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The old man thought he'd lost his craft, betrayed his tradition--and he went begging. And so I went begging.

My brother had a plot of land and couldn't pay the taxes. Money-lenders took his house and land and food and still the debts were not paid. Go speak to him of souls--tell his wife and children India's soul is still alive; quench their hunger with the Spirit of India!

HARILAL Krishna Moksa! I see you haven't given up yet. I say, would you mind giving me a second? I've been telling an American friend about you, and now he insists on meeting you. He represents an American pottery concern, and may take me on as an overseas agent.

Now don't you go shooting your mouth off, Harold. Do you think you see the world as I've seen it? Who do you ever talk to but the officials--the natives who wear the same clothes we do, talk about the same subjects, and usually graduated from one of our schools?

When I was a kid I was sent to India--among the real natives--and I saw stuff you'll never see! A huge land of nothing but famines, castes, superstitions and parasites. Do you think by talking to Indians about the plays on Broadway you learn what backwardness is really like? If it wasn't for us and the English they'd still drown babies in ponds. If it wasn't for the schools and churches the missionaries built there/

MOKSA I do not know who you are.

HARILAL Come, come now. You are joking. Nathuram! How are you? Sorry I didn't see you over there. What are you doing these days?

NATHURAM Begging.

HARILAL Yes, I'd rather thought so. Tell me, is something wrong with Moksa? Either his memory is short, or he's acting as if I were an Englishman. Come now,