the troops and clear the bazaars.”
The Major’s outbursts were always discounted, but he made everyone
uneasy on this occasion. The crime was even worse than they had
supposed—the unspeakable limit of cynicism, untouched since 1857.
Fielding forgot his anger on poor old Godbole’s behalf, and became
thoughtful; the evil was propagating in every direction, it seemed
to have an existence of its own, apart from anything that was done
or said by individuals, and he understood better why both Aziz and
Hamidullah had been inclined to lie down and die. His adversary
saw that he was in trouble, and now ventured to say, “I suppose
nothing that’s said inside the club will go outside the club?”
winking the while at Lesley.
“Why should it?” responded Lesley.
“Oh, nothing. I only heard a rumour that a certain member here
present has been seeing the prisoner this afternoon. You can’t run
with the hare and hunt with the hounds, at least not in this
country.”
“Does anyone here present want to?”
Fielding was determined not to be drawn again. He had something to
say, but it should be at his own moment. The attack failed to
mature, because the Collector did not support it. Attention shifted
from him for a time. Then the buzz of women broke out again. The
door had been opened by Ronny.
The young man looked exhausted and tragic, also gentler than usual.
He always showed deference to his superiors, but now it came
straight from his heart. He seemed to appeal for their protection
in the insult that had befallen him, and they, in instinctive
homage, rose to their feet. But every human act in the East is
tainted with officialism, and while honouring him they condemned
Aziz and India. Fielding realized this, and he remained seated. It
was an ungracious, a caddish thing to do, perhaps an unsound thing
to do, but he felt he had been passive long enough, and that he
might be drawn into the wrong current if he did not make a stand.
Ronny, who had not seen him, said in husky tones, “Oh please—please
all sit down, I only want to listen what has been decided.”
“Heaslop, I’m telling them I’m against any show of force,” said
the Collector apologetically. “I don’t know whether you will feel
as I do, but that is how I am situated. When the verdict is
obtained, it will be another matter.”
“You are sure to know best; I have no experience, Burra Sahib.”
“How is your mother, old boy?”
“Better, thank you. I wish everyone would sit down.”
“Some have never got up,” the young soldier said.
“And the Major brings us an excellent report of Miss Quested,”
Turton went on.
“I do, I do, I’m satisfied.”
“You thought badly of her earlier, did you not, Major? That’s why
I refused bail.”
Callendar laughed with friendly inwardness, and said, “Heaslop,
Heaslop, next time bail’s wanted, ring up the old doctor before
giving it; his shoulders are broad, and, speaking in the strictest
confidence, don’t take the old doctor’s opinion too seriously. He’s
a blithering idiot, we can always leave it at that, but he’ll do
the little he can towards keeping in quod the——” He broke off with
affected politeness. “Oh, but he has one of his friends here.”
The subaltern called, “Stand up, you swine.”
“Mr. Fielding, what has prevented you from standing up?” said the
Collector, entering the fray at last. It was the attack for which
Fielding had waited, and to which he must reply.
“May I make a statement, sir?”
“Certainly.”
Seasoned and self-contained, devoid of the fervours of nationality
or youth, the schoolmaster did what was for him a comparatively
easy thing. He stood up and said, “I believe Dr. Aziz to be
innocent.”
“You have a right to hold that opinion if you choose, but pray is
that any reason why you should insult Mr. Heaslop?”
“May I conclude my statement?”
“Certainly.”
“I am waiting for the verdict of the courts. If he is guilty I
resign from my service, and leave India. I resign from the club
now.”
“Hear, hear!” said voices, not entirely hostile, for they liked
the fellow for speaking out.
“You have not answered my question. Why did you not stand when Mr.
Heaslop entered?”
“With all deference, sir, I am not here to answer questions, but
to make a personal statement, and I have concluded it.”
“May I ask whether you have taken over charge of this District?”
Fielding moved towards the door.
“One moment, Mr. Fielding. You are not to go yet, please. Before